She did not fight him, but did not participate in the kiss, and Brice felt a small measure of disappointment that the spirit she’d displayed earlier had disappeared now. He wanted to taste her fire and her strength, but all he felt was her fear. Her body trembled in his embrace, so he kissed her lightly and quickly and lifted his head.
Her turquoise eyes stared back at him and he watched as curiosity, fear and surprise warred within her gaze. She reached up and touched her mouth as though she’d never been kissed. Regardless of her innocence or lack of participation, his body responded to the taste of her soft lips and to the promise of holding her close to him in his bed. He would slide his hands beneath her gown and caress every part of her before the sun’s light touched the camp once more.
Whether she understood it or not, her body did, for she shuddered as Brice stared into her eyes, wanting her naked and writhing at his every caress. She would warm his bed this night and every other one from this time forwards and he would show her such pleasure that she would never regret giving her consent. He tore his gaze from hers and examined her from the top of her head to her feet.
Her lush hips promised healthy babes and once he removed her brother from their lands and secured this area for William, he intended to breed many with her. All of them would bear his name, unlike his own father, for Brice had married the woman who would give him children. Now that she was in his possession, everything he’d ever wanted, everything he’d laboured for and worked for was within his reach.
Taking her hand and turning her towards his men, he held their joined hands up and claimed her.
‘Lady Gillian of Thaxted,’ he called out loudly. ‘My wife!’ The cheering began slowly and spread out through the camp as one and all acknowledged his marriage and saluted his wife. He nodded to Stephen, who stepped forwards and bowed to Gillian. ‘Take the lady to my tent and guard her until I arrive,’ he ordered.
Brice had no doubt that the words spoken by her or promises made would fade as soon as she realised what she’d done. Therefore only consummation would make her understand she was now his and prevent any claim that could nullify their vows. Until that was accomplished and their marriage was acknowledged by all parties, he would protect her as the treasure she was.
Stephen approached and he felt her body tense. His man bowed to her and held out his arm to escort her as befit a lady and his wife. ‘My lady?’
Brice held his breath as he waited for her to bolt, but she placed her hand on Stephen’s arm and walked at his side towards his tent. Brice had to see to many tasks before he could retire for the night and if he appeared to hurry none of his men mentioned it.
An hour or two later, after messages had been sent and more guards set to watch around their camp, he stood in front of his tent and wondered which woman—the honoured wife or the escaping peasant—he would find within. Reaching out, he lifted the flap and entered.
Though she heard his approach and entrance into the tent, Gillian did not rise or look up to meet his gaze. As yet uncertain of the situation and the man involved, she’d pondered her options for the last hour or two. And that was after spending a while in complete shock over her new circumstances. Instead of becoming used to the ever-present changes in her life, she was truly tired of it.
Her plan to escape her half-brother’s control and to avoid this marriage and seek refuge in the convent had failed. Oh, it was ill advised at best from the beginning, but it was a better plan than the first three times she’d tried it. Both her brother’s threats of repeating the punishments he’d already applied for any future attempts and her need to flee his machinations had brought her to this.
She dared not seek Oremund’s help now. She could not make it to the convent. She had not. Sighing, Gillian knew she was out of choices.
‘Lady?’ His deep voice broke into her reverie and forced her gaze up to his.
How had she ever mistaken him for anything other than the leader he was? Even if she discounted his lack of a banner proclaiming his insignia, even if she ignored the uncouth and foul language she’d heard him use, even believing Oremund’s stories about the Norman—nay, Breton—and his plans, there was no way to ignore the inherent nobility of the man standing before her now.
He’d removed his chainmail and other accoutrements of fighting and war and stood there as just a man. Yet now he seemed even more dangerous than before.
He was tall, tall enough that he had to crouch down to walk farther into the tent and not hit the top of it with his head. He was large, with broad shoulders that bespoke years of training in his craft. He was. waiting. She swallowed deeply then as she realised he watched her perusal of him and allowed it. Gillian lowered her gaze to her clasped hands and waited quietly.
‘Did they bring you fresh water and see to your comforts?’ he asked softly. Without even lifting her head, she could see him moving closer to her. ‘Do you need something to drink or eat?’
With the time before he consummated their marriage running out, she decided to try one last time to dissuade him from his purpose.
‘My lord,’ she said quietly as she rose to her feet and stood before him, ‘I need nothing from you save your grant of safe passage to the convent.’
The tension between and around them grew as she waited on his word. When silence was her only answer, she lifted her head and looked at him. His brown eyes darkened even more as the intensity and heat of his gaze moved over her.
‘You have asked for one of the two things I could not grant you, lady, even if I wished it to be so.’
Had he done it a-purpose? He’d phrased his words so that she had to ask about the other. Did he know of her unseemly curiosity, something her brother and their father had decried as a flaw in her character? Her heart began to pound in her chest as he reached out and took her hand in his, tugging her even closer. Try as she might, Gillian could not stop the words from spilling out.
‘What is the other?’ She held her breath as he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the inside of her wrist. He allowed his lips to rest there for a moment longer than necessary before looking back at her.
‘I could not let you greet the morning as a maiden still,’ he said.
Shaking her head, she pulled her hand from his grasp. Or tried to, for his fingers held tight and did not allow her to free herself. ‘My lord …’
‘My lady,’ he replied.
‘I beg you …’ Her voice caught as he slid the sleeve of her gown down her arm and followed it with his mouth, placing heated kiss after heated kiss along the exposed skin there. Flames seemed to grow within her and she could not find the thoughts and arguments that seemed so coherent just moments before. Her body trembled at his intimate touch and she reached her free hand up to pry loose his hold.
‘Nay, my lady,’ he whispered against her skin, not even pausing in his attentions as he caught her hand and placed it on his chest. ‘I could not allow it.’
With her hands held so, she was forced to lean closer to him. She searched his face for any sign that he would relent, but there was none. And when he turned to look at her and she recognised the glint of desire in his eyes, she knew she had no chance of escaping his intentions. Even when he released her hands, it was only for a moment and only to untie her veil and remove it. He tossed the linen aside and took her into his embrace, drawing her even nearer. When his mouth descended and touched hers, she lost her wits completely and every attempt to focus on her plan, a plan, any plan, failed as her body fell under his spell.
This kiss began much as his first had, but then it changed quickly into something seeking,