The Devil's Bargain Page 13

  Her trembling began again, though Nicolas found this more reassuring than the utter stillness of moments before. She clung to him fiercely, as though fearing that if she let go for the slightest instant, she would be back in that stairwell with the dungeon guard. Nicolas kept stroking, resting his chin on top of her head. Slowly, her trembling seemed to subside a bit.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she mumbled into his chest.

  He looked down at her incredulously, then shook her by the shoulders so that she turned to look at him in surprise. “Don’t you dare apologize!” he said fiercely. “None of this is your fault, do you understand? None!”

  She looked at him doubtfully. “I should never have gone near him. I should have known better. You told me to stay away from the dungeons, and I disobeyed you as well.”

  “What in heaven’s name made you go back there?”

  Her eyes slid away. “I was going to sneak food to Helena. To the Jewish woman being held down there.”

  More guilt. He put his finger under her chin, made sure she was facing him directly when he responded. “About that woman. I swear to you that I will hold a judgment day on the first Monday after the feast. That is only a few days away. I will hear the prisoners’ cases and any other grievances my people bring to me. You can stop worrying about her. She will not starve in those few days. I’ll send a whole basket of yesterday’s bread down to her if you will just promise that you’ll stop going there.”

  “I promise.” She swallowed. “I learned my lesson.”

  “As for the guard,” Nicolas swallowed the rage that threatened to build again, “Maybe going near him was not the wisest thing, but that does not excuse his behavior. The man deserves to be chained like the uncouth beast he is.”

  She ducked her head. “Everyone at the castle believes it. What he said. About—about the type of woman I am. Well, not everyone,” she corrected, “but many.”

  Nicolas felt the guilt come crushing forth again. He couldn’t deny he had intentions toward the girl, but he’d treated her as a guest—not some bath house whore. His people should have known to do the same. He’d thought he’d made his position clear by inviting her to sit at the head table during meals, but obviously that hadn’t dispelled the rumors. Perhaps it had even encouraged them. He’d been inexcusably careless.

  “Rumors in a castle are fierce, and I have been remiss in ensuring the others understand your position. For that, I am sorry,” he said tenderly. “You may rest assured that by tomorrow, every man, woman, and child within this castle will know that I have nothing but the utmost respect and admiration for you, and you will be treated accordingly.”

  “You’re not—you’re not going to mention what happened, are you?” she asked with a look of alarm.

  “Of course not. I would never embarrass you so. I will simply have the right people say the right things, where others can hear them, and it will become common knowledge.”

  She seemed to accept that, but had another question. “The guard—won’t people wonder why he’s been tossed into his own dungeon?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll take care of that as well. I don’t imagine he’ll have many friends come asking after him anyway.”

  She gave him a watery smile at that. It lasted only a moment, though, before another frown marred her lovely face.

  “We were seen.”

  “What?”

  “We were seen. The guard and I. By Hans.”

  Nicolas was utterly confused. “Before—before the guard...?”

  “No. In the stairwell. He saw, then walked away.”

  “But, how can that be? Surely he would have stopped such behavior.”

  She ducked her head again. “I tell you ‘tis true. Your dungeon-keeper takes pleasure in other people’s pain. He has been angry with me since the release of my father. He would think his guard’s behavior merely a game. He did nothing—except utter the words ‘carry on.’” Angry color rose in her cheeks.

  She had accused Hans once before of abuse, Nicolas realized, when she’d come asking about the witch.

  Could this be true? It took a certain sort of character to accept the position of dungeon-keeper in the first place. It was an entirely different matter if those character traits extended beyond the confines of the dungeon. But Celia, as far as Nicolas could see, had no reason to lie.

  He pressed his lips together before speaking. “I will question him first thing in the morning. He must realize, as the others must realize, that no guest in my castle may be subjected to such abuse. I will not tolerate it. I have already mentioned the conditions in the dungeon to him, and he said those would be brought under control. Hans has worked for me, and my father before me, for a very long time. I have had no reason before this to mistrust him, but neither have I always kept residence at Chillon. I will see him brought in line.” His fists clenched with the fervency of his promise.

  She gazed at him for a moment as if weighing his words. “Thank you,” she finally whispered.

  She shifted on his lap and the torn gown fell away from her chest again. She shivered at the onslaught of brisk air. The heat of the fire nearby, while considerable, was not sufficient to entirely shake off the winter chill. Nicolas quickly glanced away and realized he would have to address this issue before she could go anywhere. He wanted to do it without reminding her of the horrible scene below, but there was just no way around it.

  “My sweet,” he said gently, as she was trying to gather the ripped fabric to cover herself, “That garment is most definitely ruined. You can’t wear that about the castle, and I have nothing here for you to change into. It would hardly be advisable for you to be seen leaving my chambers draped in one of my cloaks. However, I’m certain we can find something elsewhere. Will you be all right if I leave for a moment?”

  She bit her lip. She looked unhappy at the idea of being alone, but he didn’t know what else to do. Slowly she bowed her head in affirmation.

  He stood up, still carrying her, and walked her over to the large, canopied bed on a dais in the corner of the room. He set her on top, then pulled a fur blanket over her and tucked it up under her chin. “I’ll be back shortly. No one will disturb you here. That I promise.” He pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

  Celia stared after Nicolas as he left the room. She didn’t want to think anymore about what had just happened.

  Instead she watched the man who’d saved her, noticed the way his trousers hugged thighs muscular from riding, and the way the width of his shoulders seemed to fill the doorway as he disappeared. She’d thought he was handsome before, but never so much as tonight.

  Tonight he was something more. He’d rescued her, held her close, even apologized for another man’s act, and now was attending to her every need.

  A funny, tight feeling seemed to constrict her chest. It was dangerous, she knew, to allow herself to become too attracted to the man. She’d accepted the likelihood she would become his mistress, but it would never do to lose her heart to him as well as her virginity.

  A tiny voice whispered in her head that ‘twas already too late, but she firmly pushed it aside.

  She snuggled deeper into the luxurious bed. It felt deliciously wicked to lie in such comfort. It was a man’s bed, certes—made of richly carved, stained oak and canopied with a heavily embroidered, dark green silk that complemented the colors in the many tapestries adorning the walls. The bedding was a fine, green linen in a paler shade, upon which were piled several wool blankets and the fur under which she now lay. It smelled like Nicolas, too—a clean, masculine scent.

  Between the massive fireplace on the west wall and the fur blanket and rugs, the room felt warm and welcoming to her. The large tapestries adorning the walls were both decorative and functional, for she noticed how much warmer the Nicolas’s chamber was than her own. It seemed almost cozy in comparison. She wondered if he was even aware that most of the castle’s occupants were half-frozen in the weather they’d been having.

  Com
fortably ensconced in luxurious warmth, Celia could almost forget the frigid weather on the other side of the thick stone walls. She could almost forget the dungeon guard, and the many other troubles she’d faced since the fateful morning she’d left home with her father. After all, she reminded herself, none of those troubles had ended in disaster—and all because of Nicolas of Savoy.

  The events of tonight were not the way she’d have chosen to find herself in Nicolas’s bed, but now that she was there, she was awfully comfortable. She’d wondered what his bed would be like…though in her musings, she was not alone in it. Would tonight be the night her fantasy became reality? Would it be as wonderful as his kisses seemed to promise?

  Nicolas walked back into the room, followed by Alisoun, who bore a load of clothing in her arms and a worried expression.

  Celia buried her face in one of the fine pelts, sure that the two of them could read every salacious thought she’d just been having. She must be a wicked woman. Any other woman would be a terrified mess of tears after what she’d been through, yet her mind had just been wandering into shocking territory. How could she even think of such things? Because, the tiny voice answered, Nicolas of Savoy is everything you could ever want, and that guard was just the scourge of humanity. You were saved before he could harm you.

  But thinking about it brought back the fear and humiliation. She felt her fantasies melting away as she was forced back to reality. The garments Alisoun held made her aware of her own—and the rush of terror she’d felt as the guard ripped through them.

  She took a deep breath and sat up, holding the blankets up to her chest, embarrassed and ashamed. In truth she was relieved to see a face she could trust. Alisoun would not censure her, nor spread rumors about the castle.

  Alisoun laid the bundle she carried at the foot of the bed, then moved to Celia and drew her into a comforting hug.

  “You poor thing. His lordship told me what happened, and that you needed new clothing.” She nodded at the bundle. “He said you were to be treated as a princess, so I left your old things in your chamber. You don’t need to worry that anyone will ever find out what happened tonight. Not even Marie,” she promised.

  “Thank you,” Celia whispered. Part of her wanted to throw herself into Alisoun’s arms and weep with gratitude as well as for the fright she’d had, but she resisted the temptation. As much as she wanted mothering, there was something about the evening thus far that told her she would never again be an innocent little girl who could cry out her troubles to a mother whose kiss would melt them away.

  “Would you like me to help you get dressed?”

  She glanced at Nicolas, who was hovering in the distance and concernedly trying to look unconcerned.

  “You’ve already gone to far too much trouble for me, I know,” she said, looking at him as she answered Alisoun, and ignoring his shake of the head, “but I still feel so...so dirty...like I need to scrub off every place he—he touched, before I can be clean again.”

  Nicolas inclined his head toward Alisoun. “Can you have a bath readied at this hour?”

  “Of course, my lord. Here?”

  Nicolas looked at Celia, then nodded. Alisoun hurried from the room. He went over to sit by Celia, remaining on top of the covers.

  “Tonight was not what I envisioned when I dreamt of seeing you in this bed,” he murmured.

  Celia’s cheeks grew hot. Nicolas of Savoy had imagined her in his bed. Her blush, if it were possible, spread all the way to her toes.

  “Nor I,” she admitted shakily, amazed at her daring.

  She knew from the darkening of his eyes that her admission pleased him. She looked pointedly at the covers separating them.

  “I dare not trust myself to come closer. I would not take advantage of you after such a fright.”

  As though to defy his good intentions, Celia scooted over and laid her head in his lap. She wanted—no, needed—to touch him, let him hold her close and push away the lonely terror and ugly fear she’d felt earlier that evening. He was everything the guard was not. Her action was presumptuous and wildly inappropriate, but then everything about this evening was. Her motion caused the fur blanket to slip until it just barely covered the swell of her breast. She knew he was looking, and the knowledge stirred coils of desire low in her belly.

  His expression was one of passion, frustration, and guilt—he was at war with himself, his body stiff.

  They sat there like that, and Celia slowly became aware of an awakening in her body that had nothing to do with comfort and everything to do with womanhood. She knew he was trying not to scare her. But she wasn’t scared. Her head rested on muscled thigh. She breathed in the scent of this man who treated her like no other...and thought, yes.

  The soft fur of the blanket tickled her breasts, drawing her attention to them in a way she’d never before experienced. It was a pleasant sensation, bringing her nipples to a tingling attention. She ran her thumb along Nicolas’s thigh, feeling the hardened muscle jump at her unexpected caress. She heard his sharp intake of breath and turned her head to look up at him, a smile playing at her lips.

  What she saw took her breath away. He gazed down at her with heavy-lidded eyes filled with smoldering passion. His arms came around her, drawing her up to his chest as his head came down with the unmistakable intention of kissing her.

  This was what she wanted, where she wanted to be. Here, with this handsome, powerful man who listened to her, respected her, rescued her. Never mind that becoming his mistress might well have repercussions. Never mind that her family wouldn’t understand. And never mind that she couldn’t marry him.

  What she wanted was to touch him, and be touched. To give in to the longing she’d felt since their lips first met on her first night alone in the castle. She closed her eyes and tilted her head up to meet him.

  His lips had barely brushed hers when there was a commotion outside the door to the chamber. Celia jumped guiltily. Nicolas smiled down at her ruefully as he gently set her aside and rolled off the bed, in one fluid motion, to see what the fuss was about. He reappeared a moment later, helping Alisoun drag a heavy wooden tub into the room. Apparently two other servants had helped her drag it from the outer chambers, but she’d protested at their offer to carry it all the way into the count’s chamber, not wanting them to see Celia.

  Celia was grateful for the other woman’s thoughtfulness, and even more grateful as Alisoun and Nicolas left the room again and returned bearing buckets of steaming water. The great lord of the castle himself was performing the menial task of carrying bathwater, just so no one else would know what had happened—or who the bath was really for.

  They repeated this procession twice more. She watched from the bed as the large tub was filled, then Alisoun dragged a stool over to the side of the tub. On it she set a clean cloth for drying and a bar of olive oil soap—much nicer than the harsh lye to which Celia was accustomed. She could tell the housekeeper was doing her utmost to make her feel better.

  “Would you like me to attend you?” Alisoun asked.

  She knew it wasn’t normally a part of Alisoun’s job to do any of these things, just as she also knew Alisoun was not about to let anyone else into that chamber to do them instead. She glanced at Nicolas, then shook her head. “I’ll be all right alone,” she replied softly. “Thank you so much for everything, but really, I can manage just fine. You can go.”

  Alisoun glanced at the count as well. She’d probably guessed at why Celia didn’t want her help, but she curtsied and left the room.

  Nicolas strode over to her, crossing the large room in scant seconds, and caressed the line of her jaw with one of his thumbs. Celia shivered at the strong, masculine feel of his touch.

  “Would you like me to attend you?” he asked, the deep baritone of his voice husky with meaning.

  Shyly, she nodded.

  Chapter 10

  Celia climbed from the bed and walked over to the tub, still clutching her gown to her. She wanted to forget
everything but the man who now stood before her, but her shredded bodice was a forcible reminder of how she’d come to be here, in this room, this night.

  She looked at him, nervous and unsure how to progress.

  He winked at her. “Perhaps if I turn my back?”

  She nodded in relief, then as he turned around, quickly shed the ruined garments and climbed into the tub, feeling less exposed once she was fully submerged.

  She splashed a little to let him know she was in, and he turned back around. He picked up the offending garments, holding them in his fingertips at arm’s length, as though they were somehow at fault. “I’ll have these burned,” he said grimly, striding towards the door.

  “No!” she cried. “There are yards of fabric that are fine and shouldn’t go to waste! The skirts alone could make a young girl’s garments or a pair of cushions.”

  Much as she, too, hated the garments that had seen that wretched man’s touch, the thought of destroying perfectly good fabric offended her more practical sensibilities.

  He stopped, an expression of disbelief widening his eyes. “Most women would not only want the garments burned, they would insist on the burning being done in the hottest fire possible so as to leave no remnants.”

  “My lord, is it possible that most women of your acquaintance are wealthy enough not to worry about a few yards of fabric? Because I am not. It is true I do not wish to ever wear it again, but my whole life, I have been taught never to be wasteful.”

  “You never fail to surprise me, Mistress Lyndon. Few women have the ability to put emotions aside for practical reasons. I respect that. Many times, I have done so myself on the battlefield. How about we just say that I don’t want this gown around to remind me of…certain events. I will not burn it, but I will give it to Alisoun and instruct her that whatever use she makse of it, it had best find its way into a form in which I’ll never recognize it.” He carried it away.