The Conqueror's Lady. Terri Brisbin
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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