by Diane Darcy
Gillian didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t meant to offend him. She just saw him as super-competent and was genuinely surprised he hadn’t found his wife’s cohort and dealt with him accordingly.
With a growl, he turned away. “You will stay in your bedchamber on the morrow.”
“What?” She got to her knees. “No! Why should I? You told me you’d keep me safe!”
Kellen kept walking. “I will!”
“But I want to go home!”
At the door, Kellen stopped, then turned back, his gaze icy. It was the first time he’d looked at her like that, almost as if he hated her. “You are home.” The words were cold, hard, final. He turned and left, jerking the door closed behind him.
Gillian, stunned by his harshness, by everything that had happened, burst into tears.
As Yvonne rushed to bar the door, Marissa walked around the bed and pulled Gillian into her arms and stroked her hair. “He did not mean to be so heavy-handed. As a male, being told he is inadequate is the worst of insults.”
Gillian managed to sob out, “But I never said that!”
“Whether you said the actual words or did not, he believes you think it,” Marissa said.
Vera cut in. “Never tell a man he cannot protect you. ’Tis devastating to their ego.”
Yvonne stroked Gillian’s back. “Very true. Either they will rush off to prove you wrong and get hurt, else they will cease caring and go into a depression of the spirits. Either way, ’tis not a good idea.”
Gillian’s chest ached as she continued to cry. “Kellen hates me. I could see it in his face.”
“Shh,” Marissa stroked Gillian’s cheek.
“And . . . and . . . someone is trying to kill me! I mean, I knew I could die of the plague or the pox or something, but a knife in the throat? What is that about?”
Yvonne continued to rub her back. “Hush now. You will make yourself ill. ’Twill all be sorted in the morning.”
Gillian remembered the way Kellen had looked at her and cried harder.
Marissa tried to calm her. “Shh. Sit up now. Dry your tears. This is no way for the lady of the house to carry on.”
They pushed her into a sitting position and Gillian wiped her face with the cloth Marissa provided and tried to stop crying.
Vera handed her a cup. “Here. Drink this.”
After a few hiccoughing sobs, Gillian drank a bit. “Ugh,” she made a face. “It’s nasty.”
“Drink it down,” Marissa insisted. “’Twill make you feel better.”
As soon as she’d finished, they tucked her in and Gillian wondered if perhaps she’d been wrong about the culprit being a woman and if she’d just been poisoned, but couldn’t work up the energy to care.
Eyes closing, she buried one side of her face in the pillow, and her breath continued to hitch as she struggled to suppress more tears. “I’m not supposed to be here. You know that, right? In the morning, I’m finding a way to go home.”
“Shh,” Marissa tucked the blanket around her shoulders. “Of course you will, dear.”
Gillian finally slept.
Late the next afternoon, there was finally a knock and Gillian’s level of anger flashed to boiling point as she leapt off the bed and hurried to the heavy door. “Who is it?”
“’Tis Kellen. Unbar the door.”
Mouth tight, Gillian shook her head. What a piece of work. Without so much as a word he’d left her to twiddle her thumbs the entire day, then showed up giving commands. She had no intention of making this easy for him. “How do I know you aren’t a murderer? One can never be too careful about these things.”
“Nay, my lady,” an earnest voice responded. “’Tis truly Lord Marshall.” Her guard, anxious to please after trapping her inside the entire day, was no doubt relieved to offer the good news. She crossed her arms and glared at the door, torn between throwing it open to let Kellen have it, and forcing him to stew in the hall.
Easy decision. After the day she’d had he could cool his heels. “But how do I know it’s him? It could be anyone. It could be a murderer who’s also a voice impersonator. I saw this guy in Las Vegas who—”
“Gillian! Open this door! Now!”
She hesitated, considering. She didn’t want him to disappear in a huff before she finally had the chance to give him a piece of her mind; so she lifted the bar, swung the door wide, and glared at Kellen.
He stared back, face impassive, his amber gaze raking up and down her gown-clad body before he moved forward, forcing her to step back. He crossed the room, pulled in the sheet she’d dangled out the window, lifted it up and looked at the painted words. Throwing it across the bed he asked, “What is written here?”
“Trapped in the tower. Call 911. But maybe it should have said 999. It might have brought better results here in England.”
His brows furrowed. “What does it signify?”
Gillian stepped forward to admire her handiwork. “It means rescue me. I thought with all those knight-in-shining-armor types running around I’d get a few takers, but apparently, you’re all a bunch of poseurs.” She glared at the guard hovering in the doorway, and Kellen, following her gaze, quickly dismissed him.
He sighed. “Gillian, you are well aware keeping you thus is for thy protection.”
Gillian’s fists clenched. “The other ladies weren’t confined to quarters. Only me.” Her eyes started to burn and she looked down, unwilling to cry and suffer swollen and gritty eyes again.
She took a calming breath. “I hated being grounded as a child and I find it even less appealing as an adult.”
“Gillian.” He reached out, held her arms, and tried to draw her forward, but when she jerked away he sighed again. “I understand your anger with me. ’Tis my fault you were not kept safe. ’Tis a mistake I won’t repeat.”
“What are you saying?” Her calm deserted her as she threw a hand in the air. “I get to be confined to my bedroom for the rest of my life so you don’t make any mistakes?”
He gritted his teeth. “’Tis only until I find the culprit.”
“Did you find him? Or is it visiting hours in the prison?”
He stood a bit straighter. “I’ve not yet discovered the villain, but I swear I’ll not rest until I do.” He held out his hand. “Come. Make peace with me. The priest has returned and summoned us both.”
Gillian thought of refusing, but wasn’t about to miss the chance to leave her cell. Instead she crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “After you.”
Kellen’s hand dropped; he turned and led the way, and Gillian was left with the impression she’d hurt his feelings. She hesitated, a pang of guilt making her wish she’d simply taken his hand; but then she remembered the long stay in her bedroom, hardened her heart, and followed.
When they reached the great hall, servants were setting out tables and benches and getting ready for supper, but there was no sign of Marissa and her ladies.
Beatrice rushed forward. “My lady? Is there anything I can get you?”
Gillian shook her head. “I’m fine, thank you.”
Beatrice glanced uneasily at Kellen, then bent forward to whisper. “I managed to procure some pheasant feathers. If you would like I can sew some onto the hem of your blue gown?”
Gillian glanced at Kellen who waited impatiently. “Uh. Feathers. Yeah, I don’t think so. Maybe later we can think of something else to do with them.”
Beatrice looked so crushed that Gillian almost changed her mind, but she didn’t want to be kicking feathers around every time she wore the dress.
Once outside, Gillian looked toward the castle gate just as Kellen stopped to wait for her; and he intercepted her glance. “I would catch you well before you reached the gatehouse. And were I not here, I have ordered the guards to deny you passage. You’ll not escape me, Gillian. This is your home now.”
“Do you have to be so irritating? Maybe you’ll be the one who doesn’t escape me; did you ever think of that? And maybe once I have you where I want you, I’l
l lock you in my bedroom all day and see how you like it.”
A laugh escaped him, quickly stifled. “As you will, my lady.” His carefully neutral tone and the realization that it would take him about two seconds to break down her Seattle bedroom door, earned him a heated glare. She said nothing more as they crossed the bailey yard, side by side, in silence.
When they reached the open chapel entrance, Kellen offered his arm; but any soft feelings she’d felt earlier were well and truly squelched. She ignored him and walked the few steps into the chapel.
The priest, a plump, middle-aged man wearing a black robe, a brown bonnet that did nothing to hide his thick salt-and-pepper hair, and a cross at chest level, must have been waiting. He immediately came forward. “Welcome, welcome, Lady Corbett!”
Gillian politely stuck out her hand and the priest took it in both of his, a delighted smile on his kindly face. “I am so happy to know you. I am Father Elliot.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Father.”
“I am so pleased Lord Marshall is to wed again and to such a beautiful maid. ’Tis not right for one such as he to be alone.”
Gillian wiggled her hand loose. “Why not? He doesn’t mind it when I’m all alone.”
The priest looked surprised and glanced between the two of them.
“You must forgive her,” Kellen said. “Lady Corbett is not herself this day.”
The priest nodded. “Of course, of course!” He turned to Gillian. “You are not to worry, my dear. Lord Marshall will make a fine husband. You are lucky to be wedding such a one as he.”
“I am the fortunate one,” Kellen said.
Father Elliot’s mouth fell open and he looked a bit shocked. “Of course, of course! I meant no offense.” He turned to Gillian.
“All are excited for the wedding, my dear. The clothing, the romance, the dancing, the drink, the food.” He placed both palms on his stomach and smiled at Gillian. “Most especially the food. Wedding feasts are beyond compare. Do you not agree?”
Gillian managed to keep her eyes on the man’s face and not on his protruding belly, but couldn’t hide the smile, which he quickly noticed.
“Ah,” he chuckled. “So you do. Good, good. I’m pleased with Kellen’s choice of bride. You come from an esteemed household. Your father, Lord Corbett, is an outstanding example of courage and nobility, and his wife the image of grace and beauty. A fine family.”
Gillian noticed he didn’t mention Catherine. She wasn’t about to bring her up, either.
Father Elliot turned to Kellen. “Did you catch the culprit who dared to infringe upon Lady Corbett’s bedchamber?”
“We are still searching. I gather you arrived last nightfall?”
“Aye, I did.”
Kellen silently regarded the man.
Father Elliot’s eyes widened. “But surely you do not believe I had aught to do with the attack on Lady Corbett?”
Kellen hesitated, then said, “The man who attempted this crime is of similar size to my lady.”
Father Elliot, looking relieved, laughed and patted his belly. “None will mistake me for a delicate female.”
“No. But the tutor under your direction is quite slender, is he not?”
The priest’s mouth fell open again and he took a quick breath. “I can assure you we had naught to do with any deviltry.”
Kellen simply stared, saying nothing. The priest seemed to be trapped by Kellen’s gaze, prey to his predator; and Gillian, feeling sorry for him, finally interrupted. “So, what are we here for?”
The priest was visibly relieved by the change of subject. “Come, come.” Waving his hands around, inviting them further inside the stone chapel, he rounded the altar and said, “Now I am returned, ’tis time to post the marriage notice on the chapel doors.”
“What for?” asked Gillian
He looked surprised. “’Tis required, my lady. I will write thy names on the notice, and if any come forward with valid reasons why either of you cannot wed, the marriage will be prohibited.”
Gillian shifted from one foot to the other. Would the fact that she wasn’t actually Edith Corbett be a valid consideration? “What sort of reasons?”
Kellen stiffened beside her and when she glanced up, his jaw tightened.
Father Elliot glanced between the two of them and cleared his throat. “Ah, if either are married, or have taken vows of celibacy, or are perhaps too closely related. None such applies to you?”
Gillian shook her head. “Not to me.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie.
Kellen relaxed. “Nor me.”
The priest flattened out the paper, dipped his quill, and looked at Gillian expectantly. “Tell me thy full name, my dear.”
Gillian bit her lip, and looked from one man to the other. “Shouldn’t we wait until my parents get here to do this?”
“No, indeed. We would do this even had you not arrived.”
Gillian thought a moment. She had no idea what Edith’s full name was and couldn’t begin to guess. Taking a breath, she wondered if she was about to give herself away. “Edith Gillian Rose Corbett,” she said, giving Edith’s and her own name.
She watched them closely, but neither man seemed to think anything was wrong. Kellen was simply watching the priest, almost with satisfaction, as he wrote slowly and carefully then sat back to admire his handiwork before beginning again.
“And Lord Kellen William Spencer Marshall.” Father Elliot wrote as he spoke each name.
Gillian, relieved that the jig wasn’t up, smiled at Kellen.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
He smiled back, a bit hopefully. “Aye, my lady, ’tis a pleasure.”
Gillian remembered she was mad at him and looked away. “Father, maybe you should fill out my death certificate, as well. You know, just in case. That way I won’t put Kellen to any more trouble than I have to.”
The priest’s mouth fell open once more.
Kellen took a deep breath and put up a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Gillian.” He growled her name. “I would simply keep you safe. And, whatever you believe, you are no trouble to me. I am most anxious to please you.”
Gillian turned to him hopefully. “Do you mean that?”
He lowered his hand and nodded. “Aye,” he said fervently. “With everything in me.”
She held out both hands and he quickly grasped them in his own. As the warmth from his skin and eyes engulfed her, she swallowed. “Then take me to the cemetery. Come with me.” Come home with me. She couldn’t say it out loud but tried to convey how much this meant with her gaze.
Kellen looked conflicted and she held her breath as she waited for his response. Then his face hardened and she let out her breath, knowing she’d lost.
“Nay. Your safety is all that matters.”
She jerked her hands out of his grasp. “You’re never going to take me, are you?”
“I will when it is safe. I swear it.”
When it was too late, she thought, but didn’t dare say the words out loud.
“The cemetery beyond the village?” Father Elliot sounded confused. “They say that it, as well as this chapel, was blessed by Saint Cuthbert himself, a known miracle worker who . . .”
As Gillian looked at the stone floor and listened to the priest prattle on, desperation overwhelmed her. Someone was trying to kill her. Edith and the wedding party would show up who knew when, and when they did, Gillian was in so much trouble. If she hadn’t already been murdered, she’d be locked in the dungeon or worse.
For her own piece of mind, she had to at least see if she could get back. Once she was actually in the cemetery, she had no idea what would happen. Would she simply go back to her own time or find she had some control over the situation? Maybe she’d be able to stay a while longer to try and persuade Kellen to go with her. But either way, she had to know. Even if it meant she’d never see him again.
Unexpected pain rippled through her and tears filled her eyes as she turned her head to
look at him. She really did like the big goof. She might even love him.
Whatever anger she’d been harboring melted away at his pained expression, and she held out her hands to him once again. He quickly grasped her fingers, kissing the knuckles of first one hand, then the other, gazing into her eyes as he did so. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe she’d find she could come back for him.
But tonight she’d give him the drawing, just in case it really was goodbye.
Tears spilled over and she dipped her head.
“Ah, good, good,” said Father Elliot. “A love match. ’Tis just as it should be.”
Chapter 22
Kellen paced while he waited at the base of the stairs and noticed Owen try, and fail, to hide his smirk. “You are sure to wear a path in the stone if you continue thus, my lord.”
Tristan didn’t bother to hide his grin. “True, but perhaps we can find a use for such a rut. We could fill it with water for the dogs to drink, or store fish in the winter months. ’Tis a brilliant notion, my lord. Continue on.”
Kellen shook his head and glanced to where Royce stood flirting with the ladies at the head table; leaning over them, his oily charm a success if the smiles and laughter he earned were any indication.
No. Better to ignore his men and intercept Gillian before Royce tried to attract her attention. Kellen wanted to ensure the lout didn’t so much as speak to, look at, or touch Gillian. And if Kellen had to suffer the ribbing of his men to achieve that end, he would do so gladly.
She finally appeared, her guard trailing behind. She’d changed into a green gown, and her blonde hair caught the torch light for a moment, shining brightly as she descended. The slight smile on her face indicated she wasn’t upset or angry and Kellen exhaled. He did not wish to fight with her.
As she halted a few feet above him, he finally noted the flat package she carried under one arm, wrapped in linen, a blue ribbon tied at its center. “Who is the gift for?”
“You’ll have to find out along with everyone else, won’t you?” She stepped down and entwined her free arm with his. As they walked into the great hall, Kellen was not surprised to see Royce saunter over to intercept them. No doubt he’d been watching for Gillian.
