Defiant Love

by Maura Seger

  "Lady Matilda was looking for you," Roanna coolly advised the object of her displeasure. "Something about deciding you should help on the new tapestry."

  Muttering about her serving women needing instruction, Elene hastily took herself off.

  "Pay no attention to her," Roanna advised when she and Brenna were alone. "She's been spoiled rotten all her life and can't get used to the idea that she's actually going to be denied something she made up her mind to have."

  "Is she...?" Brenna murmured. Much as she appreciated Roanna's kindness, her mind was still on the strange things Elene had been saying. She wished Roanna hadn't intervened quite when she did. The suggestion that Guyon had some reason for believing his wife might turn against him plagued her. Even as she told herself that Elene would tell any lie to cause trouble, she asked, "That meeting with the Duke last night, do you know what it was about?"

  Roanna looked at her hesitantly. She was by nature honest and forthright. Deception did not come easily. But her loyalty to her brother, and her wish to see him happy, overrode all else. Slowly, she said, "Duke William frequently meets with his lords at odd hours. When he has some idea he wants to discuss, he can't sleep until it is done. Why Guyon has said many times that Lord William has no sense of day or night, let alone any need for rest. Just because he kept them talking so late doesn't mean anything really important is happening."

  Brenna was not convinced. Beneath her sister-in-law's words, she heard too much that was not being said. Even her short acquaintance with the Duke was enough to tell her that he did not keep his men chatting idly. Something was definitely in the wind, and it touched on her in a way she could not decipher.

  Roanna was too well schooled in the intricacies of court politics to say any more than she wished. Despite careful prodding, Brenna learned nothing of substance. But she was left with the indefinable impression that the previous night's meeting was important to her, and determined to discover exactly how. Her efforts were forestalled when the two girls joined the Duchess, who kindly offered to show Brenna around the great keep of Falaise.

  Roanna, cheerfully admitting she had never paid as much attention as she should to household details, asked to come along. "Now that Guyon is married, I won't have to concern myself at all with running his manor. But out of mercy for the poor man who will one day end up wed to me, I suppose I should try to learn something."

  Brenna strove quickly to disabuse her sister-in-law of the idea that her help would not be welcomed, and in fact greatly needed, once they all returned to Guyon's holding. "It's true that I ran my father's home in Norfolk, but that was very small and easily managed. Lady Edythe taught me much while I was at Winchester, but I am certain there is a great deal I do not know. Especially about the Norman way of doing things."

  "It can't be too different from your own," Matilda assured her. "After all, women both here and in England face the same problems. Men go off to fight or hunt and come home hungry. More often than not they are also wet, injured, tired, and out of sorts. Their needs must be seen to and their tempers soothed. Run your household to undo, or better yet prevent the mischief of men and you will be regarded as a paragon. Provided, of course, that you never let them guess you view them as wayward children inclined to become fretful."

  Chuckling at this indisputable truth, the women made their way across the bailey to the dyers' huts where newly woven linen and wool were being transformed into gloriously colored fabrics. Once winter set in, castle ladies and servants alike would be busy sewing clothing, wall-hangings, and bed-coverings. Then they would be glad of the work that could be done inside. But with the weather still warm, it was far pleasanter to find occupations beyond the castle walls. Matilda cast an experienced eye over the dyeing vats set over carefully tended fires. Small boys and girls stood by with long wooden poles to stir the contents. Nearby long drying racks stood festooned with blue, green, red, and yellow yardage blowing gently in the breeze.

  More than one man watched as the ladies moved among the rainbow-hued racks. The Duchess possessed rare dignity and grace which, even without the added incentive of her rank, would command respect. But it was the young women with her who received the most intent glances. Each in her own way was remarkably beautiful. From both radiated an extraordinary sense of strength and passion, as well as an inner gentleness few men could resist. Even as the pace of activity throughout the bailey seemed not to alter, a ripple of sensual awareness ran through the battle-honed knights.

  About to mount his destrier, Guyon paused to gaze at Brenna. Momentarily forgetting the temper-mental war horse, he savored the lovely picture she made. Ebony hair cascaded to her waist beneath a transparent veil. In deference to the warm weather, her surcoat was thin, hiding little more than the form-fitting tunic worn under it. Alert to the attention of the other men, Guyon frowned. He was not at all displeased that his wife should be admired, but neither would he tolerate for an instant any effort to turn such admiration into action.

  Remembrance of the passionate interlude they had shared that morning sent a surge of heat through his body. It was followed quickly by regret for the argument that so puzzled him. He understood that Brenna was a proud woman who would naturally be displeased by her sudden loss of all freedom. But he sensed there was something more beneath her tirade. Sighing, he wished they could spend more time together so that he could help ease her through the transition to Norman life while reassuring her of his love. But the Duke demanded his attention and he could not shirk his duties to him.

  Regretfully, he fought back the impulse to ride to Brenna's side, scoop her up on his powerful stallion, and take her off for a languorous, love-filled day alone among the still-verdant trees and the year's last wildflowers. They would make love and talk, telling each other their deepest thoughts. He would reveal all that concerned him most, even to the darkening shape of Duke William's ambitions which he feared might all too soon drive a wedge of hatred into their marriage.

  But such a course, however desirable, could not be. Beyond the simple fact that his absence would draw unwanted attention, he was not yet ready to subject Brenna's feelings to such a profound challenge. AH too soon she would have to know. He could only pray that by then her love and trust would be strong enough to survive the terrible pain he feared he could not spare her.

  Chapter Ten

  The stables smelled pleasantly of hay, horses, and old weathered wood. Late afternoon light, filtering through the narrow windows, softened the contours of posts, troughs, and tackle. The quiet nickering of horses, the occasional swish of a fly-swatting tail, and the distant voices of grooms hurrying off to their dinner were the only sounds.

  Moving between the rows of stalls, Guyon paused to breathe deeply. After a hectic day on the training field, followed by a very private, very troubling meeting with the Duke, he needed a moment to relax. It was all happening much faster than he had expected.

  Pausing to make sure his destrier had been properly rubbed down and watered, he went on to that part of the stables housing the wirier, less spirited palfreys used for travel. The chestnut stallion recognized him and whinnied softly. Guyon patted him affectionately as he quickly and expertly checked the horse over. The journey he had just been told to make for the Duke would not be particularly long or rigorous. But it had to be done with great speed. There would be no time to spare for a damaged hoof or pulled tendon.

  Satisfied that the horse was in good condition, Guyon confirmed that his saddle, stirrups, and other tackle were also ready. In the morning, a servant would pack provisions and an extra blanket in the saddle bags. His squire would wake early to polish sword and scabbard, and check the chain mail for any breakage among the metal links or tears on the toughened leather. By dawn, Guyon expected to be on the road north. Reluctant to think of how he would explain his departure to Brenna, he kept his mind firmly on the news he might well bring back. If the messenger from England said what the Duke expected, this journey would only be the prelude to another,
far more dangerous venture.

  Deep in thought, Guyon did not hear the slight sound behind him. Only when it came closer did his warrior's instincts suddenly spring to life, causing him to whirl around with his hand on the butt of his sword.

  Elene laughed nervously. "Why, my lord, you act as though I were some enemy. Granted there has been combat between us, but of a far sweeter sort than requires your sword."

  In the dim light of the stable, Elene's alabaster skin shone palely. Her white tunic worn under a blue surcoat hugged each curve of her voluptuous body.

  Sapphire eyes sparkled as they swept over Guyon, taking in every inch of his hard, muscular length.

  Moving closer, Elene murmured, "I've missed you, my lord. We were not always such strangers."

  Not one to retreat even under the most difficult circumstances, Guyon stood his ground. But his hands shot out instinctively to prevent her from coming any nearer. "Whatever we were, my lady," he said coldly, "happened before my marriage. Need I remind you that I have a wife now, who commands my loyalty as well as my love?"

  "Love! That whey-faced child? Don't jest with me. We both know she can't possibly satisfy you."

  A flush darkened Guyon's chiseled cheekbones. "Be very careful what you say of the Lady Brenna," he warned. "I will hear no ill of her."

  "Then I'll speak no more of the mealy-mouthed bitch," Elene shot back. "She isn't the reason I'm here." Her voice softened as she added imploringly, "Oh, Guyon, how can you forget the pleasures we shared? Did they mean so little to you? I can't believe that. You were ever so ardent... so tender... I know you meant for there to be far more between us."

  "You know nothing!" Guyon sneered, anger at the insult to his wife driving out any instinct for chivalry. "You mistake plain lust for some far greater emotion. And you presume upon my common sense if you think I ever saw you as anything more than a willing bedmate."

  "You wanted to marry me once!" Elene cried, forgetting for the moment that she had planned to be lovely and seductive. Her voice rose an octave. "You longed to make me your wife. You thought the sun and moon revolved around me. Bedmate, indeed! I was far more to you, my lord, and I do not believe for a moment that you have forgotten."

  "That is true," Guyon agreed with deceptive softness. "I have forgotten nothing." Taking a step toward her, his eyes flashed threatening. "Not your greed, your ambition, your insatiable appetite for wealth and power. I have forgotten none of it, madame. You swore yourself in love with me, then chose to wed an old, withered man who could keep you in luxury. No sooner were you married, than you proved yourself the whore by seeking to cuckold your husband. I have no doubt that when you found me unwilling, you wasted no time offering yourself to others more obliging." Leaning closer, he snarled, "You have all the instincts of a cat in heat. I thank God I found a woman whose beauty and passion are matched by honor. You are not fit to touch the hem of her gown. If I ever hear you have disturbed her in any way, you will wish yourself in hell rather than endure my wrath!"

  Elene's painted mouth dropped open in disbelief. Never had she imagined Guyon could speak to her like that. True, he might pretend reluctance about resuming their relationship. She knew he still nurtured some ill feeling for her marriage to a wealthy lord when he was still struggling to establish himself. But she had been confident of swiftly overcoming any desire he might have to punish her. After all, hadn't he been her lover again after her husband's death?

  "You did not mind bedding me after I was widowed," she reminded him fiercely. "If I was a cat in heat, you more than met my desires. Why I remember nights when we..."

  "You were available," Guyon broke in cynically. "And I do not for a moment deny you are very... adept. Why shouldn't I have enjoyed what you so eagerly thrust at me? But I never doubted I would one day find something far better. Now that I have, you would be well advised to keep your distance." Topaz eyes swept over her scathingly. "Your charms have paled, madame. I wouldn't bed you now for all the gold in Christendom."

  "I don't believe you!" Elene screamed, stamping her foot against the hard-packed ground. His brutal derision swept away the last remnants of her caution. "You can't want her more than me! You can't! She's nothing... a stupid, little girl who can't do anything for you but breed! For God's sake, Guyon, I loved you!"

  Without giving him a chance to respond, Elene pressed herself to him fervently. Hot, eager hands ran over his powerful shoulders and back. Slender nostrils flared as she breathed in the heady male scent of sweat and sun. Trembling, Elene rubbed her breasts against his rock-hard chest, not caring that his rough tunic chafed the nipples only lightly covered by her tunic and surcoat.

  Every instinct within Guyon yearned to thrust her away. He felt nothing but the most profound disgust. It was difficult even to recall that he had once willingly possessed this woman. Compared to Brenna's exquisite sensuality, Elene was a straining, lusting animal who aroused only repulsion.

  Only his deeply imbued distaste for using his strength against someone weaker kept him from throwing her to the ground. Fists clenched at his sides, Guyon fought down the impulse to violence. Once he was certain he could control himself, he would put her from him and explain in terms even Elene could not forget that he never wanted her to come near him again.

  But he didn't get the chance. Just as his hands reached for her, Elene raised herself on tiptoe, pressing her mouth to his. Before Guyon could recoil in disgust, he heard a gasp of horror from the direction of the stable door.

  Brenna stood watching them, hands clasped tightly in front of her, her face drained of color, and her lips trembling uncontrollably. Worried by Guyon's absence from the hall after the other men returned, she had gone looking for him. The long hours they were apart had cooled her resentment and made her regret even more deeply the harsh words between them that morning. Driven by the need to tell him of her remorse, she searched out a squire who told her Lord Guyon was most likely in the stables. Hoping that since it was the dinner hour, they would find a few minutes' privacy, Brenna went there gladly. Only to discover her husband kissing the Lady Elene, their bodies pressed so closely together as to not allow for the passage of a flea between them.

  Blinded by tears, Brenna turned and fled. She could not bear to see the enactment of her worst doubts. How had she believed, even for a moment, that she could win Guyon over a woman as beautiful and desirable as Elene? All the happiness she had known since her marriage lay shattered as she ran across the bailey and up the stairs to the great stone keep.

  Choking on her sobs, Brenna did not hear Guyon's hoarse shout. She had no awareness of his swift tread following her, or of the curious stares of lords and ladies alike as she hurried through the hall. Her breath came in harsh gasps as she climbed the steep staircase to the second floor. Only when she was at last safe in their room did Brenna's desperate strength give way to grief.

  Collapsed on the bed, she wept hopelessly. Tension building in her throughout the weeks since her sudden marriage and removal to a strange land gave way at last in scalding tears. So intense was her grief that Guyon entered the room and repeated her name several times before his presence penetrated. When it did, Brenna burrowed further into the bed, moaning, "G-go away..."

  "Brenna, listen to me," Guyon entreated, kneeling beside the bed and trying to turn her to him. "What you saw meant nothing. Elene was just being... obstinate. There is nothing between us. You must believe me."

  Brenna barely heard him. The image of Elene embracing him repeated over and over in her fevered mind. The woman's mocking words of the day before and that morning rose to taunt her. At that moment, it seemed perfectly sensible that Guyon would try to make her believe Elene was no longer his mistress. If only for the sake of peace in his own household, he would have to pretend otherwise. But she recalled the great ardor and skill of his lovemaking and told herself such a man would never be satisfied with a single woman, especially not one so young and inexperienced.

  "Go away!" Brenna repeated more sharply
. Rage was beginning to block out anguish. How dare Guyon make such a mockery of all they shared! He left no doubt that he expected her to be absolutely faithful in thought as well as deed, yet wasted no time resuming his own liaison with another woman. Convinced that such duplicity was but one more example of Norman contempt for women, Brenna lashed out fiercely. "Don't touch me, you lecherous cur! If you think I'll take the leavings of that... that harlot, you're very much mistaken!"

  Guyon stiffened. Dropping his hands, he stood up. His eyes were hooded as he took in Brenna's bared teeth and flushed cheeks.

  "So much for wifely trust!" he derided contemptuously. "You've already tried and found me guilty. And is this my punishment, that I not touch you?" His firm lips parted in a pained sneer. "So be it, madame. Be assured, I will not touch you again until I am convinced you are worthy of my regard. Your bitter suspicion and hot temper are enough to cool any man's ardor!"

  As he had that morning, Guyon left their room angrily, slamming the door shut behind him. Brenna lay for a long time without moving. Slowly, her tears died away, as did her fury. In their place came the first stirrings of contrition. Whatever else he might be, Guyon was right about her temper. Added to the natural insecurity she felt as a young bride in a foreign land, it had caused her to jump to conclusions that might possibly not be warranted.

  Sniffling, Brenna sat up slowly. Her head throbbed and her eyes burned. She felt bruised all over. In such a state, she could not bear to face Guyon, much less the court. There was no possibility of her going down to supper, when a single bite would choke her. Nor could she imagine Guyon returning to their room to sleep. If she was wrong and he was not Elene's lover, then he would undoubtedly bed down in the Great Hall with the other men. What their reaction would be, Brenna did not care to imagine. Wearily, she subsided back against the bolster. Morning would be soon enough to seek her husband out and learn once and for all if her fears had any basis in reality.