“Nay,” Gwendolyn was quick to protest. She did not want to have to explain her visit with Jarin to her mother, for surely she would read more into it than there was.
Millicent eyed her daughter suspiciously. Gwendolyn squirmed under the scrutiny. “'Tis just that I had been looking forward to the walk into the village, as a sort of time to think and clear my head.” She knew her reasoning was lame, but it was the best she could come up with.
Luckily for her, her mother wasn't prone to question her motives, no matter how weak. “Very well. I suppose there is still lots for me to do around here. I can go to the village another day.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
Gwendolyn quickly finished eating, anxious to return to the village. This time however, her walk there was leisurely. Instead of running, she took the time to enjoy the wildflowers growing along the path and listen to the birds chirping above. 'Tis true that she felt better after a good night's sleep, but she still felt a deep discontentment that was rooted in her very core, a feeling she couldn't seem to shake.
Several times she felt as if somebody was watching her and would quickly turn her head expecting to meet a passerby on the road, but each time there was no one there. She forced the feeling of unease down and quickened her pace, anxious to reach the village and escape the unsettling feeling.
Her first stop upon reaching the village was the Blacksmith's shop. She found Jarin outside, as if he had been expecting her. He smiled his familiar smile and met her on the street.
“I was hoping you'd come today,” he said happily.
“How could I refrain when you promised me something to lift my spirits?”
He immediately reached one hand in the deep pocket on the front of his leather apron. Clasping something in his fist, he held his hand out to her and said, “Give me your hand.”
Gwendolyn obeyed. Jarin unclasped his hand, and she felt something heavy fall into her own palm. Bringing her hand close to her face for inspection, she noticed that he had taken an ordinary iron nail and shaped it expertly into a heart that hung from a simple leather chord. “'Tis beautiful, Jarin. You are truly a skilled craftsman.”
Her compliment made him blush, though he furiously tried to hide it from her by ducking his head and taking her hand that held the necklace. “May I put it on you?”
“Of course.” She turned from him, lifting her thick, raven locks as she waited for him to tie the leather chord securely in place around her neck. As soon as she felt the charm fall into place, she let her hair drop and turned once more to face him. “I will wear it always, to remind me of a dear friend and his worthy attempts to cheer me.”
His blush deepened. “About that, Gwendolyn. I am pleased that you wish to wear it always, but I was hoping you'd see me as more than just a friend.”
His awkwardness only proved to make her feel awkward as well, and she wasn't sure she liked what he was implying. In an attempt at diffusing the situation, she chastised him lightly, “You forget yourself, Jarin. I have yet to have my entrance; therefore, this sort of talk is not at all appropriate.”
“Forgive me for forgetting myself, but you have no idea the affect you have on me. I know that you will be of age shortly and I only wished to secure your affections before someone else came along.”
She should have known that by accepting his kind gift, she was giving him the wrong impression. She briefly debated whether she should remove the necklace and return it to him, but was afraid it would hurt the lad more than she intended. Instead she said, “'Tis very flattering to know you think so kindly of me, truly it is. But for now, let's just remain friends.”
“Friends,” he grumbled in dissatisfaction. “Very well, but only if you promise to consider more as soon as you've been granted your entrance.”
Gwendolyn thought about it, briefly tempted to mess up her entrance, when the time came, to avoid having a repeat of this conversation for at least another year. Everyone in the Kingdom knew that if you messed up performing the traditional entrance dance, the Saylatee, to such a horrible degree, the presiding king would be forced to deny your entrance into womanhood, and you'd have to wait an entire year to attempt the feat once more. The idea did have some merit.
“Very well, Jarin. But only if you promise not to bring it up again until after my entrance has been granted.”
You would have thought she promised him her heart by the way he was smiling. A silly grin stretched across his face, nearly from ear to ear. “Come back again tomorrow, and I'll have another gift for you.”
Gwendolyn laughed at his eagerness. “I cannot promise I'll be coming to the village tomorrow, but the next time I do, I promise I will stop by the shop and pay you a visit.” She made a mental note of staying away for some time, in hopes that his desire for her would cool some.
She fingered the heart-shaped charm the entire way home, pondering if she should remove it from her neck and only wear it when she visited the village, or if she should keep it on always as she had told Jarin she would. It truly was a beautiful, if simple piece, but she was afraid she'd give the wrong impression by wearing it. Finally, she let go of the charm, letting it's heaviness settle into the shallow dip above her collarbone and figured it wouldn't hurt to wear it, at least for now.
***
Gavin anxiously waited for the sun to set, knowing that as soon as it did, his freedom would begin. At least until sunset the following day when his one day off a week would end and he'd be forced to return to Hefordshire Castle where he was treated not much better than a slave. The sun could not set fast enough behind the rolling hills in the distance, and as soon as it did, he was off to the stables to retrieve his destrier, Ichabod.
The ride into the nearby village was familiar to him, for he made it weekly. His first and only stop was The Morlock Inn, a place neither too reputable, nor too seedy for his liking. He quickly instructed a young lad to take Ichabod to the stables, flipping him a small coin for his trouble, before entering the all too familiar inn.
“Well if it isn't Gavin the great,” his favorite tavern wench, Deborah, purred as she sidled up to him, her curvaceous body pressing into his. Her frizzy auburn hair hung over her bosom as she bent to retrieve a mug of ale from the rough, wooden counter behind him, handing it to him with a self-pleased smile. She always seemed to be anticipating his needs.
He took the offered ale in one hand, bringing the frothy brew to his mouth and downing the entire mug in a single gulp.
“That's my boy,” she cooed as she reached for another mug. This time he drank much slower, putting his arm loosely around Deborah's shoulders as they walked further into the inn. Gavin couldn't wait for the numbing effect of the ale to take place.
He found an empty chair in one corner and pulled a willing Deborah down into his lap. She giggled as his ale splashed onto her skirt, not caring that he had just soiled her gown. That's one of the things Gavin liked most about her; she was always up for a good time, all smiles, all fun, never bothering him for more than what he was willing to give. There was no real connection with her, but that also meant that there was no vulnerability and he liked that very much.
“What have ye been up to this past week?” she asked, as she slowly rubbed her hands up and down his chest.
“Just the usual,” he said with a mock arrogance. “Defending the Kingdom and keeping Darth safe.”
She leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Strong, brave, and capable. Just how I like my men.” For a minute Gavin allowed himself to get lost in the fantasy, here in the inn where he could pretend to be whatever he wanted to be. Deborah had no idea he was the lowest of defenders at Hefordshire Castle, given the most distasteful of tasks. All she knew was that he was a defender and anything else he wished to tell her, true or not, and that was enough for her.
She nuzzled into his neck as he finished off his second mug of ale. When both of his hands were free, he placed them around her wide hips and pulled her closer to him. Instantly his mind raced with t
houghts of holding a much more slender girl in his arms. The girl-child, Gwendolyn, wasn't nearly as full-figured as Deborah, but the reminder of her slight body beneath him in the maze made his blood simmer unexpectedly.
And it wasn't just the feel of her petite body beneath him it was the reminder of her sapphire eyes, full of expression and fire that pricked his heart as well. He stiffened and cursed. Why was he even thinking of her right now, when his whole aim was to not be thinking at all?
Deborah noticed his reaction. Pulling back, she forced her lips into a pout. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Nay, I just need more ale,” he gruffly replied. He would just have to drink until he stopped feeling anything for anyone. The last thing he needed was another woman to interrupt his thoughts and lure him in with her charms.
Deborah reluctantly slid off his lap to go retrieve him another mug of ale. He ran a hand through his hair, forcing it off of his face as he tried to think of anything but Gwendolyn, or his former fiancée, or any woman for that matter.
It took Deborah longer than normal to return and Gavin was just about to go seeking out his own mug of ale when he saw her reappear, though he noticed with great irritation that her hands were empty. “Somebody is asking for ye up front,” she said curtly.
Gavin shook his head, trying to dispel some of the fog that was already starting to settle in from the ale. “Who is it?”
“How am I supposed to know?” she snapped. “'Tis not the first time she's shown up here looking for ye though.”
So this mystery person was a female? That could explain Deborah's sudden shift in moods. “What does she look like?” he asked, as a sick foreboding filled him. The only woman who might possibly be looking for him was Clarice, his former fiancée.
“Why don't ye hurry up front and find out for yerself,” she bit out acerbically before turning and huffing away.
Gavin ran both hands through his hair nervously as his breathing deepened in an attempt to calm his frayed nerves. He looked anxiously around the back of the room, hoping to find an inconspicuous way out of the inn to avoid an encounter with Clarice all together. There was none.
Just as he stood, his ears were assaulted with an all too familiar voice, a voice that dripped like honey through a honeycomb. It made him cringe.
“Gavin, 'tis so good to see you.”
He froze and watched as the woman he once thought he loved walked towards him. Her white-blonde hair was braided and hanging over one shoulder. Her pale face housed large, ice-blue eyes and pink lips that were twisted into a tentative smile. As she came to stop directly in front of him, her eyes were nearly even with his own. She was tall and stately, with plenty of alluring curves. She was even more beautiful than he remembered her, but the only emotion he could feel towards her was a seething hatred.
She reached out and boldly ran a long finger down his cheek. “Dare I hope that you missed me as much as I have you?”
He shuddered with revulsion at her touch, but she must have mistaken it for desire, for before he knew it she had flung her arms around his neck, forcing herself into his arms and was pressing her lips boldly to his own.
Deborah reappeared, clearing her throat loudly as she shoved a mug of ale towards Gavin. “If ye are going to continue as such, the boss will insist ye get a room.”
Clarice pulled back slightly, searching his face expectantly. “Shall we, love?”
“Shall we what?” he asked, confused by her question. Curse the dratted ale that was making his thinking slow.
“Get a room and become reacquainted after all our time apart.” Her honeyed voice was pouring over him, suffocating him.
Gavin pushed her from him then, repulsed at the thought of being alone with her, and even more perturbed that she wanted to waltz back into his life after betraying his feelings for her and leaving him for another man, pretending as if none of it had ever happened. “Get away from me,” he slurred angrily. “I never want to see your face again.”
He turned from her, but she quickly moved in front of him. And much to his chagrin, her wide eyes were filling with tears. “Gavin, please. Give me a moment to explain myself, to tell you why I have come back. I owe you an apology. Please be decent enough to allow me to ask for your forgiveness.”
A red-hot fury filled his breast. Turning on her, he grabbed her shoulders angrily. “Nay. Don't you dare speak to me of decency. I gave up everything to be with you and you had the gall to leave me for someone else the day before we were to wed. You left me heartbroken and devastated. If you didn't have the decency to apologize to me then, I certainly do not want to hear it now. I will not forgive you.”
“Gavin, I was wrong, so wrong. I loved you, I was just confused. Please, can't we try again?”
“Nay.” His word was final as he shouldered his way past her, angrily knocking her off of her feet as he went.
He was completely blinded by his anger as he walked from the inn. As soon as he disappeared, Clarice drew herself up from the floor, the tears in her eyes drying up almost magically as she muttered under her breath. “I hate you Gavin Dekever.”
Chapter 9
A Stolen Kiss
Gwendolyn had spent the entire morning pouring over her grandfather Richard's journals. He had possessed the gift of transporting, having the ability to magically travel to any location he imagined with merely a thought. Terric had acquired the gift, though he never fully realized or developed it before deflecting it unknowingly to Rosalind. She had spent many hours with Rosalind figuring out the key to unlocking her gift and helping her refine her talent. Gwendolyn had made no effort to hide her envy of the gift.
Her goal in pouring over her grandfather's journals was to find somebody, anybody in the family who may have possessed another type of gift, one that mayhap she could have inherited. So far, she had spent hours on end trying to decipher his hardly legible handwriting only to be rewarded with the most nonsensical stories of his own experiences transporting. He rarely mentioned another soul. Feeling disheartened, she slammed the most recent journal she had been scouring down and rose from her position on the floor.
She stretched from side to side in an attempt to loosen some of the stiffness from her body before she ventured outside to find something to occupy herself. She couldn't seem to fight the loneliness she had been feeling ever since returning to Emerson Castle without Rosalind. She wondered how she ever managed the last several years with only her mother for company without going insane.
Walking along the side of the castle, she ran her hands along the gray brick, feeling the cool roughness of the stones against her fingertips, which occasionally brushed up against bits of moss growing between the stones. Eventually, she found herself standing at the steps that led down to the moat. Placing a steadying hand on the balustrade, she lifted her dress and began descending. As soon as she reached the bottom, she crouched down and undid the rope that held a small boat in place. Centering herself in the boat, she grabbed an oar and began paddling gently through the water. After a while, she replaced the oar in the boat and stretched out on her back, gazing up at the willow tree that dripped it's branches into the space above the moat.
Gwendolyn felt the metal heart necklace slide down the side of her neck and automatically reached for it, bringing it before her face. She looked down at the simple piece of jewelry and thought once more of Jarin. It had been nearly a week since she had ventured into the village, since the day he had gifted her with the token in an attempt to cheer her, and possibly gain her affections. She had purposely been avoiding going back to the village, worried that he might take her appearance as an eagerness to see him.
Not for the first time, she wondered why she didn't have any sort of feelings for him. He had always been so kind, and when he had tied the necklace to her neck, the feel of his fingers brushing up against her sensitive skin had had no effect on her. None. She knew that as soon as she was granted her entrance, her family would be anxious to find her a suitable husband.
It was just the way that things were done. Mayhap she hadn't been trying hard enough with Jarin.
These unsettling thoughts swirled through her mind, gently lolling her into a deep sleep. In her dreams she was at Herfordshire Castle, anxiously trying to find Terric and Rosalind, a sense of foreboding filling her breast as she ran down every corridor in an attempt to locate them. But it was as if she was in a confusing maze, each corridor extending into a never-ending abyss leading nowhere. She ran as fast as she could, but the further she got, the further away she'd get from them. She never saw them, but she sensed it deep inside of her. Intense frustration furled within her, causing her muscles to become taut as anxiety gripped her heart. She had to get to Terric and Rosalind before it was too late.
Rounding a bend, another long corridor stretched before her. Breathing hard, she pushed herself to run faster than she ever had before, but it was all to no avail. Suddenly she collided with a solid object. Looking up, she expected to see that she had come to a dead end, but instead, familiar brown eyes were searching her face, kindly willing her to be calm. Her heartbeat began to slow as Gavin whispered intensely, “I will save them. You have to trust me.” She shook her head vigorously, knowing she had no other choice if she ever wished to see Terric and Rosalind alive again.
But though her heartbeat had momentarily slowed down, it wasn't meant to last long. Gavin bent forward and pressed a petal soft kiss to her lips, causing a scorching heat to whirl within her. Her heart began beating erratically. For a moment, she forgot all about the danger her family was in. Opening her eyes ever so slowly, she forced herself to pull back from the intoxicating kiss and barely managed to whisper, “You must go. Hurry.”
“I cannot leave, at least until I tell you the news.”
Gwendolyn's eyes snapped open as Jarin's voice infringed upon her dream. His face was barely an inch above her own as he sat next to her in the boat. She sprung up from where she was lying, hitting her head against his own in the process. Jarin jerked back in pain, swiftly losing his balance. His arms began to flail wildly, and before she knew what was happening, the boat began to tip, forcing both of them into the frigid water of the moat.
To Capture Her Heart Page 5