Chapter Twelve

T wo full days passed before Jillian was allowed to rise from her sickbed. Dunstan and MacInness kept the guests busy enough to prevent any disagreements from breaking out, while Gertie kept anyone from entering Garrick's room where Jillian rested.

She had just pulled the chainse over her head when she heard a woman's voice call out. "Garrick!"

Jillian had to see what new female called to her betrothed. She stood on tiptoe and peered out of the window. A beautiful woman sat atop a magnificent steed.

Swallowing her gasp of shock, Jillian stared down at the sight. Garrick strode down the keep's stone steps and across the bailey. He lifted the woman down off her horse, swinging her around. "Mother, I can't believe you're really here."

Mother? Jillian mouthed the words before sinking to her knees, her hands covering her gasp of surprise. The voices still carried in through the open window, but she no longer listened. Shocked to the core at what had just happened, she tried to reason why she had reacted so strongly to the sight of another woman in Garrick's arms.

She was jealous!

Shaking her head, she said, "In order to be jealous, I would have to have strong feelings for him. I don't, do I?" Sighing, she realized it would be a falsehood to say that she did not care. She had fallen for Garrick of Merewood like a catapulted rock. That first glimpse of him weeks ago had turned her head and lightened her heart. Her life had not been the same since that day.

Pain filled her at the thought of their bargain. "He loves me not. 'Tis his code of honor and duty he'll satisfy by taking me to wife." My land is what he's after. I'd do well to remember where I stand in his life.

Checking her appearance, Jillian smoothed her hand down one sleeve of her cream colored bliaut, frowning at the frayed edge. Looking down, she ran both hands from her waist down over her hips, trying to smooth it into place. There was no help for it, the fabric was worn, but at least the garments were clean.

The entire time she lived at Sedgeworth, Owen had not seen fit to have any garments made for her. Mayhap Garrick would not see the need either.

Her shoulders slumped and for a brief moment, she indulged in a bout of self-pity. Then, with an inner strength that would have pleased her mother, Jillian pushed her worries aside and readied herself to meet Garrick's mother. She quickly finger-combed her hair, braided it, and tied it back with a leather thong.

The water in the pitcher next to the bed was still warm, she poured it into the ceramic basin. Reaching for the fine linen cloth lying next to it, she carefully picked it up and marveled at its softness. Such luxuries had not been hers, since before she had lost her home. For a brief moment she reveled in the feeling that she was being treated as the lady of the keep.

Mayhap he will come to care for me . Jillian silently prayed that he would. Without Garrick, she could not hope to regain her family home. She needed a man with enough intellect to sway their king, but he also had to convince their ruler he could rebuild Loughmoe Keep to what it once was, a fertile holding which collected high revenues.

Garrick was a strong warrior. He would defend the land to his last breath, to his last drop of blood. Of that Jillian was certain. Surely, the improvements he had made at his own keep would be enough to convince King William.

But her feelings toward Garrick must be set aside, otherwise they would distract her from her goal. She owed it to her parents' loving memory to regain all they had lost.

A single tear of frustration spilled over her bottom lash and followed the curve of her cheek. The land meant everything to her father. He died defending it at the bloody battle of Hastings, leaving her poor mother to defend their keep with but a handful of knights. When the Normans came, they had no choice but to flee. To stay would have meant certain death. They would have died in the forest had the Lord of Sedgeworth not taken them in.

Thinking back over all that had happened to her in the years since that time, and what she had recently learned, she wondered if they should have taken their chances in the forest. The agony of her parents' deaths remained fresh. Their memories were all she had left. Mayhap with her husband's help, she would regain a piece of her parents' legacy.

"Father always said the best memories were carried in your heart, but once we regain Loughmoe, I'll have more than memories."

The soft tapping at her door brought her out of her depression. "One moment," she called out.

The swishing of skirts outside her door made her pause in fear. Heaven help her; do not let it be Garrick's mother. Jillian's gaze swept the room, taking in her choice of clothing. Neither gown was fine enough to receive such a lady in her home. 'Tis not my home, yet .

Running a hand over her hair, checking the braid, she shook out her skirts, braced herself, and opened the door.

"Lady Jillian?"

The woman who stood before her was beautiful. Her white-blonde hair was braided and wrapped around her head. She wore a chainse of the palest blue wool, a fine white bliaut underneath. A golden girdle accentuated her slender waist. But it was the woman's clear blue eyes that held her entranced. She was struck by the realization that Garrick had his mother's eyes.

"Aye," she replied.

"Thank Odin, and the good Lord." The woman grabbed her close and hugged her. "We have so much to talk about. Garrick can be rather closemouthed about his feelings. Have you two had a chance to get to know one another yet? Have you decided where to plant the herb gardens? What about children?"

Jillian's mouth hung open at the barrage of questions that were rapidly fired in her general direction. She didn't even attempt to answer any of them. She merely waited for the woman to slow down long enough to get a word in edgewise. Waiting like a hawk ready to pounce on unsuspecting prey, she saw her chance when the woman paused to draw a breath.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't hear you mention your name," she added politely.

"Oh, my dear, my name is Eyreka, Lady Eyreka to most. But my closest friends call me Reka."

Jillian smiled at the warmth in the older woman's manner. She hadn't felt so welcomed in a long, long time, and she needed a friend desperately.

Lady Eyreka's gaze never left Jillian's face; she flinched under the close scrutiny. Thinking the woman would make a comment about her state of dress, she was not prepared for the woman's next statement.

"If you promise not to let my son know where you heard it, I'll tell you my pet name for him when he was but a boy."

She watched Lady Eyreka pause and smile. "Ricky. I used to call my son Ricky. Of course, as he grew to be such a large man, early on, it became apparent that he no longer wished to be known by that name. Still, sometimes…" Her smile told of happy memories.

Jillian wondered what had happened to Garrick's father. Why had their mother, who obviously loved her sons, left them to fend for themselves without someone to run their household? Nay, that was not quite true, she had met Gertie and liked the housekeeper very much. There had to be more to the story. She was certain of it.

"Lady Eyreka," she began.

"Reka, please," Garrick's mother offered.

"Reka, how is Garrick this morning? I'm ashamed to admit that I have not been up these two days past, otherwise, I would have been there to greet you when you arrived. Is he well? How are Dunstan and Winslow? Is Roderick back yet?" Jillian found that she too had the ability to fire questions without coming up for air.

*

The lilting laughter filtering out of the open door beckoned to Garrick and his shadow, MacInness, who now stood waiting impatiently for one of the women to take note of their presence.

Crossing the threshold, Garrick took Jillian's hands in his own. "Jillian, you are well?" His gaze raked her from head to toe. Finding nothing amiss, he turned to MacInness. "She's fit."

"Of course I am," Jillian grumbled, not caring to admit just how ill she had been, or how difficult she had been while fighting the fever.

At his mother's look, he explained, "She's had the fever for the last two days. Without the help of my vassal, MacInness, I never would have been able to care for her while overseeing the preparations for our vow taking."

"'Tis a pleasure to meet ye, Lady Eyreka." The Highlander bowed low over the lady's hand. Looking up he smiled across the top of her head to where Jillian stood.

"Ye look fit, lass, are ye up to this?" He could not keep the anxiety out of his voice.

"I'll be fine, thank you, Winslow. Mayhap I ought to see just what is left to be done for the feast."

"Let me lend a hand, Jillian. 'Twould not be wise to overdo your first day up." Taking the younger woman by the arm, the two descended toward the hall where frantic voices had almost reached a crescendo.

"That will be my guardian, Lady Haldana. She doesn't deal well with servants. You will try to understand," Jillian pleaded, "won't you?"

"Of course, my dear. Lead the way, there is much to be done."

When Jillian turned back to ask Garrick a question, she caught the odd look on both men's faces. She wondered just what had been going on while she lay abed. The tone of the raised voices had turned to anger. She rushed out of the chamber toward them.

"'Tis a blessin' that yer mother arrived when she did. Owen's lady is enough to drive a saint to an early grave," MacInness said.

Garrick nodded. "My mother will see to it that all will be in the ready. Have you spoken to Madelyne about the gown yet?"

"Aye, she was hoppin' on one foot in her excitement, claimin' to own just the thing. 'Tis a fine thing at least one of Owen's daughters treats her well. Why don't ye want Lady Jillian to know aboot it?"

"I have seen what little she brought with her. Her clothes are old and frayed." He clenched his jaw to contain his growing agitation. "I did not know how to broach the subject. 'Tis a woman's task. Haldana should have seen to it."

MacInness agreed, "Aye, mon. Owen's witch of a wife all but dressed her in cast-offs, hoping to discourage any suitors from looking beyond the rags she ofttimes wore."

He watched the two women disappear from view. "Her spirit is just as bright and pure as the day she arrived half-carryin' her poor mother across the stone steps of the hall." The Scot's amber eyes narrowed as if he pictured the scene in his mind.

"The rain had been coming down for three days, when the master arrived home with two wet and muddied waifs. We all thought they were to be servants. What a scene Haldana made when the lass lifted her face and dared to tell the woman not to lay a hand on her mother. She asked for no help caring for her mother, though 'twas clear to all the poor woman was dying. The lass had courage even then at four and ten."

Clearing his throat, MacInness walked down the stairs to the suddenly quiet scene below, Garrick hard at his heels.

*

"What do you mean, I've been relieved of my obligations to this dear young woman?" Haldana demanded.

"You must be exhausted from your journey and should be resting," Eyreka said.

Jillian stifled the urge to smile. Lady Eyreka had just arrived and had not stopped to refresh herself. She wanted to press the woman to at least change out of her dusty clothing, but knew that regaining control of the hall was more urgent. It was more important to soothe the ruffled feathers of Jillian's guardian in order to get her above stairs and out of the hall.

"I am quite fatigued," Haldana admitted.

"Well then, Garrick, be a dear and show Lady Haldana to her chamber." Lady Eyreka shepherded Jillian out the side door, leaving her son to do as she suggested.

With MacInness's help, the hall was emptied of females in short order, leaving a blessed silence that the men appreciated.

"I'd never thought that old harpy would leave," Patrick groaned.

"Wouldn't take a hint she was not wanted," Sean told them.

"'Twas obvious your housekeeper fairly itched to take a gag and wrap it around the woman's evil-tongued mouth," Kelly added, as Garrick returned.

"Too bad Gertie didn't let us have any fun. 'Twas certain sure that the witch would not have remained had she known what we…"

"Eamon," MacInness warned.

"Well, it worked before…"

"Dinna even start." MacInness gave him a look that brooked no arguments.

"She screeched loud enough about needing to be alone to rest. I thought she would enjoy a few hours alone below stairs, 'tis just like a tomb."

"Eamon," his brother Kelly warned.

"Well, if I wasn't afraid she'd wake the dead…"

"Aneuch," MacInness bellowed.

"Oh, aye, you damned Scot. Have it your way, but I still say 'twould have been far better to have her locked below stairs bound and gagged."

Kelly knocked his brother off his feet to silence him before their leader had a chance to cuff the man with the back of his hand.

Shaking his head, Garrick sighed. The peaceful existence he had been hoping for did not appear to lie around the corner just yet.

"Garrick," Dunstan called out as he joined the men in the hall. "Mother asked if we had any heather."

"Heather?"

"Aye, white heather. She mentioned something about it being good luck and needing it for a wreath."

"Ah, for my bride." A gleam of anticipation lit his face. His bride. The thought warmed him.

"Take Patrick or Sean to the south meadow. There should still be some blooming."

"'Tis funny, Mother swore you would know where it grew." Dunstan stopped in his tracks. "Why is that?"

"Father used to have me go and pick some to surprise her." Garrick smiled. "I used to lay it on her pillow on my way to bed, and swear the next day I did not know how it got there."

Reliving the memory, Garrick unknowingly showed a part of himself he thought buried long ago.

"He loved her," Dunstan said quietly.

"Aye, that he did."

"Mother would want no less for each of us, brother."

Garrick shook his head. "Let it go. I have chosen the path to my future." Drawing within himself to hide the hurt, Garrick left the hall in search of the missing cleric.