“Get out of my way!”
Guy grimaced, hoping the pained cry he heard meant the priest had only been shoved to the floor and not skewered.
“Search the entire building, even the catacombs. Find them! I know they are here. My wife swore she saw them running toward the abbey.”
Guy spun, gesturing for Leila to duck behind the last wooden pew. He crouched next to her, holding his sword at the ready, scarcely breathing.
He knew it was only a matter of minutes before they were found out. That fact wouldn’t have seriously concerned him if he wasn’t so outnumbered. It sounded as if Roger had brought to the abbey all twenty knights who had accompanied him to the coronation, as well as his men-at-arms. Fighting all of them would be impossible, but he would at least try to hold them off until Edward arrived to put an end to the carnage.
God’s blood, what a way for them to spend their first moments as man and wife! There hadn’t even been time for a kiss or an embrace.
He sucked in his breath slowly and tightened his grip on his sword as two pairs of footfalls drew closer, closer …
“My lord Gervais! They are here—”
Guy jumped up from behind the pew and slashed at the nearest knight who had sounded the alarm. The man went down, screaming in pain as he held his bleeding arm, and the other knight soon followed, injured more severely across the stomach.
“Stay where you are, Leila. Don’t move!” Guy shouted, stepping over the injured men as a dozen of Gervais’s knights and men-at-arms all seemed to descend upon him at once. They halted in a tight semicircle as Guy swung his sword viciously, holding them at bay.
“You’re outnumbered, de Warenne. Put down your sword,” came Roger’s terse command as his knights stepped back to allow him to pass. Then they closed ranks against him, a jagged line of deadly weapons aimed directly at Guy’s chest. “You’d be a fool not to.”
“You’re the fool if you think I would ever lay down my sword, Gervais, especially at your suggestion.”
Roger took a step forward, his mouth a sneer as his cold blue eyes found Leila. “So, my sister. You were not unconscious after all. I should have guessed you were accomplished enough at your healer’s trade to mimic a lengthy swoon. I suppose you heard everything—”
“You don’t have to answer him, Leila,” Guy interrupted, stepping protectively backward. He hoped she would restrain her sharp tongue, if only not to goad Roger’s rage. He was gratified when she kept silent; she was probably too frightened to speak.
“I take it we are too late to prevent a marriage.”
“That you are, my lord,” Guy stated derisively. “Leila gave her consent, and she is now my wife.”
“Is this true, dearest sister?”
“Yes,” Leila answered in a small voice, trembling as she had never done in her life. Roger was glaring at Guy with such hatred, she seemed to be witnessing the incarnation of pure evil.
“How ill-advised. You two men, seize her!”
Leila screamed as two knights lunged at her at the same moment that Roger’s sword came singing through the air, directly at Guy’s throat. She saw him dodge just in time, but he fell to his knees and gasped aloud in pain, and she knew with a horrible sinking feeling that he had been struck. Then she saw no more as he was swiftly encircled.
“No! Stop it! Please don’t hurt him anymore!” she shouted desperately, her anguished cries echoing through the transept. Overcome by the horror of what was happening, she struggled like a captured animal as Roger’s men roughly pinioned her arms.
“Cease this madness! In the name of Edward the king!”
Through dimmed eyes, Leila saw a sudden flurry of activity as Roger and his men spun around to face two score of armed knights led by Edward, who held a jeweled dress sword high above his head. Her two captors suddenly released her and she sank to the cold floor, sobbing. She could not have been more stunned when Guy broke through the ring of his opponents and lifted her into his arms. He crushed her to him, soothing her with whispered words.
“It is all right, my love. You are safe. We are safe.”
“But … but Roger struck you. I saw it.”
“Only a slight flesh wound, Leila. Merely a scratch. A small bandage and I will be as good as new.”
Leila buried her face against his shoulder, overwhelmed by incredible relief. She would never have anticipated the intensity of her emotion, and she did not understand it in the least. It was hardly what she should be feeling toward a man she had insisted she hated only a half hour before.
“Lower your weapons, all of you!” came Edward’s sharp command. He gestured for his own men to surround the ashen-faced offenders, who quickly complied with the king’s order. Edward began to walk slowly toward Roger, his expression grave as he took in the bloody scene before him. He stopped directly in front of him. “Explain your actions, Lord Gervais.”
Leila watched her brother’s wide shoulders draw back proudly, his posture unrelenting even as he faced his king.
“I was protecting what was mine, sire. Lord de Warenne has seen fit to wed my sister without first seeking my counsel in the matter. I demand that this marriage be annulled at once, before any consummation” —he spat the word— “may occur.”
“How do you answer this charge, Lord de Warenne?”
“Lord Gervais’s counsel was not needed, Your Majesty. The lady gave her consent, which is all that is required by law. As for consummation, this marriage has already been consummated in the eyes of God. On that day I swore that I would take this woman for my wife. So it has been done.”
Leila gasped at his open admission of their carnal relations before so many men and lowered her eyes in shame.
“If proof that I have taken the lady’s virginity is required, sire, I have it,” he continued solemnly. “My knights, Sir Burnell and Sir Langton, serve as my witnesses that a bedding occurred.”
“Virgin, my ass,” Roger muttered. “Whore is more like it.”
“Silence!” Edward demanded. “How dare you further desecrate this holy place with your foul profanity?” He drew a deep breath, his voice still stern when he addressed Leila, though it held a note of gentleness.
“How say you to all of this, my lady? Did you consent willingly to this marriage?”
Leila did not raise her head, the cathedral suddenly grown so quiet she could swear she heard her heart pounding in her breast like a battle drum.
“Yes.” At her affirmation, Guy’s arms tightened fiercely around her.
“So be it.” Edward turned back to Roger. “My lord Gervais, I could banish you from my court for the havoc you have wreaked today, but I will refrain from such punishment out of respect for the occasion which has drawn us all here to Westminster. But know this. If you cause any more rash disturbances or harass Lord and Lady de Warenne in any way, I will have your hide on a spit.” He glanced with disgust at the groaning, wounded men lying on the floor. “Get them out of here.”
Roger and his men silently obeyed. Edward waited until they were retreating down the main aisle with the two injured knights before he spoke again.
“Your arm, de Warenne. Does it need medical attention?”
Guy looked down at Leila and wished desperately that they were alone so he could wipe the tears from her face. “No, sire. I’m sure my wife will tend to it quite ably.”
“Indeed. Then let us walk back to the feast, shall we? We’ll have water, ointment, and bandages brought, anything you need.”
“Thank you, sire. I am in your debt.”
With a thin smile on his lips, Edward drew close and settled a glinting gold medallion around Guy’s neck.
“No trouble, my lord. I’d wager this added excitement has only made the occasion that much more memorable for all of us, yes?”
Guy’s throat was so constricted with a hitherto unknown depth of emotion, he did not trust himself to answer. Instead he tenderly kissed the crown of Leila’s head, holding her close against his heart as he follo
wed Edward from the bloody transept.
Chapter 19
“Do you like the room, Leila?” Guy toyed absently with his medallion, waiting for her answer, which was long in coming.
It was all he could do not to walk over to the window and capture her in his arms, she was so bewitchingly beautiful with her ebony hair streaming like a silken waterfall down her back and her silvery tunic clinging to her body so provocatively. But he willed himself to remain seated. He was determined to move very slowly with her this evening.
It was their wedding night. The night he had not expected for days, maybe weeks. It was still hard for him to believe that Leila was actually his wife.
It was the night which would set the tone for countless others to come. He wanted it to be special for both of them … no small task.
Leila had been coolly distant since they had returned to the coronation feast, scarcely speaking except when spoken to, and now, hours later, she was still aloof, almost as if she were resolved to keep herself tightly in check. He could also sense her nervousness, though she was trying hard not to show it. He knew her well enough to recognize the defiant jut of her chin as a sign of stubbornness, and a good measure of apprehension.
He was glad he had managed to dissuade his knights and Eleanor’s ladies-in-waiting from the traditional bedding ceremony. Having a crowd of observers cramming into their chamber, he and Leila stripped naked before them and ensconced in their nuptial bed, would have unsettled her entirely. No, he wanted to do things at his own pace and in his own way.
He would have to be endlessly patient with her and infinitely caring, no matter how she might try to goad him to anger. He wanted to please her, to make her laugh and smile as she had that afternoon on the Rhone. He wanted to make up for all the unhappiness she had known since she was unwillingly wrested from her home.
He wanted her to see that she could find happiness with him, and love, if she would only open up her heart and allow him to enter. He would relinquish everything he possessed to hear her say those three simple words: I love you. He would not give up until she did. So he had silently vowed when the priest pronounced them man and wife.
Guy sighed softly when still Leila did not reply to his earlier question. Finally he spoke.
“My cousin, the earl of Surrey, and his wife were most gracious to exchange this room for my smaller one, don’t you think?”
Leila cast him a wary glance. Her breath snagged in her throat at the sight of him sitting so casually in that high-backed chair, one sinewed leg slung over the low armrest, his gold medallion reflecting the flickering candlelight as he dangled it between his fingers. Yet the tension she sensed in him belied his relaxed posture. She purposely avoided his eyes and skipped her gaze to the embroidered tapestry on the wall behind him, a colorful yet disturbing scene of a wounded unicorn surrounded by hunters and baying hounds.
Even the tapestry proved too much for her. Gripped by uneasiness, she turned back to the window and stared outside at the ink-black night.
That was exactly how she felt right now. Hunted, like that unicorn. And Guy was both the hunter aiming his arrow and the hound snapping at her heels.
Oh, why had she ever agreed to marry him? She could have wed that London merchant, stolen his money, and escaped on horseback to Dover long before it would have ever come to sharing a bedchamber. Why hadn’t she had her wits about her enough in Roger’s tent to think of such a plan, or when Guy demanded she choose? Fool! “Leila, why won’t you talk to me?”
She started but did not turn from the window. “I have little to say, my lord. I am very tired.”
“Fair enough. Then why don’t you ready yourself for bed.”
She gasped softly and met his eyes. There was no guile in them, although he was looking at her quite intently, half of his handsome face masked by shadows. Could she hope he had no plans to … ?
“I’m tired myself,” he said, swinging his leg from the armrest and kicking off his boots. “It’s been a most eventful day, and tomorrow’s tournament will come soon enough.”
Eventful day! That was an understatement, Leila thought, watching as he stood and unfastened his sword belt, dropping it on the chair with a clanking thud, along with his medallion. When he began to strip out of his tunic, she lowered her eyes, her heart thumping, and hurried to the far side of the bed where she drew the blue damask curtains. Thank God she would at least have some privacy while she undressed.
She noted a familiar saddle bag propped against the bedpost and realized someone must have been sent to retrieve her belongings from Roger’s tent. With trembling fingers she slipped out of the tunic Maude had had cut down for her and then her chainse, both of which were somewhat soiled from her escapade that afternoon. She rolled down the gauzy white stockings which were hopelessly beyond repair, with huge holes at the knees.
Anxious that Guy might come around the bed and find her naked, Leila quickly drew on her white linen nightrail. Though the fabric was thin, it was a plain, unassuming garment, and for that she was grateful. She brushed her hair and braided it loosely, then blew out the two candles on the ornately carved table against the wall, plunging her side of the room into darkness.
Her courage seemed to evaporate with the light, and she hesitated by the table, her fingers gripping the smooth edge. The last time they had shared a bed was—
Leila inclined her head slightly at the sound of Guy climbing beneath the covers, her cheeks growing as hot as the tingling flush racing through her body. Oh dear … oh dear.
“Leila?
She inhaled sharply, saying nothing.
“Leila, come to bed.”
She wanted desperately to flee, but knew he would catch her easily before she even reached the door. And that game of cat and mouse might only fire his lust. Perhaps if she simply went to bed, she would find him as tired as he said he was. It had been a very long day.
Leila moved silently to the curtains, her hands shaking as she reached up and drew them aside. Soft, golden light from an oil lamp burning on an opposite table illuminated the bed and the reclining giant whose deep blue eyes caught and held hers.
“I was beginning to think I might have to come out and get you, my love.”
Oh, why did he have to call her that? Leila wondered uncomfortably, stunned by the virile picture Guy made. Why did he have to look like any woman’s wildest fantasy come to life?
Guy was leaning against a brace of pillows with the covers thrown over his hips, his skin showing dark against the white sheets. By some trick of shadow and light, the muscles banding his chest and stomach were accentuated to perfection, and his arms looked supremely powerful even at rest. His long hair was swept back from his forehead, brushing shoulders that were wide and immense, the right one marred by a long, raised scar. Below it, his massive bicep was encircled by a bandage that showed a streak of blood.
“I should look at your arm again,” she said without thinking, her instinctive concern honed by years of training.
“My arm is fine, Leila. Come. The room grows cold. You will catch a chill standing there.”
She saw the hand he offered her, but she nervously chose to ignore it as she swiftly climbed into the bed and lay down with her back to him. Pulling the covers up to her ear, she settled herself as close as possible to the edge of the mattress, so close, in fact, that if she moved any farther she would tumble to the floor.
Guy had to stifle the chuckle welling deep in his chest.
“If you plan on sleeping like that tonight, Leila, I would take care not to dangle your arm over the side. Lady Eleanor was telling me last night that they’re having a terrible problem with mice in the palace … maybe even rats.”
Leila rolled over, her eyes wide. “Rats?”
Guy nodded gravely, feeling that same chuckle trying to force itself from his throat. But he sobered when she seemed equally disturbed about the yawning space between them. She glanced uncertainly from the bed to him.
Sweet Jesu, why d
id she fear him so? Or was it more a fear of the desire he had seen smoldering in her eyes when she opened the curtains … desire she was still fighting?
He was gratified when she suddenly slid closer to his side of the bed, though she maintained a foot’s distance between them and turned her back to him again.
“Good night, my lord.”
No, my reluctant love, the time to sleep is not yet, Guy thought resolutely. He rolled onto his side and swept her against his body in one fluid motion.
Leila gasped and stiffened, but to his surprise she did not struggle. “You—you said you were tired. What are you doing?” she demanded, peering at him over her shoulder.
“Is there anything wrong with a man holding his lovely new wife?” Guy countered with a slight smile.
Leila wanted to scream out a resounding “Yes!” but instead she decided it would be best not to resist him. If she lay very still and very quiet, surely he would soon fall asleep, thinking she was doing the same. “I suppose not.”
She drew in her breath sharply as his large hand slid slowly down the side of her body, stopping at her thigh. He had said holding, not caressing! But when his hand rested there, she relaxed somewhat and feigned a wide yawn for his benefit. She hoped that now that Guy was comfortable, he would leave her in peace.
Leila closed her eyes and snuggled her cheek almost defiantly into the pillow. As for herself, comfortable she was not. Every fiber of her being was alive to the heady warmth of his skin burning through her nightrail. The hard planes and contours of his body were molded against her in a most disturbing way: his chest and taut belly pressed into her back, his lean hips melded to hers, a rigid swelling against her bottom …
Leila’s eyes flew open and she tried to lunge away from him, even as his arm clamped tightly around her waist, holding her captive.
“No! Release me this instant,” she exclaimed. She struggled hard now, fearing the import of his arousal. “You lied to me! You led me to believe you wanted to sleep, not to … to …” She could not bring herself to say it.
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