by S A Monk
She stood in the doorway a moment, staring at him, until he reached for the handle to close it. “Sleep well, Brother Lucien,” she finally said, knowing she would surely dream of him again.
He gave her a nod and a strained smile, then waited until she closed and locked the door.
Inside she leaned back against the heavy cedar, feeling waves of pleasure slither delightfully down her spine. After hearing his departing footsteps, she crossed the room to light the vigil candle on the small wall mantle near her big draperied bed.
She was up on the tips of her slipped feet, reaching for the taper, when she was suddenly grabbed from behind and hauled forcefully back against a man’s chest. She screamed as she whirled away from him. In the darkness, she saw only a dim form. He was dressed all in black, and his face was partially covered. But she knew immediately it was another Isma’ili fida’i! She managed one final scream as the unmistakable glint of steel flashed before her, but it was silenced almost immediately as the assassin snarled an oath in Arabic and brutally covered her mouth.
She bit down hard on his gloved hand and jammed her heel onto the soft leather top of his slipper. With another muted curse, he pressed the point of his blade to her throat. And tightened his grip on her nose and mouth Barely able to breathe, she struggled to remain conscious as he jerked her chin up and pressed the long sharp edge of his blade along her arched throat.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Gabrielle waited for the lethal cut that would end her life. In that last second before death came, she cursed her husband and the tragedy of her life.
One second lapsed into another, and rather than the sharp slice of the knife across his skin, she was suddenly freed and tossed aside. Gasping for breath, she fell to the floor and rolled swiftly to her hands and knees. Across from her, she saw Lucien de Aubric struggling with the fida’i. The assassin’s blade glimmered between them, and she smothered a scream as it came down to disappear between their bodies.
The struggle was over quickly. Lucien’s strength and skill quickly overcame the black-clad intruder’s. Coming up behind the smaller man, he curled one arm around the assassin’s shoulders and thrust the man’s own dagger up and under his ribs, driving it toward his heart.
Gabrielle cried out and swiveled away from the violent scene. With her eyes squeezed tightly shut, she rose onto her knees and rocked back and forth. This time a fida’i had invaded a well-guarded castle, and the attempt on her life had been nearly successful. Tears fell down her face as sobs overcame her.
Breathing heavily, Lucien dropped down beside Gabrielle and pulled her into his arms. “Oh, God, I am so sorry! This was my fault. The whoreson had to have been in here when I came in, and yet I missed him. God’s blood, I am a fool!”
She huddled in his fierce embrace as he rocked with her, trying to comfort her. “If not for your repeated protection, I would be dead. Dear God, Lucien, thank you!” she managed to say, her voice clogged with the tears, her body shivering with lingering terror and shock.
For a long while, they simply held one another. Lucien stroked soothing circles over her back, pressing his cheek to her head, while Gabrielle clung to him like the lifeline he was.
When her trembling finally subsided, he lifted her to her feet and guided her to a chair in the well-appointed room. He was lighting several tapers, when the count and his family, along with Brother Giles, came rushing into the room through the door connecting Lucien’s room with hers. It was the same door he had come through earlier. The one that led to the hall was still locked.
Lady Eschiva and Count Raymond were both outraged that an assassin had breached the security of their home. The count stationed two heavily armed guards at her door for the night, then dispatched a small army of men to search the grounds, with adamant instructions to leave no building or hidey-hole unchecked.
Lucien went with them, along with Brother Giles and the count’s sons. After the lady of the house and her two daughters-in-law departed, Gabrielle was left with a maid to assist her and stay with her until she fell asleep. The guards outside her door made her feel a bit safer, and she finally released the young serving girl to seek her own bed.
But sleep eluded her. Clutching the necklace her mother had given her before her death, Gabrielle sat upon the edge of the big bed in her chamber and tried to shut out the terrible images of the black-clad intruder who had very nearly slit her throat. Damn Reynald! Damn him to hell, she cursed silently. Could he not simply wait for the pope’s annulment? Surely, it would be granted since the patriarch himself requested it in her name.
Finally deciding that she must at least try to get some rest, she slipped out of the robe Lady Eschiva had lent her and climbed beneath the linen and silk bed coverings. As her head fell back onto the pillows, she again touched the pendant around her neck. It felt cool and reassuring between her naked breasts, reminding her of her loving, but troubled mother. Even after all these years, Gabrielle still mourned her loss. Tears filled her eyes as she tried to remember her smile. There had been too few of them, of course. Yet in spite of her unhappy life, her mother had done her best to protect and love her, right up to the day of her tragic and dubious suicide.
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Stripped down to his leggings and linen undertunic, Lucien grabbed a wool blanket and a small tubular pillow off his bed, then headed into Gabrielle’s room. He and the count’s guards had spent the past two hours checking the inside of the keep and the grounds around it, including each and every outbuilding. There was no sign of how the assassin had entered, and there were definitely no others.
But tonight, he would post himself in the lady’s room to ensure that she would suffer no further threats.
Thank God for the adjoining door between their rooms! He’d been at the end of the landing earlier when he’d heard her screams. On first instinct, he had tried to charge through the hallway door. Only it had been locked, as he’d instructed her to do. He’d wasted precious seconds going around to his room, seconds during which he had prayed frantically to reach her in time. The bedroom had been dark, but he would never forget the sight of the assassin’s blade at her throat! By all the fires of hell! If he didn’t murder Reynald de Châtillon before this was over, it would be a damned miracle. God help him if he came with the delegation from the king!
This time when he entered Gabrielle’s room, he found it softly illuminated by the candles he’d lit earlier. It quickly became obvious that she had gone to go to bed with them all burning. It didn’t surprise him. He looked toward the bed. The heavy draperies were still drawn back, tied at each post. Gabrielle was sitting up in the middle of the mattress, her legs drawn up to her chest, her forehead pressed to her knees. She seemed not to hear him as he moved toward her.
She was crying, silently, but not motionlessly. Her shoulders were quaking, and they were quite bare. She did not appear to be wearing a bed gown, a common enough practice among secular lords and ladies.
The candlelight was sufficient to allow him to see the tragic crisscross of faded scars that ran in evil patterns across her naked back. Lash marks! Against her petal-soft golden skin they were a travesty that made him want to do the same to the man who dared do this to her.
God's bones! What was the matter with men like Reynald de Châtillon and Armand Chaumont?
Burying his fury for the day of reckoning he promised to have with her husband and father, he reached out and gently touched her bare shoulder. "Lady, I am here to sit with you… to keep you safe for the rest of the night," he informed her in a hushed voice. "Be at ease. There are no more assassins. I am sure of this after searching every inch of this place."
Gabrielle was in too much pain to be shocked or surprised by his offer to stay in her room for the night. She had awoken after a particularly terrible nightmare, and combined with the terrifying events of the night, she had fallen apart completely.
She tried to stop shivering and crying, and choked back a sob, sniffing loudly. "Tonight was so close! I can still feel
that blade against my throat. I was so frightened! In another moment, he would have….” The tears burning down her cheeks muffled her voice, making it nearly inaudible. "I hate Reynald! And my father, too! How could they do this to me? I am giving him the annulment he wanted." Bringing her arms up to curl around her bent head, she gave vent to another wave of tears and all the heartache of being unloved and mistreated most of her life.
“Aw, Gabrielle, cry, if it helps. I am here now and will not leave you again tonight.” He had sunk onto the edge of the mattress and reached out to enfold her in his arms. Her tears dampened his thin linen undershirt and cut him to the quick.
It took a long while for her to stop crying, and even longer before she stopped trembling.
When she finally seemed spent, Lucien eased away and tilted her chin up to look into her wet, tear-blotched face. "Lady, do you have a bed gown?" he inquired softly. He could not sit here and think of her unclothed all night, nor God forbid, have her accidentally present him with a nude frontal view. When she failed to answer him, he curled his fingers gently around her upper arm, then drug them down to her elbow, hoping to make her more fully aware. Her skin was as soft as it had looked, but much too cold.
“Gabrielle… "
“What is it Lucien?”
He could not pull his gaze from the watery blue depths of her eyes. They were so beautiful, but so full of fear and pain. "There is no danger. I will make sure you are at peace tonight, but you must get clothed."
“Oh!” She finally understood and pulled the fur coverlet up to her chin.
Her eyes were still glazed with anxiety and grief, but he dare not take her in his arms! Not with her unclothed and him wanting her so much. Through it all, he had not forgotten their kiss earlier. But she did not need his physical hunger tonight, and he could not stand the temptation of her warm and naked in his arms another time.
“Lady, tell me where you gown is,” he urged her yet again.
"I forgot my sleeping gown at the convent."
Lucien cursed silently, but was not ready to give up. Without further comment, he went to her chest at the foot of the bed and rummaged through it for something she could put on. When he returned to her side, he held an undergarment of some kind. To him, it looked suitable for sleeping in. It was lightweight and loose. It also had a large opening in the neckline that allowed him to slip it over her head. Tilting her face up, he did exactly that.
“I am going to sleep in here tonight, mi’lady. Please finish putting this on.”
Gabrielle heard the desperation in his voice and a tiny laugh managed its way through her distress. "Oh, frère, I have a robe. Lady Eschiva lent me one. It is in a chair near the door." When he turned to peer through the darkness, she stopped him from going after it. "This chemise is fine, though. I should have thought of it myself. It’s just I am not used to sleeping….”
"That all right," Lucien quickly interrupted, unwilling to hear about the way she slept. "I will turn my back so you can finish putting it on."
Gabrielle smiled in the dark, bemused by such a man. When she was decently covered, she let him know. “You can turn back around now, frère.”
He winced, though he did not think she could see it in the dark. “Lady de Châtillon, please do not call me brother anymore. Just Lucien.”
“Is that acceptable?”
“It is to me.” He stared down at her as she scooted up against her pillows.
“Then you must no longer call me Lady de Châtillon. I hate the name. Just Lady Gabrielle, or better still, simply Gabrielle.”
“Or maybe Gabi?” he asked with a smile that carried just a hint of uncertainty and a wealth of warmth.
Gabrielle felt her heart tug. "My mother used to call me that. No one has used it since she died. It sounds nice to hear it again. It makes me feel… new."
It was Lucien’s turn to feel a hard tug on his heart. "You will be new again. And do not get me wrong. I think Gabrielle is a beautiful French name. I would still like to use it, but Gabi can be my special name for you."
"I would dearly like that." The tender concern in his expression began to erase the final remnants of her nightmare and the trauma she had suffered. “Where are you sleeping, Lucien?”
“In the chair.” He turned to indicate it. “There.”
“Oh nay! It will be much too uncomfortable. Lie here… beside me,” she suggested. “You may lie on top of the covers, with your blanket over you for warmth. I have been so haunted by terrible dreams. It would help immensely if I could get just one good night’s sleep. And you will not awake with a sore back and stiff neck.” She lifted her hand and reached out to catch his hand as it lay on the bedcovers. “Please.”
Lucien looked at her and knew he would be tested to the full extent of his discipline tonight if he did as she asked. She was so beautiful sitting before him in the candlelight, her shoulders now clad in white linen, her hair in glorious disarray around her, falling freely to the mattress. By the Holy Cross, what he wanted to do was crawl between the coverings with her, strip them both, and make love to her until she forgot her terrors and he forgot his commitments!
"Scoot over to the far side and do not touch me," he advised her more harshly than he intended.
She looked immediately stung by his sharp tone. "It was wrong of me to ask you to do this."
He moved onto the bed and felt the over-stuffed mattress shift her toward him. He reached for her. She stiffened and tried to pull away. He stopped her with a firm grip and an apology.
"My rudeness was uncalled for. Forgive me, Gabi." His husky use of her special childhood name stilled her resistance. "It is no great hardship to comfort you and help you find a few hours peace in which to sleep,”' he lied convincingly. "Settle yourself."
When she did, sinking down beneath the covers and onto her pillow, she hesitantly asked for another favor. “Will you talk to me? I may go to sleep as I listen to your voice, but it would be so nice not to think of assassins and death for awhile.”
"Certainly," he agreed as he too got settled against the multitude of soft pillows. He stayed atop the coverlet and pulled his wool blanket over his legs and hips. It was not for warmth, but for the purpose of hiding his rising reaction to the intimacy of being in the same bed with her. To guarantee that she not see his stubbornly lingering erection, he shifted sideways a bit and bent one leg at the knee. "What shall I talk about?" he asked as he dared to reach a hand out to stroke her gloriously soft hair.
Gabrielle sighed with contentment and turned toward him. "Tell me about your homeland and your parents."
Lucien had not said much before he looked down and saw that she had fallen back against her pillows, fast asleep. He finished his thought, then laid his head back fully into the feather pillows and closed his eyes.
Dawn light was creeping into the shuttered window in her room when he opened them next. For years he had risen well before dawn. This morning, the sun had awakened him. He turned to look down at the lady beside him. She was turned toward him, and he was still sitting up in her bed. In all of his twenty-eight years, he had never slept with a woman, not all night. To share a bed for the night with another was a singularly foreign experience. But to share it with someone who smelled so good and was so fetching to wake up to was indisputably a heavenly experience.
He sat there for a few minutes thinking about the kiss he had given her last night before her attack. It had been the sweetest thing he had ever experienced. He could tell she had not been kissed much, if ever. He had not kissed a woman in many years, but he knew enough to recognize a woman inexperienced to kisses. Reynald probably never shared such gentle intimacies with her. He had obviously been a brutal mate. God! He dared not dwell on her treatment at de Châtillon's hands. Every time he did, it twisted him with a murderous rage.
Better to think upon the next time he and she would share time like this, alone together. Because they would. And he was almost nearly as certain that they would eventually become love
rs. They were moving inevitably in that direction. He could feel it in his soul. Somewhere along the line, she had become vitally important to him, and there was no turning back. He would not give her over to her husband or leave her alone and vulnerable. She needed him, and miraculously, he was beginning to need her more than he had ever imagined possible!
Half his lifetime had been spent alone, without family, without true warmth and affection. He had had brotherhood and friendship, but they had not lessened his loneliness or his feelings of isolation. And his job for the Order had made him more isolated. Too often, he did not know, in his heart, where he belonged. He held sympathies on both sides of this religious battle for the Holy Land. And all too often, of late, he asked himself if this was all there was to life; duty and a bloody death in some battle or a stealthy one at the hands of some enemy. Had he a right to expect more? To want more?
Lucien did not have any answers to the questions and unrelenting discontent that had plagued him for such a long time, but he did know that this woman next to him had come into his life unexpectedly, and brought him unanticipated joy, along with deep desires that he could already tell went well beyond physical. The idea of leaving the Order was growing stronger by the day. If he took her with him when they left here, he’d be finished as a Templar anyway. In his heart, he’d already broken his vows. If he was riding the line before, that kiss they had shared last night had put him way over.
He could confess his desire for her and his transgressions with her, but he could not promise his confessor that they would be put aside once and for all. In his heart, he didn’t want to retreat back over that line. Looking at her as she lay next to him, so beautiful and soft and trusting, he only wanted to proceed forward, into the future with her.
CHAPTER 10
Gabrielle awoke the next morning to a commotion in the great hall downstairs. She came down the stairway, having slept better than she had in weeks, to find Lucien and Count Raymond arguing with one another. Lady Eschiva and the rest of her family were seated at the board breaking their morning fast, all intently listening to the heated conversation going on between the two men in the middle of the room. Gabrielle saw Eschiva motion to her and went to sit beside her.
