by Amy Harmon
Because this was unacceptable. How was she going to fight the violence if she didn’t show up for the event? Had she hit her head? Had her attackers hit her head? Was she unconscious? In a coma? Would she wake at any moment? Or would they kill her when they’d finished, with no resistance whatsoever from her?
Anger built in her chest, sharp and stinging. She had to wake up. She wouldn’t let them kill her. She would survive this. She’d come to her senses and defend herself. She was strong and could handle this.
She had to fight!
She had to live!
She definitely had to wake up.
Gillian tried to will herself back to the scene of her assault and attempted murder. She needed to defend herself before she actually was murdered.
She closed her eyes. Wake up… wake up now… wakey wakey time…
Nothing.
She opened her eyes. All she could hear, see, and smell were the knight, his horse, and the village.
Anger and heat emanated off the knight, as it should. He should be very angry at the way she was being attacked back in the real world. Like any good imaginary knight worth his salt would be.
She glanced up at him, impressed all over again at what a really great imagination she had. Sure, he was a little rough around the edges. His face was hard, all angles and planes, his jaw as rugged as any Hollywood hero’s.
But the possessive way his gaze roamed her face and blanket-wrapped body, lingering on the skin above her tee-shirt, sent a little thrill through her. Her feminine side couldn’t be more pleased with him. He really was her perfect dream knight.
His long, thick, and dark hair stuck to his thickly muscled neck. His chest was hard and seemed to simply bulge with power. She shivered. The better to protect her.
She reached out to lightly touch his chest, wondering if it was the chain mail that made him seem so big; but under a thin layer of chain, it was warm muscle flexing.
Their eyes met, and she barely resisted a fan-girl sigh. His gaze was bright against his tanned face, his lashes and brows as dark as his hair, and the combination was startling. She could feel a sappy smile forming on her lips.
He was really a good-looking guy in a rough-and-tumble sort of fashion. And the possessive way he held her, the way he looked at her, made her feel incredibly beautiful and feminine. Not bad for an illusion. Maybe she shouldn’t be in such a hurry to leave.
As they started to cross the drawbridge, the horses’ hooves struck hollow notes against the wood distracting her, and she looked down into a stream of murky water. “Are you serious? There’s an actual moat around the castle?” The detail in her hallucination was amazing. “Aye. All my fortifications are strong.”
Strong like him. Feeling very safe, she laid her cheek against her knight’s chest and when his arms tightened around her, melted into him.
Why not feel the comfort he could offer before returning to the nightmare her life had become? She hadn’t had a man’s arms wrapped around her like this since… well, she never had. Certainly not like this, and not with a man like him.
Another feminine trill of excitement caught her off guard and she shivered. He was everything he should be. Everything a knight and hero ought to be. And for the moment, he was hers.
* * *
They traveled under the rusted spikes of the raised portcullis; its dangerous teeth pointed menacingly downward. Seconds later they were fully enclosed in the darkened, walled passageway of the gatehouse, and Gillian glanced at the ceiling and spotted a murder hole.
She knew from artistic research it was used to drop boiling water or rocks onto the trapped and unsuspecting. There was a balcony, slits in the walls to fire arrows through, and a well-protected stairwell to maneuver weapons from above. In other words, the place was a death trap to invaders.
One of these days she was going to depict the inside of a gatehouse and make it spooky, dark, and exciting. She was sure the paintings would sell.
If she were still alive.
The sound of the horses’ hooves rang loud in the enclosed space as they moved single file through the enclosure, finally coming out into the huge bustling inner courtyard.
She gazed at what looked like a small city enclosed within the walls. The huge keep in the middle dominated, and buildings were set around the outer edges: barracks, stables, and other outbuildings. People were busy, some carrying trays, others pulling horses behind them, some children playing, but most stopped what they were doing to stare at Gillian.
This was just so amazing. She’d had no idea her imagination was so rich.
Her knight rode his destrier up to the keep; and in one smooth move, dismounted with her still in his arms and easily carried her up a few stairs, through the open doorway, and inside the keep.
Gillian, limp as a wet noodle, enjoyed every moment of it. She laid her cheek against him again, soaking up the tingling, melting, and thrilling sensations he inspired in her.
The muscles in his arms and chest shifted as he moved; and when he came to a stop, he wasn’t even the least out of breath. She, on the other hand, was losing her own.
Wow. Just wow.
Once inside the castle her knight bellowed something, and it took a moment for Gillian to decipher his words.
He was calling for someone and his accent! Fabulous! She wanted to squeal. This was simply the best dream she’d ever had, bar none, in her entire life.
An older woman, dressed in medieval garb, came running; her head covered with a white sheet, a set of keys dangling at her waist. “Yes, my lord?”
The knight set Gillian on her feet and when she stumbled a bit, placed a big, warm hand on her shoulder until she steadied herself.
He didn’t remove the hand as he gave the other woman instructions. He turned Gillian and grabbed her cheeks with one hand; she wondered if he were going to kiss her, right there, in front of all the people who’d started to gather around.
She couldn’t think of a reason why she shouldn’t let him. It was just a dream, after all. Her gaze dropped to his full lips, curved in an inviting smile. She might wake at any moment. This could be her only chance. She wasn’t going to protest and miss out.
His hand firmly on her cheeks, he squeezed them together, forcing her mouth to gape open and looked inside. “Well-formed teeth,” he proclaimed and looked up at the audience.
The servants leaned in for a look, murmuring and nodding their approval; Gillian shrieked as anger, outrage, and embarrassment boiled up inside her. “What are you doing?”
She jerked away and slapped the knight’s hand. “What am I, a horse?” So much for her dream man.
Her response visibly surprised him.
Making sounds of disapproval, the woman with the keys took Gillian’s hand and led her toward stone steps going up the side of one wall. “Come with me, lass. I’ll see you settled soon enough.”
Gillian glanced back at the knight, sending him a dirty look to let him see how disappointed she was in him; but at his bewildered expression, her anger dissipated.
Okay, the guy was sort of a clod. But she was willing to give him a second chance; because the man, as well as the place, was making her romance buttons hum on high alert.
Since she’d no doubt wake to a nightmare, she didn’t want to waste even one tiny moment of this experience.
Anyway, what was the harm in taking a look around the place before she woke up? After all, it seemed real enough that she might be able to use something she saw in her paintings. Imagined or not, the place felt so authentic she considered patting herself on the back for having such a great imagination.
Of course she was assuming she’d eventually snap out of it and wake up in the real world. But what if she wasn’t able to? Was she simply unconscious? Or was it possible she was dead and her version of heaven included castles and knights?
Uneasily, she acknowledged that this particular fantasy could be tailor-made for her. She shrugged off the prickly sensation tickling her shoulder blade
s. If she saw her parents or brother, she’d know for sure and deal with it then.
As much as she liked the thought of seeing her family again, she liked the version where she was simply unconscious, dreaming, and had a full life ahead of her still. Did people in comas resist waking because they were somewhere nice and didn’t want to leave?
Something else to think about later. Right now, there were tons of much more pleasant things to focus on. The place was amazing. Gillian ran her hand on one section of the wall as she walked up the stairs admiring the rough, mismatched stonework and the way the staircase curved around to form an arch above a window.
She tripped on the uneven steps, not a good idea as she could fall off to the side and to the floor below if she wasn’t careful, so she pulled the blanket from her shoulders and hung it over one arm so she’d have a better view of the steps.
Key Woman, jangling with every step, shrieked, and spilled words so fast Gillian couldn’t catch what she was saying; but the woman was obviously in some sort of distress, her face panicky and screwed up like a lemon.
The woman lunged forward, pulled at the blanket around Gillian’s arm, and tried to cover her legs with it; but the bulk of the material tightened around her arm when Gillian pressed herself against the wall to keep from tumbling over the side.
Eyes wide, heart pounding, Gillian gripped the stones. Was the woman trying to kill her?
When tugging didn’t work, the woman held out her skirts as if to hide Gillian from view. The woman called out to others, serving girls by the looks of them, and they rushed up to push Gillian up the stairs and into a hallway. Gillian, getting the hint, hurried on her own and finally rounded the corner; Key Woman shrieking behind her all the way.
Once in the hallway, the woman calmed down and Gillian, still unsettled by the shrieking and pushing, tried to ignore her and the others.
Spying a colorful wall hanging, flickering wall sconces, and a couple of handcrafted tables; Gillian turned her attention to her surroundings, pausing to study an aqua and white vase, but was firmly pushed down the hallway and into a room where they shut the door behind them.
She hardly had time to glance at the large bed with its heavy wooden frame, comfortable bedding, and linen hangings before the women circled her.
Gillian took a breath and crossed her arms. This was the third time she’d been circled in less than an hour. What was it with this place? Was her subconscious acknowledging that she was still in danger? Couldn’t she simply enjoy this hallucination into another time and place without constantly feeling threatened?
The women talked amongst themselves, reached out, and though Gillian’s instinct was to batt their curious hands away, she refrained.
They felt her clothes, rubbing the material of her shirt and jacket. Gillian nodded. “Old Navy.”
They fingered her cotton shorts. “Macy’s. And I got the belt at a yard sale when I was in college.” One woman ran her hands down one of Gillian’s legs, and Gillian was glad she’d shaved that morning.
Another pushed a finger into an athletic shoe then plucked at the laces. “Adidas.” Gillian finally squirmed away. “May I ask what you’re doing?”
Key Woman gestured at her clothes. “Disrobe, please.”
The woman finally spoke slowly enough that Gillian understood, and she wanted her to strip? Gillian narrowed her eyes. Was this a mental representation of her fear of the assault she was worried about? She shook her head. “No way. That is not going to happen.”
Key Woman crossed to a large chest against the wall and opened it. She took something out, shook it, turned, and lifted a beautiful blue gown for Gillian to inspect. It was similar to the one Key Woman wore only smaller, finer in quality, a better cut, and a prettier color.
Gillian wavered. The dress really was gorgeous, and Gillian loved the color blue. And it would be fun to wear while she was in this medieval castle.
The women noted her expression and nodded to each other. Another walked forward to spread the bottom of the dress and another girl dug a thin gold belt out of the trunk and held it up for Gillian’s inspection.
Again she wavered. The outfit was gorgeous. “Why do you want me to wear the dress?”
They took a moment to decipher her words, then Key Woman answered. “The master desires it.”
The master being her dream knight? “Why would he want that?”
They didn’t respond but simply looked at each other as if trying to understand her words, and then Key Woman shrugged.
Gillian shook her head. It didn’t make sense, but then dreams never did. Why not go with the flow for awhile? It might turn out to be fun. A great adventure to remember if and when she woke up.
She held out her hand for the dress and all the women smiled and voiced their approval. Again they wanted her to take off her clothes.
“I’d like some privacy, please.”
They discussed it then finally all turned their backs.
Good enough. Gillian moved to the bed and laid out the dress, slipped off her athletic shoes, took a shaky breath, and removed her clothes. She ignored the obvious peeking. It was all among women, right?
She was down to her bra and underwear and reaching for the dress when the women turned as one and grabbed her.
Shocked, Gillian tried to wrench her arms free but couldn’t. “What are you doing?” Gillian tugged again trying to free herself from the hands imprisoning her; but collectively, the woman were too strong and easily pulled her across the mattress, flipped her onto her back, and held her there.
Gillian screamed with rage, and one of the women quickly cupped a hand over her mouth. Gillian bucked, twisted, writhed, and screamed against the hand.
It didn’t matter. The women relentlessly pulled Gillian’s legs together and yanked her underwear down her legs and all the way off.
Anger, embarrassment, and disbelief heated her entire body, overriding any fear she might have felt.
Key Woman went to the door and admitted another woman, old and hunched, who shuffled toward the bed to look at Gillian.
Gillian stilled. What was going on? What could possibly be happening?
The old woman scooted a young servant to the left with her hip, dipped her hand into a bowl that Key Woman provided, rubbed her hands with what looked to be grease, leaned forward, and reached out a hand toward Gillian’s privates.
What in the name of all that was holy?
Gillian wrenched her mouth free and screamed her rage and disgust.
That was it.
She was done here.
Now would be a very good time to wake up.
Chapter Four
Another scream—long, loud, and peppered with words no lady should know—drifted down the stairs.
Kellen winced, and his brows rose, as he exchanged a glance with his open-mouthed friend, Sir Tristan of Alnwick.
Kellen looked to a flushed Sir Owen de Burgess, standing straight at attention, fiddling with his sword hilt, something he did when nervous or upset. “Has the girl been raised in the barracks with the foulest of knights?” Owen asked between stiff lips.
Kellen flushed and felt the need to defend her. “Lady Corbett, Edith, is obviously not herself. She has been frightened out of her wits and will recover her delicate nature soon.” At least Kellen hoped for that result.
Tristan took a breath and turned from the stairs. “Er… as I was saying. This is a most unusual situation. Perhaps the girl needs a chaperone until the wedding?”
Kellen was glad to latch onto the subject, to have something to think on, and a decision to make. “A good notion.” He spoke the words too loudly and attempted to lower his voice to a more moderate pitch. “Since her own mother was not sent to prepare for the wedding, I will send for my father’s wife and some of her ladies.”
“Good, good.” Sir Owen stared at the opening to the hallway at the top of the stairs, his cheeks flushed.
Kellen turned away. The girl would be a virgin. She must ne
eds be. He did not want any further delays; and if he refused to wed the girl, he might have a long wait until another bride was granted him. Kellen sank onto a long bench, then moments later was up pacing again, much to the amusement of Tristan.
“Perhaps if you simply went upstairs, you could wait outside the door and receive the news that much the sooner?”
Kellen shot him a narrow-eyed glare. He was trying not to feel disappointed in the girl. He had waited long for an heir and a mending to his alliance with Lord Corbett. And this foul-mouthed girl was the reward for his patience?
Kellen stifled a wince as more language drifted down the stairs; and servants, going about their work in the great hall; and his men, studiously cleaning their weapons at a far table; kept their eyes on their tasks, but no doubt listened intently.
Kellen rubbed a hand over his face and thought on the immodest clothing the girl had worn. She had not spoken overmuch to him on the way to the castle. And now this foul language? With all of Corbett’s daughters, surely he did not send a defective for a bride? Surely he would not dare?
No. Not after Catherine dishonored the family so. He glanced up the stairs as his fury roared to life once more. Fury at himself and at the situation. First, he could not protect his wife from being influenced by a villain, then he could not discover who the villain was, and now his new affianced had been robbed, and perhaps worse?
All on his own property!
His pacing resumed. Pure or not, his wife or not, he would avenge the girl. And protect her reputation. But would he marry her?
Needing to do something, Kellen called one of his men to him. “Leave immediately for my father’s keep, and fetch his wife and her ladies. Ride as fast as possible.”
“Yes, my lord.” With a nod, the man was gone.
It felt good to be doing something. He would also assign a maid to follow the girl about. To keep an eye on her, aid her, but most especially to report back to him. There would be no hint of impropriety with this bride.
Not as there had been with his first.
