by Diane Darcy
“Lady Corbett! I have heard of the attack on thy person and have come to offer my support.”
“Thank you, Sir Royce. That’s very kind of you.”
With one hand occupied with the gift and the other clutching his arm, Kellen was pleased Royce had no excuse to touch her. As Gillian chatted with Royce, Kellen signaled to his men; as arranged, they hurried to sit on the benches surrounding the ladies, taking every available space.
When he led Gillian to the head table, he was gratified by Royce’s frustrated expression as the dolt realized there was nowhere for him to sit. As Royce was about to protest, Kellen called out, “Music!” and the musicians in the corner immediately started to play, their timing perfect, as Kellen helped Gillian into her seat.
He had not cared to let the performers inside but wanted to please his lady more, and so he had instructed his men to watch them closely.
Royce, stiff, looked around as Kellen took his own place, well satisfied with the arrangement. Royce turned to join his men at the next table, when Marissa called out, “Wait! Sir Royce, you must come sit between myself and Lady Corbett. Everyone slide down to make room.”
His men looked at him helplessly. “Go on,” said Lady Marissa and, reluctantly, they did as she asked.
Royce, all smiles now, took his seat and Kellen fumed, pulling Gillian close to his side as the meal was brought around.
Gillian clapped as the musicians ended their first song. “Where did the band come from?”
“Can I not spoil my lady if I so choose?”
“You’re just hoping the present is for you.” She indicated the gift, now propped a few feet away against a wall.
Kellen laughed. “Is it?”
Gillian lifted a shoulder, smiled, and turned her attention toward the musicians once more.
Kellen leaned closer. “Do you like the performance?”
Gillian nodded. “I love it. I hadn’t realized how much I missed music. I used to listen to it all the time when I was drawing.”
“Who played for you?” asked Kellen.
Gillian shrugged. “I like all sorts of music. One of my favorite English musicians is Elton John, or I guess I should say, Sir Elton John.”
Jealousy swamped Kellen at the thought of Sir John playing for her as she sketched. He wondered that her mother had allowed such as Gillian obviously thought on the man with affection. Perhaps he was a eunuch.
As they ate, he brooded as Royce flirted with Gillian, thankful Marissa kept pulling his attention away.
“Lord Marshall,” Royce said, addressing Kellen for the first time. “I understand you hold several Scotsmen in your dungeon.”
“Aye.”
“Have you questioned them?”
“Of course. They claim to know nothing of Lady Corbett’s attack.”
“Ah. Do you believe them?”
“No. I’ve sent a message to their laird. I’ll trade his men in exchange for any information that might be of use to me.”
“Ah. Of course.”
As everyone finished eating the first course, Gillian stood. “I have a gift.” She paused as everyone looked up. “For Lord Marshall.”
Everyone clapped as she retrieved the gift and handed it to Kellen.
“What is this for?”
“Your birthday?”
“’Tis four months’ past.”
“Consider this a belated birthday gift. But you have to guess what it is before you can open it.”
Kellen, his chest tight, held the flat package in both hands. “Is it a new sword?”
Gillian smiled. “No.”
“Armor?”
She laughed and so he tried to think of something more foolish and absurd. “A horse?”
Everyone laughed now. “You are horrible at this,” Gillian said. “Open it.”
He untied the bow and pulled off the linen to reveal a portrait of a man sitting in a chair, a girl leaning against his side. He turned to look at her. “This is me?”
She nodded. “And Amelia. The blacksmith was able to make the frame for me. He didn’t think it was fancy enough, but I’m really happy with the rustic way it turned out. I just wish I had a piece of glass to protect . . .”
Gillian’s words washed over him as he stared at the portrait. Her skill was unbelievable. Their faces were so lifelike. Of course, he’d seen his reflection in still water before, and in the smoothness of his shield. Catherine had owned both a polished mirror and a water bowl, but surely Gillian had made him more handsome than he truly was?
“I wanted you to have it.”
At her saddened tone, he glanced up. Was she trying to tell him something? Did she want peace between them as he did? A true marriage?
The ladies surrounded them. “Your skill is amazing,” Marissa breathed. “You’ve captured their faces exactly. Look how much Amelia looks like my son, Quinn.”
Gillian’s brows rose. “The one I haven’t met?”
“Aye.” Marissa traced the shape of Amelia’s nose, mouth and eyes, not quite touching the paper. “See here? All Marshall features.”
“Aye,” agreed Lady Vera. “Though, of course, Quinn’s eyes have Marissa’s blue color, while Amelia’s are amber like Kellen’s.”
Kellen looked at Amelia’s likeness, then at his own face in the portrait. Everyone knew of his wife’s infidelity, but there was no denying the resemblance. Kellen was astounded to realize the ladies were correct.
Which meant Catherine had lied. Amelia was his child.
His chest tightened and his throat constricted as he looked at Amelia’s little face. She was his daughter. Ever since Catherine’s death he had not allowed himself to believe. He had done his duty by the girl but had not so much as looked at the child if he could help it.
“Well? Do you like it or not?” asked Gillian.
He didn’t dare lift his gaze until his emotions were under control.
“Kellen?” she pressed again.
He cleared his throat and was finally able to answer. “Your talent has overwhelmed me.” The words came out hoarse, but audible.
Marissa nodded. “’Tis amazing. I see why thy mother never made you learn castle work. They no doubt kept you busy with thy incredible talent. I would ask you to do a sketch of my two boys. Mayhap at Christmas you might travel to Hardbrook Hall? I could call Quinn home for the event?”
Gillian hesitated, but finally nodded. “If possible, I will be glad to.”
Kellen’s chest filled with pride. “I will place this in my bedchamber in the place of honor.”
Gillian grinned. “You’d remove the wolf skin from off the wall for me?”
At her teasing, Kellen smiled. “Surely you ask too much. Mayhap I can spare a dark corner of the chamber.”
Everyone groaned as Gillian struck him in the shoulder.
Kellen laughed and glanced toward the stairs. “I wish to see Amelia. Perhaps someone should go and fetch her?”
“The child is no doubt asleep,” Marissa chided him. “She can see it in the morning.”
Kellen wasn’t sure he could wait until morning to see her. Again, he fought tears back.
Gillian had no idea what she had given him this night.
She had given him back his daughter.
Hand shaking, Robert set his spoon down and tried to make his face blank as the rage bubbled inside him.
The portrait showed the truth. He could not deny the girl looked like Marshall. That she was, in fact, Marshall’s daughter. Robert had always loved the thought that Amelia was his baseborn child. That Kellen was forced to accept and raise a child of Robert’s seed. It would only have been fair as Catherine had loved him! Had lain with him at every opportunity. By all accounts the child should have been his, as well as Marshall Keep and everything in it.
How did everything always turn to Marshall’s advantage?
Robert glanced at Gillian. While her sister’s eyes had only been for him, Gillian barely deigned to look in his direction. Once again,
Marshall had everything. Why did the goddess Fortuna always smile upon him? Did he wear a lucky toad around his neck? Cast runes? Control the very fates?
And why did Gillian feel naught for Robert? Had Catherine truly been the love of his life? Did Gillian sense his heart was already taken and so settled for Marshall? He calmed at the thought. That must be it. Otherwise, Gillian would fall under his spell as Catherine had, as all the ladies did. Ultimately, it was Catherine with her soft looks and touches who should be at his side and not her inferior sister. This was unbearable.
Marshall and his harlot needed to feel the pain that Robert felt. With luck, they would both die before dinner was finished. Only then would Robert’s misery finally come to an end.
Robert nodded at his servant who, as instructed, had ingratiated himself with the staff and helped serve the dinner as Robert and his men had caused extra work. The man dipped his head once, an almost imperceptible movement, then moved away. After he did his work, he’d melt away to help elsewhere, a shadow no one quite remembered.
Everything in place, Robert turned to smile at Gillian; but once again her back was to him as she spoke with Kellen. It was an insult, of course, indicating that she found Robert tiresome.
He forced himself to smile and chat with the other ladies who more than welcomed his attention. This was not to be borne and would not be for much longer.
His man returned with a platter, but another intercepted and took it, lifting a spoon and taking a few random bites. A food taster! The man took one last bite then set the platter between Gillian and Marshall.
Robert could not move his gaze from the morsel of meat Gillian picked up and lifted to her mouth. Happiness overwhelmed him and he tried to hide his expression by taking a drink of wine. Yes. Take a bite. Just one should do it.
The food taster knocked over a platter and a jug of water when he went down, but still, Gillian’s food was almost to her mouth. Just one little bite . . .
Gillian was startled when Kellen knocked the food from her hand then grabbed her mouth, squeezed her cheeks together and looked inside. She smacked his shoulder and jerked away. “What are you doing?”
Kellen grabbed her chin again and forced her to meet his gaze. “Did you take a bite?”
Shocked by his behavior, his savage demeanor, she didn’t answer; he stuck his finger in her mouth, running it around. Gagging, she pushed him away. “Kellen, please, what are you—”
“Did you eat anything?” His voice was louder this time.
She looked down at her platter. “N . . . no,” she stammered.
“Did you drink?”
Her breath caught in her throat; she looked at her goblet and nodded as Kellen grabbed her drink and sniffed it then gave his own drink the same treatment.
She heard the whispers. Poison.
Fear gripped her and she slowly stood. “What’s going on?”
The crowd parted and to her left she could see a man on the floor and watched as others helped him to sit up. Moaning and clutching his stomach, he vomited into a bowl that an old woman held to his mouth.
Gillian searched the crowd to see worried and fearful faces, people crossing themselves, and leaning to whisper to neighbors. She lifted her gaze to Kellen. “Someone poisoned that man? I don’t understand. Why?” she asked, and pressed a hand to her pounding heart.
Kellen didn’t answer but ordered someone to help the healer and make the man comfortable as they carried him out. He instructed Marissa to take the ladies up to their chamber and to stay inside with the door bolted. They were not to eat or drink anything. Kellen scanned the crowd.
Marissa tugged Gillian away.
“Someone was . . . was . . . poisoned?” Gillian asked again. “But why?”
“It was your platter that was tainted,” Marissa said. “Your food taster.”
Gillian stopped walking. “A food taster? What do you mean?”
Marissa gave her a push to get her going again. “Lord Marshall is a cautious man. Things are not as they seem here.”
“Someone really wants me dead?”
“You and Lord Marshall, it would seem.”
“But why?”
Marissa shrugged. “’Tis what Lord Marshall will discover.”
Gillian paused to look back at Kellen. He was shouting commands to lock the doors. No one was to leave. He turned to meet her gaze and his was as hard as granite. She shivered and let Marissa drag her away.
A half hour later Kellen’s fists clenched and unclenched. First someone tried to stab Gillian then poison her? Who? Why? It made no sense.
He could fool himself no longer. When Catherine had tried to kill him, she’d had help; someone had turned her against him, and that someone was now a threat to Gillian. The fact that he’d never found Catherine’s accomplice made this his fault.
Tristan and some of the guardsmen excused a group of servants and approached. “Any witnesses?” asked Kellen.
Tristan shook his head. “None remember who brought the platter; and other than a girl positive she saw demons flickering in the fire, none saw anything suspicious.”
Owen came into the hall and everyone stopped talking to watch his approach. He halted before Kellen and took a deep breath. “Frederick is dead. He could not give a name.”
Tristan swore.
Kellen’s mouth tightened and he looked at the ground. When he’d assigned Frederick as food taster, the man had been pleased to have the important task. No one, least of all Kellen, had truly believed the position a dangerous one. “Question the guards at the gates. Someone must have noticed something.”
The men turned and left.
Who were his enemies? Men he’d bested in battle? Or angered by having the King’s favor? And they’d sent assassins across the whole of England to kill his betrothed? Ridiculous.
He glanced to where Royce stood questioning servants in the middle of the hall. Granted, there was no love lost between them, but Kellen still considered him an ally. Besides, Royce had nothing to gain by Gillian’s death and had not been around when she’d been attacked with the dagger. Kellen headed to join him. “You were seated at Gillian’s side. Did you notice aught amiss?”
Royce gave an angry shake of his head. “Nothing. Would that I could name the blackguard who desires Lady Corbett’s death. I have questioned each of my men and many of the servants and they saw nothing awry. I suspect treachery from the north.”
The Scottish? Kellen doubted it. He scanned Royce’s men, but again, suspicion failed to take hold. Royce would not benefit by Gillian’s death.
“What can I do?” asked Royce. “I would help in your investigation of the matter.”
Kellen shook his head. “We will manage the search.”
Royce’s mouth tightened, but he nodded. “I understand. The less people milling about the better. But do not hesitate to call upon me if I might be of assistance.”
Kellen followed Royce and his men outside, watched as they mounted up, and wondered at Royce’s earlier assertion. Could it be the Scots? Two of their men resided in his dungeon. But the Scots generally dealt in physical attacks: rescues, ransoms, thievery, and the like. Not poison. And what would Gillian’s death profit them? If they murdered a lady, their men would be executed, there would be war, and they could gain nothing by antagonizing England. If they wanted their men back, they had only to return the cattle. Killing Gillian would accomplish naught.
Owen and Tristan returned. “No strangers were seen lurking about, and no one suspicious passed through the gate,” said Tristan.
A growl issued from Kellen’s throat as he went back inside, his men following. He could not fight who he did not see.
Group by group, the stragglers were questioned then sent on their way. The dwindling crowd was a relief after the earlier madness. Kellen headed for the kitchens and, upon entering, found Cook crying. She looked up at his entrance. “Is Frederick truly dead?”
Kellen hesitated, then lips tight, nodded. “Aye. ’Tis tr
ue.”
Cook turned away and started cleaning, banging pots and pans, instructing servants to throw out food she had doubtless worked the day through to prepare.
“I am truly sorry about Frederick. I know he was a friend to you. We will find his murderer.” He paused. “Did any come in here who should not have?”
Cook shook her head. “No one came in but Lady Gillian herself. No food left this kitchen poisoned, I can tell you that. I do not let just anyone dally about.” Cook grabbed a piece of cooked meat, lifted it for Kellen to see, and stuffed it in her mouth. As she chewed with difficulty, tears ran down her face.
Kellen put a hand on her shoulder. “I assure you that I do not distrust your loyalty in the least. I have known you my entire life and none could be so entirely above reproach as yourself.”
Cook swallowed, nodded, and wiped her eyes; but the tears continued to flow as she turned away.
Owen and Tristan appeared in the kitchen doorway. Tristan elbowed Owen, and sighing, he pulled Kellen aside. “In considering the matter,” said Owen, “I note that on most occasions, poison is a woman’s weapon.”
He shifted on his feet, his cheeks reddening, but his gaze remained steady. No doubt he thought on Catherine, but Kellen couldn’t care less about her at the moment and only nodded.
“Marissa, her ladies, and Gillian are the newest members of the keep,” said Owen, his tone careful.
Brows rising as he caught Owen’s meaning, Kellen shook his head. “Nay. Marissa and her ladies could have no motive for killing Gillian.”
Tristan and Owen exchanged a glance. “If you were to die, Marissa’s elder son would be heir to your father rather than yourself; but regardless, I agree. I do not suspect Marissa, nor her ladies.”
He hesitated, looked at Tristan who nodded again, then continued. “But Gillian’s sister tried to kill you. Perhaps this day you were the target again, and not the Lady Corbett. The platter was to have fed you both. Perhaps she’d not meant to dine?”
Kellen shook his head again. “I knocked meat from her hand as she was about to eat.”
