Romance Through the Ages

by Amy Harmon

  He quickly reminded himself that he possessed no weaknesses and anyone who said otherwise would not live to tell the tale.

  “Don’t scowl. Just give me a slight smile.”

  Amelia entered and wandered over to see what Gillian was doing. “Amelia!” exclaimed Gillian. “I have an idea. Come and stand beside your father. Now Kellen, I want you to put your left arm around her.”

  Again Gillian arranged them to her satisfaction, moving their bodies into position. “There. Perfect. Now don’t move.”

  Kellen was rigid, the tiny body next to his own, no less so. He didn’t like being this close to the girl. He didn’t want to look at her for fear he would see she was not his, that he was raising another man’s child. One of his men’s? He was determined not to think on it. To wonder if one of his own had betrayed him.

  “Relax, both of you.”

  The child, stiff and unbending, stood for only a few minutes before jerking free and running away.

  “Amelia, come back!” Gillian tried to coax the child into returning but to no avail. The girl ran out of the room and, looking confused, Gillian asked, “What was that about?”

  Kellen shook his head. “I did nothing.”

  “Well, I wasn’t accusing you of pinching her. I just wondered why she left.” Gillian shrugged and picked up her sketch. “I’ll put her in later. In the meantime keep your arm up as if she’s still there.”

  “Lady Corbett,” said Marissa. “You do not have the day through. You must finish soon. There is work to be done.”

  Gillian mouthed “there is work to be done” along with Marissa and rolled her eyes, making Kellen stifle a laugh. Then he wondered if she was being made unhappy, if perhaps he should send Marissa away?

  He glanced over at the ladies, working industriously. No. Marissa was teaching Gillian well. He wanted her settled and wanted her to take her rightful place. Marissa would make sure she was comfortable in her role, and after the marriage Gillian would have none to gainsay or arrange her time.

  “Kellen,” Owen came into the room. “There you are, lazing about as always, I see. The men are training and wondering what you are about.”

  Gillian waved a hand. “I’m keeping him. Go away.”

  Her words produced a warm glow in Kellen’s chest, and embarrassed that his feelings might show on his face, he lifted a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat.

  Tristan came inside. “What are you doing? Sketching?” He moved forward to look over Gillian’s shoulder. “No, no. You are making him too handsome.”

  Gillian withered him with a stare. “Go away, Tristan.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather use your talent to sketch a well-favored face?”

  Gillian snorted. “Yours, I suppose?”

  “If you insist, I could be persuaded to—”

  “Leave!” said Kellen.

  Tristan sent him a disdainful glare. “Come, Owen. As ever, it looks as if we will have to train the men ourselves.”

  Kellen snorted and watched them go.

  After she’d been busy a few minutes more, Gillian spoke. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Aye?”

  “I was thinking we could take a walk today. Out to the cemetery. You, me, and Amelia. Just the three of us. What do you think?”

  Kellen’s brows drew together. Again with the cemetery? “Nay.”

  Gillian stopped sketching and looked up. “Why not?”

  Kellen rubbed the back of his neck. “’Tis not safe.”

  “It’s just outside the village. We’d be with you. What’s not safe about that?”

  Kellen tried to think how to deny her. “What captivates you thus? Cemeteries are nasty, gloomy places, fit only for the ghosts that haunt them.”

  “I just want to go.”

  “Another time?”

  “Soon?”

  “Of course. When we both have a free moment, we will get my men together and—”

  “No. Just the three of us.”

  He was suspicious again, but could not fathom what she could be about. Was there someone waiting? A man she hoped to see? A lover she wanted to leave with? And if so, did she think Kellen would be easily overpowered? The idea was ludicrous. “For what purpose?”

  “It’ll be fun.”

  Kellen didn’t want to take her to the cemetery. Not with the thieving Scots about, and not when the hair rose on the back of his neck in warning every time she mentioned the blasted place. It wasn’t likely she could have a romantic tryst in mind. Not with the child there. And by the saints, it was a graveyard!

  “Okay?”

  What was she hiding? She was tying him in knots. Her sister Catherine had ever been secretive. She’d met with a man somehow, and been so tightlipped about it, Kellen had not been able to find the culprit.

  Gillian’s face was open, without guile. But she had such a different way about her that she was still difficult to read. Where women were concerned, he didn’t trust his instincts anymore.

  Kellen was relieved when Owen came back in the room. “Kellen? A word with you?”

  “I must leave.”

  “No!” said Gillian. “Just a little while longer.”

  Marissa lifted her head. “’Tis best he goes. He has much to do, as do you.”

  Kellen looked into her distressed face and desired to give her whatever she wanted. Within reason.

  Tristan came up behind Owen. “Is he coming?”

  Kellen gave Gillian one last searching look and realized Catherine was making him doubt Gillian. He knew it wasn’t fair to her, but didn’t know how to feel differently.

  Marissa glanced over. “Gillian?”

  Owen gestured from the door. “Kellen?”

  Before Gillian could protest, before Kellen could even be tempted to stay, to accuse or apologize for suspecting her of foul deeds and worse, he vaulted out of his seat and hastened after his men.

  Chapter Twenty

  A week later, in the middle of the night, Gillian yawned widely, not bothering to cover her mouth or look away from the sketch she worked on. No one else was around anyway.

  To say they’d been keeping her busy was an understatement. Marissa and her ladies were slave drivers, granting very little free time, and zero access to Kellen. Not that he’d seemed to mind.

  To add insult to injury, after keeping her busy every day, Marissa had tried to stop Gillian from drawing at night, scolding her for staying up late, for wasting candles, and for keeping Marissa awake with the scratching noises.

  Gillian smirked at the memory of that particular accusation. The feather-light sound of her pencil was completely drowned out by Marissa’s soft snoring. It was nice to see the paragon wasn’t perfect.

  Gillian bit her lip to try and hold back a smile as she sketched, knowing she shouldn’t be mean. Marissa might not be warming to her, but all the same, she was teaching Gillian all she knew and, if she were actually staying, it would be very useful information.

  She used a finger to smudge the curve of Kellen’s jaw on the page, creating a shadow and softening the line. She was just about finished with the portrait and was happy with how it was turning out. She stared at Kellen’s masculine face, the full lips, high cheekbones, neck and shoulders thick with muscle. Yummy. The man was gorgeous, no doubt about it.

  Amelia’s petite form nestled within Kellen’s arm, her pixie little face, so lifelike it almost looked like a photo. Dealing with Amelia’s wiggling and squirming had turned out to be well worth it. The likeness was good. This might be the best family portrait she’d ever done. It would make a fantastic gift for Kellen. She just hoped it wasn’t a goodbye present.

  Gillian turned to look at the snoring woman on the bed and wondered if Marissa would wake if Gillian snuck out to see him. He’d been avoiding her the entire week and Gillian was starting to feel desperate. She needed to get him and Amelia out to the cemetery, and for some reason he was against taking them. Perhaps if she sneaked to his room and had a little chat with
him she could lure him with her feminine wiles.

  Gillian grinned at the thought and glanced at the door. Should she chance it? She deserved a little free time, right? She’d certainly done her part lately. She knew how to plan a menu, discuss said menu with Cook, keep kitchen accounts, instruct servants, mend, instruct spinners and weavers, plan a wedding feast, and check wheat for mold.

  While the work itself wasn’t bad, and was even quite interesting at times, she really needed to kidnap Kellen and Amelia; and no one was making it easy for her. She was busy. Kellen was busy. Everyone was busy. But she had to get them out there if she wanted to take them home.

  She’d been thinking about it and had come to the conclusion that there had to be a reason she’d been sent to Kellen. A reason for the attraction and connection they’d felt from the beginning. That being the case, there had to be a way for the three of them to get back, so they could be together as a family. She was starting to feel very possessive. Edith could find a new guy. Kellen belonged to Gillian now.

  She was pretty sure Amelia would be fine. Kids adapted quickly. But she wondered how Kellen would react to the twenty-first century. If he could go. If he would go. If he’d be happy if he did. Gillian was starting to wish there was some way she could stay. Medieval England was definitely missing some basic necessities, but overall, she was sort of getting used to it. If Kellen couldn’t or wouldn’t go with her, she wasn’t sure she’d have the will power to leave him.

  She sighed. It wasn’t as if she’d have a choice. How would Kellen react when Edith showed up? He’d be shocked, hurt, angry. Would he put Gillian in the dungeon? Arrange a hanging? Keep her as his mistress and marry Edith? Gillian wasn’t going to chance any of it.

  In the morning, they were supposed to meet with the priest. The banns were to be posted, whatever that meant. Maybe afterward she could talk him into going.

  Still tempted to see him immediately, Gillian carefully inserted her sketchpad into her pack, put away her art supplies, blew out the candle, and sat in the moonlight, shadow, and glow of coals from the fireplace. As Marissa snorted, Gillian smiled and looked at the door. She just might risk it. So what if she got caught? It wasn’t as if Marissa held a very high opinion of her as it was and anyway—

  As she watched, the door slowly, silently opened and someone eased into the room. Kellen? Gillian smiled. Great minds thought alike. She looked to where Marissa snored softly. If she caught Kellen there, she would raise an unholy racket, but the risk was worth it.

  Glancing back, she suddenly realized the wraithlike figure was too small to be Kellen. She watched the shadow start toward the bed and whispered, “Hello?”

  So quick she almost didn’t see the motion in the murky darkness, the guy lifted his arm and threw something just as Gillian stood and took a step to the side. At the sharp thwacking noise, Gillian looked behind her. The moonlight revealed a dagger protruding from her high wooden chair.

  If Gillian hadn’t stood, she would have been skewered in the neck.

  Shocked, heartbeat speeding, Gillian put a hand to her throat and turned her head; but it was all she was capable of doing. The man moved a few more steps toward her; and finally, after a choked gasp and a quick scramble backward, Gillian was able to scream.

  Marissa sat upright, instantly screeching, adding her voice to Gillian’s. The shadowy figure took one more step forward, hesitated, then melted into the darkness and out the door.

  Gillian stopped screaming to stare after him, her heart pounding hard and her breath coming in gasps. She looked at the chair then at the door again. If it weren’t for the knife, she could almost believe it hadn’t happened.

  Marissa stopped mid-scream. “Gillian?” She sounded breathless, scared. “What has happened?”

  Kellen ran into the room and this time there was no mistaking his large form for anyone else and Gillian, shaking and relieved, started to cry as she stumbled toward him.

  Kellen rushed forward and pulled her into his arms. “What is it? Are you well? Did you have bad dreams?”

  “Someone… someone… ”

  After skimming his hands up and down her body, he lit a candle and Gillian pointed to the chair and the knife. His face disbelieving, he asked, “Are you hurt? Where did you get this blade?”

  “No. I’m not hurt. A man was in here.” She shuddered. “I was sitting in the chair and he threw the knife at me as I stood.”

  Kellen ran his hands over her body a second time, then lifted her into his arms and crossed to the bed. He stuffed her under the covers next to Marissa and; looking dangerous, he grabbed the knife, studied it, then thoroughly searched the room before posting a man outside the door. He turned back, giving Gillian a stern look. “Stay here. Bar the door.”

  Fine with her. She wasn’t going anywhere. Someone had just tried to kill her.

  Kellen left, yelling for his men as he went.

  * * *

  “Find him!”

  As his men rushed to the roof and down to the great hall Kellen searched above-stairs, looking behind curtains, under furniture, and out windows to see if a villain hung, or climbed a rope to the roof. Whoever tried to kill Gillian needed to be captured. So Kellen could personally kill him.

  He glanced back toward Gillian’s door. He did not dare move too far from her bedchamber, though he knew the women had it barred. Why would anyone want Gillian dead?

  Owen came out of the ladies’ solar and shook his head. “I found naught.”

  Tristan ushered Marissa’s ladies out of their room. They were visibly upset and Lady Vera repeatedly hit Tristan who had an arm raised to defend himself. “None hid in the ladies’ bedchamber. I searched everywhere.”

  Lady Vera’s eyes burned fire as she continued to slap Tristan. “And used the opportunity to touch my underclothing!”

  Kellen raised a brow.

  “Not apurpose!” said Tristan. “I was searching for a villain!”

  Lady Vera hit him again.

  “Enough!” Kellen turned away to search the corridor. “Take them to Lady Marissa.” He noticed the boys standing against one wall, wide-eyed and frightened. “Did any intrude upon your room?”

  Peter shook his head. “No one, my lord.”

  Kellen turned to Owen. “Take the boys, also. Make sure Lady Marissa bars the door.”

  Kellen checked the boys’ chamber himself but found it empty. As he exited, three of his men came down from the roof. “Well?”

  “Nothing, my lord.”

  Kellen’s teeth clenched as his frustration grew. Three more of his men came upstairs. “Did you find anything?”

  They all shook their heads. “Nothing suspicious, my lord. We questioned all below stairs, but none report anything amiss.”

  Kellen felt blood rushing to his face as he tried to hold his temper. “How can a murderer slip in and out of my keep? Threaten my lady?” His voice rose with each word. “Find him!”

  Kellen checked Gillian’s door, found it barred, waited to see if they would open it and, when they did not, told the guard to stay put and headed down the hall and descended the stairs. When he reached the great hall, he looked around. His people were visibly frightened and Kellen didn’t see any who did not belong.

  Another guard came into the room. “The outer gates are all secure, my lord. None passed that way.”

  Kellen nodded once. “Detain any who look in the least suspicious, even if they are known to you.” His frustration levels mounted as he looked around. It could be anyone, any of his men, his guards, his knights, his servants.

  He again wondered about Catherine. Who had been her mysterious lover? One of his own men, perhaps? Was this revenge for her death? Had she even spoken true? Had there ever been a lover? Or was the attack related specifically to Gillian? Or to himself?

  He studied the knife he’d confiscated, but it yielded no clues. It was ordinary, one any knight could own or any peasant steal. Its sharpness reminded him of its former location in the chair, direct
ly at throat level.

  Gillian could have died.

  He felt himself sweating and wiped his brow as two more of his men came in. “There is naught to report from the village. All has been quiet. None saw any pass who did not belong.”

  Kellen seethed. “We’ve missed something. Search again. Question everyone.”

  Nodding, they left.

  Kellen studied his people gathered in the hall, their expressions nervous, fearful. Some stood, some sat on sleeping pallets, but none slept. He studied each face. They were all familiar to him. He moved forward and ripped the hood off an adolescent. The boy screamed, defensively raised his hands and, recognizing the lad, Kellen let him go.

  He didn’t want to believe it could be one of his own people. Perhaps it was the Scots? Had men come in to rescue their own and plotted revenge? If so, how did they get in? How was it they weren’t seen?

  He would question the Scots sitting in his dungeon. But first, he would question Gillian again and see if she’d remembered aught. See if she was still safe.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  When Lord Marshall grabbed Valeric by the shoulder and ripped the hood from his head, Valeric screamed, defensively raising both hands to protect himself, awaiting a blow. Lord Marshall only searched his face a moment, then let him go and, without a word, moved away.

  Valeric stared after Lord Marshall’s retreating back in disbelief. He’d thought himself caught. He’d thought himself dead.

  Breathing hard, Valeric watched Lord Marshall walk away, heart pounding so hard he wondered if he might die this night, regardless. Perhaps his treacherous heart would stop of its own accord and save Lord Marshall the trouble of slaying him.

  On boneless legs he backed the few feet to the wall and slid down to sit among the rushes, pulling his knees close and wrapping his cloak tight about him. He listened to Lord Marshall shout orders, and the hunger that had been with him for years surfaced once more. Why could not Lord Marshall have been his sire rather than Sir Royce? Would Lord Marshall have acknowledged him? Would he have trained him up to become a knight?