by Lynn Kurland
“Depends upon who is stirring the pot.”
Gillian could not help but smile. “I suppose there is truth in that. Poor Magda.”
“At least she hasn’t come to the keep, demanding to assist Cook in the kitchens,” he said darkly.
“Cook would never survive it,” she agreed. “I think it would be more amusing, though, to see him go at it with Nemain.”
“By the saints!” Colin exclaimed, shuddering. “I wouldn’t touch another morsel at the table if I knew she was anywhere near a cooking fire. Now,” he said, frowning down at her, “why don’t you run off and see to Christopher? I daresay he missed you at the table this morn.”
But Christopher was walking with Robin. She shook her head.
“He’s far too occupied at present,” she said, feeling her breath begin to come in gasps, “with his important guests.”
“Bah,” Colin said, waving a dismissive hand, “’tis only Artane.”
Gillian shook her head vigorously. “I couldn’t.”
“You managed the feat last eve.”
“Barely.”
Colin opened his mouth to say something, then shut it. Then he merely stared at her for several moments in silence. Gillian watched him study her and wondered if he was coming to agree with her assessment of her own failing courage.
“Is it Robin,” Colin asked, “or his lads?”
Gillian looked at Robin, who walked alone with her husband. She stared at the man and turned over in her mind her memories of last eve. Robin certainly hadn’t used her ill. Indeed, once he’d discovered that she loved Christopher in truth, he’d become quite cheerful. And, if she were careful, she could sidle up to her husband, take his hand and perhaps avoid attracting all that much of Robin’s notice. Aye, that she could do. She stood up a bit straighten
“I can manage Artane,” she announced, dredging up more courage.
Colin grunted. “Then manage him. I’ll go down to fetch something to aid you with the lads. If you scamper off right now and see to your lord.”
Gillian looked at him in surprise. “Truly?”
“Aye,” he muttered.
“You don’t mind?”
“Nay,” he said, even more gruffly.
“Ah,” she said, suddenly understanding. “I see.”
“You see nothing,” Colin grumbled at her.
“Of course,” Gillian said, inclining her head. “And I know it isn’t as if you truly wish to ingest any more beauty herbs.”
Colin only scowled. “Off with you, child. I won’t go until I see you making good on your part of the bargain.”
Gillian started across the field toward Christopher, smiling. ’Twas obvious Colin had volunteered so as to have a taste of whatever was on the fire at the moment. For a man who claimed not to believe in witches, he certainly was eager to visit a trio of them.
She felt a laugh bubble up inside her. Someday she would have to sit down with Berengaria and discuss men and their tender hearts—and their vanity. To think the fierce Colin of Berkhamshire was ready to venture down to a witch’s hut merely to drink all manner of things to improve his aspect. What a tale!
“Pray, lady, tell us what brings forth such a joyous sound from you,” a voice said from behind her, “that we might inspire it in you again.”
Gillian whirled around, her hand to her throat. Kendrick and Phillip stood not three paces from her. Gillian felt her breath come in gasps and she thought she just might faint. Why, she hadn’t even heard them come up behind her. Yet there they stood, looking at her full in the face, waiting for her to respond.
What she wanted to do was turn tail and flee the other way. Her feet, though, seemed to be rooted to the spot.
“My lady,” Phillip said, a frown creasing his fair brow, “are you unwell?”
Kendrick elbowed him in the ribs. “We’ve given her a fright, dolt.” He dropped to his knees in the dirt, jerking his brother down with him. “Lady Gillian, we mean you no harm,” he said, looking up at her intently. “We merely heard the sound of your lovely laughter and could not bear the thought of hearing no more of it. Will you not forgive our rudeness in coming upon you unannounced and yet again grace us with such a heavenly sound?” He clasped his hands together in a gesture of pleading.
And then he smiled at her.
Gillian took a pace backward in spite of herself. Where these Artane lads had come by such smiles was a mystery. ’Twas no wonder Jason had a handful of castle maids mooning over him at any given moment. He would no doubt find himself just as handsome as his brother when he reached a score of years. Kendrick had a smile that could certainly turn a woman’s reasoning to mush.
Gillian paused and considered that. To be sure, Kendrick’s smile should have turned her own thinking into something akin to gruel; yet she found herself in complete control of her faculties. She leaned her head to one side and studied the young lord from Artane. He was indeed very fair of face. His eyes were a most interesting shade of green. Ah, and then there was the little mark in his cheek that appeared when he smiled. She folded her arms over her chest and continued to look down at him. A most beautiful young man, yet she found herself unaffected.
She turned her attentions to his brother. He looked much like his sire, save his expression was far more sober. His hair was a shade darker than his brother’s, and his eyes were a steely gray. Gillian suspected he would look very much like his sire when he attained Robin’s years. Already she could see how his broad shoulders were preparing themselves to take on the future burden of his father’s title. Despite his preening, Phillip was a man to be reckoned with and would be a most imposing lord in his turn.
Gillian stood, silently contemplating the two powerful young men who knelt in the dirt at her feet. By all accounts, she should have been made giddy by the very fact that they paid her any heed at all. Even had that failed, their combined beauty should have rendered her speechless and caused an abrupt loss of her wits.
But, somehow, she remained quite unmoved.
She realized, with a start, that she simply preferred the snarling and snapping of the Dragon of Blackmour.
Just as suddenly, another revelation occurred to her. She had not only faced Christopher of Blackmour and lived to tell the tale; she had won his love. What could she possibly have to fear from these lads whose smiles were pleasing enough, but left her knees steady beneath her?
She clasped her hands behind her back and inclined her head at them.
“My lords, I fear I cannot indulge you in more laughter at present, though I regret the grief this will no doubt cause you. I must seek out my lord, for I daresay he wonders where I have gotten myself to.” She smiled at them. “One doesn’t deny him his whims.”
“Indeed,” Kendrick said, leaping to his feet. “Then allow me to escort you to him immediately, my lady.”
“Nay, I will,” Phillip said, rising and dusting off his knees. “If you will permit me, Lady Gillian—”
“You are betrothed, fool,” Kendrick said, shoving Phillip out of the way and extending his arm toward Gillian.
“And she’s wed!” Phillip exclaimed, jerking Kendrick’s arm away.
Kendrick only ignored his brother and extended his bent arm again. He smiled down at her. Gillian smiled in return. Indeed, she was so surprised at the ease with which she did so that she smiled again.
“My lady,” Kendrick said, quietly, “the gift of your smile is one I will treasure always.”
Gillian put her hand on his arm and felt quite at ease. “Why, my lord,” she said, touched by his gallantry, “you are indeed a very sweet boy.”
“Boy?” Kendrick repeated. He suddenly went very red in the face.
Phillip shouted with laughter from behind them. Gillian looked behind her to see Artane’s heir doubled over, guffawing. She looked back at Kendrick, almost curious enough to ask what had tickled his brother so. But before she could speak, Kendrick made her a low bow.
“My lady, I have a small matter to s
ee to. If you might take a few steps away, then wait for me? I will be at liberty to escort you very soon.”
Gillian nodded and walked several paces away. Phillip’s laughter ceased abruptly. She turned to determine what had become of him, but all she could see was a very great cloud of dust. Ah, a display of brotherly affection. But such a violent one! ’Twas little wonder Robin had acquired so many white hairs. His lads certainly gave vent to their emotions with little provocation.
She wondered if it would be rude to leave them to their play. There was certainly no sign they intended to cease with it any time soon.
She shrugged and began to walk. And then she froze in midstep. She put her foot down and simply stood, taking in the realization.
She had faced Kendrick and Phillip.
With her own unaugmented store of courage.
She paused and considered her actions from all angles. Aye, she had confronted them unflinchingly. She had spoken with strange lords and lived to tell of it. Why, she hadn’t cowered once!
She strode forward, inordinately pleased with herself. Indeed, now she regretted having sent Colin on his errand, for she fancied she needed no more herbs for courage.
She espied her husband standing some distance away from her, talking to Lord Robin. Gillian put her shoulders back. She would perhaps even go so far as to apologize to Lord Robin for not having been at the table that morn. She had best do it while her courage flowed through her veins like strong wine.
She smiled as she walked across the field. She had encountered Artane’s lads and bested them! What a tale to tell Berengaria the next time she saw her.
“I’ll see to her,” a voice growled from behind her.
“Nay, I will!”
“Phillip, lad, you’ve a tear in your tunic—oof!”
Gillian looked over her shoulder in time to see Phillip plant his fist quite firmly in Kendrick’s middle. Robin’s second son bent over with a gasp. Gillian paused and waited for Phillip to limp over to her. She refrained from remarking about the bloody knee that showed through his torn hose. After all, the lad did pride himself on his tidiness.
Phillip stopped at her side and bowed. Then he held out his sleeve.
“Ah, forgive me,” he said, pulling his arm back. He dusted off the cloth, then extended his arm again. “If you will permit me, my lady, to see you safely to your lord?”
Gillian looked him over. There was dust in his dark hair, too, but she decided against telling him as much. And there was surely no sense in commenting on his rapidly swelling eye.
“How gallant you are, my lord,” she said, bestowing her second-best smile on him. She would reserve her finest for her husband. He wouldn’t be able to see it, but perhaps Robin would be good enough to describe it for him. Gillian put her hand on Phillip’s arm.
He led her off and she went, surprised at how simple a thing it was. She hadn’t taken ten paces when she heard the sound of someone approaching from her other side. She looked over to find Kendrick limping alongside her. He seemed quite incapable of straightening up all the way, but he held out his dusty sleeve just the same.
“Take it, I beg you,” he wheezed.
“Well, I do have two hands,” she said, slowly. She placed her right hand on his torn sleeve, avoiding the bleeding scrape on his skin. His hair was even dustier, if possible, than Phillip’s. He had obviously come out worse for the wear from their little friendly tussle.
As Gillian made her way in a stately manner across the lists, she marveled at what a fine morn it had been. Though the day had started off less than splendidly, it had certainly shaped up nicely.
She looked up and found that Colin was trotting across the field toward Christopher. He must have traveled quite swiftly to have reached the village and come back in such a short time. Perhaps he hadn’t stayed for anything to drink.
She watched as he and Robin talked to Christopher, and wished she could have heard what they were telling him. Christopher’s expression, even at that distance, gave nothing away.
But by the time she reached her husband, she could tell he was fighting his smile. Colin had his elbow resting on Christopher’s shoulder and his hand over his own mouth. Perhaps she was mistaken and Magda had indeed pressed something rather charred upon him during his visit. Then she looked at the lord of Artane and found him to be smiling fondly at her. She hastily tested her courage and found it steady beneath her; she looked at Robin and returned his smile.
“My lord Christopher,” Kendrick croaked, “your lady is safely delivered to you.”
Christopher’s mouth twitched. “I understand you had a rather rough time of it, lad.”
Kendrick could only groan. Gillian watched as Colin’s eyes began to water. She frowned at him.
“Drank you something amiss?” she demanded.
He only held out a pouch of leather and dropped it into her hand.
“There you are, my lady,” Colin said, coming out from behind his hand and shaking his head slowly, “though I daresay you won’t have need of them. Best give them to Artane’s lads.” And then he started to laugh. He turned and walked away, still giving vent to his mirth.
Gillian watched as he finally reached the bailey wall. She frowned. He had doubled over and fallen to the ground.
“Christopher, I fear Colin has ingested something foul,” she noted. “He seems quite overcome.”
Her husband reached out and drew her into his arms. He was chuckling.
“Ah, Gill,” he said, with another laugh, “you are a treasure.” He lifted her face up and kissed her softly. “You have made wrecks of us all.” He smiled down at her. “Your pressing matters are attended to, my love?”
“Most satisfactorily, my lord.”
“Then will you not remain by my side today?”
Gillian only held him more tightly. “I would be nowhere else, my lord.”
“That’s one hand taken care of,” Kendrick said faintly, “but there’s yet another to be seen to. If I might offer my own humble self—”
“Nay, I will,” Phillip interrupted. “My sleeve is far cleaner.”
“It won’t be for long,” Kendrick growled.
Robin began to laugh. Gillian looked up at him from the shelter of her husband’s arms.
“My lord,” she said, “I fear these lads of yours are given overmuch to displays of affection.”
Robin only shook his head, grinning. “You have made fools of my sons, lady. And now that you have made your conquests for the morn, perhaps you would see to your lord whilst we take a turn about the lists? He is most impossible without your gentling influence.”
“I am never impossible,” Christopher corrected. “Move out of my way, Kendrick. Here, Gillian, don’t step on them while they’re rolling about in the dirt. Nay, Robin, I am fierce and untamed, but never impossible.”
“Impossible and stubborn,” Robin insisted, nudging Phillip out of his path rather ungently with his foot. “Do you not remember the time you refused to come in from the lists in that driving storm—”
Gillian listened to the conversation going on over her head and soon found herself walking between the two men, her hands on their arms. She couldn’t help but smile. Here she was, strolling between the Dragon of Blackmour and Robin of Artane, two of the fiercest men in England, and she felt nothing but pleasure in the sunshine and their company.
And she’d managed the feat by herself.
It had been a most noteworthy morn.
twenty-seven
CHRISTOPHER LEANED BACK AGAINST THE BAILEY WALL and scowled. Saints, what a fortnight! Much as he loved Robin, he was to the point of admitting he was heartily sick of all his guests. Especially Robin’s sons. He’d passed the greater part of the past two weeks listening to Kendrick and Phillip fight over who would either sit next to Gillian, or sing to her, or escort her here or there. The only benefit to all the skirmishing was that the lads kept each other so busy fighting that they hadn’t had much time to stir up mischief.
“Your horse, my lord,” a page said, interrupting his thoughts. “Do you not wish to mount now? Lord Kendrick seems to grow restive as he waits.”
“No doubt,” Christopher said, swinging up into the saddle.
As much as Christopher would have liked to lay the blame for what he faced presently on Kendrick, he knew it rested squarely with Colin. He should have made certain Colin’s plate was fuller that morn. If the man had been working his way through larger portions, he likely would have had less time for making polite conversation. And it was just such polite babble that had led to Robin’s discovery that Christopher had been jousting.
And once Colin had spewed that detail forth, he seemingly hadn’t been able to restrain himself from suggesting that perhaps Robin might wish to see the feat himself.
Christopher reached down and rubbed his stallion’s neck to soothe him. At least Jason was keeping Gillian occupied. No sense in being humiliated before his former master and his wife all in one morning.
If he’d had a choice, he would have been strolling along the seashore with his lady. Had he been feeling particularly generous, he might have invited Robin to come along. The lads too, as long as they maintained a decent following distance of several hundred paces.
“Christopher?” Colin called.
Christopher muttered a curse under his breath. He’d done such a fine job of staying out of the lists over the past pair of weeks. He’d distracted Robin with the details of running the hall, with the improvements made in the village, and with an afternoon or two walking along the strand with Gillian. In truth, he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed sitting in front of the fire in the great hall, doing nothing more than conversing with his former lord over inconsequential matters. It was during those times he almost forgot about his lack of sight and the things he’d lost. Pleasant speech with Robin, and Gillian’s hand in his—what more could he want?
“Saints, man, wake up!” Colin said irritably.