by Diane Darcy
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 course, 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?” Gillian said. “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?” Gillian snapped. “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 anymore.” 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,” Marissa agreed. “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,” Marissa sighed. “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 24
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 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.
“Greetings, Lady Corbett. I be Quinn MacGregor. ’Tis verra nice to make yer acquaintance.” From his accent, the guy was Scottish and from the looks of him a barbarian, all animal skins, wool, and long, tangled hair. “Laird MacGregor will be wanting his men back, so I’ll just be takin’ you as a bit o’ insurance. How does that suit ye?”
Her mouth snapped shut and she glared at the guy, unaccountably angry that he wasn’t Kellen and that one more guy was trying to tell her what to do. “Are you freaking kidding me? I’ll tell you what I think. I think this is really not happening today. I have some important things to get done, and I want you to step away from me and perhaps go find somewhere to bathe. Get lost.”
At his grin, she shook her head, clutched the shoulder harnesses of her pack, turned, and walked away.
Laughing, the man easily wrenched the pack from her back and threw it in the long grass, snatched her up, and mounted his horse in seconds.
“Let. Me. Go!” Gillian kicked and squirmed, but her effort proved fruitless; she was thrown over strong legs and smacked on her bottom. Hard. She took a breath to scream and got smacked again.
“I’ll bash ye on the head next time if ye doona settle,” he said cheerfully. “Ye ken?”
Fuming, she settled. As they rode for the trees, she looked back at the castle in the distance. The sun was barely lighting the tips of the parapets, and she doubted anyone had seen a thing. She’d really messed up this time.
When they hit the tree line, three more men joined them, one taking the lead, and two bringing up the rear. Her anger quickly dissipated as fear had her heart beating hard in her chest. Her captor rearranged her, easily swinging her around so she was seated behind him. “Hold on. If ye fall, ye’ll just get hurt and ’twill make no difference ta us. We willna leave ye behind.”
After a quick glance at the distant ground, she gripped the washboard abs in front of her as all four men urged their mounts to run.
“What does Laird MacGregor want with me?” she yelled.
Quinn turned his head and she saw he was still grinning, clearly enjoying the situation. “He’ll be sure ta use ye as ransom. Think you Lord Marshall values ye enough to pay the price?” He ran a hand down her leg and laughed.
She pinched him on his stomach, hard, and he laughed again but did release her leg. “Ye made it easy,” he said over his shoulder. “We saw ye leavin’ the village, had heard tale of yer wee bright pack and couldna believe our luck when ye slung it on. It fair glowed in the darkness.”
“But why go to all this bother?”
“The MacGregor wants the men that Lord Marshall keeps in his dungeon. And he’ll no’ be gettin’ ye back ‘til he returns them.”
“Why not simply give back the cattle you stole?”
“Give it back? Are you addled?”
“It would be the right thing to do.”
He snorted. “’Tis the principal of the thing. Besides, we doona have to as we have ye now.”
Gillian closed her eyes. Kellen was going to kill her for giving the Scots this advantage. Of course, she might be headed directly toward the guy who wanted her dead, so Kellen might never get the chance. This just wasn’t her day.
Kellen walked to where Owen and Tristan trained with the men, unsheathed his sword, and started hacking at them both, forcing them to defend themselves.
“Uh,” Tristan gasped after a bone-jarring strike. “You seem in a foul mood this day.”
“Think you?” responded Kellen, not letting up and using all his strength to drive both men backward, alternating his strokes between them.
Owen, face aghast, defended himself when the sword slashed his way. “My lord? Has aught occurred we should know about?”
Kellen struck out at him. “Let.” Another strike. “Me.” Another. “Consider.” Their swords clashed and held, and Kellen was happy to see the strain shaking Owen’s arm and the nervousness on his face. “What could have happened betwixt the last time I saw you both and this moment?” Kellen used his strength to throw Owen back a few paces. “Ah, yes. The lady Gillian did not show to break her fast this morn.”
Tristan defended himself when Kellen turned on him. He skipped back a few paces, trying his best to anticipate Kellen’s slashing movements. “Nay? Was she not hungry then?”
Kellen disarmed Tristan and he went scrambling after his sword. Kellen slashed the air twice and turned his attention back toward Owen. “Mayhap she was not. Of course,” Kellen’s sword clashed with Owen’s. “The two of you could not know she was absent as you did not show yourselves either, else you might have noted the way I mooned about, also not eating, as I waited for the fair Gillian to arrive.” He slashed again. “Which, as I’ve stated, she did not.”
“She did not then?” Owen deflected, but Kellen threw him back so hard he stumbled, coming down on one knee before jumping back to his feet again.
“She did not.”
Owen and Tristan shared a look and Tristan hastily raised his sword as Kellen attacked him again. “Is there any reason the fair Gillian did not break her fast this morn?”
“Hmm.” Kellen cut with a sweeping stroke, forcing Tristan to jump back. “Let me consider. Oh, that is right. It was because, after being influenced by two of the most feebleminded men in the kingdom, I accused her of being a poisoner last eve. Of murdering Frederick. Oh, and also of staging the entire event whereby a villain attempted to stab her in the throat.” He slashed hard, driving Tristan to his knees; and then as Tristan scrambled back and tried to regain his feet and his balance, Kellen turned his sword on
Owen.
“Did I mention that my attack on my fair lady occurred when she did come to my chamber intent upon seduction? Of course, after getting such wise counsel from my two most trusted men, I did not chance to grasp what she was about. Oh, no. I believed she tried to murder me and searched her for a weapon before accusing her thus.”
Owen sidestepped, but Kellen kicked out and knocked him to the ground. Owen scooted backward as Kellen held the sword to his throat. He swallowed audibly. “Dear, me. What did she do?”
Kellen stepped back, then went after Tristan again and knocked him to the ground next to Owen. Kellen, breathing hard, stabbed his sword into the dirt in disgust. His men looked at the waving sword, obviously aghast that Kellen would treat his weapon thus.
“What think you she did? With wounded feelings, and a newfound disgust of me, she ran to her room and barred the door.”
Owen lifted a hand to his forehead. “Kellen, I do most humbly apologize.”
Tristan backhanded Owen’s shoulder. “We most humbly apologize.”
Owen lowered his hand. “It had seemed—”
Kellen raised a palm, and shook his head in disgust. “Would that I could blame you. You are both idiots, ’tis true, but I am the biggest of all. When Catherine tried to poison me, ’twas no great surprise. But the thought of Gillian doing so? It shocked me to my bones. And why? Because she is no murderer. I knew this in here.” He pounded his chest. “You can imagine her dismay when I accused her thus.”
They were all silent a moment, then Owen shook his head. “We are truly imbeciles.”
Tristan blew out a breath. “It seemed most reasonable last eve with Frederick dead on the floor and no enemy in sight; but in the light of day, the charge does seem exceedingly foolish.”
Tristan and Owen regained their feet as Kellen sheathed his sword. They looked around to see the men watching them and Owen shouted for them to get back to their training. But for themselves, they continued to stand about saying nothing. Finally, Tristan whistled. “You did not comprehend her attempt to seduce you?”