by Lynn Kurland
The front door banged shut and someone stomped his feet.
“Out, lads,” Colin said. “Clear out and pack your gear. We’re leaving immediately.”
Gillian watched, openmouthed, as her guardsmen filed out of the hall obediently. She was left looking at Colin who stood at the door. His very expression warned her not to question him.
But she did so anyway. “You’re leaving me?” she asked in disbelief.
Colin cleared his throat. “I daresay you’ve no more need of me.”
“But, Colin, that isn’t true!”
“Aye, it is,” he said curtly. He made her a low bow. “Good morrow to you, lady.”
“Colin!”
He turned to leave and she jumped up.
“You can’t go. I forbid it!”
Colin looked back over her shoulder. “You what?”
“I forbid it, damn you.”
He turned to face her. “Both you and your lord have the most annoying habit of forgetting that I am not your vassal. The second son I may be, but I’ve lands of my own. I owe you no allegiance.”
Gillian blinked, feeling as if she’d been slapped. “I see,” she said, her courage faltering.
“So you do.”
She looked up at him. “Then you’ll not stay out of friendship?”
Colin made several gruff noises, cursed a time or two, then rolled his eyes heavenward and strode across the floor to her. He put his arms around her in a hug that almost crushed her ribs. He released her only to kiss her roughly on both cheeks and ruffle her hair.
“You’ve no need of me. You’ll manage perfectly well with what you have here.”
And with that, he turned and stomped from the house, banging the door shut behind him.
Gillian looked at the closed door and felt the silence descend. It grew so quiet that the sound of the fire crackling was startling. She turned and walked back to the hearth. She sat, then realized sitting was a poor idea.
So she paced. She paced the length of the large chamber, then its breadth, then the length again, all in an effort to stave off the panic she felt descending. She wouldn’t survive. She would starve. Or freeze to death. Damn Colin! He knew it as well as he knew anything.
Anger replaced her fear and she strode over to the door and threw it open. She stalked out onto the bit of ground that served as a courtyard and looked down the rocky path, ready to bellow her displeasure to her reluctant keeper.
Only it wasn’t her reluctant keeper she saw descending the path.
It was someone entirely different.
Climbing up.
Merciful saints above, it was Christopher. Gillian fought to catch her breath. She cried out a warning as she saw him fall. As if he’d seen her, he raised his head and struggled to his feet.
Gillian sank to her knees.
She prayed, eyes open and watching her love. Christopher had come for her. She knew in that moment just how deeply she mattered to him, how deeply he truly loved her. Why had she ever allowed Colin to talk her into coming up to this accursed place?
She watched her husband struggling up the treacherous path. Her heart was too full of the sight for anything but painful joy to find home in her breast. She vowed with all her soul to never again leave him. Lina had left him, for different reasons of course, but she had gone. Gillian knew she could never do the like again. Not a day would go by that Christopher didn’t hear numerous times just how much she loved him and how happy he’d made her. He’d given her so much more than just a safe haven, a powerful name and a skilled arm to hide behind.
He’d given her his love.
She jumped to her feet and ran inside the house. He would be cold when he arrived, and likely thirsty. She tossed more wood onto the fire, ignored the splinters in her hands, and put a bottle of wine on the hearth to warm. She piled up furs for his use, brushed her hair and made sure that all her clothes were on straight. Then she fled back outside and hugged herself against the wind as she watched her lover toil up the last hundred paces of steep incline.
The closer he came, the more clearly she saw what the climb had cost him. His face was scratched. His tunic was torn and a bruised and bloody knee poked through his hose. The late afternoon mist had plastered his hair to his head and soaked his clothes. But he didn’t falter. He merely continued on his way, a determined look on his face, a confidence about him she hadn’t seen before.
The wind began to howl but Gillian didn’t move from her place. Christopher struggled against not only the terrain but the wind too, yet he didn’t pause. Gillian called to him, but the wind blew her voice back behind her. So she merely waited, fighting the tears that threatened to blind her.
Ten paces and he would be before her.
Five paces.
Then one.
She threw herself against him and he staggered, but regained his balance soon enough. Gillian pressed her face against his chest and wept, great wrenching sobs of relief.
“Oh, Gill,” he said hoarsely. “Hush, now.” He held her close. “Let’s go inside, love. You’ll have to help me find the door. The climb was all I could manage.”
She nodded and put her arm around his waist. She led him to the door, then helped him shut it against the wind. Christopher pushed his hair back from his face and sighed deeply.
“Just a bit of sport,” he said, smiling crookedly. “I think I’ll go break a few stallions, then perhaps build myself a new keep or two before sunset.”
Gillian wrapped her arms around him and clung to him.
“Christopher, I’m so sorry!”
“Don’t,” he said quickly. He buried his face in her hair. “Don’t, Gill. You were worth it. I vow it. I would have crawled here on my knees if I’d had to.” He tightened his arms around her. “I came to fetch you home.”
She lifted her face. “I would have come home weeks ago, but I feared you didn’t want me.”
“How could you think such a thing? Saints, Gillian, I love you!”
She paused. How was she to tell him all she had feared over the past few weeks? She stood in his embrace, searching for the right words.
“I followed Jason up to your tower chamber,” she said, at length. “He asked you if he should fetch me and you said it was the last thing you wanted him to do.”
He shook his head and pulled her closer. Gillian stood with his hand skimming over her hair and closed her eyes.
“I didn’t want you to see me thusly,” he said softly. “Can you not understand why?”
“But it was my fault,” she whispered.
“Nay,” he said forcefully, “it wasn’t. It had nothing to do with you. It was all your sire’s doing. Saints, I won’t even call him that again. It was Warewick’s plotting and scheming that wrought what damage was done.” He held her more tightly. “Don’t you realize yet that you are the only joy in my life? And if you think on it rightly, Warewick did nothing but make it so we found each other.”
“But—”
“You had nothing to do with any of the other,” Christopher insisted. “I wouldn’t trade my life now for what I had before for any amount of gold. And if losing my sight means that I’ve found you, ’tis a trade I will gladly make.”
“Christopher!” she said, aghast. She pulled back to look at him. “Surely you can’t—”
“Aye, but I do mean it,” he said. “And if it takes me the rest of my life to see you believe as well, then it will be time well spent.”
Gillian stared up at him. He looked sincere enough. And to be sure, he held her tightly enough.
She had the courage to believe him. Didn’t she?
“Truly?” she asked, giving him one final chance to say her nay.
“Truly,” he whispered. He bent his head and kissed her gently. Then he smiled down at her. “And now that we’ve settled that, perhaps you would care to lead me to the fire and sit with me while I regain my warmth? Perhaps I can do the same for you. I’ve no doubt your toes haven’t been any color but blue since
you crawled up to this place.”
“They have been rather chilled,” she admitted.
“Then come with me,” he said, taking her hand, “and let me see what I can do for them.”
“Nay,” she said, pulling him toward the fire, “I will see to you first. Sit here and let me clean you up. You look to have had a rough time of it.”
Christopher sat where she placed him, but he followed her movements with his head. She bathed his bloody knees, then cleaned the rest of his scratches. Then she stopped as he reached out to her. His strong hands traveled lightly over her arms and down, finding her waist, then coming to rest over her belly.
He paused and an expression of wonderment settled on his features. Gillian looked at him, surprised.
“You know,” she breathed.
A smile spread over his face, as beautiful as morning sunlight from the east. “I had it on excellent advice from a witch named Berengaria,” he said. Then he put his arms around her and drew her close, resting his cheek on her belly. “I love you,” he said quietly. “I love you deeply, Gillian, and I vow I’ll never drive you away again.”
“But you didn’t—”
“Aye, I did.” He lifted his head and looked up. “I’ve so much to be grateful for, Gill: you, this babe, lads about me who don’t see my blindness. There is much good I can do even without my eyes to guide me. If you’ll help me now and then.”
“Not that you’ll need it,” she said gently.
His smile was rueful. “I’m not too proud to disagree. I’ll need it often, and I won’t begrudge myself the asking for it. If you won’t mind giving it.”
“You know I won’t.”
His smile faded, to be replaced by an expression of soberness. “You’ve no idea what losing you did to me, Gillian, even for that short time. I couldn’t bear it again.”
She put her trembling hand against his cheek. “You’ll never have to, my lord.”
He pulled her down onto his lap, then kissed her firmly on the mouth. “Aye, I won’t, for I’ll never let you from my arms. And I vow, Gillian of Blackmour, if you ever lead me on such a merry chase again, I’ll chain you to me!”
Gillian laughed in spite of herself. “I’ll remember that, my lord.” She smiled. “Shall we go home?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Aye. You’ll be far too busy this afternoon.”
“Will I?”
“Aye,” Christopher said firmly. “I don’t suppose you’ve been sleeping in something besides this chair, have you?”
“I might have a fur or two thrown close to the fire.”
Christopher had her off his lap and onto her feet so fast, her head swam. She clutched his arms until she’d regained her balance.
“Are you unwell?” he asked.
“Nay,” she said, laughing as she took a deep breath. “I must have stood up too fast.”
“All the more reason to lie back down soon. Go bolt the door, would you?”
Gillian smiled to herself as she did what her husband had asked. Then she turned and ducked to miss Christopher’s hastily discarded tunic.
“You’ll chill, my lord,” she called to him, feeling wonderfully cherished.
“All the more reason for you to be bloody quicker about coming back over here to warm me,” he said pointedly.
Gillian walked across the floor and into her husband’s arms.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he stated.
“Think you, my lord?”
And that was the last thing she managed to say for a very long time.
• • •
GILLIAN LAY WITH HER HEAD ON HER HUSBAND’S SHOULDER, her palm resting on his muscular chest. She took note of the new scars and, in spite of herself, felt grief over the sight of them.
Christopher caught her hand and brought it to his mouth.
“Cease,” he commanded.
Gillian sighed. “As you wish, Christopher.”
He rubbed his hand over her arm for several moments in silence, then stopped his motion. Gillian lifted her head and looked down at him.
“My lord?”
His expression was very grave. She sat up and looked down at him, feeling faintly alarmed.
“Christopher, what is it?”
He sat up slowly, then pulled the blanket up to tuck it around her shoulders.
“I have aught to tell you,” he said quietly.
His tone made her uneasy. “And that would be?” she asked.
“’Tis something I’ve done,” he admitted.
She felt herself beginning to frown. She couldn’t seem to help herself. “What?” she demanded. “Surely you and those Artane lads haven’t been off—”
“Saints, nay,” Christopher exclaimed, sounding horrified. “I killed your sire, Gillian. What did you think I’d been about?”
“Oh,” she said, relieved. “I feared you’d been out—” She shut her mouth with a snap and looked at her husband. “You did what?”
He sighed. “He’s dead. By my hand.”
“By your hand?” she repeated. She put her hand on his shoulder and forced him around, looking him over carefully for other wounds she might have missed. Then she ran her hands over his chest and down his belly.
“Stop,” Christopher said, with a half laugh. “Saints, woman, I’m telling you I finished off your sire and all you can do is gape at my scars.”
“Oh,” Gillian said, sitting back and putting her hands in her lap. “Well, what else am I to do?”
He took her hand in his. “I daresay I shouldn’t suggest you grieve for the man.”
“Nay, you shouldn’t.”
He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. Gillian waited for him to speak, but he remained silent. After all, what was he to say? He’d only done what she herself had intended to do. He surely shouldn’t apologize.
Gillian looked at him, sitting before her with his head bowed and she felt a shiver go through her. How, by all the blessed saints above, had it all come about? When? And how had Christopher managed it?
“He didn’t mark you,” she said, finally.
“Of course not,” Christopher said, giving her a haughty look. “After all, I am the Dragon of Blackmour—”
“Scourge of England and all that,” Gillian finished for him. “Aye, I know many names for you, my lord, but they don’t give me the answer to this riddle.”
“Hrumph,” Christopher said, looking faintly displeased. “Then you think my reputation wasn’t enough to do the old bugger in?”
Gillian pursed her lips, wishing her husband could see her expression. As an afterthought, she brought his hand to her face and let him feel it for himself.
Christopher frowned. “Very well, then, here is the tale. I woke from a foul dream without anyone to soothe me—”
“The saints be praised for that.”
Christopher frowned at her, then continued, “I thought I had heard a noise, so Jason, Wolf and I descended to the cellars. We found Warewick creeping inside a passageway in the sea wall and it was there I finished him.”
“You could have been killed!” she exclaimed.
“I’d been training with Ranulf and Jason,” Christopher said defensively. “I was ready for the deed.”
“He could have felled you with an arrow, you fool!”
“Saints, Gill, ’twas in the dark.”
“And that makes a difference?” she demanded.
“It certainly made one to him,” Christopher retorted.
She paused. “Ah,” she said, slowly, “now I see.”
“And he didn’t,” Christopher said, “which is likely why I managed the feat.”
“Oh, Christopher,” she said, feeling a tremor start in her knees and work its way up, “’twas a very great chance you took.”
He gathered her up and pulled her onto his lap. “Colin wrote and told me you intended to do the deed yourself. When I heard of your courage, how could I have done anything less?
”
Gillian could only hold onto him and tremble.
“I had to do it, Gill,” he said quietly. “For my own sake, if you would rather think on it thusly. I had to prove to myself that I am still the man I was.”
She thought about all the things she could have said to him, beginning with Couldn’t you have proved it to yourself another way and finishing with What were you thinking, you fool? But she said none of them. He might have claimed the deed had been done for his own sake, but he had surely been thinking about her, too. And William.
She pulled back and touched his face with her fingers.
“You risked much, my love.”
“How could I have done else?”
She shook her head. “You couldn’t have. I’m simply grateful.”
He smiled faintly. “And I’m grateful you had the good sense to stay here instead of traipsing off to Warewick.”
“Artane. I was going to Artane.”
“Even worse.”
“I could have found my way,” she said.
He looked at her in disbelief. “Think you?”
She smiled and put her arms around his neck. “Perhaps not. I suppose, then, my lord, you will have to take me to Artane yourself. The saints only know where I might wind up if I tried to find it on my own.”
“The saints preserve me from another pair of nights spent scouring the forest for you.”
She smoothed his hair back from his face. “Will you, Chris?”
“Will I what?”
“Take me to Artane?”
He pursed his lips. “You, lady, do not fight fair.”
“You’ve bested Warewick,” she pointed out.
“Aye.”
“You’ve climbed to Blackmour’s Folly.”
“That, too.”
“You were wise enough to wed me.”
“Surely my most noteworthy feat.”
She paused before she dealt the killing blow. “Robin and his lady wife will want to see your son.”
“As I said, lady, you do not fight fair.”
