The Mercenary's Bride. Terri Brisbin
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a few minutes. Most likely, two days of walking and the events of the night so far were the cause of her growing exhaustion. And the recent run from the camp here added to the pain in her legs and the weariness that spread through her.
Tugging her cloak closer and pulling the hood of it forwards to cover her head, she focused her thoughts on placing one foot in front of the other. After some time, more than Gillian remembered it taking to cover the distance, they reached the turn in the path that took them towards the road, and a while later the camp. More than once, a horse nudged her along. More than once, she waved them off to stop and catch her breath. And more than once, she wished she could think of a way to evade them and their lord.
But all she could do was walk and think.
And worry.
Oh, not over any sins she might have committed as their lord had ordered, but about the rest of the coming night. And the coming day which would see his forces pitted against her half-brother and his allies. When the fires of the camp came into view, Gillian found that most everything disappeared from her list of things to worry over, except the one about the coming night. The knights led her back to his tent, which was now surrounded by guards, and called out to their lord. At his word, Stephen motioned her forwards.
After a deep breath, Gillian walked up to the tent and lifted the flap to enter.
Brice sat waiting for her arrival and pondered all the mistakes he’d made in dealing with Lady Gillian of Thaxted. Once his anger cooled, even he could see the resemblance to the wedding-night farce experienced by his friend Giles, now Lord of Taerford. And that did not please him at all, for it only served to remind him of his own boast that he would not have those kinds of problems when he claimed his bride.
Now, with his head still pounding from being hit with his own sword and with his runaway bride standing outside his tent, he hoped word of this debacle would not reach Giles or his lady Fayth for some time. And hopefully he could recover from the disastrous start and get his marriage, and the invasion of his keep, underway in a more successful manner. Taking a mouthful of the ale from his cup, he touched the egg-sized lump on his head to see if it had stopped bleeding yet. Bringing away nothing on his fingers, he drank again, hoping the ale would ease the anger and the pain.
He heard Stephen’s call from outside and waited for her to enter. Brice had chosen to get away from her when his fury about her attack and her disobedience nearly overwhelmed his better judgement, for he was not a man to take his anger out on others and he did not wish to do so now. Well, he might wish to do it, but he would not.
Gillian stepped into the tent, and it suddenly felt much smaller than it had. He watched as she moved a few paces in and let the flap drop back into place. From the corner where he sat on a stool he waited for her to see him. Her reaction, when she did, was not a good one, for she gasped and backed up towards the entrance. He looked in the direction of her gaze and realised that the bloodied rags he’d used in cleaning the gash on his head lay on the ground at his feet.
‘I … I …’ she began to stutter.
‘Do not make some false claim of regret, lady,’ he warned, kicking the rags out of his way and standing before her. ‘You wanted to escape, I was in your way, and you removed me.’ He crossed his arms over his chest and allowed himself a moment of enjoyment at her discomfort. He knew, though, that the way she reacted to his accusation was important in coming to know her better.
Gillian let out a loud sigh and pushed her loosened hair back out of her face. Her bedraggled appearance in no way marred her beauty; instead, it made him want to wrap her in his arms and kiss away the worries that caused the crease to deepen between her brows.
‘You are correct, my lord,’ she said softly. ‘My only intention was to escape. You were in my way.’
‘Why?’ he asked. The word surprised him until he realised that he did want to know her reasons for running from him. ‘Did you run from me in particular? From this marriage?’ She looked as though she sought a way out of answering, so he asked again. ‘You spoke the vows in front of the priest and witnesses. You pledged yourself to me. So, lady, why did you run?’
‘I ran from you. I ran from this marriage. I just ran,’ she said in a voice so low he nearly missed it. She looked away from him, too, not meeting his gaze, but staring down at her hands while she spoke. Hands that twisted the cloth of her cloak in a tight spiral.
He suspected that she knew he would intercept any of her attempts to get to the convent, but why had she not run back to her brother’s protection?
‘Why the convent?’ He took a step towards her, but paused when she backed away. Likely she feared his anger even now.
‘I would be welcome there. The reverend mother said I would be welcomed into their community.’
‘And your brother would not welcome your return to him?’ he asked.
The stricken expression at his words told him more than he ever expected to learn, for her face paled and her eyes filled with pain and fear. Brice reached out for her, but she moved farther away from him. Filled with uncertainty about how to proceed with her, he could tell by watching the lady that exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her even now.
It had been his plan—having her walk back to the camp would tire her out and make another attempt to escape this night nearly impossible. Now, as he watched her struggle to remain standing even while trying to appear strong, he understood the strength of her pride and her determination.
She was a worthy opponent, but would be a better lady to their people and a wife to him—if he could gain her trust and co-operation. Swiving her in this tent now would not accomplish that. Not consummating the marriage was not a choice, for if she did reach the convent it would cause a complicated mess that would take months or years to sort through. And he knew to the marrow of his bones that she would try again. Still, he shook his head and surrendered to the inevitable.
‘Seek your rest, lady,’ he said, pointing to the pallet.
She started and glanced between him and the pile of blankets they’d occupied not long ago. ‘I do not understand.’
‘It is nearly the middle of the night,’ he began. ‘Many new challenges face us in the morn, so seek your rest.’
Brice turned away and began to pick up the rags from the ground. She remained still where she stood, not yet moving to the pallet. So, he went over, lifted up several of the blankets and motioned for her to lie down. As though prepared for him to attack her at any moment, Lady Gillian crept to the pallet and sat down without ever taking her gaze from him. She started to untie her cloak, but then wrapped its length around her and lay down.
Brice layered several blankets over her and tried not to think about her presence in his tent. He tried not to think about the lovely, feminine body under those blankets. He especially tried not to remember the way she sounded, the way she gasped so softly as he slid his hand nearer to her womanly flesh. But when she loosened her veil and her hair spread around her head, he hardened in immediate response to her innocent actions and he nearly lost that battle.
Realising that his body had readied for taking her and distraction was necessary, he walked over to finish his tasks. He should call Ernaut to see to cleaning and arranging things, but that could wait until morning. After securing his sword where she could not reach it easily, he gathered the soiled rags and tossed them out of the tent flap. He busied himself with other menial tasks, all to keep himself from tearing off the blankets, freeing her from her cloak and garments and ploughing her as deeply and fervently as he wanted to do.
A short while later, the sound of clattering teeth filled the small space. Brice turned and walked closer to her. Now he could see that her whole body shivered beneath her cloak and the blankets. His own breath floated in front of him in the cold night’s air, making him realise that she must be chilled to the bone from both her run to escape, her walk back to the camp and the absence of any fire or hearth to warm her in the tent.
It was exactly the discomfort he’d wanted her to feel when he gave the orders, but now, watching