shook her head sadly. “But they feel pain as keen as the rest of it, and after losing all his sons to illness and battle, the old lord sickened and passed on himself. That is when Aisley took over the demesne, and ran it very well, thank you, until she married Baron Montmorency.”
The name seemed to affect the older woman deeply, and Gillian lifted her brows in an unspoken question. “Make no mistake, he turned out to be a fine man, but Belvry is my home, and after the wee one was born, I came back here with a new husband of my own.” She gave Gillian a broad wink and a smile.
“But I am getting ahead of myself! ‘Twas only when the castle was under attack, and Aisley’s husband fighting bravely, that Nicholas returned. Just in time, they all say, to save us from our villainous neighbor, Baron Hexham. The people were well pleased to have a de Laci take his rightful heritage, and I am not the only one who hoped that he would marry soon and continue the line. But he had changed, coming back from the East a harder man, and after that business with Hexham… Well, he seemed but a shell of himself.”
Edith brightened then, and grinned. “I must admit that I was surprised to hear him call you wife, but after meeting you, I am sure you are just the one to put everything to rights. Why, just look at the difference in the man already,” the older woman noted. “Never in all my days did I expect to see Nicholas de Laci chasing after a woman, and him half-naked besides!”
She laughed softly, as if the memory were a pleasant one, but Gillian could hardly join her. She remembered too well the glitter of hatred in her husband’s eyes. And, though she was grateful for Edith’s chatter, she was dismayed to learn that the older woman, and perhaps other members of the household, expected her to have some influence over their lord.
Ha! They might as well wish for the moon, for it would be more likely to do their bidding than Nicholas, Gillian thought, doubly angry with him now.
She looked up to see Edith’s brown eyes, eager with curiosity, upon her. “So tell me, my lady, how did you manage to get his attention?” the older woman said with a grin.
“In truth, I did nothing but be born,” Gillian answered after a long silence. “You see, I am Hexham’s niece.”
Nicholas was surly at supper, and so inattentive to the steward who tried to report upon his holdings that the man gaped at him in astonishment. The food seemed to sit like a hot stone in his belly, and he soon pushed away his trencher, though he knew that if he did not eat, he would regret it later. The promised pain meant little, for he had lived with it for years. Instead, his thoughts traveled to the upper chamber where his wife was taking her repast alone.
It was only natural, Nicholas told himself, to wish to keep the object of his revenge within view. Although he had sent a soldier up to guard her door, he trusted no one, least of all Edith, to watch over his wife. The foolish old servant did not know, nor could anyone guess, that the little nun was really a vixen who might leap out a window at the slightest provocation.
The thought of her escape attempt made Nicholas rise halfway from his seat, and he would have gone up to check on her, but for the startled gaze of his steward. He shifted slightly, nodding to the man, then stared at his cup. Had the meals at Belvry always been so interminable? Was there no way to hasten the serving and eating of food?
He looked at the members of his household, seated side by side along the trestles that lined the tables of the great hall, and realized that they had become soft, taking their ease at length. He ought to send them scurrying to their pallets, and then…
“I am glad to see that you abandoned your previous attire for something more suitable.” The sound of the low voice, suddenly so close to him, startled Nicholas, and he cursed himself for the lapse in his alertness. His eyes narrowed as he assessed the Syrian, who leaned near.
“What are you talking about?”
Darius lifted his dark brows in an enigmatic expression that made him look all the more exotic and foreign. “I had heard you were running around the castle wearing nothing but a scrap of linen to cover your modesty.”
For the first time in years, Nicholas felt heat rise in his cheeks, at the reminder of his headlong rush after his wife. He picked up a bare bone and rolled it absently between his fingers. “‘Twould be a bit chilly for continual wear,” he said coolly.
Darius smiled slowly. “At first, I thought you were but donning your emir’s robes, but from what I gather, your costume was even less substantial.”
Nicholas did not comment. He had no intention of explaining himself to the Syrian, or of dwelling upon an incident best forgotten. If Darius’s object was to inform him of the gossip, then he had done so. He had no wish to discuss it further.
“They say you charged after her like a bear—”
“Enough!” Nicholas said. Immediately he regretted his response. Was the Syrian trying to goad him? Nicholas assessed his companion with narrowed eyes. Although his expression revealed nothing, Nicholas had the distinct impression that the Syrian was amused. And he did not like it.
The bone in his hand snapped abruptly.
“Do you find something humorous, Darius?” Nicholas asked. The Syrian shook his head, his dark face impassive, his black eyes cloaked. But Nicholas persisted, staring hard at his companion until he realized that he would welcome a fight to ease his frustrations. Finally, he looked away, angered by his own lack of discipline.
“I will see to the sentries,” the Syrian said. Nicholas nodded, and was grateful for a respite from that knowing gaze when Darius left his seat. It was getting late. He ought to seek his rest and attend to his wife.
Gillian. Nicholas’s heart seemed to pound faster and harder as he pondered her fate, come the night. After what had happened in the bath, he was leery of sleeping with her. Nun or novice she was not unfamiliar with womanly wiles. Aye, innocent as she might seem, she could entice as well as the sultriest of harem dwellers. And he had no intention of becoming a slave to her body, when it was she who was at his mercy.
In truth, he ought to make her lie on the floor at the foot of his bed, like the meanest of servants. And yet her skin was so creamy and fine, Nicholas wondered if such a hard berth might not mar it. Perhaps he should just let her stay in Aisley’s room.
Daunted by his indecision, Nicholas took a deep breath to clear his head. Usually his judgment was swift and sure, and he liked not this continued dithering. With a frown of annoyance, he resolved to keep his wife within his sight. She was a clever, bold thing, and he would be wise to keep an eye on her, lest he find himself deprived of his vengeance come morning.
His. vengeance. Nicholas’s blood quickened as he contemplated his course. Already he had discovered her deepest fear and how effortlessly he could torment her with it. He would let the vixen sleep on a thick pallet, so that she would suffer no bruises, but he would keep her within reach… at the foot of his bed.
For the first time this evening, Nicholas’s lips curled into a ghost of a smile. Absently he stroked the curve of his cup with his thumb, again and again, while he pictured Hexham’s niece on her knees before him. Aye, he would taunt her easily enough—with his sex.
Gillian sat back, a bit uncomfortable
