Chapter Ten

"W here is Lady Jillian?" Garrick demanded of his vassal.

"Lower your voice, mon," MacInness growled.

Taken aback by the order, Garrick was stunned into silence. He watched the warrior shift in his saddle and draw back his plaid. Lady Jillian lay sleeping, safely tucked in his vassal's arms.

"The poor lass is exhausted. If I let her ride, she'd have fallen off her horse."

One look at her and Garrick knew the Scot was right. "My thanks."

Opening his arms, he accepted his new responsibility from the arms of the man who'd sworn fealty to him. Garrick had a feeling his decision to trust MacInness and his group of mercenaries would prove to be the first of many changes that would better their lives at Merewood.

Jillian did not waken, but to Garrick's surprise, she reached up and placed her hand over his heart and left it there. Then the lass did an odd thing, she smiled in her sleep. 'Twas as if the steady beat of his heart comforted her.

Deeply moved, he looked up and noticed the men gathering around him were smiling.

"She's a bonny lass," Patrick offered.

Sean nodded. "And loyal."

Garrick turned to leave.

"She'll work herself into a fever," Kelly warned.

Eamon grunted, "She thinks she's clumsy."

"Aye, men, but she's wrong aboot that," MacInness pointed out.

"She's not ugly," Patrick couldn't keep from saying.

Stunned by the one-sided conversation going on around him Garrick stopped mid-stride. Turning back around, he pinned Patrick with his ice blue gaze and ground out, "Who said my wife is ugly?"

Patrick looked first to his brother Sean, then to their leader. At MacInness's nod, Patrick confessed, "Lady Jillian. She told MacInness."

Turning to face his friend, he added, "You'll have to tell him; he's a right to know what she thought she was confessing to himself." Pointing at Garrick, Patrick shrugged his shoulders, turned and started walking toward the stable.

Garrick could not understand Patrick's seeming lack of respect. Truth be told, none of the men seemed to be paying any attention to the fact that he stood before them, his bride-to-be in his arms, waiting their further explanations for their bizarre comments. His vassal and the men under him should be waiting for Garrick to leave before walking away. They should wait to receive their orders, whether they be from Garrick or MacInness.

Dunstan clapped a hand to his shoulder. "I'll see to their mounts," and grinned, "mayhap your lady would prefer sleeping on a bed." Smiling, he followed behind the escort party, whistling softly.

It was then it hit him. MacInness and his men acted just like his own brothers. Garrick shook his head, they'd be loyal to their last breath. God help him if they disagreed with him, he'd never hear the end of it. A breath away from shouting at the group that they should stand and wait for their orders, he remembered Owen and how he treated his household knights.

He would do well to recall the reasons MacInness and his small contingent of men were now serving their allegiance to him. Sighing, he knew he'd have to try to live with their seeming lack of respect in exchange for their undying loyalty.

Garrick crossed the near-empty bailey and ascended the granite steps of his keep. The echo of his booted heels rang out in the silence as he crossed the massive width of his hall. Making his way up the stairs, he shifted his burden slightly, to accommodate his added width in the narrow hallway. Making his way through the upper level, he stopped before the rough-hewn door to his chamber.

Jillian cried out in her sleep. Acting instinctively, he drew the tip of his finger across her brow and down her cheek. Amazingly, she settled back into oblivion. The woman puzzled him, he decided as he laid her on the soft bedding. A whisper of lavender rose to greet him as he knelt on the edge of it. He would have to thank his mother when she arrived. Her influence remained still.

He thought of the hall below him, though under construction, 'twas sparkling clean. There were herb-filled rushes scattered across the stone floor. With each step, the soft scent of herbs rose up to mingle with the stronger scent of fresh-cut pine from the newly planked walls. He was proud of their progress.

Earlier in the day, the mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked bread had made his stomach rumble with impatience. Their cook, Gertie, was a wonder. Loyal to the bone, she had returned to care for her lady's boys. Flexing his arm, he winced. Aye, care for them she did.

"Garrick, where are you, lad?" Shaking his head, he answered the summons, "In here, Gertie." It would do no good to correct her. At eight and twenty he was no longer a lad, but she was too old and set in her ways to listen. After all, she had helped raise him up from a babe. He supposed he owed it to her perseverance in that regard not to demand she change her ways at this late date.

"Is she still asleep then?" Gertie's brow knit in concern. She reached out to touch the back of her hand to Jillian's forehead. "No fever." Gertie's loud sigh revealed much.

She seemed to fret over her new mistress. Garrick was more than pleased. If Gertie accepted her so easily, then their lives would continue on as before. Wouldn't they?

"Nay. But I will find out why she sleeps like the dead. That brawny Scot has a lot to answer for." Garrick strode out of the room without a backward glance.

Gertie chuckled, "Well, now, you poor thing. How did he come to care for you in such a short time? Old Gert will just have to make sure he continues to feel that way." Smiling to herself, she drew up the extra blanket and tucked it around the tiny woman.

"You're naught but skin and bones," she exclaimed. Shaking her head, she added, "We'll fix that soon enough." One last reassuring touch to Jillian's brow and she quietly closed the door.

*

Garrick stood, hands clenched behind his back. His new vassal stood facing him, mimicking his posture. Dunstan stood to Garrick's left, while Patrick and Sean flanked MacInness on either side with Kelly and Eamon standing directly behind in a show of support.

"I'll have your explanation for Jillian's state of exhaustion now, MacInness."

He wasn't long in responding, "Weel now, the lass is a mite stubborn."

The need to protect his bride unnerved him. "Lady Jillian will be treated with respect from this moment on." When no one spoke he shouted, "Do you understand?"

"Being stubborn is a compliment, ye daft mon." Amber eyes shot fire at his accuser before MacInness added, "Just how do ye define respect, then?"

"This is going to be a good one, eh, Sean?" Patrick whispered, poking his brother in the ribs. They looked at their cousins. Catching the glint of humor in Kelly's eyes, Patrick smiled. All hell was about to break loose.

"You pledged your loyalty before me, I'll have your respect as well," Garrick threatened, reversing his earlier decision in the bailey.

"You'd best tell him what you mean, brother," Dunstan suggested.

"What do you mean, what I mean?"

"Respect," Dunstan said.

"Aye," the burly Scot demanded, "just what do ye mean by that, Merewood?"

Garrick's throat tightened in anger, he had to force the words out, "You'll not question my words or actions again. Do you understand?"

The Highlander shook his head. "Do ye really expect me to follow ye blindly without the benefit of my guidance?" MacInness bellowed.

"Aye, you damned Scot," Garrick shouted in the man's face. "I do."

"'Twill be a cold day in hell when I do. My sword is yours and ye'll have my loyalty and my strength as long as I still breathe," his vassal vowed. "But I canna let ye go into battle blind. If I think ye're daft, mon, ye'll no' wonder long."

Out of the corner of his eye, Garrick saw Patrick grip his sides and realized the man was laughing!

He looked at Dunstan; his own brother could not seem to keep a straight face. His gaze followed Dunstan's and settled behind him on the Irishmen, who looked about to burst.

Anger, raw and hot, had him reaching for the hilt of his sword only to be stayed by his vassal.

"Dinna ye ken that I have given ye the best of me?" MacInness rasped, "I'll no' let anythin' happen to that brave lass ye're to wed. Yer home wilna be safe unless me and mine are watchin' over it." Going down on one knee, MacInness ended his speech with his right hand fisted over his heart. "A mon canna ask for more than the loyalty of those before ye."

Garrick's anger abruptly left him. 'Twas obvious the man would protect Jillian, and their home, to his last breath. How could he continue to argue with that? Was it really all that important that the Scot bow before him, waiting with bated breath for Garrick to utter some inane instructions that were of no consequence other than to let everyone know who was in charge?

Be not so quick to judge. His father's voice admonished from deep inside of him.

"Rise." Garrick touched a hand to MacInness's shoulder. "'Twill be difficult for me, but I value your pledge more than my need to spout authority." Turning around he called out, "Gertie, bring mead. We have need to quench our strong thirst!"

Loud guffaws of laughter rang through his hall as goblets were raised. Garrick smiled; the laughter had been missing far too long.

Seated at the end of the long oak table, he looked benevolently down the length of it. Dunstan sat among the men now loyal to Merewood. He watched as his brother smiled at something that had been said. A jest, no doubt . The knights, who sat drinking deeply of Merewood's fine mead, seemed unable to speak without riling one another with taunts and cryptic remarks.

Intrigued, he watched trying to figure out why. Suddenly he knew the answer: camaraderie . MacInness's men shared what had been lacking since the fall of his family's keep. Searching his brain for a clue as to where it had gone and why it still lacked among his own men, Garrick happened upon a black thought. Mayhap 'twas his leadership .

He poured every ounce of his strength and every waking hour into making the vision of rebuilding his family's fortune and home a reality. How then could that squelch feelings of unity among his men?

His gaze settled on his brother, staring hard into the profile he knew so well. What was it about Dunstan that bothered him of late? His head hurt from trying to piece together just what it was, when out of the blue it hit him between the eyes with the force of a well-swung mace. 'Twas his brother's constant badgering to let the past go, his ceaseless pleas to look to the future, working with what they still possessed—the strength of his proud people combined with the fertile ground upon which generations of his father's people had lived before them—generations that had withstood the onslaught of both Picts and Vikings alike.

Thinking of the proud race from which his mother's people had sprung, he realized war could bring about change that would benefit even a conquered people. Hadn't his father taken a Viking bride after defeating her own father's attempt at laying siege against Merewood Keep? Their equally proud bloodlines had mingled and produced three strong sons. Each different in their own right, but bound together by the unbreakable bonds of brotherhood.

Offering up a silent prayer that Roderick would be successful on his journey, he broached the subject that had been weighing heavily upon him since the arrival of his bride-to-be.

He waited until there was a lull in the conversation and asked, "Why is Jillian nigh unto illness with exhaustion?"

MacInness stayed his hand, tankard halfway to his lips as he grinned. "Weel now, didna I tell ye she was a mite stubborn?"

Laughter rang out loud among the men seated drinking deeply of Merewood's smooth heady brew.

"You mentioned it." Garrick's teeth ached from clenching them together in an effort to restrain his anger. It would not be easy to let go of the tight hold he had over the keep and its fighting force. But he needed MacInness and his men, therefore he had to try to understand them.

MacInness finally took pity on him and answered, "She left the hall after the evening meal each night."

"We followed her to her room and stood watch at her door all night, every night," Patrick said.

"How were we to know, she slipped out of her window onto the vines and climbed back down?" Sean demanded.

"To finish Sara's tasks," Eamon added.

"Sara's?" Garrick asked.

"Yer lady chanced to overhear Owen threaten Sara with a beating if she didna finish her day's tasks. Lady Jillian couldna stand for anyone to suffer as she had."

Their gazes met and held, and MacInness continued, "I'm sorry we didna know what she was up to. We wouldna let her work herself to the bone like that, ye ken?"

Garrick reached across the table and grasped MacInness's hand. "I understand. Thank you."

And perhaps he did for the first time. He too had worked himself to the point where he nearly dropped in his tracks. He would do anything for his family and his people. Anything.

No further words were needed. Garrick had accepted MacInness as his equal before his brother and MacInness's men. Change had come to Merewood, and with it the lessening of Garrick's heavy burden of responsibility carried too long alone.

'Twas past time to bring their mother home to stay. Confident she would be safe, he made his decision. Should her sons be unable to, MacInness and his men would guard his mother with their lives.