Chapter Twenty-Three

J illian woke refreshed for the first time in days. She opened her eyes trying to remember where she was. Her thoughts were fuzzy, and a feeling of dread burned within her. Something was not right and would never be again. Try as she might, she could not quite put her finger on it. Sitting up was a challenge, but she managed it.

The tantalizing aroma of stew drifted past her nose, her stomach rumbled, loudly. Frowning, she could not recall the last time she had eaten.

Seeing Eyreka sitting near the fire, she rose and crossed the small grassy space between them. She felt out of touch. Had she been ill that long?

"Reka. Where are we?"

"Thank the Lord you are up and about." She hugged Jillian.

"I don't remember much after…"

"You slept. We are three days outside of London." Nodding her head, she continued, "My son intends to bring the rebels before King William to answer for their treasonous acts."

"But the penalty for treason is—"

"I know what it is," Eyreka interrupted. "But it is far kinder than what Winslow and Iain had in mind."

"Iain?"

"Aye, he's Winslow's friend. Some call him mad, but I think not."

Jillian's stomach growled loud enough to be heard.

Eyreka grinned. Rising she filled a bowl with simmering stew from the large pot. "Eat slowly," the older woman warned, "you're not accustomed to food as yet. This will put meat on your bones. You're much too thin."

While Jillian sat and ate, Eyreka filled her in on their journey southward.

Jillian asked, "Has Garrick said anything about what he intends to do with me once we arrive in London?"

"My son no longer confides matters of importance to me."

Jillian could not decide if she saw hurt in his mother's eyes, or irritation. She felt compelled to try to ease some of Eyreka's burden, lighten her mood.

"Mayhap he needs to be encouraged to open up to you, Reka. People change, he has carried a great many burdens these last years. It is not always easy to speak of what is closest to your heart." Jillian's own heart was breaking, thinking of the promise of love within her grasp, a love that was not meant to be.

Eyreka seemed to sense her need to talk; she drew Jillian closer to her side and waited.

"I am ashamed, Reka."

"Of what?"

"I am afraid."

"Everyone fears something," Eyreka soothed, "'tis natural."

Chin up, Jillian met Eyreka's level gaze. "What do you fear?"

"Being alone." Her eyes softened as she continued. "I loved Garrick's father with my whole being. When Addison died, a part of me died with him. Separately we were two very different people, but when joined together we formed one perfect person. I'll miss him always."

Jillian's eyes filled. "My parents shared a love such as that. 'Twas beautiful the way they were together. At times, they were at odds, but then all be forgiven and forgotten."

Looking her mother-in-law in the eye, she confessed, "I am afraid of what I will become after Garrick sets me aside. Where I will go? What I will do? I have no family, no home, no dowry."

The pain that came with admitting her fear spread through Jillian's being, numbing her with its intensity. She did not feel the warmth of the hands holding hers, nor did she see Eyreka's smile.

"Would you go back to Sedgeworth?"

"And willingly become a victim of Owen's machinations? The object on which Haldana vents her frustration? Never. At one time, I thought I deserved to be beaten. I no longer do."

Smoothing the hair off Jillian's pale forehead, Eyreka spoke softly. "Don't fret over what you cannot control. It will all come aright. Besides, you are not alone, you have me."

"Not once your son marries again."

"You are still his wife." Eyreka turned her head away, to hide her tears of joy. She would not spoil Garrick's news. Besides, she was not going to smooth the way for her son one bit. He dug himself into the hole he was in, let him claw his way up and out. Her daughter-in-law's love was worth the fight ahead.

Though it pained her greatly, Jillian smiled.

"There ye are, lass." MacInness smiled, slow as molasses and warm as sin.

Her pleasure at seeing him again was genuine. "Winslow!"

"I am glad to see ye up and aboot. Have ye any pain left?"

Touching the scar he stared at, Jillian denied that she did, covering the wince she felt with a grin. "I'm fine. Is there anything amiss?" She grew oddly restless under his intense scrutiny.

"Nay, I canna believe ye're standin' before me. When we found ye, death shadowed yer face." Giving her a hard look, he continued, "Ye're a foolish woman trying to escape from Harald. Brave, but foolish."

His reminder of the horror of their recapture seeped upward from the hard pain clenching in her belly, and held her with icy fingers of dread. What little color she had, drained from her face, leaving the fading bruises and puckered stitches glaringly obvious.

"Sit," MacInness commanded roughly.

She had no choice; her legs had gone to water at the knees. Rather than embarrass herself by falling down, she folded her legs beneath her and sat back down on the grass.

"Have you a cup of water, Lady Eyreka?" the tall Scot asked.

Reaching for the cup being handed to her, Jillian saw the quicksilver flash of loving concern before it was hidden behind his mask of control. It warmed her heart to know that he cared for her. It gave her hope that she was loveable and maybe someday she'd be able to convince Garrick to care for her as deeply.

Droplets of water softened her dry lips as she drank. The coldness of the icy stream water refreshed her. Closing her eyes, Jillian gathered her fleeting thoughts, bundling them together in a bid to control them. When she opened her eyes, she was alone.

"Thank you," she whispered into the silence. She did not want to have to remind Winslow she was a married woman. His argument the last time had been very persuasive. But her loyalty to her husband would not be swayed. Mayhap 'twas time to find out Garrick's plans for her.

She found him easily. Only two other men stood as tall or broad, and they both had flaming red hair. Singling him out, she advanced slowly, rehearsing what she would say until she thought she had the way of it.

"Milady." The men surrounding her husband seemed surprised to see her. Was she not supposed to be among them? She had not noticed their reluctance to be with her before. Their reaction confused her, until each one started to speak.

Kelly stared at her, then said, "She looks pale and should be lying down."

She felt the corner of her mouth curve upward.

"Shall I carry her back, then?" Sean asked, his eyes glimmering a bright green.

"I canna see what all the fuss is about. The lass isna fallin' down. Besides, she looks fit to me," Iain added staunchly.

Jillian smiled.

"She's been through hell and back, you damned Scot. I'll take her back to lie down." Patrick's voice brooked no argument, but he got one anyway.

Hands on hips, eyes flashing, Jillian let all of them have a piece of her mind. "I can see my own way about camp. I'm no frail creature needing to stay put while others about me work their fingers to the bone seeing to my comforts."

Though her head ached from raising her voice, she did not back down. "I've come to help, you bunch of daft men. I won't have Lady Eyreka slaving over the lot of you."

Garrick's reply was as smooth as newly churned butter. "My lady mother has not lifted a finger here, other than to tend you when I took the watch."

The implication that he had tended to her left her mouth dry and her thoughts jumbled. "I, that is, what I mean to say—"

Garrick approached her cautiously, as if he were afraid she'd bolt. His men alternately frowned, then smiled, grumbling to themselves as they disbursed quietly, leaving them alone.

A breeze stirred the supple young leaves that formed the green canopy overhead. The call of a jay startled her.

"'Tis naught to fear, Jillian, you're safe with me."

Looking up into his crystal blue eyes, she believed him. Though his face appeared hard, mouth set, his eyes told their own story. Desire flared briefly before settling down to a simmer of affection.

Jillian was confused and afraid what she saw was her mind playing tricks on her.

Garrick reached a tentative hand to her. She did not resist. His touch warmed her chilled flesh, suffusing her with feelings of contentment. Her breath hitched in her chest as she allowed herself to be led through a break in the trees to a sunlit spot on the edge of a meadow.

"'Tis good to see you up. I was afraid you'd arrive in London still fevered."

Do you care?

"I know not what you are thinking, but the look on your face tells me you do not believe me."

She shrugged. "How did you find us? How long have we been here?"

Garrick looked away from her for a brief moment. "The rebel's trail was not hard to follow. 'Tis near a full fortnight we have been traveling. We will reach London in a few days."

"What then? Will you hand me over to the king?" Her sudden burst of anger surprised her, but was unable to stop herself. It was her fear talking now.

"Nay, I…"

Before she would let him speak, the fear gave way to anger. "Have you another wife picked out, then?" she interrupted. "I am sorry that I do not have more fine clothes to give her, but the few that I have were left behind when we were captured."

Garrick grabbed her by the arms and shook her. "I've not looked for another wife."

The thought of another woman being wife to her husband, receiving his tender touch, made her heart hurt and her head pound. "I promise not to get into any more trouble between here and London. You'll have plenty of time to look for a wife when we get there."

A wicked gleam shone from her eyes. "What type of woman are you looking for? Fair, dark? Mayhap you should weigh her purse before wasting your precious time courting her."

Her well-aimed barb must have struck a nerve. Her husband's jaw flexed and his eyes cooled to an icy blue. So, she thought, he can be pushed into a temper. And now I know the right buttons to push.

"Well, if you've nothing further to say, I'll be going. I'm sure Dunstan or Winslow will let me know how I can help out. In the meantime, your mother and I will come up with some suitable ideas of a wife for you."

It was the perfect exit line. Let him have a brief taste of what she had felt after their wedding. She almost walked away, pride intact.

Hands clamped around her waist in a rock-hard grip. She was whirled around and crushed up against his massive chest with such force, the air whooshed out of her lungs. When his lips descended, she was still struggling to catch her breath.

Jillian sagged against him from the lethal combination of lack of oxygen and his bone-melting kiss. Her plan to prick his temper had worked, only it backfired. He was not acting like a man filled with dislike for her. Nay, he was a man filled with passion.

"I don't need a wife," he bit out in between mind-numbing kisses.

"But you have one," she managed to say when she got her wind back.

"That I have." Garrick rained fiery kisses across her cheek and along the line of her jaw. The trail of heat left behind burned.

The last time he had kissed her, he shared his plans to leave. Fear that he would do so again shook her to the core of her being, giving her the strength to push him away.

"I will not be used only to be discarded once you have found your heiress."

"God's blood woman, do not persist in your taunts."

She fought Garrick's hold on her and pushed out of his arms. Blinded by tears, she ran across the meadow, until her lungs burned and her body ached. She could not see clearly where she was going, or where she had been. Realizing the futility of continuing, she crumpled into a heap under a tall weeping pine tree. The soft carpet of needles beckoned to her, releasing a clean pine scent when she sat on them. Physically exhausted, emotionally depleted, she let herself be lulled to sleep.

She did not stir when gently lifted, nor did she waken while being carried back to camp.