Defiant Love

  DEFIANT LOVE by MAURA SEGER

  SHE WAS AN INNOCENT SAXON BEAUTY, COMMANDED TO WED A NORMAN WARRIOR KNIGHT!

  Skilled in the arts of war and love, the bold Guyon D 'Arc met his match in the Lady Brenna, ward of a Saxon Earl A shy determined creature, with gray-green eyes mysterious as the sea, she was entranced by his tawny strength, his easy grace and charm, the probing passion of his kisses. Yet a painful secret kept her wary of his ardor... and her own rampant desire. At last, on their wedding night. Guyon brought forth his most exquisite, sensual arts... and freed Brenna for the fullest, sweetest caresses of his love.

  But a darkening cloud of intrigue threatened to tear apart their tender marriage. Summoned to mount the Norman invasion of England's shores, Guyon would soon be parted from his bride. Caught in the grip of a fierce and bloody war, their love would challenge the bonds of honor and of country, imperiled by the most fearful of betrayals!

  GUYON STIFLED A GROAN, WILLING HIMSELF TO REMAIN STILL.

  The slender, lush body of his wife pressed so closely to him was wrecking havoc with his senses. He smiled wryly, aware that he would only have to move slightly to make Brenna acutely conscious of just what she was doing to him. But it was too soon for that. Somehow managing to sound as though he was requesting some perfectly commonplace service, he said, "Kiss me, Brenna."

  Her eyes flew open. The small hand that had been so pleasantly occupied on his chest froze. "W-what?"

  The topaz gaze caught and held her own as Guyon calmly reminded her: "You did say you'd do whatever I told you?" Reluctantly, Brenna nodded. "Then kiss me," he repeated.

  Very slowly, she obeyed. When she drew back, she was breathing hard. Guyon observed the effect with secret pleasure. His instinctive guess that the best strategy would be to let her take the lead was proving correct unless he was very much mistaken, the first stirrings of desire could be seen In the gray-green pools gazing at him. . . .

  POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, N.Y. 10020

  Copyright © 1982 by Maura Seger

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Tapestry Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, N.Y. 10020

  ISBN 0-671-64251-0

  First Tapestry Books printing October 1982

  First Pocket Books printing April 1987

  10 987654321

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  For my husband and parents whose love and encouragement made it possible

  Chapter One

  "My lady," a soft voice whispered, "you must get up. It is almost time for supper."

  Tossing fitfully, Brenna tried to ignore the voice. The trip from Winchester had exhausted her. If she was to be at her best in the royal hall that evening, she needed sleep.

  But with unconsciousness came terrible dreams. Twice the high-pitched voice of a very young child cried out in the empty room. There was fire and a lot of noise. She couldn't find her mother, or any of the other women. Men were laughing—harsh, guttural sounds that made her run all the faster. But her legs were too short and her strength was giving out. Soon they would find her. Not even her favorite secret place was safe. There were so many screams...

  Brenna sat up with a jolt. She was bathed in perspiration and trembling all over.

  The young maid stared at her in concern. "Are you all right, my lady?"

  Swallowing hard, Brenna fought to bring herself back under control. She had the same dream every few months and was well used to coping with its effects. Still the task was never easy. Clenching the covers, she murmured, "What is it? What do you want?"

  "It's almost time for supper," the girl repeated. "I was sent to wake you." Rigorous training and a sensible appreciation of her privileged position as a servant in the king's household made the girl refrain from adding that she had a great deal of work to do and no time to waste on a young lady who had perhaps indulged in too much wine at dinner. But a closer look told her this was not the case.

  "If you are ill, my lady," she said more gently, "I should summon the physician."

  "N-no..." Brenna insisted shakily. The last thing she wanted now was some physician clucking over her. "I'm fine... it's just that I'm not used to sleeping in the afternoon. It left me a little fuzzy..."

  The maid nodded in relief. This one would be no trouble, she realized. Going briskly to the door, she opened it to admit two serving women carrying between them a large brass tub. They set it in the center of the floor, then returned hurriedly with ewers of steaming water.

  "The Lady Edythe," the maid explained, "thought you might want to bathe before supper."

  Brenna glanced at the tub, grateful for her sister's consideration. She had forgotten to order a bath herself, and would have sorely missed it. Dismissing all but one of the servants, who stayed to help her, she undressed hurriedly. Her tunic and mantle were badly rumpled. Telling the maid to have them pressed, Brenna was glad for once that she had ample clothing not to be worried about what she would wear that night.

  Ivory pins held her waist-length black hair atop her head as she slipped blissfully into the hot water. For long moments she was content just to lie there, her large gray-green eyes closed and her delicate features relaxed. Recent rainfall had filled the palace reservoir with a soft pure water, so much more enjoyable than that dredged up from the wells or, when the need arose, taken from the salty river.

  The perfume of jasmine oil, poured into her bath by a generous hand, rose to tease her nostrils. A small yellow cake of jasmine-scented soap sat in a dish beside her. Brenna reached for it with a sigh of pure pleasure. This was luxury indeed. Not even the great household at Winchester could surpass such amenities. Those who said the Earl Harold lived better than his king were mistaken, Brenna mused. Edward and his queen might not personally enjoy such indulgences, but they did not hesitate to offer them to guests.

  The room itself was evidence of their generosity. Well furnished by a wooden bed strung with leather slates covered by a down-filled mattress, a table inlaid with Byzantine tiles, and two chairs, it was a far cry from the palettes spread on the floor at night for sleeping and rolled out of the way the rest of the time. They offered little comfort and certainly none of the privacy Brenna found so essential.

  In that, she knew she was different from almost everyone else around her. Most people, accustomed from infancy to never being alone, shunned solitude. From the moment they arose in the morning, through all their daily activities, to the day's final meal around trestle tables in the same hall where they slept, people were almost never by themselves. A sense of community was essential to survival, so much so that those few who did seek privacy were considered suspect.

  I was lucky, Brenna considered thoughtfully as she soaped one long, slender leg, to be born the youngest. With all her brothers and sisters old enough to be out of the house as she was growing up, Brenna had been left very much on her own. She had her own room—an almost unheard of luxury— doting parents who, loving her though they did, lacked the energy to interfere in her life, and the time and independence to pursue her interests.

  What more could anyone want?, she wondered. Certainly not the marriage Edythe had been hinting at recently. Brenna sighed, reflecting that sooner or later she was going to have to deal with the problem. At seventeen, she had already avoided matrimony far longer than most girls ever managed. Not that many even tried. Brenna knew her aversion to marriage was unusual, but she felt no urge to overcome it. When the day came that the Earl Harold, who upon the death of Brenna's father had become her guardian, seriously suggested she wed, she would take holy
vows. Little though the religious life appealed to her, it was far preferable to marriage. The mere thought of being subject to any man made her stomach knot. She scowled, startling the maid who was laying out her fresh clothes.

  "Is the water too hot, my lady?" she asked, ready to add from the pail of cold water standing nearby should that be necessary.

  "What? Oh, no... Everything's fine." Recalled to herself, Brenna's normal cheerfulness returned. She smiled at the maid. "This bath is wonderful. Just what I needed."

  The other girl, simply dressed in the gray fustian of servants, wrinkled her nose. "If you say so, my lady. I can't say I hold with it myself. Baths in the river on a hot day, or before some special occasion, that's one thing. But you fine folk seem to be taking them all the time." Sensing that this was no snobbish noble much taken with herself, the girl dared a question. "Why is that?"

  Brenna hesitated. How to explain the sheer pleasure of cleanliness to one who would never know it? While the girl was neatly dressed, it was a good bet water hadn't touched anywhere but her hands and face in months. Her pale hair, pulled back in a wad at the nape of her neck, had a decidedly greasy look. A musty aroma rose from her, combining sweat, wood smoke, and cooking odors. Brenna hardly noticed the smell, since she had lived around it all her life.

  By some standards, the girl was scrupulously clean. Certainly she couldn't be harboring any of the ubiquitous body lice that were such a common problem in less well-regulated households. Just as Edythe did at Winchester, the Queen enforced rigid rules to keep those pests from her domain. In addition, cats prowled the kitchens and halls to keep down the vermin, waste materials were dumped a good distance away to discourage flies, and fresh rushes were laid twice a week to keep the air pure.

  Emboldened by Brenna's preoccupied silence, the girl ventured to speak further. "You've just arrived, haven't you, my lady? From Winchester, they said. Have you seen the Norman yet?"

  "The Norman?"

  "Aye, the Seigneur Guyon D'Arcy, whose come to see the King." Limpid brown eyes rolled meaningfully. "Oh, he's a fine figure of a man, is that one! Tall and muscular with a broad chest any girl would just love to cuddle against. And his legs... Some don't care for the Norman tunic, but I say why shouldn't a man with long, strong legs show them?" Gaining confidence, she went on eagerly. "His hair, cut short though it is, shines like hammered gold. And his eyes! Those that have been close enough to tell say they look like fiery topazes. Cut right through you, they do. Can you imagine!"

  Uninterested in the Norman's manly attributes, Brenna shrugged. "I suppose he brought a large troupe of knights with him?"

  "Aye, he did. And let me tell you, my lady, I've never seen such men for eating and drinking. The kitchens can hardly keep up with them. Why just yesterday, they went through two whole sides of beef." The girl put a hand to her mouth, giggling. "They're fine ones for wenching, too. Hardly give a girl a rest. But though some of us in the serving hall have been hoping the seigneur will feel like a bit of fun, he's been too busy so far. Oh, well," she sighed, "I don't imagine he'll go on that way much longer. Lucky the girl his eye falls on!"

  Though she was not unaware of the custom of sending willing house servants to warm the beds of honored guests, Brenna still flushed at the thought. What was taken for granted in the serving hall was uncharted and unwelcome territory to her.

  She rose from the tub, so quickly that water splashed on the floor. The maid bent to mop it up. Brenna called for her to come help her dress instead. Obeying, the girl slipped a pale yellow tunic sewn in a multitude of tiny pleats over Brenna's head so that it fell straight to her ankles. When she moved, the tunic rippled sinuously down the length of her legs and across her slender arms. Made of finely spun linen, the tunic was soft against her skin. She was glad of the warm weather that made a woolen slip unnecessary.

  Over the tunic, the maid lowered a beautifully embroidered mantle of mauve silk whose twin lengths were joined at the shoulders by thin straps secured by brooches. The brooches she selected were particularly fine. A gift from Edythe, they were studded with amethysts, as were the matching bracelets. At her throat, half-hidden by the thick fall of ebony hair, she set a golden torque emblazoned with the symbol of Harold Godwinson's house.

  She was proud to wear the symbol, Brenna realized, gazing at herself in the mirror. Whatever differences the Earl Harold might have with the King, there was honor in his name—and protection.

  "Oh, my lady!" the maid exclaimed. "You look beautiful, truly you do! There won't be a lovelier lady in the Hall tonight." She didn't usually make it a practice to compliment the women she was sent to wait on. But this one was truly beautiful. Moreover, she seemed completely unaware of it.

  Her body, smooth as silk and warmed to a delicate apricot tint from her bath, was delicately formed, the waist small enough to be spanned by a man's hands. The arching curve of her hips promised that slender though she was, the girl would be a good bearer. Her breasts were small but beautifully rounded, the nipples pale pink roseates the shrewd maid knew full well no man had yet tasted. There was an air of innocence about her that, combined with the hint of dormant sensuality in those wide gray-green eyes, would prove irresistible to any man.

  Brushing Brenna's hair, the maid wondered why she was not yet wed or at least betrothed. She should be soon or there would be trouble. Powerful though her kin were, they should realize what a temptation the lady posed. Now that she was at court, many an eager eye would settle on her and rivalries could break out without the slightest encouragement. Marriage by capture was not entirely unheard of, though it seemed a shame to deprive any bride of the ceremony that was rightfully hers. Better hurry, the maid thought, suppressing a giggle, or this one will be well and thoroughly bedded before she is ever wed! Something in the defiant set of the girl's chin warned that she wouldn't like that at all. The maid felt a brief stab of sympathy for her. Spirited though she undoubtedly was, her air of inviolability couldn't last much longer. Time and circumstances would destroy it, with or without the lady's agreement.

  "That's enough," Brenna said as soon as the tangles were smoothed from her hair. She was satisfied with what she saw in the small polished metal mirror propped before her. Beneath a wide brow, her thick-fringed eyes looked clear and untroubled. High cheekbones and a straight, slender nose offset the somewhat lush curve of her mouth. Her long, graceful throat gave way to delicate shoulders beneath which the tunic and mantle hid the soft curve of her breasts.

  Thanking the maid for her help, Brenna dismissed her. Sounds were already floating upward from the Hall where the lords and ladies were gathering. The evening promised to be unusual. To honor Duke William's emissary, the King had decreed that supper would be served in the Norman style. That meant there would be no separate tables for men and women, more than the usual number of dishes would be presented and, in an effort to keep the usual arguments to a minimum, there would be entertainment throughout the meal.

  As Brenna expected, the Great Hall was crowded when she arrived. At the entranceway, she paused a moment to take in the splendor before her. Three tables stretched the length of the Hall. On a dias above them stood the table where Edward, his Queen, and their most honored guests would dine.

  The long summer twilight dimmed before the radiance of a hundred candles, some wider than a man's arm, set in candlesticks of beaten gold that reflected their flames as a multitude of suns.

  Kegs of ale and mead and immense wheels of cheese, all cooled in the earthen cellars, were piled against the walls. Because the weather was warm, the cooking was going on outside. Brenna could hear the crackle of flames and the low voices of the theows as they turned spits holding venison and salmon.

  More of the slaves, held in hereditary bondage from generation to generation or condemned to it for some crime, carried in roasts of beef and lamb, stuffed woodcocks and pigeons, hams seasoned with rare cloves from the East, and platters of breads still steaming from the baking ovens.

  Brenna's m
outh began to water. She looked around eagerly, wondering how long it would be before the King took his seat and the feasting could begin.

  Preoccupied by the scene before her, Brenna didn't notice the blatant stares of the men who made no effort to disguise their interest in the young beauty suddenly arrived in their midst. Nor did she take in the narrow glances of the women who realized that such fresh loveliness provided serious competition for the favor of even the greatest lords. There were murmured comments as to who she might be. Several men were about to approach her to settle the matter when a steward came quickly to her side.

  To her surprise, Brenna found herself ushered to the royal table. She knew Harold and Edythe would be seated there, but she hardly expected to receive the same honor. Yet the steward was quite certain that was where she was supposed to be.

  Edythe, appearing from behind the tapestry partition that separated the Hall from the royal quarters, confirmed his instructions. "Of course you're sitting with us. Did you really think Harold would miss a chance to show off his beautiful young kinswoman? He's looking forward to all the questions the other lords will be asking as soon as they can get him alone."

  Brenna laughed, smiling at her sister fondly. At thirty, Edythe was still considered by many to be the most beautiful woman in England. Five successful births had little changed the strong, slender body with its softly rounded breasts and hips, and narrow waist. Creamy white skin set off serene features in which large blue eyes glowed warmly. Dark red hair streaked with gold hung in heavy waves to her flanks.

  As custom dictated, Edythe's hair was partly covered by the headscarf signifying a married woman. That her marriage was recognized only under ancient Anglo-Saxon law and had never been solemnized in Christian ceremony did not worry her. Like Brenna, she wore a pleated linen tunic which fell to her ankles. Left free at her arms and sides, the tunic was covered front and back by matching lengths of richly dyed and decorated fabric joined at the shoulders by oval brooches. But whereas in Brenna's case, her brooches were of modest design befitting a young, unmarried girl of good station, Edythe's were of the finest beaten gold set with glowing gem stones and large, translucent pearls.