The Devil Claims a Wife

Today was a working day so it was a quiet time in the church. It held an intimacy which was lacking on Sundays, when it was crowded and filled with the scent of humanity. It was the only time she was allowed out without a companion and she felt safe within the confines of the church.

She went to the statue of the Blessed Virgin and knelt on the prie-dieu before it and bowed her head over her hands holding her paternoster beads, her lips moving in prayer. The prayer in her heart was that some miracle would happen so that she didn’t have to marry Richard, but since that was unlikely to happen, she asked God for a blessing on her married life. It seemed a safe prayer and helped her set aside her feelings of frustration of marriage to a man she didn’t know well, a man she wasn’t sure she even liked.

The church door opened and closed. A shadow moved nearby. Male footsteps moved closer and stopped a few paces away. She didn’t recognise them. It wasn’t a servant, for the man had spurs that clinked. She didn’t look up, but glanced sideways. She saw mud on his boots. The spurs were silver and glinted in the light slanting through the windows.

With a shock, she realised whose boots these were. Her intruder was neither friend nor stranger. Caution and propriety dictated she left his presence immediately, but something else, something far less familiar, kept her on her knees. What strange power did this man radiate that a mere glance or a small curve of his mouth could set her senses reeling this way? The very sight of him should send an unmarried young woman scampering for the safety of her home, but she couldn’t move.

He came and knelt beside her. Folding his hands in front of his face, he bowed his head, but she knew he wasn’t praying. His head was turned and he was looking at her with bold, unguarded interest. She kept her head determinedly down, hoping he would go away if she kept quiet.

She held her breath. There was a long silence. Unable to endure the suspense any longer, boldly she raised her head and met his bright gaze. She felt it as a shock right through her body. She found him poised, taut and still and dark as ever. But his expression was guarded. Guy was clean shaven. This startled her, for it made him seem much younger, and she saw that his chin was square and had a cleft in it. His mouth, wide, curved and passionate, was drawn thin at the corners and his heavy eyelids seemed as though they would never wholly lift again to disclose the vivid blue beneath.

When the beautiful bass voice murmured, ‘Forgive me for interrupting your prayers, but I saw you come in here and I wanted to speak to you’, the memory of that silken male touch when he had cupped her chin, the like of which she might never feel in the future closing in around her, was enough to dispel her irritation at being interrupted in her prayers. Her pulses had leaped to the thrill of it, and her body had tingled with a delicious urgency to experience more of the pleasure a man’s touch could evoke.

‘I beg your pardon, but I fail to understand what you can have to say to me. Indeed, your time must have been so taken up with your homecoming that I imagined you had forgotten I existed.’

He bent his head closer to her. The soft scent of violets that she exuded overlay the scent of incense in the church. ‘I haven’t forgotten. Nor have I forgotten what occurred in the forest.’

In one easy movement he got to his feet and, taking her hand, raised her up. Her dress was a startling slash of colour in the dim grey church. It was a dark red dress belted at the waist and the fine wool clung to her breasts and hips. She looked like a beautiful statue representing temptation, Guy thought.

He was so tall, way over six foot, that Jane had to tilt her head to look at his face.

‘I cannot stay long,’ he said. ‘Come outside where we can talk.’ Without waiting for her to reply, he took her hand and walked her to the door.

Once outside he pulled her into the dark shadow of the church. They were hidden from the road by thick yew trees.

Jane could not tell which sensation had more command of her senses—the horror of embarrassment or the ecstasy of being so close to him. It was as though she had never before been in the presence of a man. Guy St Edmond clouded her mind so that she had no clarity of judgement, no sense of direction.

Lifting her head, vowing she would not let him see how he affected her, Jane frowned in consternation. ‘Was it necessary to bring me out of the warmth of the church to this dark, dank spot?’

‘I wanted to speak to you alone. There’s less chance of being interrupted out here. My lady is displeased over something?’ he queried with a slight lift of his brow.’

For a moment Jane debated her answer. For the sake of pride, she could not tell him how well he disrupted her thoughts and that the calm serenity she displayed hid emotions that were well stirred up by the fact of his nearness. Trying not to think of how handsome he looked in his smooth-fitting hose and beautifully cut black tunic with gold embroidery, shielding herself against his mockery, she chose to attack rather than reveal her weakness. Was he playing upon her confusion for his own amusement? That there might be some truth in this stung her pride beneath the suspicion that he had been one step ahead of her all the time.

‘Please say what you have to say for I must be on my way. My mother is expecting me back at the house.’

Now he had her alone, Guy was in no hurry to be parted from her. His eyes passed over the shapely figure with warm admiration. The light breeze teased the fair tresses about her face and she paused to tuck the stray wisps beneath her plain headdress. With her arms raised, for a moment the bodice of her gown stretched tight across the slim back, reassuring him of the fact that her waist was naturally narrow. In his far-reaching travels he had seen his share of women and had been most selective of those he had chosen to sample. His experience could hardly be termed as lacking, yet it was hard in his mind that the delectable girl whom he scrutinised so carefully far exceeded anything he could call to mind.

Since returning to Sinnington Castle, as he strolled its corridors and chambers, he was inspired with a most gratifying sense of solid order and security. He was no longer a snivelling boy, sent away from his mother to become a knight. Now he was a powerful man who needed no one. And now that he had made his life just the way he wanted it, he had no intention of handing over to another proud and selfish lady the ability to disrupt his life.

But that wasn’t right, he thought. Jane Lovet wasn’t proud or selfish. She was lovely and virtuous, and as he’d heard in the woodland glade, she had a laugh so infectious she made him smile—and he wanted her with a desperate ardour that twisted him in knots of desire. These things were in the background of his mind, but he refused to concentrate on them. To do so would have meant that he was more than physically involved with her and that he refused to accept.

Aware of his scrutiny, Jane tilted her head to look at his face. ‘Please don’t look at me like that. Don’t you have a battle to fight or something?’

A smile touched his lips. ‘My apologies. I didn’t mean to stare. And in answer to your question, unless I am called upon by the king, I am done with fighting. Believe me, Jane, I shall not miss the cut and thrust of the campaign.’

‘Forgive me, but since you are a renowned soldier with a reputation for shedding blood and as black as Satan’s, I find that difficult to believe. Have you come to church to repent of your sins?’

Chuckling softly, his smiling eyes captured hers and held them prisoner until she felt a warmth suffuse her cheeks. ‘If I were to do that, I would be here until doomsday and beyond. But I am not alone in leading a sinful life and there is nothing unusual for a soldier to lay down his sword. A fighting man often decides to abandon his life of warfare and seek forgiveness for his sins. What of your own family, sweet Jane? Your own brother was an ardent Lancastrian fighting his cause.’

Sadness clouded her eyes and her heart was heavy on being reminded of her wild, handsome brother. But when she spoke there was bitterness and accusation in her voice. ‘It is no secret that Andrew was a cavalry man and a Lancastrian, or that when he was taken prisoner he was sentenced to death—on your orders, I believe.’

Guy’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed. He did not deny her accusation. ‘War is never honourable, Jane. You brother was a brave man, I have no doubt, who did his duty as he conceived it to be—as did hundreds of others at Towton.’

‘Yes, he did. You will consider him a traitor, but he was a beloved brother and my family miss him dreadfully.’

‘I, too, lost my older brother, so I can empathise with your loss. But life has to go on and for me the time has come for me to consider my future. I am home to stay and find my thoughts turning to the softer aspects of life—and a woman in my bed.’

Jane’s cheeks stung with heat. ‘Do you have a lady in mind?’

His eyes locked on hers, implacably he stated, ‘I do. You.’

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