Chapter Six

W ith every step, Jillian's body cried out from exhaustion. Unable to continue any other way, she leaned heavily on Garrick's arm. She should never have angered her guardians, but what good had hiding behind falsehoods and ignoring her conscience done? The beating would come whether she had spoken the truth or not. The toll she paid for agonizing over her decision was fatigue so great that she stumbled with each step.

"Lady Jillian?"

She looked up into Garrick's face. His worried frown brought a half-smile to her lips.

"Oh!" The sharp sting and hot trickle of blood meant she'd reopened the slit at the corner of her mouth.

Raising the back of her hand to swipe it away, Jillian could not help but cry out in dismay. Her hands were still covered with flour. Heaven help her, she must look a fright. In her hurry to answer the summons from Owen, she remembered brushing her hands on her skirts. Almost afraid to look down, she braced herself and saw the stark white handprints against the worn blue wool. Embarrassment colored her cheeks. Would Garrick be ashamed of her?

Bone-tired, tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them away. Now was not the time to let her tangled emotions take control, she'd weep for days once she got started. She blinked back the tears welling up within her, choking her as she tried to swallow past the lump they formed in her throat.

At Garrick's continued silence, she dared to look up at him and caught the look of admiration in the cool blue of his eyes. Admiration for what? The way she had stood her ground earlier, or for not complaining? She was far too tired to reason it out.

An unforeseen and unwelcome thought returned to plague her. He had not come to her aid earlier when she looked to him for support. Instead he had made a show of power in front of Owen, but to what end? She remembered the look he had bestowed upon her in the hall. Was he truly proud that she had managed to brace herself up without his help? Mayhap 'twas the look of encouragement from his brother Dunstan that Garrick had seen. Mayhap he saw me not at all.

Tilting her chin up, Garrick dried the tears still clinging to her lashes with a light touch. With the edge of his sleeve, he brushed away the remnants of the flour still dusting her cheek with a touch that belied his strength.

"'Tis an improvement. You're sorely in need of a bath, lass."

The way his mouth curved upward and dimpled his handsome face irked her. Did he find her appearance funny? Would that be the reality of her new life, the butt end of jokes among his people? Outrage stiffened Jillian's spine while her growing temper swept away her fatigue.

All thoughts of embarrassment fizzled out in the fire of her temper. How dare he?

She rounded on him, hands on hips, "I thank you for the escort, Lord Garrick, but I need no reminder of my state of disorder. I may not be up to your standards of dress, but at least I am willing to work hard and not afraid to let others see just how hard." Her pike-straight back turned to his face was her dismissal of him. Hand to the door, she shoved hard, opening it wide.

"I'm sorry—" Garrick's words died on his lips.

Jillian turned back to see what had caused his sudden silence. She watched his troubled gaze sweep her sparse quarters and settle in the far corner of the room on the pallet of straw and thin linen covering where she slept. Her eyes followed his to the crudely carved stool and low bench. 'Twas all she had in the way of a table, and she'd had to take on the duty of feeding the swine and chickens to earn that scarred piece of wood. The wooden bowl and the stub of a candle it held were gifts from the few servants who were not afraid to call her friend.

All in all a testimony to her hard life at Sedgeworth. Though sorely abused by her mistress, she'd not trade her few friends for all the fine linens and colored threads that coin could buy.

The frayed linen square lying next to a bowl half-filled with clean water made her eyes fill again. 'Twas one of the last tangible pieces of her mother. She'd gladly take a dozen more beatings a day than to lose the fragile bit of cloth once held in her mother's hands.

Jillian drew in a breath and lifted her chin higher, forcing her spine even straighter. She was not ashamed to live like a servant. It had cost her much to earn the small room above the hall with its rude furnishings, but they were hers. She'd not be pitied for it.

Spinning around, Garrick bit out, "You'll not live as such in my home, Jillian." The reality of her circumstance must have bothered him.

Unsure of his exact meaning, she asked, "To what exactly are you referring, Lord Garrick?"

Sweeping his hand about her room left no doubt as to his meaning.

Fighting her embarrassment she said, "'Tis enough for me. I am used to my life here." She swallowed to wet her suddenly dry lips and arid mouth. Her gaze boldly met his. "I'll not ask for any special favors. We made a bargain. We spoke not of luxuries, duties, or expectations, and I'll not pressure you for that which I cannot have."

Her spiking anger fizzled out, leaving her drained. Shaky, she slid wearily onto the stool. Unable to gauge his thoughts, she decided to tread carefully. "I'm sorry, milord. I didn't mean to sound so harsh."

His gaze was intense as it searched hers.

"I am very tired," she said. "You will not find me ungrateful for your offer."

The icy blue of his eyes left her feeling cold as resignation and fear combined within her, roiling in the pit of her stomach. Can he see what I'm thinking? Afraid her emotions would be reflected on her face, she rubbed unsteady hands over it.

His silence bothered her. Unwilling to risk showing weakness, she sat quietly, staring down at the floor. The room grew so quiet, she closed her eyes and began to drift off to sleep. His footsteps broke the silence as he crossed the room to where she sat.

"Jillian," he rasped, taking a hold of her work-roughened hands. "Won't you look at me?"

Did she dare? Would he be angry?

"Are you afraid of me?"

Her eyes shot open, looking up at him she shook her head.

He squatted down next to her. "I won't raise my hand to you in anger."

Oddly, his words were just what she needed to hear. He sounded as unsure of her as she was of him. When he spoke again, she was certain of it.

"Mayhap I was too quick to judge that which I did not understand." he paused. "I'm usually a good judge of character."

The look in his eyes swayed her. "Shall we speak of duties now then, or should we wait until such time as you are well rested. You are on the edge of exhaustion." He frowned. "You will not be so again. You have my word."

His speech went right to where her aching heart beat slowly. He cares. Though he had not said the words, it was a place to start. Mayhap in time, they would grow accustomed to one another. The promise of life at Merewood, wife to its lord, was daunting but she was not without courage. The hope, rekindled in her breast at his caring words and gentle tone, burned steadily.

With a prayer of thanks to God in her heart, she smiled and said, "Let us wait then… Garrick?"

He nodded, studying her closely. Was he waiting to see if she would change her mind, or was he testing her? She would have two weeks to wait to find out.

"Thank you," he said at last.

*

The use of his name alone was the key to her feelings. Garrick had picked up on her use of Lord when she was displeased. Smiling up at her, he rose slowly to his full height pulling her with him as he stood. Holding her close with great care, lest he add to her injuries, he bent his head and pressed his lips to her brow. Her soft sigh signaled her acceptance of the caress.

Encouraged, he pressed his warm lips to her cool eyelids and the bridge of her nose. The sudden softening of her limbs against him wrought a silent cry from within him. Could she be the one brave enough to wage war against my demons? 'Twould be more than he deserved after twice failing his family, nay almost three times. Roderick was still alive, only twice had he failed to uphold his sacred promise to protect his family.

He bowed before the flustered maiden and brought her fingertips to his lips.

"Garrick."

The look of longing playing across near perfect features hit him in the gut, like the blow from a battle-axe. He pulled every muscle taut to keep his knees from buckling. "Aye?" he rasped.

"You'll be missed. Lord Owen awaits your return in the hall."

He smiled down at her tempting mouth pursed in worry. Mayhap their union would be much more than even he anticipated.

"He'll send Winslow to look for you. Please don't let him find you in here."

"Winslow?"

"Aye. MacInness, his vassal."

They were betrothed, soon to wed. He had every right to be with her, but at her pleading look, he acquiesced. "Dear lady, you will bring more to this marriage than the promise of land not yet within my reach."

His gaze swept from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. Knowing its meaning was lost on the innocent woman standing before him, he added, "I'll not give Owen reason to doubt my honor, nor yours."

Her sigh was audible. With the expelling of air from her lungs, she swayed. Her eyes rolled up and her head tilted back.

"God's blood!" He swept her up before her head touched the floor, cradling her close to his heart. Carrying her over to the pallet where she slept, he laid her gently on the rough linen bedclothes. When she didn't move, concern arrowed through him.

Grabbing the linen cloth and bowl of water from her bench, he knelt beside his intended. With deft motions, he dipped the cloth in the tepid water and wrung it out. Gently he touched the linen to her temples, cheek, and forehead, and called her name.

No response.

He called to her again. When she didn't move, his voice became more insistent, "Lady Jillian!"

Still nothing.

Calling on his years in battle, he reasoned out why she still lay unmoving. Remembering he had seen this reaction before, hoping he was right and it was only exhaustion, he bent low over her, checking first for signs of breathing. A faint puff of air stirred the blond lock of hair that had fallen across his brow and stuck to his eyelashes.

"All right then, dear lady. You breathe, time to come back from the darkness whence you traveled."

Taking the now cold cloth and once more bathing her lovely face, he found his hands trembled in his bid to be gentle. Impatient with the ungoverned reaction to his soon-to-be-bride, he growled low in his throat.

*

Jillian's eyes opened wide at the sound. Confused, she stared at him. Her eyes sliced through the shell that the rest of the world accepted, right to the heart of the man. In one brief moment, she saw the pain and confusion Garrick strove to hide from everyone before the shell to his heart closed over, whole once again.

"You left me, lady."

"Left you?" The lightness of his tone belied the naked pain she had witnessed not seconds before. Did he carry a secret as devastating as hers?

"You swooned, you are exhausted. You'll not slave for Owen or his lady again. I have received his assurances that Sara will take over your duties."

In spite of her tiredness, she shook her head in protest. "I'm sorry, Garrick, but I cannot let her do that. She has duties enough to last from sunup to sundown. Add mine to hers and she'll work the whole day through and into the night."

Garrick stood next to her pallet deep in thought.

Jillian looked up at the huge warrior beside her. Her husband-to-be . The words echoed through her entire being. The thought of being at this man's beck and call, keeping his home, serving his men, was daunting. It had been years since she had acted the part of a true lady. Could she rise to the challenge? It would be hard to turn back time, when in her heart she thought of herself as a servant.

She could do it…couldn't she?

When Garrick swept his fingertips along the length of her jaw, caressing it, warm feelings bubbled up inside of her. Holding them close to her heart, she knew she at least would have this much from him to savor later. His touch brought dormant feelings to life. No man had ever made her feel like this. It was as if she was someone fragile to be cared for. Someone who mattered.

What more would possibly be in store for her? What of the marriage bed? Would he be gentle with her?

Though unsure of him, she vowed to do her duty and not hold any part of herself back. She would put her trust, her honor, and her heart in his hands. Please God, let him be grateful . Taking a chance and risking her heart, she was willing to give him everything.

Rising slowly on shaky limbs, Jillian reached up and dared to touch the whisker-rough cheek, where his dimple lay hidden.

"Please, Garrick. I'll not make poor Sara's job harder. Speak to Owen, ask that I be able to continue with my duties until it's time to make the journey to Merewood."

Breath held, she waited, trying to guess what he was thinking. His still features gave no sign of his thoughts, but his low rumbled reply made her smile. "You'll not regret your change of mind. Sara and I are grateful."

"Hold, lady. What of your packing? How will you tend to your duties and still be able to pack for the journey?"

The sparking lilt of Jillian's laughter bounced off of the four walls and surrounded him like an embrace.

"'Twould take little time to lay aside what I possess. When my mother and I came here, we had naught but the clothing on our backs. Nothing more. The few things I possess are here." Her hand swept the room. "I'll bring them and that which I came with, the clothes on my back."

The tilt of her chin and blaze of pride in her eyes must have decided him. "I'll speak to Owen." Turning, he started for the door. Opening it, he paused and turned around.

"Should you have need of me, seek out MacInness. He has agreed to look out for you until you travel to Merewood to be my wife. Mayhap I can convince him to serve another master when his service to Owen has ended."

"Aye, Garrick. Thank you."

Her quick agreement seemed to satisfy the man. He closed the door quietly.

Jillian's pent up breath came out in a whoosh with the closing of her door. Straightening her chainse, shaking the remaining flour out of it, she slowly undressed. It wouldn't do to treat her only clothing poorly; she may yet have need of it in her new home. He had not mentioned any new clothing. He seemed satisfied with what she wore.

Troubled by his lack of attention to her appearance, Jillian worried that he would not care how she looked. A dark thought plagued her; mayhap he had no intention of allowing her the privilege of serving him or his men at his table. Would he bar her from his hall? Would he beat her, as she was accustomed to? Holding the sides of her head to still the madness that descended with the close of her door, she sat back down.

"Nay," she answered her own questions aloud. "His own brother speaks of him as if there were no other man with more honor." Trying to reason through her worries, she continued, "He did not lay a hand on me in anger when I appeared in the hall earlier in a such disorder."

Desperately thinking of other signs of Garrick's true character, Jillian reasoned aloud. "His escort was gentlemanly." Her cheeks flamed, remembering the tender way he'd treated her.

Getting down on her knees, she bowed her head to pray.

*

The closed door between them was just enough of a distance. His wife-to-be was an innocent. How else would she be able to rouse such feelings within him and not be as affected? Another reason surfaced slowly; was she well versed in the art of womanly wiles? He shook his head, rejecting the idea instantly.

Be not so quick to judge . His father's favorite phrase eased itself into his subconscious mind. More often than not his father had been in the right. His face darkened as he thought of the last decision his father had made—a bad one at that—as vassal, 'twas Garrick's right to lead his keep's people into battle against the marauding Normans. His sire had given his word.

But his father had changed his mind and challenged him to the right to lead their people… and Garrick had lost.

His family had lost far more in that brief battle. Though Garrick would not lead his people into battle, he was left to defend their home. He had failed in that duty as well.

The heavy burden of his ultimate failure to his father, and his duty to protect his family, were his constant companions in the darkness of his troubled soul. Jillian had been a brief respite from that darkness.

He clenched his jaw, fighting to quell the turmoil rioting within him. "She'll not be able to honor her word once she learns the true character of the man she is to wed."

Heading down to the hall, Garrick had no appetite. No great surprise . Pausing in the doorway, he scanned the room. Finding Dunstan, he answered his brother's summons with a slight nod of his head.

Garrick sat once more at the long oaken table. One long look at the heavily laden table and his stomach roiled in protest. The variety of fare did naught to change his mind. While the venison looked mildly appetizing, the capon and chicken pies had gobs of fat congealing through the slits of the pastry topping. Platters of sweetmeats and assorted cheeses were just being served.

He had not the stomach for it. Ignoring the veritable feast before him, Garrick found he longed for a taste of the peasant's fare he had grown accustomed to. Fresh vegetables had become a staple in the diet of those living at Merewood. Thinking of the just-picked beans and peas Gertie would be serving with fresh-baked bread, Garrick grew sulkier by the minute. Gert's cooking was far more palatable than the meal before them.

Dunstan shot him a look of impatience. "What ails you, brother?"

"Naught that cannot be cured by leaving this place." The meaningful look conveyed between brothers went unnoticed by the others gathered for the midday meal.

"You spoke to Lady Jillian?"

"Aye," Garrick said, "'tis done. Our brother is free."

Dunstan looked from the empty seat next to them to the doorway. "Shall we extend our thanks to our gracious hostess in Owen's absence?"

Searching the room for the lady of the keep, Garrick paused. "And where is our host, brother?"

Dunstan frowned. "He disappeared shortly after you escorted the Lady Jillian to her chamber. One of his servants brought him news he liked not." Eyeing the group at large, Dunstan added in hushed tones, "Once he quit the room, I heard voices raised in anger."

A shared look and silent conversation proved that the brothers were united in their thoughts, as always.

"I shall seek out our Scots friend and see that he is ready to take on the task of watching my bride-to-be." Nodding his agreement, Dunstan rose to seek out their hostess.