Romance Through the Ages

by Amy Harmon

  She straightened her shoulders. “Kellen?” she whispered his name, and took a step forward. “Kellen? Are you there?” She closed the distance and reached out to feel the blankets, then sighed as if disappointed when she realized he wasn’t there.

  What was she doing? He hadn’t expected her to wake him. He shut the door behind him with a solid thud and threw the bolt.

  Gillian whirled and put a hand to her heart. “Kellen? My goodness, you scared me.”

  She ran at him and he tensed, ready for anything. She threw herself at him and he grabbed her wrists, felt for a weapon, but found nothing.

  “Kellen? It’s me. Gillian.”

  Kellen slowly let her go and instantly his arms were full of soft, fragrant female. He allowed the embrace, but didn’t relax his guard. Just because she didn’t have a weapon at the ready, didn’t mean she wasn’t carrying one.

  He closed his arms around her and resumed his search, hands skimming over her back, her hips, up the arms she’d lifted around his neck, kneading and tightening every few inches, sure there was a trick somewhere, a hidden danger.

  She giggled and pressed closer and he realized the danger too late as his anger drained away. His breath caught and he broke into a sweat and escalated his search, bunching the sides of her nightgown in his fists, fighting his body’s reaction to hers.

  If he could find a weapon and prove she intended to kill him, he could protect himself, harden his heart. He truly needed to despise her right now. Before it was too late.

  * * *

  When Kellen’s hand touched her thigh, Gillian jerked away, startled. She tried to read his expression, but his back was to the fire and she couldn’t see his face in the shadows. He reached for her again and continued his octopus impression, his hands wandering above her waist again.

  Sheesh. Whatever happened to romance? She’d never tried to seduce anyone before, but was pretty sure it was supposed to start slower. His hands moved up her sides, cupping her shoulders, then around and under her chest.

  Gillian gasped, jerked again, then giggled. It was sort of endearing that he hadn’t had much practice with seduction and was so clumsy at it. Not that she was an expert, but rubbing his hands all over her seemed a bit abrupt. Maybe she should do the same to him and see how he liked it?

  She smiled. He probably would. “Kellen, slow down. We have all night. What if we start with a kiss?”

  His hands stilled. “A kiss?”

  He sounded so confused she worried she’d offended him by questioning his lovemaking skills. She knew she had to be careful. She’d heard men had fragile egos where stuff like that was concerned.

  She petted his chest and the muscles bunched, making her shiver in response. She looked up and tried an alluring smile. It was probably wasted as it was so dark, the fire mostly burning embers, but it made her feel enticing anyway.

  “Yes. A kiss,” she practically purred the words. Then thinking about the way his hands had just roamed her body she thought she might want to be specific. “On the lips.”

  He was still for a long moment before clearing his throat. “You left the protection of your room for a kiss?”

  She nodded.

  “You could have been hurt. Injured.”

  She smiled and moved closer. “I knew you were just down the hall. I knew you’d protect me.”

  The flattery didn’t work. He stayed stiff and stilted, so she reached for him, placing a hand on his arm. They were in the dark, just the two of them, and her heart was certainly pounding. If his roaming hands were any indication, he seemed to like her well enough, too. This might be her first attempt at seduction, and off to a slow start, but she wasn’t giving up.

  “So,” she tried to sound like a temptress. “Is that what you were doing? Checking me for injuries? Did you find anything interesting?”

  As if reminded, his big hands started to move again, up and down her arms, clenching every few inches. It was almost as if he were searching her. He checked her fingers one at a time, pausing to feel her ring, then his hand went up to her hair, feeling every inch of her scalp, then trailing down its long length. She laughed again. “Kellen! What are you?—”

  Was he searching her?

  Surely not. She was almost embarrassed to ask. “Are you… are you frisking me?”

  “Frisking?”

  “Checking me for weapons?”

  Kellen stepped back, and his hands fell away. He sighed. “None but you saw the dagger-throwing villain. And this night you could have easily poisoned our trencher when you entered the kitchen. I but thought to wonder if your father sent you to murder me, and if perhaps Catherine was trained to the task, as well.”

  Gillian’s breath caught and her mouth went slack as she gaped at him, unable to speak.

  “Gillian?”

  She sucked in air and jerked away. “How… how dare you! You think I’m a suspect in my own murder attempts? You think I’m responsible for the attacks? For a man’s death!” Her voice rose on the last word.

  Moisture filled her eyes and, disbelieving, she lifted a hand to wipe away tears. Why was she crying? She’d never been so angry in her life and she was crying? She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get enough air.

  “So much—” she gulped in oxygen. “So much for the big seduction. I wouldn’t seduce you now if you were the last man on earth. The last man in this century!” Face crumpling, she turned away. “You can stay here and rot!”

  More tears flooded her eyes as she ran for the door. She never wanted to see him again. She hated him! She unbolted the door and at the last moment remembered what she’d come to say. She didn’t bother to turn. “Goodbye, Kellen. Goodbye forever!”

  She fled toward her room. She would never forgive him for this. Never!

  * * *

  Gillian had not sought to kill him but had desired to seduce him instead? Confusion held Kellen rooted to the spot. Why would she want such? Did she… did she bear true feelings for him?

  He shook his head and the movement somehow loosened his feet, and he started after her. Who was he to think to fathom the workings of a female mind? All he knew in truth was he’d mismanaged the entire event and was the veriest of louts.

  Within moments he spotted her white nightclothes floating ahead in the darkness. “Gillian, wait! I beg you, hold up!”

  Moving fast, he caught up just before she reached her chamber. “Please! I beg you,” he said. “Take pity on my vile and wretched self.” He gently gripped her shoulders but she spun away.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  He tried again, but she was slippery as a trout. He couldn’t get a good hold without handling her roughly and, unwilling to risk hurting her, moved to block access to her room, his arms spread. “Please hear me. I am truly the worst of bunglers. I have spoiled much with my unfounded suspicions. ’Tis obvious you are no murderer. My wits had gone begging.”

  As she tried to slide around him, he managed to catch her wrists and hold her. She tugged, trying to free herself, making a sound of frustration when she couldn’t. “You are such a jerk!”

  She tugged again but he held fast. “Do you know that?” she said. “You’re a big, fat, stupid jerk. Let go of me!”

  “Agreed on all points. I am also a half-wit and a fool. Come back to my chamber. We must needs discuss this further.”

  She reared up, taut as a bow, to study his face in the darkness. “I’m not interested in talking to you.” Her voice was low, yet fierce, and the underlying hurt tugged at his heart. “Or in going to your room. Or in doing anything with you, ever again!”

  Turning her face, she sobbed, just once; and concerned that he injured her, he released her. She quickly ran around him into her room and shut the door. The bar dropped into place.

  He grimaced, thumped the door with the side of his fist, then turned and paced down the hall before returning to knock. There was no response. He leaned his forehead against the wood. He truly was an idiot. He’d gotten it all wrong. Of cours
e she was no murderer. The idea was ludicrous. Where had his wits been? He must make it up to her somehow.

  He paced again as he considered items in his treasury, which might bribe his way back into her good graces, when a torch appeared and two of his men climbed the stairs. ’Twas unfortunate they were not the miscreants who’d cast suspicion on Gillian’s honor, thereby turning his thoughts to mush. Those two probably had more sense than to show their faces.

  “My lord? All is well?” asked the knight holding the torch.

  Embarrassed to be caught skulking in the hall, Kellen threw out a hand. “All is well. Go. You are not needed here.”

  The man lifted the torch high and waved it back and forth, apparently trying to penetrate the shadows, then with a nod, went back the way he’d come, his friend following.

  Kellen knocked again and this time the door opened, only slightly, and Kellen was disappointed to see Marissa. “I must see Gillian.”

  When he moved forward, Marissa held up a hand. “You may see her in the morning.”

  Kellen could hear Gillian crying and tried to look into the room. “But I must needs speak—”

  “In the morning.”

  “I’m never talking to him again!” Gillian half-yelled, half-sobbed.

  Kellen started forward and tried to push the door open, but Marissa held her position, her body blocking the door, and perhaps her bare foot also. Kellen stopped, unwilling to risk harming her.

  “In the morning,” she said again.

  With a growl of frustration, Kellen pivoted and stormed away. What difference would sunlight make to the situation? He doubted he would sleep a trice until he had put things to rights with Gillian. Marissa was a meddlesome busybody. Why, he wondered, had he invited her to stay?

  Tomorrow could not arrive soon enough.

  * * *

  Gillian lay on her side with the covers tucked around her and sucked in a shuddering breath as she tried to stop crying. “He is such a… a jerk.”

  Marissa appeared around the side of the bed and handed her an embroidered handkerchief, and Gillian blotted her eyes. “I had to work up my courage to approach him, you know?” said Gillian. “I almost chickened out, and then suddenly everything seemed to be going so well.”

  Gillian remembered the dark, just the two of them, his hands roaming her body. It had been a bit awkward at first, but exciting nonetheless. She snorted and rolled her eyes. “He’d seemed willing enough.”

  She took a deep breath and leaned up on one elbow. “And then he accuses me!” She patted her chest. “He thinks I’m the poisoner!” Another pat. “That I faked the knife that was thrown at me. I hate him!”

  Marissa moved to stand at the end of the bed, arms crossed and lips pinched. “Then why do you cry so?”

  “Because I’m mad at the big creep, that’s why!” She sobbed out the last two words. “He’s ruined everything!” Another sob and her face crumpled. And afterward, he hadn’t made much of an effort to get her to listen, had he? “Jerk!”

  Marissa continued to stand at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, a disapproving expression plastered to her face.

  “What?” said Gillian. “You think I’m the murderer, too?”

  Marissa waved a hand. “Not at all. I am simply concerned with thy lack of morals. This sneaking about in the middle of the night like the basest of serving girls is unacceptable. What would thy mother say? Apparently I must needs sleep with one eye open so as to keep abreast of the goings on after dark.”

  Gillian snorted. “Don’t bother. I certainly won’t be sneaking off to meet Kellen any more.” Gillian’s fist tightened around the handkerchief. “To think I was going to seduce him! That I was going to try and find a way to take him home with me. And all the time he thinks I’m some sort of murderer? Like his horrid first wife! What a suspicious man!” Tears pooled in her eyes again. “I’ll die a virgin before I ever go near him again.”

  Marissa bent her head and put a hand to her mouth.

  Gillian sat up in bed and sank her face into her hands. “Do you know what the problem is? Our relationship happened way too fast. Our feelings probably aren’t even real.” She shook her head. “His obviously weren’t.”

  “True,” said Marissa. “Else he’d have trusted you.”

  Gillian’s head reared up and she threw out a hand. “But why should he have trusted me? He doesn’t really even know me. And neither does anyone else around here. So who is trying to kill me? And why?”

  Suddenly she worried Kellen would be harmed when she left, but tried to suppress her concern. He didn’t deserve it. Anyway, he was on his guard now. He’d be okay.

  Gillian glowered. “If I had died, he’d probably forget all about me and marry Miss Perfect and Polished who no doubt already knows how to run a castle and how to live happily ever after in it.”

  More tears flooded her eyes. “What if tonight really was our last goodbye? What if I never see him again?” She started to cry once more and held a hand, palm up, to Marissa. “Look at what this place is doing to me? I’m a mess. I need to get out of here. That should make you happy, right? Won’t you be relieved to get rid of me?”

  Marissa didn’t respond, and her lips were pressed tightly together.

  Gillian hung her head. “The fact that I’ll never see Kellen again is for the best. I’m glad he’s not coming with me. In the future men only want to cheat on you. They don’t accuse you of trying to kill them. He’s welcome to his flawless, faultless wife who—”

  Trilling laughter rolled out of Marissa, a deep belly-laugh, and she gripped her stomach and doubled over before finally taking a breath so she could do it all over again. It surprised Gillian enough that she stopped mid-rant. Marissa never unbent enough to smile, let alone laugh until she had tears in her eyes.

  About a minute later, still smiling, wiping her eyes, Marissa finally got hold of herself. “I must say you are most amusing, Gillian.”

  Arms now crossed, Gillian glared at her.

  “I suddenly feel grateful my relationship with my own husband is much more subdued,” said Marissa. “I almost feel sorry for Kellen.” She studied Gillian’s face for a moment, then looked down and placed both hands on the bedspread, and sighed. “What you must needs remember is that, before all else, Kellen is but a man, and males are often wrongheaded.” She glanced up. “For all that, he is intelligent, and will soon see the error of his ways.”

  Gillian glowered. “Too little, too late.”

  Marissa threw her hands up, laughed again, and rounded the bed. She blew out the candle on the table and climbed under the covers. “All will look better in the morning.”

  Hearing the smile in her voice, Gillian lay down and rolled onto the side facing away from Marissa, hunching her shoulder. “Yes, way better. Because I’m going home in the morning.”

  Gillian heard what sounded suspiciously like a muffled giggle.

  She sighed. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Anger carried Gillian away from the keep, and Beatrice’s pilfered dress swished around her legs. She glanced back at the imposing castle in the semi-dark, early morning air. It had been easier to get through the gates than she’d thought. While the guards were thoroughly checking the villagers entering, she’d barely gotten a second glance. Cloaked and dressed as a maid and carrying the blanket-covered basket, she’d left the castle.

  And she wasn’t going to feel guilty, either. After the way Kellen had accused her, he deserved to wake up and find her gone. She knew he’d be upset, but only until his real bride showed up. Then he’d forget all about her.

  At that thought, tears unexpectedly filled her eyes. She willed them back and concentrated on making her way through the bustling village, dodging animals and people alike. When the buildings began to thin, she ditched the blanket and basket at the side of a hut, put on her backpack, and headed up the hill toward the cemetery.

  How long would Kellen search? Edith wouldn’t
arrive for several weeks; and while Gillian was mad at Kellen, she didn’t necessarily want him to suffer. She’d considered leaving a note but doubted anyone could read her modern handwriting. She’d also briefly thought about giving Beatrice a watered-down version of her travel plans but knew she’d have run straight to Kellen and tattled.

  Gillian’s brow furrowed. If he’d just cooperated, she could have taken him and his daughter with her. They could have been a family. Her steps slowed. Was she leaving too soon? With her gone, what would Kellen think when Edith arrived? After he found out Gillian was an imposter, would he believe she’d really been the one trying to murder him? If he did, would he let his guard down and give the murderer a free shot at killing him?

  The last of her anger evaporated, and she admitted to herself that the further away she got, the more miserable she was. Maybe she’d just go to the cemetery and see if she could get back to the twenty-first century. She could see if a time travel portal opened or something; and once she’d assured herself that she could go, then she’d turn around and stay with Kellen for a bit longer. Surely she could find a way to talk him into going with her?

  When she heard horses hooves thundering behind her, relief flooded her, and she let out a breath. Kellen. Sure, he’d be angry, but he’d get over it. She’d just tell him she was upset and had gone for a walk. He’d take her up on his horse and feel so bad he’d take her the rest of the way to the cemetery. She’d somehow prove she was from the future and give him the chance to choose between her and Edith. He’d forgive the deception, marry her, and love her the rest of her life, right?

  Gillian suddenly remembered the hard look on Kellen’s face the night before. He could be incredibly ruthless when he chose to be. What if she ended up in the dungeon? What if he chose Edith instead?

  The horse came closer and she finally turned to face him. A man she’d never seen in her life grinned at her as he swung off his horse quicker than she could process. Her mouth fell open and the man, muscular and wild, gave her a flourishing bow.