by Amy Harmon
If he was to even consider this alliance, he would make sure of that from the beginning, starting with proof that she had not been defiled.
Tristan sat and leaned against one table. “She is very fair to look upon. Getting heirs off her would not be a hardship.”
Kellen waved a hand. “One healthy woman is as good as the next.” He ignored Tristan’s laughter. Of course, her body and her mind must be fit. He wanted strong sons. If this bride was not satisfactory, he would demand another of Corbett’s daughters.
But with his goal finally within his grasp, did he care to wait any longer?
Kellen wanted to go outside to train, to work off some of his anger, but must needs wait for the midwife. Spying the pack the girl had brought with her on one of the tables, Kellen grabbed it up.
It possessed a drawstring with an impossibly thin and silky rope, and Kellen opened and shut the pack a few times.
Ingenious.
And the material itself was fine, yet sturdy, the bright color unique and one he’d only ever seen at sunset, or at the edges of a rainbow. He studied the pockets on the outside, filled with an assortment of oddly formed yellow sticks, then dug inside the pack.
First he pulled out a square, silver box and studied the circular markings on the piece. A chunk of fine metal? Perhaps it could be melted into a sword hilt. Could it be a gift from his bride?
Kellen set the piece aside and plucked out a tiny book, finely made. He opened it and gasped. His bride’s picture, so finely drawn it should have been impossible, stared back at him.
The artist was skilled indeed.
His bride was smiling and beautiful in the tiny square, not a hint of insanity in the clear blue eyes that stared back at him. He didn’t understand the writing on the paper, but perhaps the priest would.
Tristan leaned in to look. “The work is amazing.”
“Aye.”
“The artist would not have come cheap. Why have the likeness set on paper in such a way? Why not embed it within gold?”
Kellen could not fathom it.
Owen, finally curious, moved stiffly forward.
Kellen gave the book to Tristan and reached into the bag again, this time pulling out a smaller bag made of paper so fine he could see through it as if it were not even there. It was filled with colorful objects. He pulled one small piece out and studied it. He lifted it to his nose, widened his eyes, and held the object out to his friends. “Smell!”
Tristan took the piece, sniffed once, let out a breath, and smelled again. “Amazing! A spice?”
Kellen shrugged.
Owen snared it, sniffed once, grunted, and placed the object on the table.
Next Kellen lifted out a small metal rectangle, so bright a color as to confound the eye. He had never before seen the color. The object had a white cord even longer and finer than the one that closed the pack but made of a stiffer material. A finely wrought belt perhaps? The colored box would make a pretty accessory against a gown. He’d never seen the like. He needed to travel to London more often.
He dug out a small packet with what looked to be clear gauzy material inside; then a tube of stiffer material with a tie around it came next. Kellen plucked at the tie and the material gaped open; and when Kellen gave the object a shake, the thing shot longer and blew itself wide, as would a bullfrog’s throat.
Startled, Kellen dropped it and it rolled off the table and onto the floor.
“What is it?” Tristan asked.
Kellen shook his head, leaned forward, and plucked the thing off the ground by the stick protruding from its top and lifted it high. “A hat?”
All three men shook their heads in mute horror as Kellen set the thing on the table and they all watched it rock and finally settle.
Tristan let out a long whistle. “Let us hope it does not become the fashion, else there will be no room to sit next to the ladies at supper.”
“Aye.” Kellen nodded his agreement, and reached into the pack and removed a long tube of blue metal that mushroomed at the top. A man could easily grip it in his hand but what of its use? As a bludgeon it was shorter and much inferior to the one he already possessed.
Setting it aside, he reached into the pack once more. Finally, something he recognized. Paper. But the paper was unbelievably fine.
Tristan looked over his shoulder. “Corbett must travel often to find such treasures. And to send them with the girl, as part of her dowry, must be a message of the esteem in which he holds you.”
Kellen nodded. He couldn’t help but agree and regardless of the unexplained way of his bride’s arrival, couldn’t help but feel relieved.
He opened the binding of paper and found a sketch. It was his castle, but it looked to be a ruin, hundreds of years old.
Owen sucked in a breath. “An insult? A threat?”
Kellen could not imagine what purpose there could be in drawing his castle old and decrepit. A shiver raced down his spine; he threw the papers down to the table, stood, and started to pace again. He did not understand any of this. Did Lord Corbett want to incur his favor or his wrath?
“My lord.” Sir Owen followed close behind. “If it is an insult, we should go to war to defend your honor.”
Frustrated, Kellen shook his head. “I will get answers from the girl before making any decisions.”
“But, my lord—”
Kellen sliced a hand through the air. “We will wait and see.”
Kellen had plans. Big plans. And war would interfere with them all. He needed an heir, an alliance, and prosperity for his land and people. Honor and building his family name were all important. He could overlook a slight or two in favor of his goals. Mayhap it was simply a joke in poor taste?
Kellen glanced up the stairs again, the unanswered questions giving him a headache. Did they think to send her unchaperoned so she would be compromised? So he would feel honor bound to marry her? Or so he would not?
Or perhaps she had been ruined before they had even sent her out? Did her knights strip her and dump her at the cemetery so he would find her thus? Was she being punished by her father? Or did Royce attack her then mount his horse again before Kellen’s arrival?
There was no sense in any of it.
Kellen thought of Corbett’s ring on the girl’s finger and of the bag of beautiful treasures. It must needs be a message from Corbett. He was just not sure if it was a welcome one.
He could still hear an occasional rant in the background. Finally, the midwife came down the stairs toward him.
At last.
He strode toward the stairs to meet up with her at the bottom. “Well?” he asked, when she stopped level with him a few steps up, her hand on the wall for balance.
The old woman’s face cracked into a smile, showing missing teeth. “She is a virgin still.”
Kellen’s breath left him.
The midwife came the rest of the way down the stairs and held out a strange article of clothing Kellen recognized as the short breeches the girl had worn.
The old woman pulled on a metal sliver and the front of the short breeches magically sealed themselves.
The hair rose on Kellen’s arms and a nearby servant gasped and crossed herself. Kellen took the clothing and examined it.
“’Tis a chastity belt.” The midwife stated.
Kellen pulled the clasp down and up once more. “Ingenious.”
Owen and Tristan moved forward and Kellen pulled the tab up and down a few times to demonstrate.
Owen was visibly impressed. “A fine trick indeed.”
Tristan was grinning and excited. “And clever. Very clever to my thinking. If one did not know how to work the seam, it would be impossible to peel the garment off without a knife.”
Kellen remembered how tightly the breeches had formed to the girl’s body. Mayhap even a knife would not fit between her and the skin. “One might have to kill her before ravishing her. Very cunning.”
Elation filled him.
She was a virgin.
He would have his bride.
Kellen nodded once to dismiss the midwife. He allowed himself to feel relief and hope as he looked down at the tiny garment in his hand.
Tristan slapped him on the back. “Congratulations.”
“’Tis good news, my lord,” Owen concurred.
Tristan’s grin widened. “She is a comely thing.”
Sir Owen nodded. “And she seemed to like you well enough.”
“That is true,” said Tristan. “She lay her head on your chest. To my way of thinking that showed a level of trust and gratitude for your rescue.”
Owen looked as if he might actually smile. “A fine beginning.”
Kellen did smile. “Yes, it is.” It was good they had started their marriage with his rescue of her. She seemed to have a limited understanding of things, even for a woman; and her speech was strange, but surely she would appreciate having a strong lord. Of course, he would have to break her of her foul language. But perhaps the fault lay with another.
He wondered if her mind were simply damaged by a recent attack, by her father’s knights, Royce and his men, or others he did not know of. He had many questions in need of answers.
Kellen took a deep breath and let it out with a smile. “Better a virago than a weakling to my way of thinking.”
Tristan agreed. “A strong mother produces strong sons.”
“Yes. That is true,” said Owen.
The girl in question came to a halt at the top of the stairs. As her gaze settled on him, she lifted a finger and pointed.
“You!”
She stormed down the stairs dressed in a proper gown that swirled about her in agitation as she moved downward. His bride looked beautiful. And very, very angry.
Kellen guessed he was about to get the chance to voice his questions.
Chapter Five
There he was! The man she blamed for this entire debacle was standing near the bottom of the stairs! Gillian, her face burning hot and her temper flaring hotter, stopped halfway down to wrestle her skirt free of her shoes; as she jerked the caught material, she stopped long enough to point a finger again.
“You despicable, loathsome, creep!”
She was torn between letting him have it and fetching a police officer or two to let him have it. She’d relish seeing the big jerk handcuffed and face down in the dirt… er… was that straw on the floor?
But her heart pounded and her hands fisted to keep them from shaking. She wasn’t sure she could wait long enough to find an officer; and so finally freeing the hem of her skirt, she headed toward him, the material of her sleeves fluttering, and her shoes slapping against stone.
She’d let him have it, and then an officer could let him have it.
She no longer had any doubt that she was wide awake. This wasn’t a dream, and she wasn’t in a coma. There was nothing like a good gynecological exam to snap a girl out of a delusion. She still wasn’t sure where she was. In fact, the day was starting to blur together.
How did she get here? No idea. Someone along the way had probably drugged her somehow. Why did they give her an exam? Why was she wearing a medieval dress? Again, no idea.
Apparently, just because Americans and English people spoke the same language, it did not mean they understood each other’s cultures. She was definitely joining up with a tour group for the rest of her trip. One run by Americans. No more touring foreign countries on her own. What had she been thinking?
As Gillian finally came to a stop in front of the knight she’d trusted her throat constricted and tears burned her eyes. Yes, he was big. Yes, he was fearsome. And yes, he was still mind-numbingly gorgeous even with the confused look on his face.
But she hated him like poison now and wouldn’t be sidetracked. Righteous indignation was on her side. He was going to get it, and she was going to be the one to give it to him.
Gillian lifted her arm and slapped his face as hard as she could, stinging her fingers.
His mouth dropped and he lifted a hand to his cheek.
The other men, and the servants in the cavernous room, gasped.
“Just who,” she poked the knight’s chest hard enough that it hurt her finger which ramped her anger even higher, “do you,” poke, “think you are?”
The guy captured her hand with his and she jerked away, angry that the big, warm calloused hand engulfing hers had reminded her of the ride to the castle and the security she’d felt.
She sucked in a breath. “At your request, I’ve been violated by a group of women. Violated! By women!” Her face burned with remembered humiliation and she swallowed. “Granted, it’s been a very strange day, but who could have expected I’d be given an exam against my will?”
Gillian’s hand flew wildly in the air and the guy jerked back a step, caution and watchfulness in his expression.
“And by a woman with extremely dubious sanitary practices, I might add.” Gillian’s entire body flushed again at the memory. “And not only that, but except for my athletic shoes, my clothes have been stolen; and I’ve been stuffed into a hot, heavy, itchy gown.” Beautiful too, though she’d never admit it now.
“I want out of this loony bin. I’m going to sue every person here. My trip to England, and probably my next vacation, and maybe even my next house is going to be paid for, gratis, by you. And by those women, too. How dare they… they… they… well how dare they!”
The guy continued to look wary and confused, but that was all. She didn’t see a smidgeon of repentance, and he didn’t look intimidated in the least. And darnit, she was still attracted to the guy! Tears sprang to her eyes. When he was down on his knees in the dirt, he wouldn’t be quite so attractive, would he?
Unable to help herself, Gillian gave him a hard shove. He didn’t move and just continued to stare down at her, that slightly baffled expression on his face.
“Oooh!” She hit him in his large chest with both fists. Again, other than his eyebrows raising, no real reaction on his part. The guy didn’t so much as step back. With a scream of frustration, she shoved past him.
She gulped in air. Her face reheated every time she thought about what had just happened. Granted she hadn’t been hurt, but the humiliation kept replaying itself in her mind; and she wanted out of there. She gasped in another breath.
Two men stepped forward and one bowed at the waist. “Lady Corbett, please allow me to introduce myself, I am—”
Gillian looked beyond them and disbelief had her jaw dropping. “You’ve been in my backpack! You’ve looked at my passport! You guys are so dead!” Feeling lightheaded, she strode over, grabbed up her pack, and started stuffing her things inside it. “This is my stuff. Mine. My pencils, my camera, my candy, my iPod, my umbrella, and my pepper spray. Snoopy, invasive, nosy, prying, weird…” She glanced at the knight again--cute, confused--Gillian groaned. Could a person get Stockholm Syndrome in less than an hour?
She finished loading her pack, then slung it over one shoulder. She needed to get out of there. Apparently, she was just not equipped to handle this situation. She needed to find an officer to deal with these cretins. And since she still found the guy attractive, she obviously needed to find a therapist, too.
Spotting a few of the maids peering down at her from above had fresh mortification heating her face; unable to help the pressure building up within her, she turned back to the knight and started to rant. Again.
* * *
Kellen tried to hide his bewilderment. She’d pushed him. Struck him. Some might even say she’d thought to attack him. Without a doubt, the girl was in no wise like her sister. And her speech was odd, but leastways she was talking to him. Shrieking, mayhap, but communicating nonetheless.
He had questions he wanted answered. He needed to find how she came to be there, and what her father’s purpose in sending her in such a way might be.
But she babbled on, and Kellen was having a difficult time understanding her words. She talked very fast, alternately pacing, and pointing her finger at
him, at his men, and at the servants peering down from above. He did not understand her meaning, and some of her words were strange to him.
Had she been hit on the head? Had she been injured in some way? She was a beauty, no doubt, her cheeks warmed with color and her eyes flashing with anger. Even the shorter hair fluttering about her face was attractive, but her speech was very odd.
Kellen reached out a hand to pat the top of her head to feel for bumps and search for bruises, but the girl knocked his hand away and continued to blather.
Kellen tried not to feel disappointed. First an unfaithful wife and now a violent and broken one? Was he to have no luck in begetting a healthy heir?
He would take this up with Corbett. The man had seven daughters. Their original agreement promised his best, and instead they’d sent him a murderer. And now a mental deficient? Kellen would hold Corbett to his promise.
But perchance all Corbett’s daughters were so afflicted? Mayhap Kellen was given the best of the lot. Again, he wondered why her father sent her to him in such a manner. Was Corbett really so afraid of him? Perhaps afraid that when Kellen met this daughter he’d be angered by her deficiencies?
Kellen moved toward the girl and tried to keep his tone gentle so as not to upset her further. “Mayhap I could take your father’s ring into safekeeping until your family arrives?”
The girl jerked her hand away as if he were a thief.
Kellen’s impatience grew. “Where are your guards? Your ladies? Your personal maid? Why do you arrive five weeks early?”
She did not answer, did not seem to understand. He was saddened that such a beauty was so damaged.
“You are a jerk!” The girl took a deep breath, swallowed, and spoke in a much slower vein. “You ordered those women to… to… grope me. You are going to pay for the humiliation that’s been inflicted on me. Do you honestly think a pat on the head and a pretty dress are going to pacify me?”
He finally understood that the girl was angry with him about the violation of her privacy. Confounded at her ire, Kellen said, “I own you. You are mine to do with as I will.”
