The maid twisted her hands before her and nodded. "Aye. He said you were very tired and needed to rest."
What message did he send with the gesture? She would ask, her mind clear and keen now. The light of day would help keep her sharp-witted when she spoke with Royce.
Pulling a simple burgundy bliaut over her kirtle, she urged Edith to hurry with braiding her hair. Placing the veil on top, she slipped into soft leather shoes. Ready at last, she opened the door.
The mad rush of her toilet now over, Gillian noted the aches lingering in her body. Oddly, the soreness felt good as it reminded her of the dark and wicked pleasure he'd given her last eve. She'd never have imagined some of the things he'd done. Even now, heat flooded her cheeks to think of it. To want it again.
God's blood, she needed to put this aside or she'd lose her strength again. Her eagerness to see her husband confounded her. They had business to discuss, such as Lyndon's affairs and the usual household matters. He would take over the garrison and incorporate the men into his ownarmy. She should focus on those things only and all would be well.
Except the image of his fingers stroking her breasts, the recollection of his mouth sliding along her sex, the tantalizing torment of his cock's strokes into her body kept her thoughts somewhat scattered. No matter, she forced those thoughts aside. Time enough to think on them later.
She stopped short at the bottom of the stairs in the great hall. 'Twas mostly bare, save for a few servants clearing the tables of the morning meal.
Her husband had already left. Surely that wasn't disappointment welling in her throat. She broke her fast with a hunk of bread and some cheese from the last remaining platter.
After washing the meager meal down with some ale, she made her way to the steward's chamber. Thomas informed her the ledgers were ready for the earl's inspection. In the meantime, word had come that Edward may arrive at any time. The announcement roused another sense of panic.
While she had no doubt Lyndon was prepared to welcome her sovereign, she worried what might come about during his visit. Edward knew well she carried Welsh blood in her veins, but she hadn't yet informed her husband of the fact. She'd assumed the king hadn't kept the information secret, but her husband had yet to make mention of it, which led her to believe he didn't know. She must tell him ere the king arrived, lest he think she hid the fact for a different reason. He didn't trust her already. Certainly he mistrusted anyone with even the most tenuous of ties to the Welsh. Knowing she possessed Welsh blood would surely displease him. His reaction left her torn.
A recollection of her spanking rose up fast. Might he do worse if he learned of her Welsh heritage before she told him? A shiver passed over her. She clenched her fingers, trying not to let the memory overpower her. 'Twas no use. Her bottom burned now, as if feeling again the stinging heat that had sparked so many other sensations. Most ofthem were pleasant.
Was she mad? He'd beaten her. How could she have enjoyed it? Damn the man for upending so much of what she knew about herself. She'd long imagined a respectful husband, one who would cherish and value her and all she did to keep Lyndon at its best. Instead, she'd gotten a man who possessed dark tastes and wicked intentions. He was stubborn and angry and arrogant. Yet, the thought of his hands on her, even now in the harsh light of the morn, sent tendrils of heat uncurling within.
Bah! She was a fool. She had to find a way to use the heat between them to her own advantage. Her husbandwouldlearn to appreciate her. First, she had much to tell him, well, as much as she herself knew. Gillian had never met any of her mother's family. Gwyneth had been disowned by her kin when she'd wed William Marlowe. Surely that fact should ease any worries her husband might have.
Since she now had some time, she went in search of Simon. She needed to sort this all out and he would surely help. She headed for the doors, pulling them open and shielding her eyes against the sun.
Three steps down, the gates opened and soldiers rode in, led by her husband. He wore his mail armor, but no helm. Even from here, there was no mistaking his scowl. Gillian descended the stair and strode across the bailey to greet him.
"Good morn, my lord."
"Get inside. There is a band of warriors headed here."
He dismounted and tossed the reins to his squire while he barked orders. Soldiers from every corner of the keep came forward and assembled before him. Gillian watched while he explained the situation and ordered the gates closed. Before the keeper could do so, an arrow lodged in his throat and he collapsed to the ground.
Royce turned, unsheathing his sword. His gaze landed on Gillian.
"I told you to get inside!" he bellowed. He grabbed herarm and near dragged her to the steps. "Remain in our chamber until I come for you."
He shoved her toward the door and, too stunned to resist, Gillian obeyed. She paused at the top of the stairs, at the same moment several men rode in to the bailey. Not Lyndon's men, not the earl's men. Welsh rebels. Just as the earl had warned. Gillian hurried inside and barred the doors. She shouted orders for the staff to find a safe place and ran for the stairs.
Here was her chance.
She hurried to her former chamber, pausing long enough to grab her bow and quiver. Adjusting the straps, she reached for the tapestry concealing a hidden door. Pulling it open, she looked up at the sky, the narrow stairs leading to the ramparts. She crept up slowly, listening to the shouts and screech of metal that signified a battle. Nearing the top, heart pounding, she paused. She removed an arrow and notched it, ready to fire the moment she took her place. With a deep breath, she ran up the last few steps.
The chaos of the battle grew louder. Screams, shouts, pain and outrage. She had never experienced a battle. The smell of mud and blood and sweat assailed her from all sides, even up here. She nodded in approval at Lyndon's archers, lined up and picking off rebels when they came through the gates. How in the world could there be so many? It seemed as if the incoming stream of riders and foot soldiers never ceased.
"My lady, you shouldn't be here!" Edgar's shout seemed to come from far away. He loosed another arrow. A scream near the gates reached them.
She lifted her bow, peering down at the open gates. Pulling the string tight, she assessed the tension and distance, then released the arrow. Her target crumpled to the ground. A combination of exhilaration and disgust for her success left her momentarily frozen before she shook her head and pulled out another arrow.
Two rebels attacked one of Lyndon's men. She let her shaft fly, satisfied at the scream of pain when one of therebels fell.Jesu, when had she become so bloodthirsty? She forced the thought aside, finding a routine in the urgency of her task. Another arrow nocked, a moment to draw back the string, aiming. Another rebel down. Words of encouragement from the bowmen lining the ramparts exhilarated her.
Two arrows flew past in close succession. The rebels own long-bowmen now attacked the ramparts' defense. Gillian ducked behind the wall, carefully raising her head to peer below. The amount of Welshmen attacking Lyndon left her stomach rolling with anger. Damn them, they would not have her home!
She rose and once more fired into the melee. Her aim was true for her next three shots, until another volley of missiles sent her ducking for cover once more.
She waited a few beats then rose again, firing toward the archers gathered at the gates. She and her men took out three more before shielding themselves.
