She Owns the Knight (10 page)

In the meantime, she’d just go with the flow. She’d pretend to be Edith, have an adventure, enjoy the English countryside, and find a way home. She slid a glance up at Kellen and had to admit, his obvious admiration was a much-needed ego boost. When his real fiancé arrived, he’d no doubt forget all about Gillian, but maybe she could have a few great memories out of the deal?

She held out her hand and, looking pleased, Kellen took it, his large, warm grip dwarfing hers and sending tingles up her arm. She smiled again. Nice. Very nice. Who didn’t hope for a holiday romance? And how many people got a chance to visit medieval England?

Gillian was going to buy into the whole fairytale for now, castle, knight, and all, and enjoy the adventure. At least until she found a way to return home.

“You wanted a message from my father? Here it is. The rest of the party is coming as scheduled.”

Kellen looked down at their linked hands and nodded. “That is fine. It will give us time to know one another before the wedding.”

Gillian smiled. “Time indeed.”

“He is a dim-witted, softheaded
imbecile!”
Sir Robert Royce threw a cup across the room and sprayed wine over the dirty rushes. Next he threw a platter, then a chunk of wood. ’Twas satisfying when three servants scrambled out of the way as the wood exploded against a wall.

“A brainless, half-wit,
moron!
Everything is his fault. I
hate him!
I want him
dead!”

Robert’s throat was raw from airing his justifiable grievances and he realized he was somewhat in his cups. He’d been steadily drinking since his return home and continued to throw things about as servants rushed out of the way. His own men stood back, wary.

Breathing heavily, Robert looked around the hall for more ammunition. His humiliation by Marshall demanded he do something. But what? Every year that passed saw Marshall with more and Robert with less.

Suddenly weary, he sank to his chair at the head table and picked up the cup of wine a servant rushed to place at hand. He took a healthy swallow.

His men slowly moved forward, righting benches so they could sit. His complaints against Marshall were entirely defensible. Marshall promoted ill will wherever he went, yet somehow retained the king’s ear and married at the highest level in the land, adding to his already vast wealth.

It was not fair!

A servant moved cautiously forward to pour more wine, and another set a trencher of food in front of Robert. ’Twas of poor quality, the bread gritty, the cheese hard and slightly moldy, the meat scarce. Anger welled again for he knew from past visits that Marshall set a much finer table.

An adolescent raced in and bent to one knee, his head bowed. “My lord.”

His spy, ready to report. Robert straightened. “Well?”

The youth stood, breathing hard, his skinny chest rising and falling beneath dirty clothes. “The Lady Corbett has arrived early for the wedding, my lord.”

“She is truly Marshall’s betrothed?”

The young man nodded vigorously. “Aye, my lord.”

“Daughter to Lord Corbett?”

“Aye, my lord.”

So ’twas true. Robert could hardly credit the half-naked girl he’d seen as Marshall’s betrothed. Why hadn’t he noticed the ring? Why hadn’t his men?

“Had she been attacked?” Robert smiled at the thought. The marriage might well be invalid.

“The midwife affirmed her virginity. ’Tis said she wore a chastity belt of such strength and cunning ten men could not have removed it. And there is more to tell. Marshall Keep was in an uproar, for only hours after her arrival, Lady Corbett tried to walk back to her father’s stronghold, my lord.”

Robert laughed. “By the saints, did she truly?” Perhaps he need not kill the girl. Mayhap he could find a way to turn the chit against Marshall as he’d done her sister.

The boy nodded again, looking pleased with himself. “But Lord Marshall rode after and brought her back. They held hands and smiled upon one another and even laughed. I saw it with my own eyes. Some say ’tis a love match in the making.”

Burning anger raced through Robert. Did the youth mean to try his patience? “Is that so?” Robert raised a fist to strike the impudence from the boy, but the youth was fast and darted away.

Robert motioned to his men. “Catch him.”

Robert laughed, heartily amused as the young man eluded his men, jumping over fallen benches, running over tabletops, and leaping and slipping in the dirty rushes. The boy received a few blows to his back for his trouble before tripping and getting caught.

A female servant lunged forward. “Please, my lord.” She threw herself to her knees in the dirt and filth, her head bent, exposing greasy hair. “Please, do not hurt Valeric.”

Robert stared at the downbent head for a moment, then remembered the boy was his whelp by the servant girl. She used to be pretty but was now haggard and pinched.

Dissatisfied, he looked about. His keep was dirty, his servants begrimed, and his food lacking.

He had a cheerful moment as he recalled how much he’d enjoyed the food at Marshall’s table and then enjoyed his wife even more. He laughed aloud. Feeling magnanimous toward the crying adolescent, he waved a hand. “Let him go.”

He turned to the woman. “Clean yourself and hie to my bed.” Perhaps he would prove his virility once again this night. Her obvious fear was like an aphrodisiac.

Just so long as Marshall didn’t prove his virility any time soon. If he fathered an heir, Robert would have no chance at talking the king into giving Marshall Keep to him, even were Marshall to die.

This time Robert would put a stop to Marshall’s plans
before
they came to pass. Robert would get another chance at killing the girl.

Or mayhap he should think it through. Impregnating Marshall’s last wife had been such a pleasurable experience. Knowing Marshall’s heir had sprung from his own loins had been heady and exciting. If the child had lived, and been a boy, Robert’s own son would have inherited Marshall Keep. And with Marshall dead, Robert had planned to marry the girl and have it all: the keep, the girl, the heir.

He’d been so happy for awhile.

Too bad the stupid woman had killed herself instead of Marshall.

He considered the new girl. She’d been most attractive. But he could not risk it again. Not with Marshall living there continually. The girl wasn’t worth his own life.

She would needs be killed before the wedding, not after. He only wished he might have realized her identity sooner. He could have taken her and bedded her at his leisure first, enjoyed her to the fullest, and then killed her.

No, it wasn’t too late for vengeance. It would simply take a different twist this time about. This time he would ensure Marshall was without bride, heir, or property.

And, eventually, without life itself.

Gillian woke to a face peering down at her. She jerked backward into soft pillows.
“Aaahhh!”

It was only then she recognized Beatrice, her new maid. The young girl grinned. “Sorry, my lady. I was just checking to see if you were awake yet. Did you sleep well, then?”

Heart pounding, Gillian glanced around, surprised to find herself still in medieval England. “You should know.”

Beatrice giggled. “Lord Marshall insisted you sleep without interruption. He feared you were overtired from your journey and ordeal.”

Two other young girls filled a wooden tub with steaming water near the fireplace.

“Is that for me?” Gillian indicated the tub. A bath sounded wonderful.

“Aye, my lady.”

Gillian tossed off the covers and slid out of bed. She’d been so tired the night before she barely remembered slipping into the voluminous white nightgown. Her feet touched cold stone and she immediately hopped from one foot to the other. “Cold. The floor is cold!”

Beatrice handed her fur-lined slippers and Gillian slid them on. They were a little small, but she was grateful for their warmth as she headed down the hall to quickly use the garderobe, an experience she completed as quickly as possible. When she returned Beatrice hurried forward.

“Ye’ve already missed breakfast, my lady. ‘Twill soon be suppertime. And look! His lordship sent a gift.” She held it out.

Gillian took the beautiful silver comb and studied the pattern of roses and ivy. Touched, she ran a hand over the intricate design and felt herself soften toward the big guy. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had given her a present. Her so-called fiancé certainly hadn’t. He’d been taking her for all he could get. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

Beatrice smiled. “Lord Marshall will be pleased if you wear it this day. He waits below. He paces the hall and is like to wear a path in the stones.”

This set all three girls giggling and Gillian smiling.

He was anxious to see her again? That was certainly flattering. Gillian noticed a beautiful green dress laid on the end of the bed. “All right. If you girls will leave, I’ll take a bath and get dressed.”

“Nay, my lady. We are to assist you.”

And why didn’t that surprise her? “Like you did yesterday? No, thanks. I’m not getting naked until everyone is gone.”

Reluctantly, almost peevishly, as if Gillian were being unfair, the girls left. Gillian checked, but there wasn’t a lock on the door.

Watching the entry, Gillian undressed and, seconds after she sank into the tub, Beatrice glided back into the room.

“I don’t need any help!”

Chin high, Beatrice threw a petulant, reproachful glance. “I will tidy the room.”

“Get out!”

Beatrice acted like she didn’t hear, and, a moment later, the two other girls filed back inside.

Disgusted, Gillian sank down and let her head drop back against the wooden rim. It they came near her, she’d flatten them.

Ignoring her, the girls chattered as they put things away, made the bed, dusted, swept, and straightened the pots and jars lining one table. One girl straightened the logs beside the fire.

Gillian sighed and quickly made use of soap and cloth.

Beatrice brushed out the bottom of the green dress and threw Gillian an arch look. “Everyone is talking about how gallant it was for Lord Kellen to follow and hold your hand last eve. And Lord Kellen has laughed several times this day, already. His mood is much improved since your arrival. The guards over the gatehouse declare to have shown to you the rocks in the distance, and thereby lay claim to the romance.”

“Everyone’s talking about us?” Usually no one cared to notice anything she did, and it felt strange to have a starring role in the castle gossip.

“Aye. Some think to rename the rocks as Lover’s Peak or Rapture Ridge. I myself favor Passion’s Precipice.”

Gillian groaned, then slipped down into the water. She quickly finished washing and was soon ready to get out. If Gillian wasn’t mistaken, the women were now trying to find things to do. Surely the walls didn’t need dusting?

“Have you any tidings from London? With your father a powerful baron, you must have gone there often. Have you news of the king and queen?”

Gillian considered her knowledge of history and drew a blank. She had no idea who they even were. “Um. Well. It’s said they have romantic names.”

Beatrice turned, her brows drawn together. “Henry and Eleanor? Think ye?”

“Of course.” She filed the names away. She wished she did have some juicy bit of gossip to share based on a broad knowledge of history, but didn’t. “Uh. They’re doing fine. The queen’s gowns are as pretty as ever,” she said cautiously.

Beatrice lit up. “Have you details? The queen is said to be very beautiful. Is that true?”

“Sure, and she always wears the latest fashions.” Since the woman was a queen, and considered beautiful, Gillian felt safe making the assertion.

Beatrice, eyes shining, asked, “What is the latest fashion?”

Gillian floundered. She’d drawn people in a couple of her castle paintings, but had pretty much used her imagination rather than done any research on clothing. This was what she got for being lazy. “Puffed sleeves, pointed shoes and feathers?”

The girl squealed. “I had not heard this!”

Gillian cringed. She should have kept her mouth shut. “I’m ready to get out now, if you’ll just go?”

Beatrice rushed forward. “I will help.”

Gillian quickly held the cloth over her chest. “No, I’m fine, really.”

Beatrice clapped her hands and rushed the two other girls out, then came back and held up a large, dry cloth.

“Really, I can do it myself. I insist.”

“’Tis my right and my duty.”

Gillian sighed. She was pretty sure she’d heard that before. Recently. “Fine. But if you try anything, I’ll annihilate you, understand?”

Beatrice giggled. “Aye, my lady.”

She squeezed the moisture from her hair, then from the wash cloth, laying it over the edge. She stood and reached for the drying cloth, but Beatrice backed away until Gillian was out of the tub, completely exposed. Giving Beatrice a dirty look, Gillian snatched the cloth.

Beatrice stared, eyes wide. “Your toes!” she gaped in astonishment.

Gillian wrapped up in the cloth and looked at her toes. “You’ve never seen neon pink toenails before, huh? You didn’t notice them yesterday when you stripped me?”

“My lady. I most sincerely apologize for treating you thus. Lord Marshall had need to know of your purity, and we had to obey.”

“Whatever.” Gillian lifted her chin at the dress. “I like the dress. It’s very whimsical.”

“Let me help you into it.”

It turned out Gillian was actually glad for the assistance. Hoses gartered at the knees, a tight undertunic, and then the gown. She probably wouldn’t have figured it out on her own. To Beatrice’s disgust, Gillian wore her athletic shoes which would have probably spoiled the effect, except they couldn’t be seen.

“Do you miss your family?”

Gillian thought of her parents and brother. “Yes, I do. Very much.”

“I’m sure they will visit often, and that Lord Marshall will take you to see them also.” Beatrice opened the door and clapped her hands. “Bring the ribbons, that her ladyship might choose.”

Gillian stifled a smile. She wasn’t sure she’d get used to the bowing and scraping, but Beatrice was certainly taking to her new role.

Beatrice hustled her onto a stool and Gillian sat as her hair was damp dried, coiled, entwined with green ribbons, and the silver comb inserted.

“So, any idea what I’m supposed to do all day?”

“My lady?” Beatrice continued fussing, cursing the thickness of Gillian’s hair under her breath.

“You know, how do I keep myself occupied. What’s my role?”

“Ah. Your responsibilities? To have children, of course. We are all very excited about the prospect.”

Gillian shivered as she remembered Kellen’s promise to spend a lot of time at that particular occupation. “I meant right now. Today.”

“Ah. Well, of course, you will want to plan the meals, talk to the cooks, make menus, and keep the kitchen accounts. Sewing is a pleasant pastime and Lord Marshall has much material. I imagine he will be most generous with ye. Do you hunt? There are the falcons, of course. And as the weather is warm, perhaps you will plan a field day?”

“A field day?”

“Fun, games and food out of doors.”

“Oh. A picnic.” Gillian chuckled at Beatrice’s hopeful tone.

“Also you are to make sure everyone is working to your satisfaction. You have no ladies to train at present, for they all left when your sister died. But I am sure that will change once your family arrives and news of your marriage spreads. Then there are the spinners and weavers. And, of course, preparations for the wedding.”

Gillian’s head reeled. “Is that all?”

Beatrice giggled. “Of course you will have many hands to help with all. Lord Marshall is quite wealthy, you know, with countless servants. His father has many manors, but Lord Marshall won this keep through his own merits. It was an award from the king for his strength and loyalty.” Beatrice sounded proud.

“And, of course, many fear him and having him thus on the border is a deterrent against the Scots.” Beatrice gave Gillian’s hair one last pat.

“Everyone is aware you brought his lordship a large dowry and is laughing about your claim of ownership over him. Lord Marshall, as well. No one has seen him laugh in a long time.”

The girls’ eyes were shining with mirth. “The men are also excited as your dowry will allow more of them a place of their own.” She looked down shyly. “Which means a chance of marriage for some of the women, as well.”

Gillian was amused. “Thinking of getting married, are you?”

Beatrice shrugged, but she was smiling as she handed Gillian a piece of polished metal and Gillian realized it was supposed to be a mirror. As far as she could tell, she looked presentable. She’d check her compact later.

Beatrice lowered her voice. “All wonder if a betrothal was broken to give you to Lord Marshall?”

A betrothal? Gillian thought about the way that faker Ryan White had fooled her into believing he loved her and wanted to marry her. The way he’d humiliated her and left her self-esteem in the mud. Angry tears formed in her eyes. She’d been a fool, and over such a worthless jerk. She didn’t answer, but only shook her head.

“Oh, my lady. I’m sorry to bring up a sore subject.”

“It’s okay.”

“I vow you will be most happy here. I promise to help sew some new dresses for ye. Lord Marshall sent out men to hunt for the thieves who stole your clothing, but I doubt there is much chance of its return. There are your sister’s clothes, of course, but you are much taller and with more bosom, so they won’t fit well.”

Gillian wiped tears away. “That would be great. I’m not much of a seamstress so I accept the offer.”

“You look very fine today, my lady. Do you wish for supper in your chambers? Or in the solar? Your sister ate thus often, and you could as well, but I know for a surety Lord Marshall is waiting for you to appear below. Or you could send word that you are not coming?”

Gillian, wondering why wife number one had eaten by herself, apparently took too long in answering because Beatrice rushed into speech.

“Father Elliot considers it a sin to eat food in chambers unless you are ill. He declares it a form of gluttony.”

Gillian laughed at the not-so-subtle comment. Actually, she was surprised to realize she couldn’t wait to see Kellen again. She probably ought to be making a list of possible ways to get back home, but right now all she wanted to do was enjoy being here.

Kellen was attractive, attentive, and made her feel feminine—a state Ryan had managed to make her question. And, for now, being the lady of the castle sounded like fun. Why not enjoy the experience while she could?

For all she knew she’d be whisked back as unexpectedly as she’d arrived. If not, she could think about returning in a week or two. For now, she’d just enjoy every minute and consider it her vacation. Albeit a somewhat dangerous one.

Besides, she seemed to be one of the main stars in the local gossip mill, so she’d best show up to provide fodder.

Gillian stood and, feeling very maidenly and beautiful in full medieval garb, headed for the door. “I believe I’ll eat downstairs.”

Beatrice’s squeal made Gillian chuckle and, smiling with anticipation, she went to find her knight.

***

When Edith finally appeared at the top of the stairs, Kellen stopped pacing to wait at the bottom. He wished Edith to settle, and planned to do all he could to ease her way as she accustomed to her new situation.

With a bounce, she reached the last step and smiled at him.

“Hello.”

Kellen tried not to show his surprise at her happy greeting. She’d not curtsied, but Kellen gave a slight bow, regardless. “A good morrow.” Kellen considered the way her green gown brightened the blue of her eyes, the way her coiled hair revealed the length and smoothness of her neck, and the fact that she was more beautiful than he’d remembered.