Maiden Bride

by Deborah Simmons

  Nicholas frowned. Now that he thought about it, he supposed there was no reason the old soldier should have any expertise upon the subject. Still, the man sounded knowledgeable. “‘Tis not true, then?” he asked gruffly.

  To her credit, Gillian tried to compose herself. “No,” she said gently. Nicholas thought of eastern women who had been raped and yet produced children from those most violent of unions, and he knew she was right. To his own surprise, he felt disappointed. “How then do we assure you a child?”

  Gillian gave him a slow, seductive smile that reminded him forcibly that they were still joined. “I suppose we must double our efforts,” she whispered.

  Nicholas’s blood surged and heated in response, and he slid his hands over the curves of her buttocks, pulling her tight against him so that he was buried deep. “And we do not have to go slowly?”

  “No.” Her answer was breathy with pleasure.

  “Good!” Nicholas replied, as he rolled her beneath him and thrust hard. She lifted her hips and put her legs around him until he was wrapped in her warmth. He wished he could stay there forever.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  Nicholas stilled, once more, at the sound of the soft admission he had never thought to hear again. He looked down at her face, flushed and bright-eyed, and he longed to tell her what the words meant to him. He wanted her to know that he, too, felt affection for her, but he was no clever-tongued bard.

  “Yes,” he said, staring down at her helplessly until the heat between them grew so sharp that it could not be denied. And then he filled her body, even as she filled his soul.

  Long after she could hear the even breathing that told her Nicholas was asleep, Gillian lay awake, wondering what had possessed her. She had sworn herself never to tell her husband of her love, and yet tonight she had done so, willingly, and without regret.

  Common sense told her she had just handed him the weapon that could bring about her destruction. Yet her heart, the part of her that knew no sense where Nicholas was concerned, beat merrily with the rightness of it.

  Nicholas had not thrown her words back in her face or mocked her. He had looked down on her so intently that he had stolen her breath away. Gillian, in turn, had felt her heart swell at his quiet answer. “Yes,” he had said.

  Was that reason enough to trust him?

  No… The usual denial rose in her mind, but not with as much certainty as before. Nicholas had come a long way from the cold man who had threatened his new bride mercilessly. He had taken care of her when she was ill and had developed a misguided protectiveness that nearly denied her children. Yet he had even given way on that issue, too, and Gillian smiled at the memory of him actually trying one of Willie’s ridiculous stratagems in order to give her what she wanted.

  Gillian sighed. There was no doubt that she was truly, hopelessly, in love with him, a condition that could easily affect her judgement. She wanted to believe in him, but now she had not just herself to consider, but perhaps also an infant, and certainly her brother.

  The thought of Hawis made Gillian frown thoughtfully in the darkness. Nicholas had invited her brother into his home, when she knew he wanted nothing better than to strike down any man of Hexham’s blood. He had spared her brother’s life for her; was that not a sign of his devotion? Gillian wanted to think so, and yet she knew not what Nicholas might have planned. His complex motivations were often a mystery to her.

  Gillian eased away from her husband’s heat and tried to sort out her tangled emotions. The face of her brother, long forgotten, danced in front of her eyes, as did the features of the man who lay beside her, and a sense of foreboding filled her. Nicholas’s hatred of Hexham’s heirs was bone-deep, while the bond that had grown between them was new and tenuous. Would it be strong enough to prevent the bloodshed he craved? Gillian shivered. Not too long ago, she had been surrounded by women, but now two men claimed her loyalty.

  She hoped that she would never be forced to choose between them.

  Aisley was drifting dreamily near sleep when the knock came upon the great chamber door, rousing her. Beside her, Piers stirred, shouting for Cecil to enter as she hurriedly covered herself. Her husband had no sense of propriety, whereas she still blushed to be caught abed at midday by the servants.

  “A message from Belvry, my lord,” Cecil said, with his usual aplomb. Aisley lifted her head, startled. She had received no word from her old home since Nicholas had assumed the barony. Her brother was not one for words, and after the way they had parted, she had never expected to hear from him again. Panic rushed through her at the thought that only dire need would compel him to write.

  “Piers,” she murmured, automatically seeking her husband’s strength to bolster her own. When she looked up, they were alone once more, and he was handing the missive to her. Tearing open the seal, Aisley scanned the sheet, and her fears were confirmed.

  “There has been sickness at Belvry!” she said, glancing up at Piers in dismay. He sat down on the bed beside her, silently giving her his support, and she steeled herself to read on.

  “Osborn has been taken! Oh, Piers, he was a good man… And several of the villagers, too, are dead. And Nicholas says Edith and Willie, and even Gillian were ill, but are recovered.”

  Aisley began to breathe easier, as the worst of the news appeared to be past, but Nicholas’s next words distressed her further. “Oh, Piers, he does not think Gillian strong enough to carry a child! He wants a recipe to prevent conception!” She looked up at her husband in dismay.

  “The sickness must have been bad indeed, to affect herso, for she looked strong and healthy.”

  “Oh, Piers, we must go to her. What if she is still abed? Maybe I can help.”

  Piers’s blue eyes darkened. “‘Tis not the season for travel, Aisley. I would not take Sybil out in such changeable weather.”

  Aisley bit her lip, uncertain. Piers was right, of course. She did not want to expose the baby to the sudden snows that could blow out of the east. Nor could she leave her behind. She lifted her head again. “Would you go?”

  Piers swore softly. “I have no love for your brother.”

  “I know.”

  He stood up, and the dogs, Castor and Pollux, immediately gathered around his feet. “Somehow I cannot imagine Nicholas’s wife reduced to an invalid! Methinks that you de Lacis are too often searching for potions better left alone.”

  Aisley held his stare, even though she knew he was referring to her own experience with the local healer. She had gone to the woman to break the love spell she thought Piers had put upon her. Though she had not intended to take the remedy, she had become very ill from it.

  “Piers, the situation must be drastic if Nicholas is writing to me for help.”

  Piers frowned, as if considering her words. “Yet when last I spoke with him, your brother swore he never would get an heir of Hexham’s blood,” Piers said, ignoring the dogs, who clamored for his attention. He looked grim. “Perhaps he still feels the same, but would enjoy his wife’s bed nonetheless.”

  Aisley worried her lip. Piers had never detailed the fight between him and her brother, but she suspected that this was the cause. Her gallant husband would naturally defend Gillian’s honor, while Nicholas would resent any interference, especially in his plans for revenge.

  “He wrote to me, Piers,” she said softly. “Surely that means something.” Whatever the reason, Nicholas must have felt deeply to put aside the quarrel and ask for her help.

  Piers scowled. “It means that he wants something from you, something that goes against all the laws of God and man. Do you know of such a recipe?”

  Aisley did not flinch from his accusing look. Piers could never imagine anyone not wanting a child, but she knew that some women risked their lives in childbed. “There are old stories, herbs that are said to render a man sterile. I will not tender advice until I see Gillian.”

  Piers scowled ferociously. “You mean until I see Gillian.”

  �
�Yes,” Aisley said, smiling. He was weakening. “For her sake, you should go. She is part of the family now, as is my brother. And as cold and cruel as Nicholas can be, he did save your life.”

  Piers slanted a dark glance at her that told her he did not appreciate the reminder. “I will consider the journey,” he said. “And now, the day grows late, and I have tarried overlong at my midday meal.”

  “Especially since you never touched your food,” Aisley said with a smile. She knew her husband, and she knew that eventually, he would be persuaded to go to Belvry.

  And then it would be up to Nicholas to set things right.

  Chapter Eighteen

  After Hawis settled in to stay, an uneasy truce was declared, but Gillian could not relax. As much as she had longed for a family, sometimes she just wanted her brother to leave, so that the relative peace she had known before his arrival might return to Belvry. And when she felt selfish for having such thoughts, she had only to consider Hawis’s welfare, as well as her own. More than once, she had been tempted to beg him to flee before her husband’s wrath.

  For Nicholas was not pleased with his guest. Outwardly, he was curt, but civil. Inwardly, he was seething, as Gillian could tell. She could see his eyes burning with a cold fire whenever they turned upon her brother, and she could feel the heightened emotions that emanated from his taut body. Hawis had revived Nicholas’s hatred for his enemy’s line, and though she felt none of his enmity herself, still the knowledge hurt her. As yet, her husband had done nothing to harm her brother, but Gillian remained edgy and fearful.

  Unwillingly, she had been thrust in the middle. Although Nicholas had not expressly forbidden her to meet alone with her brother, he was a dark presence whenever they were together. She told herself that the cooler weather had forced him inside, because it was easier to believe than the alternative: that he did not trust her. Yet why should he? Gillian was not so sure of him, either, especially when it came to Hawis’s fate.

  Gillian swallowed a sigh. Although their union had been fraught with suspicion and strife more often than not, they had come so far that this new setback was doubly frustrating. At night they made love with unrestrained emotion, but during the day the tension was palpable, especially when the three of them were cooped up in the solar because of the foul weather, as they were today.

  The strained silence that reigned was beginning to tell upon Gillian. Hawis was kind but reserved. While he spoke haltingly of his knighthood under Baron Mollison, he said little about his life before, and he looked so bleak and grim when she brought up her parents that she decided the subject was too painful for him.

  Since Nicholas could rarely be coaxed into conversation, that left Gillian to fill in the quiet. Despite her husband’s fierce glares, she had talked endlessly about Belvry, and touched upon her past at the convent. After a week, however, even she had run out of things to say.

  And so the crackling of the fire and the sound of the rain falling outside were all that was heard until Hawis spoke at last, startling Gillian into poking her sewing needle into a finger. Biting back one of Nicholas’s oaths, she sucked the blood from the sore digit while trying to pay attention to her brother’s words.

  “The rain has stopped,” he said, lighting upon one of the few neutral topics that comprised their discussions.

  “Has it?” Gillian asked, trying to sound interested, yet again, in the weather.

  Hawis turned suddenly from his position by the window. “Do you feel like a ride, sister? The ground should not be too soft.”

  Gillian’s heart leapt at the chance to escape the stifling atmosphere of the castle, but before she could open her mouth, Nicholas spoke for her.

  “‘Tis too cold and wet for Gillian to be out,” he snapped. Although seated on a settle by the fire, he looked as restless as she felt, and infinitely more threatening. He fixed Hawis with a fierce gaze that practically accused the younger man of trying to kill his wife.

  Hawis ignored both the fearsome stare and the sharp retort, just as he usually did, and Gillian wondered how he was able. She could only imagine that since his hair was as dark of their father’s, he had inherited none of the fiery temper that came with their mother’s red coloring. He met all Nicholas’s barbs with equanimity, refusing to be drawn into an argument with his host. And Gillian admired him for it, even as she struggled against her own, far from serene reactions.

  “What about you, Nicholas? Will you go with me?” Hawis asked, ever polite.

  “You have seen enough of my demesne,” Nicholas grumbled.

  “Then let us venture farther afield,” Hawis suggested. He turned again toward the open shutters, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked out. “I have a mind to see my uncle’s manor.”

  At the mention of Nicholas’s enemy, Gillian dropped her needlework into her lap. She shot a troubled glance at her husband, who surged to life. “Why?” he demanded.

  “Why not?” Hawis countered easily. “By rights, the property should fall to me, should it not?”

  “No,” Nicholas said in a low snarl. “‘Tis mine.”

  Hawis appeared to be oblivious of the heated possessiveness that sounded in his host’s voice. “I understand why it would have passed to Gillian, and hence to you, by her marriage, when no male heir was found, but now that I have returned…” He let the words trail off, and Gillian’s heart pounded in frantic dismay.

  “Those lands are mine,” Nicholas said. What little softness had graced his features fell away, and Gillian recognized, all too well, the cold, hard man who had come to claim her at the convent. She tried to catch her brother’s eye in warning, but he continued to gaze out the window with apparent calm.

  “I do not see why you would stand in the way of my ownership, when you acquired Belvry in the same way,” he reasoned.

  “That was different,” Gillian said hastily, before her husband could erupt in fury. “Piers never made a claim on Belvry, but ceded it back to the de Lacis when Nicholas returned. Our uncle’s manor was in dispute before his death, because he made war upon Belvry and was defeated.”

  Although she tried to convey both the foolishness and the danger of his persistence with her words, Hawis seemed unperturbed. “Still, I hardly see how that affects me,” he said.

  Gillian wondered if her brother was feeble-witted, or if he thought to play upon Nicholas’s sympathies. She had only to glance at her husband to see the folly of that course. Nicholas had no sympathies. In fact, her husband looked as if he would gladly strike down her brother where he stood. While Gillian watched in horror, he leapt to his feet.

  “That is why you are here, is it not, nephew of Hexham? You did not come to see Gillian, but to sniff around your uncle’s property, like one of his bastard hounds. All those years you stayed away, without a care to the welfare of your own sister, but as soon as you heard of an inheritance, you came running back.”

  “Nicholas—” Gillian began, but he cut her off, his eyes chilling with the force of his fury.

  “Only a cold-blooded bastard would leave his sister to the likes of me!”

  “Really?” Hawis said. He turned, his hands falling to his sides, but he did not flinch. “‘Tis a strange accusation, coming from you, is it not? I had good reason to stay away. Can you say the same? What kept you from Belvry while your own sister was thrown to the Red Knight, a man whose reputation is blacker than any’s?”

  Gillian gasped in shock, rising from her seat as if she could somehow prevent her brother’s words. But it was too late. Nicholas faltered, quivering like a solid oak that has been struck to the core, and the blood drained from his face. For a moment, he was the man she knew in her bed, vulnerable and human, but he collected himself quickly. The cool, harsh mask descended, and he stepped menacingly toward Hawis, his hand dropping to the dagger that rested at his waist.

  “Enough! The only heritage that awaits you here is my vengeance. By rights, you should die for your uncle’s sins, but I have spared you, for your sis
ter’s sake. Do not test my patience. Edward gave me those lands, and they will remain in my possession. If you make a claim upon them, then you pronounce yourself my enemy!” He stepped closer, as if stalking the silent Hawis with deadly intent. “How will it be?”

  Before her brother could answer, Gillian moved forward in an attempt to come between him and her husband, but her breath caught, and she swayed, struggling to take in air. The sound of her labored breathing made Nicholas turn toward her, and she saw the fury on his hard features fade. He was beside her in an instant.

  “Breathe, Gillian!” he shouted. His strong arms supported her as he pushed her down upon her seat. Her fierce husband looked so stricken with anxiety that Gillian’s heart twisted in her breast, and she began to relax under the gentle touch of his callused hands. They stroked her face and slid down her arms to take her fingers in his. “Hush. It will be all right. Nothing is wrong.” He was lying, of course, but his voice, gentle now, coaxed her breathing back to normal as only he could do.

  Finally, when she no longer felt the terrible press of panic, Gillian leaned back. “There, that is better,” Nicholas whispered. “All is well now, my—” At the abrupt halt in his speech, Gillian lifted her head. She stared into the smoky depths of his eyes and saw more than she had ever hoped to see.

  “What happened? Has she fits?” Hawis asked. Gillian blinked, having forgotten his presence. She saw Nicholas’s eyes narrow. Although he remained kneeling in front of her, his hands holding hers, he turned toward her brother.

  “And how is it that you, her brother, have no knowledge of her malady?” he asked, his voice deceptively mild.

  As usual, Hawis did not take offense. “Perhaps this came upon you later in life, Gillian?” he suggested.

  Gillian could not remember. She had been but a child when Hawis left, and he little more than one. “Perhaps,” she answered, aware of the fragile peace that had descended over the solar. For once, she was glad of the shortness of breath that plagued her, because it just might have saved Hawis’s life.