She Owns the Knight (A Knight's Tale Book 1)

by Diane Darcy

  Gillian gripped his tunic and wanted to blurt out that she wasn’t Edith, that’s what was the matter!

  He tried to pull away, but she clung. “Listen to me. I will make you a new bracelet. A better one. There is no need to upset thyself this way. I did this to please you. If you but describe its likeness, I will have an exact copy made. Better yet, you could use your skill to sketch a likeness and I will send it to London to the best of artisans. ’Twill be better than the original and surely of more value.”

  He continued to rub her back. “Come, Gillian. Cease. I do not care for your tears.”

  She pressed her cheek to his tunic, sucked in a shuddering breath, and made an effort to stop crying. She didn’t know what to do. She’s been so sure this would work that she hadn’t planned any further. So now what? Should she run away? Wait and see what Kellen did to imposters? Explain everything to him and hope he chose her? If he threw her out, what would she do to survive? She didn’t know. The tears started up again, and she sobbed.

  Kellen growled, grabbed her by the waist, and set her on his horse. His face pulled into tight lines; he grabbed Amelia and handed her up then mounted behind them. “I brought you here to make you content. To give you what you desired. Not to upset you.”

  Maybe she should just tell him and get it over with. Let the chips fall where they may. What was she waiting for? Edith to witness the spectacle? She took a deep breath and looked forward, over the horse’s ears. “Kellen . . . I . . . I don’t belong here.”

  “This is your home now.” His voice hardened.

  “I . . . I . . . came from the future.”

  “You came from the south. We are not so backward here as you would make us out to be.”

  She shook her head. “No. No, you don’t understand. I’m from another time.”

  “Gillian, I will not take you to task if you desire to do things differently here. As lady of the castle, ’tis your right to make changes. If your preference is the way of your father’s keep, I’ll not interfere.”

  “I’m not Edith.” Fear tightened her throat as she strangled the words out, making it hard to breathe, but she’d said it. She’d finally said it.

  “I will always call you Gillian. ’Tis my preference, as well.”

  Her shoulders slumped as she ran out of courage and his arms tightened, drawing her back against him. She had to face facts. She might never go home. She might live here forever or die here quite soon.

  Fine tremors shook her stomach and, when Amelia started to cry, Gillian realized she was scaring the little girl. She hugged her tight and kissed the top of her head. “It’s okay, sweetie.” She sniffed. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “By the saints! Two crying females are more than I can bear! I will fix this if you will only give me a task! I will take you directly to my treasury and let you have whatever you like; whatever catches your eye. I promise you I have treasures worth much more than your wretched bracelet, but you must be silent!”

  Gillian nodded, sucked in a shuddering breath, and tried to control herself. Anyway, she needed to be clearheaded so she could decide what to do next. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the slightest clue.

  The next morning, one hand hidden behind his back, Kellen waited behind some shrubbery as Gillian approached. He was determined to court his lady. If he did it aright, perhaps Gillian would settle and cease pining for her old life. Mayhap if he did it correctly, she would even cede her heart and reward him with a kiss or two.

  When she rounded the corner, his heart beat harder as he quickly moved forward to walk with her. “My lady?”

  Gillian started and stared up at him, her eyes blank as if lost in thought, her face pensive, her usual vitality missing. “Oh. Hello.”

  “Good morrow. Where are you off to, then?”

  “What?”

  “Where go you?”

  As if looking for an answer, Gillian glanced around the bailey at knights, servants washing laundry, and at the wagon rumbling through the gate. She seemed a bit distracted, which to Kellen’s mind, was not necessarily a bad thing. Taking her arm, he pulled her to a stop at the other end of the shrubbery, blocking her view of the goings-on around them.

  “I have something for you,” he said. “A gift.” Taking his hand from behind his back, Kellen dangled a string necklace on two fingers, the pearls and gold beads gleaming in the sunlight.

  Gillian’s eyebrows rose and her mouth parted. “Oh, wow.” She placed a hand to her heart. “It’s gorgeous.”

  Kellen smiled at her reaction. She had not been interested in recreating her bracelet or in choosing something from his treasury, but he hoped the shiny piece would please her and in some way, make up for the missing trinket. Perhaps it would even cause her to forget the cursed piece.

  “I thought you might wear it on our wedding day.” Kellen spread the necklace apart with both hands and lifted it toward her head. “May I?”

  Gillian bent slightly and Kellen slipped it over her hair and smiled when she arranged it against her bosom where it looked very lovely indeed. She glanced up and smiled weakly. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

  “Ah . . .” Kellen rubbed the back of his neck. “I have something more for you.” He glanced around, glared at one of his men who happened to walk too close until he hurried away, and then reached inside his tunic and pulled out a piece of parchment. “I’ve written a poem for you.”

  Gillian tilted her head to the side. “A poem? Really?”

  Kellen cleared his throat. The troubadour had declared his efforts feeble. Mayhap the man had even dared to laugh until Kellen had half-strangled the pansy-faced she-goat. But afterward he’d been in the proper frame of mind and tried to help Kellen finish the missive. Kellen had not allowed it; however, at that point he’d realized he’d wanted it to be from himself and no other.

  Another quick glance assured him they were alone, and he took a breath and began to read. “My lady’s smiles do suffer my heart to wake. Take pity on the pain, for ’tis drunk on thy beauty and laughs for the future; for when I die, I will know I have lived well. For passion is a pleasing thing and bonds as strong as horse or hound or blade.”

  Kellen swallowed, held his breath, and looked to see if Gillian understood what he was trying to say.

  Laughter erupted from directly behind the shrub. Kellen recognized the high-pitched squeals of his foster sons as, still shrieking, Peter, Ulrick, and Francis ran along the length of the greenery and out the other side.

  Face heating, Kellen was about to go and thump the spying miscreants when Gillian grasped his arm, and he allowed her to pull him in the other direction. Mayhap he should have let the troubadour help him after all.

  Gillian stopped and faced him. “Did you write it yourself?” she asked softly.

  Kellen swallowed. Glanced at the retreating figures of the boys, who had best run faster if they wanted to escape unscathed, then reluctantly turned his attention but did not lift his gaze.

  “Did you care for it?”

  “Yes. Very much.”

  Kellen let out a breath and nodded. “Aye. I did. I wrote it myself, with no aid.”

  Gillian held out a hand. “May I?”

  Kellen gave over the small bit of parchment and Gillian took it, looked at it for a moment, then gazed up at him. She pressed it to her heart. “Thank you. I’ll treasure it always.”

  He sucked in a breath, nodded, willed the heat to leave his face, and finally met her gaze. She still did not seem herself, her usual liveliness absent. “Is aught amiss, my lady?”

  Gillian shrugged then smiled wistfully. “Will you make it better if it is?”

  “Aye. Think you I cannot carry your burdens?”

  Her blue eyes looked troubled, but finally she nodded. “You probably could.”

  He longed to erase the look. “Then let me. What were you thinking of? Earlier, when I stopped you.”

  She tucked the poem inside the bodice of her gown and held out her hand. “Come wi
th me.”

  After a lingering glance at her bosom and a fleeting press of envy for his poem, he grasped her small, soft hand and walked with her toward the gardens.

  “I never told you about . . . well . . . about the couple who raised me.” Gillian took a breath. “Their names were Alan and Christina, and they were wonderful people; I loved them so much. They had a son named Nicholas and he was . . . like a brother to me.”

  Kellen squeezed her fingers, willing her to continue.

  “They all died in an accident and, well, I wanted to die, too. I felt very alone. I’ve been thinking about them today and wondering what they’d want for me.”

  Kellen squeezed her fingers again. “’Tis hard to lose loved ones.” He led Gillian toward a bench and, after a quick glance around, sat and pulled her onto his lap, feeling pleased when she did not protest.

  Kellen opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then tried again. “I did not truly know Catherine. She went about her life, as did I. When she died, I felt cheated and angry; my chance at an heir gone with her. While I did not love her, I wanted to. I tried to be a good husband and was happy about the coming babe.” He lifted a hand and tucked a length of blonde hair behind her ear so he could better see her profile.

  “Life can be difficult at times, Gillian, but you will never be alone again; I swear it. You have me now. It sounds as if your foster family treated you with love. I believe they would want you happy. Can you be happy with me?”

  Gillian turned and placed her arms around his neck, pressed her face against his skin, and hugged him.

  Kellen, pleased by her reaction, wrapped his arms around her, held her tight, and realized he was the one in danger of falling in love. He only hoped it was requited.

  After Catherine, he’d not thought to trust a woman again; but Gillian easily breached his defenses with warmth, sincerity, and candor.

  He admitted to himself that Gillian had captured his heart completely.

  He felt hope again, anticipation, and desire. His arms tightened further, but she did not protest, relaxing against him, her arms about his neck, her breath warm against him.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Kellen relished the feel of her in his arms. “Aye. Anything.”

  “What are you planning to do with the dowry my father paid you?”

  “It will go to help our people. I also want to improve our position here on the border. The more men we have, the better trained and outfitted they are, the better our situation and strength.”

  “Oh.”

  “Do not worry on that. I will always keep you safe.” Kellen considered what more he might do to further his suit and remembered her curiosity about his marriage proposal. She had wondered at the romance of it.

  For her, he could be romantic. He could propose and it would be everything she might wish for. He would capture her heart as she had his. She could depend upon it.

  Hours later, Gillian lay in bed, wondering once more what she was going to do. The Corbett’s impending arrival and the imminent threat of exposure had left her exhausted, feeling like a sword was hanging over her head. Maybe she deserved it for blatantly stealing Kellen’s affections from Edith, but she couldn’t dredge up even a smidgen of regret. Kellen was hers now and Edith could get lost.

  Gillian turned over, unable to get comfortable. She was going to have to tell Kellen everything before the Corbett family arrived. Either that or run away.

  She snorted. She could leave a note, don’t look for me, it might be plague; because, yeah, for sure she’d be able to survive in medieval England on her own.

  Anyway, even if it were an option, she wasn’t sure she could get herself to leave Kellen at this point. She loved him. Really, really loved him. And she was starting to suspect that he just might love her back.

  Earlier, she’d practically melted into a puddle at his feet when he’d asked if she could be happy with him. If she just told him everything, threw herself on his mercy, surely he’d choose her and forget about the fortune Edith brought?

  Gillian turned over again. “Marissa, are you awake?”

  Marissa sighed. “Must you move about? Are you not tired?”

  “When you got married, did you bring a big dowry to your husband?”

  “Of course.”

  Gillian hesitated. “Kellen wrote me a poem today. It was so incredibly sweet. He was so sweet. Do you think he’d take me without a dowry?”

  Marissa jerked the covers up. “The land and money are for the good of his people. Your people now. Never underestimate what you bring to this marriage. Lord Marshall has many to care for.”

  “But my sister already brought him a dowry. Why does he need another one?”

  “It will make his position even stronger. It will help more of his knights secure a place. It means more property and crops to feed his people. It will earn gratitude and respect for you, as well. You must cease trying to turn everything into a romantic gesture.”

  “Right. Of course, you’re right.” Gillian sighed. “But you should have seen his face today when he read me that poem. He was so earnest and wonderful and . . . and . . . just so cute.” She knew she was gushing but couldn’t seem to help herself. “Is your husband romantic?”

  Marissa turned onto her side, her back to Gillian. “He has no flowery words but is dependable and offers loyalty and protection.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “Go to sleep, Gillian,” Marissa said wearily.

  Gillian turned over. She wished she could sleep and forget about her troubles, if only for a little while. She knew she’d soon have to tell Kellen everything and throw herself on his mercy. She probably ought to do it tomorrow.

  She remembered the way he’d looked at her earlier, his expression tender and possessive. Would that change? She had to admit, despite the poem and the way he’d held her so close, she was concerned. Her ex-fiancé had been romantic, too, but in the end, he’d only wanted her for what she could give him. Would Kellen be any different?

  As worried as she was about being put in the dungeon or hanged, she was actually more troubled about her heart. When her fiancé had revealed his true colors, it had definitely hurt, but she’d gotten over it. If it turned out Kellen only wanted her for the money she was supposedly bringing, if his expression changed from tender to contemptuous, she just wasn’t sure she’d recover from the pain.

  Chapter 29

  Marissa would not lose her temper. She would not allow Gillian to affect her mood. Lord Corbett was expected soon and perhaps his family as well, so they needed to finish the final touches for the wedding. But it was not easy to concentrate with Gillian pacing about the solar.

  “Gillian,” Marissa forced a genial tone. “Will you please settle? We need to finish stitching these gifts for your mother and sisters.”

  Gillian walked to the window, yet again, and looked out. “I can’t. I need to talk to Kellen.”

  Marissa forced her jaw to relax. She would be patient. She would not let Gillian drive her to madness. “Later. At the moment, you need to work. Perhaps you can help Beatrice sort her . . . feathers.” Marissa stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Was no real work to be done this day?

  “No, now. I sent the boys to go and find him.”

  Marissa’s mouth opened and shut as she tried to decide how to chide Gillian without losing her temper. Finally, she gave up. “Honestly, Gillian, you will cease moping and pacing about. ’Tis affecting us all and getting on my nerves.”

  She set her stitching aside. “Kellen is mooning about and trying to find ways to please you and must I remind you, yet again, that as lady of the castle, ’tis your responsibility to set the tone for your home. If you have your husband running about after you, trying to win your smiles, then he has no time for his duties. You must needs—”

  “Lady Hardbrook! Lady Hardbrook!”

  The three boys, Peter, Ulrick, and Francis came running into the solar.

  “Gentlemen.” Marissa shot
them a stern look as they slid to a halt. “You forget your manners.”

  Ulrick bowed quickly and the other two boys copied him. “Apologies, my lady, but Lord Hardbrook is at the gates!”

  “He is riding a huge stallion!” said Peter. “Come on!”

  As the boys ran out Gillian stopped, turned to look at her, and Marissa found she was struck dumb.

  Gillian’s head tilted to the side and she looked concerned. “Are you okay? What’s the matter?”

  Marissa’s fingers started to shake and in that moment, she hated Gillian more than she’d ever hated anyone in her entire life.

  If Gillian’s husband were to turn up unexpectedly, she would toss her dignity to the wind, run down the stairs, and throw herself at him; regardless of the fact that she’d only embarrass them both.

  Of course, Kellen never seemed embarrassed. He seemed to admire Gillian more than any husband Marissa knew of.

  Marissa was suddenly at a loss about what to do. She was fearful to meet her own husband or at least fearful to meet him in the manner she’d been intending.

  Gillian’s brows furrowed. “Marissa, are you all right?”

  The longer Marissa stared at Gillian the more she thought about her decision to follow Gillian’s silly and immature lead in this. What if she were to act like Gillian? What if she were to go downstairs, right this moment, and throw herself at her husband? What if she were to flirt with him? Kiss him?

  Her stomach tightened so much it ached and, when dizziness assailed her, she remembered to breathe. Would he set her aside in disgust? Would he shove her away in embarrassment for them both? He might. But what if he hugged her back? What if he greeted her in kind?

  Before she could turn coward, she stood. “Come with me, ladies. I need your assistance.”

  Vera and Yvonne jumped up at the urgency in Marissa’s voice; and they followed, as did Gillian.

  “Not you, Gillian. You, you just . . .” She waved her hand. “Just . . . do something.”