Once Brys was mounted on his tall black destrier, Maislin lifted Lady Gisele up to him from the stallion’s near side, his powerfully muscled arms making the task look effortless.
“Put your arms about my waist, my lady,” Brys instructed her. “Jerusalem’s gait is smooth, but ’twill steady you as we ride.”
A faint essence wafted to his nostrils, making him smile in wonder. After all she had been through, Lady Gisele de l’Aigle still smelled of lilies. He felt her arms go around him and saw her hands link just above his waist; then felt the slight pressure of her head, and farther down, the softness of her breast against his back. God’s blood, what a delicious torment of a ride this would be!
“You have not said how you came to be here, Lady Gisele,” he said, once they had found the path that led out of the Weald.
He felt her tense, then sigh against his back. He could swear the warmth of her breath penetrated his mail, the quilted aketon beneath, and all the way to his backbone.
“I suppose I owe you that much,” she said at last. “But I must confess myself afraid to be candid, my lord. These are dangerous times….”
Stung by her remark, he said, “Lady, I do not hold my chivalry so cheaply that I would abandon you if I liked not your reason for being in this wood with such a paltry escort. And even if I wanted to, Maislin wouldn’t allow it. He aspires to knighthood and his chivalry, at least, is unsullied.”
He heard her swift intake of breath. “I’m sorry,” she said at last. “I have offended you, and ’twas not my intent, when you have offered me only kindness. But even in Normandy we are aware of the trouble in England, as one noble fights for Stephen, the other for the empress. I know not which side you cleave to, my lord, though I know I am at your mercy whichever it is.”
The idea of this demoiselle being at his mercy appealed to him more than he cared to admit. Aloud, he said, “Then I will tell you I am a vassal of the empress. Does that aid you to trust me? I swear upon the True Cross you have naught to fear of me, even if you are one of Stephen’s mistresses.”
He felt her relax against him like a full grain sack that suddenly is opened at the bottom. “No, I am assuredly not one of those. The de l’Aigles owe their loyalty to Matilda as well, Lord Brys. In fact, I am sent to join her as a lady-in-waiting.”
“Then we are on the same side. ’Tis well, is it not? And better yet, I am bound for London with a message for the empress, so I will consider it my honor to escort you to her court.”
“Our Lord and all His saints bless you, Lord Brys,” she murmured. “I will write to my father, and ask him to reward your kindness.”
“’Tis not necessary, lady. Any Christian ought to do the same,” he said. He felt himself begin to smile. “I am often with her grace, so we shall see each other on occasion. If I can but claim a smile from you each time I come, I shall ask no other recompense.” He could tell, from the shy way she had looked at him earlier, that she was a virgin. Alas. Lady Gisele, if only you were a noble widow instead of an innocent maiden, I’d ask an altogether different reward when I came to court. Brys felt his loins stir at the thought.
Behind him, he heard Maislin give a barely smothered snort, and knew his squire was struggling to contain his amusement at the fulsome remark. He would chasten him about it later, Brys was sure.
“And when did you come to England, Lady Gisele?” he asked, thankful she was riding behind him and could not see the effect his thoughts had on his body.
“We landed at Hastings but this morning, my lord.”
Brys considered that. “Lady Gisele, forgive me for asking, but if your father is as aware of the conditions here as you say, why would he send you with but half a dozen men and an old woman?”
She was silent, and Brys knew his words had been rude. What daughter could allow a parent to be criticized? “I’m sorry if I sounded harsh—”
“Nay, do not apologize, for you are right. There should have been a larger escort. I know that had my horse not bolted, I would have been lucky to escape those brigands with my life, let alone my honor.” Her voice was muffled, as if she fought tears. “Poor Fleurette—to have died because of my father’s…misalculation. And those six men, too. They did not deserve to perish like that, all unshriven.”
He was ready to swear she’d meant some other word when she’d said miscalculation, and he wondered what it was—and what was wrong with the Count de l’Aigle that he valued his daughter so cheaply.
“You have a tender heart, lady.” He only hoped it would not lead her astray at Matilda’s court.
“Fleurette had been my nurse from my earliest childhood, so ’tis natural I would grieve at her death,” she said, sounding a trifle defensive. “The men…well, I have difficulty accepting that because my lord father ordered them to escort me to London, they lie dead now.”
This was an uncommon noblewoman, to spare a thought for common soldiers. “Dying violently is the risk any man-at-arms runs, but doubtless their loyalty will outweigh their sins, Lady Gisele.”
“God send you are right.”
Perhaps it was best not to allow her to dwell on such things right now. After a moment he said, “You go to court to wed, my lady?”
He felt her stiffen against his back. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw that her eyes had the light of defiance dancing in them.
“’Twas my father’s wish, my lord.”
He was quick to catch the implication. “But not yours?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder again.
He saw her shrug. “I shall have a place at the empress’s court,” she said. “That will be enough for me. What need have I for some lord to carry me off to his castle to bear a child every year till I am no longer able?”
An image flashed before his mind’s eye of this woman nursing a babe—his babe. Sternly he banished the picture before he grew too fond of it. There was no place in his life for such feelings, and the lady had just indicated there was none in the life she wanted, either. But he could not stop himself from probing further, though in a carefully neutral tone of voice, “You do not wish to fulfill the role that nature and the church has deemed fit for a woman?”
“There must be more for a woman than the marriage bed or the convent, no matter what the church tells us,” she said with a passionate insistence. “There must be.”
“Lady, has a man hurt you in some manner?” he asked in a low tone that would not carry to Maislin’s ears. Had he been wrong about her? Had some man robbed her of her innocence?
Her answer came a little too quickly. “Hurt me? Nay, my lord! Just because the lord the empress selected for me chose to marry some other lady, you should not think that I am not heart-whole.”
She was lying, he’d wager his salvation on that. There was a wealth of wounded pride in her voice. But something about her last few words sounded familiar….
“Nay, my lord,” she went on in a breezy voice, “’Tis merely that I see no need to w—”
Suddenly he realized who she was. “Ah,
