by Paula Quinn
“I will not hurt him,” he assured her, convincing her with a slight dip in his voice and an unwavering gaze.
This time, Gillian looked away first and turned to Lieutenant de Atre when he began to protest. “Lieutenant, why don’t you and I share a word or two on that bench while Edmund and Mr. Campbell practice?” She knew the oaf would never decline her invitation, but when he grinned at her she had to remind herself over and over why she was doing this. It was beneficial to Edmund to practice with a man. Even more wonderful was hearing him laugh.
She barely heard a word the lieutenant uttered for the remainder of the afternoon. The sounds of gently clanging sticks, the Highlander’s endlessly patient round of instructions, and her son’s excited shouts and cheerful delight near made her heart burst with joy.
Later, when George returned to escort her and Edmund back inside, she found herself humming, thankful for such a pleasant afternoon. There were many pleasant days at Dartmouth, despite her circumstance. For she had no intention of ever letting the gloom of this place reach her child’s heart, as it had hers.
Until today though, she hadn’t realized how hard she had become. Until today, she’d almost forgotten the importance of remaining that way.
Chapter Five
I crept up behind him and when he turned, I relieved him of his innards.”
Colin leaned back in his chair and watched while Lord Devon finished his tale and grabbed at a serving wench as she made her way around the table. Around him, the others compared tales, swore, and struck one another, already well on their way to a deep, drunken night’s sleep.
Looking around, Colin surveyed the Great Hall, crowded now in comparison to the last time he’d been here with Gates and wee Edmund. Three more long tables had been recently erected to accommodate the rest of Devon’s garrison. Captain Gates was not among them. Neither was Lady Gillian. The sun had barely set and most in attendance were already drunk, or on their way. If his army broke through the front doors right now, it would not be difficult to take them down. Hell, he could likely take half of them on his own.
He brought his cup to his lips but did not drink. The poor condition of the men proved that Captain Gates was grossly overconfident about the resistance that would meet Prince William upon his arrival. He would send word to the king about attacking Dartmouth before William arrived, so that his men would be here waiting for the prince. It would be easier to fight William’s men with Devon’s already dead.
“What about you, Campbell?” Devon called over the chairs that separated them while he groped at the lass in his lap. “What’s your best kill?”
Colin looked down into his bowl and sniffed. His best kill? Well, it sure as hell didn’t involve creeping. “ ’Twas three years ago,” he said, dipping his bread into his stew. “I rode with my brother after a small group of men who meant to kill someone he had sworn to protect. I watched him cut through six of them and it fevered my blood and gave strength to my arm.” He took a hefty bite of his bread and washed it down with ale. Hell, why couldn’t William of Orange’s closest ally be a noble with a decent cook? “I waited while the lead rider thundered toward me and swung my blade through his shoulder, deep into his spine. He died instantly.”
Someone clapped him on the back, almost bringing the bread back up. “Well done, stray! I once…” Colin recognized Gerald Hampton from the yard—brutishly big and missing two teeth. He proceeded to tell Colin a tale unfit for the lass who had just entered the Hall and was approaching the far end of the table with Captain Gates.
Every eye in the Hall turned to appraise her, including Lord Devon’s, though his gaze was void of admiration. He pulled the server closer against his chest and watched Lady Gillian through heavy-lidded eyes as she approached.
Tonight she wore an unadorned gown of dyed blue, fashioned, it appeared to Colin’s Highland eye, from lamb’s wool, though he wouldn’t know for certain unless he touched it. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders in loose, luminous coils, held away from her face by a wreath of delicate white flowers. She didn’t look at him, or at anyone else, but waited while Gates pulled out her chair to her cousin’s right. The table was tightly packed and she appeared delicate and out of place amid the rough, robust soldiers around her. Colin watched her avoid the stretch of a beefy arm to her left when her neighbor embellished a tale not fit for her ears. Edmund was not with her.
Hell. What was he to do with her and her babe when the battle commenced? Colin hadn’t thought about it. He didn’t want to, but he certainly couldn’t sit idly by when his men slaughtered everyone who resided at Dartmouth. He couldn’t worry over her and the boy while he fought, even though slight distractions didn’t impede his skills. Could he get them out before his men arrived? Damn it, why was he entertaining such thoughts? He shouldn’t have spent the entire afternoon with her and her son. He’d learned never to allow his heart to rule him, never to let his emotions hamper decisions that had to be made. He hadn’t wanted to hold the boy when Gates delivered him into his arms this morn. He should have stayed out of de Atre’s business with the lass, and he sure as hell hadn’t wanted to teach the child swordplay. Those tasks fell to Gates, but apparently the captain was lax in those duties, as well. The worst part of it all was that he had enjoyed himself this afternoon.
Hampton elbowed him in his side. “She’s a vision, I agree. But she’s as cold and as quiet as a rotting corpse.”
Her protection against grunting swine like ye. Colin dunked more bread into his bowl and nodded while he chewed. “The child does not dine with his mother?”
“The boy is a bastard and the earl does not like to be reminded that his noble cousin is a whore.”
Colin concealed his blackest look behind his cup then slid his gaze back to Lady Gillian. He’d spent the afternoon in her company. She was quiet, aye, and completely uninterested in any man at Dartmouth, save her son. She was no whore. “Who is the lad’s father?” he asked before he could stop himself.
“Hell if I know,” Hampton told him. “But it isn’t him.” He pointed to de Atre across the table.
“On that, you speak true.” The lieutenant winked, wiped his mouth with his forearm, and leaned in close so that only the men closest to him could hear. “Had the cock been mine, she would have had twins.”
His comrades laughed. Colin joined them in their merriment because that was what he had come here to do.
He grew quiet and leaned back in his chair, closer to the shadows, taking in bits of important information Devon’s men gave him without knowing it. Unwittingly, his eyes settled on Lady Gillian again, staring into her bowl. She shared speech with no one, eating alone among an army of men, ignoring Devon’s black glare on her. Against the backdrop of firelight, her profile, partially veiled behind her pale tresses, mesmerized him. He fought it for the next quarter of an hour, unsure why he couldn’t seem to stop his gaze from returning to her. He didn’t like not being in complete control of his actions. He wasn’t swayed by a fair face, or round, shapely hips he’d like to run his palms over. Still though, he found himself watching the way she raised her spoon to her lips and blew softly on her stew. A habit she had likely picked up from feeding her babe.
“You are tardy yet again, Gillian,” her cousin finally bit out, unable to keep his anger at her abated for another instant.
The laughter around the table faded as Devon’s sharp tone cut the air. Some of the men looked uncomfortable, as if they knew what was coming and were not looking forward to it, while others, like Lieutenant de Atre, grinned and listened with piqued interest.
Lady Gillian did not look up from her supper but continued eating as if her cousin wasn’t there. That seemed to enrage him. He pushed the serving wench off his lap and reached for his cup.
“What have I told you about keeping me waiting? I provide you with all this.” He stretched out his arms as if presenting her with all the riches and gold any lass’s heart could desire. “And you refuse to obey a simple command.”
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br /> “Edmund had to be fed.” ’Twas Captain Gates who spoke, offering Devon a quelling look of his own. “Your cousin is a dutiful mother.”
“Would that she was an appreciative one. It is my food her fatherless bratling eats.”
Lady Gillian finally set down her spoon and acknowledged him. Her eyes blazed with hatred, but when she spoke, her tone remained remarkably cool. “And it is my father’s gold that keeps your larder full.”
“Ah, wonders!” Devon jeered. “Lord Essex’s proud though tarnished daughter speaks!” The men around her laughed. She leaned to the side of her chair, narrowly avoiding a spewed piece of bread. “Pity it is to offer me cheek. Why, if I was not so gracious, I might be tempted to cast her son—”
“Her late arrival to the table is my fault,” Gates cut him off. “I left her in de Atre’s charge and he failed to bring her inside in time to properly attend to the boy.”
Hearing them, the lieutenant immediately took offense. “She refused to leave and instead let the bast—”
“Oh?” Gates cut him off sharply. “Is she my lieutenant, then? Do you do a woman’s bidding?”
Colin remained utterly still in his seat, but in his lap, he rubbed his fingertips together, wishing there were a hilt between them. They argued about her as if she wasn’t there, and still she remained silent. Why? None of the women at Camlochlin would have tolerated such treatment from the men. Why did she? Controlling her temper was one thing. Letting another control her was another. Why too, did Gates lay blame at his own man’s feet rather than at a stranger’s, where it belonged? ’Twas he who had kept the lady from her duties by playing with her son overlong. He realized, following Gates’s gaze to her, that he was not protecting Colin, but Lady Gillian and her child.
“You will do as I tell you,” the captain continued, turning back to his lieutenant. “Not what she or someone else tells you. Do you understand?”
Colin watched de Atre tighten his teeth around words he knew better than to utter. “I do, Captain,” he muttered roughly instead—leashed, for now.
Was Gates aware of his lieutenant’s debased cravings for Lady Gillian? Colin doubted the captain would have allowed de Atre to be alone with her if he knew. He should tell Gates how desperate his second had been to get the lady alone, and the terror in her eyes at the thought of it. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t without destroying any chance he had of gaining the men’s trust. Lady Gillian and her son were not his concern. At least, not yet.
“Lieutenant de Atre,” Devon called out, dangling his cup from his dainty fingers, “now that you’ve been properly reprimanded by your captain, why don’t you tell me what she let the bastard do?”
Gates shut his eyes. When he opened them again he fastened them on Lady Gillian while his lieutenant spoke.
“She let him play with Campbell here all afternoon.”
“Oh?” Devon’s sharp gaze cut to Colin. He raised an eyebrow, looking him over as if for the first time. “The afternoon, you say? Tell me, Mr. Campbell, do you think my cousin is—what’s the word you Scots use? Bonny?”
Colin’s eyes went to her, hating her cousin for humiliating her for his own pleasure. He would not add to it. “Aye,” he told the earl, “that is the word we Scots use.”
“Well,” Devon raised his cup to him and smiled. “You may admire her, but fuck her and heads will roll.”
“Geoffrey!” Lady Gillian slammed her napkin on the table.
“Cousin, why so sensitive?” Devon drew back in his seat, pretending to be startled by her reaction. “Every man at this table knows you’re a whore. Why, the proof of it is just up those stairs.”
She shot to her feet like a wellspring and looked down at him with something darker than hatred. When he ordered her to take her seat, Colin almost smiled when she refused.
“I’m going to bed,” she bit out, daring him to stop her. “Captain Gates, there is no need for escort since everyone is here.”
Gates rose from his seat anyway. Before she turned to leave, she slipped her gaze to Colin’s. ’Twas a brief, incidental glance that went unnoticed by all save him.
Colin returned his attention to his comrades as she left the Hall. He didn’t care if she acknowledged him, proving herself as aware of his presence as he was of hers. He laughed at something someone said and pushed away the desire to kill Devon before the appointed time. A bit harder to forget was the fact that she had graced him with what she had denied her cousin and every other man at the table.
If he could, he would help her and her child get out of Dartmouth before hell arrived at its doors. But he didn’t give a damn what happened to her before or after that. He desired battle and blood, and soon he would be satisfied.
He would remain focused on the prize. Practicing kept his mind sharp and his body honed for what it was meant to do. “Which one of ye will practice with me in the morn?”
“Bloody hell, Campbell.” Hampton turned to him. “You’ll be at it again tomorrow?”
“Of course,” Colin told him. “How do ye expect us to fight against an enemy army, should we be called to do so, if we have not held a weapon in our hands in months?”
The hairy giant laughed and held up his sloshing cup to the others. “I’m not concerned with meeting what’s left of James’s Life Guards on the field. I’ll cut through their bones two at a time.”
The men around the table cheered his sentiment and emptied their cups. Colin felt a pang of disappointment at how little a challenge any one of them would offer.
“A man should not underestimate his opponent,” Devon said, quieting the rest. “An army that does so is usually defeated.” He caught and held Colin’s gaze. “Tomorrow they will all practice with you.”
The table grew quiet for the first time that night. The men weren’t laughing now.
“Perhaps,” Hampton growled, drawing closer to him, “we will all practice with you at the same time.”
Colin tipped his cup to his mouth and then, setting it back down, slanted his gaze upward at the brute. “Do ye expect me to defeat yer enemies for ye then?”
De Atre howled with laughter, dragging Hampton’s searing glare off Colin and onto him. “I told you the stray was an arrogant cock, did I not?”
His bulking friend nodded and gave Colin and his chair a shove. “We’ll see how arrogant you are after I get done with you.”
“Go easy with me.” Colin smiled and moved forward to clap him on the back. “Ye will want me alive and at yer side later.”
“I’ve fought you, lad,” de Atre reminded him with more laughter. “You’ll be among the first to die.”
“Then perhaps ’tis best if I practice at night, as well.”
The lieutenant and his men sobered quickly enough at that and cast apprehensive glances at Devon, hoping he hadn’t heard.
“Captain Gates will practice with you tonight, Campbell. Perhaps you can convince him to work the men harder before I start to believe that he wants us to lose to our enemies.”
Colin nodded. Interesting. Did Devon speak true? Did his captain want them to lose?
“I will accompany you both to the yard when he returns.” Devon adjusted his wig and looked up to smile at the serving wench refilling his cup. Before she left he patted her backside and then returned his attention to Colin. “I would see for myself if you are worth the coin I’m paying you.”
“I hope not to disappoint, my lord,” Colin offered, raising his cup to him. If fortune favored him, Devon might be tempted to raise his sword against him and Colin could make him pay for calling his cousin a whore once again.
Chapter Six
Gillian stayed in Edmund’s room for most of the morning. They broke fast together, read three books, and played a dozen games of Naughts and Crosses. But he was restless to be outdoors, eager to see Colin Campbell. Edmund spoke of him without pause, gleefully retelling his mother how he’d bested the friendly stranger during their stick competition the day before. It was pitiful really. Gillia
n wanted nothing more than to give her son what he wished, but Mr. Campbell hadn’t left the courtyard all morning. She knew this because Edmund had dragged her to the window countless times to see if his new friend had finished practicing with the garrison. They watched, with Edmund safely in her arms, while the mercenary took on six men at a time. They scowled, equally annoyed that a few of the men laughed when he was brought down to one knee. He hadn’t given up though, springing back to his feet to meet the next four coming against him. He seemed driven to fight, determined to continue until he collapsed. Which didn’t appear to be an imminent concern. He fought defensively again, which proved he hadn’t lost to de Atre for her sake. He fought as if he meant to tire the men rather than beat them.
Captain Gates was down there with the rest, which meant she would have to send one of Geoffrey’s serving wenches to the yard to fetch him if she meant to leave the room. And did she truly want to witness Mr. Campbell’s defeat at closer proximity? Did she want Edmund to see?
“He said we could practice today.”
Gillian smiled at her son. “I fear his practice with the men may go on all day.” Perhaps she could find a pair of sticks and play with him. “Perhaps you will see him after your nap.”
“I’m not sleepy.”
Why would he be? Sighing, Gillian drew her son’s head closer and kissed it. She really had to learn more games to play with him. “Shall we finish our story about the adventurer Columbus?”
He shook his head, staring down at the courtyard below.
Gillian followed his gaze and watched while the newest addition to Geoffrey’s garrison fought off three more attackers. A Campbell. What did she know about the Highland clan? Not much, save that they were a powerful clan with strong ties in Parliament. How did Mr. Campbell end up a hired mercenary? And why couldn’t she forget the way his eyes felt on her last eve through supper? Curious, scalding embers in the firelight—especially after Geoffrey opened his vile mouth. Oh, she could have killed her cousin right there in front of his entire garrison when he spoke of her so crudely. What would his men have done if she had produced her hidden dagger and plunged it into his heart?