Daring Damsels

by Domning, Denise

  "Forty some," Gilliam said, releasing the lace that held his metal hood about his head. He pushed the thing back and took off the cap he wore beneath it then ran his fingers through his hair.

  "Holy Jesus," the man offered in admiration of their victory. "Alfred said I must tell you, your lady is a berserker."

  Gilliam shot him a sidelong glance, then remembered Nicola's blankness after the village woman's death. "I should have guessed. It’s a good thing I own her and need never face her, eh, Walter?"

  "My lord, only you could own her," Walter said with a breath of amusement.

  "That's true enough." Ashby's lord laughed. "Set the folk to gathering horses and stripping Ocslade's men of their armor. Not only does this day leave us to exist in peace, but Ashby is now far richer than dawn found us. Three sets of chain mail, hauberks, and swords aplenty, plus a stable full of horses. Not a bad day's work, I think me."

  "Aye, my lord." Walter turned away to organize the peasants to these tasks.

  Gilliam reached down for his sword then went to one of the last men he'd killed. As he used that man's tunic to clean his blade well enough to sheath it, the reeve's daughter moaned and came to her senses. He strode to her and offered his hand to help her rise.

  "My lord," she said quietly, staring at him in consternation.

  She was much prettier when her expression was not marred by a whore's leer. "Reeve's daughter, I owe you my thanks for this day's success. Because of you, my wife and I yet live. Do I dare tell you how astonished I was to see you racing up behind your lover, blade outstretched?" He smiled at her.

  Her eyes filled suddenly. "He killed my father. I could not bear that he would kill Colette, as well." She raised her hands to cover her face. When she dropped them, gone was the pretty girl; the whore had taken her place. She eyed him speculatively, her expression growing soft with the promise of pleasure.

  "Do not waste your time," Gilliam said, his remark made gentle by the love this girl claimed for Nicola.

  The sultry look fell away, and the small woman shot him a bright smile. "Ah well, it was worth a try. I think Colette was not honest when she spoke to me about her marriage to you, my lord."

  He grinned in return. "I know she was not."

  She tilted her head to look up at him, the motion reminded Gilliam of her father. "I am not sure if I am happy or angry over this."

  He raised his brows and eyed her as she studied him, her lips pursed as she considered the issue. A moment later, she nodded as if in decision. "I am happy."

  "Now you must leave," he said quietly.

  She eyed him in speculation. "You would not let me stay?"

  "What is there here for you?" he replied.

  "Nothing," the girl said in happy relief. "Aye, if I stay here, some other woman will have the life I want. I think I'll take me to a greater place than even Graistan, and find a kinder lord to keep me." She smiled up at him, pleased by her sinful thoughts.

  Gilliam considered her for a moment then turned. "Walter, find this woman a fair palfrey, will you? She'll be needing a mount to take her on her travels."

  "My lord, thank you," she cried in surprise. "This I did not expect."

  He shook his head, refusing her thanks. "You have done me a great service, and for that I must see you rewarded."

  The girl hesitated, the fine planes of her face touched with guilt. At last, she said, "I would not cheat you my lord, when you intend me only kindness. I have already rewarded myself."

  A whore and a thief, but an honest one. Gilliam grinned. "Have you?"

  Her smile was gay, and mischief sparkled in her brown eyes. For that brief instant he saw the merry child who had won Nicola's heart. She turned her belt on her waist to reveal a heavy purse. "Whilst you were battling, I helped myself to Osbert’s and William’s coins. I left what the others carried."

  "Keep the coins with my blessing," he said, trying not to laugh. Walter brought her a small mare, yet fitted with its previous owner's saddle and bridle, then helped her to mount.

  "You can ride?" Ashby's lord asked.

  "Not well, but I think I shall improve," the girl replied. "My lord, will you bear a message to your wife for me?"

  "With all gratitude."

  "Tell her that I love her still, but cannot know how long this love of mine will last. Say to her that should I pass this way once more under no circumstances is she to trust what I say." The girl's sudden smile was wicked with delight. "I am not the trustworthy sort."

  This time, Gilliam did laugh. "Get you gone from my vale, little thief. I'll not tolerate your sort here."

  She was still smiling as she set her heels into the horse and rode into the woodlands.

  Nicola stared out over her crowded hall in pleasure. Not only was all of Ashby here for the spring ale, but the masons as well, along with Lord Coudray and his men, who had escorted the workmen. With the meal just ended, villagers and servants worked together to clear the tables. The morrow would find Mad Muriel and her son dining on lamb stew and duck brewet; the dogs received the remains of the roasted ox and sheep.

  "My lady, that was truly a fine meal." Lord Coudray owned a rich baritone voice that made his every sentence sound like a song. He had shared a bench with her.

  She smiled at him. That this man was Gilliam's kin there could be no doubt. His hair was just as golden, although it lacked the curl of her husband's fair locks. His eye color was a deeper blue, his nose had the same perfect length and width, his cheekbones high, and his jawline as strong. All in all, he should have been the more handsome of the two, save that half his face was ruined.

  The scars could be no more than a year old. The longest traveled from the top left of his brow, across the bridge of his nose, beneath the patch covering his right eye, then trailed off toward his ear. A second, smaller scar cut directly down from the shielded eye to curl into the corner of his mouth.

  Still a little awestruck at entertaining so auspicious a man, Nicola said quietly, "I am very glad you enjoyed it, my lord sheriff."

  "Geoff," he insisted, and he smiled at her. Even with the scar at his mouth's corner, it was a beautiful thing. His teeth were even and white; the curve of his lips infectious. "Anyone who makes my brother as happy as you do cannot stand on ceremony."

  "I am not happy," Gilliam said, speaking around her to his brother. "You are taking my bed for the next days, and she will not play bed games with me while we sleep in the hall."

  "Gilliam," Nicola protested. "That’s a private matter!"

  Geoff laughed. "What is wrong with you, my mother's youngest son? This is a dangerous woman you taunt. I'd have a care with your tongue, were I you."

  "She loves me too much to hurt me," Gilliam assured him.

  "Humph," Nicola said, turning her back on him. "Do not be so sure."

  "My lord, might I go sit with my friends?" Jos asked, coming to stand between her and Gilliam. He presented an odd image, dressed in his new formal attire, his arm yet caught in a sling while his shoulder healed, and naught but stubble atop his head. "Dickon wagers that my scar," he lowered his head to indicate the crooked line on his scalp, "is longer than Alexander's."

  "Aye, go," Gilliam said with a smile.

  "Not yet," Geoffrey said, reaching out to catch the boy by the sleeve and draw him closer.

  Jos shot Nicola a worried glance. Despite all of their assurances, the boy strove to avoid Lord Geoffrey. He was certain his mother had convinced Lord Coudray that he was being abused at Ashby; Jos feared he would be forced to leave.

  "I would drink to you, Jocelyn of Freyne." His hand still clutching Jos's sleeve, Geoffrey reached for his cup. "To the infant of last autumn, who is no more, and to the warrior who used his skills to protect his lord and his lady, like a fine and loyal knight." He took a swallow of ale, then released the lad.

  Jos blushed at the compliment. “My thanks, Lord Coudray.”

  "Nay, my thanks to you, Jocelyn. I am right fond of my brother and grateful for what you did
to help him. How glad I am I brought you to him."

  Jos's cheeks grew redder still. "You will not take me away?"

  Geoffrey's brow creased in confusion. "Why would I do that? You will stay here until you are knighted."

  "My mother sent messages," Jos started, then sighed in relief. "My lord, please tell my mother that I am well and happy here. She must set her heart at ease over me.”

  "That I will do. Go to your friends now, Jocelyn."

  As the boy darted away, he called over his shoulder, "Name's Jos, my lord."

  Gilliam turned to sit astride his bench. "Come, love, there's room for you at the end now." He patted the spot, between his thighs.

  "Why do you carry messages to Jos's mother?" Nicola asked as she moved to sit between her husband's legs, her back against his chest. This was a mistake. There was a tingling inside her that suggested a week without lovemaking was impossible.

  Geoff's jaw was suddenly tight. "Both Jocelyn and the Widow of Freyne are my wards. She is pregnant with Freyne's child, and will live at the shire's seat under my protection until her babe is delivered. Worse yet, I or my undersheriff must witness the birth."

  "Ah," Nicola said in understanding. This was a logical way to protect a dead man's blood line. Not only did it shield an unborn heir from scheming relatives, it also assured that the babe was indeed born of his mother's body and was not some peasant's infant purchased to replace a stillborn child.

  "Ah, indeed," Geoff muttered. "I am praying she drops the child while I am here. Lady Elyssa has a way of raising my hackles that is unsurpassed in any other woman."

  "So she is yet filling your moat with tears, is she?" Gilliam asked with a quick laugh.

  "Nay, she's given up tears and now insists on prying into my private life." This sharp comment was followed by a sigh of resignation, and Geoff's shoulders relaxed. "I should not complain so. She's a good woman, who has restored Cecilia's voice. My daughter has been without speech since her mother's death," he added for Nicola's sake.

  "Lady Elyssa has done this?" Gilliam asked in astonishment. "Then, fie on you for complaining over her, or is it jealousy that goads you? You are as bad as Rannulf and cannot abide to share your child's love. It’s a marvelous thing Jos's mother has done. Why, it broke my heart to see my niece voiceless and shy in June past, when she had always been such a cheerful little lass. If you cannot thank Lady Elyssa on your own behalf, then thank her on mine,"

  "I did thank her," Geoff retorted. "Do not nag, Gilliam. I came here to escape my troubles, not dissect them."

  "Aye, leave your brother in peace," Nicola said. "What sort of host chides his guest?" She leaned her head back against Gilliam's shoulder, her cheek resting against his throat. His arms around her tightened in response, then he raised his arms until his wrists were beneath her breasts.

  She drew a sharp breath. Tingling turned into desire, and there was nothing weak-kneed about it. Pipes squealed and drums beat as the musicians announced the first dance. There was a great stomping of feet to herald the dancers into the hall's cleared center.

  Nicola slid back on the bench as far as she could go between Gilliam’s thighs. His long gown was bunched between his legs, keeping her from feeling his shaft against her lower back. His embrace tightened as he tried to accomplish the same thing. One week was definitely too long. She turned her head as if to look out at the dancers, her hair brushing across Gilliam's throat. It was his turn to gasp.

  "Geoff, my wife and I will catch a breath of fresh air before the dancing starts," he said, his voice husky with his need for her.

  Nicola cleared her throat to hide her laugh. The last thing she wanted to do was catch her breath. "Aye, I would like that," she said, rising from the bench.

  Geoffrey aimed his gaze at her, then his brother, a faint air of amusement in his look. "As you will."

  Gilliam grabbed her hand and nigh on pulled her out of the hall. Outside, the night was clear, the sky filled with stars, a waning moon already seeking its rest on the western horizon. Those of Geoffrey's men and Ashby's soldiery not interested in dancing had gathered in the bailey. Their fire was just coming to life, but their kegs of ale had been well tapped. Dice rattled in someone's cup. Walter crowed as he saw his lord and lady.

  "I win! I told you they could not last a day!"

  "Hold your tongue," Gilliam snarled at them as he and Nicola hurried their steps across the open expanse, "this is a private matter."

  Nicola pulled him to a halt at the base of the tower stairs. "Gilliam, we cannot use the bed."

  "Who's there?!" The cry came from around the corner of the cellar. Arnold, the master mason, appeared, lamp in hand. "Oh, 'tis you Lord Ashby, my lady." His brusque nod barely acknowledged her. "I expected another pair thinking to hide behind the cellar wall to couple. I've driven three away so far."

  "Good work, Arnold," Gilliam said. "We want no fornicators at Ashby. What are you doing here?"

  "Making some measurements. I do not hold much with frivolity. Waste of time." He stood, watching them as if waiting for something.

  "Well then," Gilliam said, "I suppose we'll be going back to the hall and leave you to your work."

  Arnold nodded as if this was a suitable answer. "Good night, my lord." He disappeared behind the wall again.

  Nicola waited until he was out of earshot. "I've put fresh linens on the bed. We cannot use it," she hissed.

  "He'll never notice, I vow," Gilliam whispered back. He caught her to him, tugging off her head cloth to bury his hands in her hair. Their mouths met in a frantic mating, her arms clutching him tightly to her. He lowered one hand to catch her breast, his thumb toying with the peak. She tore her mouth from his to kiss his throat, then his earlobe. Sweet Mary, but she wanted him right this moment.

  "It’s wrong to abandon our guests this way," she breathed, trying to stop herself.

  He caught her tightly to him, forcing her to rise onto her toes. Nicola melted. She could feel his shaft even through their clothing. "Once and quickly, then. Best you put a whole week's worth of passion in it. I still won't play this game for others' benefit."

  "Praise be to God," he murmured, then grabbed her by the hand. They dashed up the stairs and into their darkened chamber. Gilliam pushed at the door, not taking time to see it properly shut.

  Laces flew and gowns were discarded in record time. He grabbed her to him, and they fell onto the bed. Ropes squealed and posts squeaked. The footboard creaked.

  His mouth burned a line down her throat; her fingers drew lines on his nape. As his hand caught her breast, she kissed his ear. Her thighs parted, and he entered her with one swift and wondrous thrust. She arched beneath him, wrapping her legs around his waist.

  He rose above her on his elbows to spare her his weight. Not this time. She caught him around the neck, forcing his mouth to hers. Her kiss demanded that he take her with all his power. He groaned against her mouth and thrust again. Pleasure exploded in her.

  The bed rocked, but Nicola was too far gone in her own passion to notice. She freed his mouth and kissed his throat as her heels on his buttocks urged him to move again and again. There was an odd squeal in the room.

  Gilliam gasped as she cried out. Feet braced against the bed's end, he poured himself into her, thrusting with all his might. And kicked off the footboard.

  Ropes snapped, the end of the mattress dropped to the floor. The end bedposts clattered against the wall, curtain poles fell. The headboard started to drop atop them, only to stop, braced in midair by the curtain poles. Without the support of the footboard, the sideboards fell toward them and they were trapped in the sagging mattress.

  "Mary, Mother of God," Nicola cried out, her voice muffled by the curtains atop them, "you broke the bed!"

  Gilliam shook in silent laughter.

  "There is nothing humorous about this," Nicola protested, reaching up to push the bed curtain out of her face. "You great lummox, you broke the bed. Where is your brother going to sleep? Oh, Jesu, how ar
e we going to explain this to him? I cannot believe you broke our bed!"

  "Oh, Colette," he started, but could not get more out as he was laughing out loud now. When she made an irritated sound, he caught it back and managed to gasp out, "It’s Geoff's fault. The damn bed's too short for me. It's your fault, too. By God, but you drive me beyond sanity."

  Of a sudden, it was funny. A tiny laugh bubbled out of her. "They will have to dig us out, I think."

  "Nay, if I ease backward, I can slip out the end. I have it! We'll dress and hurry back to the hall. When it’s time to bring Geoff out here, we'll act as if we had no idea how this had happened."

  "Gilliam," Geoff said, his voice coming from the door, "it cannot work. I have caught you already."

  "It was not my idea," Nicola protested, laughing in earnest. "I said the linens were clean and should stay that way."

  "How?" Gilliam demanded.

  "The master mason was working near the cellar and heard a terrible noise in this chamber. He rushed to the hall to fetch you or me, saying some couple used this chamber. I see he was right."

  "It’s your fault. I told you the bed was too short," Gilliam said. "Now go back to the hall, my mother's oldest son. We'll be back as soon as we are finished here." He grinned at his wife.

  Nicola laughed. "Aye, but best be patient. We may be a while.”

  Thank you for reading Spring's Fury, the third of my stories about the FitzHenry brothers. If you liked this book (or even if you didn't, I suppose) please consider leaving a review.

  So by the time I got around to writing Spring's Fury, I'd already done a book about both a Medieval castle and city. What else was there? Why a Medieval manor, of course!

  These small holdings were the backbone of the country. Lucky for me that after two books my publisher still wanted more. Even luckier, I still had two more FitzHenry brothers to explore. Gilliam became my choice, mostly because I hadn't yet even seen Geoffrey in my imagination although I was aware of him. Although I hadn't done it on purpose, Gilliam reminded me of my second son, Justin. Like Gilliam, Justin was then a curly-haired blond (his hair has darkened since but is still just as curly), and a very big man. Let me just say that when Justin went to freshman orientation at high school, the football coach made a beeline for him and nearly got down on his knees to beg Justin to join the team. Justin, who now wears a size 53 jacket, refused.