She collected the plates and took them to the small pond. Digging a shallow hole in the soft dirt, she buried the bones so that the scavengers who roamed in the night would not be attracted to their campsite. She washed off the plates, then washed her face and hands. As she put the plates back in Nigel’s saddlepacks, she sensed him watching her. As she returned to her seat by the fire she felt a little uncomfortable beneath his steady gaze.
Nigel smiled inwardly when he saw how nervous Gisele was. He excused himself and sought a moment of privacy in the surrounding woods. Nervousness was something he could deal with, could soothe away with words and kisses. Outrage or anger would have shown him that he had made a serious error at the inn, but he had seen none of that. If he judged Gisele right, she was simply uncertain.
He ached to make love to her. She had been so welcoming in the morning, her passion free and hot, but he had forced himself not to take full advantage of that. From what little she had told him of her disastrous marriage, she had never been made love to, only repeatedly raped. She had never known pleasure, only pain and humiliation. He had decided that it was time she learned that a man’s touch could bring her pleasure, time that a man gave her body some joy without taking anything from her. Nigel prayed he had accomplished that task as well as he thought he had, and that now her fears would be more controllable. He knew he had to be patient with Gisele, but that was growing more difficult every day as his desire for her grew, yet remained unsatisfied.
When he returned to camp he saw that she had laid out their bedding. Their beds were close, yet not quite side by side. It was not the blatant invitation he would have preferred, but it was promising. If she had decided to put a firm end to his seduction she would have returned to sleeping on the opposite side of the fire. All he had to determine was just how undecided she was.
Gisele found that she could not even look at Nigel as they settled down on their beds. She inwardly cursed her sudden onslaught of timidity. It would make matters very awkward, and that was the last thing she wanted. She kept telling herself that she was a grown woman who should be able to look Nigel in the eye and say exactly what she thought, but it only helped a little.
While Nigel had been gone she had finally come to a decision. He had shown her that passion could be pleasurable, and she wanted to know the whole of it—not just what he could give her, but what they could share. The more she had thought about the matter, the more she believed that he could indeed soothe away at least some of her fears. If just once she were held in a man’s arms and knew only gentleness, passion, and pleasure, it had to soften the grip of the dark memories her husband had left her with. Gisele wanted that, wanted desperately to gain some freedom from her fears.
A small voice had tried to tell her to consider her good name, but she had easily silenced it. Even if she were proclaimed innocent of murder, her good name was already irredeemably stained. She had been on her own for a year, and now spent days and nights alone with a man who was not related to her by blood. That was not a secret any longer, and everyone who heard the tale would assume that she and Nigel were lovers, no matter how vehemently or truthfully she tried to deny it. And if that were not enough to thoroughly blacken her name, she had cut her hair and was running all over France dressed as a boy. Since everyone would believe she had committed the sin of taking a lover, she saw no reason to deny herself the pleasure of doing so.
She was not sure how to let Nigel know that she was willing to continue what they had begun that morning. She had never been wooed or seduced, and had little idea of how the game was played. The only thing she had been able to think of was placing their beds close together and hope Nigel would act upon that subtle acceptance.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Gisele turned on her side to look at Nigel. It did not really surprise her to find him looking at her. She had sensed it. She silently cursed the blush that stung her cheeks, however. She wished to proceed with a calm forthrightness. If she were going to convince Nigel that she knew exactly what she was doing and that she asked nothing more of him than a shared passion, it would help if she did not look like some red-faced child. She opened her mouth to speak, realized that she could not think of what to say, and sighed.
Nigel smiled, reached out, and gently stroked her cheek. Despite all she had been through, Gisele was still very innocent. She had obviously never learned the ways of flirtation or the art of gentle seduction. Gisele might have had her maidenhead brutally stolen by her husband, but she remained virginal in many other ways.
“The easy way, lass,” he said quietly, “would be to just edge your wee bed closer to mine.”
The way he could so unerringly guess her thoughts was very unsettling, Gisele thought. He was, however, correct in what he said. Even as she moved her bedding next to his, she had to admit that it was certainly the easiest way to say yes. She was still blushing, but at least she was not babbling like some complete fool.
“Are ye sure?” he asked as he followed the delicate lines of her face with soft kisses.
“I am here now, am I not?” She was not surprised to hear the husky unsteadiness in her voice, for his tender kisses were soothing away all uncertainty and embarrassment, replacing them with growing desire.
“True, but are ye sure why ye are here in my arms?”
“I am not trying to repay a debt or anything so foolish as that, if that is what you are thinking.”
He smiled against the smooth skin of her throat. “Calm yourself, my sweet companion.” He watched her carefully as he subtly unlaced her jupon. “Aye, I will confess that that thought winged its way through my mind, but its visit was verra brief.”
“Was it?” She tensed slightly as he began to remove her clothes, then relaxed when she realized she had reacted out of embarrassment and not fear.
“Ye are too proud, and I dinnae believe the idea would occur to you, anyway.”
She frowned, not completely sure that that was a compliment. “I am not without some wit.”
“Oh, aye, sweeting, ye have wit, more than some men would find becoming in a lass. I rather like it. Nay, I just dinnae think ye could be that devious and, even if all of your reasons were good and honorable, as I said, ye have far too much pride.”
Gisele suddenly realized that, as he had talked, he had removed all of her clothes except for her shirt. She knew she had been paying close heed to his words and had been lulled by his stroking hands, but it still seemed unsettlingly skillful of the man. Then she thought of how and where he had gained such expertise. She was about to take as a lover a man who had, in his own words, used a large number of women, women she doubted he could recall by name or face. Although Gisele was not demanding love and marriage for her favors, she was not sure she wanted them taken too lightly.
“You disrobe a woman with an admirable skill and speed,” she murmured.
“Ah, and ye dinnae really find it admirable, do ye?” He began to slowly unlace her shirt.
“Perhaps not.”
“My poor bonny Gisele,” he murmured as he brushed a kiss over her lips and slid his hand inside of her shirt. “Aye, I was a heartless, rutting bastard for seven years. I am nay sure I learned this particular skill during that time, however. To my shame, I was also drunk most of that time. I think some of what ye see as my skill comes from the fact that ye are wearing clothes much like I wore for most of my youth.”
“Oh.” Gisele was not sure if her breathy response was an expression of agreement or delight, for he was moving his big, lightly calloused hands over her breasts, brushing the tips to a tingling hardness with his thumb. “I just did not wish to be another body tossed upon that heap. I ask for no bonds or promises. I just do not wish to be a nothing. I have been that once, and never wish to be such a thing again.”
“Ye could never be a nothing, Gisele,” he whispered against the silken, soft skin of her breast, savoring the way she trembled beneath his caress.
Gisele thrust her hands into his thick, long hair, holding him close as he covered her breasts with warm kisses. A touch had never felt so good, certainly not a man’s. She doubted her fear would rear its ugly head, for her husband had never made her feel this way, and his touch had never been gentle. Gisele could not believe she could be so blind or foolish as to ever compare Nigel to her brute of a husband. One simply did not make her think of the other, unless it was to praise God that she was now with Nigel.
When Nigel began to gently suck on one of her breasts, Gisele cried out and held him even closer. There was a great deal wrong with what she was allowing him to do, but she decided that there was far more that was right. She was finally going to discover what so many reached for and rhapsodized about, and as Nigel turned his passionate attentions to her other breast Gisele decided that discovery was worth whatever price she had to pay.
