by Paula Quinn
Gillian watched the men leave from beneath the veil of her lashes and thought for a moment that the stranger might turn and give her another look before walking out the door, but he didn’t. She watched the door close, leaving her alone with Geoffrey, his thumb sliding across her palm.
“You know, my dear”—his stale breath along her cheekbone made her want to retch—“life would be more pleasant here for you and your little bastard if you would simply submit to my requests and desires.”
When he pressed his lips to her temple, she pulled away. “And if I submit, how do you think my father would react when he learns that I carry your child?”
He laughed, cooling her blood. “Better than that commoner you let defile you. But soon, it will not matter what you or your father want. When Prince William is king he will give you to me.”
No. No, he won’t. He vowed it.
“We are cousins,” she reminded him, disgusted.
“You forget that William is wed to his cousin?”
Gillian closed her eyes to hide the moisture in them blurring her vision. She would die first. She would hurl herself into the sea, and Edmund with her, before she went to her cousin’s bed. Please God, she prayed silently. Please, please rescue us.
Chapter Three
Colin shut the door to the solar, then turned to have a look at it. Whatever was going on inside was not his concern. He’d achieved the first part of his task, and ’twas simple enough. He now belonged to Devon’s garrison. Gates had all but admitted that they planned to overtake the king—although Colin already knew as much. He would proceed with what he’d come here to do and not waste his time on other thoughts. Besides, this wasn’t the first time he’d witnessed a lass being poorly treated. He’d sat at enough tables in England’s courts and in her pubs to know that the courtly customs from his mother’s knightly tales had died long ago. He’d always remained untouched by what he saw. Granted, he’d rarely seen such fight in any lass’s eyes, or such mastery at holding her tongue. But what did it matter? He wasn’t born to save damsels in distress.
“Campbell?”
He turned away from the door and looked at the captain. Gates had been angered by the lass’s humiliation, but he hadn’t intervened. Colin wouldn’t either.
“He will not put his hands to her.”
Colin nodded and stepped away, putting aside the memory of her gazing out over the sea and the unassuming self-control she possessed not to rip out Devon’s eyes.
“He knows I will cut off his hands if he does, and yours, as well.”
Colin held up his palms, having no intention of ever touching her. Gates cared for her then. Did she go to the turret to await the return of the father of her child, or was he standing here before Colin now? It didn’t matter. The intricacies of relationships here were of no concern to him. The less he knew about any of them, the easier it would be to deceive them and to betray their trust.
Clearing his thoughts, he looked around, familiarizing himself with his surroundings. They were in the round tower. There was a stone stairwell that he knew led to the square tower, where they were heading now, and another stairwell, illuminated by daylight, leading down to the timber-framed opening outside the river. Possible entry and escape routes were vital in his line of work. The interior was smaller than Camlochlin. Dimly lit corridors led in every direction, east and west, north and south, with plenty of shadowy alcoves where one might rest and listen to covert talks about battles to come. The absence of tapestries and sufficient fires in the hearths lent to the castle’s cold ambience. The smell of ale and wine permeated the air like stale breath against a fair lady’s cheek…
“You will take your meals in the Great Hall with the rest of the garrison and Lord Devon,” Gates said, interrupting his uninvited thoughts.
“The earl eats with his men?” Colin asked him.
“It affords him a feeling of safety.”
“Does he have many enemies in the surrounding counties, then?”
“Less than he imagines. There are very few Catholics left in Cornwall and Essex.”
Aye, Colin knew that well enough after having fought in the Battle of Sedgemoor with the king’s Royal Army when they quelled the Monmouth Rebellion three years ago. So, Devon was mistrustful and mayhap overly cautious. It could serve him well to sit every night with the earl.
“You’ll be sleeping in one of the two barracks in the lower part of the square tower. Lady Gillian and her son’s rooms are on the landing above.” The captain turned to him when they entered the square tower. “You may not venture to their rooms without me. Do you understand?” He waited until Colin nodded. “I will show you to the Great Hall after I see to Edmund.”
Colin assumed Edmund was Lady Gillian’s son. Hell, why hadn’t anyone ever mentioned a lady and her babe lived here? He wasn’t so merciless to allow either to be slaughtered along with the rest of Dartmouth when he sent for his men. He would think on what to do about them later. Now he had more important discoveries to make.
“Ye are a soldier in the Royal Horse Guards,” he said, looking over Gates’s blue coat as they climbed the stairs. Unlike himself, a general in the red-coated Life Guards whose duty was to serve the king, the Blues were independent troops scattered throughout England, Scotland, and Ireland, serving Parliament.
“Did ye fight at the Battle of Sedgemoor when the Duke of Monmouth was captured then?” Colin studied Gates’s appearance more closely. They were of the same height, though the captain’s build was a bit leaner, more elegant in his crisp uniform. His hair was the same color as the sand beyond the rocky cliffs, just like hundreds of other men, Life Guards and Horse Guards alike, who had fought at Sedgemoor to protect the king. Even if they had seen each other during the battle, Colin did not recognize him, and he was fairly certain Gates did not recognize him either.
Gates shook his head as they walked together down the hall. “I did not. Though at the time, the Horse Guards did support the king.”
“How did ye come to reside here then, with mercenaries under yer command?”
The captain paused for a moment to glance at him and to consider his next words.
“I was in service to Lord Algernon Dearly, Devon’s father, for many years. I remain with his son for another purpose.”
“To lead William to victory?” Colin pressed innocently.
“No. As a chaperone to the daughter of his uncle, the Earl of Essex.”
So, the captain’s loyalty did not fall to Devon but to Lady Gillian… or her father. Essex was rumored to be a supporter of William of Orange, but Colin pressed no further, seeing that Gates was clearly uncomfortable with the topic.
The captain motioned to follow him to a door at the top of another stairway, but said nothing else. When they reached it, he pushed on the latch and stepped inside.
Colin leaned around the doorframe and looked into the room to find the bulky captain lifting a small boy from his bed with gentle, tender hands. He did not caress the child to his chest, but held him slightly away, smiling, but looking ill at ease. “We’ll keep him with us until his mother returns, and then you can fill your belly.”
Colin nodded and stepped away from the door when Gates exited, the child squirming in his outstretched hands.
“Do you have a wife?”
“No,” Colin answered, straining his voice over the lad’s wails.
“I met my Sarah in Essex. Alas, she is barren.”
That accounted for his unease with the boy. Was he not the father then? The captain was wed, but Colin knew that wasn’t enough to stop most men from taking another to their bed.
“Do you have many bastards?” The captain pulled his head back just in time to avoid a small fist to the lip.
“Only nephews that I recently visited.”
“Good. Here.” Gates shoved the boy at him. “Your first duty is to make him cease that ungodly screeching.”
Colin didn’t mind holding the lad. In fact, he’d enjoyed carrying his si
ster’s and brothers’ bairns around—when they let him—on his last visit to Camlochlin. “Ye don’t want to be carried, do ye, Edmund?” He set the babe on his feet and took his hand. The boy stopped crying immediately.
“No.” The child tugged on Colin’s arm, then tugged again until Colin squatted before him. “Who are you?”
His gaze level with Edmund’s, Colin was struck by the boy’s beauty. With his crown of soft yellow curls and pale blue eyes, he resembled his mother… and a chubby angel Colin had seen once in a painting in France. “I’m Colin.”
“Where’s Mummy?” Edmund lifted a dimpled fist to wipe his teary eye.
“She’ll be along any moment now. Will ye be a big lad and wait fer her?”
Edmund nodded and shoved his thumb into his mouth.
“I’m impressed,” Gates told him when he straightened.
Colin shrugged off the compliment and picked up his steps. “They don’t like to be treated like babes.”
“They grow quickly,” Gates agreed, giving the boy a loving look.
Colin followed his gaze and let it settle on Edmund’s tiny hand in his. “Shame,” he said quietly, thinking of his kin at home on Skye. He was glad he’d returned to Camlochlin before coming here. He’d never met his nephews or nieces before that day and it had pained his heart just a little that they didn’t know him. They reminded him that he was more than a warrior. He was a man. Mayhap, someday, a father. But not anytime soon.
“I’m hungry,” Edmund said over his thumb.
Colin looked down at him and rubbed his growling belly. “So am I. Would ye care to join me at the table?”
Edmund nodded and the three of them made their way down the stairs to the Great Hall.
There were still a few men loitering about when Colin and his party arrived. The fiery-haired serving girl whose gown Devon had been tugging on after his cousin left to fetch his wine earlier served them each a bowl of cold mutton stew, stale bread, and a hunk of hard cheese. They ate in silence for a good twenty breaths before Colin realized the oddity of the quiet at this table. Weren’t wee lads supposed to make a clatter? Hell, the constant noise from his nephews at his father’s table had been enough to give a man a sore head, but Edmund did not make a sound. Colin looked from the captain to the child. Edmund’s back was arrow straight in his chair. One hand was neatly tucked into his lap while he carefully spooned his stew into his mouth with the other without losing a drop down his chin. His table manners were impeccable.
Colin scowled. ’Twas unnatural. “Do ye like swords, Edmund?”
“I like puppies.”
Colin scowled harder. What good would puppies do the lad if he ever found himself pressed against a wall by an enemy’s blade? He glanced around the Hall, surprised to discover that there were no other children in attendance. Who did the boy play with? A better question… why the hell was he giving his thoughts over to things that were not important to the task at hand? He looked down at his spoon, then shoved it into his mouth. He didn’t like distractions. He didn’t like the unnatural silence even more.
Relinquishing his spoon, he slid a dagger from beneath his vest and jammed the tip into the wooden table. Gates sprang to his feet and drew his sword, but Colin held up his other palm to stave off having his throat cut while Edmund stared wide-eyed at the shiny hilt. Aye, ’twas a nice piece of metal, given to him by King Louis of France.
“Ever play Naughts and Crosses, lad?” He turned an amicable look at Gates. “ ’Tis merely a game I wish to show him, Captain.”
Edmund shook his head and watched him dig four grooves into the surface of the table—two vertical, and two horizontal.
“My nephews play this often,” Colin said, sheathing his dagger and breaking off five small chunks of bread and five pieces of cheese. He handed the cheese to Edmund and grinned at the captain, who took his seat but left his blade in his lap. “Ye will be naughts and I, crosses. I will place my bread here.” He set his piece in the center of the crisscrossed grooves. “Now ye must place yer cheese somewhere in these boxes. The first to place three in a row this way, this way, or that”—he traced a vertical, horizontal, and diagonal line with his finger—“wins. Understand?”
Edmund nodded.
“Good. Yer move.”
Edmund thought about it for a moment, then leaned over the table and set his cheese in the top left-hand corner of the makeshift board.
“Captain, ye mentioned yer wife,” Colin said, placing his bread to the right of his first piece. “Does she reside here?”
“She does not. She prefers to remain in Essex. I visit her whenever I am able.” He pointed to the game as Edmund placed his cheese left of his center bread. “What happens if neither of you is able to form a row?”
“Then ’tis a draw.” Colin placed his bread in the upper right corner, giving Edmund the win if the boy placed his next piece correctly. “Nae doubt, she will worry over ye when Prince William finally returns to our shores to claim the throne.”
“What makes you so certain he will?”
“I hope he will,” Colin said, glancing at him. “Many of us do.” ’Twas not an untruth. He wasn’t there to stop the invitation to William, but to discover as much as he could about the coming invasion. King James was wise enough to know that being well prepared for battle might be their only chance for victory. If Colin stopped whatever letters went out to William, by whoever signed them, the Dutch prince would make new plans that could take Colin years to discover.
Gates’s only response to that was a noncommittal nod. Then, “She does not worry. If the prince returns, I don’t think there will be much resistance.”
Colin smiled slightly at the makeshift board when Edmund dropped his cheese in the correct space and won the game. There would be more resistance than the captain realized. “Well done.” He gave the lad a wink and then looked up to find Lady Gillian hurrying toward the table with Lieutenant de Atre keeping close pace at her side.
Was it Lady Gillian? She looked completely transformed, wearing a smile now and glowing at her son. Colin studied her as she approached, taking in the delicate angles of her face, the shapely curves of her body softly defined in her coarse wool gown. She moved with long, purposeful strides, allowing nothing to come between her and her destination. Hell, she was bonny, with skin like ivory, smoothed and softened under a master carver’s hand. But even the defiant tilt of her chin in Devon’s solar earlier did not compare to the radiance of her unguarded, genuine smile now. The transformation made him curious about the kind of battle taking place within her. Being a soldier himself, he couldn’t help but admire the strength she’d called upon while she was being mocked earlier. That strength hardened her. But now, here she was, stripped bare of her defenses and undeniably captivating. He realized he was staring at her and blinked his gaze away, only to find Gates staring back at him.
“Did you sleep well, my darling?” Her voice was soft, as tender as a harp string.
Colin wasn’t certain if it was the sound of it, or her words that drew his gaze back to her. She had gained the seat closest to Edmund’s, opposite Colin, and took her son’s small face in her palms to kiss each cheek with loving affection. “You did not give Captain Gates a difficult time again, did you?”
“I’ve learned today,” Gates told her, “that Edmund does not like the way I carry him.”
She arched an amused eyebrow at him. “I would have thought that was obvious after three years of toting him around like a foul-smelling skunk, Captain.”
“I can be dense, lady. I would have thought that was obvious after almost four years together.”
Colin watched their interaction with a bit more than mild interest. Their gazes were affectionate but not intimate, an assessment that shouldn’t have caused him any sense of relief, but somehow did.
“He was hungry,” Gates informed her. “Mr. Campbell has been entertaining him while we supped.”
She turned her gaze to Colin, her smile still intact e
nough to cause his words to falter—had he been any other man. “I hope he was no trouble to you.”
“None at all,” Colin assured her magnanimously. “I’ve been teaching him Naughts and Crosses.”
“I bested him, Mummy!” Edmund turned his eyes, just as wide as his mother’s, on Colin and held up two chubby fingers. “Two times!”
Lady Gillian seemed to melt at the sight of the boy’s grin. “May I watch you best him three times?”
“Again!” Edmund squealed, snatching up his cheese.
They played another game, with de Atre joining to watch. Lady Gillian studied each move with her chin resting in her palm, taking great pleasure in her son’s intelligence when he blocked Colin’s bread. She looked only slightly unnerved when de Atre sat his arse on the table rather than in a chair and slurped up his stew. Stealing glances at her from time to time, Colin let Edmund win again before Captain Gates rose from his seat and announced it was time for Edmund’s studies.
“De Atre, show Campbell to his lodgings,” the captain commissioned. “I will be along later.”
“Let me have a go at this,” de Atre said, falling into Edmund’s chair when the lad left it and gathering up the cheese.
Colin watched Gates leave with Lady Gillian and her son, his gaze following the luminescent tumble of her blond tresses all the way to her hips.
So she was bonny and strong-willed. He knew a dozen lasses just like her. He’d never let any one of them sway his thoughts from his task. She was no different. He denied himself physical pleasure more often than most, for battle was his one true love, and victory, his mistress. He desired nothing more.
But as they were about to exit the Hall, Edmund turned and waved him farewell.
Colin smiled at him before he could stop it and waved back.
“Explain the rules to me,” de Atre said, studying the board and then Colin. “But first let me explain the rules of Dartmouth to you.”
Colin sat back in his chair and listened, not caring for the glint in de Atre’s eyes.
“Captain Gates will slice off your balls if you ever touch her.”
