Terri Brisbin - The Conqueror's Lady

He’d grown so accustomed to the protective layer, he’d not even removed it for his wedding. Now, considering the expressions in the lady’s eyes as he’d forced her into marriage and then questioned her honour, the layers of interwoven iron rings might not be enough to keep him safe while he slept with her.

‘My thanks for your wise counsel, friend.’

Standing, he moved away from the table and waved off the two guards who’d begun to shadow his movements. Giles called to the boy Martin to follow as he made his way through the door leading to the kitchen. The heat from the cooking fires, not yet banked for the night, blasted at him as he entered. Within moments, those working there noticed him and stopped and stared. This was one place in Taerford Keep where he had not established a presence, but he remedied that now.

After calling for a tub and pails of hot water, Giles was led by someone named Gytha to a small room just off the kitchen. He had planned only to remove as much of the dirt and dust as he could, but soon the sight of the steam rising from the water enticed him to make use of it. He laid his sword in its scabbard on the floor near the tub and then, with Martin’s help, he unfastened and peeled off the layer of armour and mail he wore. He sent the boy, who was training to learn the ways of knights, away with instructions on its cleaning and oiling and closed the door for some measure of privacy.

He made quick work of removing his padded gambeson and shirt, adding those and his braies and boots to the pile of clothing on the floor. Giles stretched his arms towards the ceiling above and enjoyed the lack of the armour’s weight on his body. It had been too long since he had last indulged in the pleasure of a real bath, using pails of water or even streams or rivers when available to him for the task. Now, a hot soak would ease his tension over his coming encounter with his new bride.

The next thing he knew the water was growing cold and a pile of clean clothes and drying linens lay on a bench next to the door. Looking around, he also found two buckets with steaming water within reach. He’d not given in to the exhaustion he’d felt for these last months, first battling in Brittany for his uncle’s claim to the duchy and then supporting William’s claim to England on behalf of his liege lord, Simon.

There’d been little time for the luxury of a hot bath and a leisurely bedding of an appealing woman. He still had months, if not years, of hard work ahead of him, but Giles could content himself in knowing that it was his lands, his keep and his woman. And, God willing, his children. But first, the matter of his wife begged his attention.

Filled with a fair amount of reluctance, he stood in the tub, finished washing the grime and sweat from his body and hair and climbed out. Drying himself off, he stretched again and then sought the clothes left for him. Tugging the shirt over his head, he recognised the quality of the garment and it took him but a moment to realise the origin of it—this was something left behind by the old lord when he had followed Harold to Hastings.

As were the braies and the tunic. The old earl was much broader in the shoulders and chest than Giles was, but these were the only clothes he could wear for now. Poor planning on his part, for the only garments he had lay locked in a chest in Lady Fayth’s room.

He shook his head at his mistake and wrapped his belt around his waist, positioning his scabbard where he could reach it easily. Then he pulled on his boots and left the small chamber, using a set of back steps he found to get to the upper floor of the keep. Standing before the lady’s chambers, he found the two guards as he’d left them.

Well, except for the metal hinges in their hands.

‘A gift from Brice, my lord.’

Giles accepted Brice’s gift and smiled. Brice could get in or out of any place, release any lock or find the weakness in any device. Without the hinges, the door could be manoeuvred out from under the bar. With the help of the guards, he did just that and it allowed him entrance with little noise. He waited while the door was placed against the frame and then walked over to the bed.

In spite of the control she exerted over her actions while awake, Lady Fayth slept with reckless abandonment. Reckless and enticing abandonment, even if still wearing her clothes.

She lay half on her side, half on her back, one arm was thrown to the side and the other lay across her forehead, blocking the top of her face from his view. Her legs, though covered by her smock and kirtle, relaxed apart, and the urge grew within him to slide his hand up and explore the area between her thighs. His body tightened as he walked closer and saw that her hair was loose.

She lay on top of most of it, the soft length pillowing around her head with a few loose tendrils softening the look of her face. In the darkened chamber, lit only by the flames in the hearth, it appeared much darker than in the light of day, when it caught the sunlight and blossomed with a multitude of hues of brown and lighter. His hands itched to touch it, to smell it, to rub it against his face and over their bodies as they made love.

Giles shook himself, trying to loosen the grasp of this desire now moving through him. He was no untried boy that his body should react so strongly to a woman. Truly, this woman had not tried to entice or entrance him; instead she’d stood up to him, refused his kindnesses and nearly repudiated his claim to her and these lands. Not the usual bed partner of one of the Breton Bastards, as he and his friends were called.

He walked to the side of the bed and leaned over, giving in to the urge to touch her. With a gentle stroke, he traced down the edge of her chin and her cheek. She murmured in her sleep and seemed to turn into his palm. Holding his breath, he sat carefully on the bed, easing across its surface, and cupped her face in his hand. When she threw her arm away from her head and it landed in his lap, nearly touching his cock, he knew he was lost.

And she slept on.

He almost regretted his pledge to her to withhold relations until she proved she was not carrying a child. Almost. Though it was a near thing when she turned slightly and her lush breasts pressed against the gown she wore. At least the extra fabric in the braies he wore afforded him some relief when his cock grew harder in anticipation.

Drawn to the innocence and the softened expression that sleep brought to her face, he watched as she breathed deeply and evenly. With her cheek still cupped in his hand, he let his thumb slide over her face and touch her lips. They were full and red; he imagined their feel against his. Trying to lessen the urge to take her and claim her, Giles glanced away from her mouth and at her face.

Eyes the color of the darkest forest leaves met his gaze.

Lady Fayth had awakened.

First Fayth looked at Giles’s eyes, then she seemed to remember where she was and who touched her in such a way. Then she moved, scrambling up and back away from him faster than he thought it possible to move. Within seconds, she knelt against the corner of the bed against the wall in a defensive position, meant to keep anyone at bay. All she needed to complete her formidable pose was a weapon in her hand.

‘You sleep in your gown?’ he asked in a soft voice, trying not to startle her.

‘How did you get in here?’ she asked back, ignoring his jibe completely.

‘Once the hinges were gone—’ he nodded at the doorway ‘—it was simply a matter of lifting the door and the bar out of the way.’ Giles slid from the bed and faced her. ‘Do not bar the door again.’

Her eyes widened in fear at his words or mayhap at the tone he used. When she brushed her hair out of her face, it flowed over her shoulders and down her back in long waves.