Chapter Nine
Satisfied with how well the feast preparation progressed, Gillian made her way to the barracks.
Several of her husband's men lingered. She prayed for their silence about her presence.
The last thing she needed was to give Royce further reason to distrust her.
But she had to see Simon. The only acceptable resolution to the problem was to reveal the truth of his parentage.
She knocked on the door, relieved when her brother opened it. His brow furrowed.
"Gilly, what's wrong?"
"We must talk. Come, where none can see us."
He followed her to a spot near the bailey walls, hidden behind one of the unused outer buildings. She turned to give him a great hug.
"I've missed you." She sighed, tears burning her eyes.
"And I you. Gilly, what's wrong?"
"You must permit me to tell my husband the truth about you."
Simon shook his head. "Nay, we've discussed this. I won't risk being banished."
Gillian wrung her hands. "You don't understand. Royce is determined to uncover every secret I hold. He fears my Welsh blood means I am a spy, but I know he also has suspicions about you."
"I don't care. If they see me as a great threat, banishment will be the least of my worries. I would follow him as my overlord. At least this way, even if I am sent to Montchester, or London, or wherever, I can return. If I am banished, or worse, that will be impossible."
Gillian's desperation grew a little more, her gut knotting as tightly as her fingers clenched.
She knew what methods her husband could employ to loosen her tongue.
In only a few short days, he had turned her into a wanton, anxious for the pleasure he would bestow.
But he could as easily use that pleasure against her, a fact she already knew well.
She didn't think she could bear another night of such torture without admitting all.
Even other things she didn't know; she'd likely swear to anything he suggested she held responsibility for.
Heat flamed upon her cheeks to realize she would have to tell her brother some of what she'd experienced.
How to do so without angering him? She twisted her hands and began to pace.
"Simon, he has ways of... he can... he knows how to make me... beg for mercy."
Simon's eyes widened, his dark brows slashing deep in his forehead. "He beats you? I will kill him!"
He turned and headed toward the keep. Gillian ran in front of him, pushing at his shoulders until he stopped.
"Nay, he... well, yes, he spanked me. But it's not that."
Simon studied her intently, his lips pressed together in a grim line. "Then what is it he does?"
"He withholds pleasure."
The confusion in her brother's dark eyes would have been laughable if the situation were not so serious.
"Explain."
Gillian turned her back, unable to face him while she relayed, as vaguely as she could, the way Royce had bound her and teased her mercilessly with sexual pleasure.
Recounting the tale warmed her body, her nipples tightening and pressing against linen.
The sensation only intensified the building desire, and already, her sex slickened.
The thought of her husband's hard shaft filling her sparked a wave of desire so intense, it weakened her knees.
She kept her explanation brief, not wanting Simon to know what a wanton she'd turned into.
How hungry for that pleasure she'd become.
If he looked, he would see the flush climbing her face, the trembling of her hands, her unsteady breathing.
All because of her husband. His wicked ways had made her into a wild woman. A wildcat, as he'd already called her.
Simon's hands on her shoulder brought a soothing measure of relief. He would understand. He would permit her to share his truth.
"You sound as if you enjoy it."
She spun about. "He makes me! His wicked hands and... I never thought such things were possible, and yet, now, 'tis all I can think about!"
She covered her face with her hands, choking back a frustrated sob. Simon caught her wrists.
"Look at me."
She obeyed, hoping he couldn't see the need pulsing at fever pitch within. What had her husband made of her?
Simon smiled. "You should be pleased your husband knows such tactics."
"I...you... what?" 'Twas not what she'd expected.
"Most women suffer a miserable marriage bed. You are lucky."
"Simon!" She stamped her foot. "Do you not see I'm being tortured? He does not trust me and unless I tell him something, he will continue to do so. He is trying to drive me mad!"
Simon chuckled. Gillian resisted the urge to pummel him, with great difficulty.
"Enjoy it, Gilly, while you can." His humorous countenance sobered. "But do not tell him of me. Not yet. 'Tis way too soon. He won't believe you anyway, and think it a lie to cover our adulterous affair."
She shook her head. "I cannot believe you would turn away from me now. I need you to let me tell him. I cannot promise I can withhold the truth."
"You will. You are as stubborn as he. We will tell him. Eventually. But not now. Just a little longer. I have a plan anyway."
She nodded, giving him her fiercest scowl. "I will try. But I make no promises, should my husband decide to continue to mercilessly torture me."
But was it really torture if she looked forward to it?
***
Royce watched his wife slip from behind the building with her guard.
He narrowed his eyes. Gillian turned and embraced the man, and he returned the hug.
They lingered far too long. Red tinged the edges of his vision.
Anger near choked him as he thought of how much damage she could do with the help of her guard.
If 'twas truly what the man was. Royce didn't entirely believe that anymore.
Had they worked in tandem to betray his patrol to the rebels?
His men were above suspicion, but this Simon appeared intent on aiding his deceitful wife with whatever she planned.
What else could explain the secret meetings?
Fingers clenched, he ducked back inside, not wanting to be caught spying on her. But tonight, he would have the truth of her "guard" and what they planned. And then he would kill the man. As for his wife... a grim smile curled his lips as he planned ways to extract vengeance against his wife.
He took a stance at the end of the hall, surveying the activity of the servants preparing the tables for the evening meal. With the king in residence, Lyndon's cooks had prepared many fancy dishes, or so he'd been told. He hoped Edward would be pleased.
He sensed Gillian behind him. How, he didn't know. But he felt her presence. He turned.
She offered a warm smile, but his anger at seeing her with Simon still had hold of him. Her smile faltered at his glower.
"My lord, is aught amiss?"
He shook his head. "I am about to summon the king. Ensure the meal is ready."
She eyed him curiously and nodded before setting off to the kitchens.
He could no more pull his gaze from her as she walked away than he could cut off his own arm.
The lust she inspired angered him nearly as much as her deceit.
Halfway across the hall, she turned and gave him another curious glance.
Clearly, she sensed his anger, but didn't understand why.
She would. Later, when he had her alone in their chamber, she would learn exactly what had angered him.
He sent one of his men to summon Edward and Eleanor.
More men filed into the hall, many accompanied by wives or other kin, and took seats at the lower tables.
So many soldiers, Edward's, his, and Lyndon's.
With an army of this size, finding the rebels and putting an end to the uprising shouldn't take more than a few days.
A hand on his arm drew him from his thoughts. He looked down at his wife. Again, the rush of desire startled him, but the image of her embracing her guard reminded him she could not be trusted.
"All is ready."
Her voice wavered with hesitation. Good. He liked knowing he had her as unbalanced as he felt. He gave a curt nod and took her hand, laying it on his arm. He led her to the stairs.
The king and queen descended amid excited whispers. Gillian's fingers tightened on his arm. He fell into a bow, pleased when she sank into a proper curtsy. He could not fault her manners in any way. Edward bade them to rise.
"May I officially welcome you to Lyndon, Your Majesty?"
Royce raised his voice, silencing the murmuring.
"Thank you, Langley. We are pleased to finally be here and properly celebrate your marriage."
Edward led his queen to the head table. As they passed, the assemblage bowed.
Royce let out a sigh of relief. The remote manor had done a fine job in greeting the king.
At Montchester, he'd never worried, but he realized just how anxious he'd been to think Lyndon might not match those standards.
With that concern laid to rest, he focused on other matters.
Like protecting his new holding, and the king.
And teaching his wife what happened when she dared betray him.
Her fingers still had a tight hold on his arm.
He glanced at her. She held her head high, looking straight ahead.
He couldn't wait to undo that stony expression.
He must remember not to let himself get lost again.
Her passionate response to his touch easily made him forget anything else of importance.
He had questions that needed answers. Tonight, he would have them.
He eased Gillian into a chair and slid into his own, between her and the king.
He'd given a brief thought to seating his wife beside the queen, but decided he would do better with her at his side.
This way, he could watch her as she exchanged looks with the guard.
Royce had a clear view of the man seated not far away.
"We ride out at first light." Edward drew him from watching his wife.