by Diane Darcy
“But she did not actually partake, did she?” asked Tristan.
“Someone attacked her with a dagger also, remember?” Kellen said. “She is the target.”
Owen took a breath. “We have only her word there was an assassin. A common knife was found and she the only witness.”
Kellen remembered Cook’s claim that Gillian had gone to the kitchen before the meal started. Perhaps to arrange something? Immediately he shook his head. If it was Gillian, she was the best player he’d seen in his life. He’d known Catherine had despised him, but Gillian’s feelings seemed quite the opposite.
But she did continue to try and leave the keep. To visit the rocks and the cemetery. To meet someone? To acquire poison left by another? Did she blame him for her sister’s death? Or for her broken betrothment? Would she have Kellen dead rather than wed herself to him?
His chest tightened and, turning away from his men, he waved a hand. “Go talk with the men. See if they have learned aught.”
They left, but he could not erase the suspicion forming in his mind and burning deep in his stomach. Perhaps Gillian was simply more clever than her sister? Did she think to gain his confidence, draw mistrust from herself, then kill him?
He had never asked about her broken betrothal but thought on it now. If Kellen were dead, would she return to a former love? Or was her father the enemy? Had her father ordered both his daughters to kill him? Did Lord Corbett desire his death?
Closing his eyes tight, he lifted a hand to rub his forehead before turning and heading up the stairs. He needed to speak to Gillian. If she knew anything, he would get it from her.
Chapter 23
“Why would anyone want me dead?” Gillian paced across the floor to the fireplace, tremors occasionally running through her body. She turned her back to the flames, hoping to capture some warmth. “I mean, poisoning? Seriously? The whole thing is . . . it’s just . . . crazy.”
The three ladies, busy with embroidery, looked at each other; and Marissa set her sewing in her lap. “Perhaps it has naught to do with you? Perhaps Kellen has an enemy and you were simply in the way?”
“In the wrong place at the wrong time?”
Lady Yvonne nodded. “Aye, just so.”
Gillian couldn’t help a laugh and wasn’t surprised when the ladies exchanged another glance. Even she could hear the touch of hysteria. “Then I guess I’d better get back to the right place at the right time. Aye?”
All three sets of brows furrowed and Marissa lowered her sewing once more and motioned toward the maid. “Beatrice, help your lady to lie down.”
Beatrice jumped up, but Gillian hugged herself and snorted. “Yeah, because I’d be able to sleep.”
As Beatrice subsided to her chair once more, Vera shook her head but, needle flashing, didn’t look up. “Sarcasm is never becoming. If you refuse to lie down then why not sit and—”
There was a knock on the door, and Gillian hurried forward; but Marissa, who jumped up faster than Gillian would have thought possible, beat her to the door. She leaned her head close to the wood. “Who is there?”
At Kellen’s harsh but recognizable command, Gillian scrambled to help Marissa lift the bar and open the door.
Once inside, Kellen’s sharp-eyed gaze scanned the room, lighting on each woman. When his attention moved to her, Gillian crossed the space between them, threw her arms around his waist, and pressed her head to his chest. He tensed and, when he didn’t reciprocate or react in any way, Gillian slowly sank away, looking up to meet his harsh gaze.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Frederick is dead.”
Gillian’s hand flew to her throat and she took a step back.
“The food-taster?”
Kellen nodded once.
“It was poison?”
Kellen nodded again and continued to study her, his gaze penetrating.
Feeling vulnerable, she turned away. The room, Kellen, the ladies, everyone and everything suddenly seemed so foreign, unfriendly, and frightening. She pressed a hand to the ache in her stomach and shook her head. “This isn’t right. This just isn’t right. Did he have a family? A wife? Children?” She glanced back to see Kellen shake his head.
“He was unmarried. None will carry his name, though he did have many friends and will be sorely missed.”
Tears filled her eyes. Kellen watched a moment longer before turning to answer the questions Marissa peppered him with.
Gillian pivoted away. The room spun and she grabbed the back of a tall chair to steady herself. People didn’t die of poison. In her whole life, she’d never known one person who’d died of poison. But here . . . Catherine had died, and now a man was poisoned with food meant for them?
She wiped a hand down the front of her gown and stumbled as she walked to the window and looked out, seeing nothing. She had to get out of there. All along it had been a given that she needed to leave before Edith and her family arrived, but now she needed to go before someone actually killed her.
She lifted a hand to her throat, remembering the dagger. Whether this was about Kellen or not, it felt very personal. Like someone wanted her personally dead. Because she was Kellen’s fiancé? She had to get out of there.
She turned to look at Kellen. The thought of leaving him tore her apart. What if he missed her as much as she was sure to miss him? What if he would go with her if she only had the courage to tell him everything? What if she would be saving his life too?
Kellen was still talking to Marissa but glanced up, as if feeling Gillian’s gaze. “I must needs question Gillian. Alone.”
Marissa hurried forward to put an arm around her. “Now is not the time. Note how pale she is. The girl has been through too much this night. On the morrow is soon enough.”
Gillian shook her head. “No, it’s okay. Really. I want to talk to Kellen.”
“Nay.” Marissa’s tone was firm.
After one brief frustrated glance, Kellen turned to the other ladies. “Come. I offer escort to thy chamber. You need not fear, I am well aware of whom the murderer targets.” He looked at Gillian.
Gillian put a hand to her throat. “Do you know something you haven’t told me? Do you know who the poisoner is?”
Kellen stared for a long moment before shaking his head. “Not yet.”
After they left, taking Beatrice with them, Marissa barred the door; and they started to undress, neither speaking as they went about getting ready for bed. Gillian pulled a nightgown over her head. Why had Kellen been so indifferent toward her? He’d been icy cold, his expression grim.
She huffed out a half-sob, half-laugh. How should he act? His friend had just died instead of the two of them. She was freaking out, why shouldn’t he? If only she’d had a chance to talk to him about it, to comfort him over his friend’s death, to be comforted.
“Do you feel unwell?”
Gillian climbed into bed. “I feel sad.”
“That is to be expected. But worry not, Kellen will find the murderer and he will be punished.”
It still wouldn’t change the fact that Frederick was dead, and it didn’t change the fact that Gillian couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t make any more half-hearted plans to go home. She had to go. But that didn’t mean she had to be happy about her decision.
Marissa’s breathing grew heavy, and Gillian turned onto her side, tears filling her eyes and dampening her pillow at the realization that this was likely her last night here.
She was going to miss Kellen so much. She wished she could stay. She wished things were different. That she really was Kellen’s fiancé. That they loved each other and could raise a family together. That no one was trying to kill her.
She’d give up a lot to have him: modern medicine, her career, indoor plumbing, and chocolate. But she wasn’t willing to give up her life. Especially since he probably wouldn’t want her anyway once Edith arrived with her bags of gold, her land, and her family connections.
Or would he?<
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That was the thought eating at her. What if he would choose Gillian if given the chance?
She remembered how he’d looked when he’d left the room. Cold, indifferent, frustrated.
What if that was the last time she ever saw him? What if he were busy in the morning or gone when she got up? What if she never got the chance to ask him to go with her or to say goodbye?
Some time later Gillian slid out of bed to the sound of Marissa’s soft snores. If this was her last chance to see Kellen, if only to say goodbye, she was taking it.
Kellen had almost talked himself out of his suspicions and was considering his warm bed, when he heard the scraping of a bar being lifted. Immediately tense, he straightened from the wall, moved back into the shadows, and waited.
The door opened and a small figure slipped into the darkness of the hall, her motions furtive and stealthy, the blonde hair that flashed in a slice of moonlight unmistakable.
Trying to rein in his doubt, to excuse her somehow, to squelch the dark suspicions rising within him, he watched and followed silently as Gillian made her way down the hall.
Perhaps she simply wanted to make use of the garderobe? Or mayhap she was hungry? After all, she’d had little supper this eve. None of them had.
But no, she went directly to his chamber and slowly pushed the door open. His jaw clenched, and a slow burn started in his chest as his mouth tightened into a straight line.
He should have known.
He should have known she had no true feelings for him. He should have sensed that beneath the lighthearted and cheerful facade she was a betrayer like her sister.
Did she think to kill him, as well? To finish what she’d tried to accomplish earlier when Frederick had been struck down? Perhaps she thought to stab him in his sleep? Smother him?
When she slipped inside, he was directly behind her, watching by the light of the small fire burning in the hearth, blood starting to throb painfully in his head, fists clenching. Kellen had truly believed in her, in her feelings for him, in their future together.
And it had all been a lie.
Darkness spread inside him, dangerous and vicious, as he watched her approach the bed. She hesitated and he waited for her to act. Was it to be poison dripped into his mouth? A knife? At this point he’d not be surprised if she drew a sword.
She stopped short of the bed, hesitated, then took a step back, seeming almost on the verge of leaving. Had she changed her mind? Did she harbor a small bit of the feeling she’d feigned for him? Had a portion of it been real?
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!”
Mo
re 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!”