by Sakwa, Kim
Greylen tried not to smile, appeased at last with information and not surprised in the least at what that information was. “Continue, Duncan,” he instructed, his hands now clasped behind his back.
“She spends most of her time with Isabelle and takes her morning and evening meals in the great hall. She walks throughout the holding and visits the chapel in the late-morning hours, often speaking with Father Michael when he’s present.”
“What of her reaction to my departure?” Greylen asked.
“I wasn’t privy to the telling but was told she handled it with grace.”
Greylen ignored the last of Duncan’s statement. No doubt, Gwendolyn bit Gavin’s head off when he informed her of his absence. He asked now of the former, for his men met daily to discuss all, significant or not. “Gavin didn’t inform you of what transpired?”
“Nay. Though we saw her that day, Gavin remained her only guard until the following morn.”
“And your time with her after?” Greylen asked.
“There’s not much to tell. Our guard duties have shifted. Kevin, Hugh, or I follow her only in the morn and afternoon. And during those times, she’s shown us nothing but respect and kindness. Your sister and Lady Madelyn are always by her side, and her only time alone is when she remains behind the keep while Isabelle seeks her lessons,” Duncan revealed easily.
“What of her night guard? Does no one watch her then?” Greylen demanded. His hands fisted by his sides and the muscles in his face tightened.
“Gavin’s with her. He assumes her guard from late afternoon through morning. As I’ve said, he’s changed our rotation. He now sleeps in the morning and sees to the men and ledgers in the afternoon. He’s done so since the night you left,” Duncan explained.
“Why has he assumed such a position, Duncan? ’Tis not reasonable.” As Greylen voiced the question, a feeling unknown began to stir through his veins.
“Lady Gwendolyn prefers his guard. Since that first morning, Gavin remains her solitary shadow from dusk till dawn.” Duncan paused, but when Greylen didn’t reply he continued, “She refuses to allow him to stand beyond her doors and orders that he sit within the chamber till morn. ’Tis most likely why he retains the night shift alone.”
“YOU LIE,” Greylen accused, pulling his man within an inch of his face, his reaction so fierce that his hands ripped Duncan’s shirt.
“I speak the truth, Greylen. She’s as strong-willed as you. And her orders just as serious.”
“She’s a woman, Duncan.” The statement came in a roar. “She doesn’t give orders, nor would my trusted friend stay within my chamber.”
“I speak the truth. I would not lie.”
Greylen was furious at what he’d heard and threw Duncan against the tree behind him. Ian and Connell grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back. Greylen was in the process of shaking them off when Connell’s next words stopped him.
“Gavin pines for Isabelle, Greylen. Not your lady.”
Duncan confirmed what Greylen just heard. “’Tis the sorry truth of it, Greylen. Gavin’s feelings for Lady Gwendolyn run deep, but he protects her tender heart only, and helps her through the nights. She has a pain in her eyes that’s unreachable. Yet he is able to help her as no one else can.”
“’Tis not his duty to help my wife in such ways,” Greylen shouted, realizing now the feeling that consumed him. Jealousy. Gavin was the one who was with her, helping her, and it ate him alive. His men showed no surprise that he’d referred to Lady Gwendolyn as his wife, for in truth, ’twas only the formality of the priest’s words that were absent.
“He allows her to know you as you cannot.”
“Explain yourself, Duncan,” Greylen demanded, his fury barely held in check.
“He treats her as mistress of the castle, as he should, but includes her in everything. He gives in to almost all of her demands.”
“’Tis not helping, Duncan.” Greylen made the reply through clenched teeth.
“She finds comfort with him because he allows her to be herself. They yell and slam doors. And I swear to God above, sparks fly throughout the holding when they’re about. She’s just like you, ’tis the sorry truth you make me confess. But ’twas Gavin himself who placed your medallion around her neck the first night you were gone. And ’tis Gavin who allows her to enter your study whenever she wishes. ’Tis you they both miss, Greylen. Gavin’s your most trusted companion, your truest friend, and he’s become Lady Gwendolyn’s as well.”
“Leave me,” Greylen commanded. Then he spoke without turning as he walked toward the water. “We break camp before dawn. I’ll not wait longer.”
Furious with the information he’d received, Greylen stripped his clothing and entered the lake. He swam its width twice before making his way back to shore. His anger at last under control, he secured his breeches and sat by the water’s edge recalling what Duncan had told him.
What really plagued him, he realized, was that he should be the one with Gwendolyn. That was the true heart of the matter. He knew Gavin would never betray him, nor would he jeopardize the life he’d found at Seagrave. He trusted his first-in-command with his life and his family’s as well. And Gavin took his responsibility with a seriousness that at times left him humbled.
Gavin would walk through the fires of hell before endangering his position among them. And now Greylen also knew that what Connell had said was true. Gavin did in fact pine for Isabelle—it had been so for years. He was a fool, how could he not have seen it?
Gavin had always doted on Isabelle, but over the years, he had become more distant with her. He’d stopped calling her Bella as he had since the first day he met her. And he’d ceased to chase after her when she playfully tried to gain his attention. He rarely sought the comfort of women, though they constantly tried to gain his favor. And he did so, only now, after being well into his cups, carrying the foulest of disposition for days afterward.
Why had Gavin never broached the subject with him? He of all people would understand his friend’s plight.
Was it the past he never spoke of?
Greylen knew he ran from something, though he knew not from what. He never questioned Gavin of his past, and in fact knew him only as Gavin the Brave. A more appropriate moniker could not have been. Now, however, Greylen decided ’twas time to talk to his friend. Love was indeed too precious, and if ’twas Isabelle whom Gavin sought, by God, he’d have her.
At last back in his right mind, Greylen headed toward camp. He nodded to the guards posted around the perimeter, then inspected the weapons and horses and checked the well-being of his men. Satisfied they’d be rested by dawn, he made his way to the fire. His men were talking quietly, awaiting his return.
“I owe you an apology, Duncan. But damn your telling was twisted,” Greylen told his man with a smile.
“’Tis I who am sorry…for jumbling the facts. You had me in such a state, I forgot to give you this,” he explained as he held a sealed parcel before him.
“The camp’s secured. Other than the guards, we’re the only ones awake. Seek your rest, ’tis but hours before we march.” Greylen made the order as he took the parcel in his hand. His men left him to his solitude, bedding down behind the tree Greylen sat against.
He opened the envelope and spilled the contents atop his lap. There were two missives and he chose the thickest first, affixed with Gavin’s insignia: the hawk. ’Twasn’t a letter as he assumed, but instead an account of the days Gwendolyn had spent at Seagrave. There were seven entries in all, each shorter in length as the dates progressed.
Eleventh of June,
Read this through, lest you reach the wrong conclusion. I now sit within your chamber and your lady rests within your bed. She wished not to be alone and I swear she ordered I not remain beyond the doors.
She handled the news of your departure with dignity, though a sadness lies ben
eath she tries to hide. She insisted on leaving the holding so many times, it became apparent she knew not her place. Her further shock at her new surroundings was very real. I was forced to speak of the prophecy, though loosely, and we seem to have come to an unspoken understanding.
I find I am unable to leave her guard and will not do so ’til the morrow. Your medallion lies upon her heart, and your letter within her hand. She stood before the window and watched the setting sun. For a moment, ’twas you who I saw there, as you often wondered of the destiny the writings foretold.
Twelfth of June,
I’ve changed my rotation, not allowing another to stay within your lady’s chamber. She’s healing nicely and has been inside your study as well as the library. Her reactions to both were telling and her emptiness at your absence is written across her face. Yet I am the only one she allows to see it, for I think she knows I, too, have carried such pain. She stood by the window once more before taking to your bed, always stroking the medallion until sleep claims her.
Greylen was surprised that his friend revealed such information of himself, and its telling nature. He also understood now that what Duncan had told him was true. Gavin and Gwendolyn had formed a bond in his absence, yet he was jealous no more.
Thirteenth of June,
’Tis day three of your absence, and your lady’s a creature of habit. Isabelle remains her constant companion and your mother seeks her company in the library after supper. Her will knows no bounds and she tries my patience repeatedly. Yet, once again, ’tis forgotten when I watch her approach the window at night.
Fourteenth of June,
Your lady’s truly perplexing. She smiles gleefully at the simplest things, such as today when she found a blank journal to use among your books in the study. Then she has the nerve to stare me down when I correct her of the simplest impropriety. You should be home on the morrow, ’tis a day I’m grateful for.
Greylen began to smile as he read the next entry. It broadened as he continued.
Fifteenth of June,
Sir, your absence is vexing. My hair is thinning and it seems she rules in your absence. There’s no listening to reason where your lady’s concerned. By the time she’s done shaking her head at me, the leather strip of yours she uses to secure her hair is completely loose. If you’re not heard from soon, I shall gladly begin locking her within her chamber myself.
Sixteenth of June,
I’ve found my first gray hair this morn, and it should be yours. Damn your sorry hide.
Seventeenth of June,
You shall be hanged from a rope…and I will beat you myself…as I light the logs I imagine beneath your feet.
Greylen laughed aloud at the last entry, pleased to know that Gavin truly did have a new friend. And though Gavin’s agitation was apparent, Greylen enjoyed the knowledge that Gwendolyn pushed him as she did. That was the woman he knew for only two short days. God how he missed her.
He folded the letter and reached for the other. ’Twas only one page and when he flipped it over, he was surprised to see his initialed insignia pressed within its seal. Isabelle and his mother each had their own. Only one other would need the use of his.
He held his breath as he spread the parchment, looking at the delicate script before his eyes. A bark of laughter escaped with the first of her words.
Dear Greylen,
You’ll be happy to know, I’ve decided not to kick your ass. And in light of the details you failed to mention before you left, I hope you realize the sacrifice I’m making. If you don’t come home safely, however, I swear I’ll reconsider. On a more pleasant note, I love the gift you sent me. Thank you.
I’ve also taken your advice. I’ve made Seagrave my home. But it’s not the same without you. Please come home to me, Greylen. Please come home and kiss me again.
Forever yours,
Gwendolyn Anastasia
PS: We’re low on brandy.
Greylen’s smile could’ve lit the night sky. He was wed. And he held the evidence in his hand. Feisty wench, she’d get an earful when he returned. But he couldn’t have been more pleased, nor did he expect differently from her.
He read the letter again, overcome by the same emotions. A sharp bark of laughter at her feisty reprimand, a smile of sublime pleasure from her honest gratitude, and her wish for him to return quite simply pierced his heart.
But what struck him most—and now seemed all too clear—was her vulnerability.
She hid it well.
He’d not deny she was strong-willed, nor quick with wit. True enough, she was. But he’d seen through her bluster from the very first, ’twas a safeguard from hurt. She might come through the gates fighting, and so far, had on almost all of the occasions they were together. Yet she always surrendered to him.
In gesture and touch, in passion and exhaustion, she always surrendered.
She had begun to trust him, and her tenderness was the reward. She wanted to believe but with his absence had doubt. He read it in her letter, her fear for his safety cleverly written in her admonishment. Not to mention her not so subtle message, you left me, which she’d underlined.
The woman had a way with words.
Thank God he could see through them.
“Kevin, I’ll not ask you again. Have a seat,” Gwen demanded, waving to the chair once more. “Now.”
Kevin took great pains to look around the room and seemed relieved no one was about. He must have realized he didn’t have a choice and did as she ordered.
“I’m sure ’tis nothing, Lady Gwendolyn. We should be back at it on the morrow,” Kevin said, referring to the run Gwen knew he’d come to enjoy.
“Are you sure this is the leg, Kevin? I thought you favored the right?” she asked as she ran her hands over said leg. Gwen was sure he muttered “damn” under his breath.
“Aye, lady, ’tis the left,” Kevin grumbled.
Not sure what to believe anymore, she decided to check both. “Well, it seems okay, but you’re probably right. A day of rest and you’ll be fine.” Gwen held out her hand for her morning guard and smiled when he couldn’t help but laugh at her.
“You mock me?” she joked, placing her hands on her hips.
“Nay, lady, I apologize,” Kevin said, taking her hand. “Thank you, for helping me stand.”
“I’m sorry, Kevin. I guess it was pretty stupid, seeing as you’re about three times my size.” She laughed.
“Your compassion is endless, Lady Gwendolyn. I meant no insult.”
“Oh stop it,” she muttered. “You didn’t insult me. Just give me a minute and I’ll change.”
Once inside the bathing chamber, Gwen removed the pants Anna had made for her to exercise in. They weren’t as tight fitting as her capris, but they were comfortable and suited their purpose.
Of course, Anna hadn’t been happy when she noticed Gwen folded the hem halfway up her calves. And she had a complete fit when she noticed Gwen also rolled the waistband over. Apparently, it wasn’t appropriate to show the outline of one’s bottom and legs. But breasts were an entirely different story.
Every dress she had now fit so tight across her chest, no wonder Anna scoffed at making her a bra to wear beneath. There was no room. Still, Anna did make her some bikini-style panties and a few bra-like undergarments too. And they fit perfectly. Some were fashioned in the shape of a halter that tied behind her neck and back. While the others were just a plain wide band she could wrap around her chest and tie wherever.
Removing the rest of her clothing, Gwen hung Greylen’s shirt on the same hook as her robe. Even though she had her own now, it was Greylen’s that she chose to wear.
She left the rest of her exercise clothes on the chest of drawers next to the door. She’d use them later, after Gavin made her beg him to go jogging. She knew that he secretly enjoyed the days she waited until he was able to joi
n her, but he definitely took pleasure in making her grovel. She didn’t mind, though. He was a great runner and pushed her further than she ever imagined. Plus, she enjoyed her time with him more than anything.
Gwen grabbed one of her favorite day dresses from the drawer in the chest. It was the one concession that Anna had given easily, allowing her to keep most of her clothes in here. It was more convenient than using the bureau in her room, as this was where she changed. Someone was always in her room, and she preferred it that way. Besides, her bureau was filled with beautiful gowns and things that she didn’t know if she’d ever use. Things, for that matter, she didn’t know if she’d ever figure out what in the hell they were.
The dress she chose today was deep green and much like the one she’d worn of Isabelle’s until her own wardrobe had been finished. It had three-quarter-length sleeves and a low, scooped neckline that stretched tightly across her chest. It cinched at the waist, then gave gradually to the floor-length hem. She enjoyed wearing these dresses each day. They made her feel feminine despite her narrow frame.