Romance Through the Ages

by Amy Harmon

  Shame had his eyes closing. That dream was now impossible. He’d tried to harm a lady. He’d tried to kill a lady. He leaned his head against the wall and fought against the tears burning his eyes. A lady who had been nothing but kind to him. Now he could never be a knight.

  And what of Lord Royce? When he found Valeric had failed, what might he do? To him? To his mother? He considered staying at Marshall Keep and never returning to Royce Castle. In any case, he could not set forth. They had men everywhere, searching, watching. But he could not leave his mother unprotected.

  All here knew and accepted him as one of their own. Lady Catherine had seen to that when she’d needed a message boy in place for her affair with Sir Royce.

  Might he not help his mother escape somehow? Find her a place, either here or in the village?

  He opened his eyes to watch Lord Marshall until he moved out of sight, still shouting. He wished he could trust him enough to ask for aid, to beg protection for his mother at the very least; but did not doubt Lord Marshall would kill him if he realized he were the culprit. And then what would happen to his mother?

  He took a shuddering breath and lowered his head to his knees. He hadn’t actually hurt Lady Corbett, he reminded himself. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. He’d been relieved when she was unharmed. Perhaps he had missed a purpose?

  He rubbed his face against his hose, wetting the material with the tears he could not seem to subdue. He remembered the accuracy of the blade and knew nothing could excuse his behavior.

  After he’d thrown the knife he’d been more shocked than Lady Corbett and walked a few steps into the bedchamber to assure himself she was unharmed. When she’d screamed, he’d realized she thought he was coming to finish the job.

  He lowered himself to the ground, curled into a ball of shame and tears, and realized that he was, indeed, his father’s son.

  * * *

  The tension in the room was unbearable and, when someone pounded on the door, Gillian jumped, Vera gasped, and Yvonne placed a hand to her chest. Only Marissa slid off the bed where they were ensconced in furs and blankets and hurried to the door. “Who is there?”

  When Kellen identified himself, Gillian let out a breath as Marissa unbarred the door. When he came into the room, he was tight-lipped and stern; but Gillian was relieved to see him and scrambled off the bed and hurried over with Yvonne and Vera, asking questions with the others.

  Kellen put both hands in the air. “Enough!”

  When everyone fell quiet, Gillian put a hand on one of his arms. “Did you find the man? The one who threw the knife?”

  Kellen gave a curt shake of his head. “Not yet. Come.” He took her arm and ushered her first toward the chair, then changed directions and, when they reached the bed, grasped her waist and effortlessly set her on the high mattress. He put pillows behind her, propping her up, and pulled a blanket across her legs. When he’d arranged her to his satisfaction, one of his hands gripped the nearest bedpost, and he looked down at her. “I need to hear every detail, no matter how trivial. All you remember.”

  Feeling slightly overwhelmed by the way he was looming and still shaken by the attempt on her life, Gillian nodded, drew her knees to her chest, and hugged them. She still couldn’t believe someone wanted her dead, that someone had snuck into her room in the middle of the night to accomplish the deed.

  As a woman who lived alone, she’d always checked and rechecked the doors and windows and set the alarm before going to bed. Here, inside a fortress, with a big, burly, overprotective man down the hall, she hadn’t given it a thought.

  She took a breath. “When the guy came into the room, I’d just barely blown out the candle and was sitting in the dark.” She gestured toward the small table. “I was actually looking at the door when he slipped in the room or I might not have seen him because he was so quiet. At first I thought it was you.”

  Gillian felt her face heat a bit as she remembered planning to sneak to Kellen’s room. “But then I realized he was too small; and I whispered to him, and the next thing I knew there was a knife in the chair. If I hadn’t stood when I did… ” Gillian placed a hand at her throat and swallowed.

  “How much smaller than me?” Kellen barked out the words. “Who is of similar size?”

  Gillian’s brows drew together as she remembered how the guy had strode toward her, how they’d been about the same height. “Actually, I don’t think he was much bigger than I am.”

  “Could it have been a female?”

  Gillian looked at the three ladies standing at the foot of the bed. Vera and Yvonne looked affronted, Marissa calm. Gillian shook her head. “The way he moved, it seemed like a man.”

  Kellen’s face tightened with frustration, and Gillian wished she had more information to give.

  “Mayhap it was a youth?”

  Again, Gillian shook her head, trying not to be irritated by his snapping. “I don’t think so. The knife hit hard, and I’m assuming it landed where he’d intended it to. Wouldn’t that take a lot of skill?”

  Kellen walked a few feet away, his hand lifting to rub his neck before he turned back. “You did not see any feature that set him apart? Hair color? Clothing?”

  Gillian shook her head. “No. It was dark and he was dressed in dark colors.” She watched Kellen continue to pace back and fourth. “I wish I knew more.”

  “Surely there must be some tiny detail you have left off?” His tone was sharp, again.

  Gillian’s mouth tightened for a moment before she took a breath. “Well, sure I do. But I’m purposely hiding what I know.” She threw out a hand. “Bring out the thumbscrews or you’ll get nothing out of me.”

  Kellen gave her a narrow-eyed glare then jerked his head toward the door. “Why was the door not barred?” He was getting louder. “It must be barred every night!”

  Gillian’s chin lifted as she leaned forward. “I didn’t realize I needed security in my own bedroom.” She threw out a hand. “Maybe you should post a guard outside the door or get me a big dog since I’m obviously the target of a madman and I’m completely without protection!”

  Both of them were breathing hard as they glared at each other. Only the opening door had Gillian glancing away to see several of Kellen’s men come into the room. She raised a hand to gesture, palm up, toward the door. “You didn’t bar the door.”

  Kellen gave her a fulminating glare then turned to his men.

  “Well?”

  Sir Owen stepped forward. “’Tis bedlam outside, my lord. Word of the assassin has spread and many are panicked, seeing shadows, ghosts, and murderers.”

  Gillian didn’t blame them. She didn’t feel safe, either.

  Kellen started across the room and Gillian lifted a hand. “Wait! I want to ask you something.” When the men turned back, she continued. “Is there any way this could be related to Catherine’s death?”

  Kellen turned back toward her. “I cannot deny there might be a connection.” He stared at a spot above her head. “If I had found the man responsible for turning Catherine from her duty, it may have prevented this attack.”

  “But I don’t understand why you haven’t already figured that out?”

  Kellen’s teeth clenched as he bit out, “I tried.”

  Gillian didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t meant to offend him. She just saw him as super-competent and was genuinely surprised he hadn’t found his wife’s cohort and dealt with him accordingly.

  With a growl he turned away. “You will stay in your bedchamber on the morrow.”

  “What?” She got to her knees. “No! Why should I? You told me you’d keep me safe!”

  Kellen kept walking. “I will!”

  “But I want to go home!”

  At the door, Kellen stopped, then turned back, his gaze icy. It was the first time he’d looked at her like that, almost as if he hated her. “You are home.” The words were cold, hard, final. He turned and left, jerking the door closed behind him.

  Gillian, stunned b
y his harshness, by everything that had happened, burst into tears.

  As Yvonne rushed to bar the door, Marissa walked around the bed and pulled Gillian into her arms and stroked her hair. “He did not mean to be so heavy-handed. As a male, being told he is inadequate is the worst of insults.”

  Gillian managed to sob out, “But I never said that!”

  “Whether you said the actual words or did not, he believes you think it,” said Marissa.

  Vera cut in. “Never tell a man he cannot protect you. ’Tis devastating to their ego.”

  Yvonne stroked Gillian’s back. “Very true. Either they will rush off to prove you wrong and get hurt, else they will cease caring and go into a depression of the spirits. Either way, ’tis not a good idea.”

  Gillian’s chest ached as she continued to cry. “Kellen hates me. I could see it in his face.”

  “Shh,” said Marissa.

  “And… and… someone is trying to kill me! I mean, I knew I could die of the plague or the pox or something, but a knife in the throat? What is that about?”

  Yvonne continued to rub her back. “Hush now. You will make yourself ill. ’Twill all be sorted in the morning.”

  Gillian remembered the way Kellen had looked at her and cried harder.

  Marissa tried to calm her. “Shh. Sit up now. Dry your tears. This is no way for the lady of the house to carry on.”

  They pushed her into a sitting position and Gillian wiped her face with the cloth Marissa provided and tried to stop crying.

  Vera handed her a cup. “Here. Drink this.”

  After a few hiccoughing sobs, Gillian drank a bit. “Ugh,” she made a face. “It’s nasty.”

  “Drink it down,” said Marissa. “’Twill make you feel better.”

  As soon as she’d finished, they tucked her in and Gillian wondered if perhaps she’d been wrong about the culprit being a woman and if she’d just been poisoned, but couldn’t work up the energy to care.

  Eyes closing, she buried one side of her face in the pillow, and her breath continued to hitch as she struggled to suppress more tears. “I’m not supposed to be here. You know that, right? In the morning I’m finding a way to go home.”

  “Shh,” said Marissa. “Of course you will, dear.”

  Gillian finally slept.

  * * *

  Late the next afternoon, there was finally a knock and Gillian’s level of anger flashed to boiling point as she leapt off the bed and hurried to the heavy door. “Who is it?”

  “’Tis Kellen. Unbar the door.”

  Mouth tight, Gillian shook her head. What a piece of work. Without so much as a word he’d left her to twiddle her thumbs the entire day, then showed up giving commands. She had no intention of making this easy for him. “How do I know you aren’t a murderer? One can never be too careful about these things.”

  “Nay, my lady,” an earnest voice responded. “’Tis truly Lord Marshall.” Her guard, anxious to please after trapping her inside the entire day, was no doubt relieved to offer the good news. She crossed her arms and glared at the door, torn between throwing it open to let Kellen have it, and forcing him to stew in the hall.

  Easy decision. After the day she’d had he could cool his heels. “But how do I know it’s him? It could be anyone. It could be a murderer who’s also a voice impersonator. I saw this guy in Las Vegas who—”

  “Gillian! Open this door! Now!”

  She hesitated, considering. She didn’t want him to disappear in a huff before she finally had the chance to give him a piece of her mind; so she lifted the bar, swung the door wide, and glared at Kellen.

  He stared back, face impassive, his amber gaze raking up and down her gown-clad body before he moved forward, forcing her to step back. He crossed the room, pulled in the sheet she’d dangled out the window, lifted it up and looked at the painted words. Throwing it across the bed he asked, “What is written here?”

  “Trapped in the tower. Call 911. But maybe it should have said 999. It might have brought better results here in England.”

  His brows furrowed. “What does it signify?”

  Gillian stepped forward to admire her handiwork. “It means rescue me. I thought with all those knight-in-shining-armor types running around I’d get a few takers, but apparently you’re all a bunch of poseurs.” She glared at the guard hovering in the doorway, and Kellen, following her gaze, quickly dismissed him.

  He sighed. “Gillian, you are well aware keeping you thus is for thy protection.”

  Gillian’s fists clenched. “The other ladies weren’t confined to quarters. Only me.” Her eyes started to burn and she looked down, unwilling to cry and suffer swollen and gritty eyes again.

  She took a calming breath. “I hated being grounded as a child and I find it even less appealing as an adult.”

  “Gillian.” He reached out, held her arms, and tried to draw her forward, but when she jerked away he sighed again. “I understand your anger with me. ’Tis my fault you were not kept safe. ’Tis a mistake I won’t repeat.”

  “So what are you saying?” Her calm deserted her as she threw a hand in the air. “I get to be confined to my bedroom for the rest of my life so you don’t make any mistakes?”

  He gritted his teeth. “’Tis only until I find the culprit.”

  “Did you find him? Or is it visiting hours in the prison?”

  He stood a bit straighter. “I’ve not yet discovered the villain, but I swear I’ll not rest until I do.” He held out his hand. “Come. Make peace with me. The priest has returned and summoned us both.”

  Gillian thought of refusing, but wasn’t about to miss the chance to leave her cell. Instead she crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “After you.”

  Kellen’s hand dropped; he turned and led the way, and Gillian was left with the impression she’d hurt his feelings. She hesitated, a pang of guilt making her wish she’d simply taken his hand; but then she remembered the long stay in her bedroom, hardened her heart, and followed.

  When they reached the great hall, servants were setting out tables and benches and getting ready for supper, but there was no sign of Marissa and her ladies.

  Beatrice rushed forward. “My lady? Is there anything I can get you?”

  Gillian shook her head. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  Beatrice glanced uneasily at Kellen, then bent forward to whisper. “I managed to procure some pheasant feathers. If you would like I can sew some onto the hem of your blue gown?”

  Gillian glanced at Kellen who waited impatiently. “Uh. Feathers. Yeah, I don’t think so. Maybe later we can think of something else to do with them.”

  Beatrice looked so crushed that Gillian almost changed her mind, but she didn’t want to be kicking feathers around every time she wore the dress.

  Once outside, Gillian looked toward the castle gate just as Kellen stopped to wait for her; and he intercepted her glance. “I would catch you well before you reached the gatehouse. And were I not here, I have ordered the guards to deny you passage. You’ll not escape me, Gillian. This is your home now.”

  “Do you have to be so irritating? Maybe you’ll be the one who doesn’t escape me; did you ever think of that? And maybe once I have you where I want you, I’ll lock you in my bedroom all day and see how you like it.”

  A laugh escaped him, quickly stifled. “As you will, my lady.” His carefully neutral tone and the realization that it would take him about two seconds to break down her Seattle bedroom door, earned him a heated glare. She said nothing more as they crossed the bailey yard, side by side, in silence.

  When they reached the open chapel entrance, Kellen offered his arm; but any soft feelings she’d felt earlier were well and truly squelched. She ignored him and walked the few steps into the chapel.

  The priest, a plump, middle-aged man wearing a black robe, a brown bonnet that did nothing to hide his thick salt-and-pepper hair, and a cross at chest level, must have been waiting. He immediately came forward. “Welcome, welcome, Lady Corbett!�
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  Gillian politely stuck out her hand and the priest took it in both of his, a delighted smile on his kindly face. “I am so happy to know you. I am Father Elliot.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Father.”

  “I am so pleased Lord Marshall is to wed again and to such a beautiful maid. ’Tis not right for one such as he to be alone.”

  Gillian wiggled her hand loose. “Why not? He doesn’t mind it when I’m all alone.”

  The priest looked surprised and glanced between the two of them.

  “You must forgive her,” Kellen said. “Lady Corbett is not herself this day.”

  The priest nodded. “Of course, of course!” He turned to Gillian. “You are not to worry, my dear. Lord Marshall will make a fine husband. You are lucky to be wedding such a one as he.”

  “I am the fortunate one,” said Kellen.

  Father Elliot’s mouth fell open and he looked a bit shocked. “Of course, of course! I meant no offense.” He turned to Gillian.

  “All are excited for the wedding, my dear. The clothing, the romance, the dancing, the drink, the food.” He placed both palms on his stomach and smiled at Gillian. “Most especially the food. Wedding feasts are beyond compare. Do you not agree?”

  Gillian managed to keep her eyes on the man’s face and not on his protruding belly, but couldn’t hide the smile, which he quickly noticed.

  “Ah,” he chuckled. “So you do. Good, good. I’m pleased with Kellen’s choice of bride. You come from an esteemed household. Your father, Lord Corbett, is an outstanding example of courage and nobility, and his wife the image of grace and beauty. A fine family.”

  Gillian noticed he didn’t mention Catherine. She wasn’t about to bring her up, either.

  Father Elliot turned to Kellen. “Did you catch the culprit who dared to infringe upon Lady Corbett’s bedchamber?”