The Bride Gift

by Sarah Hegger

  “God’s wounds, woman!” he shouted from behind her. “Would you come back here?”

  “Why?” She refused to turn around. He would see the hurt in her eyes and she couldn’t stomach it.

  “I wish . . . to explain.”

  Despite herself, she turned. Mayhap the philandering cur would draw her a picture in the air, since he never seemed to have the words when she wanted them.

  He sat in the lined tub with his knees around his ears and a thoroughly aggrieved expression on his face.

  She hoped he got stuck in that ridiculous position.

  “Rosalind is not my—mistress.” He pounded the end of the tub for emphasis. “Nor will she be. I got drunk for one night and that . . . may be the result.” He waved his hand in the direction of the door Rosalind had slammed behind her.

  Every word just made Helena want to scream at him.

  “She was my lover when we were younger.” He pulled a wry face. “It has been many years since I have thought of her as anything other than a good friend.”

  Good friends did not magically find themselves with child. Rosalind was a poor candidate for Immaculate Conception. Helena struggled to keep from slapping her hand across his mouth to make him stop speaking. Every word he said stung more than the last. And she had actually wanted him to speak more.

  Guy scowled at the water in his bath.

  She was jealous. To-the-core jealous of something that had happened months before Guy had come to Lystanwold.

  The reasoning did nothing to quell her anger. It would be too humiliating to admit her weakness.

  She forced her legs to walk toward the bath, her face a careful blank mask. Anger yowled like a caged beast. I have no feelings for Guy. He is nothing more than an instrument of my vengeance. She grabbed for the soap and worked it savagely beneath her fingers.

  He snatched the soap from her hand. “I gave my word. I cannot send her away.”

  “You gave your word to me, too.” Helena wrested the soap from his grip and slapped a large dollop on his shoulder. “When you married me, you gave your word before God.”

  “You are right,” he said. “But one does not replace the other.”

  “I see.” Impotent fury choked her. Helena attacked the skin along his spine with vigour. Much as she relished the thought, she wouldn’t insist on casting a woman with child out into the world.

  He was silent as she finished scrubbing his back. “The king comes to assure himself of my loyalty,” he stated quietly.

  “Oh?” She didn’t care about the king and his visit. She was cold to her core, a relentless ice maiden with no emotion.

  Gall churned in her belly to think how easily she’d believed Guy was different from other knights. To look into his pale blue eyes and think she had found one who was not a lust-addled, boorish lout like the rest of them.

  “Helena.” He caught her hands. “I am not good with words.” His gaze locked with hers. “I can only beg your pardon for this intolerable position you are in.”

  “There is no need.” Helena tried to tug her hands away. She wouldn’t relent. “It matters not.”

  “Then why are you wroth?” He tightened his grip on her hands to keep her in place.

  “I am not wroth.”

  His eyebrow rose in a silent challenge.

  “I do not like her,” she burst forth.

  As Guy remained still and waiting, she forced a trill of laughter that bore a nasty resemblance to a sob as it left her lungs. “I understand how this works.” The warm clasp of his fingers branded her skin as she sought release.

  “Meaning?” His gaze never left her face.

  “You know what I mean.” Her throat tightened and she cleared it rapidly. Her pulse hammered against the side of her neck. “Marriages such as ours are not bound by vows that have no validity for either of us.”

  His silence was intolerable. She couldn’t bear it. “Our marriage was arranged by Roger. Fidelity is not demanded of men such as you. Nor, according to Lady Rosalind, of women such as me.”

  “You will never take a lover.” His voice grated.

  “I might,” she retorted, her jaw aching from the effort of forcing a smile.

  “Never.” Guy’s lips drew back in a snarl.

  Helena’s grasp on her own raging emotions slipped. “You did.”

  “Not anymore.” He raised his voice to match hers. “It matters not what happened in the past. There will be fidelity in this marriage.”

  The swiving, hypocritical pig. Her vision wavered before her. Her breathing hissed in and out of her chest as she battled to contain herself. She had to get out of the solar before she lost control.

  Helena wrenched her hands out of his and scrambled to her feet.

  “Come back here,” he bellowed as she made to rush toward the door.

  Her flight halted suddenly, her legs trapped in her skirt. She kicked at it with her legs, but the pressure increased. She whirled back to Guy.

  He had the train of her skirt tightly held in his fist. As she tried to free herself, he yanked and sent her stumbling toward him.

  “Loose me.” Helena’s temper ripped free.

  “Stay.” A muscle tensed in the side of his jaw. He tugged her closer until her knees hit the edge of the tub.

  “There is nothing for me in this chamber.” Her jaw quivered. “Call for Lady Rosalind if you want company.”

  “We will settle this.” His eyes were colder than stone.

  “There is naught to settle. It matters not to me,” she panted as she twisted. It was for naught, for his grip was fast.

  She gave up and threw her hands into the air. Even as his eyes glittered a warning, Helena seethed, “I understand my place. You have made it abundantly clear to me. We are no more than strangers who suddenly find ourselves married.”

  He muttered a dark warning beneath his breath, but Helena barrelled on. “Mayhap there are a few other bastards trailing around you would like me to succour? Who knows, but you could have sired an entire army of them because God knows you are not getting your heir on me.” She pounded her chest for emphasis.

  Guy released her skirt suddenly and she stumbled a couple of steps back. Still, she railed. “It is no matter that I must live with the humiliation of my husband’s infidelity, twitching her arse all over my keep and rubbing it in my face. You gave your sainted word and that means she stays, doing as she chooses, putting her hands where she will.”

  He rose from the bath and stalked toward her.

  Helena backed away. “You are lord here now. You can do as you like. I cannot stop you. So, do as you will, Sir Guy. Bring any number of whores and bastards and whatnot into my keep. I will be an obedient, little wife, chatelaine to your castle.”

  He kept coming.

  Her back found the wall. “You are free to act however you want. It is the way of the world, is it not? Women bow to authority, whilst you men go around sticking your parts into every available place. Just like a . . . a . . . Putain.”

  She clapped her hands over her mouth as if she could shove the foul word back into her mouth. Too late.

  Guy went deadly still.

  Helena’s heartbeat thundered in her ears. She couldn’t credit she’d spoken thus and she stared at him with horror over the top of her hands.

  “Are you done?”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to remove her hands.

  “You, my lady, have a foul mouth,” he remarked conversationally. “And a horrible temper.”

  Helena nodded again. A deep sense of shame quickened through her blood and hot tears pricked behind her eyes.

  “I beg your pardon,” she whispered, too ashamed to even look at him. Her uncle had raised her better than that. And Bess. Her dear, sweet sister. Eve
n in the midst of her anguish, Bess would have cut out her tongue before she spoke thus.

  “Nay, Helena.” He dropped his head for a moment before raising his eyes to her again. “I beg your pardon. For all of it.”

  He was begging her pardon? She had screamed and ranted at him like a madwoman and, yet, he was sorry.

  “For appearing in your bedchamber and oversetting all your plans. For being such a clumsy-tongued oaf, for Rosalind, for the babe, for all of it. I do most humbly beg your pardon.”

  It was such a sincere apology and so unexpected. A sob caught in her throat.

  “Please, do not cry,” he begged, unbridled horror reflected on his face. “I will do anything you ask. Just. Do not. Cry.”

  Helena dragged a ragged breath into her lungs. “I am a jealous shrew.”

  “There is no need to be jealous.” His voice was so gentle, fresh tears sprang to her eyes.

  “Are you in love with her?” She both dreaded and needed to hear the answer.

  “Nay.” He closed the distance between them and took her face betwixt his roughened palms. Tenderly he wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb. “How can I make you see this?” His eyes gleamed silver. They caressed the line of her face like a touch.

  Helena was so very tired of fighting, with him and with herself.

  “Show me.” The words hit the moist, perfumed air between them.

  Chapter 17

  “Say again,” he demanded.

  “I would lie with you.” Helena’s knees knocked together as she held to her course. “I would have you make me your wife.”

  “Lady.” His eyes blazed. “I am yours.”

  He stood before her, so beautiful and breathtakingly male. Her gaze devoured him; the breadth of his chest, the carved ridges of his belly and lower to the tumescent flesh between his legs.

  The stone of the wall was cold on her back. He crowded closer, fastening his mouth to hers, cradling her head in his rough hands. Helena wrapped her arms about his neck and tugged him closer. Mine for the taking.

  His lips were bold and demanding. The moisture from his bath soaked through her bliaut. The insistent heat of his erection pushed into the juncture of her thighs and warmth flooded her.

  His arms about her waist, he lifted her away from the wall.

  “What are you doing?” She gasped, even as she delighted in his effortless strength.

  “As my lady asked.”

  Helena clung to him as he lowered her to the bedding.

  “Like this, wife?” He hovered over her, braced on his elbows.

  “Aye.” Helena wriggled and pulled him closer.

  His weight pressed her deep into the bed, his hard chest grazing the sensitive tips of her breasts. This was what she needed, craved.

  Lowering his head, he kissed her. Softly, at first, before his mouth took hers in a hungry possession. His hands moved to the ties of her bliaut. With a harsh oath, he tore them and Helena thrilled to his urgency. He gripped the fabric and impatiently tugged it over her head, then set those eager hands to her chainse.

  Then she lay naked beneath him. Exposed. She would have covered her flesh with her hands, but he grasped her wrists in a firm hold.

  “Nay,” he whispered. “I would see you thus.”

  His eyes drank in the sight of her until Helena shifted beneath his steady regard. With a murmur, he pressed a kiss to the skin of her neck. “So sweet,” he whispered, trailing his lips over her throat to find the unsteady hammer of her pulse. He skimmed her ribcage, his big fingers fanning out to cover her midsection as he learned her shape.

  He palmed the swell of her breasts. She arched her back, glorying in his touch, pushing her flesh into his hands. She had waited an age to have this.

  Bending, he took a turgid peak between his lips. Heat shot to the apex of her thighs. She moaned as he suckled her deeply into his mouth. The heat was nigh unbearable, but she wanted more.

  His hand slid between her thighs where the ache was keenest. Willingly, she parted them.

  His fingers caressed her flesh. She cried out as her hips surged toward his touch. “Peace.” He brought his mouth back to hers. “I know what you need, sweeting. Trust me.” He parted her feminine folds, finding the tiny, pulsating bundle of nerves nestled between her curls.

  “Aye.” She bucked her hips.

  “So fiery,” he murmured against her mouth. “So hot and needy.” He slid down her body and onto the floor. His head was poised between her thighs, his breath hot on her skin.

  Good Lord! Was this proper?

  “Guy?” Helena raised her head to look at him. She tried to snap her legs together but he caught her thighs in his hands and parted them further until he could look his fill. With a low murmur of appreciation, he leaned forward and licked between her folds.

  Shocked, Helena uttered a shriek. “Wicked,” she breathed accusingly.

  He raised his eyes to hers, licked again, and she was lost to the wantonness the touch of his tongue roused. She dropped back onto the bed with a low moan of delight. There must be a place in hell for this sort of thing. Oh, but she would travel there right this instant if he just kept doing that.

  He hummed his approval and laved her, finding that sweet spot again and drawing it between his lips. Helena writhed against his mouth, wanting more of this potent sensation. He obliged her until on a sudden, harsh cry, she arched and shattered in a bone-deep wash of pleasure that shook her entire body.

  He rose over her, settling between her thighs. The press of his rod at her opening brought her back to earth and she tensed.

  “Hush,” he whispered. “Let me in, sweeting.”

  She could taste herself on his lips, shocking yet wonderful, as he slid his tongue into her mouth. He pressed forward until he breached her, drugging her with his deep kisses and whispering encouragement. A sharp pain marked the passing of her maidenhead.

  He paused, allowing her to become accustomed to the size of him. Some of the tension left her body as he eased further into her. The discomfort faded, to be replaced by a low need that centred where their flesh was joined. As she relaxed further, he drove home until he was fully seated.

  He began a slow, steady rhythm until Helena moved with him. The intensity of this pleasure was as nothing she had ever experienced before.

  “Jesu, Helena,” he groaned. He drove harder, sweat beading his forehead.

  A precipice loomed before her as she urged him on with pants and mewls. Surely she would die from such pleasure. With a cry, her flesh tightened around him, as she tumbled once again into that dark, wild place. Moments later Guy shuddered and her thighs gripped him convulsively to keep them joined.

  Their breathing was loud in the sudden silence, his body heavy on hers. Helena lay compliant beneath him, altered in a way that was so much deeper than the loss of her virginity.

  After a time, he carefully eased from her and got to his feet, collecting one of the washing cloths from his bath. Tenderly he bathed her sensitive flesh. Helena protested the intimacy, but he ignored her and completed his ministrations. When he was finished, he tucked her beneath the bedding. Slipping in beside her, Guy drew her head onto his shoulder.

  “My wife.” His big, strong hands stroked her back as weariness overcame her, and she slept.

  Chapter 18

  A fortnight later, they still awaited the arrival of the king. The war kept King Stephen constantly busy. Henry FitzEmpress stirred up the land with his small army on his mother’s behalf. At Lystanwold, the war almost passed right by them. It was a fortnight in which Helena felt as if the warmth of summer had crept inside the keep and into the lives of all that dwelled within her walls.

  Not even Colin’s sullen brooding could put a dent in her newfound feeling of contentment. Rosalind grew heavi
er and more cumbersome and the two women managed to coexist without having to acknowledge each other.

  Rosalind didn’t bother her, because Guy spent his nights where he belonged. With me, his wife.

  Sometimes she grew concerned that she might enjoy her marriage bed too much. Guy merely grinned when she confessed thus, and hauled her up to their solar in the middle of the day.

  The keep sat down to dinner without its lord and lady that night.

  Helena couldn’t find Guy anywhere. He wasn’t in the keep and she’d checked the practise yards. It was a fine time for him to disappear with the hall filling up as she searched.

  It was Hearing Day, the first since Roger’s banishment. The serfs had gathered in force to get the measure of their new lord.

  And where was their new lord?

  Helena would be damned if she knew. Geoffrey trotted alongside her as she swept through the kitchens. What Guy would be doing there was anyone’s guess, but she’d looked everywhere else.

  A terrible roar shattered the peace of the kitchen yards. Helena started and quickened her pace in that direction. She followed a chorus of childish shrieks into the orchard.

  And paused, amazed.

  Guy was pursuing a group of the keep children. They dashed away and ducked behind the trunks of the fruit trees.

  Helena dearly wanted to smile. What would the serfs think if they could see this? That their new lord is daft, that’s what.

  Guy halted and turned his back. The children clustered in a small horde and giggled as they whispered amongst themselves. At first, only a brave few, and then the rest approached him.

  Guy spun, gave a mighty roar. The children scattered, yelling and laughing. He chased after them, arms raised above his head.

  Geoffrey choked back a laugh.

  “Sir Guy?” she called.

  The ‘monster’ swung toward her. His cheeks darkened as he tried to hold her gaze.