Chapter Twenty-Two

"H as there been no word from Harald?" Owen asked, starting another lap around the cold stone floor.

"When we left, Harald's men were winning," one of his knight's answered. "Mayhap the battle turned in his favor." The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other under the fierce scrutiny of his lord's black eyes.

"Take three men and find out what happened," Owen commanded. "My entire winter store of food is out there sitting in those barrels…go and get it!"

His man stared at Owen open mouthed, then finally asked, "The ransom was for Sedgeworth?"

Owen glared at the man. The swish of steel being drawn out against leather was his answer.

"Aye, milord. At once."

*

"How is the she?" Eyreka asked.

"No greeting for your son, then?" he countered.

She glared at him. "I've nothing to say that has not already been said. I cannot agree with the path you have chosen, but it is not for me to tell you how to live your life. Your father and I taught you all we knew about love and life while you were young. How you could turn your back on it all is beyond me."

"I've done naught to deserve your condemnation, Mother. I have used all Father taught me well."

"Oh, aye, in battle then, but what of the things that really matter? A chance at happiness, with a wife who will love you, bear your children to carry on our proud blood?" Eyreka's eyes were empty, near soulless, searching his face for the answers she sought.

"I used to think rebuilding would somehow make amends for all of the wrongs that I had done. Now I realize it was just an excuse to hold onto the hatred." His eyes softened. "Since Jillian has come into my life, with her warm smile and gentle ways, our home has regained a measure of its happy past. If she'll give me the chance, I plan to make it up to her."

"Is there room in your heart for love, then?"

He nodded.

His mother wrapped her arms around him and something shifted inside of him and broke free. As he held her, his mind sorted through past conversations stored away in his memory. Gradually, bits and pieces of his brother's words came back to him. Dunstan did not want to be part of Garrick's decision to marry wealth. He told him he should marry a woman with a pretty face and warm disposition. Roderick blamed Garrick for hurting Jillian beyond repair, had in fact even vowed to marry her once Garrick set her aside.

Lady Eyreka eased back and locked gazes with Garrick. "'Tis time you listened to what happened." She poured out the story of their capture and Jillian's bravery and ingenuity. Then Eyreka told of their escape with the help of the healer, ending with their recapture and Alan's brutal execution.

"Why is it that you are unharmed?" He needed to know.

"'Tis yet another of your wife's brave deeds. She fought our captors tooth and nail when they let it be known that Alan was to die. She went wild," she rasped. "I was afraid they would kill her. 'Twas only when Alan pleaded with her that she calmed," Eyreka's voice broke with emotion, her eyes glazed with the remembered fear.

"You see, it was Jillian's bravery and need to be free that inspired Alan to aid us. He had been captured himself. He bore the scars of his abduction."

Tears streamed down Eyreka's face. "He told Jillian he would rather die fighting for his freedom. He felt he was less of a man, having given up the fight for freedom too easily the first time. Though she calmed, she still tried to stop them from killing him."

Garrick watched his mother close her eyes and swallow hard. "And?" Whatever she knew had to be beyond horrible. He could see it on her expressive face.

"While two rebels held Jillian's hands behind her back, four others held Alan by the hand and ankle on either side. They were face to face when he died."

Garrick pressed her for more. "How did he die?"

"God help us, they cleaved him in twain from his neck to the belly. Jillian was so close, his blood spurted in her face."

The agony his wife and mother must have suffered was beyond comprehension. No stranger to battle, he knew the effects some suffered from the carnage. His heart ached, thinking of what his gentle wife and mother had witnessed.

Staring across camp over the top of her head, he spotted his brothers. Motioning to them, he waited until they had joined him before speaking again to his mother.

"I cannot fathom the pain you must be suffering, Mother, but I must ask you something that may cause you more."

A nod of her head appeared all she could manage in the way of a reply.

"Where is the body?"

Lifting a quaking arm, she pointed toward a shallow ravine a hundred yards away.

"Dunstan, Roderick, stay with our mother. I have one last duty before we break camp."

Gritting his teeth, stiffening his spine, Garrick walked over to where Alan's body had been dumped. In reverence for the brave man, Garrick buried him in silence, a prayer in his heart that God take care of the man's soul.

Twelve rebel prisoners, bound and gagged, were loaded into the now empty wagons. The only evidence of their being in the clearing, were the bits of broken barrel lying scattered on the ground.

Though it would have been better for Jillian to be carried on a litter, it would take too long. He held her in his arms, praying she would survive the journey. They had to reach London to deliver the prisoners.

By the afternoon of the second day, Jillian's fever broke. "Milord?" She croaked out the words.

"Jillian."

Shaking her head to clear it she asked, "When…?"

"How do you feel?" His words seemed to confuse her.

"You want to know how I feel?" Her brow puckered, then she frowned and asked, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you want to know how I feel?"

His clear blue eyes were filled with compassion. "You are my lady wife. I care."

Jillian turned her face into his chest. "Wake up," he heard her say into his tunic.

"Where is Reka?"

"My mother is well, though worried about you."

"She should not be concerned about me."

"You have had wound fever for five days and nights."

With her pale face turned upward, she appeared lost and uncertain. Garrick was moved. All that he had learned of his wife should have been a surprise to him, yet somehow it was not. She had braved certain beating at the hands of her former guardians to free his brother. Yet again, she braved such treatment when she sought to save her friend, Sara, who had been threatened by Owen and his wife. Jillian was not without courage.

He would not give up his wife. Though the battle was yet to be waged, he now must face Jillian. He had to prove himself in her eyes in the battle to win back her trust.

Gently, he traced the line of one eyebrow, then the other, repeating the caress until Jillian's eyes closed. Bending down, he touched his lips to hers with a whisper of a kiss.

Her eyes flew open, her gaze capturing his. With the tip of his finger, he explored the contours of her lovely face. Caressing the line of her cheekbone, he frowned at the yellowed marks she bore there. He traced the jagged scar on her forehead with his eyes, infinitely sorry she suffered, then pressed his lips to the edge of it tenderly. Her eyes slowly closed, and her breathing deepened. His wife had fallen asleep in his arms. It was a start.

"Garrick!"

He looked down at his wife, but the shout hadn't woken her. "Problems, Iain?"

"Nay," the Scot answered, "but we've a rough section of land to cover ahead."

"See that three more men flank the wagons," Garrick answered. "We've come too far with the prisoners to lose them now."

"MacInness and I will relieve his Irish friends," Iain said.

Though the wagon jolted over the rocks and holes ahead, all of the prisoners remained inside them. At dusk, they made camp. Exhausted, Jillian slept through the meal. Her sleep was obviously disturbed, she cried out once again. Garrick was the only one able to calm her, and as before, only when he held her.

They covered half the distance to London and still Garrick had not progressed any further in his bid to win his wife over. Because she was exhausted, he just couldn't bring himself to bring up the subject of their marriage. Thinking of the tale of their capture and imprisonment, he wondered if she feigned sleep? He could not tell.

One thing was certain, his wife was wreaking havoc with his control, and she knew it not. Mayhap when they reached camp this evening, he would put his plans into action. He would woo his wife until she would see that he had changed his mind—he would never let her go. He hoped she would come to care for him.