Chapter Thirteen

"'T is the most beautiful gown I've ever seen." Jillian's voice lowered to just above a whisper as her fingertips caressed the soft wool of the deep-green chainse she wore. Only a touch to reassure herself that it wasn't a dream anymore, and she feared to snag the lovely cloth with her rough hands.

"You are beautiful," Madelyne sighed, fastening the braided green and gold ribbons of the belt into a loose knot at Jillian's waist, leaving the streamers to hang down the front.

"Lord Garrick will be pleased to look upon so fair a maid. He is fortunate to take you to wife," she added.

Jillian's throat closed. Wife. Her mind rebelled, thinking of her new lord and master. Then she reasoned it was simply part of their bargain. Digging deep for courage, she added, "I hope to please him."

"You'll blind him with your beauty," Gertie's voice rang out across the room. She stood in the doorway, a simple wreath of white heather in her hands. Holding it out, she said, "Lady Eyreka made this for you. 'Tis a symbol of love."

Madelyne placed the wreath on Jillian's head and stepped back.

"Perfect. You look like an angel."

"Nay," Gertie smiled. "She looks like the queen of the faeries."

Jillian bowed her head to hide her flaming cheeks. Her hair slid around her shoulders, enveloping her. She grabbed a strand and stared at it. It did not hold the beauty of Owen's daughters' flaxen tresses. Her color was bold. Though it forever set her apart from the other Saxon women, she treasured it for what it truly was, a gift from her Scots mother and her grandmother before her.

Jillian smoothed her gown one last time. "Is the green all right, then?" she asked hesitantly.

Gertie smiled at her while a deep voice called from the open doorway, "The green gives you color. It adds peaches to the cream of your face and throat."

Jillian blushed at Winslow's appraising look. To cover her nervousness, she attempted a teasing reply, "I hope you fixed enough food, Gertie, Winslow sounds hungry to me."

"Are ye ready then, Jillie lass?" the tall Scot asked softly.

Jillian stood rooted to the floor, the past crushing in around her. Breathing was difficult. Finally, she managed to drag the badly needed air into her burning lungs. He couldn't know. Winslow would have no way of knowing Father's pet name for me. She hadn't even told Lady Eyreka, though her heart longed to share it.

Her hands shook, and it took all of her will to control their trembling as she reached for the amber charm. When her fingers touched the cool stone, she calmed instantly.

The necklace had been a gift from her mother. Before that it had belonged to her grandmother, and so on, back for generations too far to recall. The oval piece of amber had a Celtic cross carved on one side and runes on the other. 'Twas rumored to hold magic. The runes inscribed read:

(Mannaz) (Algiz) (Tiwaz) (Gebo) (Laguz)

Part of the magic was due to the ancient promise that whoever possessed the amulet Mannaz , would be protected Algiz by both the gods and a great warrior Tiwaz , they would form a partnership Gebo and their union would flow, be fertile Laguz.

Jillian held on to the amulet now, hoping that Garrick would be her warrior and that the ancient gods, who had forged the amulet would bless their union with fertility.

"'Tis time." Madelyne led her down the stairs to where her future was about to unfold.

*

"She's one of them," Patrick whispered, crossing himself.

Sean paled. "Aye, 'tis certain she's too beautiful to be one of us."

"One of who?" Garrick asked, distracted by the fey creature slowly making her way across the broad expanse of his hall.

"The Tuatha de Daanan : children of the goddess, faeries," Eamon answered for his cousins, who were now speechless in the face of such beauty and purity of spirit.

"A wood sprite mayhap, her coloring mirrors those of the forest." Shaking his head at such fanciful thoughts, Garrick added, "I've held her in my arms, she's a flesh and blood woman. Make no mistake of that."

"Aye," agreed MacInness. "She is that."

The green goddess of jealousy reared her ugly head at the Scot's ready agreement. With tremendous effort, Garrick concentrated on schooling his features to show an outward calm. No one would guess the extent of his inner turmoil, and the way his gut roiled, at the thought of anyone other than himself touching the maid before him.

Sensual visions of the coming night, Jillian with her fiery waves spread upon the linen of his bed, had taken over his brain, bringing it to a fevered pitch. He had to regain control. 'Twas either that or excuse himself to dunk his head in a bucket of ice-cold well water.

Looking at her now, he berated himself; it would not do to feel too strongly about the woman he had to wed. After all, theirs was a marriage arranged for freedom, Jillian's, and a dowry not of gold, but honor, his. She loved him not; she only needed him to help her escape from her hard life and to fulfill her dream of regaining her family home. They had yet to speak of duty and expectations. Such talk would come tonight in the privacy of his chamber over a goblet of warm scented wine.

The gleam in Garrick's eye had little to do with thoughts of duty. It had more to do with the beautiful woman who had reached his side and laid a hand on his forearm.

"Garrick?"

Her trembling sent a surge of protectiveness rushing through his blood. "'Twill be over soon." Hoping to reassure his bride, he covered her hand with his. The tremulous smile of thanks lighting her face was more than worth the effort it cost him to appear unaffected by her presence.

Garrick's brothers stood behind him, ready to make formal declaration of his worldly goods and assets. Saddened with the notion that his lady had no blood relatives to do so for her, he still glimpsed behind his bride-to-be, knowing one of his vassals would speak for her. He was surprised at the sight of MacInness and his men standing behind Jillian as her family.

A final glance about the room satisfied him that all was in readiness. Owen's cleric had come to act as one of the witnesses and to record the marriage contract. Grimly, he realized that the more witnesses, the better. He would have no one gainsay him on the fact that he had wed the maid standing next to him. He did not trust Owen's family to truthfully speak on his behalf, should the day ever come that the validity of their marriage be questioned.

With a nod, Garrick took hold of Jillian's small hand. Dunstan strode forward and cleared his throat to speak.

"My brother brings to this marriage, Merewood Keep and the lands immediately surrounding it as far north as the stream, west to the edge of the third fallow field, thence east to the edge of the forest, and south to the rock wall."

When he paused, Jillian looked nervously about. Garrick could sense her unease. He brushed a wavy lock off her brow and smiled down at her. Jillian's response warmed him tenfold. Her smile was so brilliant he missed half of what his brother continued to list.

"…eighty knights, fifty men-at-arms. Three mares, one stallion, three cows, one bull…"

He lost his train of thought again as his lady tightened her grip on his hand. Whatever else Dunstan had said went right over his head. He glanced over his shoulder to where the cleric's hand practically flew across the piece of parchment in his haste to record what little he had to offer.

MacInness stepped forward and cleared his throat. "The lass, my Lady Jillian, brings her beauty, strength, spirit, and seeds of the next generation to grace this mon's home. May he come to ken the true gift he is gettin' this day."

His voice seemed to catch before he could continue. "With it a bolt of finely woven blue cloth, a set of twelve carved wooden trenchers, three ewes, and one ram." Throughout his recitation, his eyes never left Owen's face.

Jillian's gasp of surprise was audible. She looked first to Winslow, who was smiling broadly, then to Garrick, whose gaze was fixed on his vassal with a look that silently questioned. But MacInness had turned to stare at Owen, who looked as if he had swallowed salted fish that had not been properly soaked to remove all of the preservative.

She started to speak, but Garrick silenced her with the pressure of his hand, as if not quite understanding how or why it happened, she had come to the marriage with a dowry. Her expression brightened and her eyes filled up. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at MacInness.

But MacInness was not finished.

"I canna tell ye exactly, but when the king reinstates Loughmoe Keep to its rightful inheritor, Lady Jillian will be bringin' with her that fertile holding and all lands there and aboot it." His hand to his heart, he spoke reverently. "Lastly, I give my word of honor to protect the lass with my life."

Turning to look behind him, he nodded to his men who, one after another, repeated their pledge to honor and protect the new lady of the keep.

Bewildered, Lady Jillian dared a furtive glance at her former guardians who stood red-faced, but silent. Garrick wondered if her reaction was due to the pronouncement that Winslow and his Irish Contingent were pledged to Merewood Keep, or was it the part about her family home?

He was nudged. With the exchange of lands and goods having been duly recorded, it was time for him to pledge himself to Jillian.

"I vow to protect that which is mine from this day until I breathe my last, and so say it before these witnesses in the eyes of God." His gaze held hers while he silently asked, Can you love me, lass?

Jillian's lips slightly parted, her gaze transfixed on his face. Was she thinking of the repercussions just now? Did she realize what he was offering her? Then she blinked, twice.

"I, too, vow to protect that which is mine." She smiled at him, sealing her promise. "I willingly agree to bring forth any babes the Lord blesses us with and to love them with all my heart." He searched her eyes. Deep in her soul, her silent plea surfaced: Please, let me love you .

Garrick breathed a sigh of relief, "'Tis done." He touched the tip of his forefinger to her chin lifting her sweet lips. He touched them gently at first.

She was here. She was real.

The kiss became more demanding as his passion flared high, burning brightly. His bride melted against him, her curves filling the hollows of his body.

Breaking away before his will left him completely, Garrick smiled down at Jillian. Her eyes were glazed over, and she seemed incapable of speech. It was a boost to his male pride that his kisses had such an effect on her. Aye, she'd warm his bed and bear his children. His seed would take hold this night, that he vowed. Mayhap she is the one.

"Lord Owen," a voice shouted above the cheers of the guests.

"Aye," he answered.

His manservant rushed over to him, explaining, "A messenger has arrived from the king."

The room fell silent. Expectancy filled Garrick's chest. That the king would reinstate Jillian's land on this day was great luck. There was no doubt in his mind that she would be more than willing in his bed once he held Loughmoe within his grasp.

He turned, his lips broadening into a smile and saw Owen's pale face flush crimson. The man visibly struggled for composure; his anger was a living, breathing omen.

"The king did what?" Owen thundered. "'Tis not possible, I specifically requested that I be named—" Owen stopped, whipping around to meet Garrick's gaze, "I must speak with you privately."

He placed a swift kiss to his bride's brow and said, "Follow me."

The silence that followed the men out of the hall was broken by muffled crashes of wood splintering. "Nay, Merewood, you do not understand!" Another crash, this time it sounded like metal smashing against stone. "I have no control over our king's mind."

MacInness and his men ran to avert further destruction, pushing the heavy door wide open.

Garrick had one hand wrapped around Owen's throat, pinning him to the wall. "You said 'twould be mine. I say you lied."

"I never actually said that it would be."

His fingers tightened, "I should kill you for that."

Garrick's plans for a well-mapped future evaporated. A shaft of pain lanced straight through the middle of him. He had been joined in wedlock to a woman who could bring him nothing—his people would starve!

She knew. Jillian must have known of the king's decision. 'Twould explain her eagerness to wed him. It had nothing to do with regaining her home. She knew it was not possible. God's blood, had she used him as her escape from an intolerable life of servitude? His head began to pound; there would be no coin, no livestock, no land. His heart whispered to him that he had not been betrayed, it whispered of love, passion, and healing.

His vision blurred until he saw only deception. Denying the voice, he squeezed harder. His fingers ached with the effort. A sudden sharp pain at the back of his skull released his grip on the neck he sought to break.

The haze cleared. "Dear God, will I ever be forgiven?" Garrick was surprised to find himself surrounded with his arms restrained behind his back.

"Forgiven for what?" MacInness asked, giving a nod signaling his men to release Garrick.

His head throbbed like it had been cleaved in twain, while his heart ached for all that it had hoped to possess. The promised love lying just within reach, dangling in front of his face, had been snatched away. God forgive him, he had no choice but to honor his first vow, for the good of his family and his people.

He had to set aside his bride.

Bone deep sorrow was followed by intense pain as the emotions crashed through to his breastbone. He had no choice. Denying his thoughts, refusing to acknowledge the unfamiliar feeling that grew insidiously there, he steeled himself to speak.

"King William has just granted Loughmoe Keep to Henri du Guerre."

Not waiting for the news to take hold, he went in search of his bride. Jillian stood waiting beside his mother, the wringing of his bride's hands her only outward sign of emotion.

Bile rushed up his throat as Garrick faced her. Never before had he broken his word. His honor was all to him. That he had to do so now nearly drove the breath from his chest and life from his heart. But his vow to love and honor her came second only to the vow he had pledged three years past; when his own life's blood mingled with that of those that had fallen protecting his keep.

Clenching his jaw, he bitterly blamed the woman standing before him for her part in his betrayal. He swallowed the bitter taste of it and lashed out at her, "You knew of the king's decision to award your land to du Guerre. I never would have had the chance to fight for that which was already lost. Would I? You lured me to Sedgeworth with the promise of aiding my brother. That's when you sank your hooks in deep, speaking of legacies lost, a story so like my own that I could not refuse."

Her eyes grew round with what, fear? He steeled himself not to care. Unmercifully he continued, "You deceived me and you cared not that you secured my help with false promises. Deny if you are able that you knew nothing of this," he challenged.

He waited for Jillian to answer the charges he angrily hurled at her, knowing in his heart, he was not yet capable of listening.

She stood silent; chin held high, back straight.

Anger forced him to do what he must. His grand plans to secure wealth and position for his family and prosperity for his people had gone so far awry, naught could be done to straighten them. His final failure loomed before him, taunting him. He would never be the same caliber of warrior as his father. His mind rebelled as his heart cried out for one last chance to set to rights the ruins of his family's life. Garrick would forsake all his hopes and dreams to turn back the clock to relive those last few days before the Normans had stormed across Northumbria, crushing all who dared to oppose them. Had he known his father would break all bargains in a bid to lead his keep's people into battle, he would have used all manner of tricks to best his father in single-handed combat.

His wisdom came from the past. He did not know his father would rather die than let his eldest son take his place leading their people against the Normans. Nor did he realize that by challenging his father to fight for the right to lead their people, he had forced his father's hand. Addison had used the techniques he learned while fighting in the Highlands. Garrick never stood a chance against the awesome combination of his father's superior strength and the crafty maneuvers. His thoughts shifted back to the present.

His bride stood before him unconsciously assuming an all too familiar pose, one of defiance. Garrick had used a similar one when the superb fighting force of King William's men had splintered through Merewood's wooden palisade. His determination had gained him naught, save the tremendous blood loss that accompanied the gash in his side and the wound at his temple.

His chest constricted with pain. He would never be able to forgive himself for leaving his keep indefensible. He would carry the burden of his father's death and the loss of their home inside him always. The only way to live with his conscience would be to continue to rebuild Merewood and restore it to its former glory. With his mother once again safe within its walls, all would return to normal.

Jillian's treachery cost him dearly. He must break his vow to her in order to regain all for his mother, his brothers, and his peoples' children… rail-thin, ragged children who constantly cried out in hunger. He would do whatever necessary to feed his people. They depended upon him; they were the future of Merewood Keep. He could not let them down again.

He turned toward his wife and held out his arm. She lay her fingers lightly upon his arm. He could feel her fingers trembling. Ignoring it, he escorted her to the wedding feast.

The gaiety that had surrounded the newly wedded couple dimmed as news of the king's proclamation spread. The wedding celebrations continued, though subdued.

After what he deemed to be a proper amount of time for the guests to enjoy the feast, he leaned towards his wife. The time had come to confront her. "I would speak with you privately. Now."

Jillian nodded.

Once in his chamber, he turned to face her. She obviously waited to hear what he would say to the untimely news. Would she finally speak and offer proof of her innocence? They faced one another in silence.

"Stop wringing your hands." She jumped, startled by his harsh tone, but obeyed, dropping her arms to her sides.

Struggling to keep the hatred from his voice he asked, "Have you betrayed me, wife?"

The color completely drained from her face; her eyes widened with shock. With all his heart, Garrick wanted to believe her shock was genuine and that she played no part in the treachery surrounding him. He stepped closer, towering over her. He had to ask, he needed proof. He had to know!

"Did you and Owen plan to entrap my brother? Did he tell you to send word to me with your grand plans of marriage in exchange for my brother's life, when in fact he was simply held prisoner for show?"

Hand to her throat, she backed away a couple of paces. "Nay. It was not like that!"

He glared at her. "How can I trust you? Where is the proof I seek?"

*

Something hardened inside her at his words. She spoke as if to a child, "I cannot give you the proof you so dearly seek, milord. I have but my word. You have to trust me." Even as she said the words, she knew he would not be able to do so. He was a warrior, a leader of men. Proof of deeds done were as necessary as the vows behind them.

Her eyes filled. Her entire future with the man before her depended upon his decision here and now.

"I must weigh your words against what has passed here today. Until such time as I have come to a decision, you will remain here in my chamber."

Turning on his heel, he slammed the door closed without a backward look. Her husband of but a few hours was gone, the back of his head a forewarning of things to come. Jillian hugged her arms to her body to drive away the chill that had taken root in the very marrow of her bones.

She had traded one form of prison for another. Her jailer, while fairer of face, was far stronger than Haldana. She dreaded the thought of the beating that would surely follow. Sinking to the floor, she wept bitterly.

*

Garrick could not bear to see her naked pain. For a split second, he doubted that she was aware of the fact that her land had been awarded to a Norman baron. But his pride was great and his honor had been destroyed by the woman who had stood before him quietly refusing to show proof of her innocence.

No one contradicted his order to keep Jillian from his sight. In fact, no one spoke to him. One by one, his family and guests left the hall, their unuttered censure of his conduct hanging thick in the air, choking him.

Someone coughed. Looking up at the sound, he saw MacInness watching him closely. "I had no choice. I have to be certain."

"No choice? Ye didna have to accuse her of such treachery, mon."

"I never said—"

"'Tis your silence, mon, it reeked of accusation. Have ye any proof? Dinna ye see her pain? Ye gave her no choice. She's smart enough to realize that ye wouldna believed her had she spoken the truth while starin' God himself in the face!"

"You don't understand," Garrick rasped, "I've failed, again. I have to set her aside and find another wife. One whose dowry can rebuild—"

"'Tis sorry I am that I didna ken the true manner of mon ye are. I'll see to the lass's protection then I'll finish my service to ye. Ask no more, ye're no' deservin' of it."

The sharp edge of his vassal's words cut deeply. Garrick buried his face in his hands. No one understood. The decision had been taken from him three years ago when their keep's defenses crumbled. Those that survived the Norman onslaught had nearly starved that first winter. The years in between had been little better.

He could not confide in his brothers. The responsibility was his and his alone. From the moment his father fell in battle, Merewood Keep and all the burdens it entailed rested solely upon his shoulders.

If he appeared self-serving, concerned with rebuilding and the coin involved, then so be it. It was but a small portion of the guilt he would live with the rest of his life.