by Diane Darcy
Gillian was amused. “Thinking of getting married, are you?”
Beatrice shrugged, but she was smiling as she handed Gillian a piece of polished metal and Gillian realized it was supposed to be a mirror. As far as she could tell, she looked presentable. She’d check her compact later.
Beatrice lowered her voice. “All wonder if a betrothal was broken to give you to Lord Marshall?”
A betrothal? Gillian thought about the way that faker Ryan White had fooled her into believing he loved her and wanted to marry her. The way he’d humiliated her and left her self-esteem in the mud. Angry tears formed in her eyes. She’d been a fool, and over such a worthless jerk. She didn’t answer, but only shook her head.
“Oh, my lady. I’m sorry to bring up a sore subject.”
“It’s okay.”
“I vow you will be most happy here. I promise to help sew some new dresses for ye. Lord Marshall sent out men to hunt for the thieves who stole your clothing, but I doubt there is much chance of its return. There are your sister’s clothes, of course, but you are much taller and with more bosom, so they won’t fit well.”
Gillian wiped tears away. “That would be great. I’m not much of a seamstress so I accept the offer.”
“You look very fine today, my lady. Do you wish for supper in your chambers? Or in the solar? Your sister ate thus often, and you could as well; but I know for a surety Lord Marshall is waiting for you to appear below. Or you could send word that you are not coming.”
Gillian, wondering why wife number one had eaten by herself, apparently took too long in answering because Beatrice rushed into speech.
“Father Elliot considers it a sin to eat food in chambers unless you are ill. He declares it a form of gluttony.”
Gillian laughed at the not-so-subtle comment. Actually, she was surprised to realize she couldn’t wait to see Kellen again. She probably ought to be making a list of possible ways to get back home, but right now all she wanted to do was enjoy being here.
Kellen was attractive, attentive, and made her feel feminine—a state Ryan had managed to make her question. And, for now, being the lady of the castle sounded like fun. Why not enjoy the experience while she could?
For all she knew, she’d be whisked back as unexpectedly as she’d arrived. If not, she could think about returning in a week or two. For now, she’d just enjoy every minute and consider it her vacation. Albeit a somewhat dangerous one.
Besides, she seemed to be one of the main stars in the local gossip mill, so she’d best show up to provide fodder.
Gillian stood and, feeling very maidenly and beautiful in full medieval garb, headed for the door. “I believe I’ll eat downstairs.”
Beatrice’s squeal made Gillian chuckle and, smiling with anticipation, she went to find her knight.
When Edith finally appeared at the top of the stairs, Kellen stopped pacing to wait at the bottom. He wished Edith to settle and planned to do all he could to ease her way as she accustomed to her new situation.
With a bounce, she reached the last step and smiled at him. “Hello.”
Kellen tried not to show his surprise at her happy greeting. She’d not curtsied, but Kellen gave a slight bow, regardless. “A good morrow.” Kellen considered the way her green gown brightened the blue of her eyes, the way her coiled hair revealed the length and smoothness of her neck, and the fact that she was more beautiful than he’d remembered.
Her skin was dewy, her figure lush and attractive, and the wide smile she gave belied any shyness or upset she’d suffered the day before. She wore his gift, surely a good sign, and he was pleased and hoped she would comment upon it.
He’d not had much experience with ladies and feared his gallantry to be sadly lacking, but stiffly offered an arm. “My lady?”
She entwined both hers around it, startling him, heating his blood, and he was gratified she touched him of her own accord. As she looked curiously about, Kellen led the way to the head table, sat her beside him, and motioned the servants to come forward with water. Kellen helped Edith wash and dry her slender, delicate hands. Her smooth skin and easy acceptance of his touch caused a surprising breathlessness on his part.
Edith smiled teasingly. “I just had a bath, you know. But maybe you’re using this as an excuse to hold my hand?”
Owen and Tristan both laughed as they joined them across the table. “Aye,” said Tristan. “Kellen is a tricky sort and must be watched always.”
Owen smiled. “’Tis true, my lady. He plans strategies that cannot be seen until too late, and his victim gripped tight within his coils.”
Kellen shot both men a dark look that promised retribution later. “Listen not to the slander of fools.”
Edith chuckled, a melodious, rich sound that stirred the hair on the back of Kellen’s neck. A trencher and cup were placed between them, and he cut the bread in half.
“A piece of stale bread?” Edith teased again. “Is that all I get after missing breakfast?”
Kellen’s mouth lifted. “Perhaps I can manage something more.”
With the priest gone visiting, a prayer was said by one of his foster boys; and then wine, bread, and butter were brought forward.
Edith slathered a piece with enthusiasm. “Yummy. This bread looks wonderful. Fresh out of the oven, too. I can’t remember the last time I had homemade bread.” She took a bite. “Mm. This is so good!”
Kellen smiled at her enjoyment and moved aside as a platter laden with food was set between them, as well as bowls with broth and vegetables.
When Kellen set the choicest meats upon her trencher, he realized his hand shook and feared he truly was an idiot.
He wondered if her father sent her early to soften him. If so, Kellen had to admit it was not a bad strategy. Her charm and allure would have even the hardest of hearts yielding.
Edith leaned in, her head tucking neatly beneath his chin.
“Why is everyone staring at me?”
He inhaled, her wondrous smell making him dizzy. “Lady Edith, your beauty dazzles them all,” he said with complete sincerity, and was pleased by the ease with which the compliment arrived.
Owen and Tristan pretended not to listen to the conversation, but smiled encouragingly when Edith looked Kellen’s way.
Edith laughed and elbowed him in the ribs. “Get out of here.”
Stung, Kellen asked, “You wish me to leave?”
“What? Heavens, no. Then who would feed me?” She seemed to banter, her smile wide, and he was confused.
“By the way, if you don’t mind, I prefer Gillian to Edith. Could you call me that instead?”
He was pleased that she shared her pet name with him and nodded at once. “Gillian, then.” He liked it. “A very pretty name.” And it boded well for their marriage if she accepted him into her life so easily.
Sitting beside her was making him tongue-tied and Kellen considered and rejected several conversational tidbits. Owen nodded and gestured toward Gillian, but Kellen could think of naught to say besides, “The food is to your liking?”
“Yes, thank you. It’s great. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
Tristan circled his hand at Kellen and, panicked, Kellen shook his head.
Tristan sighed, then turning to Gillian, offered up a bright smile. “My lady, ’tis enchanting to have such a lovely lass to grace our humble table. Thy matchless beauty shines upon this lowly assemblage and brings to us the hope of summertime after a bleak winter.”
Owen backhanded Tristan in the chest. “Nay, dolt, you insult her with such sparse praise.” Owen smiled upon Gillian. “My lady, the grace of thy presence ’tis as a flame brandished on the darkest of midnights, as the sun coming after a moonless night, a brilliant, radiant beam shining through a clouded winter day.”
Both men looked expectantly toward Gillian, awaiting her praise, and Kellen tried frantically to think of words to woo her, but none came to mind. He considered killing his men instead, a task he well knew how to perform.
Gillian laughed. “Is that so? Well, I don’t like to doubt your sincerity or anything, but do I know either one of you? Have we been introduced?”
Her goad inspired a delighted glance exchanged between his men. “Sir Tristan de Aguilon, at your service, fair Gillian. And this knave is Sir Owen de Burgess. And my lady, you must believe, we are in earnest! ’Tis like an arrow through the heart of love for you to question the fervor of our words!”
Owen nodded. “Aye, a dagger, a lance. Your cruel disbelief ’tis as a javelin, straight and true, to pierce this worthless hide.”
“Nay!” said Tristan. “A battering ram to invade the wretched recesses of this disconsolate heart.”
Gillian chuckled and Kellen’s mood darkened.
“Somehow, I suspect you’ll both recover,” Gillian said.
Tristan placed a hand over his afflicted heart. “My lady, I beg you—”
Kellen pounded a fist on the table. “Enough! Let the girl eat without threat of thy vomit-inducing sweetness.”
Gillian chuckled again and the sound lightened the jealousy overpowering him because he had not the words to enchant her half so well.
Looking at her, Kellen felt a very lucky man. Gillian was vibrant and beautiful and didn’t seem in the least repulsed by him. In fact, she smiled frequently and looked to him when amused as if inviting him to share her good humor.
He was proud she was his and also liked the way she formed her words, finding it unique and charming. If any were to say differently, they would needs discuss the matter with him.
A second platter was brought out, and Kellen selected cheeses, nuts, and fruits, giving her the finest pieces.
“You know, guys,” Gillian said. “If I’m not mistaken, you two are the miscreants I caught pawing through my pack yesterday.”
Kellen laughed, glad she found fault with the flatterers.
Tristan lifted a hand. “Nay, my lady. We merely offered assistance when your pack spilled about the table. We were tidying your possessions to make sure naught was lost.”
“Aye, my lady, ’tis true,” said Owen.
“Hmm. If you say so.” Gillian’s blue eyes slanted upward. “Kellen, do you think I should believe them?”
Kellen could hardly credit that she used his name and teased him thus. He certainly wasn’t going to mention he’d been the miscreant to open her pack and spill its contents.
“’Tis hopeful you will believe such, my lady, else both will frown and pout and be like to worthless on the training field as they nurse tender feelings.”
Gillian sighed. “All right, then. I supposed I’ll simply have to thank you both for saving my possessions.”
“You are most welcome, my lady.” Tristan bowed his head.
“Most welcome, indeed,” said Owen.
His men, well aware he didn’t want his own part in the escapade revealed, laughed at him. He would pay them later on the training field.
“Tell me about the area,” Gillian said. “Is there anything nearby worth visiting?”
Kellen, glad to have a subject to discuss, waved a hand to stop Tristan from answering. “The nearest township is a few hours ride to the east, and we’ve near neighbors to the west at Royce Castle, though it barely merits the name as ’tis small and unkempt, and without the presence of a lady. There are several to the south, as well.”
“Could we go see them? I want to visit Scotland, too. I’ve never been.”
Kellen’s lip curled upward. “For what purpose?”
“Sightseeing! It’s supposed to be a romantic place.”
Kellen shook his head. The girl had strange ideas about the seeing of sights. “Your wits flee you. ’Tis dark and cheerless and filled with all manner of beasties. Better you should go to London.”
“Please?”
The girl batted her lashes and Kellen was hard pressed not to smile. Unlike his first wife who’d wanted nothing to do with him, this girl was forward and demanding of his time. So why did he wish to indulge her?
Perhaps because she did indeed seem to bring a ray of light into his gloomy world.
“And Beatrice mentioned that a picnic would be a good idea. What do you think? If we gathered some blankets and planned some games it could be a ton of fun! I’d also like to go and . . .”
As she continued to plan the seeing of sights, Kellen looked to Tristan and Owen, who seemed equally caught by her charm. “Whatever happened to quiet, unassuming women?”
Gillian laughed. “I don’t know any of those. My friends are worse than me. Speaking of which, they’ll want to hear about the marriage proposal. Can you give me the details from your point of view? How did you plan the proposal? How did you end up choosing . . . uh . . . me? Was it romantic? Did you write poetry? Sing songs? Play the lute or something?”
Kellen felt suddenly panicked. Had her father protected her from the truth? Kellen had done none of those things but simply demanded a bride. Any daughter would do. He didn’t know much of women, but was sure this answer would offend. “Romance and marriage are not always side by side, my lady.”
At her hurt expression, he immediately regretted his words. When she looked down, Tristan and Owen threw him disbelieving glares, shook their heads, and gestured for him to make peace.
Gillian sighed loudly. “In other words, you’re completely lame?” She looked at him accusingly. “You didn’t propose correctly and now you’re trying to make excuses.”
Tristan and Owen both laughed and Kellen was relieved she attacked rather than sulked.
“’Tis true,” said Tristan. “You cannot defend yourself.”
He could. He did not wish his bride to think him lacking. “I am not lame. I am sound in body and mind.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “But you’re a knight. You have to live to the code of chivalry! I’m entitled to a romantic proposal.”
Kellen, suddenly feeling trapped within the walls of his own hall, wanted out. She was making him nervous. He stood. “I must needs train these idiots across from us. Perhaps we can speak of this after my men have been taught their desired lessons.”
“Hold on just a minute,” Gillian said. “Did you forget I’m the one in the driver’s seat? I bought you. I own you. I expect you to come up with the best and most romantic proposal any girl has ever received in her entire life. One to write home about. I want you to . . . uh . . . pledge your troth. I’ll be waiting.”
Kellen strode a few feet away, then turned back. “This I did already! We were betrothed by proxy!” He was sweating, and she looked as cool as a spring morning.
His men, gathered at the many tables, paused to watch the drama, adding to his discomfort.
“Like I said. Lame. All I’m asking is that you do it right.”
Confused by her, Kellen started away and she called out to him. “Wait. There’s just one more thing.”
“Now what!” he thundered, well aware that every eye was upon them.
She followed and he slowly turned. She crooked her finger at him and he hesitated, then slowly leaned down. Better that all did not hear her words of reproof.
Cupping one cheek, she kissed the other.
“Thank you for the present. It’s truly beautiful.” She touched the comb. “I’ve never had anything like it and will treasure it.”
He could see sincerity in her steady gaze and, face heating, stunned into immobility, Kellen tried to answer rationally. “Ah. Aye, then.”
Never in the whole of his life had a girl kissed him of her own accord. His wife had always turned her face away. Looking down at Gillian’s soft lips, he wondered what she would do if he pressed his own to hers.
His emotions running high, his body alive with energy, he bent slightly forward and she didn’t turn away.
Remembering that everyone stared, he didn’t kiss her, but quickly straightened and threw out his chest. “Consider the gift your first touch of my chivalry, my lady. ’Tis certain there is more to come.”
She c
huckled, a sound he was starting to adore.
Kellen turned and continued walking, but couldn’t hold back a grin.
She hadn’t turned away.
Chapter 11
“What shall we do this afternoon?” Gillian, elbows on the windowsill of her bedroom, watched people mill about below but didn’t spot Kellen’s broad shoulders or confident stride.
“Do you wish to plan menus?” asked Beatrice. “Or mayhap we could retreat to the ladies’ solar to sew or weave?” She paused. “If only we had feathers, we could recreate the queen’s fashion. Perhaps we could pluck a chicken?” She sounded hopeful.
“Oh, uh . . .” Gillian glanced over her shoulder to see if the girl was serious. She was. Gillian’s brows rose as she turned back to the view. “No, thanks. Anyway, I sincerely doubt the queen is decorating her attire with chicken feathers.”
Gillian, realizing she was watching for Kellen again, sighed. “Besides, I want to do something fun. I’m not going to be depluming poultry, planning menus, or sewing, that’s for sure. The castle has been running smoothly for a long time, right? It can continue to do so for a bit longer.”
Like, until Edith showed up to take over.
“I suppose you might wish to explore your new home?”
Another quick glance showed Beatrice looking as downcast as she sounded. “I did that yesterday.” Gillian hesitated. Of course, yesterday she hadn’t known it was authentic, so that might actually be fun.
In the distance, Gillian spotted a man leading a horse out of the stables. “Maybe we could ride horses?”
“Not without his lordship. He would not permit it.”
About to protest, Gillian thought about Kellen’s huge horse and wondered if he had a smaller, more malleable one. Her lips curled upward. A really old nag might work for her; one reserved for children. Other than with Kellen, Gillian had ridden only once before, a Shetland as a child, her father leading the pony in a large circle while her mother took pictures. Gillian chuckled at the memory and doubted Kellen would be impressed with her far-from-vast experience. She pushed away from the window. “Where is Kellen, anyway?”