Chapter Twenty-Five

"H ear that, lass?" Winslow cocked an ear, listening intently.

"Nay," Jillian stubbornly refused his latest attempt to draw her into conversation.

Doing so for the last hour had the base of her skull pounding. It was her own fault, she thought, the poor man was only trying to be nice to her. Deciding to lower her guard and cool her temper, she tilted her head to listen and heard the high keening call of a hawk screeching for its mate.

Mate. The word haunted her. Deep inside her a voice whispered, Garrick's the one. I'm not sure if he wants me, her mind stubbornly answered the voice. Talk to him, give him the chance to explain.

While her mind tried to work out the plan that she had formed, their journey progressed ever closer to London, the place where her love for Garrick would be tested. If she should succeed, she would be able to gift him with the one thing he desired above all, material wealth for his family and his people. If she failed… She would not even consider the ramifications should she not be able to convince the king.

What of your vows? Her conscience spoke again. Unwanted tears clogged her throat. Unrequited love took hold of her heart and squeezed it.

"He'll always be the husband of my heart."

"A lot of good that will do ye on a cold night," Winslow retorted.

Aghast that she had spoken her thoughts aloud, she turned away to hide her flaming cheeks. Forcing her tears back with a will of iron, she pasted a false look of contentment on her face and stared ahead. There was no going back, only ahead.

Lady Eyreka and Winslow had tried to force Garrick and Jillian together, but to no avail. Her husband could not seem to hold a conversation for more than a few moments, and only if it entailed the most impersonal of topics. Still recovering from the ordeal of her capture, Jillian decided 'twas best to keep quiet.

Garrick maintained a distance between them for the rest of the journey, only speaking to her when courtesy demanded. His questions were never more than cursory. How had she fared that day? Was she hungry? Cold? Tired? Never offering to delve deeper into the hurt wrapping itself around her heart. Was it because of the heavy burden he carried, bringing the rebels to justice? Or something more?

By the time they reached their destination, Jillian was more than ready to petition the king. She had to end the tension existing between Garrick and herself. He was so preoccupied; he didn't notice she had drawn within herself.

The echo of hoof beats pounding against stone jarred her from her semiconscious state. They had arrived. She looked to the ramparts where armed guards watched their slow entry with undisguised interest. Odd, not one of them demanded their group halt.

"Why are the guards ignoring us? Shouldn't they be asking who we are and what we want?"

Roderick moved his horse closer and answered, "We are expected." Nodding over his shoulder, he glared at the group of closely guarded prisoners.

Jillian didn't need to follow his gaze to look at the rebels, she'd never forget them. But now that she was so close to her goal, the prospect of speaking to the ruler who'd ultimately been responsible for the loss of her home and way of life made her stomach roil and fingers of dread slither up her spine.

Misunderstanding her unspoken fear, Roderick reassured her, "The king has waited a long time for this particular group of rebels."

Mayhap the king knew something of Garrick's plans and would be willing to share a bit of that valuable information with her once she made her offer.

"Take the rebels to the dungeons." Garrick's voice cut through the stillness around them.

As if by magic, his words brought everyone in it back to life. People called loudly again from one side of the bailey to the other, their voices carrying across to her. "…I hear he's gonna hang them all!" one of the men unloading a wagon filled with hay called out.

Horrified at the prospect of more death, she listened to the rest of the conversation.

A burly man tossing a bale of hay onto his back called out, "They're to be drawn and quartered."

Every ounce of spit dried up in her mouth as she watched the men haul the hay into the stables.

A contingent of soldiers arrived to escort the prisoners. Two barefooted young boys pushed and shoved one another across her line of vision on their way toward the well.

She was so caught up in the activity and snippets of conversation she didn't realize Garrick stood beside her until his strong hands encircled her waist. Warmth filled her at his touch.

Did he realize the effect he had on her? She dared a glance at him through lowered lashes as he lifted her from the saddle and set her gently on the ground. When she looked up, his gaze locked on hers. Passion and desire swirled in the pale blue depths as he stared at her lips.

She stared back, wanting, nay needing him to take her in his arms and kiss her. Had she lost her wits? Her heart bled for him, but she knew 'twas not meant to be. This one kiss may be the last one they shared.

He tightened his grip and bent his head.

"Garrick!"

He blinked and the stark warrior's gaze returned. Garrick eased back, nodded to her, and dropped his hands.

The tingling sensation of being so close to her heart's desire made her head swim. Locking her knees to keep from falling, she managed to hide the fact that she'd nearly fallen on her face. Lord, she was weary.

Determined now more than ever to follow through with her plans, Jillian breathed in a deep calming breath, drawing on her inner reserves. She had a meeting to arrange, and though her ultimate goal may have changed, her purpose had not altered. 'Twas time to act.

Hours later, all of her eagerness began to wear off as the evening's feast drew ever onward. One platter followed another as their appetites were tempted with an assortment of delicately cooked fowl and meat. Sweetmeats, cakes, and cheese accompanied the spiced, and honeyed wine. Her body cried out for nourishment, but her stomach wouldn't hold more than a mouthful or two.

"You must eat to keep your strength up," Eyreka chided.

"I'm not as hungry as I had thought." Pushing herself away from the still-full trencher she tried to smile, thinking of the unfortunates who would benefit from her lack of appetite. At least she hoped most of her meal would be given to the poor as was the custom, and not to the dogs lying on the rushes at her feet, ever vigilant in their bid to appease their hunger.

Midway through the meal, she noticed the late arrival of a small party. Her hands clenched the goblet she held tighter. Owen and his family! So they were still here. 'Twould bear watching, remembering the mention of his name while she and Lady Eyreka were held captive.

She nudged Eyreka with the toe of her slippered foot. Their eyes locked for a heartbeat before the lady looked in the direction Jillian nodded. A look combining both hatred and pain crossed the older woman's face, then she turned back with a look of warning.

Jillian acknowledged the look with a slight nod and dipped her hands in the herb-laced water bowl to remove any trace of the meager attempt she made at eating. Drying her hands on the cloth provided, she waited for the meal to end. It seemed an interminable amount of time had passed before the king rose, signaling that the meal had finally ended.

Upon rising, the king beckoned to Garrick, who sat on the other side of his mother from her. Her husband rose and made his way to his sovereign's side. She watched him walk away, hoping she'd not seen the last of him or else she'd never be able to explain why she'd pushed him away.

"Do you think he noticed Owen?" Eyreka asked.

Jillian shook her head. "I'm not sure. Owen and his family are seated on the far side of the room." Pausing, she leaned closer to Garrick's mother. "Shouldn't we be more concerned with whether or not they saw us?"

Eyreka didn't have time to answer as Garrick's brothers were ready to escort them back to their chamber.

"'Twas a fine meal—" Roderick began, only to be interrupted by his brother.

"Did you see Owen and his family?"

A meaningful look passed between the brothers before Roderick spoke. "I noticed, but what good would it do to mention the obvious? One look at Lady Jillian is enough to see that she too is aware of his presence."

"What business does Garrick have with King William?" she asked. "Does it have to do with the Rebels?" Or the end of our marriage?

Dunstan's eyes were filled with understanding, which warmed her heart, while at the same time, the fact that his eyes were the exact same shade of Garrick's totally unnerved her.

Why couldn't I feel something for Dunstan? He's more steadfast in temperament and actions. Merewood's people need him to aid in planning, planting, and harvesting. But unlike his older brother, he's not ultimately responsible for their people's lives.

She searched her heart and his gaze for a portion of the feelings she had for Garrick. 'Twas not the same. She cared about Dunstan, but Garrick held her heart, and was the man she loved unconditionally.

The full weight of that realization struck her hard in the chest. It was the first time she acknowledged her true feelings. Heart in her eyes, she met Dunstan's gaze.

He cleared his throat. "So that's the way of it, milady?"

"I would welcome an offer of friendship." She hoped he would not turn his back on her.

He didn't. Taking her hand in his, Dunstan brought it to his lips. His breath across her skin warmed it, but no answering call swept up through her being, threatening to take control of her mind, body, and soul. She smiled, though it didn't quite reach her sorrow-filled eyes.

"I know our brother meets with the king to report on the capture of the Saxon Rebels," he admitted, "but as to any other reason…" He shrugged. "I have no idea."

Desperate to push him to see if he knew but didn't want to confide in her she rasped, "I was hoping to find out how much longer I had before your brother ends our marriage."

"Now, Jillian, dear," Eyreka said, putting her arm around her, "you do not know for certain that it is inevitable."

Acute sorrow swept through her. "I do know that unless I am able to convince the king otherwise, Garrick will soon be free to marry another." The silence that followed her comment was palpable.

"And just how do you plan to change the king's mind?" Roderick demanded.

"Aye, Lady Jillian," Dunstan looked ready to explode, "how?"

Looking from one brother to the other, she realized they were more like Garrick than she'd thought. Mayhap it would be best to tread carefully and mind her words.

"The less you know," she said, dropping her voice to just above a whisper, "the safer you shall be." The uneasy feeling of being observed through the second half of the meal returned. She darted a quick glance around her expecting to see Haldana glaring at her, but the woman was nowhere in sight. Their small party was the only one about. A shudder worked its way up her spine.

"Has someone threatened you?" Dunstan demanded. "I'll deal with him myself." The middle brother placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Who threatened the lass?" Winslow bit out.

Spinning around to face the warrior, Jillian felt her skin grow clammy with fear. He hadn't seen Haldana, had he?

An inch away from her he stopped and demanded, "Well?"

Her gaze met his. Anger, hot and deadly emanated from her protector. Rather than hold his gaze until she confessed each and every thought running through her brain, she looked down at her gown, picking at a fold, giving it her full attention.

The rough fingertip beneath her chin redirected it. "How can I protect ye from harm if ye wilna help me to do it?"

The plaintive plea in his voice tugged at her heartstrings, but she could not give in. Why depend on people who wouldn't be there when she needed them?

"Who threatened ye?" he repeated.

"No one." The lie slid off her tongue easily.

Her Highland protector clenched his jaw with enough force to crack all of his teeth. He was as mad as a rabid dog.

"I'll find out, milady," he vowed, "and God help the mon responsible. I'll skin him alive."

Judging from the look on his face, she didn't doubt for a moment he would do just that.

Eyreka intervened, placing a hand on the Scotsman's forearm. "Thank you for the escort, Winslow dear," she soothed. "Will you be guarding us tonight?"

His gaze broke away from Jillian's, though it appeared to be killing him to do so. "Aye."

Jillian wondered if he would choke on his tongue in an effort not to bite it off.

"Don't trouble yourself, Winslow," Jillian hastily added. "We will be perfectly safe. Go and get some rest."

He moved with lightning speed, grabbing her by the arms and forcing her to look up at him. They stood toe-to-toe, chin to chest. For the first time since he took over the job as protector, she was uneasy.

"Ye wilna step from this room," he ordered. "I'll have yer word on it, Lady Jillian."

It was telling that he didn't call her lass. Mayhap she would have to forego her plans to seek out the king. Amber fire lay banked, waiting for her agreement, or mayhap the excuse to break free and burn all in its path.

Bravely meeting his commanding gaze, she gave her word. "I'll not leave this room—by the door."

Immediately his grip loosened, and he stepped back. She smiled at his relief, almost feeling sorry for the man. She hadn't promised to stay; she'd only agreed not to use the door.

*

Jillian bit back another cry of pain as her already raw knees scraped the outside wall of the castle for the umpteenth time. Eyreka's head poked out the window yet again. "Are you all right?"

She swallowed hard, and answered, "Aye."

There was no other way out of their chamber; she had to be patient and pay better attention to the sway of the rope and the closeness of the wall. "Just a little more rope, a little bit lower now, and I can jump to the ground."

"Be careful."

Smiling up into the darkness, she promised. Lord, please let me land without breaking a limb.

The bedpost they had tied the knotted bedclothes to, held fast as she was lowered to within ten feet of the ground.

Now, or never , she told her quaking limbs.

Now!

She let go of her lifeline and landed on her feet with a bone-jarring thud, then promptly fell onto her backside. She gasped, drawing in a deep breath at the sudden stinging sensation numbing her legs and back.

"Jillian?" Eyreka's voice reached her.

"Take the sheets back in and untie them," she managed. "Hurry!"

Once Garrick's mother was gone from view, she stood up, groaning in pain. Taking a few tentative steps, she was able to loosen the cramps in her legs, and those in more embarrassing places.

"It didn't look that far down," she mumbled to herself. Too busy trying to rub the numbness and pain from her bottom and back, she didn't see the guard approaching until her body collided with his.

"What's a pretty lass like you doing alone on a night like this?" The soldier's tone was liberally laced with undisguised warmth.

Momentarily speechless, she stared.

The warrior looked her up and down, and his gaze grew hotter. Self-conscious, Jillian raised her hand to her hair. It had come out of the braid and was curling about her face and throat. A hand to her shoulder told her it was bare. The chainse had slipped off her shoulder. Jerking the material back up onto her shoulder, she stammered. "I… I'm Lady Jillian of Merewood—"

"Garrick's wife?" he interrupted.

"Aye, but—"

"Come with me." He grabbed her arm and held fast escorting her through a nearby door. They made their way through the maze of torch lit hallways stopping before a heavily guarded door.

"Your husband is still with the king, but I am sure he would want you with him." The sadly misinformed soldier stood ready to knock on the closed door.

Before he could, it opened wide, and Garrick backed out of the room. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of his broad back outlined with the bright light from the room.

She panicked. He can't find me here!

The guard was temporarily sidetracked by whatever was going on within the room. She took advantage of the guard's lapse and darted into the shadows down the darkened hall.

"Lord Garrick, your wife is here—" The guard turned around, but she was already gone.

"Jillian? Impossible, she's in our chamber sleeping. Is something amiss?"

The guard shook his head. "I must be mistaken, but the woman, wench, had the look of your wife about her." He ventured off down the darkened passageway looking to the left and then the right.

Garrick turned and headed toward his chamber, and the woman he needed to hold. He had news he wanted to share with her. Preoccupied, he didn't see the wraith-like shadow creeping back toward the king's chamber door, but he must have felt her presence as he called out to her, "Jillian," his voice was hard as stone.

Her hand dropped and she grimaced at the censure in his voice. She turned away from the door, so close to reaching her evening's goal. "Aye?"

"I'll have your explanation now." He stood rooted to the floor, his stance battle-ready. The look in his eye brooked no arguments.

Hope speared through her like a well-sharpened battle lance. Mayhap now was her chance. If he wanted an explanation, she'd give him one. "May I speak with you in private?" Jillian did not want to disclose her evening's activities within earshot of anyone save her husband.

Garrick practically dragged her down yet another unfamiliar section of hallway. Throwing open a massive door, he pulled her into the room. After a furtive glance down the hall, he shut the door behind them.

Silence engulfed them, sealing them off from the rest of the occupants of the castle. Though the room was lit by the soft glow of a torch on the wall, Garrick proceeded to light the candles lining the table by the bed.

Jillian noticed his hands shook. Why?

"Sit." As she settled onto a cushioned chair near the cold brazier, he seemed to steel himself.

Garrick got right to the point, "Is he dead, then?"

Baffled, she asked, "Is who dead?"

"MacInness. It's the only possible explanation for you to be sitting before me so obviously abused by a man. MacInness must be dead. How did it happen?"

She barely managed to contain the giggle of mirth bubbling up inside her. "Winslow is fine. As a matter of fact, I am fine."

His intense gaze turned bitter cold as it locked with hers. "Never fear you cannot trust me with the truth, wife. I took a vow to protect you, and I mean to follow through with that vow."

Her temper flared burning brightly as he turned colder. Her voice broke, "What of honoring the vows of marriage we spoke before God and man?"

Garrick opened his mouth to speak then changed his mind, locking his jaw down tight.

The hope that sprang to life in her breast only a short while ago shriveled up and died a slow and painful death. "I see."

"You cannot possibly begin to understand," he bit out, "I have given my pledge to speak to no one." His hand reached for hers. "Can you not trust me?"

Jillian wanted to believe, to trust, but she had things to do before she could answer him. She blinked at the moisture pooling in her eyes and shook her head.

Going down on his knees before her, he took her hands. She stared down at their joined hands. His were scarred, twice the size of hers but they enveloped hers with a warmth that suffused itself all the way to her bones.

"There are things you don't know about me," he hesitated, "things I have done in the past that would shock you to the point where you would revile me."

Cupping his cheek in her hand, she lightly stroked his jaw. "'Tis not possible." Compassion for him swirled through her. Had he no one to confide his fears, no one to soothe away the hurt she sensed went right down to his soul?

"Then why can you not trust me?" The hurt in his eyes mirrored the pain she now felt.

Moved, she asked herself the same question. Could she trust him? Glancing down into his clear blue eyes, she nodded. "I want to trust you."

He reached for her hand. It was that easy. Two lost souls reached out for what each thought they were unworthy of seeking. Forgiveness. Acceptance. Love.

A tentative bridge was crossed in that brief span of time. Blessedly their souls beckoned, their hearts trusted, and their minds opened.

The overpowering need to set him at ease so he would be able to trust her filled her. For a moment she didn't know how to get him to do so. Closing her eyes, she prayed for guidance.

The answer filled her entire being. In order to get him to trust her, she had to trust him by unburdening her own heavy heart. "Much has been done to me since the death of my parents. Those who would call themselves my guardians took out their frustrations on me. Their children treated me lower than a servant." Fierce Celtic pride surged up from within her. "I am not afraid of being beaten," she rasped. "I have survived worse."

Searching his face for a spark of understanding, what she saw stole the heart she so closely guarded. Naked pain and longing were etched across his handsome brow and suspicious moisture clouded his beautiful eyes.

He understood, shared her pain, and thus her heavy burden.

"I cannot change the past, but I can change the future." He pressed his lips lightly to her hand, brushing them reverently across one knuckle at a time before straightening up, not letting go of her hand.

"The first part of my plan has been successful. The king promised to bestow a reward upon me for the capture of the rebel prisoners."

"What kind of reward?" Her interest was piqued.

"Grain to feed my people through the winter."

"That is beyond wonderful! Gert will be so happy!"

"That's not all," he said. "He's promised one head of cattle for each man brought in, though he did not say when we would receive this reward."

The enormity of the boon hit her. Merewood's people would not starve this winter. She silently rejoiced for Garrick. Though it would cause more unrest, she had to tell him about her guardian's part in the abduction, but he was so happy, she didn't want to destroy his moment of sheer elation.

While she waged a silent war with how to break the news to him, Garrick stroked the palm of her hand, drawing circles between the patches of work-roughened skin, eliciting tiny shivers.

Her heart recognized they were destined to be lovers, and whether or not they would remain married, she knew in her heart her fate lay in her husband's strong hands.

Struggling to still her racing heart, she was finally able to speak coherently. "There is something that you should know, husband. While your mother and I were held captive, I heard Owen's name mentioned more than once. It had something to do with the ransom they were asking."

When he remained silent, she asked, "Was it difficult to come up with what he demanded?"

"Nay."

She sighed, "Praise God for that. I will see to it that you don't ever regret paying it."

"I didn't pay it." His voice was clipped, curt.

"Then how were we freed?"

"Your father was a great warrior, was he not?" His shift of topics worried her.

"Aye."

"Then he knew of the Trojan Wars."

She nodded, waiting for him to continue. When it became apparent he was finished speaking, she prodded him to further explain. He told her of the ingenious Greek plan to gift the Trojans with a huge wooden horse.

She nodded. "My father told me the Greeks gained entrance into the city of Troy with their gift."

Garrick seemed to be waiting for her to say more, then shrugged. "We had two wagons filled with barrels. They were to be filled with the ransom of salted meats and grain. But when we drove them into the rebel camp—"

"They were empty," she asked, "weren't they?"

He shook his head. "Each contained a warrior." Garrick described how his men had hidden until he gave the signal then they leapt out of the barrels surprising the Saxon Rebels.

Pride filled her, but she still wanted to know about the ransom. "Why did you not want to pay?"

"'Twas not a matter of want," he said through clenched teeth. "I had it not."

Understanding added one more link to the chain binding them together. Each had used their wits to bring about the safe return of his mother, a woman dear to them both. Though Jillian's attempt had failed, it ultimately aided Garrick's successful capture of the rebels.

The tentative beginnings of trust blossomed between them. Their gazes met and held, understanding followed. When Garrick opened his arms, she flew into them.