reacted to the sounds of her innocent excitement and each sigh sent more blood rushing to his groin, hardening him until he felt as though he would explode.
Sliding one arm behind her shoulders and then scooping her up into his embrace, Brice kissed her again as he carried her to his pallet and knelt down to place her on its surface. Although clean, he knew it lacked the level of comfort and luxury she was used to having. The thought that he was taking her on a thin pallet in a tent in the middle of an armed camp struck him as he eased his arm out from beneath her legs.
A lady deserved better than to be tupped like a camp follower. A lady should be wooed and willing to give up her virginity. A lady wife should be honoured and taken gently in comfort and privacy.
Allowing only a moment of regret at the circumstances and surroundings, Brice guided Gillian down onto the pallet and stretched out at her side, his arm still holding her around her shoulders. When he was forced to relinquish her mouth, he kissed the soft skin along her jaw and her ear. Pleased when her body trembled in his embrace, he traced the outline of her lips with a finger. Brice followed the contours of her jaw, down to her neck and then across the swell of her breasts until he reached the laces on her gown. She gasped when he tugged them loose and then grabbed his hand to halt his progress.
‘Someone might come in,’ she whispered.
Though he knew no one would dare interrupt him, he tried to soothe her fear. ‘Unless this tent is on fire, no one will enter.’
Brice leaned down once more and kissed the skin on her neck, easing the ties loose as he did so. His fingers grazed the swells of her breasts as he slipped them inside the gown. Gillian arched into his hand when he touched the tips of her breasts, sucking in a breath as he continued to caress there. He felt himself surge then, ready to finish the act in spite of his efforts to follow a leisurely path and ensure the lady’s—his wife’s—pleasure.
He glanced at her face and saw that she lay with her eyes closed tightly. Only her mouth gave any sign that his attempts to ease her way were working. As he watched, she worried her lower lip with the edges of her teeth and then licked them with her tongue. Every movement and sound she made sent chills through his body and caused the blood in his veins to thunder through him. Though he wanted to tear off her garments and claim her, he settled for something more subtle.
Still watching her face, he slid his hand down, using the back of it to touch her breasts, stomach and then her thighs. She squirmed in his arms, her innocent body responding to his caresses even though she most likely understood it not. Then, when his hand slid over the tops of her legs and touched the place he craved to see, she gasped loudly and tried to sit up.
‘Nay, sweetling,’ he whispered, placing his hand over her and holding her still. ‘Let me show you the pleasure that can be between man and woman,’ he said, moving his hand ever so slightly and meeting her gaze as he did. ‘Between a husband and wife,’ he continued as he paused to gather the length of her gown in his hand. Her skin, as he touched it, was soft and smooth and her legs, exposed now to his gaze, were shapely and long. He almost had the gown out of his way when she grabbed his wrist.
‘They can hear us, my lord. They can hear every sound we make.’
This was one of the reasons he never took virgins to his bed or sought them out—their shyness interfered with the level of pleasure they could reach. And a bastard such as he was never good enough to have access to a virgin, especially a well-or high-born one like his wife was.
‘I assure you they have orders not to disturb our privacy, lady. Any sounds you or I make will be ignored, if heard at all over the din of the camp. Worry not on this.’
Brice placed his hand on the bare skin of her thigh and began to reach to touch the curls still hidden by her gown when she started again. This time she managed to push back out of his embrace.
‘Did you hear that?’ she whispered. ‘Someone is just outside the tent.’ Her eyes flitted from one side of the tent to the other and then to the entrance.
He listened, but heard nothing. If it would ease her in this, Brice decided he would make certain his orders were being followed. He doubted any of his men would have come close to his tent, but he nodded to her and stood up, tugging his braes so that they covered the proof of his arousal. Stepping to the flap of the tent, he lifted it and looked outside.
The guards stood in their positions some distance away. He could detect no movements or sounds adjacent to the tent or in the immediate area. As he turned back to tell her, he hoped that this would give her the reassurance she needed to yield to him.
He never saw the weapon hurtling at him from the shadows of the tent until it struck. Then it was too late.
Chapter Four
Gillian grabbed his tunic as he fell, making certain he landed inside the tent. Unable to believe her luck, she threw the heavy sword in its scabbard into the corner and looked for her cloak. She stepped over the unconscious knight and prepared to escape once more. Then she realised he’d not moved since landing face down on the ground there.
Had she killed him? That was never her intent, but she had swung the hilt of the sword as hard as she could at his head to stop him. Crouching down next to him, she lifted his shoulder up and slid her hand down near his mouth and nose. The heat of his breath touched her skin and she sighed in relief. Murder was never her intent.
She released his shoulder and let him lie as he fell, for there was not time and she had not the strength to move or secure him. Gillian did reach down and take the dagger from its sheath inside the cross-garters on his leg where she’d watched him place it. At least it would give her some protection as she made her escape. Peeking out of the tent, she saw that his men, as he’d said, stood some distance away.
Good. If the rest of his words about not paying attention to the goings-on in their leader’s tent were true, she could sneak away and get to the convent, less than a mile or so from here. Kneeling down, she crept on hands and knees away from the tent until she reached the edge of the forest, and then she ran. At the river she turned and ran along it, knowing that it flowed next to the convent’s walls.
Gillian never looked back, never paused, and never slowed as she followed the water to her goal. When she broke through the last copse of trees between her and safety, she skidded to a stop, unable to breathe and unable to believe her eyes. A line of knights, all of them mounted, sat between her and the convent walls.
Her eyes burned with tears of frustration as she realised that she would never outrun these men. Bending over, she drew in deep breaths, trying to calm her racing pulse and the fear that now filled her. If these men were here, their leader would have known where she would flee. He had known all along!
The men said nothing, only waiting as though it was their custom to chase down their lord’s wife in the middle of the night. When she could breathe evenly again, she stood and adjusted her cloak and veil and prepared to be dragged or escorted back to the camp … and to her husband. She shivered then, knowing that he would probably react as her brother had when she’d thwarted his plans—with anger and punishment. The Breton had new ways to punish her wilfulness and her assault on him, and she feared the coming night more now than she had before.
The sound of something breaking through the undergrowth behind and the way the men turned to look made her skin turn to gooseflesh. Gillian slid the dagger into her palm and pivoted towards the trees. It was not the size of the horse that
