Linda Skye by A Pleasurable Shame Page A

felt dread knot in her stomach. She had never seen her father so distressed.
    “Ma fille . ” He stopped and sighed. “My daughter,” he repeated, starting again with a voice gravelly with emotion, “our petition to have you marry Henri has been granted.”
    “So?” her mother interrupted worriedly. “What is the problem then?”
    “Permission has been given.” Her father swallowed painfully. “But the lord’s son has claimed the droit du seigneur —the law of first night.”
    Giselle’s hands flew to her chest, dropping the spoon into the pot. Suddenly, the air in their dank hut felt too thick to breathe, and her chest began to heave with the effort of drawing in breath.
    “No,” her mother protested. “No! Henri will certainly abandon us—no man would accept a spoiled bride!”
    “It does not matter,” her father said woodenly. “The lord insists that once his permission for the union with Henri was given, the right of his son was secured. He will take our daughter even if Henri chooses not to honour our agreement.”
    “ Quel horreur! ” Her mother looked to her daughter, one hand over her mouth. “Oh, my darling girl…”
    Giselle blinked disbelievingly at her parents’ crumbling expressions, and her fingers twisted in the fabric at her chest.
    “Papa,” she heard herself ask, her voice sounding muffled to her own ears. “Which of the lord’s sons asked for my body?”
    She knew the answer by her father’s long silence. His eyes, heavy with sorrow for her, confirmed it. Giselle felt her knees give out, and she crumpled to the dirt floor in shock.
    “ Seigneur Eustache, then,” she murmured, cupping her face in her hands.
    Eustache de Fiennes .
    He was the elder of the lord’s sons, a warrior who had just returned after years of battling the English across the channel—a dark and brooding man with eyes of steel and a countenance as severe. Awed whispers circulated among the peasants about this newly returned son, about how he had vanquished hordes of enemies without even breaking a sweat. Tittering peasant girls exchanged hushed sighs about his masculine allure and hardened physique. But all that Giselle really knew about the mysterious lord was that he was powerful. And ruthless.
    And he wanted her .
    An unexpected thrill sparked through her limbs. Yes, the young lord wanted her, a nameless peasant. The realisation was terrifying…but scandalously exciting.
    But surely such a virile and handsome young lord had dozens of eligible and beautiful noblewomen vying for his hand and a position in his bed. So, why would he so audaciously demand to have her for his pleasure in one night of illicit passion? The droit du seigneur was commonly accepted but rarely invoked for the unrest and scandal it caused, even among the most decadent of nobility. Demanding such a thing was reckless and impulsive.
    And, Giselle found herself thinking, reckless and impulsive young men of any calibre might be easily swayed.
    Her trembling ceased. Although she didn’t yet know how, Giselle was sure she could turn this unfortunate event to her advantage. But before she could trace that path any further, her thoughts were interrupted by her mother’s cry of dismay.
    “Why?” her mother asked with a low wail. “Why is it that monster of a man? He will destroy our girl, Bernard.”
    Her father rose tiredly and walked to where Giselle sat in the dust. He squatted down to lift her head with his large, rough hands, brushing away the remnants of her warm tears with his calloused thumbs.
    “ Ma fille ,” he said, his tone pained. “Forgive me, but there is nothing to be done but obey. Our lord’s command is absolute.”
    “I understand,” Giselle answered, her voice quiet.
    “Then, we will eat,” her father announced. “And this evening you will be presented to your lord after he has supped.”
    The small family sat at their tired old table. Giselle ladled out portions of thick pottage, and they ate in silence,