by Lynn Kurland
“Fetch my lady,” he said, giving Jason a push.
Jason trotted off and Christopher continued on his way to the high table. He sat down and endured Colin’s hearty thump on the back as his brother-in-law took the place next to him.
“A fine showing,” Colin grunted. “You almost impressed me.”
“Count yourself blessed that I’m blind. ’Tis the only reason you ever find yourself remaining atop your mount.”
“You smug bastard.”
Christopher grinned. “The truth pains you, my friend?”
“What pains me is the memory of you humiliating me at my own tourney, Blackmour. I’ve much to see you repaid for.”
“You challenged me. What was I to do? Let you best me, then face Lord Robin’s wrath? He trained me to win, not to lose to palsied, bumbling oafs—”
Colin growled and Christopher soon found himself flat on his back with Colin’s bulk crushing the breath from him.
“My lords!” Jason exclaimed. “I beg you to behave!”
“Why, you cheeky, misbegotten cur,” Colin gasped, jumping up.
Christopher grabbed Colin by the foot and jerked backwards. Colin went down with a thump and a hearty curse. Christopher rolled over and looked up in the direction of Jason’s panting.
“Where’s Gillian?”
“She awaits you in your chamber, my lord.”
Christopher froze. She was waiting for him? He didn’t have to count on his fingers to realize what day it was, but he certainly hadn’t expected Gillian to remember. She obviously had. If her actions were any indication, she sounded for all the world like a woman who planned to welcome her husband to her bed that night.
“Why, Chris,” Colin said, clucking Christopher under the chin, “you’re blushing, lad.”
Christopher threw a fist, not caring where it landed. It landed, quite nicely, in the middle of Colin’s face.
Colin only grumbled. “I’d see you repaid, but I wouldn’t want to break anything important. Jason, fetch your lord something to strengthen him. He’ll need it for his labors this eve.”
“Colin, be silent,” Christopher snapped.
“And a wash for the lad. Wouldn’t want little Gill to swoon because of his smell.”
“Colin, damn you, be you silent!”
Colin started to laugh.
“Ah, Chris, if you only knew.” Then his laughter ceased abruptly. “Of course, it isn’t as if I know,” he said, sounding rather defensive. “I’m not in the habit of eavesdropping, especially when it comes to womanly—” he coughed. “Well, I’m off to see to . . . um . . . well, I’m off. Best of luck to you.”
And with that, Colin’s boots made a rapid flight to the door.
“I’ll see to washing water for you, my lord,” Jason said, sounding suspiciously sober.
Christopher sat up with a scowl. “Cease with your smirking, child!”
“Me?” Jason asked innocently. “Smirk? My lord, never. You never smirk and I’ve learned all my good habits from you.”
Christopher made a grab for his squire but the lad was too nimble. Christopher cast himself down into his chair and put on his favorite scowl. No one troubled him, which gave him ample time to think. Was he reading more into Gillian’s actions than he should? What else could she be doing? She wouldn’t be toying with him.
He jumped at the hand suddenly on his shoulder.
“Your water is prepared, my lord.”
Christopher jerked Jason over his knees and gave the lad a hearty whack on the backside. He pushed his squire to his feet, then rose and glared down at him.
“For teasing me.”
“It was worth it,” Jason said, the grin apparent in his voice.
“You wait, little lad. I’ll be there at your wedding and you’ll wish you hadn’t used me so ill in your youth.” He took Jason by the ear and pulled him toward the kitchens. “And as further payment, you’ll spend your evening seeing to my mail.”
“In your bedchamber, my lord?”
Christopher pulled harder and Jason yelped.
“In the hall,” Jason gasped. “I vow it!”
Christopher grunted and allowed Jason to help him out of his mail. He had a wash, loaded Jason down with a wooden trencher of food and a bottle of wine, then headed up the stairs. He knew his face was flushed and had the feeling everyone in the keep knew that he intended to go upstairs and at least kiss his wife senseless. Bedding her might wait a night or two, but the entire keep likely knew that, too.
He stood outside his door and took a deep breath. Then he looked down at Jason.
“Not a word, imp.”
“I wouldn’t, my lord. Not in front of the lady Gillian.”
Christopher felt a smile tug at his mouth. “Perhaps I’ll keep you a few years longer instead of sending you home to your father in chains.”
“My gratitude, my lord.”
Christopher knocked softly, then poked his head inside the chamber.
“Gillian?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Would you rather I came back?” he asked gruffly.
He felt her tug on the door. “Come in, Christopher.”
“Jason,” Christopher rumbled, “set the meal down and go. We’ll not need you tonight.”
“Of course, my lord,” Jason said respectfully. He set the tray down, then clapped Christopher on the shoulder on his way out.
Christopher leaned back against the door and slid the bolt home as unobtrusively as possible: He felt as nervous as a squire contemplating bedding his first wench. Nay, even more nervous. This was Gillian, not some serving wench. And he couldn’t see a bloody thing. She could have been weeping silently and he wouldn’t have been the wiser.
“Are you hungry?” he demanded suddenly.
“A bit,” she answered.
“Come take the wine. We’ll eat before the fire.”
How he managed to get the food down from the table to the hearth he wasn’t sure, but he did. He ate with the gusto of a man devouring his last meal.
“Are you eating at all?” he asked around a mouthful of bread.
“What I can steal of it.”
Christopher felt himself color. “Forgive me. I’ve worked hard today.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“I watched you.”
Christopher sat up a bit straighter. “You did?”
“I did,” she said. “You are exceedingly skilled, my lord.”
“For a blind man.”
“For a mortal man,” she corrected.
Christopher puffed out his chest a bit. “Indeed.”
“Christopher, you astonish me,” she said softly. He felt her hand come to rest atop his. “Everything William ever told me about your skill is true. It is still true, despite your loss of sight. You are as fine a warrior, nay, even a finer warrior today than you were when you came to my father’s, hall six years ago. I know of no man who could stand against you.”
Christopher couldn’t remember the last time praise had given him such a swelled head. He made a few gruff noises, but in truth he thought his breast would explode from the pride he felt. A few simple words from Gillian had pleased him far more than any of Lina’s insincere flattery. He raised his lady’s hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
“Thank you, my lady. Your words have pleased me so well, I think I’ll give you free rein over supper for a few moments. Eat your fill.”
Christopher was perfectly relaxed until dinner was finished and he realized that the moment of truth was approaching. And he had no idea how to proceed. Had he been able to see, he could have seen Gillian’s face and known her thoughts. Now he was fumbling in the dark.
And had the time for bedding her truly come? He’d had a few chaste kisses from her over the past few nights and those only after a great deal of coaxing. He wanted her to trust him fully and that would likely require more than just a single night of more intimate kisses and caresses.
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nbsp; He put the remainder of the food up on the table and took to pacing. And before he knew it, he’d run bodily into his bride. He caught her by her shoulders and kept her upright.
“What are you doing?”
“Pacing,” she answered.
Christopher frowned and resumed his walking, trying not to run into Gillian as he passed her in midchamber. He heard her stop, then turned and faced her direction.
“Gillian—”
“Christopher—”
He paused. “Go ahead.”
“Nay, you first.”
“I insist.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “Speak, woman.”
Gillian was silent for some time. Then she cleared her throat uncomfortably.
“About . . . about our marriage,” she began.
Christopher’s chest tightened painfully. Oh, God, please nay . . .
“I think . . . that is, don’t you think . . . I mean to say, perhaps ’tis time we had it . . .”
Christopher waited. Then he waited some more. And then he felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest and cast to the floor.
“What?” he asked hoarsely.
Gillian mumbled something.
“Speak up!”
“Consummated!” she exclaimed.
Christopher blew out his breath in relief. “I feared you would say annulled,” he managed.
“Annulled,” she gasped. “You mean . . . you want it—”
“—consummated,” he finished.
Well, there. It was out now. Said. Spoken in words that couldn’t be taken back.
Gillian hadn’t said anything in return. Christopher cleared his throat.
“Gillian?”
“Aye, my lord?” She sounded as if something were choking her.
“Did you mean it?” he asked gruffly.
Her response, if she’d even made one, was lost in the thundering blood in his ears. He walked over to her, his hand outstretched. He found her and put his hands on her shoulders.
“Gillian? What say you?”
She was trembling so badly he thought she might knock both of them down.
“Aye,” she whispered.
Christopher put his arms around her and gathered her close.
“My sweet girl,” he whispered, pained. “Don’t shake so. I won’t hurt you.”
“Y-you w-won’t?” Her teeth were chattering.
“I won’t,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t mind if he admitted the truth after the fact.
“But I’ve h-heard the s-servants,” she said, shivering. “I think it p-pains them.”
Christopher smiled against her hair. “Love, those are groans of pleasure.”
“Oh, I truly don’t th-think so.”
“Trust me.”
He continued to hold her close until her arms came hesitantly around his waist. Then he slowly rocked her from side to side, just a bit, and smoothed his hand over her long hair. It fell down her back in heavy curls and he smiled as he fingered a lock and felt it curl around his thumb.
“I love your hair,” he murmured. “’Tis very soft.”
“’Tis very disobedient. It won’t ever stay under a veil.”
“Then you’ll never put it under a veil. Leave it free.”
“If it would please you.”
He paused. “Do you know what would please me?”
“What, my lord?”
“To see you,” he whispered.
She swallowed, hard. “As you will, my lord.”
He took her hand and led her over to the fire. He sat down in a chair and pulled her onto his lap.
“Comfortable?”
He knew she nodded because he had his hand under her hair at the back of her neck.
“Turn toward me a bit,” he whispered. “I’ll need both my hands.”
She did, putting one of her hands on his chest. Christopher lifted his hands and gently trailed his fingers over her face. He felt the smoothness of her forehead and the soft silk of her eyebrows. He traced the thin bridge of her nose and smiled at the small crook there. Her eyelashes were like spiderwebs against his fingers, almost too fine to discern. He smoothed the tips of his fingers over her cheeks, her jaw, her chin. He memorized the shape of the end of her nose and the delicate curve of her lips. He slid his hands back, traced the outside of her ears, learned how it felt to bury his hands in her lush hair and feel it fall over his fingers.
“Gillian,” he said, shaking his head in wonder, “how can you say you aren’t beautiful?” He leaned forward and pressed his cheek against hers. “Your skin is flawless.” He turned and pressed kisses over her closed eyelids, over her brow, down her nose. “Your features are perfect. Your nose is pert, just as it should be for you to look down it at me. Your cheeks feel rosy, your brow smooth. I know the color of your eyes, ’tis a deep green flecked with brown and gold. And your hair,” he gathered a fistful of it to bury his face in, “’tis wondrous fine. I vow I’ll never tire of it.”
Gillian hadn’t moved. Christopher pulled back and carefully touched her face, trying to understand her expression. His fingers came away damp with her tears.
“Why do you weep?” he asked, pained. “Sweet Gill, what have I said to grieve you?”
“Nothing,” she choked.
Christopher was unprepared to have her throw her arms around his neck, but he gathered his wits about him soon enough. He held her close and stroked her back, trying to soothe her.
“My love,” he murmured, “don’t weep, I beg you. It breaks my heart when you do.”
“I feel as if I’m dreaming,” she said miserably. “And I never want to wake up.”
He smiled ruefully. “Don’t I feel real enough to you?”
She was long in answering. “You’ll change.”
“What, and care for you more than I do now?”
Christopher froze, realizing what he’d just said. Gillian tried to pull away, but he kept his arms tight around her.
“See?” she whispered. “Already you have regrets.”
He shook his head. “I regret nothing.”
She pulled back slowly and he allowed it. He lifted his hand and examined her expression.
“Smile for me,” he commanded.
It was a weak effort, for her lips trembled as they attempted it.
“Do you regret becoming my wife? Now that you know I have no horns?”
Her smile deepened, became a smile in truth. “I wouldn’t regret it, even if you had horns.”
“Then you’re pleased.”
“Aye.”
“Because you’ve tamed the Dragon of Blackmour?”
She shook her head. “Because I love the Dragon of Blackmour.”
“Of course you do,” he said dryly. Secretly, though, her words caught him tight about the heart. Saints above, the woman could leave him unbalanced with naught but words!
“I do,” she insisted.
“What you love, my sweet, is my terrible temper and my fetching blue eyes.”
“Christopher, that isn’t true!”
He blinked. “Then you don’t love my eyes? Nor my temper? Nor all my other flaws?”
She groaned and put her arms around him. “I love all your flaws.”
“Nay, ’tis naught but my kisses that have won your heart.”
He was pleased to hear her laugh for their words had become altogether more serious than he liked. It frightened him, the thought of loving the woman in his arms. Even now she could hurt him so greatly if she did but pull away from him.
Nay, she wouldn’t. He would just keep her near him, by chaining her to him if he had to. Aye, here was where she would remain. And in time she would let him love her, and he would do his damndest to please her. He leaned forward to kiss her, then stopped when he felt her fingers touch his face. He held perfectly still as she traced his features gently, discovering his expression as fully as he had discovered hers the moment before.
“Are your eyes closed?” he asked.
“Aye.”
He let her look her fill and smiled when she traced his lips with her fingers.
“You’ve changed,” she whispered.
“How so?”
“You’re so much gentler than you were before.”
“I blame that on you.”
“’Tis a good change, Christopher,” she said softly. “You frightened me dreadfully at first.”
“And now, Gill?”
“I feel safe nowhere but in your arms.”
Now, that was something he couldn’t let go unrewarded. He dredged up every last shred of tenderness in his soul and poured it into his kiss. He encircled her with his embrace and let his mouth tell her what he knew he couldn’t possibly put into words. He kissed her sweetly, praying she would know how deeply her words had touched him and, aye, even how happy she’d made him. It was unexpected, this joy she’d brought him, and all the more precious because of it.
“Trust me,” he whispered against her mouth.
She nodded. He eased her off his lap, then pulled a fur off the chair and cast it to the floor. He drew her down with him, then laid her back on the fur and followed her, stretching out beside her.
He caressed her lips with his, doing nothing at first but tasting the fullness of her mouth. Then he carefully parted his lips and kissed her more fully. She didn’t stiffen, nor did she pull away. Encouraged, he covered her mouth with his and gently touched the corner of her lips with his tongue. She jerked away, laughing.
“What do you?” she gasped. “It tickles me.”
“Tickles? It tickles? Woman, that was to make you swoon, not laugh!”
“I see,” she said. “Very well then, my lord, I will endeavor to swoon this time to please you.”
“Saucy wench,” he grumbled, then vowed to see that she swooned indeed. He ignored her mouth entirely and learned quickly that Gillian’s neck was very ticklish and that kissing her ears made her squirm. He kissed her eyes closed, then scattered kisses over the nonticklish parts of her face. She sighed lightly when he kissed the line of her jaw and when he tilted her head forward again to kiss her mouth, he found her lips soft and parted. He fully intended to do anything but make her laugh again.
