Spring's Fury (23 page)

He made a sound deep in his throat, his hands coming to grasp her hips. "You are impossible," he said, his voice filled with both laughter and desire.

"Do you not like what you feel?" She breathed her question into his ear and reveled in how he shivered in reaction.

"Very much," he managed in a hoarse voice.

"If that is true, why do you keep stopping me?"

He laughed and released his hold on her. When Nicola moved this time, she gasped at the pleasure that shot through her. She caught his mouth with hers and tested herself atop him. Each movement was joy, but the wanting for more only grew apace.

Suddenly, it was he who gasped. His arms came around her, and Nicola found herself lying beneath him. With that, he began to move within her, steady and slow. She arched beneath him, her fingers digging into his back. His mouth was again on hers, his kiss fiery in its urgency.

Wanting grew greater still. She cried out against his kiss, her hands coming to hold him at the hips to urge him to satisfy what ached in her. He tore his mouth from hers, breathing raggedly with his need. His motions grew faster. With each thrust pleasure roared through her, wave after wonderful wave. Her body demanded that she move. She met his next thrust with her own. As if from a distance, she heard him begging her to match his rhythm.

Nicola lifted beneath him, meeting him thrust for thrust. Still, he spoke to her, his voice deep and soft, telling her how much she was pleasing him. Knowing she did so only increased her own enjoyment. There was more, with each thrust, there was more.

When she thought she could bear it no longer, he groaned, driving himself into her with all the passion he had for her. She swore she felt his seed entering her. Her hands left his hips to hold him tightly to her once more. The pressure in her eased as he filled her and her body sighed. From within her came a deep knowing. What she felt could be bettered with practice.

He lowered himself to lie atop her, gasping and panting. All her muscles softened in reaction as her body accepted his weight atop it. Nicola kissed his jaw and caught his mouth with hers.

His lips moved in a tender caress, and he tried to slide to the side to spare her his weight. When she would not let him move, he rolled onto his side, taking her with him. Nicola gave a small sigh of disappointment. "But, I like you atop me." She whispered her complaint against his lips.

Gilliam shuddered and groaned, his kiss deepening. The desperation in his caress startled her, for it had naught to do with heat or pleasure. She caught his face in her hands, then eased back to study him. There was fear, longing, and joy all tangled together in his eyes. No smile touched his mouth.

"Did I do wrong?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head, his eyes suddenly full. "Colette, my heart is aching. All I can think is that I have made a child in you, and you will die."

All the joy she had just experienced dimmed. Nicola bowed her head as Alice's death came rushing back. "You mean as Alice did," she said flatly. "At least she set a fine, healthy son in her husband's arms before she went. That pleased her so. 'Twas the afterbirth that did it, tearing her womb as it exited. She bled."

In the speaking of it, her grief over Alice separated itself from the symbolism she'd placed on the commoner's child. "Oh Gilliam, it was all my fault," she cried, then fell silent in surprise. She hadn't meant to tell him about how she had betrayed Ashby.

"It cannot be your fault that her womb tore," he replied, his voice soothing, but his tone confused.

The urge to spill her pain for him to hear became undeniable. "Nay, 'tis not that," Nicola said, staring at his chest to avoid meeting his gaze. "It’s Ashby's fall that plagues me. Ever since June, I have been trying to run away from what I did, even turning the birth of Alice's babe into a silly hope that I would not have to accept responsibility for it. It was my fault. Aye, my stepmother took your brother prisoner, but it was I who closed the gates against you, Gilliam. I thought if I could prove to Lord Rannulf how competent I was, he’d allow me to keep Ashby as my own. Because of me, the hall burned and the village was destroyed."

"You give yourself a greater role to play in that than is yours," Gilliam said softly. "I, my brother, your father, and his wife, also contributed to what happened here."

Nicola kept her gaze focused on his chest. " It’s kind of you to forgive me, but even your words cannot change what I did. By my actions have my beloved folk been killed, and those I should have protected been hurt. I am trying, but I cannot find a way to bear the weight of what I have done." Her eyes filled against the pain in her heart.

Gilliam eased far enough from her so he could catch her face in his palms. He tilted her face up until he could see her. "Ah, but you will," he said gently. "If the weight of your betrayal never leaves you, your shame becomes tolerable." There was just enough light left in the room to show her that his eyes were filled with sadness and understanding.

"How is it you know what I feel?" she breathed in astonishment.

His mouth tightened. "I have also betrayed one whose love I treasured. Oh Jesu." Gilliam closed his eyes. "Now I have said too much, and my stomach will not let me tell the tale." He freed her to lie upon his back, eyes yet tightly shut. Pain radiated from him.

Stunned, Nicola could only stare at him, unable to believe that this man who constantly smiled and jested could carry such an ache within him. All at once understanding flowed over her. Just as his placid nature had led her to believe he lacked intelligence, his ever-present smile hid what ate him.

When she said nothing, he opened his eyes, but still did not look at her. "I fear your newfound love for me will be killed should you hear my tale."

Nicola shook her head at that. "There is nothing that you could ever have done that would change what I feel for you. You are the only man in all this world who understands and accepts me, making you precious beyond anything else I own."

Gilliam turned his head toward her, his gaze filled with pleading as he struggled to believe her. "Not even adultery and incest with my brother's wife?" The words were barely audible. "She died, bearing my son."

Nicola swallowed, stunned anew. What he had done was terrible, indeed. In that instant she knew she held his life in her hands. She need only show disgust or horror, and he would be destroyed.

"Nay, not even that," she said and fell silent.  To even press him for details or explanations would seem she demanded justification, and that she did not need. Her love required no more than she already knew.

His breath left him in a slow stream, his expression relaxing against his relief. Somehow, his relief was hers. Within her the burden of her own betrayal shifted until the weight no longer overwhelmed her.

"Stride for stride, my love," he said softly. "Let us go forward into this life together, sharing between us our sins. I will help you rebuild what you have destroyed, and you will love me despite what I have done."

"With the greatest of pleasure," Nicola said, slowly smiling.

He smiled in return. "Best you beware. Now that you have given your heart to me, I will want children as well. I will kill you if you die doing it." Gilliam turned to lie on his side so they were once again face-to-face.

"Me, die?" Nicola said with a breath of scorn. "You should know by now that it’s not luck that keeps me alive, but my ill temper. Both God and the devil are afraid of me."

She ran her hand down the solid curve of his shoulder and upper arm. His skin felt wondrous beneath her palm. "I missed you last night. I have decided I would rather be cold with you, than alone and warm in the hall."

"Thank the Lord for small favors," he retorted as he toyed with a strand of her hair. His little game sent a shiver through her. "Speaking of favors, will you do me one?"

"What is it?" The heat in her woke again. Nicola decided she liked marriage very much.

"Will you teach me to speak English? I am tired of never knowing what is said around me."

She looked up at him, making her expression skeptical. "I do not know if I can."

"It is a difficult tongue?"

"Nay," she replied, "at least not for me. It’s just that the last thing I wish to do with you is talk. Especially not now." She touched her mouth to his chest, running her lips over his skin and using the tip of her tongue to taste him.

"Jesu, Colette," he breathed, "I should go back to the hall."

"Why?" she murmured against him. "Ashby's folk know how to drink without you to guide them along. Stay with me. I think I am finally beginning to understand how this joining thing works. With a little more practice, I might get it right."

He caught his fingers in her hair and lifted her head to look at her. "There is only so much I can do," he warned with a laugh.

"Shall we see how much?" she asked with a smile. "I know, I will turn this into your first lesson. Pay careful heed as I describe for you all the parts of the body."

Gilliam groaned. "I am a dead man."

Just one more, Jos," Nicola urged in a quiet voice and turned her back to the target. She did not want to watch in the fear that her attention would somehow affect his aim.

It was a typical day for Epiphany, combining bitter cold with a bitter wind and low clouds. There was a skin of ice over the surface of the millpond, and a patchy layer of snow covered the ground. Shivering, she waited for Jos to shoot, pulling her mantle shut over her new gowns. They were a gift from Gilliam, combining the functional cut her lifestyle demanded with fine fabric dyed the color of emeralds.

"I can do this," the boy whispered to himself. He drew a deep breath.

She watched him steady the short hunting bow that had been her first gift to him over this Christmas holiday. There was a sharp twang as the arrow left the weapon. Nicola clenched her eyes shut until she heard Jos release his breath with a hiss of satisfaction.

She whirled. "Did you?"

"Aye!" the boy crowed, dancing in excitement. "That's all six in the center. This I can do!" The Jos of two months ago was gone. In his place stood a robust lad who had begun to look his years, and who had added almost two fingers of height in just this last month.

"Did I not tell you that you had the eyes and hands of an archer?" she cried, as pleased as he by his victory. "It’s a rare talent for sure. Think on it! If you can do this in only a few days practice, you'll soon be a master." She started toward the target to retrieve the boy's bolts.

"Please my lady, leave them. I want Lord Gilliam to see when he returns. Mayhap he'll not be so quick to leave me here when he patrols. He'll trust me at his side, just as he would any other squire."

While Ashby's commoners enjoyed their last day of leisure in the Christmas holiday, Gilliam and Ashby's soldiers were still riding their borders. Over the past twelve days, three pregnant ewes had gone missing, hurdles had been destroyed, and an ox shot.

"Jos, he leaves you here not because of lack of trust, but you have not progressed far enough with your sword."

"I am working on it," he protested.

"Aye, but remember that you got a late start on your lessons. Where other lads have had their swords since their earliest years, you've had yours but two months. It’s a hard-earned skill, crafted by much practice. Give yourself time."

"I will work harder," Jos said, his jaw tensed. "If it comes to battle, I wish to be at my lord's back."

Nicola made a wry face at him. "Do not be in such a rush to kill men. It’s a terrible thing. Makes you ill, it does. Now, as I am frozen through and through, I say you are done for the day." Gilliam's absence during the short daylight hours had turned Nicola into Jos's tutor.

"Can I not wait out here for him?" the boy asked, a hopeful look on his face. He glanced beyond Nicola, and his face blossomed with a smile. Raising his bow and waving wildly, he shouted, "Lord Gilliam, come and see what I have done!"

Nicola turned.

Dressed in his mail her husband came striding across the bailey toward them, his cloak swirling around his knees. As always, Gilliam was bareheaded and bare-handed, his mail hood dangling down his back with his cloak hood, and his gloves tucked into the belt over his surcoat. Even from a distance her body acknowledged his presence with sudden warmth. When he stopped beside her, she reached for him, laying a possessive arm around his waist, her fingers hooking into his mail.

"And what have you done?" Gilliam asked with an expectant smile. Although he kept his attention on Jos, his arm came around Nicola to bring her closer still.

"The target, my lord," Jos insisted impatiently. "Look at the target."

"What target? That's no target, 'tis a hedgehog." Then he gasped with every bit as much emotion as a mummer. "My God, 'tis a target and you have killed it!"

"Aye, six times in the center." The boy beamed. "Now, you must do as you vowed and let me try that crossbow."

"You promised him my father's bow?" Nicola asked in surprise.

Gilliam shot her a quick look. "My pardon, I forgot to ask you. Our Jos has his heart set on drawing that bow. You do not mind, do you?"

His words startled her. "Why should I?"

"It is by rights your bow, having come to you through your father."

"It is our bow, and you may lend it where it pleases you," she said with a shrug. "It’s just that he's barely strong enough to draw the bow he has, much less bend that monster."

"I can do it," Jos insisted. "I know I can."

"Not this day," Gilliam warned him. "It will be dark soon, and I am hungry. Gather your arrows, and we'll be withdrawing to a warm fire."

The boy did as commanded, and Nicola turned to catch Gilliam's mouth with hers. He made a soft sound of longing, tugging off her head scarf to bury his fingers in her hair. Their passion for each other again exploded to life between them. In one month, her wanting had only increased.

"I thought we were going within doors. If you are going to stand here and do that, I am going to shoot again." Jos's voice was filled with disgust.

Gilliam smiled against her mouth. "I think he is tired of us, my love."

"What more can I do?" she whispered, leaning against him. "I put his pallet in the hall to spare him your caterwauling."

"Me?" He drew away, his eyes laughing at her even as he lifted his head in insult. "It’s not me who shakes the rafters with my screams."

Nicola fixed him with a narrow look. "You make me do it."

"I know," he replied with a satisfied smile, tucking her head scarf into her belt as a reminder that he preferred her bareheaded. "Come, take me within doors and put something in my stomach."

Jos had to hurry his stride to keep pace with his foster parents. " 'Tis the twelfth night, this one." It was a blatant prod.

Gilliam smiled. "So it is. I have your gift, but what have you got for me? You'll not have yours until I see mine."

"Should we show him?" Nicola glanced at Jos, knowing that the boy was frantic to reveal what they had for Gilliam.

"Can we?" he begged breathlessly. At her nod, he grabbed his lord's hand and tried to turn the big knight. "We have saved the best for last, my lord. Come now."

"But I am so hungry, I may faint." Gilliam made a show of staggering. "Catch me before I fall."

"I will let you fall, then leave you where you lay," Nicola retorted. "You can wait a moment for your bath and meal."

"I get no sympathy," he complained, allowing Jos to lead him to a far shed. Soft yips could be heard from within the woven reed walls. Gilliam's brows rose in response. "What is this?"

Jos threw open the door to reveal the pups, some just weaned, others almost grown. "They are kennets, all," he informed his lord. "Now, we can hunt fox." To prove his point, one of the smaller, flop-eared hounds lifted its tiny mouth and bayed bravely in its infant voice.

The boy could not refuse its call. He squatted amid the pups, letting them crowd around him, laughing as they licked and nuzzled Gilliam reached down to pick up a half-grown bitch. The dog yelped in surprise, only to sigh in pleasure as he scratched its ear.

"Twelve of them when I expected one or two," he said, offering Nicola a pleased smile. "Here I was thinking you did not notice my hints."

Nicola laughed. "You’re not very subtle. Six come from Coudray and six from Graistan's kennels."

Gilliam shot her a disbelieving look. "Rannulf sent you dogs? Last I saw him he was none too pleased with you."

"It was the strangest thing," she said, struggling to look befuddled. "Not only did he send dogs, but he returned the coins Jos and I sent to pay for them, saying you bought them from your winnings."

Her husband had the grace to look sheepish. "I had forgot that. My pardon, Colette. I should not have wagered over you."

She patted his cheek. "Do not fret. I used the coins I did not spend on dogs to buy myself a lovely new knife."

He raised a hand to his mouth in mock fright. "You have me cowering in fear, but please, could you hold off gutting me until Jos and I have blooded the older dogs?"

"I suppose I can," she sighed, as if doing so was a terrible burden. "Now, set her down and I'll feed you." She waited for him to do so, but he only picked up another pup. "Gilliam, I thought you were fainting for lack of food."

"So are these wee pups," he said, a soft look in his eyes. "We must bring them into the hall so they can eat and stay warm."

"Only for now," she warned. "After the plow race, Thomas is sending the men to raise us hurdles to make a kennel. Gilliam, are you listening to me? A kennel, where they will stay."

Even before he looked at her she knew it was a lost cause. He would have the dogs in the hall for the winter. He and Jos were already herding the bigger pups out the door. Gilliam gave her three of the younger kennets to bear.

"You are hopeless," she muttered, then buried her nose against one and breathed in its sweet scent. Mayhap it would not be so bad, if they could be trained to leave their droppings elsewhere, the way Roia did.

Like all the cottages in their village and Father Reynard's church, their makeshift hall was bedecked in holly and ivy. The long braided strands hung as a reminder that, although the earth lay dead and barren, spring would come to restore them all. Where the first night had been feasting with the villagers and the second full of gift-giving to the servants, the holiday was now at a close. Epiphany's mass was already said, making this but a quiet evening home, a last day of rest before the new year's work began.

The servantry and soldiers who made up their family were gathered in the hall. While the men had gathered in one corner to throw dice, the women were clutched in another, laughing and chatting, their fingers busy with handwork. The cook's children left a simple game of tag to admire the pups.

"What of Roia?" Nicola asked. "Will she not eat these wee ones?"

Gilliam shook his head. "Nay, she has been a mother a few times over. Not only that, she is accustomed to dwelling with more than one dog. Jos"—he tapped the boy on the shoulder—"you cannot share your pallet with the pups and Roia. That she will not tolerate."

"Aye, my lord." Jos stayed to watch over the dogs while Gilliam and Nicola made their way through the hall to the far end. There, with Gilliam's armor chest nearby, Nicola had set the great tub reserved for bathing. It was already filled with cold water, wanting only what now simmered in the iron cauldron hanging over the hearth stone to make it bearable.

After she had wrestled Gilliam out of his chain mail coat, Jos came to take it from her. Gasping under its weight, he bore it to his corner. It was his job to check the iron circles, looking for broken or weakened links. He returned to fetch the mail leggings as she helped her husband remove the padded gambeson and chausses. These were set atop Gilliam's armor chest to air.

Once the hot water had been added to the cold, Nicola pushed her husband toward the tub. "Hie, fool, 'twill be cold soon." He sank into its depths, and water surged over the tub's edge. "Ack, why can I never get this right? Now, the floor will be muddy again. How heavy are you, anyway?"

"Between fifteen and sixteen stone," Gilliam murmured as he dipped beneath the surface to wet his hair, then rose, his eyes closed in contentment. "Do you know I have become accustomed to this bathing routine of yours. Until I was married, I never realized how enjoyable it could be. I like your hands on me." He opened one eye to gauge her reaction.

"You just like me," she said with a smile, offering him a tray full of cheeses, breads, and smoked fish.

"That I do," he agreed, eating while she washed his hair and his back. The tray was empty before she was ready to rinse him. That done, she handed him the cloth so he could wash the rest of him. He said it was torture when she did it.

She sat beside the tub on a stool, knife in hand as she waited to shave him. "Gilliam, why do you not let your beard grow? You'd be far less dangerous to kiss, were you to do so."

That made him smile, and he handed her the cloth. "You were right."

"About what?" She leaned his head to the side, but waited for his answer before beginning.

"I cannot grow a man's beard.  It’s sparse and not at all attractive." He grinned at her. "I think it’s the fair hair, for my brother Geoffrey has the same problem. You will have to bide your time for a goodly while before you'll see me bearded, as he is seven years my senior and struggling still."

Nicola grinned broadly. " 'Struth? You cannot? Hah! I tweaked you and did not even know it, pretty man."

"Aye, now do not gloat so and be done with this. The water is cooling."

With his bath finished, he dressed in his tunic and chausses then the two of them retreated to the fire. Nicola had planned to spend her evening sewing, as one of her gifts had been a length of fine linen to be used for making a proper wimple. When they seated themselves, backs to the table, feet stretched toward the fire, Jos came to stand before them, a pup in each hand.

"So?" He drew the word out in expectation. "I have given you your gifts. Now you must give me mine."

"Cheeky lad, this one." Gilliam laughed. "Well, then, I suppose I must. Walter?" His voice carried easily across the long room.

Rising out of the dicing group, Walter retrieved something from the darkened corner. When he neared them, Nicola saw he bore a leather container filled with quarrels, long lengths of wood, iron-tipped on one end and feathered at the other, along with her father's crossbow.

"Is this what you seek, little lad?" the soldier asked as he waited for the boy to discard the dogs and take what he carried.

Jos took the bow and quarrels from the man, looking up in astonishment at Gilliam. "You knew I could do it, even before I did."

"Lad, when my lady wife tells me you have the eyes and hands of an archer, who am I to disbelieve her? However you had me right concerned this morn. Here it was the dawn of the twelfth and final day, and you'd not yet accomplished your goal. It’s a good thing you managed it, else you'd have had no gift for the night."

"Thank you, my lord," Jos breathed in awe, as much affected by his lord's confidence in him as by the gift.