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The Conqueror's Lady
Terri Brisbin


The Warrior’s Captive Bride Strong, ruthless and brave, Giles Fitzhenry is a born warrior who has never been able to shake off the shame of his illegitimate birth. To save her people and lands, the lady Fayth is forced to marry this commanding Breton knight.The marriage is as unwelcome as the deep desire which stirs each time she looks at her husband’s powerful, battleready body… Now Giles’s final conquest is the heart of his new bride – and her utter surrender! The Knights of Brittany Born to conquer…and seduce!










‘Why do you insult me so? Do you think I hold my honour, and that of my father, with so little respect that I would succumb easily to the desires of the flesh?’

Giles was out of the chair in a second. He watched her eyes widen as heat grew between them and within him until he burned from it.

He bent his head, forcing Fayth to tilt hers more. When he had moved his lips so close to hers that he could feel her breath against his skin, he paused.

‘Desires of the flesh, lady?’ he asked, dipping even closer. ‘But there is much to commend those desires.’

The aching deep inside Fayth grew into a throbbing need she could not understand or ignore.

‘Does your body not hunger for more, lady? Is there not an aching within to be touched in places you cannot speak of?’




About the Author


TERRI BRISBIN is wife to one, mother of three, and dental hygienist to hundreds when not living the life of a glamorous romance author. She was born, raised and is still living in the southern New Jersey suburbs. Terri’s love of history led her to write time-travel romances and historical romances set in Scotland and England. Readers are invited to visit her website for more information at www.terribrisbin.com, or contact her at PO Box 41, Berlin, NJ 08009-0041, USA.


Previous novels by the same author:

THE DUMONT BRIDE LOVE AT FIRST STEP

(short story in The Christmas Visit) THE NORMAN’S BRIDE THE COUNTESS BRIDE THE EARL’S SECRET TAMING THE HIGHLANDER SURRENDER TO THE HIGHLANDER POSSESSED BY THE HIGHLANDER BLAME IT ON THE MISTLETOE

(short story in One Candlelit Christmas) THE MAID OF LORNE

and in Mills & Boon Historical Undone eBooks:

A NIGHT FOR HER PLEASURE*

*linked to The Conqueror’s Lady

Look for Brice’s story in

THE MERCENARY’S BRIDE

Coming soon in Mills & Boon


Historical


THE

CONQUEROR’S

LADY

Terri Brisbin




















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Melissa Endlich,

my editor for the last seven years and thirteen

romances for Harlequin Historical.

Thanks for your support and advice

and help in making my books stronger

and in making me a better writer!

It’s been a pleasure to work with you

and I wish you the best in

your new editorial position with Harlequin!




Prologue


Hastings, England

October 14, 1066

The Duke of Normandy surveyed the rolling fields before him and nodded to his commanders. Satisfaction, much like that of a well-fed cat, filled him as he realised that he would now be king of all he could see and more, much, much more. Anticipation surged through his veins and he smiled at the thought of seeing the faces of the Witan now, now that he’d defeated their anointed king and his forces. The clearing of several throats reminded him of the tasks still ahead. The battle for England, though advancing and in his control, was not a thing accomplished yet.

William turned and met the gazes of his commanders, who stood a short distance from him and his tent. These men and those who fought in their companies of foot soldiers, mounted knights and archers waited on his orders. And they waited for the rewards promised for a successful invasion. Already, the vultures of war were flocking to the battlefield, prepared to scavenge amongst the dead and dying.

‘It will take days to clear the fields, my lord,’ Father Obert, his clerk said.

‘They—’ William paused and nodded at the growing number of Norman, Breton, Poitevin, French and even Maine nobles approaching his tent ‘—do not seem to have the will to wait several days, Obert.’

William placed his goblet on the table and held out his hand for the parchment Obert had prepared for his review. A list of crucial English properties and fortifications along with the names of the men who would be the benefactors of his largesse. If he approved. Studying it, he recognised several names immediately, and others that were not the expected ones of his closest advisers or commanders.

‘Who recommends such rewards to the nameless warriors here?’ William suspected he knew, but before he gifted anyone with lands and titles he would understand the other motives in place.

‘As usual, sire, the Bishop oversees that which is vital to your concerns.’ Obert did not meet his gaze, but instead bowed his head.

Odo. Half brother and Bishop of Bayeux. He should have recognised the handiwork of the man in this.

‘Ah, he is ever-vigilant on my behalf.’ The words, true though tinged with a slight bit of mockery, drew a sharp snort from his clerk. Obert missed little in the intrigues that were court life, in Normandy and now here in England. It was part of his value. ‘These will anger some who have laboured long on my behalf, risking lives and fortunes, only to see the choicest morsels go to others,’ he observed.

William took note of three names and knew that even their fathers would object. Those objections, of course, would be couched in the politest terms to avoid mentioning the reason for their anger—they would want such lands to go to themselves or their legitimate offspring and not their bastards. His smile must have been a dangerous one for Obert backed away and waited without saying a word. Certainly not his usual response to such an open invitation to speak his mind.

‘You must have some counsel to offer, good brother,’ he said, encouraging, nay goading, him into saying the words he now held behind his teeth.

‘My lord, the taking of those particular lands is in no way a certainty. They are probably the most dangerous that need to be claimed in your name. Mayhap, some will not even survive. ‘Twould be a pity for some of your most loyal subjects to risk their heirs in such endeavours.’

William rose to his full height, nearly touching the top of his battlefield tent, and nodded. ‘An interesting perspective, Obert,’ he said, walking to the flap and lifting it higher, giving those outside the signal to approach. ‘And a persuasive argument that will satisfy, at least for the immediate time, some of those who would be most vocal.’

‘As you say, my lord.’ Obert stepped to his side and they waited for the most noble, the richest and the most powerful of his supporters to enter. ‘Why waste an heir on such a dangerous task when a perfectly good bastard will do?’

Another man would be dead on the ground for uttering such words to him. Indeed, many had lost much in doing such a thing in the past, but Obert spoke in understood irony as only one bastard could to another. Their own lives and positions had been based on such decisions. William caught sight of the bodies being piled all over the battlefield and nodded. His men were already calling this place Senlac, the blood lake. And there would be much more blood spilled before he controlled the length and breadth of England.

It did not matter to the ground beneath him if the blood soaking into it was noble or not. It did not matter to the clay if the man leaking his life held a title or even a name. It did not matter to the earth at his feet if his cause was right or wrong.

And it did not matter to him, William, Duke of Normandy, the Bastard, and now the Conqueror. Only success mattered now and, if those on Odo’s list had much to gain and little to lose, so be it. He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded to Obert, who began to read out the declarations.

In war, success mattered, blood did not.




Chapter One


‘Finish the words and you will be a widow before you are a wife,’ Giles Fitzhenry, knighted warrior of William the Conqueror, promised in a harsh whisper.

The blood from the gash above his eye flowed down his face and dripped on the lady’s shoulder, but still he did not relent in his crushing hold. It would take but a moment’s pressure to crush her throat and he swore to himself and then aloud that he would do it if she spoke the words of the vow. Giles turned to face the now-quieting crowd in the small chapel and revealed the dagger he aimed at her ribs, another assurance that the lady would die if anyone tried to intervene.

His intended moved with him, gripping his hand as though she could stop him. Lady Fayth of Taerford should have thought about the repercussions of her actions before he arrived. Before his men and hers had been killed in the battle for the keep … and for possession of her. Giles nodded to Roger and his man held his sword to the neck of the lady’s comrade in this crime, waiting for her response.

‘The keep and lands are mine now, lady, as are you. Your choice of words will simply bring his death more slowly or more swiftly.’ Giles watched as the woman in his arms exchanged glances with the man held a few yards away.

He felt her body relent before she spoke the words of surrender. Trying with all his determination to ignore the soft, womanly curves beneath his arm, he lessened his grip a tiny bit and lowered the dagger to give her the opportunity to make the choice. ‘Do you take him to husband instead of me?’ he asked aloud.

‘I do not,’ she whispered hoarsely into the deathly silence that had covered the room.

With her capitulation, his men surrounded her people and began to force them from the chapel. Without letting go, he nodded at his second-in-command and then at the man who she had chosen as husband. ‘Kill him.’

The priest protested loudly, but his men ignored the old man and prepared to follow Giles’s orders. It was her quiet voice that stopped him.

‘My lord,’ she began, trying to face him in spite of his grasp. Her movement simply made his blood drip and smear more over her cloak. It wasn’t until he lessened his grip on her that she could speak louder.

‘I beg you, my lord. He is not to blame. Truly. Mercy, my lord. Mercy.’ She leaned her head back, offering herself as a sacrifice to his anger.

He would tell himself later that it was his need to put an end to the bloodshed that made him relent. He would tell himself that he had never planned to kill the man cajoled or ensorcelled by his betrothed into this foolhardy plan to interfere with his rights to her and the land. But Giles only knew that at the moment when his gaze met hers he wanted to grant her whatever she asked of him. He let out his breath and nodded.

‘Take him and his men to the edge of my lands and release them,’ he said in a loud voice. ‘And if, from this time forward, they step back onto my lands or try to contact my wife, kill them without hesitation.’

After Roger dragged his prisoner from the chapel, Giles released his hold on her. She gasped for breath as he pushed her to another of his men. There was much to do and he needed her out of his way.

‘Find a place and secure the lady.’

Reaching up to touch her throat, she turned as though she would speak, but said nothing. His bloody handprint marred her neck and he knew that the armour gauntlets he wore would leave bruises on her fair skin where he’d held her. Any measure of sympathy he began to feel for her was extinguished when he saw that two of his men lay dead in the back of the chapel.

Giles met her gaze once more and the hatred burning there in her dark green eyes said more than her words would have or could have. Giles smiled grimly at her, accepting the challenge made silently.

‘Nothing is to happen to her, except by my word or by my hand,’ he called out.

‘Aye, my lord,’ his soldier answered as he dragged Fayth from his presence.

After surveying the chapel and making certain that his dead and wounded were cared for, Giles strode to the keep to see what his new home looked like.

She smelled the metallic odour of his blood on her and felt its stickiness on her skin where his gauntleted hand had clutched her. It was as though he had marked his possession of her where all could see it. Fayth’s throat burned and her chest ached from his crushing hold. As his men dragged her across the yard, she saw Edmund and his men being chained together. Pulling against her guard, she managed to come to a stop, but she feared the cost of calling out to Edmund. When their captors finished chaining them, they were hauled across the yard and out of the gate.

Would she ever see him again? Would her new lord and master keep his word and see them released? Fayth fought back tears at the thought of never seeing her childhood friend alive again. At least she’d been able to save his life, but now that everyone who had protected her was gone, she alone was left to face this invasion.

The clamouring at her side caught her attention and Fayth looked on in horror as her people, the servants and villeins of the keep, were herded into the yard that usually held their horses. Men, women, children. Sir Giles’s men were systematically going building by building and forcing all of her people out to the yard where they were thrown with the others.

Did he mean to kill them all? They called out to her, fear in their voices and terror in their gazes. What could she do now for she was a prisoner herself?

When one of the Norman soldiers tossed the cook’s young daughter to the ground, she could no longer stand by silently. With a strength that surprised her, she pushed off the grasp of her guard and ran to young Ardith, knocking the warrior away from her. Helping the girl to her feet and urging her to run, Fayth turned back just as her guard caught up with her and as Ardith’s attacker regained his feet.

Cursing in Norman French, words too gruff and too fast for her to comprehend, the man grabbed her by the cloak she wore and pulled her to face him. The anger flared in his eyes at being interrupted in what he must have thought was his due as the conqueror. He raised his fisted hand and swung it at her. She tried to lean away to avoid the blow, but his hold was too strong.

Pain exploded in her head and then there was nothing but darkness.

He watched the chaos of the yard from the open window in the chamber he claimed as his own. The large room boasted a hearth built into the wall, a privy closet and this window that overlooked the yard and gate. Below him, most of the people of Taerford Keep were collected in an enclosure with a few stragglers being taken there now. His men controlled the gate and the roads leading to it.

They’d fought their way from Hastings, along the roads past London and out to the west, into Harold’s country. William urged his haste in following a few who escaped the battlefield and ran to organise resistance to the duke’s lawful control of England. Days became almost a week as they faced battle after battle and finally made their way to his promised fief.

In spite of sending word ahead of his claim and his approach, the lady and those who conspired with her had nearly completed their hasty marriage when Giles managed to take control of the keep. He smiled grimly.

Now, it was his.

The building was not very large, but would suit him. It contained three floors with several private chambers and a separate kitchen building. The keep, kitchen, chapel and several other shops were enclosed by the wall. It was not large, but it pleased him and would offer protection until he could replace the wood with stone as William had ordered.

Pushing the mail coif off his head, Giles looked for something to staunch the bleeding from his wound and found a small linen kerchief on the bed. Pressing it against the deep gash, he walked back to the window to watch his orders being carried out. Unfortunately, things were not going as he had instructed.

The newest soldier in his company had some young girl in his grasp, his intent obvious even from this distance. Damn him! Giles had made it clear that such attacks were unacceptable, but Stephen had thrown control away during the battle and now the girl was his next target. Running from the chamber and down the stairs, Giles reached the yard in time to see the lady Fayth intervene.

Before Giles could shout an order, Stephen reached out and grabbed Fayth, lifting her from her feet. Giles called for him to stop, but the noise in the yard prevented anyone from hearing it. As he took off running towards them Stephen hit Fayth with enough force that the lady fell to the ground unconscious. Without stopping, Giles ploughed into the soldier and took him to the ground. Heedless of those watching, he pummelled him until he himself was pulled away.

‘Andre!’ he called to a guard. ‘Carry the lady to my chambers. Henri, find her servant or a healer and see to her care. And,’ he added, wiping his mouth of the blood that flowed freely once more, ‘do not leave her side.’ He turned to face Stephen, who still lay on the ground at his feet. ‘Your disobedience and lack of control have ever been your weakness,’ he accused. ‘You have been warned about this and you have not heeded my words.’

Giles ordered him lifted, stripped to the waist and tied to the fence. The yard was eerily silent now as all watched their new lord discipline one of his own. He would rather not have carried this out now, but a prompt response to disobedience by any of his men was necessary, especially in a time of war. He tugged off the gauntlets and accepted the whip from his second-in-command. Giles did not do this lightly, for he’d felt the lash bite his skin, but he’d learned the hard lesson it taught quickly and had rarely faced discipline again.

Walking to the fence, he looked at those now held in the enclosure and at his men. ‘For disobedience of my standing orders, the punishment is ten lashes. Call them, Thierry.’

Giles unwrapped the length of leather and flicked it into the air. The tip cracked loudly and many of those around him flinched, though no target was touched. He took several paces back and then applied the punishment he had decreed. Thierry counted out the number so that all could hear. Although Stephen hissed with each lash, he kept himself from crying out or bucking. At ten, Giles took a deep breath and paused.

‘And for laying hands on the lady Fayth, ten more.’

His words surprised all who watched for he heard the gasps at his declaration. Giles lifted his arm again and again until the strokes numbered ten. Stephen’s control had waned and he moaned at each bite of the whip. No one moved until Giles nodded his consent.

‘Remove him and leave him there. When we finish the work we have ahead of us, then someone can see to his wounds.’

He met his men’s gazes then before turning around and walking away. Two of his men removed Stephen and went back to the tasks he had assigned before the incident had stopped them, now a man short due to the stupidity and lust of one of their own.

Giles looked around and noticed the sun was not even at its highest point in the sky yet. Sweat and blood now poured down from his head, under his mail and tunic. He had been fighting since just after dawn and he was tired. Once he was certain that his men had control over the yard and the inhabitants, he motioned to Thierry to follow him into the keep.

The days of fighting his way across England were catching up with him and he wanted nothing so much as a secure home, a hot bath and a meal to fill his belly. From the looks of the keep and the turmoil still moving through it, Giles knew that he would not be getting his wishes fulfilled this day.

And he still had to deal with his new wife-to-be.

Her first attempt to open her eyes met with a head-shattering pain, so Fayth lay very still and waited until the urge to vomit quieted. She listened without moving as someone, or some ones, shuffled about the chamber. She was tempted to try again, but the waves of pain pulsing through her skull warned her not to.

‘My lady?’ The whispered words came from a familiar voice, but she could not recognise it so at the moment. ‘My lady?’

Fayth swallowed and then again, but she could not speak. Her head felt as though it would shatter if she tried to answer, but the blasted woman, whoever she was, was relentless.

‘You must wake up, my lady. He is coming.’

Lifting her hands, Fayth slid her fingers over her forehead and scalp until she found the lump. Gliding softly over it, she knew the source of the pain. With her arm shielding her eyes from the light pouring into the chamber, she forced them open.

It was Ardith. The young girl’s tear-streaked face filled with terror as she turned to the door and then back to her. When the door opened, Ardith jumped to her feet and backed away, stopping only when her body hit the wall of the chamber. Fayth watched her as long as she could, but the waves of dizziness made it impossible after a few moments.

‘You were told to care for her wound. Why is she still covered in blood?’

The words, in halting English, echoed in the room, making Fayth’s stomach clench. Ardith was terrified into silence and could only offer a soft sobbing sound at the question. If Fayth could, she would intervene. But the pain and dizziness made it a thing she could not accomplish. She finally found her tongue.

‘She is not used to such duties,’ she whispered, hoping that the effort was enough. It made the terrible pain increase and made her stomach begin to heave.

Luckily the girl could recognise what was about to happen. Ardith grabbed a pail from the corner and held it out just as Fayth began to retch. By the end of it, she had not the strength to lift her head from the bucket and would have stayed in that humiliating position had not a strong pair of hands lifted her up and guided her back to the pillow.

‘Get rid of that now! ‘ he commanded.

It did not have the effect he wanted, for Ardith simply cowered farther into the corner, shaking so badly that she nearly dropped the offensive bucket to the floor. Fayth could only watch as the warrior approached and cursed in Norman French at the girl. Then the commotion outside the door stopped him and Emma entered, carrying a pail and some linens.

‘My lord,’ she said, curtsying before him. ‘You are terrifying her—’ Emma stepped around him and held out her hand to Ardith ‘—as are your men.’

Watching was all Fayth could do as her old serving maid placed the things she had brought in on the table, took the bucket from Ardith’s shaking grasp, and walked with it, past the astonished lord, to the door. Pulling it open, she pushed it into the hands of one of the soldiers there and ordered him away with it. Only the lord’s loud laughter allowed the man to move.

‘You do not seem terrified, old woman. What is your name?’

‘Emma is old, my lord. Please …’ Fayth whispered, trying to lean her head up to stop the wrath she knew would follow.

‘Old enough to have wiped your arse when you were but a babe-in-arms, my lord,’ Emma retorted without a speck of hesitation or the proper respect needed in this situation.

Worse, she put her hands on her hips, almost daring him to take some action against her. Dear God! He would kill her for such impertinence. It was the humour that shocked her again.

‘'Twould appear so, from your age and mine.’ He laughed for a moment as he glanced back at the man closest to him. He made a comment in Norman that was too mumbled and too fast for her to understand and then sobered. ‘Do not mistake amusement as permission for your boldness to continue, woman.’

This time, Emma did back down and lower her gaze. Although she was used to her maid’s ways, everything now was different and Fayth had no way of knowing where offence would be taken, even from innocent words or gestures. Not that Emma was innocent …

‘Lady Fayth, join me in the hall as soon as you are able,’ he ordered in English now as he glared at her. ‘There are matters to be handled and they must be handled as quickly as possible.’

‘But, my lord—’ Emma began.

With a wave of his hand and a dark look at each of them, he stopped any arguments. ‘In the hall. Get her ready.’

Wisely, Emma only nodded and moved to the table to begin her duties. The new lord of Taerford walked out of the room, giving orders as he went until only silence remained in the chamber. When the door closed and they were alone, Emma leaned towards her and motioned for Ardith to move closer.

‘I thought he would strike you down, Emma. You must not anger him,’ Fayth urged. But the words were barely out before the servant shook her head in disagreement.

‘My lady, this new lord respects only strength.’ Emma reached over and slid her arm behind Fayth’s shoulders, readying her for what Fayth knew would be a horrible experience. ‘You must prepare yourself now and meet his strength with your own. Be the daughter your father knew you would be.’

Fayth wished that Emma’s confidence were enough to convince her of the truth of her words, but the shocking events of this day were too fresh to allow her to hide in ignorance. And his words warned of more dire changes to her life and her people. Did Edmund yet survive? Could he rally his supporters, as he’d claimed, to take England back?

She was so caught up in her thoughts that Emma’s sudden movement bringing her up to sit surprised her. The pain from such a grievous head injury should not have. It was several hours later that she was ready to go to the hall. Her legs trembled until Emma was forced to call two guards to her side. Better to be assisted down the steep stairway than to end up at the bottom of it in a heap, she advised.

Fayth concentrated only on putting one foot in front of the other and did not see the new lord until she stood before him. At his frown, his men let go of their hold and stepped back. Just when she thought she would fall over from the throbbing in her head, Fayth caught sight of something new on the Norman knight. Her father’s signet ring, a thing he would never remove in life, hung on a chain around the new lord’s neck.

Her father’s ring.

Fayth looked up and met his gaze. A satisfied look rested on his face, confirming without words his position and his rights here.

Her father was truly dead and this man owned everything that was once his.

The truth sank into her, but she could not accept it. Fayth reached out to take the ring from him. He grabbed her hand just as she grasped it in hers and squeezed it hard.

‘It is mine now. As are this keep, and you. King William has named me Baron of Taerford to rule over all the lands that Bertram ruled and more.’

In spite of her agreement with Emma about presenting her strength to him, Fayth lost control in that moment. The hall and the keep began to spin and she gave herself up to the pain in her head and now in her heart.

Her father was dead.




Chapter Two


Three days passed by before she regained her wits and Fayth did not see her captor during that time. At the least, she did not think so, but a few confused memories of a deep voice rousing her from sleep several times that first night told her to suspect otherwise. Emma spoke of a leech’s directions not to let her sleep too long a time or her mind would be for ever muddled. The clarity gained from the still-throbbing pain in her head assured her she was not so.

Fearing that any moment could see her dragged to the hall and married to the Norman knight kept her from ever truly letting her guard down. Nay, not Norman, though he fought for the Bastard. She rubbed at the growing ache in her forehead. He hailed from Brittany, Emma had informed her, along with the men who fought at his side. His place of origin gave her no relief from worry, for William the Bastard had gathered men from all parts of the continent to fight for him and his illegal campaign to gain control over her country.

As he had gained control over her keep.

His first orders found her moved into her father’s chambers while the usurper took hers. And though the door remained impassable for her, for she was stopped by the guards each time she tried to leave, Emma moved freely through the keep and grounds. Ardith stayed mostly at Fayth’s side, fearing further attention from the soldier who’d attacked her three days before. From what Emma had learned, this Giles le Breton had an iron grip over her home now. He’d replaced the soldiers her father had left behind with his own, he’d placed his men to oversee every aspect of the workings of her keep and people and had done it without any regard for her.

Fayth squinted then, as the soreness in her head made it impossible to concentrate on her stitches. Tossing the gown she was repairing into the basket at her feet, she tilted her head one way and then another, trying to ease the ache there.

‘Ardith,’ she said, beckoning the girl to her side. ‘Can you loosen these braids? The weight of them is pulling too much.’

Fayth turned herself in her chair, allowing Ardith to get closer. Once the girl let down the twist of braids some of the pain eased. Fayth closed her eyes, relaxing her head and letting her chin fall to her chest. Her hair hung loosely now around her shoulders and she waited to see if the pain would pass.

The silence surrounded her for a few minutes until Ardith’s nervous breathing drew her attention. As she raised her head her gaze met that of her captor as he stared at her from his place inside the door. She hadn’t heard the door open, but it was apparent he’d been there for several minutes.

‘Sir Giles,’ she said, rising to stand yet refusing to call him by another title he now claimed. ‘I did not hear you enter.’

Fayth motioned to Ardith to arrange her hair once more. It might be her chambers, but it was not proper, with a man present, to be so undone. Ardith hurried in her attentions and Fayth winced against the pulling as the girl gathered her hair into one long braid and replaced the veil on top of it. Once her hair was covered, she faced him and nodded.

‘Are you well, lady?’ he asked, his deep voice accented by the language of his own country.

‘Other than …’ she began, and then realised that any complaints would sound trite when compared with those her people could offer.

‘Your head?’ he asked, nodding in her direction. ‘Does it still pain you?’ He stepped closer, handing the helm tucked under his arm to one of his men.

‘It is improving,’ was all she would offer. Emma’s words about appearing strong before him echoed in her thoughts and, though he frightened her to her core, she was now the only one left who could protect her people. They must be uppermost in her priorities now.

Now that her father was gone.

Fayth glanced down and saw the ring he still wore, dangling there as a sign to everyone of her father’s death and this man’s new rule.

He frowned as she looked up at his face. Then his gaze and his mouth hardened. The tension in the chamber grew until one of his men whispered something under his breath to him and Giles nodded as though reminded of some task.

‘Now that it is safe to move about the keep and village, I thought you might like a respite from your stay here,’ he said, his voice neither welcoming nor comforting. Another whisper from his man and he said, ‘I know you worry about your people, our people, and I would have you be at ease over their condition now that I have—’ he paused, searching for a word ‘—arrived.’

Tempted in spite of her resolve to be wary of this stranger, she nodded. ‘I would like that, sir.’

He motioned the others out of the chamber ahead of them and then held out his arm to her. With his armour in place, it was clear he did not yet feel safe in her keep. That thought made her smile for the first time in many days. As she lifted her arm and placed her hand on his she felt a sense of anticipation unknown to her since learning of her father’s death.

Although this warrior carried her father’s ring, she had no way of knowing the part he had played in his death. Chances were, though, from the way he had seized control of her lands with his king’s permission, he had been involved. Now, regardless of the origin of their lives, their destinies were entwined and she needed to find her place in this new world his arrival had wrought.

They stopped just outside her door and he turned back, speaking to her of Emma and Ardith. ‘The old one and the girl have the freedom of the keep and village now, lady. They need worry not over their safety.’

Without saying so, he told her that the man who had tried to rape her servant and had knocked her unconscious was under control. Had he been executed, then? Disobedience in time of war could be punished with death, she knew. Was this man such a hard commander that he would do that? She stopped then and faced him.

‘Why? Is that man dead?’ she asked.

‘Nay, not dead,’ he answered before tugging her along at his side. ‘Stephen has learned not to disobey my orders.’

She shivered at the coldness of his words and the inherent threat as she moved down the stairs to the main floor. Then out into the yard they walked until she stood in nearly the exact spot where the incident with Ardith had occurred.

He stopped and Fayth took a few moments to catch her breath. Even feeling well she would have difficulty matching his long strides, but feeling as she did, only his arm pulling her along had kept them together. Now, she inhaled deeply, enjoying the scents of soil and air and the recent rain. Harvest had passed even while her father rode the length of England following their king and it had been a meagre one.

Both Emma and Ardith followed them, along with three of the knight’s men. Once she could breathe more easily, he led her to one of the smaller yards where he’d penned her people the day of the attack. The people were gone and the enclosure held cattle once more, though fewer than before.

Fayth lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun and peered to the limits of the yard. There along the perimeter of the wall, his soldiers now paced. As she moved her gaze to the farthest part of the yard his soldiers worked alongside some of her men, carrying logs that would be hewn into boards for repairs to the walls and the other buildings.

‘Part of the blacksmith’s cottage burned during the battle. They rebuild it now,’ he offered, pointing in the other direction where men worked on the small croft that was attached to the smithy.

Everywhere she looked, the situation was the same. Though outnumbered now because so many had fled at first sight of the invader’s forces, her people wore no prisoner’s chains. Indeed, many seemed to be doing their usual duties in spite of a new lord in control of the lands. Suddenly, as many saw her there, they stopped their work and stared at her. Before she understood what was happening, Sir Giles clasped her hand in his larger one and held it high into the air.

‘As I told you,’ he called out in a voice loud enough to travel across the open space to the walls, ‘your lady is alive and well.’

Fayth could not help her response, for her people called out her name, and it resonated around the yard, warming her heart and giving her pride at their concern for her well-being.

‘You did this to show them you have not killed me?’ she asked. She turned to face him and saw amusement in his features. His blue eyes, so dark and intense, now lit with some humour.

‘I have not killed you, yet, demoiselle,’ he answered in a voice meant only for her ears. Leaning in close to her, he whispered, ‘If I discover you still work to betray me, it may yet happen.’

The shiver of fear tore through her at his words and tone. She wanted to believe he was speaking in jest, but there was a thread of steely resolution and something else, something dangerous, in his voice and she did not doubt for a moment that her life was in peril should he choose it to be so. Leaning away, but not able to free her hand from his grasp, she straightened her shoulders and met his gaze.

‘You would not find it to be an easy task, sir,’ she said, watching and waiting for his response to her challenge.

He said something to the man closest to them and then smiled at her. ‘Ah, demoiselle. You are correct—it would be no easy thing.’

He laughed then and lowered their hands, allowing hers to drop to her side. She clasped hers together in front of her and waited. ‘Come, this way, if you please.’

She allowed his stride to take him ahead of her and took advantage of the distance to study this warrior. He was tall, more than six feet in height, and his build declared his strength. Though most of him was covered in mail and armour, she did not doubt that he was as fit and muscular under all of his protection as he appeared to be.

He wore his pale brown hair longer than the Norman custom, yet shorter than the English way. No beard grew so there was no hiding the sharp angles of his face and his strong chin. His eyes, though blue, darkened when he was vexed as she’d seen already, but stayed a paler shade when no mood changed them. Fayth would never declare him to be a handsome man, yet his masculine features were powerful and unforgettable.

He stopped and waited for her to catch up. She noticed then, for she’d been too busy staring at his face before, that they’d reached the chapel. The low stone building had been the scene of the horrific fight that had ended in her capture and Edmund’s near-murder. Giles Fitzhenry opened the wooden door and waited for her to enter.

It took all her resolve to do so, for she imagined she could hear the screams of the injured men and smell the spilled blood from the wounded. Her own neck burned as she remembered his gauntleted grasp around her throat, choking the air from her, and threatening her death.

‘Come,’ was his only word to her as he walked ahead, down the aisle where the benches had been replaced and the blood washed away.

It was Emma who stood then at her back and urged her forward to follow the knight. Two of the knight’s men remained behind her, standing on either side of the doors and watching her through the slits of their helmets. Another shiver tore its path down her spine and back to her head, sending tremors through every part of her. She followed his footsteps up the centre aisle and found Father Henry standing before the altar. From his stern expression, he wanted to be present no more than she did. Still they both did as the Breton knight ordered.

A few moments passed after she stopped at his side and Fayth found her nervousness growing within her. When he reached out and took her hand in his now-bare hands, the truth of it struck her—they would marry here and now.

Surely not?

From his intense gaze, she knew they would indeed.

‘Lady, I will not go forth with this ceremony unless you give your free consent here,’ Father Henry said with a bravado she thought impossible.

Had he given Fayth an escape then, with his words? If she did not consent, could this man lay no claim to her lands or her person? Without looking at Giles Fitzhenry, she began to object when he squeezed her hand so hard she gasped. Turning to him, she followed his nod to the back of the church.

Her servants and villeins stood watching, surrounded by his warriors dressed for battle. Herded in like the cattle they tended, they bunched together watching the unfolding drama before them. They could not see what she could—the weapons held at the ready were aimed at them and not held for their defence. Facing the knight, she searched his face for his true intentions.

‘You would harm innocent servants, then?’ she asked.

‘Nay, lady. Your actions determine their safety. Fulfil your duty as their lady and all will be well.’

‘If I do not give my consent, what then?’ She held her breath waiting for his inevitable answer.

‘I will still hold these lands for my king, but I will need a new wife.’ Tempted to believe he jested with her, she glanced at his face and saw the truth there. ‘My duke has requested,’ he explained, ‘requested, that his men take the daughters of the land we gained to wife. If there is no daughter, we may seek wives where we may.’

‘So you would execute me here in God’s House, sir? With my people looking on at your murderous act?’

She pulled her hand free of his grasp and crossed her arms over her chest, challenging him with every fibre of her being. He leaned in close, so close that she could feel his breath against her neck. Shivers of another kind pulsed through her at his nearness and the sudden heat he caused.

‘There is no reason to execute you, for a woman as lovely as you has several uses. Several that come to mind immediately,’ he repeated, stepping nearer and lifting her chin so she had to meet his gaze. His eyes took on a different expression then, heated and filled with desire, and she knew she would not like his words before he spoke them. ‘Perhaps I will strip you of your position as lady here and keep you instead as my leman while I search out a new wife.’

If he was trying to intimidate her, he’d been successful, for she could see no way out of this predicament and her fears threatened to overwhelm her. In order to succeed in her own quest, to keep her people safe until they could be freed from Norman control, she needed to stay alive and that meant acquiescing to his demands. Emma’s nervous whispers from behind her drew her attentions.

‘Please, lady, do as he asks,’ she begged quietly, so quietly that only the three of them heard it.

‘Aye, lady, do you do as I ask or not?’ he said in a soft and misleading tone. ‘Father Henry has asked if you consent to our exchanging vows.’ He raised his voice now as he stepped back, releasing her. ‘Do you, Lady Fayth?’

He held out his hand in a gesture she knew was to increase the pressure on her and to make it impossible to answer any other way than the one he wanted. The silence grew and held them all motionless as they waited on her word. Glancing at Giles, she noticed the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth and she wanted more than anything to wipe it from his face, though she dared not do so.

Everything she’d lived for was at stake here. At least with Edmund there had been a mutual affection and a common cause between them. She would gain a stranger as husband now; her people would gain a foreign lord who had conquered their lands. A man with no experience other than gaining such prizes with his powerful sword. He moved his fingers ever so slightly to remind her that he, nay they, waited for her response.

As though she had any choice at all?

Edmund was probably still shackled somewhere close by and not able to gather and bring some strong army to her rescue. Her father’s friends and allies lay dead and broken on some distant field of battle. No one could help her.

Taking in a deep breath and releasing it slowly, she did the only thing she could do—she placed her hand in his and walked at his side towards the altar and Father Henry.

Nothing after that mattered, not the words or the gestures, not the cheering of her people or of his men, not the solicitous way her new husband guided her back to the keep. She sat at his side and thought she remembered him feeding her from their shared trencher and drinking mead from a shared cup, but it all passed her by in a haze. If she responded to questions or spoke at all, she could not later say. All she could comprehend was that her life was no longer her own. She now belonged to a man who might have killed her father.

It was not until the door of her chambers closed behind them, leaving her alone with a man not of her family for the first time in her life, that she realised the extent of the changes she faced. Unsure of what to do or what to say, she was saved by his words.

‘I did not want blood to be shed today because your people tried to defend you from me. I lured you to the chapel in a way I thought would prevent that.’ Though he spoke softly, the expression in his eyes now burned with manly desires.

‘So your threats to have me killed or to take me as your whore were …?’ she asked, trying to sort through her confusion and surprise.

She watched silently then as he walked to the table set in the middle of the room and poured wine from a pitcher into two cups. He brought one to her and waited for her to drink from it.

‘Provocations only, meant to divert your attention from my true intentions.’ He smiled then, one that resembled a genuine one. ‘And they seemed to work.’

Glancing at the ring that now encircled her finger, proclaiming her position as his wife, she nodded. Nervousness poured through her at the thought that she was completely at his mercy. Mercy she could not be certain even existed. She swallowed all the wine he’d poured for her.

‘There are less offensive ways to distract me, sir,’ she said before correcting her error. ‘My lord.’

That fact had seeped into her mind even as she tried to reject it. The marriage contract proclaimed him Lord Giles Fitzhenry, Baron of Taerford. Grief clouded her thoughts then, making it difficult to even breathe at the constant reminders of her father’s death. She could not meet his gaze and witness the joy he must feel at his elevation to such an honourable, ancient title.

Still she was her father’s daughter and would bear whatever was necessary to keep their people safe through the turbulent and violent times ahead of them. She met his gaze then, not knowing what to expect from this new lord.

‘I will try to remember that in the future,’ he said.

He drank deeply from his cup and placed it back on the table. Was it time then to … consummate their vows? Fayth looked to the empty cup wishing that she’d left some to strengthen her resolve to carry through the act ahead of her.

Expecting his move towards her, she tried to calm her apprehension at the forced intimacy they would share. Giles walked slowly towards her and took the goblet from her shaking hands. Fayth looked up at him, standing so close she could feel the heat of him, and waited for him to take the first step.

The touch of his lips on hers shocked her in its gentleness. He moved his mouth over hers, once, twice and then again, before he settled it firmly there. Though he touched her in no other way than this joining of their mouths, she closed her eyes and prepared herself for his next move.

She was still standing there when he stepped away, turned and walked to the door, facing her then with his hand on the latch.

‘I bid you a good night’s rest, lady,’ he said, nodding to her.

Fayth paused, not knowing what words to say. As she touched her fingers to her tingling lips a fear unlike any before filled her. That kiss was far gentler than she ever expected, but the thought of giving herself to a man, a warrior now called husband and lord, was more terrifying now that she faced the act itself.

‘Sir,’ she said, shaking her head and not understanding his intentions again. ‘My lord, will you not …?’

‘No.’ He shook his head in reply. ‘Until I know you do not carry your lover’s child in your belly, we will not …’ He imitated her hesitation and threw a glance and a nod across the chamber at the bed.

Fayth could not stop her jaw from dropping at that pronouncement. They would not? He would not? The terror that threatened her moments ago fled and anger replaced it.

‘I carry no child!’

‘Do you confess that he was your lover, then?’

She strode across the room and met his disrespectful gaze. ‘I am an honourable woman, sir. How dare you?’ She raised her hand to strike him in answer to such an insult.

He caught it easily and she waited, expecting him to strike back for such behaviour. Instead his eyes took on a calm appearance and he shook his head at her.

‘You would give your body and self to one of your father’s men, elevate him to such a lofty position and get nothing in return?’ He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘A man does not risk his life for nothing more than tupping a woman. What promises did Edmund make to you in exchange for your marriage vow?’

‘You again insult me, my lord. Promises? I planned to make none other than the same I gave to you today.’ Fayth struggled to keep the whole truth of Edmund’s plans inside. ‘He promised to protect me and my lands if I took him as husband. Nothing more. But you interrupted that.’

Her husband could not find out who Edmund was, not now while he still faced death if their charade was uncovered. Shaken to her core by the events and accusations of this day and a fair amount of honest guilt, she dropped her hand and shook her head.

‘Until I discover whether your words or your actions speak the truth, I will not consummate our vows, lady. Once I know …’ His words drifted off and she shivered at the threat he implied.

The tense silence surrounded them until he stepped away from her. Now he stood in the doorway and she decided she could face no more this day—whether he be invader, husband, lord or whatever. Grabbing the edge of the door, she pushed it closed quickly, causing him to stumble out into the hall.

‘Good night, then, my lord husband!’ she said as she caught the latch and dropped the bar that had been left carelessly in the corner.

She did not delude herself into thinking he could not get back in if he chose to, for breaking the door would take only the kick of a strong man, and in addition to himself her new husband had an abundance of those available. His loud laughter from the other side of her door confused her. It was not the reaction she’d thought he would have to her act of defiance.

When no one entered or even tried to, Fayth walked around the room, blew out the candles and climbed into her bed. Tugging the headpiece from her hair and loosening it, she lay down in the middle of the bed and waited to find out if he would force his way back in.

A short time later, she could no longer fight the sleep that pulled at her mind and body. For once, Fayth pushed off the fears that coursed through her and gave in, sinking into the darkness without worrying about her fate.




Chapter Three


Fayth surprised Giles with every word she spoke and with every step she took. Most of the women he knew would have collapsed in fear during their assault on the keep and never had the courage to move forward with a bold move to marry the man who offered her the only chance at rescue.

Although she feared him, Giles knew the moment when anger replaced that fear for her eyes had flashed brightly and a rush of colour had filled her cheeks just before she had slammed the door in his face. Nearly on his face, if truth be told.

Most men in his situation would have broken through the door the instant it was shut in their faces, but he had held back then. Oh, one kick would break it down, but why cause more work for someone who would need to repair it or build a new one when he had the means to remove the door without damage? And using his fists was always his last choice of action, for any brute could pound down a lesser opponent. Giles wanted to be more than that in his dealings here as lord and husband, especially with such a woman as the lady who was now his wife.

Giles knew that his men watched him, not only the two guards standing nearest the door, but also those who had accompanied him to the wedding and back. Still, between her strength of character and her intelligence, he should not have been surprised. He stepped away then and turned to leave.

‘Not quite the frail English flower you expected, then, eh?’ Roger asked as they walked down the steps to the main hall.

‘And even you could not have plucked that flower so quickly,’ Brice said from behind him. ‘You are good, my lord, but not that good.’

His men laughed at the insult as did he. Plucking a flower as beautiful as this one would not have been difficult at all and, considering the womanly curves and feminine enticements she offered, he could have managed a quick bedding in a very short time. If Giles gave himself leave to, he could have lost himself in the depth of her green eyes, but his fear about her true role in his enemy’s plans haunted him too much.

He’d shared the truth of his concerns and his intention to avoid consummating their vows until he knew the truth of her condition only with Brice. Gaining a bride who’d lost her virtue was not the best situation, but he’d be damned before he accepted another man’s child as his without knowing. The irony of his concerns was not lost on him.

‘Ah, but we are Bretons,’ Giles said, laughing. ‘We are better than most and certainly faster than these Englishmen.’ Smacking Brice hard on the shoulder, he nodded at him. ‘And you, soon to be my Lord Thaxted, should be wary and watchful for you will have your own Saxon maid to deal with shortly.’

Brice remained silent, most likely thinking of the challenges he would face soon. Once things were in Giles’s control here, Brice would be free to continue his journey north to gain the keep and the woman who would be his. Giles motioned for the others to precede him and issued new orders to the guards concerning his … wife.

Would there ever be a time when he did not stumble over such a thought? Born a bastard, the son of a Breton vicomte and a weaver, a common woman, he should never have aspired to such a position in life. Dreamed? Oh, yes, he had dreamed of it and prayed for such a thing, but a man such as he did not marry the daughter of a nobleman and gain a title as he had. By rights, he should be a servant in his father’s household, but William’s need for men to fight in his cause and Giles’s own skills in the arts of warfare had brought him to this moment.

War, as his friend Simon would say, was a great leveller of men and an open avenue to advance past one’s station in life. Giles smiled as he remembered their many conversations earlier this year on the occasion of Simon’s marriage to Elise. It was the first step he’d taken on this road to his own destiny.

Still, having gained such a title and such a wife did not wipe out the niggling doubt that moved through him each time he heard himself being called ‘my lord'. It would take some time to answer that call easily or to think of the angry woman in the chamber as his wife … and even more time to accept that he was worthy of the honours given him by the king.

Once the guards understood their orders, he followed the others down the stairs to the hall where many still ate and drank of the wedding feast’s bounty, such as it was. The fare at table was nothing but a beggar’s meal if compared to some he’d seen in Brittany. Simon’s went on for more than a day while his own half brother’s feast went on for three days, with course after course of fowl and meat and fish and delicacies that yet made his mouth water even at the memory of them.

But neither his father, Simon nor the father of either of those brides had had to worry about their crops burning in the fields and barns. They did not have to spend a moment considering how many of their people would survive the coming war and the coming winter. With a beleaguered sigh after pushing those serious concerns aside for the moment, he climbed the few steps to the raised table and sat in the chair in the middle of it. Brice, Roger and several others of his men joined him there without much fanfare.

Giles tore a chunk of meat off a roast of … something and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing to soften up the tough piece before trying to swallow it. Even a mouthful of ale did not ease its path down to his stomach.

Then he noticed it.

Complete silence filled the hall. It seemed to start with the villagers present and then, when his men noticed it, they stilled as well. As one, they stared at him. Giles resisted the urge to see if he’d come naked to the table, so startled by their silent scrutiny. Leaning over to Brice, who sat at his side, he lowered his voice and spoke.

‘What is the matter here?’

‘You have attended weddings before, my friend. What do you think is the matter?’ Brice whispered in their Breton tongue.

Giles surveyed the faces before him. They wore expressions of surprise and concern and even anger. The people had eaten their fill, drank of the ale and sat at their ease during the meal. Now, darkness called them to rest. Yet, their unhappiness and anger could be seen and felt and even heard as the silence gave way to hushed grumblings in that awkward tongue of theirs. He realised his error even as Brice spoke the words.

‘They wonder how the groom can so quickly return to the wedding feast.’ Brice leaned closer so that he could not be overheard. ‘They know nothing of your concern about the lady’s condition. They know only that you married her and have returned from your marriage bed within minutes of arriving there.’

Merde.

Giles drank down the cup of ale in his grasp and motioned for more. He’d not considered the ways in which his actions would be seen or even considered that any person, villein or free, in his hall might have a concern over them. As a bastard serving his lord, his actions mattered naught except when they interfered with his lord’s desires or needs or commands. Now, it was his word that mattered. His actions were to be heeded and obeyed.

As he drank the ale again he shook his head at Brice. He’d arranged for them to say their marriage vows before her people to lessen the strain in the keep and village about her health. Rumours had flown round in the days after his arrival and her lack of presence had made them wonder whether he’d killed her or not. Only the word of her servants that she was alive had kept the worst of the distrust at bay.

Now this.

‘This is a private matter between the lady and me.’

‘Ah, my lord, you have it wrong there. Within hours, if indeed it takes that long, every person living within the walls or without will know what is between you and their lady. And that you have not consummated your vows.’

He gazed out over the tables before him, seeing the mutinous stares from those who would never dare to say a word. He could not, nay, he would not relent and bed Fayth before knowing the truth. His hand would not be forced in such a grievous matter.

‘Merde.‘ This time he’d said the word aloud.

‘Exactly, my lord.’

‘I will not explain myself to them, Brice,’ he said, clenching his teeth. Giles looked out over the hall and the people there. His illegitimate standing gave rise to his reluctance in this and he would not discuss it with anyone.

They knew nothing but what happened here, within these walls, within this small village. They knew not of his struggles to rise from his bitter beginnings, to gain fame and fortune in tourneys across his homeland, and to be worthy enough of this prize he’d received. They knew only of their lady and her father and their land and their crops and cattle.

Insulting her or the memory of her father while the rebels gathered throughout the conquered lands and even just outside his lands was not the most intelligent thing he could do. Revealing his doubts about her state of purity or her part in plans to overthrow his lawful control of this holding might be appealing, but he knew that doing that would lead to ruin and uproar and possible rebellion.

For now, he must forbear any urges to strike out too quickly, he must assess his every move and, aye, he must take notice of the way his actions appeared to his people.

‘You understand my actions, Brice. What would you suggest?’

Brice peered out over the people now gathered in the hall and then turned to him.

‘'Tis too late to change your actions in this, nor do I suggest you do, but try not to worsen it. They—’ he nodded in the direction of those watching, ever silent in their disapproval ‘—understand more about your situation than I would guess you do. They know the lady, her late father, and the identities and location of those who sought to usurp your position here.’

Brice gifted him with a knowing look. Ah, so he, himself, had not been the only one to suspect that those now outlawed and their connections to Fayth and Taerford had not yet been revealed or severed completely. ‘Go on.’

‘You know what you must do, Giles. Think of Lord Gautier’s counsel about how to act when others depend on your actions,’ he said with a wave of his hand where no one else but Giles could see it. ‘Treat the lady with respect. Take her to your bed as soon as possible, move on as you mean to go,’ he began, lowering his voice. ‘You have not been a … nobleman before. A baron now, a lord of this realm. This presents you with many new challenges never faced before, Giles, as it will to me shortly.’

Giles nodded in agreement. As the bastard son of a Breton nobleman, he had never been put in a position where others were under his control. Except for his men, the ones who had joined him in fighting with William the Conqueror, he had controlled no one but himself.

Until now. Now, he held property, he held power.

He had a noble-born lady as wife.

‘And you? Will you follow your own wise counsel?’

Brice lifted his cup to Giles in a gesture of respect and nodded his head. ‘I can see these things clearly for you. I only hope I can see them as clearly when I encounter them.’

Giles emptied his cup and placed the metal goblet on the table in front of him. All good counsel aside, there was one immediate problem looming before him—a place to sleep this night. He’d never intended to make her rejection such a public one. However, the sound of the bar securing the door had been unmistakable and the message clear to everyone who’d heard it.

‘You allowed her to make her stand, now make yours,’ Brice said as though reading his thoughts. ‘If this breach remains a source for gossip, it makes you and this keep vulnerable to attack. To ensure that some may believe your outward actions, you might consider taking your hauberk off before seeking your lady.’

Giles laughed as he touched his chest. ‘You did not see her anger when I left the room. I may not see the morn without it.’

He’d grown so accustomed to the protective layer, he’d not even removed it for his wedding. Now, considering the expressions in the lady’s eyes as he’d forced her into marriage and then questioned her honour, the layers of interwoven iron rings might not be enough to keep him safe while he slept with her.

‘My thanks for your wise counsel, friend.’

Standing, he moved away from the table and waved off the two guards who’d begun to shadow his movements. Giles called to the boy Martin to follow as he made his way through the door leading to the kitchen. The heat from the cooking fires, not yet banked for the night, blasted at him as he entered. Within moments, those working there noticed him and stopped and stared. This was one place in Taerford Keep where he had not established a presence, but he remedied that now.

After calling for a tub and pails of hot water, Giles was led by someone named Gytha to a small room just off the kitchen. He had planned only to remove as much of the dirt and dust as he could, but soon the sight of the steam rising from the water enticed him to make use of it. He laid his sword in its scabbard on the floor near the tub and then, with Martin’s help, he unfastened and peeled off the layer of armour and mail he wore. He sent the boy, who was training to learn the ways of knights, away with instructions on its cleaning and oiling and closed the door for some measure of privacy.

He made quick work of removing his padded gambeson and shirt, adding those and his braies and boots to the pile of clothing on the floor. Giles stretched his arms towards the ceiling above and enjoyed the lack of the armour’s weight on his body. It had been too long since he had last indulged in the pleasure of a real bath, using pails of water or even streams or rivers when available to him for the task. Now, a hot soak would ease his tension over his coming encounter with his new bride.

The next thing he knew the water was growing cold and a pile of clean clothes and drying linens lay on a bench next to the door. Looking around, he also found two buckets with steaming water within reach. He’d not given in to the exhaustion he’d felt for these last months, first battling in Brittany for his uncle’s claim to the duchy and then supporting William’s claim to England on behalf of his liege lord, Simon.

There’d been little time for the luxury of a hot bath and a leisurely bedding of an appealing woman. He still had months, if not years, of hard work ahead of him, but Giles could content himself in knowing that it was his lands, his keep and his woman. And, God willing, his children. But first, the matter of his wife begged his attention.

Filled with a fair amount of reluctance, he stood in the tub, finished washing the grime and sweat from his body and hair and climbed out. Drying himself off, he stretched again and then sought the clothes left for him. Tugging the shirt over his head, he recognised the quality of the garment and it took him but a moment to realise the origin of it—this was something left behind by the old lord when he had followed Harold to Hastings.

As were the braies and the tunic. The old earl was much broader in the shoulders and chest than Giles was, but these were the only clothes he could wear for now. Poor planning on his part, for the only garments he had lay locked in a chest in Lady Fayth’s room.

He shook his head at his mistake and wrapped his belt around his waist, positioning his scabbard where he could reach it easily. Then he pulled on his boots and left the small chamber, using a set of back steps he found to get to the upper floor of the keep. Standing before the lady’s chambers, he found the two guards as he’d left them.

Well, except for the metal hinges in their hands.

‘A gift from Brice, my lord.’

Giles accepted Brice’s gift and smiled. Brice could get in or out of any place, release any lock or find the weakness in any device. Without the hinges, the door could be manoeuvred out from under the bar. With the help of the guards, he did just that and it allowed him entrance with little noise. He waited while the door was placed against the frame and then walked over to the bed.

In spite of the control she exerted over her actions while awake, Lady Fayth slept with reckless abandonment. Reckless and enticing abandonment, even if still wearing her clothes.

She lay half on her side, half on her back, one arm was thrown to the side and the other lay across her forehead, blocking the top of her face from his view. Her legs, though covered by her smock and kirtle, relaxed apart, and the urge grew within him to slide his hand up and explore the area between her thighs. His body tightened as he walked closer and saw that her hair was loose.

She lay on top of most of it, the soft length pillowing around her head with a few loose tendrils softening the look of her face. In the darkened chamber, lit only by the flames in the hearth, it appeared much darker than in the light of day, when it caught the sunlight and blossomed with a multitude of hues of brown and lighter. His hands itched to touch it, to smell it, to rub it against his face and over their bodies as they made love.

Giles shook himself, trying to loosen the grasp of this desire now moving through him. He was no untried boy that his body should react so strongly to a woman. Truly, this woman had not tried to entice or entrance him; instead she’d stood up to him, refused his kindnesses and nearly repudiated his claim to her and these lands. Not the usual bed partner of one of the Breton Bastards, as he and his friends were called.

He walked to the side of the bed and leaned over, giving in to the urge to touch her. With a gentle stroke, he traced down the edge of her chin and her cheek. She murmured in her sleep and seemed to turn into his palm. Holding his breath, he sat carefully on the bed, easing across its surface, and cupped her face in his hand. When she threw her arm away from her head and it landed in his lap, nearly touching his cock, he knew he was lost.

And she slept on.

He almost regretted his pledge to her to withhold relations until she proved she was not carrying a child. Almost. Though it was a near thing when she turned slightly and her lush breasts pressed against the gown she wore. At least the extra fabric in the braies he wore afforded him some relief when his cock grew harder in anticipation.

Drawn to the innocence and the softened expression that sleep brought to her face, he watched as she breathed deeply and evenly. With her cheek still cupped in his hand, he let his thumb slide over her face and touch her lips. They were full and red; he imagined their feel against his. Trying to lessen the urge to take her and claim her, Giles glanced away from her mouth and at her face.

Eyes the color of the darkest forest leaves met his gaze.

Lady Fayth had awakened.




Chapter Four


First Fayth looked at Giles’s eyes, then she seemed to remember where she was and who touched her in such a way. Then she moved, scrambling up and back away from him faster than he thought it possible to move. Within seconds, she knelt against the corner of the bed against the wall in a defensive position, meant to keep anyone at bay. All she needed to complete her formidable pose was a weapon in her hand.

‘You sleep in your gown?’ he asked in a soft voice, trying not to startle her.

‘How did you get in here?’ she asked back, ignoring his jibe completely.

‘Once the hinges were gone—’ he nodded at the doorway ‘—it was simply a matter of lifting the door and the bar out of the way.’ Giles slid from the bed and faced her. ‘Do not bar the door again.’

Her eyes widened in fear at his words or mayhap at the tone he used. When she brushed her hair out of her face, it flowed over her shoulders and down her back in long waves.

‘Come,’ he said, offering her his hand. ‘Take your ease as you wish. Door or no door, you are safe here.’

Now, doubt warred with the fear in her eyes as her gaze moved from him to the doorway and back to the bed. He wondered if she was confused, as waking so suddenly from such a deep sleep could do. Backing a few steps away, he sat in a chair and waited for her to act.

‘You said you would not,’ she began, lowering her voice so that none outside the chamber could hear. ‘You left with your men.’

‘You pushed me from the chamber and barred the door behind me. I could not allow such an insult to go unanswered.’

The fear returned in her gaze and Giles discovered that he did not like it. Anger turned her eyes a flaming green, a shade that sparked with gold, but fear turned them flat and nearly colourless.

‘Is it our joining you fear?’ he asked. ‘Or something else?’

Her cheeks flushed red and she looked away. Was she embarrassed by such frank words? She did not look ready to explain herself to him. Had she, in truth, given herself to Edmund or was this a maiden’s blush?

‘I told you it will not be until I know you carry no one else’s babe, so come away from the wall and seek your rest.’ He motioned with his hand.

‘Why do you insult me so?’ the lady asked as she slid over the bed and climbed off, straightening her gown and shaking it to cover her legs. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders in enticing waves. ‘Do you think I hold my honour, and that of my father, with so little respect that I would succumb easily to the desires of the flesh?’

He was out of the chair in a second and standing so close to her that he saw her wobble and nearly lose her balance in trying not to touch him and yet looking up to meet his gaze. Giles watched her eyes widen and her breaths grow shallow as he stood, not moving, not touching, not breathing.

Heat grew between them, around them and within him until he burned from it. Not succumb to the desires of the flesh? From the fear now flashing in her eyes to the shaking of her limbs and the paleness of her skin, he suspected that she had not experienced the fires of passion that could erupt between a man and a woman. It did not mean that she’d not lost her virginity to someone else, but there was much he could show and teach her about desire.

For now, though, a simple lesson would suffice. More than that threatened his tenuous control and he must not allow that to happen … yet. Giles bent his head lower, forcing Fayth to tilt hers more. When he moved his lips so close to hers that he could feel her breath against his skin, he paused.

‘Desires of the flesh, lady?’ he asked, dipping even closer. ‘But there is much to commend those desires.’

Fayth started to object, to explain the true meaning of her words, when his lips—already too close—touched hers. The heat given off by his body intensified with the touch of his mouth to hers and in her confusion, she forgot to close her lips. His tongue, hot and strong, surged into her mouth and sought the touch of hers. Not sure of what to do, she waited, fighting the unbelievable need to throw her arms around him and pull him closer.

Where that desire came from, she knew not, but an urge pulsed through her body then, as his tongue tasted hers, that brought all manner of wicked thoughts and feelings to mind. Fayth could tell he enjoyed the kiss, for he moved closer to her and pressed against her mouth, deepening the simple touch into something more possessive. Just as she was learning his rhythm, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, tasting her own and luring it into his mouth, he drew back and changed it into something different.

Now, he used his mouth on her lips, then, sliding lower, he kissed the edge of her jaw and her chin before moving to her neck. If she’d thought that his first kiss tempted her to more, this one or these many shocked her. With each touch of his mouth to her skin a shattering jolt moved from her skin to deeper inside until the very core of her ached. Moisture grew between her thighs and the unseemly urge to press against him strengthened until she thought she might.

When he reached out and lifted her hair off her neck and shoulders, she did reach for him. Feeling light-headed from holding her breath in excited anticipation, she clutched his tunic to steady herself. Still, he did not stop his attentions, now kissing nearer to her ear and higher on her neck. She thought he whispered something once, but, truly, she could not keep a thought in her head right then.

As he used one hand to loosen the ties of her smock and tug the edges of it open Fayth began to protest, but his mouth took hers in another breathless kiss until she gave up all attempts to make sense. Then he kissed and licked his way down to the opening he’d made, exposing the tops of her breasts to his sight and his touch.

Thankfully, she still clutched his tunic or she would have sunk to the floor as first his finger and then his lips and tongue traced a path there. The aching deep inside grew into a throbbing need she could not understand or ignore. She tried to draw in a deep breath, but it turned to a gasp as he suckled the skin at the top of one of her breasts. The urgent pulling and licking and even nipping at her flesh released a torrent of pleasure and created a longing she could not believe possible.

Fayth let go of his tunic and reached up to pull him closer and everything changed. It was as though her touch were abhorrent to him for he lifted his mouth from her skin, released her hair from his fisted grasp and stepped away from her. Stumbling from the weakness and excitement that pulsed through her, she fell to sit on the edge of her bed. The cool air of the chamber hit the wet, heated skin of her neck, shoulders and exposed breasts, and it shocked her back to her senses—the ones that should have warned her to put a stop to his indecent actions.

Giles watched her with an amused expression lighting his eyes and she suspected she’d fallen into a trap. And she had, for indeed her entire body ached for his touch, for his kisses and the intimate way he had used his tongue on her skin. Then she realised the purpose of his attentions and how he’d made her belie her claim about the desires of the flesh.

‘Does your body not hunger for more, lady? Is there not an aching within to be touched in places you cannot speak of?’ He stopped and looked as though he would come closer once more but he did not. ‘If I slid my hand beneath your gown and smock and into that place between your legs, would I find you wet with desire?’

Fayth did gasp then, both at the vulgarity and truth of his words. She did not have to admit the truth; they both knew it.

‘Just so,’ he whispered as he turned away and strode to the table where their cups and wine still lay. ‘And consider that it was only a kiss between us.’

With his back to her, he poured and drank two cups before stopping. She could see his body move as he took in and released several deep breaths of his own. Before he could face her, she gathered the edges of her smock together and tied the laces tightly, covering all that he had exposed and more. Pushing her hair out of her face and behind her shoulders, she pondered what to say.

Did she admit to her ignorance of the power of such feelings? The few kisses she’d exchanged with Edmund had been nothing like this, more an exchange of affection between old friends. She’d fancied herself in love with her father’s cousin who’d visited two summers before, but it had been one-sided and Gareth never knew of her feelings so they had certainly not shared kisses such as these.

Only a kiss? Oh, no, he’d done more than simply kiss her tonight. He’d exposed a vulnerability she did not know existed as easily as he had exposed her breasts with a tug at her laces.

But the worst of it was that her body had reacted to the touch of a stranger, a man who had very possibly killed her father on the field of battle. With those few kisses and caresses, he’d made a fool of her and her valiant protests about her honour. Shame poured over her, dampening any remaining desire as she contemplated her weaknesses and the true power of errant desires of the flesh to lead one astray or to aid in compromising their honour.

Lord Giles stood before her, holding out a cup. How long he’d been there, she knew not, for she’d been lost in her thoughts. Fayth accepted the cup and drank deeply from it, hoping to ease the tightness in her throat with the cool wine. She could not meet his gaze and see the triumph there, so she walked past him to place the cup on the table.

Giles saw the shame in her downcast eyes and the way her shoulders slumped. He recognised it well enough, for his mother had carried it most days of her life. He cursed under his breath at his stupidity. Lady Fayth shuddered at his words.

‘My lady, I but sought to show you the control that desire can exert, even on someone who thinks to resist its call.’

‘And it has been a lesson well learned, my lord,’ she answered. When she turned and faced him, he knew from the bleakness in her eyes and the paleness of her skin that they were not speaking of the same lesson.

Giles could not answer, for every word that came to mind would not ease her embarrassment or would undermine the message he wanted to send to her. He nodded at the bed.

‘Seek your rest, my lady. ‘Tis been a long and trying day and much work faces us in the morn.’

She continued past him until she stood at the side of the bed. A glance over her shoulder at him and then at the chair and the floor and back to the bed spoke of her confusion over his place to sleep this night.

‘Lady, climb in and seek sleep.’ He walked to the bed and lifted the many layers of linen sheets, woollen blankets and even thick animal skins that covered the bed and offered warmth in the long, cold autumn nights. He did not ask her about removing her gown and tunic or even her stockings, for the fear within her was palpable to him.

She let out a deep breath and kicked off her shoes, sliding them under the edge of the bed. Lady Fayth lifted her gowns, climbed up and shifted over the bed, rearranging her many layers once she reached the other side. Giles dropped the coverings and let her find her place under them. When she seemed settled, he moved around the chambers, blowing out candles and banking the flames in the hearth, all preparations for the night.

‘Will you sleep here?’ she asked in a whisper.

‘Aye, lady, I will seek my rest at your side.’ He waited for her protests and when they did not come, he tried to explain. ‘If I’d wanted to tup you like the barbarian you think me to be, it would have happened after the battle, when the heat of it yet burned in my veins and control of such passions are difficult. Or when I watched you lie senseless here those nights and could have had you without any protests. When I decide to have you, lady, you will not have a moment to spend worrying over my taking of you. it will happen.’

He blew out the last taper and began removing his tunic and shirt as he moved closer to the bed. He sat and tugged off his boots and then untied his breeches and let them drop. Leaving one layer of sheeting down, he lifted the rest and climbed within, allowing the lady her own clothing and the sheet as a barrier between them.

As he lay next to her in the dark, listening to her low breathing and knowing she was backed up to the wall and as far as possible from him, he knew there were so many more barriers separating them and none were easily overcome. And, as his own body still pulsed with the desire for her that touching her and kissing her and stroking her caused, he tried remembering why he thought it such a good thing to teach her about passion. The blood that rushed through his veins and made his cock stand confirmed that he could be caught in the same trap he set.

So much for lessons to learn.

Fayth knew she’d not slept a wink all night, not with the stranger sleeping naked so close to her. Yet, when she found him gone as the sunlight finally pierced through the veil of night and she had no recollection of his leaving, she knew that sleep must have claimed her unaware at some moment earlier.

Her back ached from being pressed against the hard surface of the wall all night, trying to keep her distance from the very large, very warm body in her bed. If he was troubled by what had occurred between them, his manner of falling immediately into the embrace of sleep and breathing deeply through the long night spoke not of it.

Rubbing her eyes, she allowed a yawn to escape before dragging her body across the bed to its edge. Her cyrtei and syrce twisted around her legs and waist and Fayth tugged it down in place just as the door of the chamber opened, or was moved away from the frame. Fearing another encounter with her new husband, she was comforted when her maid entered instead. Within minutes, a tub and buckets of steaming water were brought into the room and set up in front of a fire in the hearth.

In Emma’s care, her own worries fell away as her maid issued stern commands about placing the door back on its hinges and huffed about the chamber protecting Fayth’s privacy during her bath. Once satisfied that the door, jammed against the frame, would be an able barrier to anyone entering, she turned and faced Fayth. With a frown and grimace at finding her in her gown and barely a pause to acknowledge it, Emma efficiently lifted the outer tunic off, unlaced the long sleeves and loosened the cyrtel and finally the linen shift. Then she lifted all the remaining layers over Fayth’s head. Her maid’s unstifled gasp made her turn sharply at the object of Emma’s concern.

There on her breast was a mark, a bruise of a sort marring her skin. She laid her fingers there, but there was no pain as she would have expected, but her skin felt heated.

‘Did he hurt you?’ Emma whispered, nodding at the mark as she busied herself shaking out Fayth’s clothing. ‘Did he, my lady?’

First waves of embarrassment filled her. Then the realization that Emma thought Lord Giles had done this. The worst was when the truth struck her and Fayth knew that the passionate kiss Giles had placed there, the one when he had used his lips and tongue and even his teeth, had left such a mark. She felt the heat in her cheeks and her breasts even ached as she remembered the pleasure of it and even as she tried to find words to say to Emma.

‘He … I …’ she stuttered, not knowing whether to explain or not.

‘Hush, now, lady,’ Emma said. The old woman guided her to the waiting tub and helped her step inside. ‘The hot water will soothe you.’

Fayth decided not to protest or to explain something so personal as this. Sinking into the bath, she could not meet Emma’s gaze. Inhaling the pleasant scent of the herbs and oil added to the water, Fayth tried to put her fears out of her mind for the moment and it would have worked if not for Emma’s whispered words.

‘How could he do something like this?’ The maid continued her work around the tub and continued her diatribe against their new lord as well, still in hushed tones. ‘I thought he had more sense than to mistreat an innocent.’

‘He does not believe me an innocent,’ she blurted out.

‘Not innocent, my lady? I would swear on my mother’s grave, may she rest in peace, that you are as pure as the day you were born.’ Emma, her nurse, then maid and now friend, too, would be one who knew it.

‘And this new lord would believe you not, Emma. He accused me of giving myself to Edmund and carrying his child.’

Emma dropped the soapy washing cloth into the water and gasped. Stumbling back from the tub, she shook her head. Fayth could tell when shock gave way to anger, for Emma’s round face grew red and beads of sweat, not related to the task at hand, began to roll down her forehead and cheeks. Leaning back closer, she whispered once more to her, glancing first behind her as though to see if anyone had entered.

‘But surely, my lady, he discovered the truth? When he bedded you?’ Emma took Fayth’s hand from where it lay on the edge of the tub and stroked it gently. ‘Fear not, lady. I always keep your confidences.’

Fayth’s resolve not to speak of such matters, even though Emma had held her counsel in the two years since Fayth’s mother’s death, dissolved then in the face of Emma’s kind-hearted concern and in knowing that Emma would carry her secrets, if she knew them, to the grave.

‘He did not bed me. He said that until he knows I am not carrying a child, he will not. And he did not believe me when I told him I have not given myself to anyone.’

Spilling out the words brought a deep sense of sadness to her. As daughter and heiress to her father, her word had always been accepted, her honour never questioned. Sliding forward and wrapping her arms around her knees, she laid her face there and thought on it as Emma attended to her back and began washing her hair.

‘Hush now, lady. All will be well. At least he did not take you roughly or against your will,’ she offered as she lathered up the length of Fayth’s hair. But instead of soothing her troubled thoughts, her words added to them.

‘Emma, how can it be other than against my will? This man attacks my people, takes my lands and forces me to marriage. I do not want this and I suspect he does not want me either.’ Emma’s hands stilled and Fayth could swear the woman stifled a laugh.

‘I know he covets what I bring to him, Emma. I am no fool in that regard. But I want him no more than he wants me.’ Tears threatened then and her throat tightened as she thought on her reaction to his touch and to his kiss. ‘I cannot want him,’ she whispered.

Emma did not press her for more and Fayth was glad of it. The fact that her body came to life under his touch shamed her and she did not wish to repeat such a weakness again. They accomplished the rest of her bath in silence and Fayth stood so that Emma could rinse her of the soap. Allowing the water to pour down over her, Fayth closed her eyes.

The sound of his loud, angry voice preceded that of the door crashing against the wall by only moments.

‘I told you not to bar this door,’ he yelled, but then his voice dropped lower, much lower when he looked at her, ‘to me.’




Chapter Five


The sight of Lord Giles standing there, filled with anger, fist still raised and glaring at her gave Fayth pause. She did not dare move, for it was only his tall body that blocked those behind him. Fayth heard Emma’s indrawn breath behind her and, as she watched, the warrior’s gaze moved over her nakedness.

Her skin tingled wherever his eyes looked—first her face and neck and then her breasts as she saw the glimmer of recognition as he noticed the mark there. Then his gaze slid down until he stared at her legs and the area between them. The tips of her breasts tightened under his bold, sexual stare and shock finally gave way to action. She covered herself as she could with her arms and hand while reaching for a drying cloth, one which Emma could not seem to find.

Fayth turned her back to him, chancing even more of his anger, to grab the large cloth from Emma’s hand and to wrap it around herself. For some reason, her maid did not move to aid her and it took some moments for Fayth to accomplish. It was then that she heard Emma’s whispered words.

‘I do not think you need to worry about him wanting you, lady.’

Fayth turned and faced her husband, whose expression had changed from anger to lust in those few moments. Now, his eyes burned hers with a heated stare. His hands fisted and released several times before he let them hang at his sides. Lord Giles wore his mail hauberk once more with his sword at his side, apparently ready for battle.

Realising she still stood in the tub, Fayth leaned down to hold the edge while stepping out. Before she could manage, he warned off his men and strode across the chamber in a few steps. Lifting her from the water and holding her high against his chest, he carried her over to the side of the bed and placed her on her feet. As she thought to thank him, Fayth was horrified to realise that she’d wrapped her arms around his neck and was still holding him so.




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