by Lynn Kurland
She leaned back against the chilly wall, tucking her hands under her arms to warm them. Somehow, after having seen that smile, running away from its wearer seemed even less appealing than before. Surely there was gentleness in him. If he could show it to Jason, perhaps he could show it to her in time.
And, even if not, at the very least she had a safe place to sleep. Her door had no bolt, but Christopher hadn’t entered her chamber and that likely wouldn’t change in the future. A safe haven, warm food and sturdy clothing: what else could she possibly want?
A black shape bounded over and came to a stiff-legged halt before her. Gillian froze. It was the Hound from Hell. Gillian pressed herself back against the wall as the huge wolf came closer, sniffing tentatively at her shoes, then her dress. He transferred his attentions next to her hand, his cold nose sending chills through her. She could almost feel his teeth sinking into her flesh.
What she felt instead was a pink tongue tickling her fingers and a heavy head soon coming to rest on her leg. She hesitantly reached out her hand and patted the beast. The moment she stopped, he bumped her hand with his nose as if to tell her that he was pleased with her actions and wished for more of them.
Gillian hesitantly reached out and patted the hound, then scratched him behind the ears. He truly enjoyed that, for he pressed himself up against her legs that much harder, as if to make it easier for her to see to him. Feeling extraordinarily brave, she patted the wolf with both hands.
Then she shrieked as he leaped up and planted his front paws on the bench. Her heart beat wildly against her ribs as he thrust his face close.
Then a pink tongue came out and swiped her liberally across the face. Gillian couldn’t decide if she should laugh or burst into tears from the fright. She chose giggles instead. She pushed the hound away, but he only woofed low in his throat and continued to torment her.
“Cease,” she gasped, finally taking hold of fistfuls of his fur and forcing him back. “Leave me be, you murderous hound.”
Said murderous hound only sat obediently, wagged his tail a time or two and smiled as best he could with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. Gillian patted his head affectionately.
“Is your master so easily tamed?” she asked.
“Nay, he is not,” a deep voice growled. “Wolf, come.”
Gillian looked up at Christopher who stood fully dressed at the door to the hall. Color flooded to her cheeks at the knowledge he had overheard her foolish words.
“Go back in the house, lady,” Christopher said curtly. “You’ll chill outside.”
Gillian jumped up as he turned to leave. “My lord,” she said quickly, “I . . . I—”
Christopher turned and looked at her. It was unnerving how clearly his sightless eyes seemed to focus on her.
“Aye?” he demanded.
“I . . . I think I would like to be of some use,” she blurted out, mustering up all the courage she had on hand. “If you please, that is . . .”
“Then be of use. Clean the hall. Terrorize the servants. Just stay out from underfoot and leave me in peace.”
“But—”
He was halfway down the steps before she got the word out. He didn’t bother to stop. Gillian stared after him, wondering if their encounters would ever become anything pleasant.
Christopher didn’t seem too concerned about it, if his haste was any indication. He walked swiftly, with a confident air, as if he saw every stone and twig in his way. Wolf trotted alongside him, a fierce black shadow that only a fool would have tangled with.
Gillian turned away from the sight and looked at the open hall door. So she had leave to be of some use. She wiped her hands on her dress, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. To someone else, it might have looked as if the dragon of the keep had just departed. As far as she was concerned, the dragons waited within, ready to mock and scorn her for thinking to order them to do their work.
She took a step forward and was almost knocked over by the body that came flying out the doorway. Jason caught her by the arms and gasped out an apology.
“I didn’t see you,” he exclaimed, then he grinned. “You’re looking well today, my lady. I’m very happy to see you outside.”
“Thank you,” she managed.
“A good morrow to you.” And with that, he was down the steps and racing toward the gate where his master was headed.
That was not a boy who was being mistreated. Indeed, he seemed to love Christopher deeply. Gillian felt a curious gnawing in her belly, a feeling she had never experienced before; she hardly knew how to identify it. She watched Jason catch Christopher and saw her husband sling his arm around his squire and give him a quick, rough hug. The feeling intensified at the sight. She turned away as she realized what it was she suffered from.
Envy.
A sudden longing for William’s company rose up in her. She missed her brother’s teasing, his ferocious hugs, his constant attention when he was home. The thought of never enjoying any of those things again was grim indeed.
Unless Christopher could be persuaded to think of her as a sister. It would be far better than having him treat her as a nuisance, which was exactly how he seemed to feel about her at present.
The first step was to do something to please him. She was good at least at attempting to please people. William had always appreciated her gestures. Christopher might, if she tried hard enough. If he wanted her to be useful, then useful she would be. She took her courage in hand and walked into the great hall and over to the kitchens.
A small group of wenches huddled near the fire. Their words were easy to hear and Gillian was reminded sharply of the conversation she’d listened to the day she had learned she was to be Christopher’s bride. It boded ill indeed for her peace of mind now. She hesitated, torn between curiosity and good sense.
“I say he’ll put her away.”
“Oh, aye, and what do you know of it?” a second voice scoffed.
Gillian frowned and remained where she was. Of whom did they speak?
“He didn’t take her, much as he’d like the sheets to tell a different tale. And if he didn’t take her, that means he doesn’t want her.”
“I say she’s blessed he left her be,” the third added in a low voice. “Likely would have killed her.”
“And I say he’ll send her back to her father. What reason does he have to keep her? She’s of no use.”
Gillian felt the floor become unsteady beneath her. She searched blindly for the doorframe to hold herself upright. They spoke of her! And their words—by the blessed saints above, could they be true?
“Aye, not even as a breeder,” the first agreed. “If she’d conceived, he would have kept her.”
“Perhaps his tastes have changed,” the second voice said with a low laugh. “He’s not having any at all, unless he’s bedding his squire—”
The other two laughed heartily over that, offering their own suggestions as to how it might have been accomplished. Gillian put her hands over her ears in horror. She turned and fled. She ran all the way to her chamber, then shut herself inside.
She leaned against the door and let the shivers come. So he planned to send her away. There was no denying the truth of their words. Christopher hadn’t bedded her. The wenches had said as much. She knew he hadn’t even been close to her in a bed, so it must be true.
Then it followed that he hadn’t bedded her because he didn’t want her. Hadn’t he told her to stay out from underfoot and leave him in peace? Nay, he didn’t want her in his house, nor in his bedchamber.
And if she proved to be too great a nuisance, he could very easily pack her off to Warewick. Indeed, what was stopping him from doing that immediately? For all she knew, he could have been planning her journey at that moment.
Gillian walked across the chamber and sank down onto the bench in the alcove. The bedding was the key, obviously. Christopher certainly hadn’t seen to the task in truth, despite the cut to his arm. She wasn’t sure she wanted h
im to. She had seen servants and knights with their mouths locked together and she had winced at the moans the wenches had made. ’Twas a sketchy knowledge she possessed, but she wanted no more of it than she already had.
But there was an heir to think of. There was certainly no reason why he shouldn’t want a son. Aye, it was the only thing she could give him, for she certainly had nothing else with which to appease him. Her dowry wasn’t incentive to do aught but toss her out the gates. Her skills as chatelaine were nonexistent, just another reason for him to have Colin deposit her inside Warewick’s puny walls.
She rose and wandered restlessly about her chamber. Desperation made her continue moving, as by doing so she could escape the feelings that plagued her. He would send her away! There was absolutely no reason for him to keep her.
Unless she could give him a child.
She latched onto the idea with the tenacity of a damned soul clutching at the faint hope of salvation. Perhaps she could help him drink too much wine, then place herself in his arms. That was all there was to the bedding, wasn’t there? Surely he wouldn’t resist a willing female. He would take her, do whatever he had to do to get her with child, and then she would have a place in his house.
But if he had slipped into his cups, how would he remember doing the deed? She stopped and frowned. Worse yet, would he be too bumbling to accomplish it?
Nay, there had to be an answer to her problem, something she could do to assure herself of a place in Christopher of Blackmour’s life.
She walked back over to the window and threw open the shutters. Merciful saints above, there was nothing underneath her but the ocean beating ceaselessly against the rocks below. She flinched each time a wave came crashing against the rocks; then slowly she felt herself begin to relax. She closed her eyes against the cold sea winds. The sea was beautiful and terrible and more majestic than even William had ever been able to make it seem. The power frightened her, made her feel small and awed.
Nay, she knew she could never leave Blackmour, and it had nothing to do with her father. All it had taken was one glance to forever enamor her of the ocean and she wouldn’t give that up. No matter what she had to do to stay, she wouldn’t give up what she had found.
She needed a plan, a scheme to bind Christopher to her. If she gave him a child, he wouldn’t put her, away. And if he tried, she would beg him to let her stay in his hall—as a servant, as a page, however he would keep her. He wouldn’t send away the mother of his child, would he?
She could learn to be sweet, and perhaps she could even learn to be whorish like her father’s wenches. How much worse could it be than what she had endured in the past? Or what she was likely to give up in the future if Christopher cast her aside? Aye, the pain she knew she would suffer at Christopher’s hands couldn’t be worse than a beating. And if it was, so be it. At least she would be suffering it at the hands of someone besides her sire. Christopher of Blackmour would find his way into her arms, take her and perhaps wonder what had possessed him to do the like. But at least he would take her. The very thought made her ill with terror but she would bear it.
She left her chamber, her purpose fixed.
ten
CHRISTOPHER BANGED HIS CUP DOWN ON THE TABLE AND felt the wine slosh over his fingers. He hadn’t slept a wink in almost a fortnight thanks to his worry over his bride, a worry that galled him to the very depths of his soul. As if he bloody cared that she wept each and every night until the wee hours!
Nay, he didn’t care. He’d been pacing in his room each night because supper had been upsetting his stomach and sleep seemed to be eluding him. It had nothing to do with his wife.
But this. This was another matter entirely.
“She went where?” he thundered, reaching out and snagging Jason by the front of his tunic.
“To the midwife, my lord,” Jason said with a squeak. “Perhaps she doesn’t know that Alice earns most of her keep from whoring.”
“Oh, she does,” Colin interrupted. “Asked me herself who I thought might be the one to discuss such matters with.” He chuckled softly. “Poor lamb was screwing up the courage to speak to me for hours. She stuttered and stammered enough for a dozen wenches, then blurted out the words ‘heir’ and ‘gold.’ I figured she could only mean she was looking for a few new ways to please you, Chris, and was willing to pay for the learning.”
Christopher felt a chill steal over him. Pay for the learning? To what end?
“Glad to know you and the lass are getting on so well. I still say she’s a mouse, but at least she’s biddable. You can’t be too unhappy with that.”
“Be silent,” Christopher snapped. He rose and pushed Jason away. “Jason, fetch her away from the whore and bring her to me upstairs.”
He left the great hall and walked up the stairs by memory, for he was too shocked to count them. It was suddenly all too clear to him. She wanted a child. And it was for bloody sure she didn’t want to give him one out of the goodness of her heart.
Nay, she had discovered him. She had noted his blindness and had decided she would have none of him, save his seed. By the bloody saints above, how was it he had been a fool not once but twice in the same lifetime? He never would have suspected it of Gillian. But hadn’t Lina warned him well enough?
Blackmour, you’re not fit but to sit in the muck and beg in your rags. No woman will ever want you. Strong and fine you might be, but without your eyes, you’re worth less than nothing. Mark my words, beloved. The moment a woman finds out how useless you are, she’ll take your gold and seek out a man who is whole.
Lina’s parting words hit him like a fist in the gut. He stumbled up the remainder of the steps and walked unsteadily to his chamber. Lina had deserted him only to meet her end at the hands of ruffians. Gillian would likely meet the same end. The only difference between the two women would be that he fully intended to have a say in Gillian’s departure.
He slammed his bedchamber door closed behind him and began to pace, his fury deepening with each step. Aye, Gillian was far more clever than he had given her credit for being. So she planned to get herself with child, then leave. It would certainly assure her of an income far into her old age. Perhaps she had already selected one of his fiefs in which to hide while her child was reared.
But that wouldn’t happen. He would send her away before she could see her plan accomplished and he would count himself well rid of her. If only he had known before he’d put himself through months of agony, stewing over her life at Warewick! It had been agony wasted. A pity William couldn’t have included a few more details in his description of her.
But, nay, William hadn’t been home enough to know the black depths of his sister’s soul. Christopher knew he couldn’t lay the blame at his friend’s feet. But when he met William in heaven, he would look the man full in the face and count himself justified. He had fulfilled his vow. He would be absolved of any guilt, for Gillian had indeed forced his hand with her actions.
“My lord, she is in her chamber.”
Christopher whirled around at the sound of Jason’s voice, then pushed past him and made his way to Gillian’s bedchamber.
“Out,” he said, once he had entered. He pointed back toward the door. “Get you out of this chamber and out of my house. I never want to smell you in my hall again.”
“But, my lord,” Gillian gasped.
“Out!” he thundered. “You conniving slut, get you gone! I’ll be slain before I’ll get you with child. Take nothing of mine but what you wear. Slink home to your father and take your bloody pitiful dowry with you. I don’t want either of you.”
“Oh, my lord,” she pleaded, “I beseech you.”
“I said go!”
“I’ll do whatever you wish—”
“Go!” He took a step toward her, his fist raised.
She fled. The echoes of her light footfalls remained behind her in the chamber along with the sounds of weeping.
Saints above, the wench could still affect him with h
er tears! As she had likely affected her brother. ’Twas fortunate indeed William hadn’t known what kind of creature his sibling was. It would have broken his heart, for he had loved Gillian deeply. It was a love that was certainly undeserved. Christopher didn’t intend to be the same kind of fool her brother had been.
At least her treachery had been exposed while his heart was safe. Saints, he should have learned the lesson the first time. It hurt worse this time, far worse than he had expected. He hardly knew the girl and her betrayal wounded him. How would it have been had he been in love with her?
He strode out of her chamber before that feeling could engulf him. This would be the last of his marriages. The Blackmour line would just have to die out. Perhaps Jason could be adopted. It would certainly save the current lord a great deal of anguish.
“Christopher, what have you done?” Colin yelled from the top of the stairs. “Did you beat the girl?”
Christopher whirled around. “Not another word, Colin. See that she leaves and give her nothing to take with her.”
“Bloody Hell, why do you want her to leave?”
Christopher walked down the passageway and into his bedchamber, slamming the door behind him. As if Colin couldn’t guess the reason!
The door opened and shut.
“Saints, man, have you lost your mind? She has nowhere to go! You swore you would keep her safe!”
“That was before, when she didn’t know I was blind,” Christopher said. He walked to the alcove and forced himself to breathe deeply. “It seems she had just recently discovered it,” he continued, trying to sound uninterested, “likely just before she came and asked you of Alice. I would guess she was secretly plotting to steal me blind.” He laughed bitterly at his words. “She wanted naught but my gold, just like my first wife, the bitch. Excuse me. My first wife, your sister, the bitch.”
Colin’s heavy tread came over to the alcove rapidly. “You fool, she knew after the ceremony.”
“She did not,” Christopher snapped. “She couldn’t have.”
