Romance Through the Ages

by Amy Harmon

  He didn’t smile in return. “Sightseeing?”

  Gillian nodded. “Yes. I enjoy sightseeing. I saw these rocks from the top of the castle and wanted a closer look.”

  Kellen glanced around. “You were not meeting with anyone in this place?”

  Her brows rose. Was that why he’d rounded the rock? Why his man was, even now, searching around the others? Was he looking for someone? “No. How could I? I don’t know anyone here.”

  Kellen nodded again, then maneuvered his horse closer and held out a hand. “Might I assist you back to the keep?”

  Looking at the large, calloused hand, Gillian thought about going with him, thought about sitting on his lap again with his warmth and solid muscle at her back. She remembered the way his arms had held her tight and how she’d melted into him, trying to absorb his strength.

  A part of her wanted to fall into those arms again for comfort; but now that she knew he was real, she was pretty sure it wasn’t such a good idea. He either wanted to marry her or kill her. Since he wasn’t joking about either option, she could really use a bit of time to adjust.

  Especially since, if and when he found out she wasn’t Edith Corbett, he might take option number two and hang her as a spy.

  She smiled weakly at him. “How about a walk?”

  Gillian watched with relief as Kellen gave a brief nod and dismounted. He threw the reins of his horse to a grinning knight, crossed the distance quickly, and held out his arms.

  Gillian hesitated. She realized she’d either have to accept his help or turn around and scoot down with her butt in the air. She looked into Kellen’s upturned face, to the four knights at his back, all grinning now, and realized that was not going to happen.

  She moved to the edge, took a breath, and fell into Kellen’s outstretched arms. Her hands landed on his shoulders and he caught her under her arms and lifted. She could feel the hardness of chain mail and bunching muscles as he easily hoisted her up and around, then slowly lowered her to the ground. She couldn’t help the way her heart thumped at this effortless show of strength.

  The romantic dress she wore, her hands slipping to his chest, the predatory way he looked at her, all combined to make her knees weak. The attraction she felt was stronger than ever and left her breathless.

  Realizing her feet were on the ground, that she still gripped him and stared into his eyes like an enraptured groupie, she dropped her hands and turned away. She needed to think, and it was better if she didn’t touch him while she did so.

  She cleared her throat. “Shall we go?” Her voice was breathless and, embarrassed, she didn’t wait for an answer.

  Keeping her distance, she skirted the men and their horses, then started toward the small village. Kellen fell into step, his long stride enabling him to take one step for every two of hers, his chain mail making a soft clinking sound as they walked. His men fell back, leaving them a bit of privacy; and out of the corner of her eye, Gillian could see Kellen studying her. When she glanced up, the possessive look in his eyes startled her and she quickly dropped her gaze.

  And why wouldn’t he look at her that way? He thought he owned her, body and soul. He believed them to be engaged. Betrothed. Whatever. She shivered. She was going to be in deep trouble when the truth came out.

  She remembered the hard look in his eyes earlier when he’d threatened to hang her. Would he actually kill her if he knew she wasn’t really his fiancé? She swallowed. Maybe not. Probably not. Did they even hang women? She didn’t know for sure, but this was a harsh time and he was a harsh man.

  So the bottom line was, if she didn’t want to die, or end up cleaning medieval bathrooms or something, she was going to be Edith Corbett until she figured out what was going on and found a way back to her own time. And she would find a way. If she could get here, surely she could get back again.

  Gillian thought about the physical exam she’d been subjected to and her cheeks heated. What if she hadn’t been a virgin? What if she’d given in to Ryan’s overtures as she’d considered? Would they have thrown her out and pulled up the drawbridge? Poor Edith. What a time to live.

  Gillian considered the fact that Edith’s last name was the same as her own. A relative? One of the ancestors she’d come to England to find? She had no way of knowing, but found it funny and stifled a laugh. She’d meant to find their headstones, not meet them in person.

  “What amuses you?”

  Gillian lifted a shoulder. “Life is just funny sometimes, you know?”

  “How so?”

  She decided to be as honest as possible. She had no way of knowing anything about Edith, anyway, so couldn’t answer as she would. “One minute I’m alone, and the next,” she shrugged, “on the verge of being married.”

  Which reminded her. Earlier, he’d said her arrival was sooner than expected. That meant the wedding party hadn’t arrived and she wondered how long she had. “Let’s talk about the wedding,” she said brightly. “When is it to be, exactly?”

  “You were supposed to arrive five weeks hence.” Kellen’s face was unreadable as he glanced her way. “Why are you early?”

  “Why do you think I’m early?” she hedged.

  “Your father fears my anger. That you wear his ring bespeaks a message from him. If your father has sent such, state it now.”

  Gillian sighed. “All right. I’ll bite. Why would my father be afraid of you?”

  “Your sister tried to poison me before dying herself, marking her death suspicious. He fears my anger.” He sounded as if he’d hated his wife and she’d obviously despised him.

  “You didn’t kill her, did you?” Remembering the way he’d threatened to hang her, Gillian was only half-joking.

  “Nay!” Kellen turned her toward him, his expression affronted. “Have you heard such?”

  Gillian swallowed. “No.” Kellen’s hands were warm on her shoulders. “I… just the way you worded it. It made me wonder. So, she killed herself?”

  He nodded once. “In trying to poison me, she mischanced to poison herself, though rumors spread that suicide was her goal.”

  Good grief. And this psycho was supposed to be Edith’s sister? And he wanted to marry her? How very awkward. Gillian lifted her face to the sunlight. “It certainly is a nice day, isn’t it?”

  Kellen grunted, and she supposed that was all the response her change of subject deserved. Gillian turned away and they started walking again. So, perhaps she had as long as five weeks before the bride and her parents showed. “Why do you want to marry me, anyway?”

  “You bring more land and—”

  “What!” Instant anger fired Gillian’s temper. She stopped and turned toward him again, glaring into his face. “Oh that’s nice. Really nice.” Gillian threw up her arms. “First my loser boyfriend turns out to be a user and now you only want what you can get from me. Don’t men think women have feelings?”

  Kellen looked surprised. “It is the way of things.”

  Looking into his confused face, she sighed, the anger draining away as suddenly as it flashed to life. They weren’t really engaged, anyway, so what did it matter? She turned to walk again.

  “Well, at least you aren’t making any bones about it. At least you aren’t sly. But why is it men only want me for what I can give them? Why can’t someone just want me because they like me? Why can’t someone just be attracted to me in the normal boy meets girl, likes girl, and wants to marry girl sort of way?”

  Kellen laughed. “I must disabuse you of the notion that money and lands are the only reason I wish to marry you.”

  Gillian stopped, her face turning upward.

  “I also want an heir.” Kellen looked at her, a masculine smile spreading across his face. “And I plan to be very diligent in the endeavor. It will be my first priority. I look forward to the task and plan to spend much time in the pursuit.”

  Gillian didn’t say anything for a moment as she stared into his eyes. Slowly she smiled, then laughed. Which, in turn, surprised a p
leased expression from Kellen, which made her laugh all the more.

  Strangely enough, the thought that he might want her for her body didn’t offend nearly as much as him wanting her for financial gain. Kellen smiled, looking at her as if she were some sort of temptress. She liked it, and said, “Okay, then. It’s good that we understand each other.”

  She started forward again and they soon reached the outskirts of the village. She was accepting this, wasn’t she? Somehow she’d been hurled through time and into the past. This was the castle she’d been sketching, and this knight was born in the thirteenth century. She’d time traveled, and was now engaged to a gorgeous guy who’d rescued her and looked at her like she was dessert. Not a bad setup.

  Granted, his real fiancé was scheduled to arrive in five weeks; and when she did, Gillian would be exposed as an imposter and put to death, but why dwell on the negatives? Hopefully Gillian would be long gone by then.

  In the meantime, she’d just go with the flow. She’d pretend to be Edith, have an adventure, enjoy the English countryside, and find a way home. She slid a glance up at Kellen and had to admit, his obvious admiration was a much-needed ego boost. When his real fiancé arrived, he’d no doubt forget all about Gillian, but maybe she could have a few great memories out of the deal?

  She held out her hand and, looking pleased, Kellen took it, his large, warm grip dwarfing hers and sending tingles up her arm. She smiled again. Nice. Very nice. Who didn’t hope for a holiday romance? And how many people got a chance to visit medieval England?

  Gillian was going to buy into the whole fairytale for now, castle, knight, and all, and enjoy the adventure. At least until she found a way to return home.

  “You wanted a message from my father? Here it is. The rest of the party is coming as scheduled.”

  Kellen looked down at their linked hands and nodded. “That is fine. It will give us time to know one another before the wedding.”

  Gillian smiled. “Time indeed.”

  Chapter Nine

  “He is a dim-witted, softheaded imbecile!” Sir Robert Royce threw a cup across the hall and sprayed wine over the dirty rushes. Next he threw a platter, then a chunk of wood. ’Twas satisfying when three servants scrambled out of the way as the wood exploded against a wall.

  “A brainless, half-wit, moron! Everything is his fault. I hate him! I want him dead!”

  Robert’s throat was raw from airing his justifiable grievances and he realized he was somewhat in his cups. He’d been steadily drinking since his return home and continued to throw things about as servants rushed out of the way. His own men stood back, wary.

  Breathing heavily, Robert looked around the hall for more ammunition. His humiliation by Marshall demanded he do something. But what? Every year that passed saw Marshall with more and Robert with less.

  Suddenly weary, he sank to his chair at the head table and picked up the cup of wine a servant rushed to place at hand. He took a healthy swallow.

  His men slowly moved forward, righting benches so they could sit. His complaints against Marshall were entirely defensible. Marshall promoted ill will wherever he went, yet somehow retained the king’s ear and married at the highest level in the land, adding to his already vast wealth.

  It was not fair!

  A servant moved cautiously forward to pour more wine, and another set a trencher of food in front of Robert. ’Twas of poor quality, the bread gritty, the cheese hard and slightly moldy, the meat scarce. Anger welled again for he knew from past visits that Marshall set a much finer table.

  An adolescent raced in and bent to one knee, his head bowed. “My lord.”

  His spy, ready to report. Robert straightened. “Well?”

  The youth stood, breathing hard, his skinny chest rising and falling beneath dirty clothes. “The Lady Corbett has arrived early for the wedding, my lord.”

  “She is truly Marshall’s betrothed?”

  The young man nodded vigorously. “Aye, my lord.”

  “Daughter to Lord Corbett?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  So ’twas true. Robert could hardly credit the half-naked girl he’d seen as Marshall’s betrothed. Why hadn’t he noticed the ring? Why hadn’t his men?

  “Had she been attacked?” Robert smiled at the thought. The marriage might well be invalid.

  “The midwife affirmed her virginity. ’Tis said she wore a chastity belt of such strength and cunning ten men could not have removed it. And there is more to tell. Marshall Keep was in an uproar, for only hours after her arrival, Lady Corbett tried to walk back to her father’s stronghold, my lord.”

  Robert laughed. “By the saints, did she truly?” Perhaps he need not kill the girl. Mayhap he could find a way to turn the chit against Marshall as he’d done her sister.

  The boy nodded again, looking pleased with himself. “But Lord Marshall rode after and brought her back. They held hands and smiled upon one another and even laughed. I saw it with my own eyes. Some say ’tis a love match in the making.”

  Burning anger raced through Robert. Did the youth mean to try his patience? “Is that so?” Robert raised a fist to strike the impudence from the boy, but the youth was fast and darted away.

  Robert motioned to his men. “Catch him.”

  Robert laughed, heartily amused as the young man eluded his men, jumping over fallen benches, running over tabletops, and leaping and slipping in the dirty rushes. The boy received a few blows to his back for his trouble before tripping and getting caught.

  A female servant lunged forward. “Please, my lord.” She threw herself to her knees in the dirt and filth, her head bent, exposing greasy hair. “Please, do not hurt Valeric.”

  Robert stared at the downbent head for a moment, then remembered the boy was his whelp by the servant girl. She used to be pretty but was now haggard and pinched.

  Dissatisfied, he looked about. His keep was dirty, his servants begrimed, and his food lacking.

  He had a cheerful moment as he recalled how much he’d enjoyed the food at Marshall’s table and then enjoyed his wife even more. He laughed aloud. Feeling magnanimous toward the crying adolescent, he waved a hand. “Let him go.”

  He turned to the woman. “Clean yourself and hie to my bed.” Perhaps he would prove his virility once again this night. Her obvious fear was like an aphrodisiac.

  Just so long as Marshall didn’t prove his virility any time soon. If he fathered an heir, Robert would have no chance at talking the king into giving Marshall Keep to him, even were Marshall to die.

  This time Robert would put a stop to Marshall’s plans before they came to pass. Robert would get another chance at killing the girl.

  Or mayhap he should think it through. Impregnating Marshall’s last wife had been such a pleasurable experience. Knowing Marshall’s heir had sprung from his own loins had been heady and exciting. If the child had lived, and been a boy, Robert’s own son would have inherited Marshall Keep. And with Marshall dead, Robert had planned to marry the girl and have it all: the keep, the girl, the heir.

  He’d been so happy for awhile.

  Too bad the stupid woman had killed herself instead of Marshall.

  He considered the new girl. She’d been most attractive. But he could not risk it again. Not with Marshall living there continually. The girl wasn’t worth his own life.

  She would needs be killed before the wedding, not after. He only wished he might have realized her identity sooner. He could have taken her and bedded her at his leisure first, enjoyed her to the fullest, and then killed her.

  No, it wasn’t too late for vengeance. It would simply take a different twist this time about. This time he would ensure Marshall was without bride, heir, or property.

  And, eventually, without life itself.

  Chapter Ten

  Gillian woke to a face peering down at her. She jerked backward into soft pillows. “Aaahhh!”

  It was only then she recognized Beatrice, her new maid. The young girl grinned. “Sorry, my l
ady. I was just checking to see if you were awake yet. Did you sleep well, then?”

  Heart pounding, Gillian glanced around, surprised to find herself still in medieval England. “You should know.”

  Beatrice giggled. “Lord Marshall insisted you sleep without interruption. He feared you were overtired from your journey and ordeal.”

  Two other young girls filled a wooden tub with steaming water near the fireplace.

  “Is that for me?” Gillian indicated the tub. A bath sounded wonderful.

  “Aye, my lady.”

  Gillian tossed off the covers and slid out of bed. She’d been so tired the night before she barely remembered slipping into the voluminous white nightgown. Her feet touched cold stone and she immediately hopped from one foot to the other. “Cold. The floor is cold!”

  Beatrice handed her fur-lined slippers and Gillian slid them on. They were a little small, but she was grateful for their warmth as she headed down the hall to quickly use the garderobe, an experience she completed as quickly as possible. When she returned Beatrice hurried forward.

  “Ye’ve already missed the morning meal, my lady. ’Twill soon be suppertime. And look! His lordship sent a gift.” She held it out.

  Gillian took the beautiful silver comb and studied the pattern of roses and ivy. Touched, she ran a hand over the intricate design and felt herself soften toward the big guy. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had given her a present. Her so-called fiancé certainly hadn’t. He’d taken her for all he could get. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  Beatrice smiled. “Lord Marshall will be pleased if you wear it this day. He waits below. He paces the hall and is like to wear a path in the stones.”

  This set all three girls giggling and Gillian smiling.

  He was anxious to see her again? That was certainly flattering. Gillian noticed a beautiful green dress laid on the end of the bed. “All right. If you girls will leave, I’ll take a bath and get dressed.”

  “Nay, my lady. We are to assist you.”

  And why didn’t that surprise her? “Like you did yesterday? No, thanks. I’m not getting naked until everyone is gone.”