Hearts and Crowns (18 page)

She closed her eyes tightly, and whispered his name through gritted teeth.

The cook and several terrified servants cowered in the kitchen under the watchful eye of Marmion’s men.

“Clear this table,” Gallien shouted to the cook, who sprang forward to do his bidding. Pans clattered to the floor. Dogs ran underfoot to scrounge scraps. A servant kicked them away.

Étienne spread his cloak on the newly cleared surface and Gallien put down his precious burden. “Bring me cold water, and clean linens,” he bellowed to the Cook.

~~~

Peri was sure the flesh of her arm had been burned through to the bone, yet she shivered uncontrollably. Her belly roiled. Soon she would retch.

But Gallien was safe. He had carried her, his husky voice a soothing balm amid the agony that consumed her. He had called her
his love
.

“Mayhap we should burst the blisters.”

Étienne? How could he be here?

“No,
milord
, many’s the time a lad or lass gets scalded in a kitchen. Best not to burst the blisters. ‘Twill heal faster, and lessen the chance of fever.”

It was a peasant’s voice. She was in a kitchen? Her eyelashes seemed to be stuck together, but she finally managed to open her eyes. A bloated red face loomed over her—a cook.

A warm hand smoothed hair off her face. She recognised her husband’s touch. She put her hand over his and narrowed her eyes to peer at his beloved face through the haze of pain that threatened to engulf her. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Don’t cry,” she murmured.

“Forgive me, Peri,” he rasped, dabbing her arm with something cool. “I am a fool. You are dearer to me than life itself.”

She swallowed the knot of fear in her throat. It was important he know of her love. She reached up to wipe away his tears with her thumb. “I love you, Gallien. But I am not long for this world. Pray for me, and our baby.”

His shout of denial was the last thing she heard.

The cook at de Villiers Hall proved to be something of a healer, which Gallien supposed was to be expected of a servant familiar with herbs and such. Her ministrations went a long way to soothing the fire in his back as he sat sponging the grime off his body in a few inches of hot water in a kitchen tub. The vessel was probably large enough for the scullery lads and maids, but he was forced to sit with his knees bent to his chest. He had to be clean before tending Peri. He recalled that much of his mother’s teachings.

Anguished and in pain as he was, he could not help but be amused by the glint of appreciation in the old woman’s eyes when she set eyes on his manhood. He felt like a child being fussed over by a mother hen.

He cinched the large drying linen she handed him around his waist as he stepped out of the tub. His clothes and boots were nowhere to be found, and he could not have borne anything on his back in any case.

His father had gone off to search for the missing children, muttering about the indignity of Gallien’s flogging and calling for de Villiers to burn for all eternity in Hell.

They had forced a few spoonfuls from the cook’s bottle of
dwale
between Peri’s lips to keep her drugged. The woman swore by its effectiveness, and Gallien was aware his mother used the drug, but he would have preferred to rely on her recipe. She had often warned her apprentices at Ellesmere that too much hemlock or henbane in the potion could prove fatal. However, the cook reported none had died from ingesting her
dwale
. He had to trust her.

He hoped Peri would remain in oblivion, free from pain, until his mother arrived. Loath as he was to stay any longer in de Villiers’ home, it was clear Peri would not survive the journey to Ellesmere. He believed his mother’s healing skills were his wife’s only hope.

He was grateful that, for the moment, Peri slept. Tandine had insisted her friend be put in her bed, and Gallien was relieved to discover it was not the bed where de Villiers had no doubt debauched Felicité. Such a place would bode ill for Peri’s recovery.

Tandine helped him carefully strip off the rest of his wife’s garments. She gasped at the sight of blood on Peri’s thighs. Anger gripped Gallien. De Villiers had destroyed their child. The loss of a babe would break Peri’s heart. Had she not suffered enough? He cleansed her, cooing soothing words while Tandine sobbed.

They tucked a clean linen sheet around their patient, leaving only her blistered arm open to the air. Tandine left when word came her stepchildren had been found huddled together in their chamber. Surprisingly, Étienne offered to go with her. Gallien did not envy his wife’s friend. What would become of her and de Villiers’ children? But they were not his concern. He climbed on to the bed carefully and lay on his side, watching the rise and fall of his wife’s breasts, willing her to live.

~~~

Gallien’s mother arrived the next afternoon with her daughters and two apprentices. She quickly took charge. To his relief, along with his clothes, she had brought her own
potel
of
dwale
, ignoring the ruffled feathers of the cook.

He pulled on leggings and boots while his mother examined Peri, but decided against the shirt. Better to be chilled than have the fabric chafe his lacerations.

He dreaded hearing his mother’s opinion. He studied the floor when she came to him, afraid he would see pity in her eyes. His heart lifted when she seemed hopeful.

“You have done the right things. Now we must be wary of fever.”

Gallien held his breath, fighting to control the angry creature gripping his vitals. “She lost the babe she was carrying.”

His mother put a hand on his shoulder. “I had suspected she was with child again. That may not help her recovery, though I suppose she does not yet know of the loss?”

Gallien shook his head, weary to the bone. He had lain awake throughout the long night, as if his wakefulness might keep Peri alive.

“And you, my son,” she said, turning him to look at his back, “the wretch tortured you and left these ignominious scars. I have a salve that will ease your pain, then you must rest. You too have suffered greatly. Wounds can fester and bring fever. If you die, Peri will never forgive me.”

“But—”

His mother raised her hand. “I am the healer. You will listen to my advice. I have brought the necessary herbs and medicinals—alder bark and leaves, barley seeds, eggs, comfrey, thyme. I have what she needs to ease the pain and heal her blisters.

“But only you can mend the pain of losing her child. You must love her back to life, Gallien. No more of your selfish behavior. You have broken her heart too many times, yet she came here at great peril to herself thinking to save you. It’s time for both of you to be free of Felicité’s spell.”

Despite the difficulties they still faced, Gallien suddenly realized bitterness no longer haunted him. “I am free of her,
maman
. The woman you tend has enthralled my heart and my soul. Her courage saved me. Thanks be to God she is in your hands.”

His mother cradled his face in her palms. “No, my son, she is in God’s hands.”

~~~

Peri drifted in and out of different worlds.

She dreamt of Gallien. He bathed her forehead, whispered words of love, held her hand, kissed her lips.

In the nightmarish world of unbearable pain, she smelled strange and foul odours, tasted bitter tastes, knew hopelessness, and prayed for death.

In a world somewhere between this one and the next, she grieved at the tomb of a dead child, sobbing loudly. She screamed silent screams at the specter of her husband hanging lifeless from a beam. She floated in steaming cauldrons, rode darkened roads.

Someone rubbed salt into her cheeks. She smelled vinegar.

She begged forgiveness for retching, shuddered as Gallien chopped off de Villiers’ head, then screamed again when a headless de Villiers raped her.

Gallien made love to Felicité, but the woman was a corpse.

She drowned in sweat, then shivered uncontrollably.

She cried out in fear when she opened her eyes and did not recognize her surroundings, but Gallien was there to whisper words of love and hold her hand.

She marched in a coronation procession, honored to be chosen as the one to crown the new monarch. But excrement spilled from the pot she hoisted over Maud’s head.

Ermintrude scolded and Peri tittered as the old woman scraped the vile stuff from her mistress’s hair.

As punishment, her arm putrified and turned black.

The boat carrying her across the Narrow Sea sank.

Gallien whispered words of love, and kissed her.

Geoffrey of Anjou flew overhead on a dragon that breathed fire.

Gallien murmured words of love, and kissed her.

Devlin de Villiers’ face twisted into a macabre mask of death.

Gallien bathed her forehead, and kissed her.

Peace came at last and she slept.

~~~

Peri’s eyes blinked open. Gallien inhaled sharply. For the first time in ten days, she seemed aware of her surroundings.

“Gallien,” she whispered. “You’re alive.”

He came to his feet quickly and touched the backs of his fingers to her forehead. The fever was gone. He silently thanked God for her deliverance, his heart swelling with relief. “Peri,” he rasped, “I am here thanks to you. You saved my life.”

He should call his mother to her bedside, but he had to be the one to speak of the child they had lost.

She must have seen the sorrow in his eyes. “The babe?”

He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Our child is gone, my love.”

A tear trickled from the corner of her eye and she let out a long mournful wail. He put his arm behind her back, lifting her to his embrace, careful not to touch her blistered arm. “It’s not your fault. We grieve now, but there will be more brothers and sisters for Rodrick and Grace.”

She smiled wearily, then drifted back into sleep, intermittent sobs shuddering through her body. He stayed by her side for long hours. Each time she wakened, she wept, her tears subsiding after he soothed her with kisses and caresses.

~~~

A fortnight after the terrible events at de Villiers Hall, Gallien carefully gathered his wife into his arms, and carried her to the carriage waiting to bear them home. His father and Étienne had returned to Ellesmere earlier with Tandine and her brood of stepchildren.

The horrendous blisters that had sprouted like pigeon eggs the length of Peri’s arm had healed well, thanks to his mother’s ministrations. But she had warned that Peri would bear scars. It was a blessing her hand had not been scalded.

It grieved him that his beautiful wife believed she was ugly because of the red, puckered skin. She had insisted on wearing a gown with sleeves for the journey, though it was evident it caused her discomfort. She did not want the servants at Ellesmere to see what she called her
deformity
.

Once Peri was nestled comfortably in the cushioned cocoon he had made for her in the carriage, he helped his mother settle in beside her.

The fresh air had brought color back to his wife’s pale face, and she smiled, sending blood rushing to his groin.

“This is much more comfortable than the cart that carried me to Bretagne,” she said with a sigh.

Gallien wanted to climb into the carriage and cuddle up beside her, but it was not a long journey. Soon, they would be home. Resigned to an uncomfortable ride with an insistent erection, he mounted his horse, and motioned the captain of the men-at-arms to lead them out of the courtyard.

He looked back at the house. A cold shiver snaked across his nape at the memory of what had happened within those walls. De Villiers had intended that Peri never leave the house alive. Hatred was a destructive force. Gallien marvelled that despite his best efforts to alienate Peri, she loved him and had risked her life to save him. She was a miracle that he would spend his life giving thanks for.

De Villiers Hall was a fine, well-built house. Perhaps in time Tandine would transform it into a place where love ruled. But that would take another miracle.

The sun was high in the sky when they arrived at Ellesmere. Gallien had set a slow pace, concerned for Peri’s well-being. A loud cheer went up from the castle folk gathered in the bailey.

Gallien dismounted and came to lift her from the carriage.

“They are glad to see their master’s son returned,” she whispered to him.

He shook his head. “It’s you they are cheering for. They love you,” he assured her.

He said naught of his own feelings. Much of her time at de Villiers Hall had passed in a haze of sleep and delirium, but she had an abiding memory of Gallien’s presence through it all.

Was it guilt he felt for her injury, or did he love her?

How could a man love a hideously scarred woman? She was revolted by the sight of her arm.

Gallien lifted her from the carriage.

“I am well enough to walk,” she assured him.

“
Non
, I want to carry you into the Keep. I never carried you over a threshold when we were wed.”

She did not argue. She loved being cradled in his arms, held tightly against the solid muscles of his broad chest, though she suspected the injuries inflicted by de Villiers still pained him. Whenever she mentioned it, he quickly changed the subject. She put her good arm around his neck, resisting the temptation to twirl her fingers in his silver hair.

He took her directly to the nursery where she was reunited with her children. It broke her heart that they seemed to barely know her.

As if sensing her distress, Gallien reassured her. “They are babies. You are still their mother. Nothing can break that bond.”

He took her then to their chamber, placing her carefully on the bed.

She protested. “I cannot remain abed. I don’t want to be an invalid.”

“Just for this day,” he insisted. “It has been a long journey for you. On the morrow you can rise.”

He stood beside the bed, gazing down at her. He looked uncertain, confirming her fears he would find her body repulsive.

She blinked away a tear. “I will sleep for a while, but I would like to join everyone for the evening meal.”

He wavered. He was a beautifully made man and she longed to put her hands on his strong thighs. If only she had the courage to reach out and draw him to her side. Her most intimate part craved the feel of his hard manhood pressed against it. The muscles of her sheathe pulsed.

“Shall I help you disrobe?” he rasped.

Dread reared its ugly head. She turned away from his gaze.
“
Non, merci
. Send Alys,
s’il te plaît.”

He hesitated, but then knelt on the bed and kissed her forehead. “As you wish, my lady.”

As he left, she fisted her hands at her sides, digging her nails into the palms. She had not been capable of capturing her husband’s heart when she was whole. Why would he love her now?

~~~

Gallien watched his wife lick the juices of the succulent roast chicken from her fingers. He groaned inwardly, longing to reach out and press those greasy fingers to his throbbing shaft.

He ached to join his body to hers again. Buried deep inside her, he intended to profess his love and beg her forgiveness.

A sennight had passed since he had brought her home. Outwardly, she seemed recovered, but he knew she still grieved the child she had lost, not with wailing and tears as before, but silently. She often stared into emptiness, seemingly lost in thought. His mother advised it would take time. He acknowledged he had to be patient. He had deprived his wife of too much of his time and attention since their marriage.

Whenever he touched her, she stiffened and withdrew. Had she grown to loath him, or was she afraid?

He knew what fear could do to a person’s heart.

They had not shared a bed since her homecoming. His body was bursting with need. He leaned towards her, pressing his thigh against hers. He whirled his tongue in her ear. Her face reddened, and the blush spread across her neck, and lower. He itched to tear away the gown and expose her breasts to see if the flush covered them. Her nipples pouted against the fabric. “I want to lick you, Peri. Tonight.”

She turned her gaze to him. Her green eyes were like a window to her soul, filled with fear, uncertainty—but something else too—lust.

She smiled. His shaft responded. “Tonight,” he repeated. “Trust me.”

~~~

Peri had trusted Gallien before, only to have her heart broken into a thousand pieces. Yet she still loved him, craved him. It would be impossible to live with him and not share his bed, any more than the crops in the fields could live without rain. She would wither and die without his touch.

The bulge in his leggings and the longing in his eyes betrayed his need as he escorted her from the Hall to their chamber, but men were driven by lust, not love.

She trembled when he closed the door of their chamber. She stood transfixed, not sure what to do. Smiling, he shrugged off his doublet and came to stand behind her, his hands on her shoulders. “May I undress you, my lady?”

She leaned back against his chest, feeling the heat of his body through his shirt. Desire spiralled low in her belly and wet warmth flooded her sheath. She could only nod. Her throat felt like she had eaten sand.

He coaxed her to the bed, and put his hands on her waist. She grasped his shoulders as he lifted her to sit on the edge, fighting the urge to knead her fingers into the solid muscle.

He knelt to remove the shoes from her dangling feet. Heat rushed up the back of her thighs. She put her hands on the top of his head, gasping as he danced his fingertips up her legs, untied her garters, and peeled off her stockings.

Peri had heard her father-by-marriage tell of the volcano they called Vesuvius that he had seen on his return journey from Constantinople. As Gallien licked and kissed her toes, one by one, she felt the molten lava of desire surge through her body. She was ready to erupt.

His tongue traced the sole of each foot, from heel to toe, then twirled around her ankles. His hands replaced his tongue. Gently, he eased her legs open and leaned forward, exposing her to his view as her gown bunched around her hips.

It was strange that she welcomed his gaze there, but wanted her arm to remain covered.

“You are already wet for me, my precious jewel,” he rasped. The huskiness in his voice betrayed his need. She felt light-headed as heat flushed her body. The scarred skin of her wounded arm prickled. She should stop him now, before he went further. Surely he would not want to kiss her scars?

But he was kissing and sucking and licking her most intimate place, and her need to be filled was building inside. She raked her fingers through his hair. “Gallien,” she murmured.

He looked up at her, his blue eyes lit with lust. Could he see her fear?

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered.

He came to his feet, took her hands, and pulled her body to his. She fisted her hands in the fabric of his shirt, her mons grinding against his erection of its own volition.

He trailed kisses over her throat, deftly untying the laces of her bodice. He covered her mouth with his as he eased the gown from her shoulders, and over her hips. His tongue demanded entry. The protest died in her throat as she opened for him and their tongues mated. She tasted the spiced wine they had shared at table.

A groan emerged from deep in his chest. The sound travelled to her toes and thence up her spine.

Now clad only in her thin chemise, she instantly missed the heat of his body as he stepped back. The garment’s sleeve covered only her shoulder and upper arm. The rest of the hideous limb was revealed to his gaze. She bit her lower lip, willing the tears not to fall. “Please. I do not wish you to look upon my deformity, Gallien.”

“You are not deformed,” he assured her. “A warrior bears his scars proudly. They are proof of his bravery. You are still the most beautiful woman I know, and I intend to remove that flimsy garment and kiss every bit of your luscious body.”

She swayed, torn between the lust that wanted his lips on her and her fear of his reaction. He smiled, then quickly tore off his shirt, baring his magnificent chest to her view. She wanted to brush her thumbs over his male nipples.

The blue of his eyes darkened. Slowly he turned his body so his back was to her.

She gasped, feeling faint as blood rushed to her head. “You’ve been flogged.”

He remained silent, head bent.

While she had wallowed in her own misery, her husband had been dealing with the shame, humiliation, and pain of being whipped like a common criminal. She traced a finger from his shoulder to his waist, following the line of a recently healed scar, still bright pink. “De Villiers?” she asked.

“Aye.”

She lay her cheek against his back, entwining her arms around his waist. “You can kiss my scars if you let me kiss yours.”

He thrust back his head, inhaling deeply.

~~~

Gallien did not know how many scars striped his back, but as Peri licked and kissed each one from shoulder to waist, he wished de Villiers’ henchman had meted out a hundred lashes. Her fingers burned into his flesh, though she barely touched him. He had to get out of his leggings before his erection burst the seams apart. Peri seemed to sense his need and untied the laces at his waist. He came to his feet, and she pushed the garment down over his hips. He used his feet to slough them off, then stepped out of them. He cupped his hand to ease the weight in his heavy sack. Peri pressed her breasts against his back as she reached to spread her hands over his.

“I need you,” he said hoarsely, turning to face her. He lifted the hem of her chemise and pulled it over her head. She raised her arms to help him, hesitating after a hasty glance at her scars.

“I meant what I said, Peri.”

She shivered as he bent his head to trail kisses along the withered skin of her arm. If it were possible, he would lick away the pain she had suffered. His lips travelled to a taut nipple. She moaned and pressed his head to her breast as he suckled. He gathered her up and carried her to the bed, turning his attention to the other nipple. She writhed with pleasure as he slid a finger between her nether lips. It took only one brush of his thumb against the diamond of her desire and she fell over the edge, screaming his name, begging him to enter her.

Kneeling between her legs, he guided his swollen shaft into her opening. The sensation of warm heat had him gasping for breath. She wrapped her legs around his hips and he pounded into her, feeling his
couilles
draw up. By sheer force of will, he withdrew until he was almost out of her body. She looked up at him and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

He smiled, though his heart was pumping erratically. “Nothing. I want to tell you how much I love you.”

Her mouth fell open, her eyes filled with doubt.

He entered her again, slowly. “I love you, Peri. I beg your forgiveness for the hurts I’ve inflicted on you.”

She reached up to comb her fingers through his hair, closing her eyes when he withdrew and thrust in again. “I love you, Gallien.”

He gritted his teeth. He could not hold on much longer. “Say you forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

Elated and humbled at the depth of her love, he thrust again, crying out a guttural release as euphoria overtook him, and his seed erupted into her body.