by Sarah Hegger
Guy was right in the midst of the action. He, too, had his chest bared to the heat. He carried a practice stave laid across his shoulders, his arms raised and slung over the wooden shaft. Helena’s belly fluttered. There was nary an ounce of fat on the man. His body rippled and flowed with muscle as he moved.
A flush of heat rose to the surface of her skin. She tried hard to look away from all that mesmerizing flesh. She wanted to touch, to see if it was as smooth as it appeared.
“Disgusting display,” Colin whispered from behind her.
“Hmmm.”
Guy unhooked the practice stave and brought it before him. One of his knights laughingly sauntered toward him, a stave raised in both hands. Helena couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Guy smiled suddenly at the younger man. It melted the grave lines of his face into something warm and boyishly handsome. The butterfly in her belly was joined by a few more.
She told herself she had . . . things . . . to do. Then argued with herself that they could wait.
Guy motioned the other man toward him with a challenging grin.
“What a crude display.” Colin made a noise of indignation and departed.
The staves connected with a mighty crack that rang through the bailey. Neither man was smiling any longer. Their expressions grew intent as they circled each other. The other knight’s stave blurred as he attacked.
Helena held her breath.
Guy retaliated, easily deflecting the blow. His opponent pressed once more in a dizzying flurry of motion and Guy responded. His body flowed like quicksilver as his stave danced through the air.
The younger knight lunged, his weapon coming within inches of Guy’s shoulder.
Helena was sure the blow would land, but his stave met it and deflected.
The young knight stepped back, his eyes keen and assessing before he attacked again.
Guy let him advance, his stave whistling through the air as he stopped the younger man from landing any of his blows. The clack of wood came quick as feet tapping a jig as the two men fought.
Helena drifted a little closer, unwilling to admit to herself she found the masculine display of power irresistible.
Guy locked eyes with Cuthbert. His opponent’s next move would start there. The boy circled, keeping him in sight. Good. Cuthbert was at last using his brain to look for any sign of weakness. And slowly improving.
Swiftly, Guy danced out of the way of the other man’s stave. He was a good knight, but young yet, and just cock-sure enough to want to challenge his betters. Guy allowed him to press closer before he beat him back in a rapid exchange. Young Cuthbert needed to concentrate instead of posturing and preening for the cluster of womenfolk at the edge of the yards.
Guy meant to teach him a lesson, one that would serve him well in battle. He circled around. Cuthbert danced back a few steps and Guy pressed closer.
Behind Cuthbert, he caught a flash of yellow.
Lady Helena’s dress clung to the sweep of her body, moulded to the full swell of her breasts and the dip of her belly, before flaring over the curve of her hips. His blood stirred in his veins.
Wood whistled through the air. He barely got his stave up betimes. As it was, the edge caught him a glancing blow to the side of his head. Guy shook it to clear the ringing in his ears.
Cuthbert paled, the stave hanging slack in his grip. It was the first time any of his men had bested him. Jesu.
Stupefied faces surrounded them. His men had never seen the like. He’d planned to teach the pup a lesson for his preening. A slow chuckle shook Guy from the bottom of his belly. It hadn’t been Cuthbert staring like a lusty boy.
Cuthbert gaped, still mute with shock, as Guy threw his head back and laughed.
The men arrived in the hall in a swell of rough shouts, pushing and shoving each other through the screens. It was a bloody onslaught. Helena had slipped back into the keep after seeing Sir Guy bested by the young knight.
The incident stirred something disturbing within her. He’d laughed instead of rampaging. He hadn’t exacted his revenge, but laughed and then clapped the man on the shoulder.
Guy was an impressive fighter, but that was to be expected. It was the other part that refused to fit with her idea of him. It was hard to dislike someone who could laugh so easily at themselves. She’d been scratchy and ill at ease for the remainder of the day.
The men had practiced in the yards since early morning. Now, they streamed into the hall, filthy, sweat stained, and bellowing for food. Helena stiffened her spine. They would not treat her hall as if it were a rough camp.
“Sir Guy,” her voice rang across the expanse.
His face was streaked with perspiration, his tunic hanging haphazardly from one meaty shoulder. His bare chest gleamed from his exertions.
The butterflies were back inside her and flinging themselves about. Helena tightened her resolve. This wouldn’t do.
She swept from the dais toward them. Around Guy, his men went silent and fell away.
They would not come to her table filthy and stinking of sweat. This was her keep.
“The meal will wait until you have had time to prepare yourselves.” She spoke to their leader, but let her glance drift over the rowdy lot.
Their eyes slid shamefaced to the floor. They looked like a collection of overgrown, rebuked boys.
A small smile tugged at her mouth. She suppressed it harshly.
“Hah?” Guy grunted at her.
Helena clenched her fists. The man was able to speak. She’d seen as much around his men, but for her he could do nothing more than, ‘hah?’
“Tell me, Sir Guy,” she lisped sweetly, “was that ‘Aye, my lady’ or ‘Nay, my lady’ or, mayhap, it was aught else entirely?”
Guy went absolutely still before her. One corner of his mouth turned up slightly.
Helena’s pulse fluttered against the side of her neck in reaction. She couldn’t read the expression turning his eyes near silver, but her pulse kicked rapidly in response.
He lunged toward her, deadly swift. She squealed as his hands closed on her hips and lifted her into the air, as if she weighed no more than thistledown. Good Lord, he is strong. A small thrill chased through her innards. Her hands clung to his forearms convulsively. The feel of his skin beneath her hands was hot as the sensation of touching him swept up her arms.
“As you will, my lady,” he rumbled.
Around them, the hall broke into raucous yells and whistles. Helena’s face flamed with heat.
He lowered her, his mouth hard and swift on hers before he placed her back on the floor. His men cheered and stamped their feet.
Helena’s lips tingled where he’d touched them. She brought her fingertips to her mouth. Then jerked her hand away, irked by her own reaction and unable to still her pounding heart.
“Will you attend me as I bathe?” he drawled, smooth as silk.
She tried to regain her composure, but her blood rushed through her ears and her knees knocked together beneath her bliaut. She raised her chin.
“Geoffrey will attend you.” She wouldn’t let him see how he had completely overset her.
Guy merely grinned at her, a great, unabashed beam of nonsense that prodded at her to respond.
She turned her shoulder on him instead. “The rest of you may wash in the barracks,” she groused at the grinning bunch of louts. “Merry will bring cloths.”
They turned as one and stormed for the screens.
Helena wished she could follow them. Guy’s kiss, his touch still lingered. But the hall was looking to her. She put a bright smile on her face. She would act as if naught had happened.
Helena tossed and turned. At the soft creak of the door opening, she screwed her eyes shut, feigning sleep.
Geoffrey sp
oke quietly and then his voice, gruff and curt, responded.
She desperately wanted to see what they were doing, but dared not peep. Instead, she sharpened her ears and tried to hear their words, giving up in frustration when their voices proved too soft.
An age of small rustlings and softly spoken words seemed to pass before Geoffrey bid his lord a good night.
Helena concentrated on her breathing. Sleeping women did not pant, and no knight would rudely waken a lady and demand that.
Air brushed her limbs as the covers lifted. The bed dipped and her nails dug into the linen sheeting. If he peered beneath the covers, her game was up. Slowly she straightened her fingers, one by one.
In the ensuing silence, the sound of Guy’s breathing was loud beside her. He moved and she almost leapt out of her skin.
His shadow fell over her. Oh, Good Lord, he approaches. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop the whimper in the back of her throat from escaping. Show no fear. Brutes like Guy and Ranulf thrived on it. Perhaps the comparison was not entirely fair. In truth, not at all fair.
Helena sought to steady her jagged breath. It was hard to keep still with his gaze, as palpable as a touch, on her face.
“You are awake.” A calloused fingertip traced the throb at her neck. “Your pulse quickens.”
With a silent curse she gave up feigning sleep.
He was leaning over her, his weight on one arm, not touching her in any way, but just looking at her. A small smile danced along the corners of his mouth. He didn’t seem so stern with that expression on his face.
“Good night, my lady.” He leaned closer.
Helena’s entire body tensed. Her belly clenched; her head felt muffled as if wool-laden.
His mouth was soft and hot against the skin beneath her ear. It wasn’t unpleasant at all, merely rather chaste and sweet and her skin tingled where his lips had touched. His breath stirred the wisps of hair along her face and sent little trails of heat over her neck.
Then, it was over.
He lowered himself to the mattress and presented her with his back.
Helena stared into the dark as she listened to the soft draw and exhale of his breathing; deep and easy, the sound of a man sleeping.
She turned her head to look at the large expanse of sun-darkened skin so near. Her mind spun back to the bailey this morning, his brawny body glistening with exertion. The thought caused a tiny sensation to tighten in her middle.
After a while, she risked pulling her arms out of the linens and placing them by her sides.
He shifted and her heart jumped into her throat, but he was only repositioning his head on the pillow. His close-cropped, dark hair appeared soft in the dim light spilling through the casement.
The waiting was like a rat gnawing at her innards. Yet she was always one to rise to meet a challenge. “Sir?” she whispered into the dark. “Sir Guy?”
A low grunt confirmed that he wasn’t sleeping.
“Sleep,” he mumbled. “I am neither a rapist nor a thief. I do not take what is not freely given.”
“Oh!” His meaning struck her. “Oh.”
She lay for a while longer, frowning at the ceiling of bed curtains above, oddly deflated. Did this mean he found her repulsive? She dared not ask.
Mayhap he was tired. He couldn’t have slept well in the corridor outside her chamber. And the night before that, he’d been scaling the side of her keep. Still, he looked as hale as an ox.
So different from Colin. Poor Colin; it still didn’t seem possible they wouldn’t wed. The plan was so clear betwixt them. She would take those tasks from Colin that kept him from what he loved. And it would be her pleasure, her life purpose because Lystanwold was hers. It had been since the day her uncle had taken her in and made her his little helpmate.
Colin would never thunder and rage at her, tell her ‘yea’ this or ‘nay’ the other. He would never make demands of her time or her body. He would be happy to leave her as much to her own devices as she would him. It was what she had always wanted.
Then why did she feel suddenly as if the future she’d planned was as exciting as yesterday’s pottage?
Beside her, Guy’s breathing deepened into the heavy rhythms of sleep. The smell of sandalwood wafted to her. It was a manly smell, a comforting scent.
Helena let herself drift into slumber.
Chapter 7
Guy awoke, instantly alert. Only the combined toll of four nights without rest had enabled him to sleep. Lady Helena was a ferocious bed mate.
In her sleep, she flailed, muttered and kicked him in places he held dear. Finally, she’d come to rest draped across his back like a bed fur. All warm and silky and smelling of something that made his shaft swell.
His wife. Despite the hopeful throb between his legs, Guy shoved his lust aside. The night before, she’d lain in their bed, her body quaking with fear.
It had surprised him. Since the moment he’d climbed through her casement, the lady had neither quailed nor wept. She’d openly challenged him, fierce and indomitable in her defiance. She’d even sent his rabble of hardened war dogs running for the bathing rooms with their tails between their legs. Faced with the idea of consummating her marriage, however, her courage had faltered.
She was his wife before man and God. You could take her now. The hopeful voice in the back of his mind taunted him. It was not in him to force a woman, any woman. It seemed even worse to force such dishonour on his wilful Lady Helena.
She woke. Incredibly, he got even harder as she stretched like a cat against him. By the Rood, his noble intentions just might be the death of him. He wanted to flip her over and bury himself to the hilt in the sweet haven between her thighs.
She must have realized her position because she tensed against his back. Stealthily she lifted her weight off him. She muttered beneath her breath, and he almost laughed aloud. Back to being fierce. He stayed still, not wanting to alert her to the fact he was awake.
She slipped from the bed. Her feet padded over the floor as she made for the dressing screen.
Guy let out a long, silent breath.
Helena propped her chin on her hand. Merry twitched her arse for a group of Sir Guy’s men. Her pretty face was flushed as she poured ale for them and flirted.
A mere sennight was all it had taken, and the people of Lystanwold had adjusted to the change. Helena heaved an enormous sigh. Time moved on and took everyone with it. She was no exception. It was too easy to become complacent to Guy in her keep.
Since she’d first awoken, spread across her husband like a feast, she went to bed each night determined to keep her distance. In the eve he joined her, kissed her a chaste goodnight, and gave her his back.
Yet, every sunrise she woke with her traitorous body entangled with his. This morn she’d even lingered a while with her cheek against the solid wall of his chest, listening to the strong beat of his heart.
She should be wasting away, a wan waif struggling under the cross she must bear of her boorish husband. Instead, she slept like a log, her appetite as hearty as ever and her cheeks blooming.
Not that Guy noticed.
Helena sniffed and got to her feet. The man paid more attention to the hounds than he did to his own wife. He was polite, courteous and always partway across the hall from her. Unless they were in their chamber, and then he slept.
Colin seemed elated. He babbled on and on about annulment as if already a done deed. Helena had yet to hear how Colin planned to effect such an action. All she knew led her to believe that it was her husband’s prerogative. Still, Colin had himself half convinced Sir Guy had no intention of consummating the marriage. Despite the evidence of the last sennight, Helena wasn’t so sure.
There were times when Guy wore a look in his eye that made her very bones melt. What C
olin failed to include in his reckoning was that it would be impossible to prevent her husband should he decide to act on his rights.
Still, Colin checked with her every morning to be sure she was still a maid. Helena now regretted confiding any details of her marriage. Colin scoffed at the idea of Guy being considerate. He was certain it was because the man found her not to his liking.
Dear God. It was so humiliating, but Colin would only check the linens if she didn’t tell him. Her unease grew each time she spoke with him of what occurred in her bedchamber. The last two mornings she’d avoided Colin, resenting his nosy questions and his offensive postulating.
The situation couldn’t continue like this for much longer. Not unless she considered spending the next forty years of her life hiding beneath the bed.
It was time to serve the evening meal.
“Ah, food. God be praised.”
A man, dressed in holy raiment, entered through the screens alongside Guy. The priest smiled as if they were old friends as he strode toward her, his habit flapping around his ankles. The resemblance to Guy was unmistakable, although the priest was much neater in stature, his features arranged along prettier lines.
“The rest of my party,” Guy explained as they drew closer.
There were more? Lystanwold was already nigh overrun with his men.
“The rest of your party?” she enquired.
He nodded.
A few more words, just one or two, would be lovely. “You might have warned me to expect more guests,” she forced through her clenched jaw.
Dredging up a smile of welcome, she rose to greet the newcomer. Her loutish husband had no social graces. He has lovely shoulders, however.
“Not a guest,” the lout finally rasped.
“Lady Helena.” The priest’s eyes sparkled with good cheer. “Allow me to claim the privilege of both this habit and fraternity and steal a kiss.”
