Chapter Thirty-One

"J illian."

The voice was insistent, as were the hands shaking her. She groaned when pain sliced through her arm, forcing her heavy eyes open.

"We're safe. You can let go of him now."

Confusion muddled her brain. "Safe?" She licked her dry lips.

"Aye," Patrick answered.

"Thank God." She let go of her tenuous hold on Winslow and consciousness. When she awoke, she was disoriented for a moment before it all came back to her. Her horse stumbling and the war cry and the ambush that followed.

"Winslow—" she croaked out.

"Aye?" MacInness limped over to the side of her bed. He was pale as death, but he was alive enough to glower down at her. "Ye shoulda listened when I told ye to ride for the keep!"

She looked away from the censure in his eyes. Her gaze collided with Garrick's brilliant blue stare.

Her reaction ran the gamut of emotion from shock to joy to sheer panic.

But her husband's look was cold and forbidding. She had saved his vassal's life, why was he angry with her?

"Why did you take a chance with your life and that of our babe?"

Her hands flew to her stomach in fear.

"By the grace of God, you haven't lost it yet." Shock ripped through Jillian. Her stomach rebelled at the thought of losing their babe. She reached for the chamber pot, gagging. Strong arms held her through the worst of it.

"Gert says you're stronger than you look." He looked down at her arm then wiped her brow with a cool cloth. "Jillian?" His voice sounded hesitant.

"Aye?"

"What you did today was foolish," he began.

"I told her to ride for the keep," MacInness interrupted.

Jillian didn't know how to begin to explain that she had already caused one good man's death; she couldn't let another die because of her foolishness. In the face of her husband's anger, the words died on her lips.

"Leave us."

The warrior rose, pausing at the door, he gave her a hard look and left.

"MacInness would have given his life to protect you."

"I could not let him do that," her voice broke. "It was because of my desire to escape your overbearing strictures that led him into that ambush. Had I listened, his life would not have been endangered."

Garrick kissed her brow with tenderness. "I do understand your actions wife, but you are not a warrior."

Jillian's hands sought her necklace and closed around the smooth stone. "Mayhap not in your eyes, husband, but I protect what is mine." Her eyes flashed with conviction, "'Tis men who make war on the battlefields, but ofttimes while they do, their women must wage war while protecting their homes."

She dared a glance at her husband. It seemed impossible but he appeared angrier. Jillian mistakenly thought she had seen the worst of that emotion the day they wed. She was wrong.

She was afraid she had not been able to make him understand why she acted without hesitation. Jillian searched his face for a hint of forgiveness, but could not read his expression. A moan of hopelessness escaped her constricted chest. Suddenly, she was wrapped in Garrick's embrace.

His lips pressed fiercely to her forehead, cheek, and the hollow of her throat where her pulse beat frantically. Her husband pulled her even closer into his loving embrace.

They both fell silent. After a lengthy pause, he spoke, his voice colorless. "When we were in London, I started to tell you about my past."

"But what has that to do with today?" Jillian whispered.

"I killed my father," he interrupted.

"Surely you did not raise a hand to your father?"

Jillian's look of disbelief warmed his heart, putting a crack in the ice around his soul. "I did."

Reaching out to touch his face, she stroked it gently, silently pleading with him to unburden his troubles to her.

"Before the Uprising, I was to lead our people in battle against the Normans. My father argued that he would lead them, but 'twas my place as his vassal. He would remain behind and protect our keep and my lady mother."

His remembered failure clogged his throat, making it hard to speak. The constant feather-light touch to his face and brow urged him to continue. The woman he held gave him the strength to do so.

"My father decided to give me a chance. If I bested him in hand-to-hand combat, I would win the right to lead our people into battle. If not, I would stay and protect the keep."

"Did you win?"

"Nay." Garrick felt the brutal blow to his solar plexus as if it had just happened; he struggled inwardly to regain control of his labored breathing.

"What happened?"

"My father struck the winning blow. He led our people into battle."

"But you said you killed him?" Her confusion was evident.

"Had I not lost the fight with my father, he would still be alive today." He had said it at last . After holding it in for the last three years, he had finally admitted his guilt aloud.

"And where would you be?" Jillian's softly whispered question hit him between the eyes.

"Where I should be," was his reply.

"How can you even think such thoughts?"

"I have not finished." He reached deep inside for the courage to continue. "Because of me, our keep fell to the Normans only three of us survived." Garrick waited silently for the condemnation that would surely follow.

When he could no longer stand the wait, he looked up. The tender look of understanding filling his wife's eyes cleansed the first layer of his guilt.

"Garrick. My father died at Hastings 'Twas just my mother and myself left to defend our home when the Normans came through to squelch those who rose up against King William. We were no match for the first wave of Normans, but even if we were, the second wave of soldiers would have decimated us."

"Is that what plagues your dreams?"

"Nay," she whispered, "'tis Alan."

Before she could speak her terror aloud, Garrick took her hands in his and spoke softly, "You gave him back his hope, his freedom. That he died fighting for it was his choice."

"Then can you not understand my actions earlier, I could not live with the death of another good man on my conscience." Her eyes locked with his, willing him to understand. "Life is precious, a gift from God to be treasured. Don't wish it away, hoping to somehow trade places with your father."

Garrick pulled her close and held her against his heart. The balm of her love slowly seeped in, washing away each layer of guilt and hurt that had wrapped around his soul, until it lay fully exposed, yet stronger for having survived the cleansing. That she understood and shared a like pain freed him.

"You did not kill your father. No man can decide for another when it is his time to die. 'Tis up to God. He has our lives planned for us from before the day we are conceived. Though we may think we are in control of our lives, His higher power truly controls us all."

"If you believe that, Jillian, then can you still hold the blame for Alan's death so close to your own heart?"

The truth of his words arrowed through her. Her heart felt suddenly lightened from the heavy load she had carried. "Are you still angry?" she asked, biting her lip.

Garrick pulled her back into his arms and kissed her until her mind was mush. "Aye."

"But—"

"After what happened today, I would think you'd cease to question me, wife." His voice softened, "You could begin by promising to obey without question in the future."

Jillian's eyes filled with love for her husband, as she said, "You wouldn't want me to speak falsely, would you?"

His laughter bounced off the walls and echoed in her heart.

"I love you," she confessed.

"I know," he smiled. At her disgruntled expression, he kissed her and said, "I love you, too."

When he could bring himself to break the embrace, he voiced his worry, "You cannot ride outside the walls again until your guardian has been subdued."

She nodded.

His eyes iced over, his words without inflection, "Owen will pay for his part in the ambush today."

"What will you do?"

Garrick silenced her with a fierce kiss. "The time for talk has passed."