“Gillian, dear, I have good news for you,” the abbess said, and again the tall one lifted her head, her bright eyes shifting quickly toward the speaker. Surely that brazen creature was not his bride, Nicholas thought. Perhaps she simply lacked the manners that the other two exhibited with their discreet silence.
“The king has sent you a husband,” the old woman continued, her voice trembling with age—or was it trepidation? Nicholas glanced back at the bold one again. Her gaze was fixed firmly on the abbess, and what he could see of her face showed not meek submission, but determined dissent. She certainly did not act like any nun he had ever seen.
“I do not believe it. Why would Edward have any interest in me?” she said, and Nicholas felt a sharp stab of awareness. This tall, rebellious creature was Gillian Hexham?
“‘Tis true, my dear,” the old woman said, speaking gently. “The king sent word of your uncle’s death, and that you were to marry Lord de Laci to unite the lands.”
The girl’s gaze swept over Nicholas in a swift assessment that he found both unseemly and oddly exhilarating. Aye, Gillian, know your master and weep, he thought grimly, and he let her see a glimpse of his triumph.
She did not flinch, but met his hard look with one of her own, and he saw that she was younger than he had expected. No child, to be sure, but neither was she old. Eighteen years, Nicholas judged, give or take, and she was not ugly, or even plain. Her face was a creamy oval, her skin clear, her nose small and pert, her mouth well formed. And her eyes… They were not Hexham’s black, but a deep green, and they were burning with a cold fire. Abruptly she glanced away, dismissing Nicholas with a contempt that stunned him.
“You knew of this, but informed me not?” she asked, turning on the abbess. Her voice betrayed strong emotion that Nicholas could only guess was despair, but that, oddly enough, sounded more like repressed fury. This female was convent-bred?
“Now, Gillian…” the abbess said, and Nicholas’s attention was caught by the movement of the two other women, who exchanged wary glances, just as though they expected some outburst from his bride.
They were not to be disappointed. “Do not patronize me!” Gillian said, rising to her feet. “You received word, but you failed to tell me. Were you afraid that I would run away and lose you a fat purse from this popinjay?” she cried, pointing a finger at Nicholas.
Popinjay? The casually flung insult inflamed Nicholas, and he had to gain control of himself, lest he beat her here and now, when she was not yet his wife. Only great strength of will kept him from moving, but he held still, his features impassive, while his blood boiled and his hands itched to reach for her. Later. Later she would suffer for her words, and more…
The nuns gasped in horror, while the old woman stepped forward with a placating smile. “Gillian, you know that gold holds no sway with me. If you would but take the time to think, you would see that I have your best interests at heart. You have not been happy here, but now you have a chance for a new life. Take it, child, with God’s blessing.”
“I would be more inclined to view this news as good fortune if you had deigned to share it, instead of keeping it from me. I suspect that you did not let me know the truth for fear I would try to escape.”
Escape? What kind of woman was she, to babble such nonsense? Did she truly think to defy the king? “Enough!” Nicholas said sharply, astounded that she dared raise her voice in a convent. “It matters not when you were told. We are to be wed, and you have no choice.”
She whirled toward him, and the other nuns reached out for her, murmuring soothingly, but she shook them off and walked forward until she stood directly in front of Nicholas.
“There are always choices, my lord,” she snapped, and Nicholas was stunned to silence by the enmity flashing in those green eyes. What cause had she to hate him? He was the one who had been ill-used, first by her uncle and now by her sharp tongue! Then she turned and stalked from the room, without waiting for the dismissal of her lord or her abbess.
Nicholas was not even aware that he moved, but suddenly he was at the door, Darius holding firm to his arm. “Let her go for now,” the Syrian said, his voice low and pleading for reason.
Startled by his own loss of control, Nicholas drew back. His blood was pounding so fiercely that it took an effort for him to gain mastery over it. And so it became a small victory simply to hold his position and not give chase to Gillian Hexham like some herder after an errant pig.
“Forgive her, my lord,” the abbess urged. “Gillian is impetuous, a bit headstrong, even, but she will come around. She simply needs some time to grow accustomed to the idea.”
Amazed at the depth of his rage, Nicholas breathed slowly, seeking his vaunted discipline before he spoke. “Why did you not let her know that I was coming, so that this display might have been avoided?”
The abbess did not meet his penetrating stare, but turned her head away, forcing Nicholas to wonder whether Gillian had spoken the truth. Would she flee, rather than wed him? But why? She had no notion of his hatred or of what lay between her uncle and himself. The abbess had told him that Hexham had taken no interest in his niece save to tuck her away in the convent, and that no communication had passed between them in the years since. Gillian could hardly be devoted to a man she had never even met.
An oddly unsettling notion took root in Nicholas’s fevered brain, and he watched the abbess closely for her response. “Has she a lover nearby? Or some tie that would make her refuse to leave here?”
The nuns gasped at his plain language. “No, no, my lord, I assure you that Gillian has nothing holding her here. ‘Tis only her own strong will, my lord,” the abbess answered. Her reply filled him with a strange relief, which Nicholas put down to a desire not to be cuckolded.
“She is stubborn, my lord,” one of the nuns whispered.
“She dislikes anything that is not her idea,” the other one said, her face pinched with disapproval.
“She has had a hard life, my lord,” the first nun added.
“In a convent?” Nicholas asked, not bothering to hide his disbelief.
“After her father died; she and her mother were forced to live very meagerly, and then her mother, too, passed on. She was cast adrift until her uncle finally sent funds for her to join us here,” the abbess explained.
Cast adrift? “What do you mean? Where did she live?”
“She took shelter with a burgher’s family, as little more than a servant.”
Wonderful. His wife had been as one lowborn. Oddly enough, the thought of her trials did not give Nicholas pleasure, perhaps because they had been brought on by fate, and not by himself. Perverse as it might seem, he wanted to be the sole source of distress to Gillian Hexham.
“She hardly seems subservient,” he commented dryly.
“She is a good girl, my lord, but lacks the proper disposition for the holy life. Perhaps she is better suited to be a chatelaine,” the abbess suggested, with a gleam in her eye.
Nicholas frowned. If the old woman was likening Gillian’s behavior to that of her betters, she was sadly mistaken. The ill-mannered creature little resembled any lady he knew. His sister, Aisley, never raised her voice, and she was the most regal of females.
Nicholas nearly laughed at the comparison. His tiny, fair-haired sister was nothing like this green-eyed jade. Convent-bred, indeed! Obviously, the old woman could not control her flock, but Nicholas would put the fear of God into Gillian Hexham quickly enough.
The ghost of a smile flickered at the corners of his mouth as he contemplated his revenge. By faith, by the time he was done with her, Gillian would look back on her past with