"Did no one seek proof of what ye said? Look at your bruises?"
"I was too ashamed to show them much proof."
"Ye had naught to be ashamed of."
"Mayhap. I was not a sweet child, and had grown into a woman cursed with a quick and often sharp tongue. I believe they thought I was finally getting the discipline no one had given me before. There were insults and injuries I could not bring myself to speak of. Private injuries,” she added in a whisper. “As the sixth month of my marriage began I was girding myself to bear all to my family. I realize now that one thing which had kept me silent was a fear that even those insults and brutalities would not turn them to my side. Then someone took the decision out of my hands."
"Your husband was killed."
"Oui, murdered. My husband felt all women were his for the taking. He took a young maid, a local farmer's daughter. He brutalized her and left her near to death. The farmer could get no one to exact justice for this crime, so he and his family took justice into their own hands. They found my husband sprawled in a drunken stupor upon his bed and cut his throat, then mutilated him."
"Mutilated him?"
Gisele blushed and stared into the fire. “They cut off his manhood and choked him with it. In truth, I think they did that first, then cut his throat. I found the body and there was a look upon his face that told me he did not die easily. For his crime, I think that is the punishment they would have exacted."
"Aye, a horrible way to die but ye are right, it fits the crime. And the DeVeaux and your own family think ye did that?"
"Well, I fear I did threaten such gruesome things from time to time. They had already begun to watch me closely. I knew the moment I saw DeVeau lying there, I just knew, they would blame me. It may not have been wise but I ran, as swiftly as I could. I am certain some of the servants suffered for my escape, as the DeVeaux would have felt they had to have seen me leave. They did, and they did nothing to stop me. I ran straight to my family."
"Only to find that they wouldnae help you."
Gisele struggled to swallow her tears. That had been the greatest hurt of all, and she still felt the power of it even after so many months “They would not. They feared the scandal, questioned me, even spoke of holding me for the DeVeaux. I did not wait to see if they would hand me over yet again. I fled, and that has been the way I have lived for nearly a year."
Although she wished she could compose herself enough to clear the tears from her eyes, Gisele looked up at Nigel. “I swear on all I hold dear, on Guy's life if you will, that I did not kill the man. I am innocent of the crime, but since so few of my own family believe me it is taking a long time to prove that."
Nigel stared down into her upturned face, its delicate lines highlighted beautifully by the soft light of the fire. He knew it was possible that he was being influenced by her beauty, by how strongly she affected him, but he could not believe she had killed the man. And, he mused as he gently brushed a tear from her cheek, even if she had it had been justified. He was certain that Gisele had not told him the true depths of the injuries DeVeau had inflicted upon her, and might never do so.
"No mon has the right to treat a woman as he treated you,” Nigel said quietly.
"So, you believe that I am innocent."
"I believe that DeVeau got exactly what he deserved."
Gisele stared at him, captivated by the warmth in his dark, amber eyes. It felt dangerously good to be held so close to his warmth. He would help her. Some of her fears eased. When he softly kissed the mark the tear had left upon her cheek, she trembled. She knew she should move away, but could not bring herself to leave the haven of his arms. Then she frowned, wondering if she had been right, if Nigel thought to gain more than the truth as payment for his help.
"I have told you the truth as you asked,” she said.
"Aye, ye have.” He idly traced her small face with kisses, enjoying the feel of her soft skin beneath his lips but watchful for any sign of fear or rejection.
"And that was the only price you asked for helping me."
"It was."
"Then why do I begin to suspect that you seek more of me?"
"Because ye are a clever lass?"
She tensed slightly as he touched his lips to hers. They were soft, warm, and very inviting. Fear stirred within her, but so did curiosity. Since she had first set eyes upon him she had wondered what it would feel like to kiss him, had wondered if she could do so without being afraid. It was net wise, for he clearly sought to seduce her, might even think she was agreeing to share his bed in return for his protection, yet she could not bring herself to immediately and forcefully push him away.
"I need help and a strong sword arm, but I will not play the whore to gain those things."
"I wasnae asking ye to."
"You are trying to kiss me."
"Oh, aye, that I am. I have made no secret of the fact that I think ye are a bonny lass. I but seek a wee taste of the lips I have coveted for a week."
"And maybe a lot more?"
"Your suspicions are unwarranted, bonny Gisele. Aye, I willnae lie and say I will treat ye as a nun, but ye may rest assured that I will ne'er take what ye dinnae want to give. Weel, except for this one kiss."
"I am not sure you will be stealing that,” she whispered.
Nigel lightly tightened his grip on her, deeply aroused by her soft words but suspecting that it would be wise to hide that. He brushed his lips over hers, savoring the sweetness of her trembling mouth. It was undoubtedly dishonorable to even think of seducing a woman who had turned to him for protection, especially one who had been as mistreated as Gisele, but Nigel knew he was going to try to do just that. As he slowly deepened the kiss, he swore that he would do nothing to add to her pain. Instead, he would do all in his power to show her that not all men were like her brutal husband.
Gisele clung to Nigel, timidly opening her mouth when he nudged her lips with his tongue. A war waged inside of her. Passion battled for dominance over fear. Each stroke of his tongue, the feel of his strong body pressed close to hers, called to her passion. It felt good. He felt good. Gisele desperately wanted to cling to that, to begin to learn what the minstrels sang about. But her fear continued to grow.
Suddenly, so swiftly that it nearly blinded her, her fear rose up and killed her passion. She went cold, her body stiffening with panic. Just as she grasped the sense to pull away, Nigel ended the kiss. She closed her eyes as he gently grasped her by the shoulders and held her away from him. After several slow, deep breaths she began to gain control, and cautiously opened her eyes to look at him. Her eyes widened when she still saw the warmth of passion in his eyes, a warmth tinged with a look of sadness instead of the anger she had been taught to expect.
"Ye need not fear me, Gisele,” he said quietly.
"I do not believe I do.” She smiled slightly as he released her and handed her the wineskin. “I do know that that fear was not caused by you."
"I suspected that. Ye have told me the truth, as much as I really need to ken, but I think ye havenae told me everything. Howbeit, that kiss did tell me more than the fact that I wish to kiss ye again. It told me that DeVeau bred a terror in you, a terror so deep and strong that it could kill the passion I felt, sadly brief though it was. For that alone the mon deserved to die."
She grew still and stared at him as she watched him spread out their blankets. “You think I killed him."
"Weel, nay and aye."
"You cannot believe in both my innocence and my guilt. I am either one or the other."
"Ye are innocent, and dinnae deserve to die. I just havenae decided if ye killed the mon or nay. He deserved to die, Gisele. If it is any comfort, I dinnae see ye as some vicious monkiller. If ye did do it, ye were driven to it by crimes I am nay sure I want to hear about.” He sprawled on his blanket and patted the one spread out beside him. “Come to bed, lass. Ye need to rest. There is a long, hard ride ahead of us, and time to rest may soon be verra hard to find."
> Gisele was stunned and moved to her bed, unable to speak. She had wanted Nigel to believe in her innocence, but he only accepted that she was justified in killing the man. As she curled up in her blanket she wondered why she was not furious and insulted. She supposed it was because he gave her tale more weight than many of her family did. Despite that, she found that she desperately wanted him to believe that she had not killed the man. Although it was good to know that he felt confident she would have been justified, that she would have simply been defending herself, she realized she wanted him to know that she was stronger than that.
"You show me more kindness and understanding than my family does,” she said, turning to look at him. “I should be satisfied with that."
"But ye are not."
"I fear not. I am stronger than you think. I would have found another way to get free. By the time we get to Scotland I promise that I will have you believing in my complete innocence."
"Fair enough. I, too, make a promise."
"Do I really wish to hear this?” She saw him grin, and silently cursed.
"Nay, probably not, but I feel it only fair that I tell you. Call it a warning if ye will. By the time we get to Scotland I mean to prove to you that not all men are like your husband. I mean to resurrect the passion he killed within you."
Gisele quickly turned away from him. She felt an odd mix of excitement and terror. Part of her desperately wanted him to be able to fulfill that promise, and part of her was desperately afraid of the same thing. As she closed her eyes, she prayed she would have the strength to allow him to fulfill his promise.
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Four
The cold water of the small river felt good against her skin and Gisele ached to immerse herself in it. There was no time, however. Nigel was watering the horses but a few feet away, and he had made it very clear that this would be a brief respite from their travel. For two long days they had ridden from sunrise to sunset with only a few stops. Her whole body ached. Fortunately, she was so exhausted by nightfall that even her extreme discomfort was not enough to rob her of sleep. She could not recall ever having worked so hard to elude her enemies.
She glanced at Nigel. He stood by the horses looking as limber and rested as if he had just risen from a soft, comfortable bed after a long, peaceful night's sleep. It annoyed Gisele, yet she knew it should not. Nigel was a knight, one of a breed who was probably set in a saddle before he could walk. He should look hale, not at all troubled by a few long days of riding. She knew she was jealous of his strength even as she was unsettled by her lack thereof.
As she straightened up from where she knelt by the riverbank, Gisele winced and rubbed at the ache in her lower back. She thanked God that she still wore a page's attire, sure that it had protected her soft skin far better than any gown would have. Gisele just wished she could find something that could protect her aching bones and stiff muscles.
"If ye are quick about it, ye can bathe,” Nigel said as he stepped up beside her.
Gisele started, surprised by his sudden appearance so close at hand. She scowled at his feet, wondering if the soft, deerhide boots he wore aided him in moving around so silently. It was a skill she had envied from the first moment he had revealed it. No matter how hard she tried, however, she could not imitate it.
"I think I need to hang a bell on you,” she muttered as she looked up at him.
Nigel just grinned. “Do ye want a wee bath or nay, lass?"
"You wished to keep riding."
"Aye, I did. I still do. ‘Tis why I say ye must be quick about it."
As she lightly bit her bottom lip, she glanced around. “There is no place to be private."
"I will turn my back.” He shrugged when she scowled at him again. “'Tis all I can give you, lass. Ye must choose atween your privacy and your safety.” He placed his hand on his heart and added, “I swear I shall only set my gaze upon the horizon, shall look only for our enemies."
Since she had entrusted her safety, her very life, into his care, Gisele decided she was being foolish in hesitating to entrust him with her modesty. “Agreed."
"I mean what I say. Ye must be quick. Heed me on that,” he said even as he turned and walked back to the horses.
After glancing his way to assure herself that he still had his back to her, Gisele began to unlace her jupon, then cursed her own stupidity. She could not put these filthy clothes back on once she had bathed. “Sir Nigel,” she called. “I need my saddlepack."
He tossed it to her with an ease and an accuracy that startled her. The man was proving to have a vast array of skills, she mused as she hastily unpacked her only other set of page's clothes and a drying cloth. Shedding her clothes and tightly clenching the thin sliver of soap she had so carefully preserved throughout her travels, Gisele stepped into the water. She gasped in reaction to the biting chill of the water, then steeled herself to endure it. This could well be her only chance to bathe for quite awhile.
Nigel heard her gasp and almost turned around, then smiled. He realized that it was no cry of alarm, only the sound that most people made when their warm skin hit cold water. There was a part of him that was strongly tempted to use that soft noise as an excuse to turn and look at her, but he forcefully quelled that urge. He had promised her that he would not look, and instinct told him that he would gain far more from holding fast to that promise than from trying to sneak a quick peek like some errant, fevered youth.
Trust was important to Gisele, he was certain of it, and she had had hers betrayed too often. It would take a lot of hard work to make her trust him, but he was determined to try. Bluntly telling her that he intended to be her lover was, perhaps, not the best start, but at least he had been completely honest. There had been, as yet, very little time to begin his seduction, but she had been fairly warned. Nigel also knew that, as he attempted to pull her passion free of the fears that still held it captive, he would have to convince her that not all men were brutish swine who felt it was their godgiven right to treat a woman cruelly.
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Some would say that seducing a woman when he was not sure if he wished to claim her as his wife was cruel. He tried not to look at it that way. Gisele was a widow, so he would not be stealing her innocence. And if she had murdered her husband, then she was certainly strong enough and willful enough to accept or deny a lover. No matter how long or hard he thought on the matter, however, he could not shake the uneasy feeling that he might be allowing his strong desire for her to lead him astray. He could find himself adding to her pain instead of healing it.
And how much of his passion was born of the challenge she presented, of a chance to turn a frightened woman made cold by betrayal and brutality into a passionate lover? He quickly shook that thought away. Nigel was sure that his vanity had little to do with his desire for Gisele, although it was probably the only thing he was sure of. Gisele was a puzzle, and the way she drew him to her was an even bigger one.
"You may turn around now,” Gisele called, yanking him free of his unwelcome thoughts.
Even as he looked at her she stopped rubbing her hair with the drying cloth, and Nigel had to bite back a grin. Her short hair was a mass of wild curls, several tumbling alluringly onto her forehead. No man could look at her now and think that she was a boy, despite her clothing. He reached into his bag and pulled out a cap.
"I think ye had best put this on,” he advised.
Gisele frowned as she took the dull, brown cap made of a rough, homespun cloth. “It is not cold."
"Nay, but I think that will now aid your disguise. Trust me, lass. Your hair now makes ye look verra much like a woman."
"Oh.” She reached up to touch her damp hair, felt all the thick, wild curls, and grimaced as she tugged on the cap. “I should have recalled how it grows after it has been cut. I had to have it all shaved off once when I was but a child, because of a wretched fever I was suffering with, and it grew just like this. It was most unmanageable unt
il it gained some length and weight. Then these foolish curls became waves. Mayhap I should cut it again."
"Nay. Soon it willnae matter if all who see ye ken that ye are a lass. The cap isnae verra bonny, but it will do what is needed for now. Next I shall ask ye to allow me a wee moment or two of privacy.” He removed some clean clothing from his saddlepack.
"Oh. You wish to bathe?"
"We Scots do so from time to time."
"And from all I have heard of your land you should be well accustomed to cold water."
"Aye, it can be colder in Scotland. The weather doesnae pamper us there as it does ye French. Now, I best be about my bath. Turn your back, lass,” he said, as he started to walk away. Then he looked over his shoulder at her before she had completely turned around. “Of course, if ye wish to take a wee peek, I willnae fault ye for it,” he added, and winked.
Gisele decided not to grace that impertinence with a reply, and completely turned her back on him. Despite her best efforts, however, a small grin crossed her face. It quickly disappeared when she realized that she was tempted to look at him, strongly tempted. It was that which made her hesitate to take ‘a wee peek'. That could be all that was needed to dangerously enhance an already growing attraction. His face was certainly pleasing to her eye. She knew it could be perilous indeed to discover that his body was, as well.
It could, however, be a good test of how deep and pervasive her fears were, she mused as she idly stroked her horse's nose. Her husband had used his manhood like a weapon, hurting her and debasing her. Gisele knew that the cruel things he had done to her had made her afraid of a man's embrace. If that fear could also be stirred by simply viewing a naked man, it could prove that she was far more deeply scarred than she had guessed. When she realized that she could not recall a time since her husband's death that she had seen a man unclothed despite her rough travels, Gisele wondered if she had been purposely avoiding such a sight. The fact that she had not glimpsed even one in the time she had been with the army—not even Guy, despite sharing a tent with him—seemed to confirm that. She did not like the thought that DeVeau had made her that much a coward.
Highland Honor [Murray Brothers Book 2] Page 4
