by Diane Darcy
She stood, slid on her backpack, and tightened the straps. Her heart started beating too fast, a staccato rhythm thumping in her chest and ears.
She looked at Kellen and tried to memorize his face, his chiseled features, the thick, tousled, black hair, the dark stubble covering his bold, masculine jaw and strong chin. The amber eyes, and even the scars on his cheek and forehead. The memories would have to be enough.
Her lip trembled. “Kellen.”
He continued to argue with Lord Corbett.
“Kellen.”
He glanced up.
“Goodbye, my darling.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I-I will always love you. I swear it.”
All four men turned to look at her, but she only had eyes for Kellen. She tried to burn his image into her mind one last time as she slipped off the ring.
Chapter 31
The hair on the back of Kellen’s neck rose and he surged forward when Gillian started to waver, fade, and then disappear. He was too late. She was gone. There was nothing but empty air where she’d been standing. His mouth open, his heart beginning to thunder, every muscle stretched taut; he turned wide eyes on his father, Lord Corbett, and the priest. “Did you see her?”
Father Elliot’s mouth was open as he loudly sucked in deep breaths. “’Tis the second miracle of Saint Cuthbert!”
Kellen searched the chapel, but there wasn’t much to explore; only the altar, and a few benches, including the one Gillian had been sitting on. He even looked up at the beams in the ceiling.
He felt the air where he’d last seen his bride, but she was truly gone. He threw back his head. “Gillian! Where are you? Come back to me!”
White-faced, Lord Corbett sank onto a bench. “Perhaps the girl was speaking the truth?” His voice was hoarse. “Perhaps she truly was my granddaughter? That or a witch.”
Father Elliot snorted. “No witch could ever cross this particular threshold, or take communion herein. ’Tis a miracle.”
Kellen’s clenched his fists, battling the desire to destroy the room, to smash walls, tear off window shutters, and lay waste to everything. He looked around wildly. “Gillian! Come back!” Kellen stared at the empty space where last he’d seen her and swallowed. If Gillian had been telling the truth about where she was from, then mayhap she’d told the truth about loving him as well.
So why would she leave him? Why would she abandon him? He had every intention of asking her just that when he found a way to get his hands on her. She had to come back. He could not live without her.
Gillian’s eyes burned, dizziness overwhelmed her, and she fell, landed on one knee, and hit a rock. Pain, sharp and intense, bit hard around her kneecap and her vision blacked for a moment. She couldn’t breathe.
Finally, sliding off her pack, and clutching her knee, she groaned, reached out, and touched rough stone. Her shaking fingers grasped for a handhold, found one, and she pulled herself up.
As she blinked away tears and glanced around at the graffiti-decorated stone and crumbling walls, she realized she was definitely in the ruins of the chapel. She could see what was left of the keep beyond and knew she was back. Back in her own year? She hoped so. She was counting on the fact that she didn’t leave Kellen only to show up in some other time not her own.
At the thought of Kellen, her face crumpled and the tears started to flow. She sank against the crumbling stone wall as it really hit her. She was never going to see him again. He’d marry Edith and she would be the one to give him children. She would be the one who made him smile. It would be Edith who held Kellen close, teased him out of his somber moods, and saw the vulnerable man beneath the strength.
Gillian started to cry in earnest. Edith would never love him as much as she did. Never! Edith couldn’t possibly, and it wasn’t fair!
A long while later, Gillian swiped at her tears and took deep, shuddering breaths. She looked at the drying, congealing blood on the finger of her left hand. She was pretty sure the blood had somehow loosened the ring and triggered the time travel.
The ring had become so much a part of her; she’d been convinced she’d wear it the rest of her life. Her eyes filled with tears once more. She’d also been convinced that somehow, she’d have Kellen for the rest of her life, and look how that had turned out.
She opened her right hand to see the gold circle still within her cupped palm and picked it up to study the engravings on the inside. Again, she wondered at the words before closing her fingers around it once more.
According to the priest, she’d been on holy ground both in the cemetery and in the chapel. If the combination of blood and holy ground had somehow sent her back, that meant she could have returned at any time.
If she had, she’d have never met Kellen, never have fallen in love with him, or had his love in return.
Gillian leaned back against the crumbling wall, completely worn out, eyes swollen, and tried to hold back a fresh onslaught of tears.
What did she do now? Did she go home and somehow put her life, and her shattered heart, back together? Or did she do what her heart was telling her to do and put the ring back on?
The memories she’d made just didn’t seem enough. She sat in the rubble of the chapel for a long time, remembering, crying, and feeling sorry for herself.
Finally, completely chilled and shivering, she got up. Yes, she was tempted to put the ring on her finger and try and go back, but she wouldn’t. She was in her own time now, and he was in his. It was for the best.
She needed to step aside so Kellen could have everything he needed. So he could have everything Edith’s property would bring. Kellen wouldn’t have to pay a fine to the king, and he wouldn’t have to try and explain her presence to anyone. By marrying Edith, he’d be ahead money rather than behind and, like Marissa had said, he had many to take care of.
So, Gillian would go home, get over Kellen, and get on with her life. It hurt. But it was still the right thing to do.
Her rental car was long gone from where she’d parked it. Still swiping the occasional tear, Gillian walked all the way into town, glad of the exercise in the cool mid-afternoon air and the time to think. When she finally arrived, the first thing she did was head to the hotel. When she explained who she was, the manager’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open.
“Miss Corbett! Where have you been? Your car was found and the police searched the area looking for you!” The manager, tall and thin, with a shock of thick, black hair and dark brown eyes, looked worriedly at her clothes. “Why are you dressed like that?”
Relieved that he knew her, that she’d made it back to where she was supposed to be, Gillian ran a hand down the skirt of her yellow medieval gown. “Uh . . .” She wasn’t sure what to say.
“You look like you’ve been crying? Have you been harmed, Miss Corbett?”
“No. I’m fine. I went off with my boyfriend for a while, and we recently broke up.”
“A local boy?”
Gillian nodded.
The manager’s brows pulled together. “You went off with some bloke for over a month and didn’t think to tell a soul?” His lip curled in disgust. “If that isn’t just like an American girl.”
Gillian, feeling numb, simply shrugged. “Do you still have my luggage?”
“Yes.” His tone had cooled considerably. “We still have it.”
“Can you rent me a room?”
The manager turned to his computer. “I shouldn’t after the way you took off. So inconsiderate. But the police will want to see you, and I’ll have to call the car rental place and let them know you’ve turned up. They brought your cellular phone in. It’s with your luggage. They were very worried about you. Everyone was.” He shook his head and tapped his fingers on the keyboard. “So inconsiderate.”
Gillian opened her backpack, pulled out her Visa card and ID and, after what seemed like forever, she was finally checked in and given a key.
The manager’s expression was icy. “Your things will be sent on to your room. Of c
ourse, there will be an additional fee for storing your possessions while you were away.”
Gillian lifted one shoulder. “Thank you. That will be fine.”
The man nodded and, apparently somewhat appeased by her response, softened a bit. “All right, then.”
Gillian headed to her room and, after her luggage arrived, she cried in the shower as hot water streamed over her. She already missed Kellen so much.
Was he already married to Edith? After she’d left had they just got on with it? She realized he’d actually have married, lived his entire life, and had a family with Edith. He’d be long dead by now.
That made her cry even harder.
After the water cooled, she got into her pajamas and lay on the bed, only to be awakened some time later by a knock on the door. She quickly slipped into her robe.
The two burly gentlemen at the door, a redhead and a thinning brunet, identified themselves as the police. “Miss Corbett? Can we come in?”
She stepped back and let them enter.
“Are you alone, miss?”
“Yes.”
They looked around; the brunet, a hard-jawed man with a strong cleft chin, searched the bathroom, apparently unwilling to take her word for it. When they’d all been seated, her on the bed and them in the two available chairs, they started the questions.
Had she been injured? No. Was she held against her will? No. Was she robbed? No. The name of her boyfriend? Kellen Marshall. His address? They’d just traveled around a lot. Was there anything she wanted to tell them? Anything she’d left out? No. Was she afraid to report a crime, because they could assure her they had the ability to protect her. She was fine.
Standing, looking exasperated and no doubt thinking the whole process a waste of time, they headed for the door; and the redhead turned back. “It was inconsiderate of you to worry everyone so. There was a search after your car was discovered, you know?”
Gillian hung her head. “I heard. I’m sorry.”
The man nodded once, they both left and, exhausted, she crawled back into bed and immediately fell asleep.
The next morning, Gillian went outside into the chilly spring air, bought a local newspaper, and sat on a bench. She looked at the date in the corner, May 24. Sure enough, it was springtime again, and over a month had passed since she’d been there last.
She thought about all that had happened, and stupid tears welled in her eyes again. She knew she needed to get control of herself. She was a mess. But all she could think about was, did he miss her? Think about her? Would he be happy? Did she want him happy with That Cow Edith?
“Miss, are you okay?” Gillian looked up to see a pretty, middle-aged woman looking at her with concern.
Gillian sniffed, wiped at her eyes, and chuckled. “Sorry, I’m fine, just thinking about something . . . sad.”
“Is there anything I can to do to help?”
Gillian shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Thank you, though.”
The woman nodded. “Okay, if you’re sure.” She smiled and started to walk away.
“Wait. Do you know if there’s a car rental in town?”
The woman nodded. “Sure. There’s one just outside the Gillian town square.”
Gillian stared at the woman. “Excuse me. Did you say the Gillian town square?”
“Yes. I can give you a lift if you’d like.”
Gillian looked at the newspaper in her hand. The Gillian Gazette was printed at the top of the front page in big, bold letters. How had she missed that? “I thought this town was named Marshall?”
The woman shook her head. “No, you’re thinking about the ruin outside of town. It’s called Marshall Keep. The town is named after some obscure lord’s true love.” She waved a hand. “I don’t remember all the details, but there’s a guidebook over at the local bookshop.” She pointed across the street to a charming cluster of honey-stoned cottages. “It tells the whole story.”
Gillian stared at the hanging bookstore sign as chills raced up her body. “Thank you.”
“Are you sure you don’t need a lift?”
Gillian shook her head. “No, I’m good. But thanks for your help.”
She walked across the cobblestone street to the bookstore, asked for and purchased the guidebook, and was soon back outside and sitting on a pretty wooden bench. She flipped to information about the castle.
Lord Marshall, later Lord Hardbrook after his father’s death, had named the town after his true love. Curse it! The tears started up again and she tilted her head back and willed the moisture away. After a moment, under control again, she continued reading.
Historians weren’t sure what the whole story was there. Lord Marshall’s first wife had died, and it had been rumored he’d killed her. For this mystery girl? No one knew, which was why Lord Marshall had become such a figure of speculation and mystery over the years.
Some historians ventured that Gillian had actually been Catherine, perhaps a nickname? Apparently, her death had left him disconsolate as he’d never remarried. Another theory stated that perhaps Gillian was a lover who had died too? Or had married another?
What was clear was that, after his wife’s death, Lord Marshall had contracted to marry his wife’s younger sister, but she’d married one of Lord Marshall’s men instead.
Tears flooded her eyes again. It was her that he’d wanted? Not riches or wealth or a connection to Lord Corbett? Just her? Had Kellen believed her story after she’d disappeared? Was he leaving her a message with the name of the town? He’d never married Edith because he loved Gillian? And then he’d been alone his entire life?
She swallowed convulsively. That wretch Tristan! If she could get her hands on him right now, she’d hurt him! She might not have wanted Kellen to marry Edith, but she hadn’t wanted him lonely, either!
She wiped away more tears as she tried to sort through what this meant. Kellen had found out that she’d lied about being Edith. He knew Gillian wasn’t an heiress. And he’d still wanted her? He’d given up wealth and property and even a chance at the heir he’d wanted when Gillian had nothing to give but herself? He’d meant what he’d said?
She pressed her hands to her face and cried harder. She’d felt he couldn’t love her unless she had something to offer, specifically money, but that wasn’t the case. That wasn’t the case! If he couldn’t have her, he hadn’t married anyone?
Gillian started to laugh and pressing the guidebook to her heart, she jumped up and started toward the hotel. She’d grab her things and run back to him. She had to see him, to tell him. She stopped, realized a passerby was staring at her, probably seeing a crazy, giddy woman, and put her head down and walked at a more sedate pace to the hotel.
She wanted to see him immediately, this day. She wanted to hold him, be held by him, tell him how she felt, and listen to his assurances; but there were some things she needed to do first.
A few hours later Gillian was sitting on the hotel bed, her newly charged cell phone in hand, and the notes she’d made to herself spread out before her. Taking a breath, she dialed a number in her contact list.
“Hello?” A deep voice answered the phone.
Gillian clutched the receiver. “Mr. Frost? Uh, Walter?”
“Yes, who is calling, please?”
“It’s Gillian. Gillian Corbett.”
“Gillian! My dear. It’s wonderful to hear from you. How are you?”
“I’m doing well.” She smiled, seeing the easy-going older gentleman in her mind, always perfectly groomed, and most comfortable in slacks and a sweater. Ten years older than her dad, they’d been good friends in the years before his death. “Better than ever, actually.”
“I’m so happy to hear that. We’ve been worried about you, you know. How was England?”
“Well, I’m actually still here. I’ve met someone and I’m getting married.” Saying the words out loud sent a thrill through her.
“Married?” He cleared his throat. “To that young gentleman you told me about?
I thought—” he hesitated. “Did the two of you make up, after all?”
“No. This isn’t Ryan. This is someone I met in England.”
Walter paused. “Oh, but my dear, that was awfully fast.” He hesitated again. “Gillian, as a good friend of your father’s, I feel I have to caution you against jumping into marriage too soon. And so quickly after you ended a previous relationship. You’ve been in a vulnerable place ever since, well, your family . . . uh . . . left you alone. He’s English?”
“Yes. And I understand your concern. I do. But please don’t worry. My fiancé is rock solid. He’s a really great guy.”
“Hmm. Tell me about him. What does he do for a living?”
“He’s a farmer. He has a lot of people working for him and depending on him.”
“How do you know he’s not some sort of con artist?”
Gillian laughed, thinking of Kellen’s reaction to such an accusation. No doubt a sword would be involved. “I’ve been living with him and his family for a while now. I think I’d know if anything shady was going on.”
“Well then, how do you know this gentleman doesn’t just want you for your money? I hesitate to say hurtful things to you, my dear, but you’ve been taken in before. Didn’t you tell me Ryan turned out to be less than honest in his feelings for you?”
She looked at the guide book and thought about the fact that Kellen didn’t marry Edith for her money, that he’d named the town Gillian, and she couldn’t help but smile. “I promise you I’m not even the smallest bit concerned about that. He doesn’t even know I have any money. He’s actually been supporting me for the last month or so.”
There was another hesitation then, “Gillian, you’ve been through a lot in the last few years. Are you sure?”
