And still he denied her that last moment.
When she tried to move faster or harder, he stopped.
When she lay compliant beneath him, he began again until she could not breathe or think or do anything but feel the pleasure of him. There was not an inch of her that he did not kiss or suckle or bite and caress. He moved her as he wanted. He touched her as he wanted. He loved her as she wanted.
Then, in one shocking instant, as he plunged in so deep he touched her womb, she found the first release and shuddered and trembled over and over in his arms. By the time he was ready to spill his seed, he’d forced her back to that same, earth-shaking edge with his strong, deep penetrations and the touch of his mouth and hands.
They shattered together this time, and it was difficult for Gillian to know where his body ended and hers began. And for a short time, she could not tell, as they breathed as one, moved as one, peaked as one.
He kissed her then, as the waves continued to move through and over them, and again and again until her body ached for more. He slid out of her and rolled onto his side, keeping her in his embrace. A long time passed before either of them could speak.
When he could gather his thoughts, for they had scattered at the first touch of her mouth on him, Brice considered what pieces of this puzzle he might be missing. Holding her close, he untangled her hair as he thought about the possibility that a treasure did exist.
If her father had set aside gold for her mother’s use, he would have told her where it was. What good was something if the person needing it did not know its whereabouts? Then, at her mother’s death, Eoforwic would have told Gillian. If the old thane ignored his legal wife, his legitimate son and other estates, whether he was besotted, ensorcelled or controlled by Gillian’s mother, someone must know where the gold was.
‘Gillian,’ he said softly, trying to rouse his wife from her exhausted slumber. Instead, she snuggled closer, making him smile with masculine pride. ‘Gillian, sweet, wake up.’
Brice watched as her eyes opened, then she met his gaze and her body shuddered with some vestige of leftover pleasure. ‘Brice,’ she whispered.
He smoothed her hair out of her face. ‘When I asked you if your father had ever given you keys, you said no. Did he ever give you anything else? A gift, mayhap? Jewellery?’ he asked.
He could tell the moment she came fully awake. ‘A necklace. He gave my mother and me matching necklaces.’
‘Do you have it still?’ he asked. Knowing Oremund’s ways, he suspected her brother took everything of value from her.
‘Aye. I sewed it into the hem of my cloak to keep it from Oremund. I had forgotten about it until now.’ She raised her head and rested it on her hand. ‘Is it important?’
‘It might be. If your father did have gold hidden away for your use, he would know Oremund would want it.’
Brice did not want to get her hopes up when there was really no proof that it existed. He had enough to support Thaxted and they would be all right without this supposed gold, but Brice thought that the knowledge that her mother and father had tried to protect her interests and future would go a long way in helping her to heal.
‘Do you have your mother’s necklace, as well?’
She did not answer right away, but then she shook her head as her eyes filled with sadness. ‘Nay. My father said she was buried with it in the convent.’
The words struck him as peculiar. ‘He said what?’
‘He told me that everything he held dear in life, other than me, was buried in the convent.’
Luckily he had tired her and she was too sleepy to realise a possible interpretation to those words. But he did.
He needed to see the necklace to see if what he thought was possible. As he turned onto his side and curled up behind Gillian, his mind began to swirl with plans and possibilities. By the time the sun rose the next morn, he’d barely shut his eyes. There was much to do before Oremund’s return and little time, if his informants were correct, to do it.
Chapter Eighteen
Brice waited at the top of the guard tower for Gillian to arrive. The day was clear and bright and the weather improved over the storms of the last few days. But that did not mean rain would not strike tomorrow.
Since that day a week ago when Gillian revealed about the hoard of gold for which Oremund searched, he’d put his plan in place. It involved many of his men, his fighting forces as well as those who worked in the keep and in the fields. It involved understanding the greed of men, the motivations of those who rebelled and how one man’s attempt to protect the woman he loved had spiralled out of control. In many ways it could be said about him, but in this case it was about Gillian’s father.
Now, in just a few minutes, his plan would go into motion and everything would move forwards. Unfortunately in love and war there were other variables that one could not control, and sometimes things did not work out the way they were planned. He hoped that would not be the case here in Thaxted. He heard her chatting with one of the guards, laughing even, before he saw her. Then she burst through the door and brightened his heart in ways he’d never dreamt possible.
Once she spied him, her eyes were for no one else and it warmed him. They’d come a far way from the night he’d caught her and she’d knocked him unconscious.
‘My lord,’ she said, ‘you called for me?’
‘I did, my lady.’ He looked behind her and waited a moment. ‘Where is Ernaut?’ The two were summoned at the same time.
‘He said he will be in a few minutes. Finishing up some task or another, my lord,’ the one guard offered.
Brice dismissed them and took Gillian’s hand. Leading her around to the other side, where they could look down on the yard, he smiled at her. ‘What should we do to occupy ourselves while we wait on young Ernaut?’
She launched herself into his arms without hesitation and they spent the next few minutes in amorous pursuits, something he’d never thought possible with a wife. By the time Ernaut arrived, her circlet was knocked askew, her veil lay in a twist around her neck and her lips showed every sign of being kissed, and kissed well. ‘My lord.’
‘My lady.’
‘My lord!’ Ernaut called out from the doorway trying to get his attention.
Brice released Gillian, who smoothed her hair down, replaced her veil and positioned the circlet where it would actually hold the veil before facing the boy. But it was the way she licked her lips that nearly drove him back into her arms.
‘I have serious matters to discuss with both of you,’ he began, lowering his voice by habit. ‘Gillian, I need your co-operation. Ernaut, you must be my lady’s fiercest guard and see to her protection. If I do not know, for a fact, that both of you can follow my orders without question and without delay, I cannot go forwards.’
He watched her think about his words, wanting her apprised of the plan. She was not stubborn, actually; once she understood something and comprehended her part in it, she presented some of the best analysis of plans and procedures he’d seen. ‘The attack, when it comes, will be of life-and-death importance to all of us, so delay or hesitation will cost lives. I cannot fight and give my complete focus to battle when I am worrying about the safety of my wife.’
Her eyes filled with tears then and, if not for Ernaut’s presence, he would have taken her in his arms and tried to soothe her fears. The boy cleared his throat as though he knew Brice’s thoughts.
‘Ernaut.’ He looked at the young man who had proven himself ready for such a task. ‘At the first sounds of trouble, whether battle cry or attack, seek out Lady Gillian and become her personal guard. You must help her in her task and do only that. Do not become engaged in the battle. Do not be waylaid by others’ calls or needs. You are to see to my lady only.’
‘Very well, my lord.’ Ernaut nodded crisply.
‘But what is my task, my lord?’ Gillian interrupted.
‘My love, I want you to do what you do best,’ he explained, but the look in her eyes
spoke of something completely different from what he meant now! ‘I want you to run away.’
‘Your pardon, my lord?’ Her gaze narrowed on him. ‘Run away?’
‘You must get out of Thaxted and get to the convent as quickly as possible. Ernaut will cover you and protect you, but I know you will help, as well.’
‘Run away?’ she said, clearly aggrieved at his praise for her skill.
‘Not everyone could extricate themselves from dangerous situations, Gillian, and get away from their foes,’ he said as an explanation. ‘Granted you’ve not managed to escape from me, but you did escape from your brother several times.’ He glanced from one to the other. ‘I need you to do it again and get to the convent safely.’
Before he could say anything else, the cries went up in the yard and word spread. One of the guards came running up to tell them.
‘They found the gold, my lord. Stephen found the gold!’
Ernaut yelled out and Brice sent him off to have a look. Gillian looked shocked, but he kept her at his side and the younger man ran down the steps and towards the corner of the keep.
‘There is no gold here in Thaxted,’ she said simply and clearly when Ernaut was gone.
‘No, Gillian, there is no gold in Thaxted.’
At that moment several of the soldiers carried out a dirty wooden chest, the lid of which was opened, revealing a large gold cross and chain on top. Everyone in the yard ran to see it as they carried it past into the keep. When they cheered and looked up at him, he raised his arm and cheered along. Turning back, he faced a grim wife.
‘Then what, pray thee, was that?’ she asked, crossing her arms over her chest and narrowing her eyes at him again.
He said nothing, giving her a few moments to work out his plan on her own. Her gasp told him she understood.
‘You bait a trap here?’ she asked. ‘You draw Oremund to you?’
‘And Edmund Haroldson, as well,’ he explained. ‘And some of their northern allies who should legally be observing the truce William issued when he took their earls to Normandy.’
‘Brice, this is too dangerous.’ She reached out and touched his arm. ‘We do not have enough men, enough weapons, to fight off such a force as theirs.’
‘Aye, we do, Gillian. When all my forces are gathered in one place and not spread out fighting this group here, and that group there.’ He motioned off in the distance where the recent small attacks had been.
She seemed lost in thought for a few moments, looking around the yard and out towards the fields, now planted with spring crops. Her lower lip trembled, but then she met his gaze.
‘I want you to crush him under your boots for what he has done to my father and to Thaxted.’
A chill ran down his spine and for that moment he was glad she spoke of someone else and not him.
‘I will,’ he said, gathering her close. ‘But I can only do that if I know you are safe. You must promise me that you will get yourself to the convent when the attack occurs. Immediately. Without hesitation or question.’
‘I promise, Brice.’
He kissed the top of her head and stepped away. ‘Only Stephen, Lucais and a few others know the gold is false. Ernaut does not.’ Offering his hand, he guided her to the steps. ‘Come, let us look on the treasure of Thaxted.’
She laughed and in that moment, Brice realised he was looking at the treasure of Thaxted—the only one that mattered to him.
‘What is the news from Thaxted?’ Oremund demand ed. He knew the informant had arrived at their camp, but had not yet presented himself to Oremund. His men looked one to the other, but no one answered his question. ‘Where is he?’
‘He comes now, my lord,’ someone called out from nearby.
The informant, the same one who’d told him of his father’s escape tunnels, approached, followed by Edmund and the two men on whose lands they hid and who served Earl Edwin. Haefen stepped nearer.
‘They found the gold.’
Oremund felt his blood begin to boil and the air before him began to sparkle in front of his eyes. That lying, thieving bitch! The scream poured out before he could control it.
‘I will cut out her lying tongue before I slice her throat,’ he yelled out, letting his rage flow. ‘She’s known all along and she tells that Breton bastard where it is?’ He looked at her uncle. ‘And you did not know? You told me there was no gold at Thaxted. What say you now, Haefen?’
The smith said nothing then. A wise decision for the stupid peasant. Gillian had let his wife die instead of giving up the gold to Oremund. Let him stew on that for a while!
‘Edmund, gather our forces. We march on Thaxted,’ he ordered.
The planning went on through most of the night and by morning, they knew how they would take Thaxted. And though Oremund still seethed over his whore sister’s deception, he knew that, within days, the gold, Thaxted and she would be under his control and her Breton husband would be worms’ meat.
That made him smile.
And he’d not smiled about anything in a long time.
Gillian would have laughed if not warned before when she looked at the chest filled with gold. The top piece, the one that drew your eye, was real, but the rest was not. Though gazing around the hall at the people, she knew that most of them would not have ever seen real gold in their lives, so it mattered not.
And according to her husband’s plans, by the time Oremund got close enough to tell, it would be too late.
Not soon enough, she decided, feeling an absolute and unforgivable thirst for his blood to be spilled. For his sins—all of them.
After allowing everyone to see the gold, Brice had it locked and chained and placed in the storeroom with a guard in front of it. All for show. All to gain Oremund’s attention. Brice’s plan would work because Oremund would not be able to resist the temptation to come back for the gold. And to punish her. And to kill Brice for his part, too.
As she watched the preparations, she prayed that her uncle was not part of this. She was at peace knowing that Oremund had to die, but she knew that part of her would die if Brice had to kill Haefen. Watching Oremund kill his wife must have turned him somehow, she was certain. She just could not believe he would betray her. Could not.
That was the only sadness in this new life she’d found since being captured by her Breton husband. Her uncle had been a good man, a dependable man, a happy man, until Oremund tore their lives apart.
The days filled with work, but her nights were filled with passion. Brice held her close and they whispered about their future, about their pasts and their plans. And when she closed her eyes each night, she prayed for such things.
She’d almost thought that Brice could be wrong about the possibility of attack after several days of waiting showed no sign of it. Then, when she dared hope that Oremund would not fall for the bait, the call came.
The walls had been breached and Oremund was on the attack.
Chapter Nineteen
Smoke filled the yard as the attackers set fire to anything that would burn. Rage filled him for the moment, but he let that go. Brice knew it would happen and knew that he could replace and rebuild. But it was the people he wanted protected.
And they were. As ordered, they followed his men into the tunnels to wait out the fight. It removed innocents out of his men’s sights and would save more than if they ran.
He saw the guard’s signal from the tower and knew that Oremund’s men were coming from the north, as they had suspected. With the southern approaches clear, Gillian should have no difficulty getting away.
If she followed his orders.
He fought his way towards the gate, allowing Oremund’s men to swarm into the keep, searching, he knew, for the chest of gold. He would owe Father Henry for that cross and the chain if Oremund managed to actually get away with it. Though his men appeared to be unprepared and off-guard, they followed Stephen and Richier’s plan to perfection and soon herded Oremund and Edmund back out of the gates.
&nb
sp; Then, finally, pray God, he saw Gillian under Ernaut’s protection as they crept along the wall to the opening he’d made there. She turned back twice, but then she pulled her cloak over her head and followed Ernaut. Once he knew she was on her way to safety, he fought as he wanted to, going after the men who would destroy all he loved. A short time passed and the guard gave another signal.
Word spread through the yard that Gillian had escaped and it rippled out to their attackers. He heard Oremund scream above the battle sounds the moment he learned it. His first thought would be to go after her, so Brice threw his men in to block his path. He would slow Oremund down and give time for Gillian to reach the convent.
Brice used his sword on another soldier and swung his mace at another, falling into his battle rhythm of sword, step, mace, step over and over again as he rid himself of those who attacked him. He watched with grim pleasure as his bowmen, standing in the tower and along the stone sections of the wall, picked off more. With the battle in constant movement, Oremund could not set up a stand of archers to hem his men in and he watched as they flowed out into the fields around Thaxted Keep.
It would take her only a short time to reach the convent; the trained destrier that waited for Gillian and Ernaut had stamina and strength and would cover more ground than most could, even with two on his back.
The sanctity of the convent would not protect Gillian from her brother, nor would its walls, but Brice had arranged for something that would.
He wished he could be there to see Oremund’s face. But his job was to clear Thaxted of invaders and then bring up the back of the lines to keep them from escaping north. Oremund would fight no more after this day and Edmund Haroldson would be where he should have been put months ago during the fight for Taerford—in the ground just as his father was.
Gillian wrapped her arms around Ernaut and leaned low against his back as they flew down the road. At this speed, they would reach the convent walls soon. The horse beneath her showed no signs of slowing or being winded as they raced south away from Thaxted.
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