Читать книгу Highland Honor - Hannah Howell - Страница 9

The cold water of the small river felt good against her skin and Gisele ached to immerse herself in it. There was no time, however. Nigel was watering the horses but a few feet away, and he had made it very clear that this would be a brief respite from their travel. For two long days they had ridden from sunrise to sunset with only a few stops. Her whole body ached. Fortunately, she was so exhausted by nightfall that even her extreme discomfort was not enough to rob her of sleep. She could not recall ever having worked so hard to elude her enemies.

She glanced at Nigel. He stood by the horses looking as limber and rested as if he had just risen from a soft, comfortable bed after a long, peaceful night’s sleep. It annoyed Gisele, yet she knew it should not. Nigel was a knight, one of a breed who was probably set in a saddle before he could walk. He should look hale, not at all troubled by a few long days of riding. She knew she was jealous of his strength even as she was unsettled by her lack thereof.

As she straightened up from where she knelt by the riverbank, Gisele winced and rubbed at the ache in her lower back. She thanked God that she still wore a page’s attire, sure that it had protected her soft skin far better than any gown would have. Gisele just wished she could find something that could protect her aching bones and stiff muscles.

“If ye are quick about it, ye can bathe,” Nigel said as he stepped up beside her.

Gisele started, surprised by his sudden appearance so close at hand. She scowled at his feet, wondering if the soft, deerhide boots he wore aided him in moving around so silently. It was a skill she had envied from the first moment he had revealed it. No matter how hard she tried, however, she could not imitate it.

“I think I need to hang a bell on you,” she muttered as she looked up at him.

Nigel just grinned. “Do ye want a wee bath or nay, lass?”

“You wished to keep riding.”

“Aye, I did. I still do. ’Tis why I say ye must be quick about it.”

As she lightly bit her bottom lip, she glanced around. “There is no place to be private.”

“I will turn my back.” He shrugged when she scowled at him again. “’Tis all I can give you, lass. Ye must choose atween your privacy and your safety.” He placed his hand on his heart and added, “I swear I shall only set my gaze upon the horizon, shall look only for our enemies.”

Since she had entrusted her safety, her very life, into his care, Gisele decided she was being foolish in hesitating to entrust him with her modesty. “Agreed.”

“I mean what I say. Ye must be quick. Heed me on that,” he said even as he turned and walked back to the horses.

After glancing his way to assure herself that he still had his back to her, Gisele began to unlace her jupon, then cursed her own stupidity. She could not put these filthy clothes back on once she had bathed. “Sir Nigel,” she called. “I need my saddlepack.”

He tossed it to her with an ease and an accuracy that startled her. The man was proving to have a vast array of skills, she mused as she hastily unpacked her only other set of page’s clothes and a drying cloth. Shedding her clothes and tightly clenching the thin sliver of soap she had so carefully preserved throughout her travels, Gisele stepped into the water. She gasped in reaction to the biting chill of the water, then steeled herself to endure it. This could well be her only chance to bathe for quite awhile.

Nigel heard her gasp and almost turned around, then smiled. He realized that it was no cry of alarm, only the sound that most people made when their warm skin hit cold water. There was a part of him that was strongly tempted to use that soft noise as an excuse to turn and look at her, but he forcefully quelled that urge. He had promised her that he would not look, and instinct told him that he would gain far more from holding fast to that promise than from trying to sneak a quick peek like some errant, fevered youth.

Trust was important to Gisele, he was certain of it, and she had had hers betrayed too often. It would take a lot of hard work to make her trust him, but he was determined to try. Bluntly telling her that he intended to be her lover was, perhaps, not the best start, but at least he had been completely honest. There had been, as yet, very little time to begin his seduction, but she had been fairly warned. Nigel also knew that, as he attempted to pull her passion free of the fears that still held it captive, he would have to convince her that not all men were brutish swine who felt it was their godgiven right to treat a woman cruelly.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Some would say that seducing a woman when he was not sure if he wished to claim her as his wife was cruel. He tried not to look at it that way. Gisele was a widow, so he would not be stealing her innocence. And if she had murdered her husband, then she was certainly strong enough and willful enough to accept or deny a lover. No matter how long or hard he thought on the matter, however, he could not shake the uneasy feeling that he might be allowing his strong desire for her to lead him astray. He could find himself adding to her pain instead of healing it.

And how much of his passion was born of the challenge she presented, of a chance to turn a frightened woman made cold by betrayal and brutality into a passionate lover? He quickly shook that thought away. Nigel was sure that his vanity had little to do with his desire for Gisele, although it was probably the only thing he was sure of. Gisele was a puzzle, and the way she drew him to her was an even bigger one.

“You may turn around now,” Gisele called, yanking him free of his unwelcome thoughts.

Even as he looked at her she stopped rubbing her hair with the drying cloth, and Nigel had to bite back a grin. Her short hair was a mass of wild curls, several tumbling alluringly onto her forehead. No man could look at her now and think that she was a boy, despite her clothing. He reached into his bag and pulled out a cap.

“I think ye had best put this on,” he advised.

Gisele frowned as she took the dull, brown cap made of a rough, homespun cloth. “It is not cold.”

“Nay, but I think that will now aid your disguise. Trust me, lass. Your hair now makes ye look verra much like a woman.”

“Oh.” She reached up to touch her damp hair, felt all the thick, wild curls, and grimaced as she tugged on the cap. “I should have recalled how it grows after it has been cut. I had to have it all shaved off once when I was but a child, because of a wretched fever I was suffering with, and it grew just like this. It was most unmanageable until it gained some length and weight. Then these foolish curls became waves. Mayhap I should cut it again.”

“Nay. Soon it willnae matter if all who see ye ken that ye are a lass. The cap isnae verra bonny, but it will do what is needed for now. Next I shall ask ye to allow me a wee moment or two of privacy.” He removed some clean clothing from his saddlepack.

“Oh. You wish to bathe?”

“We Scots do so from time to time.”

“And from all I have heard of your land you should be well accustomed to cold water.”

“Aye, it can be colder in Scotland. The weather doesnae pamper us there as it does ye French. Now, I best be about my bath. Turn your back, lass,” he said, as he started to walk away. Then he looked over his shoulder at her before she had completely turned around. “Of course, if ye wish to take a wee peek, I willnae fault ye for it,” he added, and winked.

Gisele decided not to grace that impertinence with a reply, and completely turned her back on him. Despite her best efforts, however, a small grin crossed her face. It quickly disappeared when she realized that she was tempted to look at him, strongly tempted. It was that which made her hesitate to take ‘a wee peek’. That could be all that was needed to dangerously enhance an already growing attraction. His face was certainly pleasing to her eye. She knew it could be perilous indeed to discover that his body was, as well.

It could, however, be a good test of how deep and pervasive her fears were, she mused as she idly stroked her horse’s nose. Her husband had used his manhood like a weapon, hurting her and debasing her. Gisele knew that the cruel things he had done to her had made her afraid of a man’s embrace. If that fear could also be stirred by simply viewing a naked man, it could prove that she was far more deeply scarred than she had guessed. When she realized that she could not recall a time since her husband’s death that she had seen a man unclothed despite her rough travels, Gisele wondered if she had been purposely avoiding such a sight. The fact that she had not glimpsed even one in the time she had been with the army—not even Guy, despite sharing a tent with him—seemed to confirm that. She did not like the thought that DeVeau had made her that much a coward.

Although a small voice told her that she was just making excuses so that she could look at a man who intrigued her, Gisele moved to stand in front of her horse. With her side toward Nigel instead of her back, it would be easier to steal a look or two and not be caught. Curiosity also drove her to take the risk, she decided, and grimaced, for it had always been a fault of hers. Gisele just wanted to know what she would feel if she caught a look of his partly or fully unclothed form.

She moved so that her horse’s nose was between her and Nigel, praying that that would be enough to hide her indiscretion. A deep breath steadied her, and she raised her gaze toward the river. She had dawdled for so long in deciding that he was already finished with his bath. He stood on the riverbank rubbing himself down with a large drying cloth. His tall, lean body shone gold in the sun. His broad back was toward her, and Gisele found herself wondering what his smooth skin would feel like beneath her hands. She quickly looked down his body, admiring his trim waist, his slim, well-shaped backside, and his long, perfectly formed, muscular legs. When she caught herself hoping he would turn around, she sucked in her breath so sharply she choked and began to cough.

“Are ye all right?” Nigel asked, frowning toward a badly coughing Gisele as he hastily pulled on his clothes.

“Oui,” she gasped, stumbling to the river’s edge and drinking some water from her cupped hands.

Since she had ceased to cough, Nigel took the time to lace up his shirt, don his jupon, and tug on his boots. “Ye arenae ailing with something, are ye?”

“Non.” She lightly splashed some of the cool water on her face, praying she did not look as warm or as agitated as she felt. “I but gagged on a bug, I am thinking.”

He grinned at her as he laced on his boots. “If ye are that greedy for some meat, lass, I will go ahunting when we stop to camp for the night.”

“What an amusing fellow you are, Sir Murray.” She hastily rinsed her travel-stained clothes in the water and wrung them out. “I assume you kept your drinking companions crippled with laughter.” She tied a strip of rawhide around her clothes and hung them from her saddlepack, hoping they would dry and not simply get filthy again.

Nigel did the same with his clothes, then watched her closely as they mounted. “So ye heard a few tales about me, did ye?” he asked as he led her away from the small river.

Gisele wondered if she should make a polite denial, then decided that it would be best if she were honest. “Guy said you favored wine and women. He also told me that he had seen none of that in the days that he watched you.”

“He watched me, did he?”

“You knew our secrets. He would have been a fool not to.”

“Aye, true enough.” Nigel fidgeted with his reins. She had not asked for any explanation, but he felt compelled to say something. “I didnae leave Scotland simply because I had a hunger to kill the English.” He winked at her. “Although most of my kind would say that was reason enough.”

“Most of my kind would, as well. In truth, at times I wonder how there can be so many men still left, for the killing has continued for many years.”

“Oh, aye, and I believe ’twill continue long after we have turned to dust. But, e’en though ’tis much the same in my land, ’tis still not what brought me here.”

“You owe me no explanations, Sir Murray,” she said quietly, for she could sense his discomfort and reluctance.

“Weel, something must be said. Ye have placed your life in my hands, as has Guy. ’Tis only fair that ye ken it was a wise decision. Aye, I drank a lot when there was no battle to fight. And, aye, I sought out the company of women more often than was wise and, at times, with a greed that was a sort of madness. The fighting, the drinking, and, I am ashamed to admit, the women, were all used for but one purpose.”

“To forget?” That was something Gisele found very easy to understand.

Nigel sighed and nodded. “Aye, ’tis the sad truth of it. I have spent seven long years of my life, nay, wasted it, trying to forget. My only salvation is that I never dishonored my clan in battle. I may not have been fighting for the right reasons, but I always fought weel, fought fairly, and chose my battles wisely.”

“That is no small thing, Sir Murray.” Gisele desperately wanted to ask what he had been trying so hard to forget, but she did not feel she had the right to press for a truth he could not offer freely. “And have you forgotten?” was as much as she dared to ask. “If you would find it painful or dangerous to return home, we could find safety elsewhere.”

“Nay, there is no safety for you in this land, and I ken only this place and Scotland. Ere I first discovered ye and Guy by the river I had decided that it was time to return. I woke up in the mud unable to recall how I got there and, shall we say, saw the folly of my life. ’Tis time to leave this embattled land and return to my kin.” He met her gaze and smiled faintly. “Ye need not fear. I am nay a hunted mon. I willnae be leading ye away from your enemies just to face down some of my own.”

Gisele smiled back, then inwardly sighed with disappointment when he returned his attention to the faint, little used trail they followed. At least for now he was not going to tell her why he had fled his home, nor why he had buried his heart and mind in battle, drink, and women. For a brief moment, she was angry. He had insisted that she tell him all of her secrets, yet he was unwilling to reciprocate. Gisele then told herself not to be so foolish. Nigel needed to know everything about her troubles so that he would know what dangers they would face. There was no need for her to know his secrets. They did not affect their safety at all.

Despite that, Gisele could not stop herself from wondering. What could make a man leave the home he loved? She knew he loved both his home and his family. She could hear it in his deep voice whenever he spoke of them. Gisele also believed his claim that he was not a hunted man, had not fled any enemies, and that he was not helping her run from one danger only to thrust her into the middle of another. That did not leave her many choices, and the one that came to mind made her uneasy. There was one thing that could make even the strongest and bravest of knights flee a place like the basest of cowards. One thing that could turn a man to wine and women, that could change a sober, righteous man into a drunken lecher. A woman. Nigel was in France to try to forget a woman.

After several moments of silently cursing, Gisele wondered why that should trouble her so much. There was no question that Nigel was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen and that she did feel some attraction for him, but she should not be concerned about whether or not his heart was taken or broken. In truth, Gisele thought angrily, the only thing she should be wondering about was whether men had any hearts at all.

It did not matter, she told herself firmly. If he had fled Scotland because of a woman it was obviously because he could not have her. If he still loved the woman that was his concern, and not Gisele’s. She had neither the time nor the inclination to chase after the man’s heart. Gisele knew her one and only concern should be to stay alive until she could prove her innocence.

She sighed and tried to fix her attention on following Nigel. Gisele hoped that she could make herself believe all that, but a small part of her told her it was hopeless. Nigel had shown her that passion still lurked inside her although fear held it captive. He had also shown her that he might be the one who could free it again. She had thought a lot about the kiss they had shared, about the feelings it had stirred within her before the terror DeVeau had bred in her had killed them all. Gisele wanted to know what passion, what fierce and fearless desire, could feel like, and instinct told her that Sir Nigel Murray could show her. What she feared was that, she would want more once he showed her. She would not only want to be his lover, but his love. If she were right about his reasons for leaving home, his love was not free for the taking. His heart was held by some other woman. If, she gave her heart when she gave her body, she could well be handing it to someone who had no use for it, nor the capability of ever returning her feelings. It might be wondrous to discover the joy that could be passion, but Gisele was not sure she wanted to also discover what true heartbreak was.

“I ken that the journey is hard, lass,” Nigel said, catching a glimpse of the dark frown on her face.

A little concerned that her thoughts were so clear to read, Gisele forced a brief smile in response. “I but mourn my wretched lot in life, Sir Murray. Do not fear that I will allow my occasional descents into maudlin self-pity to interfere with our journey.”

Nigel laughed softly, then shook his head. “Ye have earned a few moments of melancholy. More so than many another.”

Gisele shrugged. “I may have earned the right to indulge myself, but it is useless. It does not ease the pain of the past, or help me solve my difficulties now. In truth, I find it more pleasurable to get angry.”

“Especially at men.”

“Oh, oui, especially at men. Worry not, my fine knight, I shall not be cutting your throat in the dead of night simply because you are a man and I have stirred myself into a fury.”

He started to laugh, then eyed her closely, enjoying the faint, impish grin that curved her full mouth but also made a little uneasy by the way she could jest about the manner in which her husband died. “And just what might make ye creep about and cut my throat whilst I sleep?” he asked.

“You will know when the time has come.”

“Oh, aye, when I am strangling in my own blood.”

Even as she opened her mouth to make a humorous reply, Gisele suddenly realized what she was saying. In her mind she saw her husband’s bloodsoaked body. She could not believe she had been so heartless or so stupid as to make jest of a brutal murder, especially one she had been accused of. The memory of what she had found that day was slow to recede, and she gagged, certain she could still smell the blood.

“Are ye unwell?” Nigel asked, reaching out to touch her arm and struggling not to be offended by the way she yanked it out of his reach.

“I am fine. I but swallowed a bug.”

“Another one? Ye had best be more wary, lass, or ye shall be too full to eat when we make camp.”

He rode a few paces in front of her, then smiled with relief when he heard her softly curse him. She had looked so pale and stricken for a moment that he had ached to pull her into his arms and shelter her from her dark memories. Gisele had obviously realized that she was making jest of the manner in which her husband had been murdered. Nigel was sure she had then become horrified, but he knew that his desire for her was so strong that it could easily cloud his judgement. There was, after all, the chance that the look he had seen had not been horror or self-disgust but fear, fear that she had just revealed her own guilt. He decided that he was going to have to try harder to convince her that he simply did not care if she had killed the man whether he believed in her innocence or not. Until he could make her understand that she would always feel constrained, unable to be completely honest or to trust him. He needed both from her if they were going to get to Scotland alive.