Chapter Eleven

D ozens of hoof beats, accompanied by an equal number of voices, roused Jillian from a deep sleep. Heat poured off her in waves. Stretching, she groaned, aching from head to toe. Forcing herself to rise, she walked to the window and looked down upon the chaotic scene unfolding in the inner bailey.

Though nearly dark, the party from Sedgeworth Keep had only just arrived. The chatter of excited female voices drifted upward on the evening breeze. Snatches of conversation danced on the wind just out of reach. For once, Lady Haldana wasn't complaining. Yet. Five of her guardian's most trusted men stood helping Owen's daughters dismount. In a flurry of softly colored wool and snow-white linen, they were set on their feet. Jillian sighed wistfully at the sight of such beauty side by side.

The eldest, Maralyne, was just one year older than her. At eight and ten, she had developed into a beautiful young woman. Her alabaster skin, unmarked by freckles, or bruises, was the young woman's best feature. Next to her stood her younger sister, Maryon, another with perfect skin and hair the color of flax. The twins, Meredyth and Melanye, were identical down to the flecks of gold in their sky-blue eyes.

Last, but certainly not least, stood Madelyne, Jillian's one friend among them. Though only five and ten, she had all of the grace her oldest sister had tried to acquire these three years past, though Madelyne's was natural.

Awed by the sight of them standing shoulder to shoulder, 'twas difficult to imagine how any man could pass by such quiet beauty and not be affected by it. Why then hadn't Roderick offered for one of them? And what of the score of wealthy and powerful men who visited Sedgeworth in the last few years? Why hadn't one of them taken one of the sisters to wife?

Had Sara been right? Was Jillian the reason for this oversight of such grace and beauty? She shook her head. 'Twas just not possible. Who would turn away from such beauty in favor of a mean servant such as herself? Garrick had .

But why? her conscience asked.

His honor , her heart answered. You saved his brother .

Roderick told you his oldest brother was honorable above all else. But was it just honor?

Duty, her heart cried out. What cold companions would they be in their marriage bed? Jillian could only help but wonder.

Tearing her eyes from Owen's daughters and the knights fawning about them, she counted twenty more knights. Owen had departed from his home well protected. Scanning the scene once more, she realized Owen had obviously given in to his daughters and allowed each of them to bring a trunk. Given the size of their trunks, that meant five additional packhorses to stable and feed.

Jillian shifted and groaned. There was no hope for it, time to go below and help smooth the arrival of her guardian's family. She refused to let the burden of their sheer number rest solely upon her intended.

Her legs trembled as she descended to the hall below. Slowing her pace, Jillian controlled most of the shaking, hoping no one would take note of it.

Standing in the doorway to the hall, hand to her throat and heart in her eyes, Jillian stared at the tall warrior placing a log on the fire. Garrick stiffened only once before laying the wood in place. 'Twas the only indication his sword arm still pained him.

While he stood watching the brazier, she remembered what Winslow had told her about that night. He hadn't wanted to tell her about the ambush, she'd had to pry it from his lips.

She smiled remembering his reaction to her threat that she'd tell Maryon how he secretly pined for her if he didn't tell what happened that night. The man had actually shuddered and gone pale. Strange, she hadn't believed Sara when Sara had told her of Winslow's dislike of Owen's second oldest; Jillian thought Maryon was so pretty.

Poor Winslow took her at her word and told her of the treachery abounding that moonlit night a fortnight past.

She stared across the wide expanse of the hall, her thoughts jumbled with past conversations. A sharp bark of laughter brought her sharply back to the present in time to see Garrick's tunic stretch taut across the massive muscles of his back. The sudden urge to knead those knotted muscles to ease the tension caught her by surprise.

She had never thought of touching a man before. Why did Garrick have such a strong effect on her? Would it always be so?

Garrick looked up and caught her staring at him. "Lady Jillian." Crossing the room in swift strides, he took her by the arm, leading her to a chair by the open fire pit he'd been tending at the opposite end of the room from where the men sat at the table drinking.

He bent close to her and asked, "Are you well?"

"Aye," she managed, wondering if his concern was false.

Not wanting to attract undue attention, she placed her hands in her lap, hoping he wouldn't notice how they trembled. But by now her entire body was weak with fatigue and the room had grown sharply colder, even though she sat next to the blazing fire.

She watched him take note of her trembling. Hoping to distract him, she asked, "Owen has arrived. Have you not gone to greet him?"

"I let Dunstan act as host, 'tis fitting is it not?" The dimple in his cheek deepened as grinned. "Do you think Owen will feel slighted?"

"Aye, milord."

"Garrick," he corrected.

"Aye, Garrick, but what of the horses? Have you enough grain to feed them?" When he continued to stare at her, she blurted out, "Would you like me to draw water? I would like to help."

"Jillian dear, how are you?" Owen had come up behind them and now watched her expectantly. A shiver wracked her body and he smiled. She did not trust the man.

"Fine. I have been well received in my new home, as will you be." Turning to speak once more to Garrick, Jillian ignored the cold sinking into her limbs.

"Jillian?" Madelyne's voice came from far away. Before she could answer, the room blurred before her eyes. Shaking her head, refusing to give in to the fever burning from within her, she prayed her vision would clear.

Garrick reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You are not well."

"'Tis but a chill, the room has gone cold."

Garrick slid his hand down to her elbow, helping her up out of the chair. "Let me help you upstairs."

Jillian looked up, confusion warring within her. Used to being abused, she didn't know how to react to kindness. "I can walk."

When she swayed, Garrick bit out, "'Tis clear you cannot." He looked over his shoulder and called out, "Gertie."

The room fell quiet as the woman rushed to his side.

"I was expecting this," she said touching a hand to Jillian's forehead. "'Tis naught but a chill, she'll be good as new in a day or so. You leave everything to Old Gert."

In danger of falling over, Jillian grabbed a hold of Garrick to steady herself. He surprised her by sweeping her into his arms and carrying her from the hall. She felt the muscles in his wounded arm contract, enabling him to accept her weight without an outward sign of weakness. But her fear of what would happen once they were away from prying eyes was greater than her concern for his comfort.

"I'm not ill," Jillian explained as he walked. "Just tired. Can you not see that?"

*

Garrick ignored her continued protests, listening instead to Gertie as they ascended the stairs. He placed Jillian once more in his bed. Standing back to allow Gertie room to minister to his lady, he was struck by the overwhelming feeling of rightness. She belongs here, in my bed.

They would do well together. After all, no sacrifice was too great for his family. Sacrifice? It would be no sacrifice at all to take Jillian to wife and have her warm his bed.

A small voice beckoned him from within. But what if she hadn't helped to free Roderick? What if her family holding were not part of the bargain? Would you still take her to wife?

His guilt-ridden soul cried out to be freed of its burden.

Shaking his head, he told the still small voice inside him, nay. He would marry only to help his family. If there was no gain, it mattered not how much he cared for Jillian; he would not marry her.

If Jillian could not help him, he would have to ignore the feelings of longing burning within him. Every time those cinnamon brown eyes held his gaze, heat seared him, lighting a fire that threatened to blaze out of control. Awed, he realized he'd never felt anything like this before.

A shake of his head cleared it. Thank God he would never have to worry about setting Jillian aside. Because of her bravery, his brother was alive… free. They had but to petition King William for her family holding and it would be theirs. Hadn't Owen assured him it would be so? His family's fortunes would soon be solidified and their land annexed to Jillian's fertile holding, Loughmoe Keep.

Their livestock would breed, their crops multiply, and Merewood's people would again prosper. Construction on the keep would be complete by winter, but he'd changed his mind not to wait until then to send for their mother. It was time. Lady Eyreka would return, bringing her own special brand of unconditional love to surround and support her sons.

Half my debt is nearly paid.

Looking down at the fragile young woman who now lay in a deep sleep, his concern deepened. "Is there naught you can do?"

"'Tis but a fever. I must fetch my basket of healing herbs. Just keep a cool cloth to her brow. Aye, like this." Taking his other hand, the older woman gave him the bowl of now tepid water and a soft cloth.

"Dip the cloth like this in the water. Wring out most of the water, but not all," she instructed him. "That's right. Now gently bathe her face and neck until the cloth is warm to the touch."

Frustrated at Gertie's assumption that he lacked the skills to tend to his lady, he barked out, "I know what to do."

She took his gruff comment in stride. "I'll be back soon. 'Tis your job to keep her cool."

Garrick grimaced, "Aye." His fingertip grazed the gentle curve of her eyebrow; 'twas soft as a feather. Gliding the cloth across her forehead again, he checked the cloth for heat. It felt dry—hot. A touch of his fingertip to her cheek had her groaning aloud. He drew his hand back; it burned like a hot coal!

He dipped the cloth in the water again, his worry growing as she began to move her head from side-to-side on the pillow, trying to avoid the cold cloth.

Did she wrestle with her own demons?

He would have to find out. Garrick continued to stroke her face and neck with the damp cloth, slowly easing the heat from her. By the time Gertie returned, Jillian had stopped thrashing about and lay very still.

"How is she?" Gertie laid her basket on the table next to Garrick's bed.

"She's stopped fighting me," Garrick grimaced.

"Aye, that is a good sign." Smiling down at him she added, "Your mother will be pleased to learn you have grown into such a caring man. One not too proud or busy to care for the sick."

Nodding toward the door, she said, "We've shown Lord Owen and his family to their chamber. They may not be too happy having to share, but 'tis necessary. Dunstan is settling the men-at-arms in the lower level." Gertie bustled about the room. "What a crowd they make. I'll need a hand caring for Jillian if I am to feed them."

Garrick turned back around. "Find someone else," he said. "I must speak to Owen."

"Send your vassal up," Gert said. "I'm sure he can handle the task."

Garrick glared at the woman.

"Scottish women are fierce in their defense of their men." Gertie paused breaking into a broad smile., "Well 'tis only right, their menfolk treat them as equals. But I'm certain 'tis the rumor I heard just last month from my brother's wife, Mary Kate, she's Scots you know. Well, to hear Mary Kate tell it, the rugged men from the Highlands are the very devil in bed."

"Enough!" Garrick bellowed. "You'll have me addle-brained for sure if you continue squawking on about the mating habits of your kin." Hands fisted on his hips, Garrick glared down at his housekeeper.

She had the temerity to smile.

"Fine, you win old woman. I'll send MacInness up. See that he understands how to care for my wife."

Gertie burst out laughing. "Oh lad, you're not married yet. She's not even your bride."

In the quiet that followed, Jillian spoke softly, "Is he gone then?"

Gertie looked down at the flushed woman. "You're awake?" Her brow wrinkled when she asked, "Why did you let him think you were out of your mind with fever? 'Tis a cruel game you play."

"'Tis no game." Jillian's face lost all expression. "I had the fever once, three winters past." She turned haunted eyes toward the older woman. "The mistress did not think me truly ill. She took a switch to me. Only when I fell unconscious with the complications of the fever and the whipping did she let me lie abed."

"But lass, Garrick would not beat you. He's never raised a hand to any of the servants here. His mother would have his head on a pike had he or his sire dared to strike a woman." Gertie's gaze searched Jillian's. "What is truly the matter? You can tell me."

"I am afraid."

"Of Garrick?" Gert sounded incredulous.

Jillian nodded. "He was so angry when he carried me out of the hall. I thought I had pushed him too far. I did not know what he would do."

Gert gathered the slender woman close to her ample bosom and stroked her hair. "There now, you did not know the master is a man of honor. How could you after spending three years in purgatory?"

When Jillian stiffened, Gert continued, "Rumors of the Lord of Sedgeworth's temper have even reached us here. He has no honor. You'll come to trust the master in time, you'll see."

The tension left Jillian as Gert's strong hands massaged her neck and shoulders. When sleep came, she welcomed it.

*

MacInness looked up as Garrick entered the room. The bond that had started forming after their argument held. Garrick knew the moment MacInness understood, without words, that something was amiss. The warrior crossed the room and met him at the base of the staircase.

"What's wrong?" MacInness asked. "It isna yer lady is it?"

"'Tis the fever. Gertie is taking care of her now, but I need to settle some unfinished business with Owen, and I need someone to care for Jillian while Gertie prepares our meal." Garrick gave him a bleak look.

"So ye thought of me?"

Shrugging, Garrick answered, "We have no other servants here yet." Taking a deep breath, he continued, "For some reason, Gertie suggested you. You'll have to ask her why."

I'll be damned if I'll tell him , Garrick thought to himself.

Something flickered in MacInness's eyes. "Just tell me what to do. I'll care for the lass."

Somehow, this time, MacInness's familiar way of speaking of Jillian soothed Garrick. He knew the man could be trusted to care for her as if she were his own wife.

"Wife," he muttered aloud.

"What's that?"

"Nothing." Garrick promised himself to look into the matter of a wife for the Scot—soon.

*

"Ye'll be all right, lass." MacInness wiped the heat from Jillian's brow again, patiently wringing out the cloth and moving on to her flushed cheeks, he repeated the motions. He had watched his mother caring for the sick of their clan, time and again. She had been a great healer; mayhap he carried the skill.

The cool soothing strokes roused Jillian from her deep sleep. Half awake, she muttered, "Mother?"

Startled, he wondered how to answer her. Bending close he whispered, "Nay, lass, 'tis yer guardian angel. Now close yer eyes and sleep."

The closing of the door startled him. He had been concentrating on the task at hand and hadn't heard it open.

Turning around, he glared at the man standing there.

Aaron stood in the doorway. "What do ye want?" MacInness glared at the coward Jillian had run from in terror a fortnight ago.

"Lord Owen sent me to check up on his ward. I'm certain he'll be pleased to learn that you have come to care so deeply for her. I think I'll just mention how tenderly you are ministering to her every need."

The way Aaron stressed the word every made MacInness's gut roil; he knew what the man implied.

Furious, he stood up. "You'll no' repeat any such thing ye wee vermin."

In the face of the Scot's anger, the smaller man backed away until he was pinned up against the door. His hand reached to push it open, but he didn't have the speed of the enraged Scot.

MacInness wrapped his hands around the man's throat and lifted him up off of his feet. "Ye'll tell yer master I have been tendin' to Lady Jillian. She has the fever."

Shaking his head, the man agreed.

"Ye'll no' tell him anythin' more. Understand?" When he did not answer, MacInness squeezed the man's throat.

"Aye," Aaron rasped out.

Satisfied, MacInness loosened his grip and watched the man crumble to the floor in a heap. He returned to his vigil at Jillian's bedside. A loud groan and closing of the chamber door told him that the man had gone, and Owen would hear what MacInness wanted him to.

"Garrick?" Jillian called out weakly.

"Soon lass, yer mon will be here soon. Rest now, there's a brave lassie." MacInness heard the door opening this time. Not bothering to turn around he spoke.

"No' again. Didna I tell ye what to tell yer lord? Do I have to throttle the life out of ye before ye listen?"

"I'm quite sure I understand your meaning. Especially the part where you wish to strangle me."

"Garrick." MacInness spun around, the wet cloth still dripping as he clenched it in the hand fisted at his side.

"I thought you were Aaron come back to…"

"What?" Garrick's voice was deadly soft.

"Yer lady called out for her mother. I leaned close and told her…"

"Go on," Garrick urged.

MacInness flushed to the roots of his bright auburn hair. Each and every freckle stood out against the color. "Well, I… That is…"

"Just what did you tell my wife?" Garrick bit the words out while a new and unfamiliar emotion ripped through him.

"Haven't I told you, lad? She's not your wife yet." Gertie rushed in through the open door and pushed the men aside to get to her newest charge. "Your meal awaits you below stairs. Do go away, your loud voices are disturbing milady."

Thus dismissed, the warriors glared first at one another and then at the formidable woman tending to their lady. Shrugging, Garrick advised, "We may as well listen. She never backs down unless she is willing."

"Sounds like my own dear mother," MacInness added smiling.

"Now there's a brave woman," Gertie chuckled.

MacInness turned around, a comeback on the tip of his tongue, but Gertie cut him off. "Go on with you. Supper's getting cold."

Closing the door, Garrick stood blocking the way. "Well?"

"Let it go mon, 'Twas nothin'."

"Well then, it wouldn't hurt to repeat what you told her, would it?" The unwanted emotion still clawed at him while he awaited the Scotsman's answer. For some reason, the thought of anyone near his bride-to-be filled him with rage. A stranger to jealousy, he did not take it well.

"Ye're verra determined. If ye must know, I told her 'twas her guardian angel and for her to go to sleep."

Garrick had not expected such a sentimental reply from the battle-hardened warrior. He was stunned. It was something his mother would have said to soothe the worry away. The poor thing didn't have a mother; somehow Garrick sensed her need for the comfort his vassal's words would no doubt have given her.

Taking a deep breath, he inclined his head. "Let's not keep our guests waiting." Slapping the tall Scot on his back, he led the way down to supper.