by Amy Harmon
“We are still searching. I gather you arrived last nightfall?”
“Aye, I did.”
Kellen silently regarded the man.
Father Elliot’s eyes widened. “But surely you do not believe I had aught to do with the attack on Lady Corbett?”
Kellen hesitated, then said, “The man who attempted this crime is of similar size to my lady.”
Father Elliot, looking relieved, laughed and patted his belly. “None will mistake me for a delicate female.”
“No. But the tutor under your direction is quite slender, is he not?”
The priest’s mouth fell open again and he took a quick breath. “I can assure you we had naught to do with any deviltry.”
Kellen simply stared, saying nothing. The priest seemed to be trapped by Kellen’s gaze, prey to his predator; and Gillian, feeling sorry for him, finally interrupted. “So, what are we here for?”
The priest was visibly relieved by the change of subject. “Come, come.” Waving his hands around, inviting them further inside the stone chapel, he rounded the altar and said, “Now I am returned, ’tis time to post the marriage notice on the chapel doors.”
“What for?” asked Gillian
He looked surprised. “’Tis required, my lady. I will write thy names on the notice, and if any come forward with valid reasons why either of you cannot wed, the marriage will be prohibited.”
Gillian shifted from one foot to the other. Would the fact that she wasn’t actually Edith Corbett be a valid consideration? “What sort of reasons?”
Kellen stiffened beside her and when she glanced up, his jaw tightened.
Father Elliot glanced between the two of them and cleared his throat. “Ah, if either are married, or have taken vows of celibacy, or are perhaps too closely related. None such applies to you?”
Gillian shook her head. “Not to me.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie.
Kellen relaxed. “Nor me.”
The priest flattened out the paper, dipped his quill, and looked at Gillian expectantly. “Tell me thy full name, my dear.”
Gillian bit her lip, and looked from one man to the other. “Shouldn’t we wait until my parents get here to do this?”
“No, indeed. We would do this even had you not arrived.”
Gillian thought a moment. She had no idea what Edith’s full name was and couldn’t begin to guess. Taking a breath, she wondered if she was about to give herself away. “Edith Gillian Rose Corbett,” she said, giving Edith’s and her own name.
She watched them closely, but neither man seemed to think anything was wrong. Kellen was simply watching the priest, almost with satisfaction, as he wrote slowly and carefully then sat back to admire his handiwork before beginning again.
“And Lord Kellen William Spencer Marshall.” Father Elliot wrote as he spoke each name.
Gillian, relieved that the jig wasn’t up, smiled at Kellen.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
He smiled back, a bit hopefully. “Aye, my lady, ’tis a pleasure.”
Gillian remembered she was mad at him and looked away. “Father, maybe you should fill out my death certificate, as well. You know, just in case. That way I won’t put Kellen to any more trouble than I have to.”
The priest’s mouth fell open once more.
Kellen took a deep breath and put up a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Gillian.” He growled her name. “I would simply keep you safe. And, whatever you believe, you are no trouble to me. I am most anxious to please you.”
Gillian turned to him hopefully. “Do you mean that?”
He lowered his hand and nodded. “Aye,” he said fervently. “With everything in me.”
She held out both hands and he quickly grasped them in his own. As the warmth from his skin and eyes engulfed her, she swallowed. “Then take me to the cemetery. Come with me.” Come home with me. She couldn’t say it out loud but tried to convey how much this meant with her gaze.
Kellen looked conflicted and she held her breath as she waited for his response. Then his face hardened and she let out her breath, knowing she’d lost.
“Nay. Your safety is all that matters.”
She jerked her hands out of his grasp. “You’re never going to take me, are you?”
“I will when it is safe. I swear it.”
When it was too late, she thought, but didn’t dare say the words out loud.
“The cemetery beyond the village?” Father Elliot sounded confused. “They say that it, as well as this chapel, was blessed by Saint Cuthbert himself, a known miracle worker who… ”
As Gillian looked at the stone floor and listened to the priest prattle on, desperation overwhelmed her. Someone was trying to kill her. Edith and the wedding party would show up who knew when, and when they did, Gillian was in so much trouble. If she hadn’t already been murdered, she’d be locked in the dungeon or worse.
For her own piece of mind, she had to at least see if she could get back. Once she was actually in the cemetery, she had no idea what would happen. Would she simply go back to her own time or find she had some control over the situation? Maybe she’d be able to stay a while longer to try and persuade Kellen to go with her. But either way, she had to know. Even if it meant she’d never see him again.
Unexpected pain rippled through her and tears filled her eyes as she turned her head to look at him. She really did like the big goof. She might even love him.
Whatever anger she’d been harboring melted away at his pained expression, and she held out her hands to him once again. He quickly grasped her fingers, kissing the knuckles of first one hand, then the other, gazing into her eyes as he did so. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe she’d find she could come back for him.
But tonight she’d give him the drawing, just in case it really was goodbye.
Tears spilled over and she dipped her head.
“Ah, good, good,” said Father Elliot. “A love match. ’Tis just as it should be.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Kellen paced while he waited at the base of the stairs and noticed Owen try, and fail, to hide his smirk. “You are sure to wear a path in the stone if you continue thus, my lord.”
Tristan didn’t bother to hide his grin. “True, but perhaps we can find a use for such a rut. We could fill it with water for the dogs to drink, or store fish in the winter months. ’Tis a brilliant notion, my lord. Continue on.”
Kellen shook his head and glanced to where Royce stood flirting with the ladies at the head table; leaning over them, his oily charm a success if the smiles and laughter he earned were any indication.
No. Better to ignore his men and intercept Gillian before Royce tried to attract her attention. Kellen wanted to ensure the lout didn’t so much as speak to, look at, or touch Gillian. And if Kellen had to suffer the ribbing of his men to achieve that end, he would do so gladly.
She finally appeared, her guard trailing behind. She’d changed into a green gown, and her blonde hair caught the torch light for a moment, shining brightly as she descended. The slight smile on her face indicated she wasn’t upset or angry and Kellen exhaled. He did not wish to fight with her.
As she halted a few feet above him, he finally noted the flat package she carried under one arm, wrapped in linen, a blue ribbon tied at its center. “Who is the gift for?”
“You’ll have to find out along with everyone else, won’t you?” She stepped down and entwined her free arm with his. As they walked into the great hall, Kellen was not surprised to see Royce saunter over to intercept them. No doubt he’d been watching for Gillian.
“Lady Corbett! I have heard of the attack on thy person and have come to offer my support.”
“Thank you, Sir Royce. That’s very kind of you.”
With one hand occupied with the gift and the other clutching his arm, Kellen was pleased Royce had no excuse to touch her. As Gillian chatted with Royce, Kellen signaled to his men; as arranged, they hurried to sit on the benches surrounding the ladies,
taking every available space.
When he led Gillian to the head table, he was gratified by Royce’s frustrated expression as the dolt realized there was nowhere for him to sit. As Royce was about to protest, Kellen called out, “Music!” and the musicians in the corner immediately started to play, their timing perfect, as Kellen helped Gillian into her seat.
He had not cared to let the performers inside but wanted to please his lady more, and so he had instructed his men to watch them closely.
Royce, stiff, looked around as Kellen took his own place, well satisfied with the arrangement. Royce turned to join his men at the next table, when Marissa called out, “Wait! Sir Royce, you must come sit between myself and Lady Corbett. Everyone slide down to make room.”
His men looked at him helplessly. “Go on,” said Lady Marissa and, reluctantly, they did as she asked.
Royce, all smiles now, took his seat and Kellen fumed, pulling Gillian close to his side as the meal was brought around.
Gillian clapped as the musicians ended their first song. “Where did the band come from?”
“Can I not spoil my lady if I so choose?”
“You’re just hoping the present is for you.” She indicated the gift, now propped a few feet away against a wall.
Kellen laughed. “Is it?”
Gillian lifted a shoulder, smiled, and turned her attention toward the musicians once more.
Kellen leaned closer. “Do you like the performance?”
Gillian nodded. “I love it. I hadn’t realized how much I missed music. I used to listen to it all the time when I was drawing.”
“Who played for you?” asked Kellen.
Gillian shrugged. “I like all sorts of music. One of my favorite English musicians is Elton John, or I guess I should say, Sir Elton John.”
Jealousy swamped Kellen at the thought of Sir John playing for her as she sketched. He wondered that her mother had allowed such as Gillian obviously thought on the man with affection. Perhaps he was a eunuch.
As they ate, he brooded as Royce flirted with Gillian, thankful Marissa kept pulling his attention away.
“Lord Marshall,” Royce said, addressing Kellen for the first time. “I understand you hold several Scotsmen in your dungeon.”
“Aye.”
“Have you questioned them?”
“Of course. They claim to know nothing of Lady Corbett’s attack.”
“Ah. Do you believe them?”
“No. I’ve sent a message to their laird. I’ll trade his men in exchange for any information that might be of use to me.”
“Ah. Of course.”
As everyone finished eating the first course, Gillian stood. “I have a gift.” She paused as everyone looked up. “For Lord Marshall.”
Everyone clapped as she retrieved the gift and handed it to Kellen.
“What is this for?”
“Your birthday?”
“’Tis four months past.”
“Consider this a belated birthday gift. But you have to guess what it is before you can open it.”
Kellen, his chest tight, held the flat package in both hands. “Is it a new sword?”
Gillian smiled. “No.”
“Armor?”
She laughed and so he tried to think of something more foolish and absurd. “A horse?”
Everyone laughed now. “You are horrible at this,” said Gillian. “Open it.”
He untied the bow and pulled off the linen to reveal a portrait of a man sitting in a chair, a girl leaning against his side. He turned to look at her. “This is me?”
She nodded. “And Amelia. The blacksmith was able to make the frame for me. He didn’t think it was fancy enough, but I’m really happy with the rustic way it turned out. I just wish I had a piece of glass to protect… ”
Gillian’s words washed over him as he stared at the portrait. Her skill was unbelievable. Their faces were so lifelike. Of course he’d seen his reflection in still water before, and in the smoothness of his shield. Catherine had owned both a polished mirror and a water bowl, but surely Gillian had made him more handsome than he truly was?
“I wanted you to have it.”
At her saddened tone, he glanced up. Was she trying to tell him something? Did she want peace between them as he did? A true marriage?
The ladies surrounded them. “Your skill is amazing,” said Marissa. “You’ve captured their faces exactly. Look how much Amelia looks like my son, Quinn.”
Gillian’s brows rose. “The one I haven’t met?”
“Aye.” Marissa traced the shape of Amelia’s nose, mouth and eyes, not quite touching the paper. “See here? All Marshall features.”
“Aye,” agreed Lady Vera. “Though, of course, Quinn’s eyes have Marissa’s blue color, while Amelia’s are amber like Kellen’s.”
Kellen looked at Amelia’s likeness, then at his own face in the portrait. Everyone knew of his wife’s infidelity, but there was no denying the resemblance. Kellen was astounded to realize the ladies were correct.
Which meant Catherine had lied. Amelia was his child.
His chest tightened and his throat constricted as he looked at Amelia’s little face. She was his daughter. Ever since Catherine’s death he had not allowed himself to believe. He had done his duty by the girl but had not so much as looked at the child if he could help it.
“So, do you like it or not?” asked Gillian.
He didn’t dare lift his gaze until his emotions were under control.
“Well?” she pressed again.
He cleared his throat and was finally able to answer. “Your talent has overwhelmed me.” The words came out hoarse, but audible.
Marissa nodded. “’Tis amazing. I see why thy mother never made you learn castle work. They no doubt kept you busy with thy incredible talent. I would ask you to do a sketch of my two boys. Mayhap at Christmas you might travel to Hardbrook Hall? I could call Quinn home for the event?”
Gillian hesitated, but finally nodded. “If possible, I will be glad to.”
Kellen’s chest filled with pride. “I will place this in my bedchamber in the place of honor.”
Gillian grinned. “You’d remove the wolf skin from off the wall for me?”
At her teasing, Kellen smiled. “Surely you ask too much. Mayhap I can spare a dark corner of the chamber.”
Everyone groaned as Gillian struck him in the shoulder.
Kellen laughed and glanced toward the stairs. “I wish to see Amelia. Perhaps someone should go and fetch her?”
“The child is no doubt asleep,” Marissa chided him. “She can see it in the morning.”
Kellen wasn’t sure he could wait until morning to see her. Again he fought tears back.
Gillian had no idea what she had given him this night.
She had given him back his daughter.
* * *
Hand shaking, Robert set his spoon down and tried to make his face blank as the rage bubbled inside him.
The portrait showed the truth. He could not deny the girl looked like Marshall. That she was, in fact, Marshall’s daughter. Robert had always loved the thought that Amelia was his baseborn child. That Kellen was forced to accept and raise a child of Robert’s seed. It would only have been fair as Catherine had loved him! Had lain with him at every opportunity. By all accounts the child should have been his, as well as Marshall Keep and everything in it.
How did everything always turn to Marshall’s advantage?
Robert glanced at Gillian. While her sister’s eyes had only been for him, Gillian barely deigned to look in his direction. Once again, Marshall had everything. Why did the goddess Fortuna always smile upon him? Did he wear a lucky toad around his neck? Cast runes? Control the very fates?
And why did Gillian feel naught for Robert? Had Catherine truly been the love of his life? Did Gillian sense his heart was already taken and so settled for Marshall? He calmed at the thought. That must be it. Otherwise, Gillian would fall under his spell as Catherine had, as all
the ladies did. Ultimately, it was Catherine with her soft looks and touches who should be at his side and not her inferior sister. This was unbearable.
Marshall and his harlot needed to feel the pain that Robert felt. With luck, they would both die before dinner was finished. Only then would Robert’s misery finally come to an end.
Robert nodded at his servant who, as instructed, had ingratiated himself with the staff and helped serve the dinner as Robert and his men had caused extra work. The man dipped his head once, an almost imperceptible movement, then moved away. After he did his work, he’d melt away to help elsewhere, a shadow no one quite remembered.
Everything in place, Robert turned to smile at Gillian; but once again her back was to him as she spoke with Kellen. It was an insult, of course, indicating that she found Robert tiresome.
He forced himself to smile and chat with the other ladies who more than welcomed his attention. This was not to be bourne and would not be for much longer.
His man returned with a platter, but another intercepted and took it, lifting a spoon and taking a few random bites. A food taster! The man took one last bite then set the platter between Gillian and Marshall.
Robert could not move his gaze from the morsel of meat Gillian picked up and lifted to her mouth. Happiness overwhelmed him and he tried to hide his expression by taking a drink of wine. Yes. Take a bite. Just one should do it.
The food taster knocked over a platter and a jug of water when he went down, but still, Gillian’s food was almost to her mouth. Just one little bite…
* * *
Gillian was startled when Kellen knocked the food from her hand then grabbed her mouth, squeezed her cheeks together and looked inside. She smacked his shoulder and jerked away. “What are you doing?”
Kellen grabbed her chin again and forced her to meet his gaze. “Did you take a bite?”
Shocked by his behavior, his savage demeanor, she didn’t answer; he stuck his finger in her mouth, running it around. Gagging, she pushed him away. “Kellen, please, what are you—”
“Did you eat anything?” His voice was louder this time.
She looked down at her platter. “N… no,” she stammered.
