Romance Through the Ages

by Amy Harmon

  Reluctantly, almost peevishly, as if Gillian were being unfair, the girls left. Gillian checked, but there wasn’t a lock on the door.

  Watching the entry, Gillian undressed and, seconds after she sank into the tub, Beatrice glided back into the room.

  “I don’t need any help!”

  Chin high, Beatrice threw a petulant, reproachful glance. “I will tidy the chamber.”

  “Get out!”

  Beatrice acted like she didn’t hear, and, a moment later, the two other girls filed back inside.

  Disgusted, Gillian sank down and let her head drop back against the wooden rim. It they came near her, she’d flatten them.

  Ignoring her, the girls chattered as they put things away, made the bed, dusted, swept, and straightened the pots and jars lining one table. One girl straightened the logs beside the fire.

  Gillian sighed and quickly made use of soap and cloth.

  Beatrice brushed out the bottom of the green dress and threw Gillian an arch look. “Everyone is talking about how gallant it was for Lord Kellen to follow and hold your hand last eve. And Lord Kellen has laughed several times this day, already. His mood is much improved since your arrival. The guards over the gatehouse declare to have shown to you the rocks in the distance, and thereby lay claim to the romance.”

  “Everyone’s talking about us?” Usually no one cared to notice anything she did, and it felt strange to have a starring role in the castle gossip.

  “Aye. Some think to rename the rocks as Lover’s Peak or Rapture Ridge. I myself favor Passion’s Precipice.”

  Gillian groaned, then slipped down into the water. She quickly finished washing and was soon ready to get out. If Gillian wasn’t mistaken, the women were now trying to find things to do. Surely the walls didn’t need dusting?

  “Have you any tidings from London? With your father a powerful baron, you must have gone there often. Have you news of the king and queen?”

  Gillian considered her knowledge of history and drew a blank. She had no idea who they even were. “Um. Well. It’s said they have romantic names.”

  Beatrice turned, her brows drawn together. “Henry and Eleanor? Think ye?”

  “Of course.” She filed the names away. She wished she did have some juicy bit of gossip to share based on a broad knowledge of history, but didn’t. “Uh. They’re doing fine. The queen’s gowns are as pretty as ever,” she said cautiously.

  Beatrice lit up. “Have you details? The queen is said to be very beautiful. Is that true?”

  “Sure, and she always wears the latest fashions.” Since the woman was a queen, and considered beautiful, Gillian felt safe making the assertion.

  Beatrice, eyes shining, asked, “What is the latest fashion?”

  Gillian floundered. She’d drawn people in a couple of her castle paintings, but had pretty much used her imagination rather than done any research on clothing. This was what she got for being lazy. “Puffed sleeves, pointed shoes, and feathers?”

  The girl squealed. “I had not heard this!”

  Gillian cringed. She should have kept her mouth shut. “I’m ready to get out now, if you’ll just go?”

  Beatrice rushed forward. “I will help.”

  Gillian quickly held the cloth over her chest. “No, I’m fine, really.”

  Beatrice clapped her hands and rushed the two other girls out, then came back and held up a large, dry cloth.

  “Really, I can do it myself. I insist.”

  “’Tis my right and my duty.”

  Gillian sighed. She was pretty sure she’d heard that before. Recently. “Fine. But if you try anything, I’ll annihilate you, understand?”

  Beatrice giggled. “Aye, my lady.”

  She squeezed the moisture from her hair, then from the wash cloth, laying it over the edge. She stood and reached for the drying cloth, but Beatrice backed away until Gillian was out of the tub, completely exposed. Giving Beatrice a dirty look, Gillian snatched the cloth.

  Beatrice stared, eyes wide. “Your toes!” she gaped in astonishment.

  Gillian wrapped up in the cloth and looked at her toes. “You’ve never seen neon pink toenails before, huh? You didn’t notice them yesterday when you stripped me?”

  “My lady. I most sincerely apologize for treating you thus. Lord Marshall had need to know of your purity, and we had to obey.”

  “Whatever.” Gillian lifted her chin at the dress. “I like the dress. It’s very whimsical.”

  “Let me help you into it.”

  It turned out Gillian was actually glad for the assistance. Hoses gartered at the knees, a tight undertunic, and then the gown. She probably wouldn’t have figured it out on her own. To Beatrice’s disgust, Gillian wore her athletic shoes which would have probably spoiled the effect, except they couldn’t be seen.

  “Do you miss your family?”

  Gillian thought of her parents and brother. “Yes, I do. Very much.”

  “I’m sure they will visit often, and that Lord Marshall will take you to see them also.” Beatrice opened the door and clapped her hands. “Bring the ribbons, that her ladyship might choose.”

  Gillian stifled a smile. She wasn’t sure she’d get used to the bowing and scraping, but Beatrice was certainly taking to her new role.

  Beatrice hustled her onto a stool and Gillian sat as her hair was damp dried, coiled, entwined with green ribbons, and the silver comb inserted.

  “So, any idea what I’m supposed to do all day?”

  “My lady?” Beatrice continued fussing, cursing the thickness of Gillian’s hair under her breath.

  “You know, how do I keep myself occupied. What’s my role?”

  “Ah. Your responsibilities? To have children, of course. We are all very excited about the prospect.”

  Gillian shivered as she remembered Kellen’s promise to spend a lot of time at that particular occupation. “I meant right now. Today.”

  “Ah. Well, of course, you will want to plan the meals, talk to the cooks, make menus, and keep the kitchen accounts. Sewing is a pleasant pastime and Lord Marshall has much material. I imagine he will be most generous with ye. Do you hunt? There are the falcons, of course. And as the weather is warm, perhaps you will plan a field day?”

  “A field day?”

  “Fun, games, and food out of doors.”

  “Oh. A picnic.” Gillian chuckled at Beatrice’s hopeful tone.

  “Also, you are to make sure everyone is working to your satisfaction. You have no ladies to train at present, for they all left when your sister died. But I am sure that will change once your family arrives and news of your marriage spreads. Then there are the spinners and weavers. And, of course, preparations for the wedding.”

  Gillian’s head reeled. “Is that all?”

  Beatrice giggled. “Of course you will have many hands to help with all. Lord Marshall is quite wealthy, you know, with countless servants. His father has many manors, but Lord Marshall won this keep through his own merits. It was an award from the king for his strength and loyalty.” Beatrice sounded proud.

  “And, of course, many fear him and having him thus on the border is a deterrent against the Scots.” Beatrice gave Gillian’s hair one last pat.

  “Everyone is aware you brought his lordship a large dowry and is laughing about your claim of ownership over him. Lord Marshall, as well. No one has seen him laugh in a long time.”

  The girls’ eyes were shining with mirth. “The men are also excited as your dowry will allow more of them a place of their own.” She looked down shyly. “Which means a chance of marriage for some of the women, as well.”

  Gillian was amused. “Thinking of getting married, are you?”

  Beatrice shrugged, but she was smiling as she handed Gillian a piece of polished metal and Gillian realized it was supposed to be a mirror. As far as she could tell, she looked presentable. She’d check her compact later.

  Beatrice lowered her voice. “All wonder if a betrothal was broken to give you to Lord Mars
hall?”

  A betrothal? Gillian thought about the way that faker Ryan White had fooled her into believing he loved her and wanted to marry her. The way he’d humiliated her and left her self-esteem in the mud. Angry tears formed in her eyes. She’d been a fool, and over such a worthless jerk. She didn’t answer, but only shook her head.

  “Oh, my lady. I’m sorry to bring up a sore subject.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I vow you will be most happy here. I promise to help sew some new dresses for ye. Lord Marshall sent out men to hunt for the thieves who stole your clothing, but I doubt there is much chance of its return. There are your sister’s clothes, of course, but you are much taller and with more bosom, so they won’t fit well.”

  Gillian wiped tears away. “That would be great. I’m not much of a seamstress so I accept the offer.”

  “You look very fine today, my lady. Do you wish for supper in your chambers? Or in the solar? Your sister ate thus often, and you could as well; but I know for a surety Lord Marshall is waiting for you to appear below. Or you could send word that you are not coming.”

  Gillian, wondering why wife number one had eaten by herself, apparently took too long in answering because Beatrice rushed into speech.

  “Father Elliot considers it a sin to eat food in chambers unless you are ill. He declares it a form of gluttony.”

  Gillian laughed at the not-so-subtle comment. Actually, she was surprised to realize she couldn’t wait to see Kellen again. She probably ought to be making a list of possible ways to get back home, but right now all she wanted to do was enjoy being here.

  Kellen was attractive, attentive, and made her feel feminine—a state Ryan had managed to make her question. And, for now, being the lady of the castle sounded like fun. Why not enjoy the experience while she could?

  For all she knew, she’d be whisked back as unexpectedly as she’d arrived. If not, she could think about returning in a week or two. For now, she’d just enjoy every minute and consider it her vacation. Albeit a somewhat dangerous one.

  Besides, she seemed to be one of the main stars in the local gossip mill, so she’d best show up to provide fodder.

  Gillian stood and, feeling very maidenly and beautiful in full medieval garb, headed for the door. “I believe I’ll eat downstairs.”

  Beatrice’s squeal made Gillian chuckle and, smiling with anticipation, she went to find her knight.

  * * *

  When Edith finally appeared at the top of the stairs, Kellen stopped pacing to wait at the bottom. He wished Edith to settle and planned to do all he could to ease her way as she accustomed to her new situation.

  With a bounce, she reached the last step and smiled at him. “Hello.”

  Kellen tried not to show his surprise at her happy greeting. She’d not curtsied, but Kellen gave a slight bow, regardless. “A good morrow.” Kellen considered the way her green gown brightened the blue of her eyes, the way her coiled hair revealed the length and smoothness of her neck, and the fact that she was more beautiful than he’d remembered.

  Her skin was dewy, her figure lush and attractive, and the wide smile she gave belied any shyness or upset she’d suffered the day before. She wore his gift, surely a good sign, and he was pleased and hoped she would comment upon it.

  He’d not had much experience with ladies and feared his gallantry to be sadly lacking, but stiffly offered an arm. “My lady?”

  She entwined both hers around it, startling him, heating his blood, and he was gratified she touched him of her own accord. As she looked curiously about, Kellen led the way to the head table, sat her beside him, and motioned the servants to come forward with water. Kellen helped Edith wash and dry her slender, delicate hands. Her smooth skin and easy acceptance of his touch caused a surprising breathlessness on his part.

  Edith smiled teasingly. “I just had a bath, you know. But maybe you’re using this as an excuse to hold my hand?”

  Owen and Tristan both laughed as they joined them across the table. “Aye,” said Tristan. “Kellen is a tricky sort and must be watched always.”

  Owen smiled. “’Tis true, my lady. He plans strategies that cannot be seen until too late, and his victim gripped tight within his coils.”

  Kellen shot both men a dark look that promised retribution later. “Listen not to the slander of fools.”

  Edith chuckled, a melodious, rich sound that stirred the hair on the back of Kellen’s neck. A trencher and cup were placed between them, and he cut the bread in half.

  “A piece of stale bread?” Edith teased again. “Is that all I get after missing breakfast?”

  Kellen’s mouth lifted. “Perhaps I can manage something more.”

  With the priest gone visiting, a prayer was said by one of his foster boys; and then wine, bread, and butter were brought forward.

  Edith slathered a piece with enthusiasm. “Yummy. This bread looks wonderful. Fresh out of the oven, too. I can’t remember the last time I had homemade bread.” She took a bite. “Mmm. This is so good!”

  Kellen smiled at her enjoyment and moved aside as a platter laden with food was set between them, as well as bowls with broth and vegetables.

  When Kellen set the choicest meats upon her trencher, he realized his hand shook and feared he truly was an idiot.

  He wondered if her father sent her early to soften him. If so, Kellen had to admit it was not a bad strategy. Her charm and allure would have even the hardest of hearts yielding.

  Edith leaned in, her head tucking neatly beneath his chin.

  “Why is everyone staring at me?”

  He inhaled, her wondrous smell making him dizzy. “Lady Edith, your beauty dazzles them all,” he said with complete sincerity, and was pleased by the ease with which the compliment arrived.

  Owen and Tristan pretended not to listen to the conversation, but smiled encouragingly when Edith looked Kellen’s way.

  Edith laughed and elbowed him in the ribs. “Get out of here.”

  Stung, Kellen asked, “You wish me to leave?”

  “What? Heavens, no. Then who would feed me?” She seemed to banter, her smile wide, and he was confused.

  “By the way, if you don’t mind, I prefer Gillian to Edith. Could you call me that instead?”

  He was pleased that she shared her pet name with him and nodded at once. “Gillian, then.” He liked it. “A very pretty name.” And it boded well for their marriage if she accepted him into her life so easily.

  Sitting beside her was making him tongue-tied and Kellen considered and rejected several conversational tidbits. Owen nodded and gestured toward Gillian, but Kellen could think of naught to say besides, “The food is to your liking?”

  “Yes, thank you. It’s great. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

  Tristan circled his hand at Kellen and, panicked, Kellen shook his head.

  Tristan sighed, then turning to Gillian, offered up a bright smile. “My lady, ’tis enchanting to have such a lovely lass to grace our humble table. Thy matchless beauty shines upon this lowly assemblage and brings to us the hope of summertime after a bleak winter.”

  Owen backhanded Tristan in the chest. “Nay, dolt, you insult her with such sparse praise.” Owen smiled upon Gillian. “My lady, the grace of thy presence ’tis as a flame brandished on the darkest of midnights, as the sun coming after a moonless night, a brilliant, radiant beam shining through a clouded winter day.”

  Both men looked expectantly toward Gillian, awaiting her praise, and Kellen tried frantically to think of words to woo her, but none came to mind. He considered killing his men instead, a task he well knew how to perform.

  Gillian laughed. “Is that so? Well, I don’t like to doubt your sincerity or anything, but do I know either one of you? Have we been introduced?”

  Her goad inspired a delighted glance exchanged between his men. “Sir Tristan de Aguilon, at your service, fair Gillian. And this knave is Sir Owen de Burgess. And my lady, you must believe, we are in earnest! ’Tis like
an arrow through the heart of love for you to question the fervor of our words!”

  Owen nodded. “Aye, a dagger, a lance. Your cruel disbelief ’tis as a javelin, straight and true, to pierce this worthless hide.”

  “Nay!” said Tristan. “A battering ram to invade the wretched recesses of this disconsolate heart.”

  Gillian chuckled and Kellen’s mood darkened.

  “Somehow I suspect you’ll both recover,” said Gillian.

  Tristan placed a hand over his afflicted heart. “My lady, I beg you—”

  Kellen pounded a fist on the table. “Enough! Let the girl eat without threat of thy vomit-inducing sweetness.”

  Gillian chuckled again and the sound lightened the jealousy overpowering him because he had not the words to enchant her half so well.

  Looking at her, Kellen felt a very lucky man. Gillian was vibrant and beautiful and didn’t seem in the least repulsed by him. In fact, she smiled frequently and looked to him when amused as if inviting him to share her good humor.

  He was proud she was his and also liked the way she formed her words, finding it unique and charming. If any were to say differently, they would needs discuss the matter with him.

  A second platter was brought out, and Kellen selected cheeses, nuts, and fruits, giving her the finest pieces.

  “You know, guys,” said Gillian. “If I’m not mistaken, you two are the miscreants I caught pawing through my pack yesterday.”

  Kellen laughed, glad she found fault with the flatterers.

  Tristan lifted a hand. “Nay, my lady. We merely offered assistance when your pack spilled about the table. We were tidying your possessions to make sure naught was lost.”

  “Aye, my lady, ’tis true,” said Owen.

  “Hmm. If you say so.” Gillian’s blue eyes slanted upward. “Kellen, do you think I should believe them?”

  Kellen could hardly credit that she used his name and teased him thus. He certainly wasn’t going to mention he’d been the miscreant to open her pack and spill its contents.

  “’Tis hopeful you will believe such, my lady, else both will frown and pout and be like to worthless on the training field as they nurse tender feelings.”