The Bride Gift (7 page)

Guy let out a long, silent breath.

Helena propped her chin on her hand. Merry twitched her arse for a group of Sir Guy’s men. Her pretty face was flushed as she poured ale for them and flirted.

A mere sennight was all it had taken, and the people of Lystanwold had adjusted to the change. Helena heaved an enormous sigh. Time moved on and took everyone with it. She was no exception. It was too easy to become complacent to Guy in her keep.

Since she’d first awoken, spread across her husband like a feast, she went to bed each night determined to keep her distance. In the eve he joined her, kissed her a chaste goodnight, and gave her his back.

Yet, every sunrise she woke with her traitorous body entangled with his. This morn she’d even lingered a while with her cheek against the solid wall of his chest, listening to the strong beat of his heart.

She should be wasting away, a wan waif struggling under the cross she must bear of her boorish husband. Instead, she slept like a log, her appetite as hearty as ever and her cheeks blooming.

Not that Guy noticed.

Helena sniffed and got to her feet. The man paid more attention to the hounds than he did to his own wife. He was polite, courteous and always partway across the hall from her. Unless they were in their chamber, and then he slept.

Colin seemed elated. He babbled on and on about annulment as if already a done deed. Helena had yet to hear how Colin planned to effect such an action. All she knew led her to believe that it was her husband’s prerogative. Still, Colin had himself half convinced Sir Guy had no intention of consummating the marriage. Despite the evidence of the last sennight, Helena wasn’t so sure.

There were times when Guy wore a look in his eye that made her very bones melt. What Colin failed to include in his reckoning was that it would be impossible to prevent her husband should he decide to act on his rights.

Still, Colin checked with her every morning to be sure she was still a maid. Helena now regretted confiding any details of her marriage. Colin scoffed at the idea of Guy being considerate. He was certain it was because the man found her not to his liking.

Dear God.
It was so humiliating, but Colin would only check the linens if she didn’t tell him. Her unease grew each time she spoke with him of what occurred in her bedchamber. The last two mornings she’d avoided Colin, resenting his nosy questions and his offensive postulating.

The situation couldn’t continue like this for much longer. Not unless she considered spending the next forty years of her life hiding beneath the bed.

It was time to serve the evening meal.

“Ah, food. God be praised.”

A man, dressed in holy raiment, entered through the screens alongside Guy. The priest smiled as if they were old friends as he strode toward her, his habit flapping around his ankles. The resemblance to Guy was unmistakable, although the priest was much neater in stature, his features arranged along prettier lines.

“The rest of my party,” Guy explained as they drew closer.

There were more? Lystanwold was already nigh overrun with his men.

“The rest of your party?” she enquired.

He nodded.

A few more words, just one or two, would be lovely. “You might have warned me to expect more guests,” she forced through her clenched jaw.

Dredging up a smile of welcome, she rose to greet the newcomer. Her loutish husband had no social graces.
He has lovely shoulders, however.

“Not a guest,” the lout finally rasped.

“Lady Helena.” The priest’s eyes sparkled with good cheer. “Allow me to claim the privilege of both this habit and fraternity and steal a kiss.”

The good father clasped Helena’s face between his palms and kissed her on the forehead. “Well met, and may God bless your union.”

Her smile froze on her face. Thus far, God didn’t seem to have much to do with her ‘union.’

“I shall introduce myself.” He folded his hands before him. “I am Crispin, Sir Guy’s brother.”

Guy had a brother? Of course, if the man actually
spoke
once in a while, she might have known as much.

Crispin’s eyes gleamed with warmth. “Your wife is a rare beauty, Guy. You are a lucky man.”

Helena wanted to squirm at the compliment, but it was not dignified, so she tried to look gracious instead.

“Aye.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Guy thought she was beautiful. ‘
Hah’ to Colin and his assumptions.

Crispin surveyed the hall at large. “I smelled food. I, for one, am famished.” He paused for a moment. “I am sure you are wondering where I came from.”

There was a keen intelligence behind his kindly gaze. In the midst of preparing a seat for him at the table, Helena opened her mouth to utter a polite denial and stopped. She really would like to know where he came from.

“We were following behind Guy and Roger.” Crispin thanked the serving woman placing his meal before him. “They left in rather a hurry as I am sure you can imagine.”

“All was well?” Guy took his place beside her.

“As you would expect.” A swift look passed between the brothers before Crispin continued. “The rest are somewhat behind me. I took the opportunity to ride ahead.”

Guy nodded before returning to his meal.

He wasn’t looking at her, which made her doubly suspicious. “How many ‘others’ are we speaking of?”

“Thirty mounted and another fifty on foot.” He shifted on his seat, bringing his hip closer to hers.

“That is a small army,” she hissed.

“Aye.”

“How many more armed men do you expect me to allow into my castle?”

Guy drew in a slow, careful breath before turning to her. “Our castle, my army.”

She clamped her mouth shut to stop the hot retort springing to her lips.

“My brother is not a poet.” The corner of Crispin’s mouth tilted upward as he glanced at Guy.

“Nay,” Helena agreed.

“His men are a rough but good lot,” Crispin continued. “You have naught to fear from them.”

Helena fought to remain even-tempered in front of the priest. “There are just so many of them.” She threw a hard look at the man sharing her trencher. It was wasted on his bowed head. “Are there any more surprises?”

The bench scraped as Guy got to his feet and made a curt motion with his hand. She deduced he was going outside the keep, presumably to see to his newly arrived men. She returned his gesture with a stiff nod.

Mayhap they could go the rest of their lives just grunting and making hand gestures. Helena tightened her lips. She had no intention of spending the rest of her life with this speechless brute.

He’d barely cleared the dais before the noise of people, entering through the screens, once more drew all eyes in that direction.

“There you are, Guy.” A woman spread her arms wide and beamed a smile. “I am come at last.”

Helena’s mouth dropped open. She snapped it shut.

The woman was lovely. Far lovelier than any woman Helena had ever seen. She sent a quick apology to the memory of her sister. Bess had been an angel.

This woman was a sultry goddess with hair so dark it seemed to absorb all the light in the hall and catch it along the length of a braid that fell past her waist. She was also heavily gravid. A prominent bulge nestled beneath the wine velvet of the woman’s bliaut.

“What a charming hall.” The woman stopped and turned in a slow circle.

The newcomer finished her study of the hall and glided toward Guy. “Well met, dearling.” She held out her hands.

Guy took them and bent his dark head to accept her kiss on his cheek.

Helena stiffened. A choke of part laughter and part amazement clutched her throat. An air of intimacy clung to the couple. Surely she was mistaken?

Crispin cleared his throat noisily.

Guy met his brother’s gaze and even from a distance she sensed the unspoken words between them.

Guy gestured toward the woman. “This is the . . . er . . . Lady Rosalind du Basson.”

“Lady Rosalind is an old family friend who wanted to spend her confinement away from court,” Crispin clarified.

“Verily.” A fine sweat broke over Helena’s skin. She could see the same conclusion reflected on the faces around her. “Pardon me.” The bench scraped on the flags as she hastened to her feet. “I must check . . . pardon.”

She hurried from the hall, her limbs odd and discordant. Just past the screens and out of view of the hall, she stopped to draw breath. He had brought his whore to her keep. The gall of it churned in her belly.

The entire assemblage seemed to know what he’d done. Sounds penetrated from the other side of the screens and Helena jerked in reaction. Her hands clawed against her thighs. She had to get out of this keep before she . . .

She had to get out.

“I am still not sure why you felt compelled to bring her with us.” Crispin took up the refrain he’d been singing since London
.

Jesu
, Guy was tired of hearing it and even more weary of answering it.

They were alone in the hall. It had emptied like a leaky vessel following Lady Helena’s abrupt departure. Bridget had taken Rosalind off to see her settled, but not before the old woman had given him a look to blister his hide through. She was wroth for her mistress and Guy didn’t blame either of them.

Lady Helena
. He motioned a serving lad to refill his goblet. The boy had best keep the wine coming. It almost numbed the sour twist in his gut.

“I gave my oath,” he ground out and filled his mouth with wine to stop him from ordering his brother to take his sanctified head out of his arse.

“You made a mistake,” Crispin responded tartly. “And you will live to rue this decision.”

Guy wasn’t going to argue this point again. Rosalind had travelled with them and he’d promised her sanctuary.
Have done with it
.

“Have you considered what your bride has made of Rosalind?” Crispin persisted.

Of course, he’d considered it. He’d considered very little else since Helena had rushed from the hall. He was bound, though, by an oath. Rosalind had extracted this damnable promise from him. He couldn’t explain it to his brother because Crispin would just give him a look of pure disgust.

It was the tears. They destroyed him without fail. Rosalind loved wielding that power over him. She did it purposely and still it got to him. She but wept and he was lost, clay for her to mould.

“The child is in all likelihood that knight’s with the flaming red hair,” Crispin droned on.

“Courtenay, you mean. Rosalind claims they have parted.”

Then Guy clamped his mouth shut. The less he said the better. Words always managed to trip him up. And Rosalind used words against him; talking, talking, talking until his head ached with it. There’d been a time, with his spurs still new and his perceptions not yet jaded, when Rosalind had seemed the lady of his dreams. Fortunately, she’d already been married.

“You and Rosalind parted ways years ago. And yet . . .” Crispin made an expansive gesture with his hands.

“There was the one time,” Guy admitted. “I was the worse for drink.” His face heated. Rosalind had been available and familiar. The physical gratification had not been bound in silken skeins of entrapment and obligation, until now.

“Oh, Guy.”

Guy tightened his fist around his goblet. He would take that foolish night back if he could.

“You know,” Crispin said, “you are not a stupid man.”

He would thank his brother for that, but for sure, there was more coming.

“In fact, you have a keener mind than most, but where women are concerned, you are a complete and utter dolt.” Crispin made a rude noise.

“This from a monk,” Guy shot back, stung. The unfortunate truth, however, rang in what his brother said.

“I blame our mother,” Crispin declared.

“She died giving birth to us.”

“Precisely.” Crispin rapped his knuckles on the arm of his chair. “And the boor that sired us had the raising of us.”

He pointed his finger at Guy. “More you than I, and hence the dalliance with Lady Rosalind.” The wheels were obviously turning in his brother’s mind.

Guy braced for the worst.

“Which brings to mind,” Crispin continued undeterred, “if you plan to win the day here, you may think of doing something about your general surliness.”

“I am not surly.”

Crispin did not deign to reply. The lecture he’d administered earlier over Guy’s lack of introductions still smouldered between them.

Guy had to concede his brother had the right of it. He’d not behaved well, but Lady Helena had turned to him with accusation in her eyes, and any rational explanation had disappeared. He’d created this problem and was clueless as to how to resolve it.

Give him an impenetrable keep to conquer, show him an army that outmatched his four to one.
Or ten to one, twenty to one. Do not ask me to lisp smooth words to a woman.

His silence was adding fuel to the fire, but how to explain with words?

Rosalind was much further along than Guy was given to believe. He was amazed she’d managed to conceal a belly of that size for as long as she had. He would guess her time was not too far off and that made it even less likely that the child was his. Unfortunately, it also became only more apparent that the child couldn’t be her husband’s, either. Du Basson had run out of patience several lovers back.

Rosalind had long since stopped being his regular lover, and they had become friends, of a sort, that one lapse notwithstanding. And an oath was an oath, however trying.

“How goes it with Lady Helena?” Crispin asked suddenly.

Guy sipped his wine. He didn’t think Crispin wanted to hear of his life-endangering case of aching ballocks.

Now, his wife was wroth and with good reason. He might be a dolt with women, but he’d not earned himself a reprieve any time soon.

“You could try talking to her,” Crispin drawled. “Instead of just grunting and glowering all the time. You might give a few words a go.”

Guy glared at his brother. Crispin was the twin gifted with the smooth address. Not he.