Chapter Fifteen

T he heavenly aroma of fresh baked bread wafted in on the breeze wending its way under the door to the hall. Garrick paused to breathe deeply, then pushed it open. The sight greeting him closed his throat with emotion.

The stone floor had been swept clean of the old rushes and fresh ones lay strewn about. As he stepped into the room, the pleasant fragrance of herbs teased him. Though he could not identify the scent that rose to greet him with each new step, he definitely appreciated their addition.

The hall had been rearranged. The long table that used to stand at the center of the south wall now stood out in the middle of the room at one end. Benches were placed at intervals along the empty length of the wall. A grouping of chairs had been placed near the brazier at the opposite end of the room from the table.

Though the walls were bare, Garrick knew his mother would begin sewing another tapestry; her hands were never idle. The state of the hall was a good sign. It meant his mother had forgiven him.

Garrick's brow furrowed at the thought of his bride waiting for him above stairs. For the first time in his life, he actually considered putting his own needs before that of his people.

Gertie's voice mingled with softer tones drew his immediate attention, and then he saw her. "Lady Jillian."

Betrayer, his mind screamed. Innocent, his heart cried back. The war going on within him threatened to tear him apart. He had to speak to her—listen to her. She had never done anything to warrant his charges against her. It had been his own guilt speaking. Looking down into her angelic face, it was hard to hold out against her.

The past two weeks had gone by swiftly, though he had not set eyes on her, she had been in his thoughts. The never-ending list of tasks left unfinished each evening. Each dawn bringing another day filled with the backbreaking chore of setting to rights a home left too long in ruins. Not only coin was required, but a score of men who accomplished much in one day.

Now as Garrick looked upon his bride, shame for breaking his vow to her, and for accusing her without proof, battled against the worry that his people would starve. He was a man tormented. He glanced at his mother and realized there was wisdom in his mother's order to hear Jillian's side of the story. He nodded to her before turning his attention to his bride.

"You are looking well, Lady Jillian."

She stared up at him.

Sweeping a hand around him, he said, "The hall looks fine."

Still she didn't speak. "Jillian," he tried again.

"I would have a word with you, Son." Lady Eyreka's tone brooked no argument.

"Later."

"Nay, Ricky, now."

At the use of his boyhood name, Garrick turned to stare down at the woman who gave him life. Her eyes flashed blue fire, though she smiled sweetly. Threads of the past wrapped around his heart, memories of his mother looking lovingly at his father drifted across his mind. He had taken it all away from her. He owed his mother whatever she asked.

"Aye, Mother, now," he relented. Mayhap someday he would be able to fully atone for his past sins. It was best to start now, it was sure to take a lifetime.

They left the hall by the side door and walked through the newly weeded herb garden, down past the kitchens where the savory aroma of rabbit stew mingled with the fresh green scent of spring.

Eyreka stopped beneath the base of an oak tree. Turning around, she looked up at her eldest son.

"You must speak to Jillian. You know I cannot countenance the treatment you have meted out. 'Tis a cruel punishment to cage one so full of life as her. She grows restless with the lack of duties, pale from lack of sun."

Drawing herself up, throwing her shoulders back, Lady Eyreka locked gazes with her son. "I asked her to join me in the hall where she would act as mistress of the keep."

"Do not add to her grief by letting her have a taste of such power. 'Twill only be taken away."

"So you have a care for her feelings then?" She pressed him.

He shrugged, he did have feelings for her. "'Tis unfair what you ask."

Hands clasped behind her back, Eyreka paced beneath the tree. "Can you not tell her what is in your heart? She is willing to assume her rightful role as mistress. Jillian is more than able to care for your home and more."

"Our home, Mother," Garrick added quietly.

"Nay, 'tis your home now, Son. You and Jillian will fill it with the sounds of love and laughter. Addison would have expected you to step into his role as Lord of this Keep. You have come a long way toward rebuilding; don't stop just short of the real goal. Secure our future. Give me grandchildren."

His heart answered immediately, but his vow to help his people held out against his mother. "I will consider it." Garrick made his way to the stable with long, purposeful strides.

*

Sorrow etched yet another line near her mouth. The weight of it made smiling impossible. But for now she was free. She hoped there was enough time to prove to her husband that she knew nothing of Owen's plans. She was innocent of the blame heaped at her door. There had to be a way to show Garrick the truth. She knew he had to be able to hold the truth in his hands. To see it for himself.

Her aching heart twisted painfully as the answer made itself known. Her home . The answer was so simple she almost passed over it. It was a last resort, and mayhap the king would not even grant her an audience, but if it would clear her of all charges in her husband's eyes, it would be worth the agony she would live with for the rest of her life if the king agreed.

"Lady Jillian?" Gertie came up from behind her, concern marring her usually placid features.

"Let's see to the serving of my husband's men. They are working down by the smithy's hut. Send someone to fetch them."

That command given, Jillian felt a small surge of satisfaction. At least she could care for the knights who slaved to rebuild Merewood. God willing, Garrick would need them to rebuild Loughmoe. If only she could be there to see it happen. Shaking her head, she realized that if she continued on her present path, that day would never come.

The days flowed into one another, an endless stream of sameness that would haunt Jillian for a long time. Each day, she sought out her husband to speak to him of her possible solution to their problem. Was it not enough that she be willing to give up everything for the man? Could he not spare her a moment of his time so she could tell him so?

After a fortnight of trying, she accepted the fact that he had no desire to speak to her alone. Did he have second thoughts about the hurtful accusations he hurled at her?

"Nay," she answered aloud. "My husband cares naught what becomes of me. So long as he rebuilds his home, he will be happy. 'Twill be the loss of my family holding that 'twill cut more deeply than the loss of an unwanted wife."

Fingering the amulet that lay cool against her chest, she choked back the tears threatening to fall. Her grandmother had been wrong; the amulet did not protect the wearer from harm. Her warrior had forsaken his vow. There would be no partnership, no children, no future. Mayhap the magic of the ancients was too weak to find its way to her.

*

For the first time in her life, Jillian was ready to admit defeat. The loss of her parents and their home, and the subsequent life of drudgery that followed, had been far easier to bear than the unwanted beginnings of love that had blossomed only to wither and die at the first sign of adversity.

Lord, help her, she did not want to care for Garrick, but his gentle treatment and promises of a future together bound him to her. She wanted to hate him for locking her in her chamber, but she could not. During her time alone, her mind had accepted what her heart could not. Her own father would have acted the same way. Too many instances occurred pointing the finger of guilt at her. A man of logic would not be able to see it any other way.

"Jillie lass, where are you off to?"

Winslow's brogue soothed her, while the concern filling his amber gaze left her feeling unsettled.

"To tend my…er milord's herbs." She hoped Winslow would not notice the slip of her tongue. One of the first duties she had taken over since gaining her freedom was that of tending the kitchen gardens. The herbs now grew unhampered, the weeds choking them long gone. When working the soil around them, she had thought of them as her own. It was only temporary. By the end of the harvest, she would be gone.

The warmth of Winslow's large hands around her own caused a shiver to dance up her spine. Looking up, she saw more than she wanted to. Her husband's vassal was not trying to hide his feelings from her. His amber eyes grew molten with each ragged breath he drew.

"Please, don't…you cannot care for me," her voice broke. "I belong to another."

"Nay, lass. Ye belong to no mon. The lord of this keep sleeps with his men in the lower level. 'Tis no' a secret he plans to set ye aside." He stopped to catch a crystalline tear with the tip of his finger, while his thumb wiped along her lower lashes capturing still more tears.

"Dinna cry for the mon. He's no' worth it."

Tears of frustration let loose at the kind words spoken by a man who had done more than protect her; he had given her his friendship. She didn't pull away when Winslow drew her against his massive chest. She buried her face in the soft linen of his shirt, as if hiding from the world in his arms would make it all go away.

"There now, lass, go ahead cry if ye maun. 'Twill be all right."

A strong hand brushed the hair off her forehead, while the other held her close.

Jillian had not been held like this since she bade her father safe journey on his way to fight alongside King Harald, six long years ago.

Her tears stopped long before she pulled out of the warmth of his embrace. A dull ache started behind her eyes and spread across her forehead to her temples. She knew she had to lie down before she fell down.

"Thank you for caring about me, Winslow. It means more than you know. I haven't made many friends here—"

Winslow's lips silenced her. They were warm, tentative at first, then more demanding as he pulled her closer still. But his kiss did not ignite the same feelings Garrick's had.

Pulling away, she placed a hand to his chest.

"I'm sorry, Winslow," she said shaking her head. "I don't feel that way about you. Besides, I'm married."

"Only on paper, lass, no' in deed."

The suggestion that she had not been with her husband to seal their vows brought the blood rushing to her face and neck. Embarrassment coupled with the shame she felt.

"'Tis between Garrick and me what goes on in our married life." The stricken look he gave her made her pause. She did not want to hurt Winslow's feelings; she cared about him. But he deserved the truth.

Reaching up to stroke the side of his face, she spoke softly, "I have come to care a great deal for my husband. I would not do anything to forsake the vows we took before God. Even if he intends to take another to wife after setting me aside, I would still honor my vows. Can you not understand?" she beseeched him.

"Aye, lass, I do. Garrick does no' deserve yer loyalty. He has done naught to. I wilna try to change yer mind, though I think I could be verra persuasive."

The wicked look in his eye suggested things Jillian could only speculate about. Somehow she knew he just might be able to change her mind. 'Twas that very thought that scared her the most. It must have shown on her face, he backed away to a more respectable distance.

"I wilna press ye again. Know that I am yer servant. Dinna worry when I am with ye, lass, I'll be there to protect yer honor. I'll no' take it away. But know this, 'twould be easier to cut the heart from my breast. I canna help myself, ye are everythin' I want in a wife."

Dropping her hands, he searched her eyes one last time. Jillian could not bear to meet his gaze. She looked away. When she turned back, he had gone.

The sound of a heavy footfall had Jillian whirling back around. Guilt for letting Winslow embrace her made her uneasy. But she was alone, with only the quiet of the gardens surrounding her.

The warmth of the sun beat down upon the firmly packed dirt path she followed between the herb and vegetable gardens. Jillian surveyed the neat rows of beans and peas. Spiky green sprouts had proudly unfurled tiny green leaves just last week. Kneeling down beside them, she touched the tip of her forefinger to a small leaf.

Its life was still so new; the hardships would be many. Mayhap a cold rain would come to beat down upon the small plant, or a fortnight without any rain at all. An insect may decide to make a meal of the succulent leaf, or mayhap wait until the bean had already formed and grown plump before attacking the plant. Just maybe, the plant would grow big and strong and produce crisp, juicy green beans.

The longer she knelt, the more possibilities swirled around in her head. She likened her life to that of the young sprout; her life had been full of hardships. The cold rain of death had beat down upon her. She lost her father, then her dear mother. Replaying the last few years of her life, she thought of Owen and Haldana as black insects come to attack her, to cut her down before she had fully realized her destiny in life.

Her small, rough hand reached up to touch her cheekbone. 'Twas a miracle that it hadn't shattered under the continuous blows Haldana had inflicted. Mayhap her life was not over, mayhap like her strong plants, she was meant to blossom and grow to maturity. Her woman's curves were gentle, not yet full blown. But her eyes were old. They told of sorrow and loss, and the strength of will to go on. 'Twas just possible that God had brought her all this way toward a life filled with love, laughter, and children so that she would look within herself for the strength to stand up for herself and claim them.

The first few drops of rain fell gently on her bent head, soothing her. Each drop massaged her scalp with silvered fingers of water. Lifting her face to the cool sprinkling of late-spring rain, Jillian closed her eyes and let it soak her. As it seeped in it renewed the dryness of her soul, replenishing her.

Her face wet, her body soaked, Jillian finally rose and bid good-bye to her green garden friends. She was not afraid of Garrick, nor was she afraid of life. Feeling renewed and willing to take life head on, she went in search of her husband. It was time to settle things her own way.