Chapter Thirty

"I 'll not rest while everyone else works their fingers to the bone feeding the growing number of men that serve my husband," Jillian said, emphasizing her displeasure with the latest stricture Garrick had placed upon her by stamping her foot.

"I'm carrying his babe. I'm not dying!" He's too protective of me , she thought. I'm perfectly capable of carrying a platter with my hands and his babe with my body .

The young serving woman standing between her and the kitchen didn't move. "Please, milady, you'll ruin this fine day if you anger milord so early."

"Aye, lass. That ye will," Winslow drawled. "'Twould be a pity to waste such a glorious day feelin' so sorry for yerself that ye'd cause yer busy husband worry."

"He's not worried," Jillian pouted. "He likes telling me what to do."

She could feel her chin quiver and tears pooling in her eyes. She blinked furiously to keep them from falling.

MacInness could not have helped but notice her rapid mood change. Lord help her, even she was beginning to grow weary of trying to keep her emotions from bouncing around.

"Aye, he does enjoy ordering small redheaded tyrants about. 'Tis all part of his plan to refine my patience. The more he upsets ye, the more ye lash out at me." His warm look belied his words. "Ye could drive a strong mon to drink, Jillie lass."

Jillian bowed her head. "I'm sorry. I can't abide being idle, you must understand that." She searched his eyes for a clue as to what he was thinking. They were cloudy, not clear and bright. "What's wrong?"

He swallowed hard and looked away from her, but she could feel his pain.

"I promise not to trouble you anymore today if you tell me what has taken the sparkle from your eye and the spring from your step." She laid a hand on his arm, a silent entreaty, and waited.

MacInness straightened his shoulders and turned back to her, taking hold of her hand. "I canna tell ye just yet, lassie." The faraway look in his eye faded. "It does my heart good to ken how much ye care." He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a chaste kiss upon it.

"Well, wife, I can see you have little regard for my wishes." Garrick's eyes were curiously merry in contrast to his harsh words.

"'Tis not that I try to upset you," she paused searching for the words to explain how useless she felt now that she had no duties. Such a change from the backbreaking work she had grown accustomed to at Sedgeworth. She felt lost, alone .

"'Tis good to hear," he replied smugly. "Am I also to assume that my vassal's attentions toward you are not provoked?"

*

She nearly choked on her reply, "Attentions?" She could feel her face flush with the anger she tried to control. "You have paid little enough attention to me these weeks past but to order me not to lift anything heavier than my finger." She pointed that forefinger right between his eyes. She could feel her temper simmering and knew she had to let it out or explode.

"Now, lass, 'tis for yer own good," MacInness tried to reason with her.

"Lack of exercise is not good for the babe, nor me. Just ask—"

Garrick swept her off her feet and carried her back the way she had come. His expression grim, but determined. She worried that she had angered him in spite of her decision not to.

He put his shoulder to the door to open it, turned halfway around, and hooked it with the tip of his boot to close it.

"Now then, wife," he said depositing her on their bed, "'tis time to exercise, then you will obey me and rest."

She stood up on the bed, hands on hips glaring at him. "I need something to do." She poked him in the chest, "I'll not sit idly back while the other women do their share of work as well as my own."

His eyes sparkled. "Oh, we'll not be idle." Garrick's meaning was clear when he reached out to pull her clothing up over her head.

"You're just trying to distract me—"

"Is it working yet?" His voice was husky with passion. He laid her gently on her back.

Jillian started to protest, but gave up when her husband's hands began working their magic on her. Her lips instinctively sought his.

*

"Did the lass decide to rest, then?" MacInness called out when Garrick crossed the bailey toward him.

"With a little persuasion, I convinced her she was tired." He couldn't keep from smiling.

His vassal grinned. "A mon has to do what a mon has to do." He turned and shouted at one of the younger knights training, "Not like that, mon, yer opponent will cleave yer sorry head in two."

"Where's Iain?" he asked Garrick.

"Building a fence for the cattle."

The promised reward from the king would be arriving in a few days. And thank God for it , Garrick thought. Were it not for the cattle and grain, his people would not have made it through another hard winter.

"I need his help showing these latest recruits how to fight." MacInness looked about him and shook his head; his face lined with worry.

Garrick could tell his friend was worried about something, but he didn't have time to draw it out of the closemouthed Scot. "I'll send Iain to help you train. Dunstan can oversee the building as well as any."

"Aye," MacInness answered distractedly.

"I'll be leaving by week's end to collect the ransom the king has promised our people, can it wait 'til then?" Garrick asked.

The Scot met his gaze and understanding passed between them, "Aye, it can."

Garrick nodded, whatever was on his vassal's mind weighed heavily upon the man. First the delivery of cattle, then he'd see about helping to solve whatever troubled MacInness.

*

Garrick and MacInness spent their days busily tallying up the list of needed repairs both within the walls of the keep and the village surrounding it. Jillian was tired and irritable. She had not been sleeping well. Her nights had been plagued by the recurring nightmare of Alan's death.

Now that they had established themselves at Merewood, her husband was gone on business that kept him away from her side most days from dawn 'til dusk. She felt more alone than ever before. Though she needed to be around people to keep from going out of her mind, what she really needed was her husband.

She sought out Gertie, hoping to work her way around her husband's edict that she stay abed and let the others run the household. "I think I'll see about the evening meal, Gert."

"You should rest yourself and the babe. Lady Eyreka and I can take care of the household." Gertie steered her back toward the stairs.

Jillian clenched her teeth, hating to feel so useless. She had to be in the thick of things, where she would not be alone with her memories. She didn't want to rest. If she did, she might fall asleep and dream.

"I feel fine, if I could just lend a hand—"

"Off with you." Gertie all but pushed her out of the door and up the stairs.

Jillian slowly climbed the stairs, but before she reached the top step, she knew she had to clear her head. A ride outside the keep's walls just might do it… if I can elude my overbearing husband. She cringed. She loved Garrick to distraction, but between his overprotectiveness and his long absences, she was growing more and more restless. If she could only sleep soundly, she wouldn't be so close to madness.

"But, milady, I've orders not to saddle a horse for you." Young Stephan folded his skinny arms in front of him, not moving.

There was no hope for it; she'd have to bend the truth. "You do your job well, Stephan, my husband is pleased." While the boy puffed out his chest with pride, she added, "I'd prefer riding without a saddle anyway."

Jillian led her horse out of the stall, turned over a bucket and stepped up on its back. Stephan grabbed at the reins trying to stop her, but she laughed, "I need the exercise, I'll not ride long." Taking pity on the small boy, she added, "Don't fret, you didn't saddle a horse for me, now did you?"

"But, I don't think milord—"

"You should not try to second guess my husband's wishes." Jillian smiled, waving over her shoulder. One down , she thought, one to go .

"Lady Jillian?" The gatekeeper's surprise was almost funny.

She smiled. "I need to escape for a little while. I'll be back soon."

"But milord said you aren't to ride out alone," the old man protested.

"Then you'll have to send someone to follow me, won't you?" She waited while he grudgingly opened the gate, promising to send someone after her. Jillian waved and dug her heels into her mount's sides.

The wind whipped her hair across her eyes; she shook it back glorying in her moment of absolute freedom. By the time she heard hoof beats, she had ridden hard enough to grow weary . I hadn't counted on that.

"Lady Jillian," MacInness shouted to her.

She looked back at the warrior hard at her heels just long enough to take her eyes off the path she rode. "Aye?"

"Look out!" The warning came a split-second too late.

Her horse stumbled on a root in the path and went down on one knee. Jillian held on, wrapping her arms around the horse's neck.

"Easy, milady," MacInness took her by the arm, "I've got you." He helped her down off the injured horse. After first checking her out from head to toe, he looked at the horse's foreleg. It was swelling and warm to the touch.

"Ye canna ride him back. We'll have to double up." He lifted her up into the saddle and tied her horse's reins to the back of his mount's saddle.

Jillian felt badly; poor horse. She sighed loudly, 'twas her fault he was injured. "I'm so sorry." She felt guilty about the horse hobbling slowly behind them.

"'Tis not entirely your fault." MacInness held her securely in front of him.

"Did I take you away from anything important?" she asked belatedly.

"Aye." His one word answer made her feel even worse. It was not like him to be so quiet. Lost in her own troubled thoughts, she didn't notice that her protector had gone rigid, until he whispered in her ear.

"I saw a flash in the wood to the left. When I jump off, ye ride like the de'il for the keep. Dinna stop until ye reach safety."

"But what—" Her words were cut off by a war cry accompanied by crashing branches and pounding hooves.

"Now!" he shouted, slashing the reins holding the injured horse, setting it free. MacInness leapt to the ground and slapped the rump of his horse.

Jillian had no choice; it was hang on, or fall off. Thinking of the babe, she leaned forward and held on for dear life. The wind whipped strands of her hair across her face. Branches slapped out at her, but she kept her head. Oh God , she thought, riding toward the keep, not again . Another brave man would have to pay the price for her actions.

Not Winslow.

Dread filled her with an icy coldness that numbed her, until her mind rebelled and broke free. "I cannot let another man die." Jaw clenched, mind set, she squeezed her legs tight to the sides of Winslow's horse and turned back toward the sounds of battle.

MacInness stood within a circle of six warriors, claymore raised high, poised to strike again. His sword connected, the knight groaned before crumpling to the ground, dead. The Scot was so intent upon staying alive; he didn't see Jillian riding toward him. But the others did. When they turned away it gave him the edge he needed. He cut down two more warriors, evening up the battle. Three to one.

"Winslow!" Jillian shouted, "On your left!" She veered the horse toward the unsuspecting knight whose back was toward her. His sword was raised above his head, just like her nightmare. Terror pumped the adrenaline through her body giving her inhuman strength.

"No!" she screamed, gripping the reins. Jillian bent low over her mount and rammed into the side of the man. The knight lost his balance. MacInness saw his chance and ran him through with his sword before turning to her. Blood flowed down the side of his face and arm. His amber eyes glowed, fixed on the spot behind her.

"Dinna move," he warned.

She had the sensation someone was directly behind her. Trusting Winslow, she waited until he gave the signal. "Now!" She ducked, but not soon enough. The tip of a blade sliced into the tender flesh at the back of her arm. She cried out in pain.

Winslow's own battle cry was echoed by Patrick's, who rode hell-bent-for-leather toward the last knight, who stood ready to cleave the enraged Scot in two.

While Jillian watched in horror, their movements slowed like in a dream. MacInness dove to the side, avoiding the worst of the blow. The sword caught him in the thigh, but MacInness didn't stop, he reached up and caught the enemy in the throat with his blade.

Bile gushed up her throat at the sight of so much blood. She clamped her mouth shut against the instinctive reaction. Her vision grayed. She grabbed hold of her necklace and asked for strength and courage. "Power of the ancients," she whispered reverently, "help me." She blinked and the grayness mystically vanished.

MacInness swayed, but Patrick reached him in time to steady him, wrapping an arm about him.

"Lady Jillian, you're bleeding." Patrick's expression went from grim to green.

"Is it that bad?"

"Aye. You'll need threads to hold it closed. We'd best get back before Owen realizes his ambush has failed." Patrick looked to MacInness. "Can you ride?"

He shook his head. "I canna feel my arm, or leg."

Jillian could feel herself weakening. "Patrick, help me stop the bleeding, then we'll get him on his horse."

"What about you?"

She could tell the knight was wavering between his duty to protect her and getting her to safety, and the obvious—MacInness would bleed to death before they made it to safety.

"He'll die." It was all that needed to be said. They worked quickly, tearing strips off the bottom of her gown. When their friend's wounds were wrapped tight enough to staunch the flow of blood. Patrick turned his attention to her arm.

"Now you, milady."

"Nay, I'm fine. Let's get him—"

"Sit," Patrick ordered.

Too exhausted to argue, she sat. He ripped one last strip from her gown. It now reached her knees, though at the moment, neither was concerned with modesty.

Concentrating on Winslow, she asked, "Is he all right?" Her eyes were wide with fear for her dear friend. She didn't like the gray cast to his skin. He had lost so much blood.

"We've got to get my healing herbs, mix a poultice—" She stopped speaking when MacInness slumped over, unconscious. "Dear God in Heaven!"

Patrick placed his strong hands on her shoulders. "Lady Jillian, listen carefully. I have to get you both back to the keep now; we cannot delay. Can you ride?"

Her vision wavered, and her legs felt like she was standing knee deep in frigid water, but she nodded. "Aye."

"I'll tie him to the saddle. You sit behind him and hold tight."

"I won't let go," she vowed. She could do it. She had to hang on. Talking to herself helped her concentrate on the injured man before her and not the pain creeping back into her arm.

"I'll follow behind to protect your backs, we've no time to waste."

When she saw the edge of the clearing through the trees, she knew they would make it. Her mind started to wander. She tried to concentrate on Winslow, ignoring the pain, just for a few minutes more.

"Almost there, milady," Patrick called out. "Just a little longer."

Her hands trembled and her arms shook, but she held on for dear life…Winslow's. It was all the incentive she needed. She would protect her husband's vassal to the last ounce of strength she possessed.