Her Battle-Scarred Knight

by Meriel Fuller

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Brianna moved into the hallway. A sharp breeze from outside chased against her skirts, a burst of rain sprinkling her neck; she hefted the huge door closed behind her. ‘Surely she knew that Hugh would come back for her?’ She knelt down on the hard, uneven flagstones, chafing Matilda’s cold hands.

  ‘How long has it been? Three or four years at least since she last saw him,’ Giseux said. ‘Maybe she thought he hadn’t survived.’

  Matilda’s head lolled upwards, brown eyes hazy with confusion. She attempted to focus on Brianna’s concerned face. ‘Please forgive me,’ she whispered. ‘My father…Walter, said that he was still alive, that he had received messages from him recently, but I never believed it.’

  At the mention of Walter’s name, Brianna sprang to her feet, casting a furtive glance along the dim corridor, heart beginning to race. ‘Is he here?’ she demanded, voice raised a notch in agitation. ‘Walter? Is he here?’

  Matilda shook her head, a strand of glossy, black hair escaping from the confines of the headscarf. ‘Nay, he’s further north, inspecting his lands. He’s due back tomorrow.’ The cage around Brianna’s heart shifted, eased a little; the news came as a reprieve.

  Matilda placed her hand on the oak table beside her, levering herself upwards. ‘Look, I am sorry. You caught me unawares—what a surprise!’ She threw a pinched smile to Giseux, then back to Brianna, trying to regain some composure, some equilibrium. Her fingers reached out to cup Brianna’s shoulder, as if noticing for the first time how wet Brianna’s clothes were; how the fabric of cloak and gown clung to her frame, how her brilliant amber hair had darkened with rain. ‘You’re soaked through!’ Matilda gasped. ‘Come, let me show you to a chamber…you’ll stay?’

  Brianna nodded. ‘Aye, we will have to wait for Walter. Hugh has sent me to ask your father’s permission for him to marry you. He wants me to bring you and the child back to him in Sambourne; he’s desperate to see you.’

  Matilda’s head drooped, large brown eyes fixed on the floor. ‘I see.’ Brianna frowned at the girl’s muted response—surely she should be glad, overjoyed that Hugh was alive and wanted to marry her?

  ‘Do you think Walter will have a problem with this?’

  Matilda’s hands moved up to her heart-shaped face, fluttered around her mouth: a nervous gesture. ‘Nay,’ she replied, choosing her words carefully, ‘I don’t think my father will have a problem.’ She pulled her back up straighter, her initial vulnerability being quickly replaced by that of an efficient, practical hostess. ‘Come, you tarry too long in these wet clothes. We will talk later. Let me show you both to the guest chamber.’

  ‘Guest chambers,’ Brianna corrected. ‘We need more than one room.’

  ‘Oh, forgive me, I thought…’ Matilda’s speech drifted off, as she glanced from Giseux, his wet tunic plastered across his broad chest, to Brianna, her cheeks beginning to adopt a rosy hue.

  ‘We’re not married,’ Brianna hissed. ‘Giseux is…’ Her sentence trailed off as she stared at the tall, forbidding figure, backlit by candlelight from a floor-standing candelabra. Who was he? How could she explain the presence of this man, this immutable force who had ridden at her side, protected her, kissed her? She clasped her hands together, trying to find the right words, but all she could conjure up was the firm line of his lips, his mouth.

  ‘I brought Hugh back from the crusade,’ Giseux cut across the silence, gruffly.

  At the mention of Hugh’s name, Matilda’s lips gripped into an unforgiving, rigid line. ‘I see,’ she responded tersely. ‘Two chambers, then. Follow me.’

  A damp, musty smell clagged Brianna’s nostrils as she preceded Matilda into the chamber. It was the smell of unaired linen; of old, sagging straw in the mattress, of dust gathering in corners. Giseux had already left them, shown into a similar room by Matilda, further along the corridor. Despite the smell, the room was light, with an impressive rectangular window set with thick hand-blown glass, looking out on to the countryside beyond. White woven linen, bordered with an uneven blue stripe, hung from the top of the four-poster bed, sweeping down to the dull wooden floorboards. Anxiety clutched at Brianna’s heart; she wondered whether she would be able to sleep here, here in the castle that had caused her so much misery.

  ‘I will have one of the maidservants light the fire,’ Matilda said, tawny eyes darting evasively, furtively, around the oak-panelled walls, fixing on the cold, dead grate. She seemed unable to meet Brianna’s eyes. ‘The room is chilly, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry,’ Brianna tried to reassure her. ‘You had no idea we were coming.’

  ‘The servants have been told to bring the hot water up.’ Matilda nodded briskly at the wooden tub in the corner. Her words tripped over each other, stumbling.

  ‘Matilda, what is the matter?’ Brianna reached out, clasped her hand. ‘You seem so agitated, so nervous. What is it?’ The sopping-wet material of her sleeve clung uncomfortably to her skin with the movement.

  Matilda quailed beneath Brianna’s bright blue gaze. ‘I’m surprised you came back, that’s all. I’m surprised to see you.’ Eyes wretched, Matilda tried to keep her voice light. ‘After the way my father treated you.’

  ‘I was fortunate he decided to end the marriage. Otherwise I might have been imprisoned in it for ever.’

  ‘Annulment was your only way out,’ Matilda agreed, plumping down on the edge of the bed. The embroidered linen coverlet dimpled beneath her slight weight. She hitched one knee up to rest it on the top of the bed, her skirts shifting to reveal a pink satin slipper peeking out from beneath her flowing hemline. ‘If you had tried to run away, to flee, he would have hunted you down like a dog.’ She stared at Brianna with hopeless eyes, her olive complexion smooth, tightly drawn over high cheekbones.

  Brianna nodded. ‘He would never have been able to deal with the humiliation—he would have never let me go after that.’ A shudder ricocheted down her spine. She had played her hand carefully, all those years ago; it had paid off. If she had made one tiny mistake, put one foot in the wrong direction, then her fate would have been so different.

  ‘I did miss you, Brianna. I missed having another woman to talk to, I missed my friend, my confidante.’ Matilda’s face creased in consternation, her finger tracing a looping swirl of crimson chain stitch on the bedcover.

  ‘I’m sorry, Matilda.’ Brianna squeezed in beside the girl, hitching one hip against the solid carved bedpost. ‘But I’m here now…talk to me. You seem so worried about something. Am I right?’

  Matilda’s hands flew upwards, covering her face. ‘Oh, Brianna,’ she moaned through tapered fingers, ‘I’ve fallen in love with another man.’ Eyes red-rimmed, watering with unshed tears, she snatched at Brianna’s hands. ‘Please, please don’t tell my father! I can trust you, can’t I?’

  ‘But…I don’t understand…’ Brianna clung to Matilda’s fingers as a great hollowness caved out her chest. ‘I thought you loved Hugh. You were betrothed. You had a child together.’

  ‘I know…I know.’ Matilda was openly crying now, great gasping sobs choking at her throat, tearing at her breath. ‘We were childhood sweethearts…we did love each other. But he’s been away too long, Brianna.’

  ‘What about your child? Shouldn’t he know his father?’

  Matilda nodded jerkily, but her eyes remained cast down, unsure. ‘Our son died soon after he was born, Brianna. I sent messages to Hugh, but from your words it seems he never received them.’

  ‘I’m so very sorry,’ Brianna breathed. She moved forwards, clasping Matilda’s rigid shoulders, hugging her tightly. ‘Your baby…it must have been devastating. I am so sorry.’ She could only begin to imagine how brutal it would be to lose a child.

  ‘It was a long time ago.’ Matilda’s voice shook into Brianna’s shoulder before she pulled away. ‘Father kept telling me that Hugh was alive, that he would come back for me, and I chose to ignore him. I didn’t believe him.’

  ‘Hugh will be
so sad at the news,’ Brianna said. ‘How am I going to tell him?’

  Matilda hung her head, picking frantically at an errant thread on the coverlet. The smooth wings of her ebony hair, emerging from the headscarf, curved around the bottom of her ears like black silk, glossy, undulating. ‘Please don’t let this change things between us,’ she mumbled to the floor. ‘Stay here tonight, then you can leave on the morrow before my father returns.’

  Brianna jumped off the bed. ‘I will speak to Giseux. He will know what to do.’

  Chapter Eleven

  A fathomless groan of appreciation emerged from Giseux’s lips as he lowered his big frame into the tub of hot, steaming water. The servants in Walter’s castle had worked hard, bringing up bucket upon bucket from the kitchens, sloshing it liberally into the generous, circular tub. By propping his neck against the edge, and closing his eyes, he could blot out the drab, unadorned walls of the guest chamber, the bare wooden floors, the empty grate. Hot water was obviously the only luxury to be had in this castle; the chamber was serviceable, but that was all.

  What had Brianna’s life been like in this place? He couldn’t imagine her living here, in this cold, bare castle, devoid, empty of all trappings. His hands balled into fists beneath the water-line, jaw rigid at the injustice of her marriage, the sheer utter waste of her character on a husband who failed to appreciate her. He pictured her surrounded by beauty, the rich colours of intricate tapestries framing her slender form, her flawless skin illuminated by millions of candles, cared for by a man who loved her. He pictured her in Provence, in Queen Eleanor’s castle, where he had trained as a knight, walking through the serried rows of lavender, the heavy scent filling the air at the end of a long, hot summer’s day. A beautiful place for a beautiful person. The luminous oval of her face swam into his mind: her soft voice, dulled, hollow, telling him of the travesty of her marriage, the hectic flush of her face when she blurted out her innocence. A lightning bolt of desire lanced through him; he seized the flannel from the side of the tub and began to scrub furiously at his chest, his shoulders.

  A light tap at the door. ‘Come,’ he murmured, half-heartedly, resenting the intrusion into his thoughts. ‘Giseux.’

  His head whipped around, astonished, droplets flying out from the ends of his wet hair. Brianna? Water clung to the broad muscle at the back of his shoulders, the fading light from the window casting a metallic sheen across his skin.

  Her breath caught, clung, words deserting her, swept away on a sudden whirlwind of exhilarating, pulsing desire. An invisible fist squeezed her heart, then released, suddenly, a rush of blood hurtling through her arteries, her veins. Inside her boots, her toes curled, undecided—should she stay, or should she go? Giseux’s naked back, a mass of honed muscle, taunted her: it was a test. Fighting to keep her balance, fighting to keep her senses steady, she wondered if she would pass. The solid muscles flexed beneath his skin, the carved, shadowed line of his spine disappearing beneath the hewn edge of the tub.

  ‘What is it?’ His eyes roamed over her, predatory. The water dripped like strings of silver chain from his massive arms.

  ‘Er…’ Her mind scrabbled for the answer to his question: What had she come to tell him? Her breath, once trapped, now emerged, quick, uneven. ‘I…Excuse me, I’m sorry, I’ll come back.’ Her hands fluttered up to her face, as if to ward off, to hide the incredible sight before her, and she twisted away, the curve of her hem whisking, sibilant, against the dusty floorboards.

  ‘I’m almost finished here,’ Giseux replied. He wanted her to stay, to keep her there.

  The door hazed before her vision, the planks shimmering, a blur. Her fingers stretched out in panic, fumbling for the iron ring, the handle to freedom. A delicious throb began to beat in the pit of her stomach, and for one horrible, insane moment she wondered whether her legs would support her.

  ‘Hold a moment. Brianna, wait. What’s the matter?’

  She heard the splosh of water, the distinctive sound of someone standing up, rivulets sliding down naked limbs. A dryness scraped at her mouth. If she just told him, then she could go, run for her life. ‘Matilda doesn’t want to marry Hugh any more…’ the words staggered from her ‘…she’s in love with another man.’

  ‘So we’ve come all this way for nothing.’

  Quick, hot temper, an anger fed by desire, by unravelling feelings over which she had little control, rose at his scathing words. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve wasted your time!’ She spun round, forgetting. Too late.

  Giseux stood in the tub, a white linen towel bunched between his hands. Water sluiced over his magnificent form, emphasising the bulging plates of his chest, the flat, horizontal lines of muscle across his stomach, his narrow hips, his manhood. Framed against the dark oak panelling behind the bath, his tanned silhouette faded to a warm, honeyed hue all over.

  Brianna’s eyes slid over him, drinking rapidly, greedily, before they slipped away, aghast at her open perusal. She forced herself to study the grain of the wood in the door, resisting the temptation to press her forehead against those cool planks. Desire pulsed through her, dangerous, incandescent, seizing her with a wild trembling that she fought to control. She pressed shaking fingers to her cheeks, appalled at her reaction to his nakedness.

  ‘I shouldn’t be here,’ she mumbled weakly, blindly reaching for the iron circle to lift the door latch. Her arms moved like wet rope, sapped of energy.

  ‘Stay, Brianna, talk to me.’ His powerful voice stalled her, commanded her.

  ‘I cannot.’ Her feet toed the edge of an unknown abyss.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Giseux, you’re naked!’ Her voice pitched upwards, a burst of flustered panic. ‘Not any more.’

  She edged her gaze around, cautiously. The linen towel was secured around his waist, the snug fit of the material emphasising the leanness of his hips, the muscular outline of his thighs. In the chill of the room, goose-bumps had appeared on the rounded muscles of his upper arms.

  ‘What did Matilda say?’ Giseux prompted.

  Brianna stood by the door like a startled colt, round-eyed, breathless. With her lips slightly apart, he glimpsed a row of neat, even teeth, the slick sparkle of her tongue; his loins throbbed with treacherous waves of desire. The lilac-hued gown stuck to her in damp folds, clinging lovingly to her bosom, tracing the slender curves of her waist. And that heavy knife-belt, always the knife-belt, the thick leather strap, the hilt hanging diagonally over her hip incongruous against the fluid wool flaring out below her waist. But whereas before he had wanted to throw it away, lose it for ever, now he realised, understood why she carried that gleaming blade of protection, always.

  Palms braced flat against the door behind her lent Brianna a sense of security. It would take only a moment to flee, to duck out into the darkened corridor. She battled to recall the problem, the reason that had brought her to Giseux’s chamber in the first place. ‘I told you—’ the words left her mouth in a hectic rush ‘—Matilda loves another man.’ Her eyes, moving distractedly over the ridged muscle of Giseux’s torso, riveted suddenly upon his face. It was safer to look at his face. ‘How on earth am I going to tell him?’

  Stepping out of the tub, the linen towel straining tight around his haunches, Giseux moved over to his clothes, bundled on a carved oak coffer at the foot of the bed.

  ‘Why are you asking me?’

  A sheen of water gleamed from his collarbone, highlighting the strong rope of muscle that ran down the sides of his neck. He had obviously dipped his head in the water and scrubbed away the dirt and mud of the journey; now each strand lay flat, thick and sleek against his head. A droplet of water trickled down the honed plane of his cheek; he brushed it away as it tickled his chin.

  ‘Brianna?’ He studied her so intently, she wondered if he could hear the pounding of her heart, the flex of her lungs as her breath punched out. She wrenched her eyes away, hammered her gaze resolutely to the floor. Why would he not dress? Swallowing hurriedly, she forced h
erself to concentrate, ignoring his question. ‘Hugh, he’ll take the news badly; it was his dream to marry her, to set up home at Sefanoc—my God, it will destroy him.’

  Giseux tilted his head to one side, massive arms crossed over his chest. ‘No, Brianna, it will not,’ he replied firmly, his tone authoritative, reasoning. ‘It will not destroy him.’

  ‘Hugh is nothing like you,’ she flashed back. ‘You might have fought in the same battles, ridden the same campaigns, but he’s sensitive, emotional. He—’ She stopped, recalling her brother’s wild behaviour at Sambourne. ‘He’s fragile at the moment.’

  He wanted to laugh out loud and strangle her at the same time. How could she be such a poor judge of character? Sensitive? Emotional? From the small amount of time he had spent with Hugh of Sefanoc, he knew he was nothing of the sort.

  ‘Hugh is no different from me, Brianna,’ he replied evenly, his bare feet covering the boards to stand before her. His lashes were wet, black spikes radiating out from pewter depths. ‘He’s a soldier, a fighter. You’re overreacting—aye, he will be sad, but he will recover from this setback.’

  ‘Like you have?’ The words were out before Brianna could prevent them slipping from her lips. He was close now, toes grazing the long hem of her skirts, the honed sculpture of his chest on a level with her eyes. The skin on her neck flushed a betraying red, strung with a peculiar tension, responding traitorously to his presence. Her heart skipped, then plummeted, headlong, into a rush of awareness.

  ‘What do you mean?’ The dangerous timbre of his voice kissed her neck; she shivered with…aye, with excitement.

  ‘What happened to you in Jerusalem,’ she blurted out. ‘You can’t forget it. The memory of it affects you every day. You think of it all the time.’

  ‘Look at me, Brianna.’ The huskiness of his voice rolled over her, embraced her. Slowly, in trepidation, she lifted her eyes. His torso was an expanse of bare, gleaming flesh, so close that she could smell the freshness of the water on his skin, mingled with a sensual muskiness. Her senses flared, off balance.