walked towards the others. No amount of struggling loosened their iron grips and her heart began to pound in her chest, making her blood pulse and her head spin.
Before she realised it, they were in the middle of the camp, far enough that she could not make an easy escape. She did not make it easy for them, but it neither slowed nor impeded their progress. They simply dragged her between them. Her arms ached from it and she knew her skin would show bruises by morning—if she lived until then.
By their fast and furious whispering amongst themselves, she knew something was wrong. She decided to take advantage of it. Stomping her foot down with all her weight, Gillian pounded on the instep of the one behind her and pushed at him with her hips, trying to force him off balance.
It did not work.
Instead, her own foot now ached from it and she was forced to limp along as they continued forwards. Finally, they stopped and she took advantage of that moment to pull free and run. One soldier grabbed her cloak, which gave way when the laces snapped. Gillian had not taken two steps, two painful steps, before a mail-covered arm wrapped around her waist and dragged her up against the hardest surface she’d ever felt. So hard was it that it knocked the very breath from her lungs and nearly rendered her senseless as her head collided with the top of the chest plate.
‘Where are you going now, mistress? Have you decided not to favour us with your presence this night after all?’
When she recognised the voice of the warrior who now held her firmly against him, terror began to tease her senses. With no chance for escape and suspecting that these men were planning all manner of illicit and immoral acts against her, she listened to the laughter of those watching the scene and wished she could faint. Instead, she gasped as the giant behind her wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her into an indecent embrace against his chest. Then he leaned his head closer to hers until she could feel his hot breath against the skin of her neck.
‘Tell me what you seek, sweetling,’ he whispered in English words flavoured with his exotic foreign accent, ‘and I will try to oblige you in any way I can.’
Chapter Two
Though the circumstances and sometimes miserable history of his existence as a bastard among noble-born should have taught him the lesson, Brice Fitzwilliam had never learned the one about patience being a virtue. It had always seemed overrated and a necessary nuisance, and this situation simply confirmed his opinion about it.
After being patient as the king required, and waiting while the winter passed for his letters granting him the lands and titles of Baron and Lord of Thaxted to arrive, he’d made his way here only to find the keep firmly closed against him. Three weeks of waiting for reinforcements from his friend Giles’s forces to arrive found him no closer to conquering the keep or the people inside. Now, after capturing a few escaping peasants, he discovered that his bride, who’d run away on several other occasions, had also just escaped under his watch—and that she sought refuge away from his control in a convent. Luckily Stephen le Chasseur accompanied him and nothing and no one escaped him when he set out to hunt.
Though she squirmed in his arms, Brice knew she had no idea of his identity or that she was his. His anger grew for her blithe ignorance of the dangers on the road. If he had not found her, the thought of what could have befallen her terrified him for many reasons. She needed to be taught a lesson and he would be the one to do it.
At least she was alive for him to make her consider her actions.
‘So, what is your price for the night, mistress?’ he asked, sliding his hand across her body and feeling her shudder beneath his caress. ‘Many of my men have saved up their coins or trinkets and could make it worth your while to stay with us.’
‘I am not a wh-wh …’ she stuttered. ‘I do not sell my favours.’
Brice released her and spun her to face him, nearly losing his wits along with it, for he finally got his first clear look at his bride. She was a beauty and she belonged to him.
Wide, luminous eyes, a colour between blue and green, shimmered from a heart-shaped face. Long, dark brown curls escaped from under her veil and tumbled over her shoulders. Though she was dressed in the loose Saxon style, he could see that her body was wonderfully curved and fell into the feminine shape he desired in his lovers—full soft breasts and hips. From the strength of her resistance, he knew that her legs and arms were strong.
His body reacted before his perusal was complete, that part of him flaring to life and readying him for all the things he’d shamelessly threatened her with. Only when one of his men coughed loudly did he speak.
‘If not a whore, then what?’
‘I told these men that my lady sent me to seek the convent and I am on my way there now.’
‘Alone, mistress? When marauders and outlaws of all types roam the woods and control roads here? Surely your lady would have sent along guards to keep you safe?’ he asked, stepping closer again.
She backed up, but his men did not and she remained trapped between them. He recognised the growing fear in her gaze and knew her brave front was in danger of crumbling. Then, as he watched, she pulled her confidence together, squared her shoulders and stuck out her chin at him.
‘My lady has other things to worry over, sir. She knows that I am self-reliant and could make my own way to the convent.’
Self-reliant? Too much so, for here she was, miles from safety, alone and not for the first time. Foolhardy was more accurate a description, was what he thought right now.
‘Foolish?’ he asked. ‘Seeking trouble?’ He let his gaze follow the curves of her body and did not hide his appreciation then. ‘Surely, any lady who sends her servant out onto these roads during these … dangerous … times understands the message she is sending.’
Brice could almost hear her trying to swallow her fear. Her eyes shimmered with a hint of tears and her lip, the full lower one that tempted him so much, trembled then. Ah, mayhap she was finally realising the foolishness of her plan?
‘A nobleman would honour a lady’s promise to her maid and grant her safe passage to the convent. A true nobleman would not take advantage of a woman without protection. A true nobleman would—’ She began to list another trait, but he stopped her with a shake of his head.
‘I never claimed to be a nobleman, mistress,’ he whispered as the anger grew from deep within him. ‘If your lady believes that noblemen are to be trusted and would pass up such a temptation as the one you present here, she is more foolish than I first thought.’
His men laughed then, knowing that neither he nor they were of noble or even legitimate birth, and he recognised the confusion in her expression. Most men would have been flattered by her, but not these who had made their way in the world by the work of their labours and the sweat of their bodies.
Lady Gillian looked as though she wanted to argue, but had not the words to do it, so she lowered her head and turned away. His attempts to humiliate her did not give him the satisfaction he’d hoped. Glancing at his men, he knew that nightfall was coming and there were many things that needed to be done now that his bride had walked into his possession.
‘Take her to my tent and make sure she stays there,’ he ordered.
‘You
