by Diane Darcy
But Gillian looked worried, so he shrugged off the pain and gave her back the toy.
“Kellen, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“’Tis naught.” Kellen wiped at the tears running down his face. He coughed. “Go with a guard at all times.” His voice was hoarse. “Stay with your maid. You will be safe enough.”
She looked worried and guilty. He knew how to relieve her mind. Kellen gestured to one of his men. “If Lady Gillian tries to leave the keep, stop her and take her shoes. She’s to stay within the walls.”
Gillian was instantly indignant. “Maybe I wanted to take a walk to the river or the village?”
Kellen shook his head. “Not without me.”
“Have you ever been told that you are infuriating, bossy, and stubborn?”
Kellen struggled not to laugh and cough at the same time. “I could accuse you of the same.”
“And obtuse. You are definitely obtuse.”
He didn’t know the meaning of the word, but was loathe to admit it. He threw out his chest. “I have much to see to this day and cannot stand about talking.”
Gillian made a sweeping motion with her hand inviting him to leave. “Please, don’t let me stop you.”
But he didn’t leave. He was enjoying her company too much and, even with watering eyes, wanted to linger.
“You realize that while you’re off doing important knightly stuff, I’ll probably be stuck plucking chickens?”
“If the task is unpleasant, perhaps you should spend the day humbling yourself as befits my wife.”
Gillian huffed, shot him a disbelieving look, and then walked away.
He watched her go, suddenly worried he’d gone too far with his teasing and had truly angered her. He was about to start after her when, in a loud voice, she started to sing about the difficulties of being humble.
Even with his eyes and throat burning, Kellen couldn’t help a grin. He wanted to go after her again, and it was hard to stop himself. Tristan, wiping at his eyes, came to stand beside him and they watched her head toward the inner wall. “You do realize you are the luckiest of swag-bellied miscreants? She’s a beautiful and lively heiress. What I would not give for such.”
Kellen felt for Tristan, who was not in much of a position to marry well; and who would never have Gillian, even if he were. She was Kellen’s and he was still amazed by that realization. “Your time will come.”
When she was out of sight, they raced to the horse trough and dipped their heads in the water.
Chapter 12
A few hours later, Gillian and Beatrice scouted for a place to sit with an excellent view. Kellen didn’t want her to go anywhere? Fine. Then he could babysit her. She was going to sketch big brawny men hacking away at each other.
Utter bliss.
Beatrice, finally satisfied with a location under a blossoming apple tree, spread out the blanket. She offered Gillian a smaller one as a shawl, which she refused, and they both settled under the branches. Gillian fluffed her dress into a semicircle and couldn’t help a smile. The dress made her feel like a fairy princess and she loved it. She had to admit that, as far as fantasy getaways went, this one topped any list she could have devised.
Kellen didn’t see her, or was ignoring her, as he fought another man. Eyes wide, Gillian realized she was literally holding her breath as the men swung swords at each other. The yelling, the clanging of metal, the muscles straining, and then Kellen forcing the other man back, and finally into defeat. Wow.
“He’s a fine warrior, do you not think?” asked Beatrice.
“The best.” Gillian, breathless, couldn’t help but agree. “Very impressive.”
They watched as Kellen fought another, and then a third. Eventually, it dawned on Gillian that he was showing off for her, and a smile spread across her face.
Picking up her pad of paper, Gillian started to draw. He was a lot fiercer than she’d realized and so buff! The lines of muscles, bunching and shifting in his arms and legs were impressive in their sheer size and strength. She was used to guys getting their physiques at the gym, not on the battlefield, and now realized there was a vast difference. Watching a guy work out with weights couldn’t touch watching a warrior train to defend what was his. She felt weak and fluttery just watching him. Wow, again.
It was a little cold and overcast, but Gillian felt overheated. Maybe it was just the excess material of the dress, but somehow, she didn’t think so.
“My lady, I’ve brought dried fruit or some nuts, if you’d like such?”
“Mm. I’m okay.” Gillian’s mouth was watering, but not for food. She tried to keep track of Beatrice’s chattering and answer appropriately, but all the while she kept an eye on Kellen, continuing to draw him.
He really was the ultimate eye candy. She was enjoying watching him so much it took a moment to realize he was coming toward her.
Her face tilted up when he finally reached her, and she quickly hugged the drawing to her chest. He wasn’t even breathing hard and Gillian’s heart fluttered again.
“What do you, Gillian?”
“Nothing, just hanging out, watching all the eye candy parading about.”
“Eye candy?”
“Sweets for the eyes instead of for the mouth.”
Kellen nodded, glanced away, and Gillian bit back a smile when she saw him blush.
It was so cute she couldn’t resist heaping on more flattery. “You know, Kellen, I’ve never seen a warrior quite like you before. You’re very strong.”
Kellen’s chest puffed out. “Think you?”
Gillian nodded and let her gaze drift down his body and back to his face. “I really do.”
To her delight, the red in Kellen’s cheeks intensified as he cleared his throat. “I must needs be to protect you from all the trouble you draw upon yourself.”
Gillian laughed, and when her sketchpad dropped forward onto her lap, Kellen was quick to look at the brawny warrior she’d started drawing.
“Is that me?”
Gillian smiled. “Maybe, maybe not. I’ve drawn the fiercest warrior on the field.”
“Me then.”
Gillian laughed. “No modesty there.”
“Modesty is overrated as a virtue, good only for men without strength or skill.” His heated gaze dropped to her lips, and it was Gillian’s turn to blush. Was he thinking of kissing her? Trying out some of his other skills? Her lips parted and softened of their own accord. She’d be glad to help him test his aptitude in that area.
Kellen sucked in a breath, and then looked back at his men, many of whom watched the interplay. Kellen’s brows rose and the men immediately moved back and set to work.
“Will you walk with me?”
Gillian glanced at Beatrice, who seemed intent on her mending.
He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Alone.”
The look Kellen gave Gillian raised her temperature again, and she scrambled to her feet. “Beatrice, I’ll be back later.”
“Aye, my lady. I’ll take your things to your chamber.”
Kellen leaned down to pick up a small blanket and draped it around Gillian’s shoulders. He took her sketchpad, set it next to her pack, and held out his hand.
They walked through the orchard and to a flower garden on the other side. “Do you like gardening? By midsummer many flowers will be in bloom. If there is aught you have need of, you must plant whatever you like.” His grip tightened, loosened, and then tightened again, a nervous gesture.
He released her hand, and Gillian flexed her abused fingers without pointing out to him he’d almost crushed them.
Pulling out a small knife, Kellen leaned down, cut a flower, and handed it to her. “I know not what kind it is.”
Gillian smiled. “A rose?”
“Ah, aye, ’tis a rose.”
His obvious embarrassment was touching and she carefully held the flower so the thorns didn’t prick. She sniffed. “Mm. It’s beautiful.”
Kellen lo
oked relieved. Did he think she would reject his offering? Gillian lowered the flower and tilted her face up. “Thank you.”
Kellen stared down at her, his expression suddenly intense, heated. Gillian realized they were completely alone for the first time since she’d arrived and didn’t move. He was going to kiss her, and she very badly wanted him to. He leaned down and Gillian flinched as a drop of rain hit her upturned face.
Kellen immediately jerked backward only to stare down at her with yearning, before taking a deep breath and a step back. He looked up at the sky. “I’m glad for the rain as we have all the crops planted.” His voice sounded strained, tight.
“You sound like a farmer.” Gillian tried to keep the conversation going, tried to get him to look at her again because she, for one, was not glad for the stupid rain. She’d wanted that kiss.
“Aye. That I am. I have many mouths to feed and much of the land has been seeded.” Without looking at her, Kellen lifted the blanket to cover her head, tightened it around her shoulders, then grabbed her hand again, tugging her toward the keep.
Gillian sighed as disappointment swamped her. She wanted a kiss before she had to go home, wanted his mouth on hers, his arms wrapped around her, and hers twined about his neck. She wanted that kiss before Edith showed up to claim him for herself.
Sudden jealousy, dark and biting, had her lips tightening and her heart pounding. If Edith were anything like her murderous sister, she didn’t deserve Kellen. Feeling protective, Gillian tightened her grip on Kellen’s hand; he gently squeezed her fingers in return, his warmth sending chills up her arm.
Kellen deserved a girl who would appreciate his finer qualities, understand his gruffness, and flirt with him. Someone like . . . someone like . . .
Gillian took a breath. If she wasn’t careful, she’d lay her heart out on a platter and get it smashed to smithereens when she had to go home.
She needed to remember to keep her heart safe. She would not fall in love with the big guy. She needed to remember that this was just for fun. A brief holiday romance. She only had a few weeks and didn’t plan on getting hurt again.
Later that night, Gillian lay in bed warm, cozy and snuggled in the blankets and furs.
She couldn’t wipe the sappy grin off her face. At dinner, she hadn’t been able to, either.
She could hear the rain outside hitting the wooden shutters and hoped Kellen was warm and dry. He’d gone off after dinner to hunt down some miscreants and, as far as she knew, hadn’t returned.
Gillian turned over. Kellen was just so . . . so . . . wonderful. What would it be like to have a man like Kellen truly belong to her? To see the possessive gaze and know that she really did belong to him?
She thought about Ryan and the smile left her face. They’d dated for a good six months, and she’d been stressed and off kilter the entire time.
And okay, she cringed, sort of desperate, too. It was embarrassing to remember how she’d acted. When she’d found out the guy was looking for easy money, she’d been ashamed of herself for sticking it out. For being a doormat so he would love her. For being so lonely, she’d traded in her self-respect for companionship.
She should have trusted her instincts.
What were those instincts telling her about Kellen? All she felt was happy. But what did it really matter? She was being foolish. She couldn’t compare the two. Her boyfriend had been real life; and Kellen, well, he was fantasy. Like a hologram from an episode of Star Trek. Fun, but not real.
It was just the romance of the time and place affecting her so much. The castle, the candle glowing beside her bed, the way he’d held her hand. The kiss that almost happened.
It was like she was in a fairy tale with the starring role as princess. She turned over again and plumped the pillow once more. She’d have this time as a happy memory in her heart, nothing else. No hurt or pain this time, just good memories.
She snuggled down to sleep, then quickly sat up, blew out the candle, and laid back down.
After a moment, she realized she was smiling again.
She was so getting that kiss before she left.
After lunch the next afternoon, it was still raining; so Gillian retrieved her pad of paper and headed downstairs, bumping into a boy at the bottom of the stairs. “Oh, sorry.”
She reached out a hand to steady the boy, who cringed back. “Sorry, sweetie. Just me not paying attention to where I was going. Are you okay?”
The boy, a wide-eyed teen of about fifteen or so, nodded.
“What’s your name? I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Gillian.” She held out her hand.
The boy stared at her hand for a moment then looked up into her face. “Valeric, my lady.”
Gillian dropped her hand when he made no move to take it. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Valeric. I’ll try to pay better attention in future, so I don’t run you down.”
The boy backed away. “Yes, my lady.” Then he was gone.
By the time she reached the great hall, the food had been cleared away; Kellen’s three foster boys sat on the straw-covered floor at the foot of a young, brown-robed man who looked to be tutoring them.
A little girl, about three or four, stood off to the side in front of the fire and watched the boys as a woman, probably the child’s mother, knitted in a nearby chair.
The yearning on the girl’s face caught Gillian’s attention. The scene would make a fantastic painting; a large one done in oils with light colors, dark shadows, rain buffeting wooden shutters, and the fire brightening the girl’s face and illuminating her longing.
Genius if Gillian could pull it off.
The tutor turned the book on his lap so the boys could study it, and the little girl leaned forward, obviously wanting to see.
Quietly, not wanting to distract anyone, Gillian pulled her digital camera out of her pack, looked around, and snapped a quick photo. She didn’t use the flash for fear of seriously freaking people out and risking the whole burn-the-witch-at-the-stake scenario. Still, she got the gist of the scene in case she needed to refer back to it later.
After stowing her camera, Gillian headed over to the table between the boys and the young girl. “Hi. What’s going on?”
Everyone glanced up at her approach, the tutor raising one brow. Gillian noted he wore a crucifix around his neck. “We are about our lessons. Please refrain from interrupting.”
“Oh. Right,” Gillian whispered. “Sorry.” She quickly sat on a bench beside a nearby table.
The tutor sighed. “’Tis Lady Corbett, correct?”
“Yes, nice to meet you.”
He ignored that. “As a female, you ought not to listen as Latin might tax your wits.”
Gillian’s mouth fell slightly open as she looked to see if the guy was serious. Stern-faced, arrogant, younger than she’d realized, not bad-looking in a boy-next-door sort of way, and completely serious. She grinned. “Yeah, that’s okay. I’ll chance it.”
Gillian glanced around, wondering where Kellen was. He’d disappeared right after breakfast, and she considered hunting him down as that might be more fun, but didn’t want to go out in the rain. She could find him later if he didn’t show.
Anyway, medieval school might be interesting and would certainly make her painting more unique if she could pick up a feel for what was happening.
The tutor started up again, but Gillian got bored pretty quickly. The little girl was still interested, but probably because school and knitting were the only things to hold her attention.
Gillian opened her pad of drawing paper and tore a piece from the back end. She beckoned the little girl, and the child looked startled then wary but after a quick glance at the knitter, eventually walked over. “My lady?”
“What’s your name, kiddo?”
“Amelia, my lady.”
The tutor lifted his head to glare at them; Gillian put a finger to her lips, tilted her head toward the group of boys and, as the child watched, carefully folded the paper.
Amelia, chubby-cheeked and wide-eyed, observed as Gillian made a production of each fold, raising her brows, smiling and nodding. Gillian made the last crease, pinched the bottom between forefinger and thumb, aimed away from the boys, and threw the airplane across the hall.
Amelia shrieked with joy and raced across the room, following the flight, and eventually retrieving the plane from its landing spot among the straw.
The boys jumped up and raced after the girl, the knitter laboriously rose and yelled sharply for Amelia, the tutor clapped his hands and chastised the boys, and both adults glared at Gillian.
“Sorry,” she said weakly.
The boys snatched the plane from Amelia, who let out an unholy screech, balled both fists, and started hitting the boy holding the paper airplane.
“Boys,” the tutor clapped sharply. “Boys!”
Peter pushed Amelia away with one hand, palming her forehead, and she changed her strategy and tried to kick him. The adults looked livid.
Oh dear. Not good. She should have thought this out first.
Peter held up the plane to show Gillian. “’Tis the most wondrous toy!”
Shaking his head, the tutor stomped off.
“Amelia,” Gillian addressed the howling child. “I’ll make you another one.”
“And me, as well?” asked Francis.
“And me?” asked Ulrick.
“Yes. One for each of you.”
The boys took turns throwing the airplane, and Amelia was soon laughing and running after it as Gillian quickly made more.
The boys gathered around as she folded the last one. “Where did you learn such?” asked Francis. “From a wizard?”
Gillian grinned. “What do you know about wizards?”
“The stories say they’ll snatch you away from your home and force the devil into you,” Francis said.
“They will not!” Peter said. “They’ll apprentice you and teach you magic.” He turned to Gillian and raised the airplane. “How does it travel across the hall?”
“Well, its wings cut through the air to generate lift. And if you change the shape of the wings, it affects the travel time and . . .” Gillian, struck by the phrase, fell silent.
