Chapter Eight

"Y ou'll what?"

Owen's incredulity came as no surprise, but it made it difficult to speak to the man.

"Mayhap you didn't understand me," Garrick said quietly. "I expect my betrothed to arrive at my home in a fortnight. Until that time, you will remember to keep your word and not abuse her."

Confusion lined Owen's brow. "But your brother is no longer in my dungeon, are you not calling the trade off?"

"I gave my word," Garrick let his voice ring with conviction. "I have offered for Lady Jillian's hand, and you have given your consent. I intend to make her my wife two weeks' hence."

"I do not understand," Owen wailed.

The man started pacing the confines of the upper chamber, stirring up a small cloud of dust as he pounded the rushes into broken bits, reminding Garrick to change the rushes in his chamber and hall as well. He'd make certain to do that and more before his bride arrived.

"If that is all you wished to speak about then mayhap I could have a word with Lady Jillian before I take my leave."

Garrick turned to leave the chamber, but Owen's question stopped him.

"You're certain you will not change your mind?"

The question had his temper simmering. He tamped down his growing anger. A wiser man would not doubt his word. A glance was all that was required in answer. Owen nodded at the look and led the way to his ward's chamber.

"'Tis doubtful she is awake," Owen lifted his hand to knock on the door.

"Jillian," Owen called out, "Garrick wishes a word with you ere he leaves." Before she could answer, Owen swung the door open.

Fury bubbled up inside Garrick and spilled over, he reached out and grabbed Owen's arm in a grip of iron. "I did not hear the lady bid you enter." His grip and the coldness in his tone were his warning to the man. If he gave in and let go of the tenuous hold he had on the rage seething inside of him Owen would be a dead man.

Jillian struggled to cover herself with the worn linen cover with one hand, while smoothing the wavy mass of auburn hair back out of her eyes with the other. The faint torchlight filtering in from the hallway illuminated her brown eyes, until they appeared round and huge with fear. Her fear slammed into him, twisting his insides into knots. But did she fear him, or Owen?

He needed to ease her fears. "Lady Jillian, please do not be alarmed," he began slowly, lowering his voice to almost a whisper. "I wished to take my leave but thought of something else I wished to discuss with you."

At her nod, Garrick picked up the stool and brought it closer to her bed of straw. Looking over his shoulder, he pinned Owen with a glare. The man obviously intended to linger in the doorway. Garrick stared at him until he backed out of the room.

"I'll be right outside if you need me, Jillian," Owen said before softly closing the door.

The need to follow the man and pound on him for being insensitive surged through Garrick. God's teeth, the man was dense. He turned back around. "I have news." He rested his elbows on his thighs, and clasped his hands, waiting for her to ask him why he was here.

She finally nodded and he noticed her face mirrored the white linen sheet she clutched to her breast.

"Aye, milord?" Jillian whispered.

"Garrick." He needed to remember to be patient with her if he hoped to soothe her fears and regain her confidence.

"Aye, Garrick," she rasped.

He had to fight against the urge to smile. She wanted to trust him. "Owen knows Roderick is missing," he lowered his voice, not wanting to be overheard. "They've searched the keep and the bailey but have found nothing."

She nodded and looked down at her hands.

"Owen seemed surprised that I would still honor my word to take you to wife." He waited for Jillian to look up at him before continuing.

When her eyes met his, he finished, "I always keep my word. I thought you should know that I mean to honor my pledge. You will come to Merewood in a fortnight as planned. MacInness will escort you with a contingent of four men. They will be staying on at Merewood as household knights as MacInness has agreed to be vassal to me."

"Lord Owen doesn't know I helped set your brother free. If he finds out…" She breathed out slowly. She'd been holding it too long. He waited while she took another deep breath and steadied herself.

"Did Owen agree Winslow would serve you? What about his pledge to Sedgeworth?"

"I have taken care of the matter. You'll be well guarded while you remain here." He hoped she trusted him. "Do not forget what I said earlier. MacInness and his men will protect you. He'll get word to me should you have need of me."

Her gaze met his.

Neither one of them mentioned the fact that since Roderick was no longer a prisoner, the need for the two of them to wed no longer existed. He'd prove to her that he'd keep his word. She had kept hers.

Rising to his full height, he looked down at the small bundle on the pallet before him. She looked more like a child than a woman grown, and the need to protect her filled him.

He bent and placed a chaste kiss to her forehead. "All will be well. Trust me." With that he was gone.

"Heaven help me, Garrick of Merewood," she whispered, "I know not why, but I do." Laying her head down, she was fast asleep in minutes.

*

The road ahead lay deep in shadow. Pools of moonlight shimmered on the ground in spots where the trees were thin. The evening breeze rustled faintly through the supple green leaves blending with the call of night birds winging high overhead.

"Why did you give Owen your word to marry his ward?" Dunstan asked. "'Twas only our plan to free Roderick."

Garrick wished his brother understood. He listened as the night quieted, leaving only the sound of the breeze whispering through and around the forest.

"Mayhap your plan included only freeing our brother, but I gave Lady Jillian my word to marry her if she aided our brother in his escape." Garrick saw his brother's confusion and it irritated him.

"Though we did not leave the keep side-by-side, without Lady Jillian's timely assistance, he'd still be under lock and key."

Dunstan muttered something under his breath before adding a reluctant, "Aye."

A faint rustling off to the left had Garrick's heart pounding double-time. He reined in his horse and whispered, "Don't move."

Dunstan froze waiting for his brother's signal, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Garrick tilted his head back and bellowed the ancient Saxon battle cry. An echoing cry resounded as knights on horseback crashed through the brush on both sides of the road with their swords raised high.

Steel met steel, clanging loud as thunder. The warriors tested their mettle again and again. Sparks flew as their blades hacked fiercely, their intent deadly.

They were outnumbered. Six knights moved to close the circle they were quickly forming around Garrick and his brother.

"Your back!" Dunstan bellowed, bringing his sword down. It connected with sinew and bone, slicing cleanly through it. The enemy knight fell off his mount, dead. Sword raised once again, Dunstan successfully held the next warrior at bay.

The battle raged, sweat stung his eyes, but if he lifted his arm to wipe it away, the enemy would have the advantage. Garrick blinked and wondered how his brother fared. He needed to hear the sound of his brother's voice to be sure he was still alive.

"Dunstan?" His split second of emotion cost him dearly. The familiar cold heat of his enemy's blade burned through the flesh of his arm as it sliced clean to the bone. He drew in a deep breath, blocking out the pain. Deftly switching hands, he ignored the warmth of his life's blood flowing unchecked from his sword arm.

"Behind you," Dunstan huffed.

Back-to-back, the brothers created a deadly arc with which to swing their blades. From this position, given their fighting abilities, they were nearly invincible.

Garrick's sword swung with deadly accuracy, as he decreased their enemy by one more. The fight, now evenly matched, turned in their favor. The other knights sensed their failure and fled.

Turning around and grabbing hold of his brother, Garrick stopped him mid-swing.

"Father taught us to fight face to face, never their backs."

Breathing heavily, Dunstan sheathed his sword and asked, "Who were they?"

"I don't know." He worried about the identity of their attackers, but the need to reach Merewood and find Roderick far outweighed that worry.

"Are you hurt?" Garrick asked, concern lacing his words.

In answer, his brother snorted, "Nothing that Gertie cannot fix with her herbs and threads. And you?"

Garrick felt his head grow light. "The same," he lied. "Let's ride." He would find out who laid the ambush, but the loss of blood wreaked havoc with his head; 'twas spinning. The wound was bleeding profusely. He leaned precariously toward his brother before righting himself.

"Where are you hurt?"

Dunstan would know it was bad, since Garrick could not hold his seat in the saddle. "My arm," he rasped. "Wrap it…above the wound," Garrick motioned toward his belt.

Dunstan grabbed a hold of his brother's sword and unwound the thin strip of leather from Garrick's belt that held the sheath to his brother's sword to his belt and fashioned a tight knot above the wound. The flow of blood eased almost immediately, and Garrick braced himself to ride the last few miles home.

The shouts from above the newly laid wall roused Garrick from the brink of semi-consciousness. Holding his fist up and bringing it down to touch his heart, Garrick signaled the guard. With the temporary barricade removed, the brothers rode into the lower bailey.

*

The world came sharply back into focus with a stab of pain. Roderick's hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of shirt.

"Have a care, laddie," a soft Scots burr warned, "he'll miss a stitch."

MacInness. Roderick groaned. He was well and truly caught. He'd been so close to the wood, freedom just two strides away.

"Easy lad," another voice warned. "'Tis almost done."

"You slept through the worst of it."

Roderick struggled to open both eyes to see who spoke and just where he'd ended up.

"'Twas a neat slice you made, Sean."

Roderick's head swam. Sean? God's blood, had he ended up a prisoner of MacInness and his mercenaries?

"The blade so clean and hot, the shaft came out with just a flick of the wrist."

Roderick's stomach protested at the thought of Sean's hammy hands using a dagger on his shoulder to cut an opening to push the shaft of the arrow all the way through. He broke out into a heavy sweat.

"When am I going back?"

"We should be able to get ye to Merewood on the morrow," MacInness answered. "We've work to be done first."

Roderick struggled to sit up. "You'll take me to Merewood?"

"A fine job of it ye've done, Kelly," MacInness praised while the man tied off the last knot and sliced the excess thread with his dagger.

MacInness turned to Roderick. "We've no time to escort ye home tonight. I've got to see to milady Jillian's safety now that your brothers have gone home."

He couldn't contain his shock. "You're not going to send me back?"

MacInness stared at him and shook his head. "Rest well." He pushed Roderick back down on the pallet and called out, "Sara!"

"Coming."

He recognized Jillian's serving friend as she parted the curtain separating the small sleeping area from the rest of the hut. She carried a steaming bowl in one hand and a hunk of bread in the other.

She smiled down at him. "'Tis broth. You'll need strength for your journey."

Roderick watched her. Up close she was a striking young woman, more than just a face in the shadows coming close only when dutifully summoned.

She slid a hand around his back and helped him to sit up. Dipping a hunk of bread in the broth, she held it to his lips, urging him to bite it.

"That's it," she crooned, "easy now."

"Well, now," MacInness said with a grin, "we'll leave ye in guid hands, laddie."

With a nod to his men, they filed out. At the door, MacInness turned and warned, "Trust no one but Sara. They've given up the search for the moment, but come the dawn…"

Roderick understood. He nodded, his mouth too full to answer.

"'Til tomorrow then." The Scotsman turned toward the woman. "Thank ye, Sara." With a bow, the Scot was gone.

"Eat up now, milord," Sara urged with a dimpled smile.

"Ahhh, and what a feast for the eyes," he said capturing her fingertips and the broth-soaked bread with his lips.

She gasped.

He smiled.

*

The sound of voices raised in argument woke Jillian from a troubled sleep. Sitting up, she pulled her knees close to her chest and cocked her head to the side. Eavesdropping had become a way of life and because of it, Jillian usually found out how the course of her life would flow. Slipping from between worn linen sheets, she shivered. Cold, she wrapped her cloak about her. Worried about being heard, she tread barefoot down the rough wood steps, careful lest they groan and give her away.

"'Tis not possible!" a deep voice shouted. "Merewood cannot have outfought six armed men."

A fist slamming against wood was immediately followed by the sound of crockery breaking. Jillian jolted to a halt. Only one person in the entire keep had such a volatile temper. Owen.

Hiding in the shadows with her back flattened against the wall, she finally dared to draw in a breath. She strained to listen, though it was quiet in the great hall beyond the door. Uneasy with the lack of sound or movement, she decided to take a chance and move close. Carefully sliding her foot to the side, she gained a few more precious inches closer to her goal.

"But milord," a nasally voice whined, "they fought like demons. We had no choice but retreat."

Aaron . Her heart lurched. She would recognize the dishonorable knight's voice anywhere.

"He defeated four of my best knights and you let him escape?" Owen sounded incredulous.

"Nay. I left my mark deep in his sword arm. If he doesn't bleed to death, he'll never lift it again."

"Nay." Jillian slapped her hands across her mouth.

The door to the hall burst open, rocking back on its hinges to bounce closed behind the three men.

Oh Lord! They'd found her. She could only stare back at the murderous expressions each man wore. Fear chilled her to the core. Not daring to take her eyes off the angry group of men, she reached a hand out to steady herself, while the other clutched her great-grandmother's amber pendant.

She backed away until the wall stopped her. The impact knocked her forward, and she landed hard on her knees.

Then the wall spoke, "Lady Jillian."

Winslow?

His men came running out from the semi-darkness and stood behind the warrior. With a gentleness that belied his size, Winslow MacInness reached down and helped her to her feet, then promptly shoved her behind him.

Jillian started to protest, but the dark looks stamped on each of the warriors' faces warned her to be quiet. She could complain later.

Swords raised, two of the men stood guarding her, waiting for their leader's command. The grim expressions on their faces promised pain.

"What goes on here?" MacInness asked.

Jillian prayed the Lord of the Keep would not cut them all down where they stood.

"'Tis none of your affair."

Jillian grew uneasy in the silence. The Scots warrior stared at Sedgeworth's lord.

Owen's gaze swept the three warriors before him. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it as two more knights arrived. Peeking from behind her brave guard, she recognized the two warriors as part of Winslow's elite guard. The icy claws clutching her heart eased enough so that it began to beat more normally.

Their overlord glared at the group of silent men. When he finally spoke, he sounded resigned. "So that's the way of it?"

MacInness nodded. "Ye've no reason to complain of my service before this night. Lady Jillian is my responsibility from this moment forward until she is safely delivered to her new home."

MacInness looked over his shoulder at her and frowned. She wondered what the look meant, but was too busy shifting from foot to foot trying to ease the dull throbbing in her bruised kneecaps.

Turning to glare at the three men who now stood frozen on either side of Owen, MacInness warned, "Ye wilna harm one hair on Lady Jillian's head." He locked gazes with Owen, "Ye ken?"

She'd never seen her guardian speechless, but he was now, with his head bobbing up and down in silent agreement.

"Rouse your lady's servants. We'll be needin' lots o' hot water for Lady Jillian's bath." Not sparing her a glance, still glaring at Owen, she was startled when MacInness added, "Have her fetch one of Madelyne's gowns. 'Tis beyond time the poor lass is treated as she deserves."

Jillian opened her cloak and looked at her worn shift. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been offered a new gown. No, she shook her head, that wasn't right, she did remember. It was a gown of soft pale green that her father told her complemented her dark brown eyes.

When she looked up, the Scotsman's gaze met hers. He seemed to be waiting for her to do something. She had no idea what he expected of her. She whispered her thanks, but it was for far more than the hot bath and promised gown. She'd be under his protection and that in itself was freeing. The prospect of something to wear that would not shame her new husband brought a warm smile to her face.

"About Merewood," Owen began.

Her smile evaporated. How could she have forgotten what she'd overheard, even for a moment! "Winslow," she whispered, moving closer to his side, "I need to speak with you… alone."

With a final glare in Owen's direction, he turned and led her up the stairs.

Halfway to the top, she rasped, "I must get a message to Garrick."

He shook his head and she fell silent, knowing the risk of being overheard was far greater here than in her chamber.

In the privacy of her chamber, she relayed what she chanced to overhear. "Owen spoke to someone in the hall. Garrick and Dunstan have been ambushed." Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away. "Garrick's been hurt, nigh unto death."

Needing something solid to hang on to in order to reassure herself she was doing the right thing by trying to help her future husband, she grabbed the warrior's huge hand in both of hers and squeezed hard. "You must go find out what happened. Please?" she pleaded. "I must know that he lives."

He stared down at their joined hands for a long, intensely quiet moment. When he finally looked up at her, she knew her trust would not be misplaced. He would do as she bid.

With a nod, he turned and introduced his warriors to her. Kelly and Eamon would stay behind to guard her, while Patrick and Sean accompanied him on a midnight ride to Merewood Keep.