by Lynn Kurland
Then she realized the irony of it all. Dangerous men? Why, she was sitting in the lap of the most dangerous man in England. Oh, she’d heard stories about Robin of Artane. William had told her tales, and she’d heard her father and his men discuss Artane’s prowess in battle. Their admiration had been grudgingly given, but given freely enough. Robin of Artane was a fierce warrior and a powerful lord. But he was, after all was said and done, merely a man.
Not like the Dragon of Blackmour.
Not a soul in England spoke of Christopher of Blackmour without crossing themselves. His reputation, his deeds, aye, even his very temper was reported to be black as night and fierce as Hellfire. His past triumphs might have equaled Robin’s or they might have been lesser—it mattered not. He was Christopher of Blackmour, warlock extraordinaire, and there wasn’t a soul who dared face him.
And there she sat, smack in the Dragon’s lap, nestled as close to him as if he’d been a harmless pup.
The very thought made her breathe out a laugh.
“What are you smirking about, woman?” Christopher growled softly into her hair.
“Nothing at all, my lord,” she whispered.
“I don’t believe you.”
She leaned up and pressed her cheek against his. “I was just thinking that I love you and I am glad to be yours. Not every woman in England can boast of spending an eve ensconced in Blackmour’s arms.”
“Nary a one save you,” he said, a smile touching his lips.
“Enough,” Kendrick drawled. “Woo your lady after we’ve supped, my lord. Seeing you holding such a comely maid makes me powerfully jealous of your good fortune and I’ll likely need a great amount of food to soothe my injured feelings.”
Phillip snorted. “You could likely find yourself a maid if you weren’t such a bumbling idiot.”
“Better an idiot than an affected bugger who can’t leave his tent without a dozen glances in the mirror to see that his clothes are on straight.”
Phillip lifted one eyebrow and looked at Christopher. “My lord, you don’t mind a bit of blood on your floor, do you?”
“Never mind the mess,” Kendrick retorted. “Phillip bleeds tidily.”
Jason jumped out of the way as Phillip lunged and shoved Kendrick out of his chair. Christopher sighed.
“Robin, perhaps we should retire to the table now and let the children play. You’ll find the fare to be edible enough. Gillian has taken charge of Cook and, believe me, he doesn’t dare anger her.”
Gillian fought her smile as Christopher purposefully stepped on Phillip on his way to the table.
“Oh, sorry, lad,” Christopher said, straight-faced. “Didn’t see you.”
“You’re next, Blackmour,” Phillip vowed, panting. “Kendrick, you dolt, let me up! Father, disinherit this fool!”
Robin only laughed and leaned over Gillian’s head to whisper conspiratorially to Christopher.
“Children,” he stated. “May you have a dozen lads to torment you.”
Gillian groaned before she could stop herself.
“Perhaps only half a dozen,” Christopher said, with a wince.
Though as Gillian sat next to Christopher later and listened to the good-natured bickering that went on between Jason and his brothers, she found the idea of so many sons for her husband to be not a bad thing at all.
twenty-six
CHRISTOPHER PULLED THE TUNIC DOWN OVER HIS HEAD, then indulged in a hearty stretch. He’d spent far too much time at the table last eve, talking to Robin about the state of affairs in England and doing his best to ignore Kendrick and Phillip’s squabbling. The lads were both older than a score each, but somehow they managed to irritate each other as thoroughly and competently as only two young children could. Christopher couldn’t truly blame them overmuch, as their father and uncles had set the example for them, fighting one minute and laughing together the next. Christopher shook his head. Life at Artane was never commonplace.
“Are you off then, my lord?”
Christopher turned in the direction of his lady’s voice and smiled at her. “Aye, Gill. I daresay Cook has prepared something quite edible this morn. Shall we go down?”
“Ah . . . I think I’ll be along later.”
Christopher paused, surprised by the hesitancy in her voice. He walked over to her, then reached out to touch her.
“Are you unwell?”
“Nay, my lord. ’Tis merely that I have a pair of things that need my immediate attention.”
He frowned. “And those things would be?”
“Ah, several things. Most pressing and noteworthy.”
To be sure, he couldn’t bring anything pressing to mind. They had enjoyed a lengthy interlude of marital bliss earlier that morn. Then he’d spent a goodly amount of time telling her how pleased he’d been by her courage in facing Robin by herself. Short of remaining bolted in their chamber with him, Christopher couldn’t think of anything else that would require more of her attentions than breaking her fast would.
And then he understood. Obviously the thought of seeing their guests unnerved her still.
“Ah, Gillian, my love,” he said softly, pulling her into his arms, “’tis only Robin and his lads.”
“Aye, my lord, I know.”
She patted his back, as if she wanted to be soon finished with the conversation and have him be on his way.
“Robin wasn’t unkind to you last eve, was he?”
“Nay, my lord.” She patted him some more.
“You’ve nothing to fear from them, my love.”
“Aye, I know it,” she said, her voice quavering just the slightest bit. “Best be off to the table, husband, before Artane thinks you’ve slighted him.”
Christopher leaned his cheek against her hair and smiled to himself. “Let him think what he likes. I daresay I’d rather spend my time with you. Perhaps I’ll send Jason to fetch us something to eat and we’ll both remain here.”
“Oh, Christopher, nay,” she said, sounding shocked. “You couldn’t disappoint him thusly.”
“He’s not the king, Gillian. He’s just a man.”
“Of course, my lord.” More patting ensued. “Run along now. I’ll follow in time.”
He pressed his lips against her hair. “Then you’ll leave me to go down and face them alone?” he murmured.
She turned him toward the doorway. “Aye,” she said, without hesitation. “Off with you.”
“As you wish then, my love. But you’ll be down soon, aye?”
“Aye, my lord. Soon enough.”
“After you’ve given your important items their due attentions?”
“Er . . . aye, Christopher. Make haste, that I might begin my labors.”
Christopher was tempted to force her to come with him, then thought better of it. He quit the chamber before his lady wife ejected him bodily. He smiled to himself, but the smile felt pained. He would fetch her later in the day, after she’d had a chance to work herself up to meet the challenge. After all, if she could face Cook and come away victorious, she could surely best Robin. She had no inkling of what a soft heart Robin possessed.
Perhaps he would do well to tell her of it. Indeed, perhaps he would spend much of the afternoon seeing to it. It would give him a perfect reason to excuse himself from his guests and pass the remainder of the day with his wife alone in their bedchamber. Robin had already deprived him of one afternoon tryst. Christopher had no intentions of missing out on another.
He made his way down the passageway, then stopped at the top of the stairs. What he wanted was to thump down them with his normal haste, but he thought better of it. The last thing he wanted was to take a tumble and wind up sprawled at Robin’s feet. So, he very carefully descended, but with his head held high and his shoulders back.
He heard the scrape of wood against stone the moment his foot touched the great hall floor.
“My lord,” Jason said, coming immediately to him, “my father and brothers are awaiting your pleasure.”
>
“And have been for some time,” Robin called, “but we’ve made do. You’ve become a late riser, my lad.”
Christopher heard Colin choke, and he wished he’d been just that much closer to his brother-in-law so as to continue to silence him once he recovered his breath.
“I had things to see to,” Christopher said, coming to take his seat next to Robin. “Most pressing items that needed my complete attention.” He shoved a cup at Colin. “Drink, man. And once you can breathe again, keep drinking. I daresay I’ve no stomach for what I’m sure you intend to say.”
“My lord,” Jason said, from behind him, “where is the lady Gillian? Shall we wait for her?”
“She’ll be along after a bit. Best prod Cook to put forth his creations now.”
“Is Gillian unwell?” Robin asked.
Christopher shook his head. “Nay, not unwell.” He smiled faintly. “Shy, perhaps.”
“Ah,” Robin said, “I see.”
Christopher leaned back against the chair and looked in Robin’s direction. “Do you, my lord?” he asked softly.
Robin was silent for a moment. “Perhaps I don’t, Christopher. Last night your lady seemed to have little stomach for guests, but I assumed ’twas because she hadn’t had much experience with the like. Warewick kept her quite sheltered, didn’t he?”
“Aye,” Christopher said grimly, “as sheltered as you would a prisoner.”
“Surely he was simply protecting her.”
Christopher shook his head. “You saw William’s scars. Gillian suffered in his stead after he left to page.”
“Merciful saints above,” Robin whispered.
“Say nothing, Robin. It would only distress her.”
“Damn him,” Robin muttered. “I can hardly think of him without reaching for my blade.”
“Neither can I,” Christopher said. “If I could slay the man and be done with him, I would.”
“Has he troubled you since you took Gillian to wife?”
“Only once,” Christopher said. “He sent a messenger to see how she fared and to announce his impending arrival. I daresay the words I sent back disabused him of that notion soon enough.”
“If I’d known yestereve, I wouldn’t have growled at her so,” Robin said, sounding rather apologetic.
Christopher smiled. “She survived well enough. It will take a day or two, but she’ll accustom herself to you and the lads. She seems to have misplaced her courage at the moment, but she’ll find it again.”
Colin elbowed him in the ribs. He was obviously eavesdropping again. “Tell Artane how she drew Jason’s blade,” he said, chewing vigorously, “and threatened to stick Cook with it. A damned fine showing, if you ask me. The fare has certainly been better since.”
“Indeed,” Robin said. “Do not let us distract you from the full enjoyment of it, my lord Berkhamshire. I daresay you’re showing me more of your pleasure than I care to see.”
Christopher smiled into his cup at Colin’s muttering. Robin never passed up an opportunity to irritate Colin. There was surely more to the story, but Christopher had never asked for the entire tale. One of Colin’s uncles had had Robin’s death on his mind for a time, but things seemed to have turned out well enough. Perhaps Robin merely strove to repay the entire Berkhamshire clan for having troubled him at all.
“Will she descend later?” Robin asked. “I give you my word not to grieve her further.”
“I’ve no doubt she will,” Christopher said.
“The lads will leave her be also,” Robin added. “Won’t you, sons?”
Kendrick and Phillip chorused their assent, though Kendrick’s agreement seemed a little less enthusiastically given than his brother’s. Christopher threw Kendrick a warning look just on principle. The saints only knew what the whelp would interpret his father’s meaning to be.
“Your sire meant to say,” Christopher said, suddenly deciding he should clarify his position on the matter, “that you likely should give her a wide berth, lads.”
“But—” Kendrick began.
“A wide berth,” Christopher repeated. “You, my little lord Kendrick, should no doubt be especially careful that you don’t grieve her. I shudder to think what might become of you else.”
“Hmmm,” was Kendrick’s only reply.
Christopher growled, then felt Robin’s hand come to rest on his shoulder.
“I’ll see to it,” Robin said.
“If you value the child’s life, I daresay you should.”
Robin only laughed. “I’m sure he’ll take your warning to heart, Christopher. Now, let us speak of something less perilous. Tell me how you’ve fared of late. How went the planting this year?”
These were tidings Christopher could relate easily enough. He talked and answered questions until his meal was finished. It gave him pleasure to tell Robin of the prosperity of his holdings, likely because Robin had been the one to teach him how to see to them. Christopher had been an apt pupil and his lands showed as much.
By the time Colin had slurped and gulped his way through his meal, Christopher had exhausted all the details he could give of the present workings of the keep. Robin seemed eager to see things for himself, so Christopher rose to oblige him. He had the feeling Gillian wouldn’t come down until the lads had quit the hall anyway, so there was little sense in remaining at the table.
Colin held him back as the Artane lads made their way to the doorway.
“I’ll wait to look after her, if you like,” Colin offered gruffly, “so you can see to His Lordship. ’Tisn’t meet I should show him about the place in your stead.”
“Aye,” Christopher agreed reluctantly. “Perhaps you could suggest she come find me when she descends.”
“Aye.”
“And keep those lads well away from her.”
“With pleasure.”
Christopher nodded, then walked away. He would have sooner spent his time with his wife than showing his former master things he could no longer see, but politeness demanded otherwise. Odd, how things had changed. A year ago, he wouldn’t have believed he could feel thusly. Gillian had indeed wrought a mighty change in him.
“Christopher, are you with us?” Robin called from the doorway.
Perhaps Robin’s advancing years would insist he take a small rest soon, Christopher nodded to himself over that thought. Robin would have a rest and Christopher could sequester himself in his garden with his lady and enjoy her sweet ministrations.
“Christopher?”
“Coming,” Christopher said, starting toward the hall door. “Let us make haste, my lord. I vow you’re beginning to sound rather weary.”
• • •
GILLIAN CREPT DOWN THE STAIRS WITH GREAT STEALTH. She hadn’t heard any voices from the top of the stairwell, but that meant nothing. Like as not, Lord Robin and his lads were having their fill of the morning’s repast and could not speak for their eating of it.
She peeked out into the great hall. To her immense relief, ’twas empty. Perhaps all the men had gone out to the lists for the morning. If she were clever enough, she could slip down the way and out the front gates without being marked. A pity she hadn’t chosen something more manly than skirts to wear. She could have tucked her hair into her tunic and passed herself off as a lad if she’d been thinking.
Ah, well, there was no time for regrets now. She had to act, and soon. She hadn’t thought another trip to the village would be necessary, but she hadn’t planned on Jason’s kin, either.
She opened the great hall door and looked out. No sign of her husband or his guests. That boded well. She left the great hall and ran down the steps. Perhaps it would be easier than she’d anticipated.
Gaining the inner curtain gate was easily accomplished. She then slipped through the tunnel and out into the sunshine on the other side. Then she paused. She could see Christopher and Robin walking down the way to the outer wall. There was no sign of Phillip or Kendrick. Gillian chewed on her lip. That made things more d
ifficult. It wasn’t as if she could flee past her husband and his guest without saying a word. ’Twas clear she would have to wait until they’d turned aside to the lists before she could continue on her way.
It didn’t take as long as she’d feared. She watched Christopher lead Robin off to the right toward the training field. Praying Robin wouldn’t turn and see her hastening toward the outer gates, she put her foot to the path and started on her way.
“Ahem,” a voice said sternly, from behind her. “And where would you be off to, my lady?”
Gillian sighed. She should have known Colin would be lurking about. She turned to face him. “I’m out to take some healthful air.”
He grunted, wearing an expression that said he doubted as much. “You’ve plenty of it about you.”
Gillian set her jaw. “I fear, my lord, that there simply isn’t enough here.”
“And I say there is,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “Indeed, I would suggest that you’ve had more than enough healthful air for the moment. You’ve no need to traipse down to the village for more.”
Gillian sighed. Colin had a look about him that warned her he would be rather difficult about the whole affair. ’Twas obvious he wouldn’t simply allow her to go alone . . . but—
“Perhaps you’d care to come with me,” she said suddenly. Surely he couldn’t refuse such an offer. “I’m certain Berengaria would be happy to see you.”
Colin scowled. “Like as not, they’d press some undrinkable potion upon me and spell me into downing it.”
“And would that be such an ill thing?”
