Linda Skye (3 page)

Chapter Four

When Giselle woke, golden rays of sunlight were already streaming through the windows. Blinking bleary eyes, she slowly came into consciousness. A dull ache spread through her thighs, and she rolled onto her side, taking a fistful of sheets with her. Giselle sighed contentedly, still floating in a half dream.

Warm sunshine on her bare shoulders. Sweetly crisp linen shrouding her body. The thickest, softest mattress she’d ever been on cushioning her curves.

Her eyes immediately snapped open as the memories came flooding back.

Last night…

For a moment, she felt paralysed by panic, and dread began to climb from her stomach into her chest. How had she slept so late? Where was the lord? Would he have her cast from the chateau like waste, to return as a useless daughter to her impoverished family? Had she failed to make a lasting impression? Tears began to prick at the corners of her eyes.

Suddenly Giselle heard the creak of a chair, and she sat bolt upright, her white-knuckled fist clutching the sheets to her chest.

There he was, sitting in the armchair by the stone fireplace. He was leaning forward, his forearms braced on his knees and his eyes trained intensely upon her. Giselle stared back for a long moment, stunned. He studied her impassively for a long moment before sitting back in the chair.

“You are awake,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Giselle swallowed nervously.

“Yes,
mon seigneur
,” she answered. “I am very sorry for intruding upon your morning. Please allow me to leave.”

“No,” Eustache replied crossly, turning away to look out the window. “Stay.”

“Yes,
mon seigneur
,” Giselle said, bowing her head.

Eustache looked back at her, his gaze piercing and serious. Giselle froze, wondering if she’d already managed to anger him. His lips turned down into a frown, and he clenched his fists and cleared his throat.

“I have decided,” he began stiffly, “that you are to assume the role of my personal chambermaid.”

Giselle gaped, her mouth dropping open. Such a thing…it was unheard of! A peasant farmer girl such as herself had never been chosen as a servant in the chateau, much less as a personal attendant to a lord. It went far beyond what she could have ever hoped for.

“You are to wear these clothes,” he said, gesturing to a fine linen shirt and woollen kirtle that lay folded near her pillow. “After I leave, Madame Lessard will explain your tasks.”

Bewildered, Giselle’s eyes moved to her new clothes. She reached out to finger the exquisite fabric in amazement. It was the finest set of clothes she’d ever touched. She looked up at her lord again, speechless. His frown deepened.

“You are not pleased,” he said, eyes narrowing.

“Mon seigneur,”
she replied, her voice cracking, “this is too great a kindness.”

“Do not question my decision,” Eustache said brusquely. Lips tightening ever so slightly, he continued, “Last night, I ruined your chances at a profitable marriage for your family. Your service to me in the chateau will cover more than half of your family’s taxes to my father.”

Before Giselle could respond, Eustache stood and strode away without looking back. Giselle felt her heart soar—this was the opportunity she needed to secure her family’s fortunes!

“I will leave you to Madame Lessard,” he said as he left his chambers.

The next few hours were a blur of activity. Before she knew it, Giselle had been whisked throughout the manor house, her mind spinning with new instructions and information: make the bed, sweep the floors, clean out the hearth, attend the lord at meals, bring hot water up to the bedchambers, warm the lord’s bed at night.

By the time her new world had stopped spinning, it was nearly time for the evening meal. Knowing she had a few free moments, Giselle slipped away to the stables to visit the horses. She made her way to Bayard, who was tethered to a post, awaiting his daily brushing. The giant war horse snorted in greeting, nudging her shoulder with his massive nose. Giselle laughed aloud, stroking his long muzzle with her palm.

A shadow fell over her, and Giselle looked over her shoulder in time to see Eustache stride into the stables. She turned, a sweetly mischievous lilt to her lips. He slowly arched a brow in response.

“Mon seigneur,”
she greeted him, dipping her head deferentially.

“Are you not afraid of smelling of the animals?” he asked, stepping closer.

“No,” she answered. “Are you?”

A crease appeared between his brows, and he took another step toward her.

“Most women do not visit the stables,” he commented dryly.

“And most lords do not converse with their maids,” she quipped.

Eustache reached over her head to grab Bayard’s cheek strap. He bent over her, his voice dropping to a murmur.

“And do you think that I am like most lords?”

His words were a mere whisper, ghosting over her cheeks in a sensual swirl. Giselle’s breath caught in her throat, but she refused to edge away.

“I do not yet know enough about you to be sure,” she answered breathlessly.

He placed his palm at the base of her spine, sliding it slowly down to rest on the curve of her bottom. His touch sent deliciously electric thrills spiking through her body, and bit her lip to contain a gasp.

“And would you like to learn more?”

Giselle was sure he could hear the wild beating of her heart, but his expression did not change as he gazed down at her with gleaming eyes.

“It depends,
mon seigneur
,” she said slowly, “on what you would like to teach me.”

He leaned back then, and she found herself missing his warmth.

“We shall see,” he said solemnly. “But I do believe that you have another task awaiting you in the dining hall.”

With that, he turned to walk away as Giselle hurried away to the kitchens to get ready to attend him at the evening meal. It must have been a tediously long affair, but Giselle hardly noticed the time passing as she was keenly aware of Eustache’s eyes upon her throughout the meal. She basked in his heated gaze and shivered at the brush of his fingers against her wrist as she placed food in front of him. Then, with a sultry backward glance, she had left to prepare his chambers for the evening.

By nightfall, Giselle was pouring a stream of near boiling water into a large basin by the lord’s bedside. She set down the pail, which she’d lugged up the stone staircase just a few minutes before. Pausing for a moment, she stepped close to the room’s one large window and exhaled, peering out the dark glass toward her family’s patch of land. But the grey of dusk had already crept across the land, and all she could make out was a faint silhouette of the rolling hills in the distance.

Wiping away the cloud of mist that had settled on the window pane from her light breath, Giselle turned away from the dark and headed for the hearth. A chill was settling into the air, and she needed to have a fire roaring soon. As she bent down onto her knees to scrape out any lingering ash, she wondered what her mother and father were doing. Had mother used herbs from her garden to make the pottage? Surely, the news of their good fortune must have already reached their ears—perhaps they were celebrating with some village ale?

A slight smile tugged at Giselle’s lips as she swept up the last remaining bits of ash and straightened. She swiped at her brow with the back of her wrist and imagined them sitting at the old wooden table in their cruck house, the light from their smoky fire pit casting orange shadows on everything in its reach. It was a warm, happy thought—and one that suddenly seemed distant when she remembered where she was.

She bent forward again quickly, remembering that the lord could return at any moment. With a few confident strokes against a spark rock, the fire caught and greedily consumed the kindling. Giselle carefully nursed the fledgling flame until it was a roaring blaze. Then she stood, dusting her hands off on the front of her woollen tunic.

Now to warm the bed…

Giselle looked from the bed to the fireplace and back again. How was she to warm the bed? Her eyes searched the chamber for any ideas on how to accomplish her last task of the evening. She eyed the large basin of warmed water. Placing it on top of the mattress would warm up one spot, but she risked spilling it. A soggy bedspread was definitely not an option. She looked to the fire. She could put some burning wood into the pail and put that on the bed, but the ash might spread and it would be horrible to clean up afterward. Giselle shook her head. There was only one option.

Determined, she grabbed the ends of the thick bedspread with both hands and pulled, trying to gather all of the voluminous material in her arms. With the expensive quilt piled high in her arms, she cautiously made her way to the hearth.

It was at that moment that the young lord decided to retire to his bedchambers.

“What are you doing?” Eustache asked, bewildered at the sight of his maid about to throw his bed sheets into the fire.

“Mon seigneur!”
Giselle exclaimed, turning and nearly dropping the heavy fabric, “Pardon me. I was just warming your bed.”

When Eustache just stared at her blankly, Giselle began to shift from foot to foot nervously. Had she pressed her advantage too far?

“It won’t be a minute,
mon seigneur
,” she assured him.

Eustache strode over and abruptly took the large bundle from her arms. Ignoring her squeak of protest, he took the sheets back to the bed and threw them down haphazardly.

“I think you have misunderstood,” Eustache said, his voice gruff. “Warming my bed does not involve heating the sheets by fire.”

He looked over his shoulder at Giselle, who frowned, her brows puckering adorably.

“You still do not understand?” he asked, clearly disgruntled.

“Mon seigneur,”
Giselle mumbled, hastily dropping into a curtsey, “please pardon me if I have offended you. I did not—”

Eustache coughed into his fist, stopping her apology mid-sentence.

“I am not offended,” he corrected her. He paused to pinch the bridge of his nose. “It is a simple misunderstanding. I do not wish for you to warm my bed with coals or fire.” He stopped again to clear his throat. “I wish for you to warm my bed with…” He paused awkwardly and then said, “Your body.”

“My body?” Giselle asked, tilting her head to one side.

Realisation suddenly struck her, and a rosy blush blossomed on her cheeks.

“I see,” she murmured.

All of a sudden, she was keenly aware of the scant distance between them and of his burning gaze on her body. His fingers were tightly clenched, and his spine was straight. He seemed taller and more intimidating than ever, his taciturn expression hard as stone. But when he frowned, his brows furrowing ever so slightly, Giselle caught a glimpse of something else.

It was just a slight twitch in his lips, a muscle clenching at his jaw—but she still saw it. As she studied his demeanour more carefully, Giselle began to reassess all of her experiences with the reserved warrior.

He had tried to stop her from rushing toward a dangerous war horse.

The night before, he had given as much pleasure as he had taken.

In the morning, he had provided her with work.

And all throughout the day, he had lavished her with attention.

She decided to test her suspicions—to see what truly lay behind the lord’s unapproachable air.

Eustache tensed when a mischievous smirk lit Giselle’s face. She stepped toward him slowly, her hips gently swaying as she did. He was astounded by her sudden change in demeanour; she had been shy and shrinking only a moment ago, but now she glowed with confidence. She stopped when she was a mere hairsbreadth from him. She gently tugged at her head cowl, and it fell away, freeing her long dark curls. He swallowed the lump in his throat as she let the cowl fall to the floor.

Giselle watched his entire body stiffen at her proximity. He looked away and closed his eyes, the muscle in his jaw working furiously. When she reached out to lightly touch his shoulder, she swore he nearly jumped.

Giselle was sure of it:
Seigneur
Eustache was not the cold-hearted, bloodthirsty monster that the townsfolk made him out to be—that
she
had taken him for. Though his experience of war had certainly hardened him, his curt manner was not borne of hate but of inexperience with the fairer sex. He was clumsily sweet and gruffly affectionate—which made it impossible for Giselle not to want to tease him. Her heart swelled large with emotion. She had managed to fall into the arms of a lord who wanted more than the debauched life of a noble and who seemed to want to treat her kindly. Well, she thought with a grin, she would make him appreciate the titillating pleasures of having her as a chambermaid.

“
Mon seigneur
Eustache,” she whispered coyly, “won’t you look at me?”

Eustache grit his teeth and opened his eyes. He looked down in time to see Giselle slowly stripping away her clothing, piece by piece. Naked, she gently pressed herself against his clothed body, the rough fabric chafing deliciously at her exposed skin.

“What are you doing?” Eustache hissed through clenched teeth, his fists tightening.

“You still don’t understand?” she asked with a slow, sweet smile.

His jaw muscles were taut with tension as he fought his screaming instincts. He was not entirely sure what the little minx was playing at, but he
did
know what it was doing to his body—and he didn’t want her to regret it.

“I might hurt you,” he said, failing to conceal the heat in his voice as he shut his eyes against the sight of her.

“No, I know you won’t,” Giselle purred, as she slid her small hands up his chest. “Please take me.”

In an instant, Giselle found herself pinned against the wall, Eustache looming above her. With his large hands, he lifted her off the floor and hooked her knees above his hips, pressing his arousal against her firmly.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he panted, his breathing harsh.