“He isn’t.” She bit her lip. “My mother... she’s demanding...”
“Your mother?” He moved to stand closer to Tilda, trapping her by the wall. “Where is your mother, is she not here?”
Tilda lowered her chin and hid her sad eyes. Her father would not like her speaking about her mother.
Gervais cocked his head to one side. “I see. I will say a prayer for her departed soul.”
“She’s not dead,” Tilda said swiftly. “She’s at home. She’s mad. There, now you know. My mother has lost her mind and is kept locked away.”
“How terrible for her and you. Can nothing be done?”
“The priest has sprinkled holy water on her and says she is damned. Her words make no sense, and she refuses to pray.” Tilda wiped away a tear. “I suppose she speaks rudely to those who watch over her because she is unable to look after herself.”
“Then, you should show her otherwise, eh?” Gervais stepped to one side. “I apologise. I’m keeping you from your bed.”
“I’m not tired.” She walked past him.
He chuckled. “I think otherwise. More sleep might calm your agitation.”
She spun on her heel. “I am not agitated.”
“No? Then listen to yourself, my lady. Listen hard, for you seem to be in a constant state of displeasure with everyone you meet. Why is that?”
She clenched her fists, then noting the tension rising into her shoulders, she unfurled her fingers and tried to relax. Was Gervais a magician? He seemed able to read her like an open book. She tried so hard to hide her feelings, knowing that they might portray her as weak. Women had the harder battle to win if they wanted to be taken seriously.
“I... I am not,” she said feebly.
Gervais bowed. “Then forgive me. I clearly am mistaken. The light is poor, the hour late, and I have caught you at a bad time. The kindness you showed the boy does you justice, my lady. I will take heart from that encounter.”
He turned away, but she managed to snatch at his cloak. “What do you mean? Take heart?”
Gervais halted. “I’ve decided to bed you, my dear. One way or the other, you shall be mine.”
Letting go of his cloak, she gasped at his audacity, and to her horror, just like when he described spanking her bottom, she felt a rush in her stomach, a flock of butterflies heading into the lowest part, where she knew a man might touch her if he dared, like the priest.
“Bed me?” she stammered. “There is only one way to... you can’t have me... I’m going to be Geoffrey’s.”
“That is what you might think.” He grasped her hand in his, raised it to his lips, and kissed not the back of it, but the tender part of her palm. “My lady.”
She stood stunned, her hand tingling. She was alone, for as quickly as he’d emerged from the darkness, he vanished again.
In her chamber, where her maid slept on the floor, she lay down without disturbing Sara, and curled into a ball on the straw mattress. The feeling would not abate. What had the man awoken in her? And why had she never felt this thing before with the gallant Geoffrey?
Chapter Four
Gervais rose early with the other knights and lords, and together they formed a body of riders for a hunt. Deer was the prey, but Gervais was happy to shoot at rabbits and fowl, knowing that the servants needed food as much as the nobles. He hooked the coneys on his saddle, alongside a brace of pigeons.
Geoffrey was determined to down a stag. He harried the creature from one grove to another, firing off his arrows in all directions. It was a miracle he had not shot a fellow huntsman. Gervais kept to the rear and picked off the weaker creatures that strayed into his path. He preferred to hunt alone and not in an unruly pack.
The earl called an end to the hunt, but Geoffrey refused to follow. Left with only his squire, he continued to weave between the trees. Gervais held back and waited, knowing that eventually the knight would have to return to the castle. Somehow, he had an inkling that Geoffrey was trying too hard to impress a certain young lady. It would do no harm to see if he managed to fell a stag on his own.
A galloping horse nearly charged into Gervais and the steed reared up, sending the young squire tumbling onto the ground. The lad shook himself down and attempted to remount the angry horse.
Gervais held the reins, steadying the jittery horse. “Where’s your master?”
“I don’t know. His horse bolted and I can’t find him.” The boy, no more than fourteen or fifteen was red-faced and afraid. He took back the reins.
“Go back and fetch help. I’ll go look for him. Take these too.” He handed over his kill.