Chapter Fourteen

"I will not have it!" Lady Eyreka shouted.

Gertie shook her head at the volume of the argument that had been raging for the last half-hour. The tide had turned, with Garrick losing ground quickly. His mother was in the right and he knew it. All he had to do was admit it, stubborn lad.

"Need I remind you, Mother, I do indeed have the right to treat my wife any way I choose. I choose to leave her locked in my chamber. Her treachery has cost this family everything." His face darkened with barely concealed anger.

"You cannot condemn her. You have not yet let her speak. Mayhap she is innocent." Her voice had dropped to a normal level.

When he remained silent, she turned to face her son. "I know you are possessed with the rebuilding of Merewood. I take full blame for that. I never should have agreed to stay away while you tried to straighten out your life here. Had I known you would heap more blame upon yourself for something you had no control over, I would never have gone.

"I beg you now to speak to Jillian. Hear her out. Mayhap you will come to know her, trust her."

"Trust her? She deceived me from the start."

"Did she? Listen to yourself, Son, you are grasping at straws. You cannot change the past or undo that which has been done. The future is yours to do with what you will. You do have control over the rest of your life. Give her a chance. Together you two can build a future that will survive. William is a fair king, he is not too quick to condemn, and neither should you be. Judge not, my dear son." She whirled away from him and quit the chamber.

His mother's words tumbled around inside of him until he thought his head would split. She was right. God's teeth, was the woman never wrong? He could not undo the past, but his words and deeds could have a definite effect on the future. But 'twas not just his future. So many others depended upon him.

Pacing in front of the newly finished south wall, he stopped to get a handle on his rising temper. He let himself be distracted by the quality of the workmanship. The planks that made up the wall were well matched and fitted tightly together. They would fare much better this winter, but what of the crofters in need of new thatching? He would have to see to those repairs soon.

Looking around, he saw his home taking shape. It would soon be done. Work had accelerated under the direction of MacInness and his men. The workers toiled from dawn 'til dusk, stopping only to refuel their tired bodies.

Garrick winced as he slowly rotated his shoulder. His sword arm was unbearably slow to regain its mobility. The daily practicing in the open bailey had gone a long way toward strengthening his left arm, but it would take months to build it up to the strength necessary to wield the heavy broadsword with accuracy.

He descended the steps into the sunlit bailey. Five of his knights were engaged in hand-to-hand combat with mace and hammer. Several others were battling with shield and broadsword. He watched MacInness put them through the paces, while off to the left, he watched Patrick instruct more of his men taking turns making a pass at the quintain. His defenses had not been this strong since the Uprising. Garrick felt a surge of energy pulsing through his veins. He needed the outlet physical exertion would bring. Aye, he thought to himself, 'twould do him good to take out his pent-up rage on the practice field.

Starting with the very basic strengthening of his arm, he hefted a large stone in his hand and lifted his arm parallel to the ground. The burning sensation sweeping up from his wrist all the way to his shoulder caused the sweat to bead up on his forehead and the back of his neck. With slow, controlled movements, he repeated the exercise.

After what seemed like an eternity, he lowered the rock and unsheathed his broadsword. The weight of it pulled the newly healed scar tissue holding the muscle and tendons together. To give in to the pain would have been glorious, but Garrick had never done so before. He would not start now.

"Milord?" Garrick whirled around to face the one brave enough to approach him. No one, save his mother or Gertie, had spoken to him these two weeks past.

MacInness stood stiffly at attention waiting his lord's acknowledgment. Garrick lowered his sword. "Aye?"

"Dunstan reported that the north fields have been cleared, readied for planting. The blacksmith's hut and the tanner's are to be thatched on the morrow."

A sigh escaped before Garrick could stop himself. All proceeded according to plan. Everything that could be accomplished, using what building materials already existed on his land, had been done. 'Twas almost finished. The crofter's huts were being repaired and plans for an early harvest would be well under way by the time he returned from his audience with the king. The harvest would be a small one; not nearly enough, but better than nothing at all.

His head reeled with imagined repercussions to the request he would dare put to his king. Would William grant it to him? Would he intervene with the church court and help him secure the annulment he sought, or would he simply refuse to see him, leaving Garrick no alternative but to set his wife aside. Could he set her aside, breaking his vow before God and man?

Rubbing a hand over his heart, he was surprised to find that it ached, deeply, telling him his plans were wrong. Nothing could replace what his family had lost; nothing would bring his father back from the dead. Mayhap 'twas just his wishful thinking spurring him onward toward the end of his quest.

Lost in thought, his mind wandered toward the chamber where his wife, nay bride—he had not been able to bring himself to consummate the marriage—slept. His distrust of her would not allow him to let down his defenses enough to approach her as a husband had every right to. It would be like sleeping with the enemy. There was no proof of her innocence, and the damned woman still refused to answer his accusations.

Best to think of the coin he would gain once he remarried. Coin that would secure livestock, grain, and a better supply of food than his people had seen these three winters past. He had to put his own wants and needs aside. As lord and master of the keep, hundreds of lives depended upon his ability to provide for them. If their meager crops failed again, like last year, his people would starve. He could not live with himself, knowing his people's children were cold and hungry.

Would that he were a simple man, one that served a master such as himself. Then he could claim Jillian, as a husband should, without the worry and heartache he alone as Lord of the Keep suffered.

*

Jillian sat in the room that had become her own since the day she wed Garrick. The pain of his accusations had not lessened though a fortnight had passed. He did not trust her. He thought she lied.

Fear of the unknown washed through her, leaving her knees weak. Would he set her aside? Would she be forced to go back to live at Sedgeworth? Nay. That would be intolerable. Somehow she would convince Garrick of her innocence and remain his wife. But how?

Thinking back to her guardian's actions after learning of the king's decision, she shuddered. Owen and Haldana had gathered their daughters together and left for London within an hour of the messenger's announcement. They must have had grand plans of introducing their daughters at Court. Hoping, no doubt, to arrange a marriage with Henri du Guerre, the new Lord of Jillian's family home.

Garrick avoided her. Though he told her he would think about what to do, he had not approached her since that day. Shame had been her constant companion. What good was her word when no one trusted her to keep it? The man she had come to care for believed she planned to entrap him, and would use her body to entice him with the lure of her family holding as bait.

Didn't he understand she wasn't like that? No man had ever made her feel even a small portion of what Garrick could accomplish with a look. She had never lain with a man. How had he come to the conclusion that she had? Was it her words, her lack of manners? What had she done to convince him of her guilt?

"Mother, what can I do?" she silently asked. "He cannot wait to rid himself of my presence." Bowing her head, she fought the heartache and the debilitating pain accompanying it. Though tears burned behind her eyes, she refused to give in to them. It was useless, they would solve nothing, but to add a shade of red to the black circles 'round her eyes.

The answer came to her while she prayed; her mother's oft-spoke words: Be as yourself, my child. You have much to offer a man. Courage, spirit, and love. Garrick will come to love you for yourself. Patience.

"Lady Jillian," Gertie called, knocking on the door, before opening it.

"Aye," she answered weakly, watching the door slowly open.

"Are you well, child?" The concern in the housekeeper's voice touched a chord deep within her.

"As well as can be hoped." She massaged her aching forehead.

"We wish a word with you."

Jillian was startled to find not only Gertie, but Lady Eyreka as well, waiting to enter her room.

"Pray, enter." She motioned toward two small chairs with cushioned seats and backs.

Once the women were seated, she pressed them. "What can I do for you?"

Clearing her throat, Lady Eyreka spoke, "Gertie and I have thought long and hard about your situation here. We are both of the same mind. Garrick cares for you."

Jillian shook her head violently, denying it.

"Please, hear us out before disagreeing," Eyreka pleaded.

She watched them, but said nothing.

"Garrick is readying the keep for his journey to London. If he were to see how well you run his household, mayhap, he will postpone his journey. Is it not worth a try?"

Jillian considered the possibility.

"Give him time, my dear, he has lost so much."

"And have I not also lost everything I hold dear?" Her frustration rose giving way to anger. "My father died at Hastings, leaving only my mother, myself, and a few housecarls to defend our home. We were no match for the Normans when they arrived to crush those Saxons brave enough to rise up against them."

Jillian's face twisted in anguish as she was caught up in her dark memories. "We had to flee our home and hide in the woods. We had no one. Every last one of our household knights were cut down."

Dry-eyed, she recounted that black night three years earlier when her world had come to an end. "Their blood slickened the stone steps of my home. My mother suffered from shock," she rasped, "and never recovered. She was not strong enough to face life without my father. 'Twas up to me, but even I could not save her."

"After we escaped, we waited in the wood just west of our home. We lived off the forest for a week before Owen found us." Her hands closed into fists as she shouted at them, "Don't you see? I had no choice! My mother was starving to death. The loss of our home was the final blow. Without Loughmoe to remind her of Father, her will to live vanished. 'Twas naught else to be done. Owen's offer of shelter seemed our last chance."

Eyreka's eyes glistened, as did Gertie's. The young woman before them had been wronged in the past and stood wronged yet again.

"Jillian, please hear me out," Eyreka pleaded. Not waiting for agreement, she continued, "Join us below stairs. Cook is waiting for instructions for the midday meal. The rushes are littered with bone and remains of the evening meal. Someone must see to their care. Herbs must be freshened."

"But why haven't you seen to this?" Jillian asked.

"Garrick must see you in the role of mistress before he leaves. You can make a difference in his life here. Please try. He knows it not, but he needs you."

Her clear blue gaze added yet another plea. Garrick was her son. Unless Jillian misunderstood, Eyreka was asking her to do all in her power to save him from himself. How could she say aye? How could she say nay?

"Why is he so obsessed with rebuilding? What happened here that scarred him so?" Jillian waited expectantly for the riddle to be solved.

"Mayhap 'tis best if you put your questions to my son."

After a brief silence, Jillian agreed. "Aye, but will he afford me the opportunity to speak with him? I am little better than prisoner here."

"How can you say that? Are you not well fed? Is the gown you now wear not of the finest wool? Do you not sleep on finely woven linens?" Eyreka's point hit home.

"But I am not free to go about as I please. I am kept under lock and key with a guard by my door. Is it not enough that he intends to set me aside? Must he twist the blade of distrust so cruelly?"

Jillian's heart wrenched with pain at the thought of Garrick's promised retribution. She had been filled with renewed hope after their first meeting. He had been attentive and caring. But his mother was right, though the weight of impending disaster crushed in upon her, she owed Garrick something for taking her out of purgatory.

"Ask Garrick to explain why he torments himself with burdens from the past. I will arrange a meeting. My son will do this for me."

Jillian trembled, thinking of the upcoming confrontation that was now unavoidable.

"Are you afraid of him, then?"

Her mind raced down the dark tunnel toward the unknown. Unknown . Aye, that was all that she feared. Her only memories of Garrick were solicitous. He had never raised a hand toward her in anger. His hands had been gentle the time she had awakened from swooning. Straightening her backbone, she stood before Lady Eyreka and answered.

"I do not fear him. I'll accompany you. There is work to be done and though I may not be for long, I am mistress of this keep. Shall we start in the kitchen? Mayhap Cook has some thyme to add to our evening stew?"

The three women hugged one another, drawing the inner strength necessary to go on. The one who could save the heir to Merewood was willing to try against all odds. Surely God would aid them in their quest.

*

"Open the gate," a guard announced from atop the curtain wall. "Roderick's back."

Roderick and his escort of three stout looking men-at-arms rode into the open bailey. A shout from one of the upper windows of the keep hailed him.

Raising a hand to deflect the midmorning glare, he looked up, but saw no one. He dismounted and led his horse to a much-improved stable. The side planks that had been broken were replaced. The reinforced stalls were now occupied with prime horseflesh. Obviously some things had improved with his brother's marriage.

"I trust all went well at Fitzrandolph's holding?" Garrick asked.

"The Lady Beatrice was not unaffected by your announcement, but I managed to smooth over her ruffled feelings."

Roderick's broad grin suggested another conquest in the name of love. But Garrick had more weighty problems on his mind; the possibility of covering up another of his brother's indiscretions would have to wait for another time.

"Do you think she would consider me as husband?"

"Husband? Did you not bid me tell her of your marriage to Lady Jillian?"

"Aye." Pain knifed through Garrick. Cinnamon brown eyes and fiery waves beckoned to him. The promise of passion unfulfilled taunted him. God's breath, would he never rid his mind of her presence?

Not knowing of any way around it, Garrick decided on the direct approach. He told his brother all that had transpired during his two-week absence.

"Jillian would not betray you," Roderick said angrily. "Do you honestly think the almighty Owen of Sedgeworth would confide in a woman, one he considered less than a servant? Have you gone mad? What would Jillian have to gain by such treachery?"

Roderick's heated response had been no less than Garrick expected. His brother put his life at risk once for her; obviously there was a connection between them. "She would gain a way out of bondage, free to live the life of a lady."

Garrick paused before adding his strongest argument, "She would gain the sword arm of a warrior intelligent enough to bargain with his king for her land. One strong enough to defend it."

Unnerving silence met Garrick's ready answer.

The sorrow-filled gray gaze that met his own put a chink in the armor of his indifference. His youngest brother had their father's eyes. It was their father he imagined looking at him now.

"I say that you have become so blinded by your obsession that you are about to throw away the only chance at true happiness you will ever be granted." Roderick's level gaze held, while Garrick's wavered. "What has Jillian said to the charges against her?"

Uncertainty knifed through Garrick. Mayhap he had misjudged her . Unable to look his brother in the eye, Garrick answered his feet. "Nothing."

"Nothing? Did she not defend herself?"

Garrick hesitated. "I did not give her the chance. We have not spoken since the wedding feast."

Roderick charged his unsuspecting brother and knocked him right off his feet. Pinning him to the straw-covered stable floor, Roderick demanded, "Why? What has she done to you to deserve such treatment? Did she not fulfill her agreement? Am I not alive because of her intervention?"

Raw anger surged through him, a living, breathing emotion. The frustration of the past weeks erupted from deep within him. Garrick violently twisted the upper half of his body and flung his brother across the width of the stable.

Roderick landed hard against one of the old walls, cracking it. Before he could shake off the aftereffects of his flight, Garrick was on him. Pummeling him.

Roderick fought back with an intensity that surprised them both.

The bucket of water dousing them with its icy coldness had the desired effect. They both turned to leap on the intruder, but they were not fast enough. MacInness and Patrick held the raging bull that was Garrick, while Sean and Kelly pinned Roderick against the floor. Eamon stood at the door to the stable smiling, holding another bucket full of water.

"Are ye ready to listen, mon?" MacInness shouted into Garrick's face.

Silence.

"'Tis no' bad enough that ye locked yer bride in her chamber, but to lather yer own kin when he only just arrived home from doin' yer biddin' is beyond what a mon has a right to do."

Garrick could feel the clenched muscle in his jaw tick in reaction to the Highlander's impassioned speech. He held onto his temper, and with great effort breathed deeply to try to cap it off.

"Mayhap our fearless leader is in a temper because it's guilt he's feelin'," Sean suggested.

"Oh, aye," Patrick agreed. "His bonny bride has been locked away for a fortnight. Her winsome ways have not had a chance to soothe the beast."

"Not that she would," Eamon bit out.

"Enough," Garrick bellowed.

"Nay, mon. It wilna be enough until ye speak to yer bride. Hear her out. She deserves better treatment from ye, and I mean to see that she gets it." MacInness's fist was a hair's breath away from Garrick's nose. He counted twenty freckles on the man's brawny knuckles.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Roderick had been released, though Sean and Kelly still flanked him.

"Lady Jillian deserves better than you, brother. I'll return to Fitzrandolph's holding after I speak to Jillian. If you do not wish to remain wedded, who am I to stop you? I will offer myself in your place. Mayhap she agreed to wed you, Garrick, but she told me 'twas only because you asked. Had I not suggested otherwise, she would have wed me."

His vassal helped him to his feet. "'Tis no shame upon ye that ye no' want to bed any other than yer bride. She's a beautiful woman, lovin' and warm. Make her yer wife. Can ye no' find it in your heart to at least listen to what she has to say? Ye'll no' regret it. There's a fire burnin' inside her. Do ye want another mon to set it free? I couldna."

The wily Scot's words hit home. He had been tormenting himself with the image of Jillian lying in his bed, her long auburn waves wrapping around him as her slender limbs entwined with his own.

Would she willingly accept him after the accusations he hurled at her? Would she fight his right to bed her? Those questions and more raged through him, but the most important one of all nagged at him, taunting him. How could he bed her one time and walk away?

If he honored his second vow, he would forsake the first. How then would he feed his people come winter?

God help him, he had not the answers.