by Amy Tolnitch
Piers slammed his mental door shut tight. “Giselle, do you have any idea what is going to happen?”
She clutched her rosary so tightly her knuckles were white. “Nay, but I suspect it has something to do with,” she pointed, “that.”
That being his manhood, which was rapidly coming to the realization that bedding Giselle was not going to be an easy matter. “Yes. I will put myself inside you, between your legs.”
Giselle made a keening sound.
He reached out and touched her hair.
She flinched.
“I am told it hurts a bit for a woman the first time, but that shall fade.” “You cannot mean to … Oh, my God.”
“You have never touched yourself there?”
She reddened and shook her head violently. “Of course not.”
“Let me guess. ‘Twould be a sin?”
“Aye.”
He leaned over her. “Pleasure is not a sin, Giselle.”
She gazed up at him with horror in her eyes. “My lord, Piers, I … I do not think I can do this. And it would be a sin for one such as I.”
“We must.” He stroked a finger down her cheek. “But not tonight. I will give you time to become accustomed to the idea. And to me.”
She blinked. “Thank you. You are … kind.”
He drew the blanket up over his body and slid down to lie on the bed. “Sleep, Giselle.”
For a moment, she looked at him as if she couldn’t quite believe he was not going to pounce on her. The ache in his groin made Piers not quite believe it either.
It is your right, Eikki hissed.
And it would be the same as rape, Piers told him.
You are weak. The wench is yours to do with as you wish.
Giselle turned her back to him and snuggled into the bed.
Piers let out a breath. Nay, I am strong. That is why I shall give her time.
You could give the little nun years, and she will still not come to you willingly. Best to make her understand her place tonight.
If you are that in need of bedsport, why not leave me and find another man to aggravate?
’Tis not so easy.
Piers shoved Eikki back into the recesses of his mind and closed his eyes, intent on finding his own sleep. The scent of warm woman laced with a hint of lavender came to his nose, and he gritted his teeth. The truly pathetic thing was that he did want Giselle. Her innocent beauty drew him, fascinated him. Even her pious judgments could not quite quell his lust for her.
But he just couldn’t do it. Not tonight, when she gazed at him with such fear, like a child facing a painful punishment. He gazed at the fire for a long time, hearing the slow sound of Giselle’s even breathing, and wondering what he had done to deserve this—a wife who made it clear she wanted no part of him, and an insidious presence determined to turn him to darkness.
He was tempted to leave the chamber and seek out Clarise, but despite his earlier threats brought on by that demon, Eikki, he wasn’t ready to dishonor Giselle in that way.
Deal with her as you did with Avalon, he told himself as his eyes blinked closed. Gentle her step by step, until she turns to you. Well, perhaps a bit faster than he’d worked with the mare. He knew he could not last two years without a woman.
But still … the same method may work. He fell asleep plotting his approach on the morrow.
Chapter
VIII
Giselle awoke slowly, so comfortable she instinctively sought to remain in slumber. Warm, so delightfully warm, she thought, and snuggled deeper into the … With dawning horror, she realized where she was and why she felt surrounded by heat.
She lay sprawled halfway atop her husband’s naked body, her chemise scrunched up around her waist and her legs entwined with his larger ones. One of her hands was splayed over his bare chest, with her cheek resting next to it.
His warmth and strength seeped into her and for a wild moment, Giselle wished she had the courage to smooth her hand over his muscled chest, trace the dips and planes of his skin. Dear Lord, what should she do? She wished the bed would simply swallow her up whole.
Slowly, holding her breath, she eased away from him, head, then hand, then legs. She was nearly free when she felt a tug and realized a section of her hair was trapped beneath his shoulder.
She pulled, but nothing moved. Piers let out a soft snore and Giselle renewed her efforts. She tilted his shoulder up and yanked her hair free, losing several strands in the process. With a grunt, Piers turned on his side away from her.
For several moments, Giselle just stared. She’d been so terrified last night she’d barely registered what a truly magnificent body the man possessed. Wide shoulders narrowed to taut buttocks and powerfully built thighs. Rule number twelve, she reminded herself. You must resist temptations of the flesh, for they are the work of the devil.
She scooted out of the bed, praying he did not awaken. At least he did not know where she had ended up over the night. Heat flared in her cheeks as she took a bliaut out of one of the trunks.
Her hands were so clumsy she could barely pull the lacings shut. She quickly bound her hair in one long plait, slid on her hose and shoes from the night before and slipped out of the chamber, closing the door behind her.
When the door shut, she let out a long sigh of relief and started toward the chapel.
Piers cracked his eyes open when Giselle fled the chamber. He couldn’t believe it when he awoke to find her draped over him like a soft, warm blanket of silk. His hands had itched to slide her chemise up further, to run his hands over the tips of the full breasts pressed against his chest.
No doubt she’d been shocked and mortified to find herself in such a position. Probably even now fleeing into the chapel to beg God for forgiveness.
He smiled as he jumped out of bed. Whatever his bride convinced herself of during her waking hours, it appeared her slumbering self thought otherwise. For the first time, he found himself wondering if perhaps the marriage wasn’t as hopeless as it seemed.
Perhaps he should forbid her the chemise this evening, he thought. Now, that would be interesting.
He splashed water on his face and reconsidered. If he awoke with Giselle’s lush, naked body cloaking him, there was no way in heaven he wouldn’t touch her.
So, take her, the now familiar voice inside him pressed. Imagine touching all that sweet flesh, burying your rod into her tight body.
Even as Piers inwardly condemned Eikki’s coarseness, the image took hold of his mind, and his sex hardened. You are becoming tiresome, Eikki. The same refrain over and over. Can you not be more original than that?
I know what I want. What we want.
There is no “we.”
The mocking echo of laughter spilled through Piers’s mind. He groaned and quickly dressed, suddenly anxious to leave the bedchamber and lingering scent of Giselle. At the door, he paused, fingering his dagger. Should he mark the sheets to show others he and Giselle had consummated the marriage? He shook his head and decided there was no need. After all, she brought no dowry to the marriage he needed to protect. Apparently, no one else wanted the girl.
And, if there was no consummation, he still potentially had a way out. As did Giselle. The thought did not bring him the measure of comfort he’d expected.
“Lady Giselle, I am surprised to see you so early this morn.”
Giselle looked up from her prayers to find the kindly face of Father Michael gazing down at her. “I must not miss my devotions, Father.”
He sat next to her. “You did not manage to drag that new husband of yours to chapel, I see.”
“Nay.” Giselle stared at her clasped hands, reluctant to tell the priest she’d run from the bedchamber before Piers had woken.
“Are you well, child?”
Her gaze flew to his, and she flushed. “Yes. I am fine.”
He smiled and patted her shoulder. “Good. I have heard that sometimes for women the act can be difficult at first. I am pleased to learn Piers
took good care of you.”
“Father, I—”
“Do not be embarrassed, Giselle. I may be a priest, but I live out in the world. The people of Falcon’s Craig know they can speak to me of anything.”
Giselle had no idea what to say. Should she confess to Father Michael?
“Ah, and it would be a fine thing for Lord Cain and Lady Amice’s child to have another child close in age to play with.”
“I am not sure that will happen, Father,” Giselle whispered.
“Oh, one can never tell. You are a young, healthy woman, and Piers is a robust man. At least that is what I am told,” he finished with a chuckle.
Giselle couldn’t imagine how she’d come to be having this conversation with a man of the church. She’d come to the chapel to find surcease for her soul, not advice on lying with her husband. “Father, I was taught that the only purpose of … of fornication is to bring more of God’s children into the world. My body must be a pure reflection of God’s grace.”
The priest laughed. “By the saints, the things they taught you at Kerwick. No wonder the Abbess is always in such a bad humor.”
“Do you not agree?”
His mirth faded. “Nay, my lady. Not at all. I have studied the words of the Lord long and hard, and I have not found such admonitions from him.”
Giselle’s mouth dropped open. “But, that is … is blasphemous.”
“Is it?” He lifted a brow. “I have spent many, many years studying the greatness of God, and His messages to us. What do you think is the most important of God’s teachings?”
“Obedience, I suppose. To obey Him in all things.”
“Nay. ’Tis love.”
“The Abbess never said anything about love, Father.”
He snorted. “Think about it, Giselle. Think of all the ways God has shown His love for us, how His son gave His life so we might see the error of our ways. Love, Giselle. That is the foundation of the church.”
“Love for God, perhaps, but that is a pure love, not a … a physical one.”
“ ’Tis part of love between a man and woman. God does not disapprove of that. He created us.”
“But you …” Giselle flushed.
“I am a priest. I have devoted myself completely to God.”
“Which is what I long to do.”
“Perhaps. But God has not willed that to happen in your life. He has another purpose for you.”
“You sound so certain, Father. I cannot see it as clearly. I have spent my life dedicated to God, in a place of purity.”
“You may still serve Him, Giselle, but in a different way.”
She frowned. “I do not understand.”
Father Michael rose with a sigh. “You are wed now. Cleave to your husband.” “I am sorry, Father, but I do not think I can ever love Piers Veuxfort.” The memory of his warm skin against hers floated across her mind, and she clenched her rosary.
Father Michael patted her shoulder. “I shall pray that you find the guidance you seek.”
“Thank you, Father.” As he walked away, she bent her head and began to pray. Please, Lord, show me the way of Your will. Help me to be strong and hold to Your teachings.
And dear Lord, please, oh please, lead me not into temptation.
Piers stomped down to the great hall to find something to eat. And drink, particularly drink. Giselle was nowhere to be seen, though Cain, Amice, Gifford, and Saraid all sat on the dais.
“No doubt praying yet again to God to deliver her from the horror of marriage to me,” he muttered to himself.
“Where is your lady wife?” Gifford asked. “Still abed from enduring your attentions, I wager.” Saraid poked him in the side, but he ignored her.
Piers sat and eagerly poured a cup of wine. “Hardly.” He scowled into the cup.
“I saw her heading toward the chapel earlier,” Amice said.
Piers glanced up in time to see her exchange a worried look with Cain. The sympathy he saw in their eyes soured his mood further. “Piers,” Cain began, then paused, obviously considering his words. “Is all well?”
“Of course. How could it not be? I have wed a beautiful woman, my horses await, and I have my loving family surrounding me.” He cut off a piece of cheese and popped it in his mouth, somehow managing to affect a light humor, despite the deep discontent swirling in his gut.
Cain held his gaze for a moment, then nodded.
“And I am giving the girl time to adjust to the idea of being married,” Piers told Gifford.
Saraid’s lips tightened. “She has no idea how fortunate she is.”
Piers smiled at her. “Thank you. Perhaps you could do me the favor of reminding Giselle of that fact.” His smile faded. “If she ever emerges from her prayers.”
He looked into four pairs of eyes, all holding expressions of sympathy, and found he could not sit for another moment. He grabbed up a cup and stood. “I am going to see to the horses.”
Before he could leave, Gifford slipped a vial of liquid into his hand.
“Gifford, what have you done now?” Cain asked, his voice wary.
Gifford sighed loudly. “Boy has never learned to trust in the wisdom of his elder,” he told Saraid.
Piers held the vial up to the light. It was a muddy green color. He took out the stopper and cautiously took a sniff, then wrinkled his nose. “What on earth did you put in this?”
Gifford fluttered his hands. “Oh, a bit of this and that. The taste is better than it would seem from the smell.”
“What is it supposed to do?” Amice asked, peering around her husband at the vial.
“ ’Tis a love potion,” Gifford responded proudly. “I found the recipe for it in one of my old books.”
Cain rolled his eyes.
Gifford pointed at him. “Do not be so quick to dismiss my potions. You finally pulled your head out of your arse long enough to go after the woman you loved.”
Amice giggled.
“He has a point in that, Cain,” Piers commented, and tucked the vial into his tunic. “Well, I am willing to take any aid available.” Before the concerned looks of his family members made his spirits sink even lower, he left the hall.
Gifford chuckled as Piers left. “Poor boy. I am thinking this is God’s way of teaching him a lesson.”
“By binding him to a woman who only cares about her God?” Saraid asked.
He patted her hand. “By binding him to a woman who will not simply fall into his bed when he snaps his fingers. Piers has too long sought the company of the wrong kind of women.”
“You’ve a point, Gifford, but I hate to see him in such a marriage,” Cain said with a frown. “I had a loveless marriage. ‘Twas naught but misery.”
“Luce was no Giselle,” Gifford reminded him. “God rest her soul, Luce was a conniving, deceitful bitch who never cared for anyone but herself.”
Cain gave a snort of disgust.
“But Giselle, now there is a complex woman.”
“She must feel very discomfited, to find herself suddenly cast out from the only home she’s ever known and married within the span of a few weeks,” Amice said, absently rubbing her belly.
“Aye, and that will make her cling even harder to what she knows. The church,” Saraid said with a frown.
“For now,” Gifford agreed. “Still, I am thinking that once the girl accepts her change in circumstance, it will be very interesting to see what she does.” His eyes gleamed. “I would wager on Piers in the end.”
“I hope you are right, Uncle,” Cain said. “I would not see my brother spend the rest of his life in such a cold union.”
Gifford stood and stretched. “Speaking of cold, I am feeling a bit chilled this morn. My dove, what say you to joining me in the bathhouse?”
Saraid shook her head, but she was laughing. “Did we not visit there yesterday?”
“I cannot recall.” Gifford gave an exaggerated shiver. “Come, my sweet. These old bones need warmth.”
She stood
and took his hand. With a jaunty wave, Gifford led her out of the hall. Cain turned to Amice. “I am looking forward to the day when you and I can spend that kind of time in the bathhouse.”
She smiled. “Soon, my love.” She jumped and her eyes widened.
“What is it?”
Instead of answering, she took his hand and put it on her belly.
By the saints, what an incredible feeling, Cain thought as he felt the babe kick. The very idea that a small being waited within Amice’s body to enter the world filled him with wonder. “What does that feel like?”
“Like I am filled with a very active little person who is anxious to meet us.”
“Have I told you yet today how much I love you?”
Her lips pursed and her eyes shone with laughter. “You have not.”
“Ah, but I do,” he said as he kissed her. “Madly, utterly and always.”
“Mmm, I do like the sound of that.”
“My lord?”
Cain looked up to find his usher, Alfred, waiting with a strange man standing behind him. “What is it, Alfred?”
“This man,” Alfred said, motioning “arrives from the Bishop of Ravenswood.”
The Bishop of Ravenswood, Cain thought with distaste. The man responsible for leading Piers into what was appearing more each day to be a disastrous marriage and who had treated Giselle so deplorably. “What do you want?” he asked, his tone cool.
The man moved forward and placed a bundle on the table. “Greetings, my lord. I am Joseph, in service to the Bishop of Ravenswood. The Bishop bade me deliver this to Falcon’s Craig as a gift to your brother and his future bride.”
Cain glanced at the cloth, but didn’t touch it. “Lady Giselle and my brother are wed.”
An odd look crossed the man’s face and he clasped his hands together. “Very good, my lord.”
Amice unwrapped the bundle. “Oh, ’Tis lovely,” she said.
Cain saw that she was right. The gift was a delicately engraved cross inlaid with garnets and pearls. “A fine gift. You may present it this eve.”
Joseph nodded. “Thank you, my lord.”
“I wonder, though,” Cain continued, “why the Bishop would send such a valuable gift to a woman he so thoroughly rejected from the nunnery.” He fixed the man with a hard stare.
