by Diane Darcy
Amelia’s petite form nestled within Kellen’s arm, her pixie little face, so lifelike it almost looked like a photo. Dealing with Amelia’s wiggling and squirming had turned out to be well worth it. The likeness was good. This might be the best family portrait she’d ever done. It would make a fantastic gift for Kellen. She just hoped it wasn’t a goodbye present.
Gillian turned to look at the snoring woman on the bed and wondered if Marissa would wake if Gillian snuck out to see him. He’d been avoiding her the entire week and Gillian was starting to feel desperate. She needed to get him and Amelia out to the cemetery, and for some reason he was against taking them. Perhaps if she sneaked to his room and had a little chat with him she could lure him with her feminine wiles.
Gillian grinned at the thought and glanced at the door. Should she chance it? She deserved a little free time, right? She’d certainly done her part lately. She knew how to plan a menu, discuss said menu with Cook, keep kitchen accounts, instruct servants, mend, instruct spinners and weavers, plan a wedding feast, and check wheat for mold.
While the work itself wasn’t bad, and was even quite interesting at times, she really needed to kidnap Kellen and Amelia; and no one was making it easy for her. She was busy. Kellen was busy. Everyone was busy. But she had to get them out there if she wanted to take them home.
She’d been thinking about it and had come to the conclusion that there had to be a reason she’d been sent to Kellen. A reason for the attraction and connection they’d felt from the beginning. That being the case, there had to be a way for the three of them to get back, so they could be together as a family. She was starting to feel very possessive. Edith could find a new guy. Kellen belonged to Gillian now.
She was pretty sure Amelia would be fine. Kids adapted quickly. But she wondered how Kellen would react to the twenty-first century. If he could go. If he would go. If he’d be happy if he did. Gillian was starting to wish there was some way she could stay. Medieval England was definitely missing some basic necessities, but overall, she was sort of getting used to it. If Kellen couldn’t or wouldn’t go with her, she wasn’t sure she’d have the will power to leave him.
She sighed. It wasn’t as if she’d have a choice. How would Kellen react when Edith showed up? He’d be shocked, hurt, angry. Would he put Gillian in the dungeon? Arrange a hanging? Keep her as his mistress and marry Edith? Gillian wasn’t going to chance any of it.
In the morning, they were supposed to meet with the priest. The banns were to be posted, whatever that meant. Maybe afterward she could talk him into going.
Still tempted to see him immediately, Gillian carefully inserted her sketchpad into her pack, put away her art supplies, blew out the candle, and sat in the moonlight, shadow, and glow of coals from the fireplace. As Marissa snorted, Gillian smiled and looked at the door. She just might risk it. So what if she got caught? It wasn’t as if Marissa held a very high opinion of her as it was and anyway—
As she watched, the door slowly, silently opened and someone eased into the room. Kellen? Gillian smiled. Great minds thought alike. She looked to where Marissa snored softly. If she caught Kellen there, she would raise an unholy racket, but the risk was worth it.
Glancing back, she suddenly realized the wraithlike figure was too small to be Kellen. She watched the shadow start toward the bed and whispered, “Hello?”
So quick she almost didn’t see the motion in the murky darkness, the guy lifted his arm and threw something just as Gillian stood and took a step to the side. At the sharp thwacking noise, Gillian looked behind her. The moonlight revealed a dagger protruding from her high wooden chair.
If Gillian hadn’t stood, she would have been skewered in the neck.
Shocked, heartbeat speeding, Gillian put a hand to her throat and turned her head; but it was all she was capable of doing. The man moved a few more steps toward her; and finally, after a choked gasp and a quick scramble backward, Gillian was able to scream.
Marissa sat upright, instantly screeching, adding her voice to Gillian’s. The shadowy figure took one more step forward, hesitated, then melted into the darkness and out the door.
Gillian stopped screaming to stare after him, her heart pounding hard and her breath coming in gasps. She looked at the chair then at the door again. If it weren’t for the knife, she could almost believe it hadn’t happened.
Marissa stopped mid-scream. “Gillian?” She sounded breathless, scared. “What has happened?”
Kellen ran into the room and this time there was no mistaking his large form for anyone else and Gillian, shaking and relieved, started to cry as she stumbled toward him.
Kellen rushed forward and pulled her into his arms. “What is it? Are you well? Did you have bad dreams?”
“Someone . . . someone . . .”
After skimming his hands up and down her body, he lit a candle and Gillian pointed to the chair and the knife. His face disbelieving, he asked, “Are you hurt? Where did you get this blade?”
“No. I’m not hurt. A man was in here.” She shuddered. “I was sitting in the chair and he threw the knife at me as I stood.”
Kellen ran his hands over her body a second time, then lifted her into his arms and crossed to the bed. He stuffed her under the covers next to Marissa and; looking dangerous, he grabbed the knife, studied it, then thoroughly searched the room before posting a man outside the door. He turned back, giving Gillian a stern look. “Stay here. Bar the door.”
Fine with her. She wasn’t going anywhere. Someone had just tried to kill her.
Kellen left, yelling for his men as he went.
“Find him!”
As his men rushed to the roof and down to the great hall Kellen searched above-stairs, looking behind curtains, under furniture, and out windows to see if a villain hung, or climbed a rope to the roof. Whoever tried to kill Gillian needed to be captured. So Kellen could personally kill him.
He glanced back toward Gillian’s door. He did not dare move too far from her bedchamber, though he knew the women had it barred. Why would anyone want Gillian dead?
Owen came out of the ladies’ solar and shook his head. “I found naught.”
Tristan ushered Marissa’s ladies out of their room. They were visibly upset and Lady Vera repeatedly hit Tristan who had an arm raised to defend himself. “None hid in the ladies’ bedchamber. I searched everywhere.”
Lady Vera’s eyes burned fire as she continued to slap Tristan. “And used the opportunity to touch my underclothing!”
Kellen raised a brow.
“Not apurpose!” said Tristan. “I was searching for a villain!”
Lady Vera hit him again.
“Enough!” Kellen turned away to search the corridor. “Take them to Lady Marissa.” He noticed the boys standing against one wall, wide-eyed and frightened. “Did any intrude upon your room?”
Peter shook his head. “No one, my lord.”
Kellen turned to Owen. “Take the boys, also. Make sure Lady Marissa bars the door.”
Kellen checked the boys’ chamber himself but found it empty. As he exited, three of his men came down from the roof. “Well?”
“Nothing, my lord.”
Kellen’s teeth clenched as his frustration grew. Three more of his men came upstairs. “Did you find anything?”
They all shook their heads. “Nothing suspicious, my lord. We questioned all below stairs, but none report anything amiss.”
Kellen felt blood rushing to his face as he tried to hold his temper. “How can a murderer slip in and out of my keep? Threaten my lady?” His voice rose with each word. “Find him!”
Kellen checked Gillian’s door, found it barred, waited to see if they would open it and, when they did not, told the guard to stay put and headed down the hall and descended the stairs. When he reached the great hall, he looked around. His people were visibly frightened and Kellen didn’t see any who did not belong.
Another guard came into the room. “The outer gates are all secure, my lord.
None passed that way.”
Kellen nodded once. “Detain any who look in the least suspicious, even if they are known to you.” His frustration levels mounted as he looked around. It could be anyone, any of his men, his guards, his knights, his servants.
He again wondered about Catherine. Who had been her mysterious lover? One of his own men, perhaps? Was this revenge for her death? Had she even spoken true? Had there ever been a lover? Or was the attack related specifically to Gillian? Or to himself?
He studied the knife he’d confiscated, but it yielded no clues. It was ordinary, one any knight could own or any peasant steal. Its sharpness reminded him of its former location in the chair, directly at throat level.
Gillian could have died.
He felt himself sweating and wiped his brow as two more of his men came in. “There is naught to report from the village. All has been quiet. None saw any pass who did not belong.”
Kellen seethed. “We’ve missed something. Search again. Question everyone.”
Nodding, they left.
Kellen studied his people gathered in the hall, their expressions nervous, fearful. Some stood, some sat on sleeping pallets, but none slept. He studied each face. They were all familiar to him. He moved forward and ripped the hood off an adolescent. The boy screamed, defensively raised his hands and, recognizing the lad, Kellen let him go.
He didn’t want to believe it could be one of his own people. Perhaps it was the Scots? Had men come in to rescue their own and plotted revenge? If so, how did they get in? How was it they weren’t seen?
He would question the Scots sitting in his dungeon. But first, he would question Gillian again and see if she’d remembered aught. See if she was still safe.
Chapter 21
When Lord Marshall grabbed Valeric by the shoulder and ripped the hood from his head, Valeric screamed, defensively raising both hands to protect himself, awaiting a blow. Lord Marshall only searched his face a moment, then let him go and, without a word, moved away.
Valeric stared after Lord Marshall’s retreating back in disbelief. He’d thought himself caught. He’d thought himself dead.
Breathing hard, Valeric watched Lord Marshall walk away, heart pounding so hard he wondered if he might die this night, regardless. Perhaps his treacherous heart would stop of its own accord and save Lord Marshall the trouble of slaying him.
On boneless legs, he backed the few feet to the wall and slid down to sit among the rushes, pulling his knees close and wrapping his cloak tight about him. He listened to Lord Marshall shout orders, and the hunger that had been with him for years surfaced once more. Why could not Lord Marshall have been his sire rather than Sir Royce? Would Lord Marshall have acknowledged him? Would he have trained him up to become a knight?
Shame had his eyes closing. That dream was now impossible. He’d tried to harm a lady. He’d tried to kill a lady. He leaned his head against the wall and fought against the tears burning his eyes. A lady who had been nothing but kind to him. Now he could never be a knight.
And what of Lord Royce? When he found Valeric had failed, what might he do? To him? To his mother? He considered staying at Marshall Keep and never returning to Royce Castle. In any case, he could not set forth. They had men everywhere, searching, watching. But he could not leave his mother unprotected.
All here knew and accepted him as one of their own. Lady Catherine had seen to that when she’d needed a message boy in place for her trysting with Sir Royce.
Might he not help his mother escape somehow? Find her a place, either here or in the village?
He opened his eyes to watch Lord Marshall until he moved out of sight, still shouting. He wished he could trust him enough to ask for aid, to beg protection for his mother at the very least; but did not doubt Lord Marshall would kill him if he realized he were the culprit. And then what would happen to his mother?
He took a shuddering breath and lowered his head to his knees. He hadn’t actually hurt Lady Corbett, he reminded himself. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. He’d been relieved when she was unharmed. Perhaps he had missed apurpose?
He rubbed his face against his hose, wetting the material with the tears he could not seem to subdue. He remembered the accuracy of the blade and knew nothing could excuse his behavior.
After he’d thrown the knife he’d been more shocked than Lady Corbett and walked a few steps into the bedchamber to assure himself she was unharmed. When she’d screamed, he’d realized she thought he was coming to finish the task.
He lowered himself to the ground, curled into a ball of shame and tears, and realized that he was, indeed, his father’s son.
The tension in the room was unbearable and, when someone pounded on the door, Gillian jumped, Vera gasped, and Yvonne placed a hand to her chest. Only Marissa slid off the bed where they were ensconced in furs and blankets and hurried to the door. “Who is there?”
When Kellen identified himself, Gillian let out a breath as Marissa unbarred the door. When he came into the room, he was tight-lipped and stern; but Gillian was relieved to see him and scrambled off the bed and hurried over with Yvonne and Vera, asking questions with the others.
Kellen put both hands in the air. “Enough!”
When everyone fell quiet, Gillian put a hand on one of his arms. “Did you find the man? The one who threw the knife?”
Kellen gave a curt shake of his head. “Not yet. Come.” He took her arm and ushered her first toward the chair, then changed directions and, when they reached the bed, grasped her waist and effortlessly set her on the high mattress. He put pillows behind her, propping her up, and pulled a blanket across her legs. When he’d arranged her to his satisfaction, one of his hands gripped the nearest bedpost, and he looked down at her. “I need to hear every detail, no matter how trivial. All you remember.”
Feeling slightly overwhelmed by the way he was looming and still shaken by the attempt on her life, Gillian nodded, drew her knees to her chest, and hugged them. She still couldn’t believe someone wanted her dead, that someone had snuck into her room in the middle of the night to accomplish the deed.
As a woman who lived alone, she’d always checked and rechecked the doors and windows and set the alarm before going to bed. Here, inside a fortress, with a big, burly, overprotective man down the hall, she hadn’t given it a thought.
She took a breath. “When the guy came into the room, I’d just barely blown out the candle and was sitting in the dark.” She gestured toward the small table. “I was actually looking at the door when he slipped in the room or I might not have seen him because he was so quiet. At first I thought it was you.”
Gillian felt her face heat a bit as she remembered planning to sneak to Kellen’s room. “But then I realized he was too small; and I whispered to him, and the next thing I knew there was a knife in the chair. If I hadn’t stood when I did . . .” Gillian placed a hand at her throat and swallowed.
“How much smaller than me?” Kellen barked out the words. “Who is of similar size?”
Gillian’s brows drew together as she remembered how the guy had strode toward her, how they’d been about the same height. “Actually, I don’t think he was much bigger than I am.”
“Could it have been a female?”
Gillian looked at the three ladies standing at the foot of the bed. Vera and Yvonne looked affronted, Marissa calm. Gillian shook her head. “The way he moved, it seemed like a man.”
Kellen’s face tightened with frustration, and Gillian wished she had more information to give.
“Mayhap it was a youth?”
Again, Gillian shook her head, trying not to be irritated by his snapping. “I don’t think so. The knife hit hard, and I’m assuming it landed where he’d intended it to. Wouldn’t that take a lot of skill?”
Kellen walked a few feet away, his hand lifting to rub his neck before he turned back. “You did not see any feature that set him apart? Hair color? Clothing?”
Gillian shook her head. “No. It was dark and
he was dressed in dark colors.” She watched Kellen continue to pace back and forth. “I wish I knew more.”
“Surely there must be some tiny detail you have left off?” His tone was sharp, again.
Gillian’s mouth tightened for a moment before she took a breath. “Well, sure I do. But I’m purposely hiding what I know.” She threw out a hand. “Bring out the thumbscrews or you’ll get nothing out of me.”
Kellen gave her a narrow-eyed glare then jerked his head toward the door. “Why was the door not barred?” He was getting louder. “It must be barred every night!”
Gillian’s chin lifted as she leaned forward. “I didn’t realize I needed security in my own bedroom.” She threw out a hand. “Maybe you should post a guard outside the door or get me a big dog since I’m obviously the target of a madman and I’m completely without protection!”
Both of them were breathing hard as they glared at each other. Only the opening door had Gillian glancing away to see several of Kellen’s men come into the room. She raised a hand to gesture, palm up, toward the door. “You didn’t bar the door.”
Kellen gave her a fulminating glare then turned to his men.
“Well?”
Sir Owen stepped forward. “’Tis bedlam outside, my lord. Word of the assassin has spread and many are panicked, seeing shadows, ghosts, and murderers.”
Gillian didn’t blame them. She didn’t feel safe, either.
Kellen started across the room and Gillian lifted a hand. “Wait! I want to ask you something.” When the men turned back, she continued. “Is there any way this could be related to Catherine’s death?”
Kellen turned back toward her. “I cannot deny there might be a connection.” He stared at a spot above her head. “If I had found the man responsible for turning Catherine from her duty, it may have prevented this attack.”
“But I don’t understand why you haven’t already figured that out?”
Kellen’s teeth clenched as he bit out, “I tried.”
