She Owns the Knight (11 page)

Her skin was dewy, her figure lush and attractive, and the wide smile she gave belied any shyness or upset she’d suffered the day before. She wore his gift, surely a good sign, and he was pleased and hoped she would comment upon it.

He’d not had much experience with ladies and feared his gallantry to be sadly lacking, but stiffly offered an arm. “My lady?”

She entwined both hers around it, startling him, heating his blood, and he was gratified she touched him of her own accord. As she looked curiously about, Kellen led the way to the head table, sat her beside him, and motioned the servants to come forward with water. Kellen helped Edith wash and dry her slender, delicate hands. Her smooth skin and easy acceptance of his touch caused a surprising breathlessness on his part.

Edith smiled teasingly. “I just had a bath, you know. But maybe you’re using this as an excuse to hold my hand?”

Owen and Tristan both laughed as they joined them across the table. “Aye,” said Tristan. “Kellen is a tricky sort and must be watched always.”

Owen smiled. “’Tis true, my lady. He plans strategies that cannot be seen until too late, and his victim gripped tight within his coils.”

Kellen shot both men a dark look that promised retribution later. “Listen not to the slander of fools.”

Gillian chuckled, a melodious, rich sound that stirred the hair on the back of Kellen’s neck. A trencher and cup were placed between them and he cut the bread in half.

“A piece of stale bread?” Edith teased again. “Is that all I get after missing breakfast?”

Kellen’s mouth lifted. “Perhaps I can manage something more.”

With the priest gone visiting, a prayer was said by one of his foster boys, and then wine, bread, and butter were brought forward.

Gillian slathered a piece with enthusiasm. “Yummy. This bread looks wonderful. Fresh out of the oven, too. I can’t remember the last time I had homemade bread.” She took a bite. “Mmm. This is so good!”

Kellen smiled at her enjoyment and moved aside as a platter laden with food was set between them, as well as bowls with broth and vegetables.

When Kellen set the choicest meats upon her trencher, he realized his hand shook and feared he truly was an idiot.

He wondered if her father sent her early to soften him. If so, Kellen had to admit it was not a bad strategy. Her charm and allure would have even the hardest of hearts yielding.

Edith leaned in, her head tucking neatly beneath his chin.

“Why is everyone staring at me?”

He inhaled, her wondrous smell making him dizzy. “Lady Edith, your beauty dazzles them all,” he said with complete sincerity, and was pleased by the ease with which the compliment arrived.

Owen and Tristan pretended not to listen to the conversation, but smiled encouragingly when Edith looked Kellen’s way.

Edith laughed and elbowed him in the ribs. “Get out of here.”

Stung, Kellen asked, “You wish me to leave?”

“What? Heavens, no. Then who would feed me?” She seemed to banter, her smile wide, and he was confused.

“By the way, if you don’t mind, I prefer Gillian to Edith. Could you call me that instead?”

He was pleased that she shared her pet name with him and nodded at once. “Gillian, then.” He liked it. “A very pretty name.” And it boded well for their marriage if she accepted him into her life so easily.

Sitting beside her was making him tongue-tied and Kellen considered and rejected several conversational tidbits. Owen nodded and gestured toward Gillian, but Kellen could think of naught to say besides, “The food is to your liking?”

“Yes, thank you. It’s great. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

Tristan circled his hand at Kellen and, panicked, Kellen shook his head.

Tristan sighed, then, turning to Gillian, offered up a bright smile. “My lady, ’tis enchanting to have such a lovely lass to grace our humble table. Thy matchless beauty shines upon this lowly assemblage and brings to us the hope of summertime after a bleak winter.”

Owen backhanded Tristan in the chest. “Nay, dolt, you insult her with such sparse praise.” Owen smiled upon Gillian. “My lady, the grace of thy presence ’tis as a flame brandished on the darkest of midnights, as the sun coming after a moonless night, a brilliant, radiant beam shining through a clouded winter day.”

Both men looked expectantly toward Gillian, awaiting her praise, and Kellen tried frantically to think of words to woo her, but none came to mind. He considered killing his men instead, a task he well knew how to perform.

Gillian laughed. “Is that so? Well, I don’t like to doubt your sincerity or anything, but do I know either one of you? Have we been introduced?”

Her goad inspired a delighted glance exchanged between his men. “Sir Tristan de Aguilon, at your service, fair Gillian. And this knave is Sir Owen de Burgess. And my lady, you must believe, we are in earnest! ’Tis like an arrow through the heart of love for you to question the fervor of our words!”

Owen nodded. “Aye, a dagger, a lance. Your cruel disbelief ’tis as a javelin, straight and true, to pierce this worthless hide.”

“Nay!” said Tristan. “A battering ram to invade the wretched recesses of this disconsolate heart.”

Gillian chuckled and Kellen’s mood darkened.

“Somehow I suspect you’ll both recover,” said Gillian.

Tristan placed a hand over his afflicted heart. “My lady, I beg you—”

Kellen pounded a fist on the table. “Enough! Let the girl eat without threat of thy vomit-inducing sweetness.”

Gillian chuckled again and the sound lightened the jealousy overpowering him because he had not the words to enchant her half so well.

Looking at her, Kellen felt a very lucky man. Gillian was vibrant and beautiful and didn’t seem in the least repulsed by him. In fact, she smiled frequently and looked to him when amused, as if inviting him to share her good humor.

He was proud she was his and also liked the way she formed her words, finding it unique and charming. If any were to say differently, they would needs discuss the matter with him.

A second platter was brought out, and Kellen selected cheeses, nuts, and fruits, giving her the finest pieces.

“You know, guys,” said Gillian. “If I’m not mistaken, you two are the miscreants I caught pawing through my pack yesterday.”

Kellen laughed, glad she found fault with the flatterers.

Tristan lifted a hand. “Nay, my lady. We merely offered assistance when your pack spilled about the table. We were tidying your possessions to make sure naught was lost.”

“Aye, my lady, ’tis true,” said Owen.

“Hmm. If you say so.” Gillian’s green eyes slanted upward. “Kellen, do you think I should believe them?”

Kellen could hardly credit that she used his name and teased him thus. He certainly wasn’t going to mention he’d been the miscreant to open her pack and spill its contents.

“’Tis hopeful you will believe such, my lady, else both will frown and pout and be like to worthless on the training field as they nurse tender feelings.”

Gillian sighed. “All right, then. I supposed I’ll simply have to thank you both for saving my possessions.”

“You are most welcome, my lady.” Tristan bowed his head.

“Most welcome, indeed,” said Owen.

His men, well aware he didn’t want his own part in the escapade revealed, laughed at him. He would pay them later on the training field.

“Tell me about the area,” said Gillian. “Is there anything nearby worth visiting?”

Kellen, glad to have a subject to discuss, waved a hand to stop Tristan from answering. “The nearest township is a few hours ride to the east, and we’ve near neighbors to the west at Royce Castle, though it barely merits the name as ’tis small and unkempt, and without the presence of a lady. There are several to the south, as well.”

“Could we go see them? I want to visit Scotland, too. I’ve never been.”

Kellen’s lip curled upward. “For what purpose?”

“Sightseeing! It’s supposed to be a romantic place.”

Kellen shook his head. The girl had strange ideas about the seeing of sights. “Your wits flee you. ’Tis dark and cheerless and filled with all manner of beasties. Better you should go to London.”

“Please?”

The girl batted her lashes and Kellen was hard pressed not to smile. Unlike his first wife who’d wanted nothing to do with him, this girl was forward and demanding of his time. So why did he wish to indulge her?

Perhaps because she did indeed seem to bring a ray of light into his gloomy world.

“And Beatrice mentioned that a picnic would be a good idea. What do you think? If we gathered some blankets and planned some games it could be a ton of fun! I’d also like to go and . . . ”

As she continued to plan the seeing of sights, Kellen looked to Tristan and Owen, who seemed equally caught by her charm. “Whatever happened to quiet, unassuming women?”

Gillian laughed. “I don’t know any of those. My friends are worse than me. Speaking of which, they’ll want to hear about the marriage proposal. Can you give me the details from your point of view? How did you plan the proposal? How did you end up choosing . . . uh . . . me? Was it romantic? Did you write poetry? Sing songs? Play the lute or something?”

Kellen felt suddenly panicked. Had her father protected her from the truth? Kellen had done none of those things but simply demanded a bride. Any daughter would do. He didn’t know much of women, but was sure this answer would offend. “Romance and marriage are not always side by side, my lady.”

At her hurt expression he immediately regretted his words. When she looked down, Tristan and Owen threw him disbelieving glares, shook their heads, and gestured for him to make peace.

Gillian sighed loudly. “In other words, you’re completely lame?” She looked at him accusingly. “You didn’t propose correctly and now you’re trying to make excuses.”

Tristan and Owen both laughed and Kellen was relieved she attacked rather than sulked.

“’Tis true,” said Tristan. “You cannot defend yourself.”

He could. He did not wish his bride to think him lacking. “I am not lame. I am sound in body and mind.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “But you’re a knight. You have to live to the code of chivalry! I’m entitled to a romantic proposal.”

Kellen, suddenly feeling trapped within the walls of his own hall, wanted out. She was making him nervous. He stood. “I must needs train these idiots across from us. Perhaps we can speak of this after my men have been taught their desired lessons.”

“Hold on just a minute,” said Gillian. “Did you forget I’m the one in the driver’s seat? I bought you. I own you. I expect you to come up with the best and most romantic proposal any girl has ever received in her entire life. One to write home about. I want you to . . . uh . . . pledge your troth. I’ll be waiting.”

Kellen strode a few feet away, then turned back. “This I did already! We were betrothed by proxy!” He was sweating, and she looked as cool as a spring morning.

His men, gathered at the many tables, paused to watch the drama, adding to his discomfort.

“Like I said. Lame. All I’m asking is that you do it right.”

Confused by her, Kellen started away and she called out to him. “Wait. There’s just one more thing.”

“Now what!” he thundered, well aware that every eye was upon them.

She followed and he slowly turned. She crooked her finger at him and he hesitated, then slowly leaned down. Better that all did not hear her words of reproof.

Cupping one cheek, she kissed the other.

“Thank you for the present. It’s truly beautiful.” She touched the comb. “I’ve never had anything like it and will treasure it.”

He could see sincerity in her steady gaze and, face heating, stunned into immobility, Kellen tried to answer rationally. “Ah. Aye, then.”

Never in the whole of his life had a girl kissed him of her own accord. His wife had always turned her face away. Looking down at Gillian’s soft lips, he wondered what she would do if he pressed his own to hers.

His emotions running high, his body alive with energy, he bent slightly forward and she didn’t turn away.

Remembering that everyone stared, he didn’t kiss her, but quickly straightened and threw out his chest. “Consider the gift your first touch of my chivalry, my lady. ’Tis certain there is more to come.”

She chuckled, a sound he was starting to adore.

Kellen turned and continued walking, but couldn’t hold back a grin.

She hadn’t turned away.

“What shall we do this afternoon?” Gillian, elbows on the windowsill of her bedroom, watched people mill about below, but didn’t spot Kellen’s broad shoulders, or confident, mesmerizing stride.

“Do you wish to plan menus?” asked Beatrice. “Or mayhap we could retreat to the ladies’ solar to sew or weave?” She paused. “If only we had feathers, we could recreate the queen’s fashion. Perhaps we could pluck a chicken?” She sounded hopeful.

“Oh, uh . . . ” Gillian glanced over her shoulder to see if the girl was serious. She was. Gillian’s brows rose as she turned back to the view. “No thanks. Anyway, I sincerely doubt the queen is decorating her attire with chicken feathers.”

Gillian, realizing she was watching for Kellen again, sighed. “Besides, I want to do something fun. I’m not going to be depluming poultry, planning menus, or sewing, that’s for sure. The castle has been running smoothly for a long time, right? It can continue to do so for a bit longer.”

Like, until Edith showed up to take over.

“I suppose you might wish to explore your new home?”

Another quick glance showed Beatrice looking as downcast as she sounded. “I did that yesterday.” Gillian hesitated. Of course yesterday she hadn’t known it was authentic, so that might actually be fun.

In the distance, Gillian spotted a man leading a horse out of the stables. “Maybe we could ride horses?”

“Not without his lordship. He would not permit it.”

About to protest, Gillian thought about Kellen’s huge horse and wondered if he had a smaller, more malleable one. Her lips curled upward. A really old nag might work for her, one reserved for children. Other than with Kellen, Gillian had ridden only once before, a Shetland as a child, her father leading the pony in a large circle while her mother took pictures. Gillian chuckled at the memory and doubted Kellen would be impressed with her far-from-vast experience. She pushed away from the window. “Where is Kellen, anyway?”

“No doubt training with the men.” Beatrice looked suddenly hopeful. “What about goose feathers? If you gave Cook permission to—”

“No! No feathers!” Gillian should never have lied to Beatrice about the queen’s fashions. The girl was developing a feather fetish, and Gillian was starting to feel quite guilty about it. Grabbing her pack, Gillian said, “Come on.”

She headed downstairs and Beatrice hurried to follow, insisting on carrying the pack. The minute Gillian stepped outside the keep, people stared, pointed in her direction, and watched her every move, but she was getting used to it.

She passed the kitchen and was stopped short when a chubby woman with gray-streaked hair rushed to block her path. Two more followed, a thin, middle-aged woman with a ruddy complection, and a pretty, younger girl, both standing slightly in the background, looking anxious.

The chubby woman nervously wiped her hands on a stained apron, and bobbed up and down. Her two counterparts followed suit. “Pardon, my lady, but have you any instructions?”

Gillian looked around. “Instructions?”

“For the meals, my lady.”

“Oh. Oh, right. The meals.” Gillian waved a hand. “Er . . . no. Just carry on. The food has been excellent. I’m very impressed with the quality and quantity. I don’t know how you do it all.”

The three looked at each other, smiles replacing anxiety, and, obviously pleased, the youngest ducked her head to hide a grin.

The cook nodded vigorously. “Thank ye, my lady.”

Gillian felt a slight heat rising in her cheeks. They were grateful to her for enjoying their cooking? She was just glad she didn’t have to do it. “No, thank
you.
Seriously, I appreciate all you’re doing. I haven’t eaten this well in a very long time.” Roasted chicken, veggies, and homemade bread beat instant noodles any day of the week.

Their smiles grew and, with a wave, Gillian hurried off, uncomfortable with their gratitude.

She passed the well and the chapel, and watched a few little girls drawing with sticks in the dirt and a couple of chickens pecking nearby. The sound of clanking metal alerted her to the blacksmith in the distance.

A man on a bench looked to be making a pair of shoes, while another tied a length of rope around an axe-head, and a third hauled a barrel over one shoulder. A couple of soldiers crossed the yard. The place was a miniature city.

She’d think of her time here as if it were a resort or cruise vacation where everything was all-inclusive. Maybe they had shuffleboard or a spa?

Gillian stifled a laugh. What she really needed was a lounger, some tanning oil, and a good romance novel. Or, better yet, a real, live, shipboard romance, complete with a gorgeous, slightly dangerous hunk.

She wouldn’t mind if Kellen were to rub oil on her, or vice versa, and if he were wearing swim trunks while doing so, well, so much the better. Gillian shivered at the thought of all that hard, bare skin, hers for the touching. Where was he, anyway?

Rounding the inner wall, Gillian almost stumbled into the three boys she’d seen the day before. The youngest, a blond of about nine or so, sat on the ground, clutching his knee, sniffling and trying not to cry. Instantly concerned, Gillian surged forward and knelt beside him. “What’s the matter, honey-bun?”

“I got hurt.” The boy pulled his hand back far enough so Gillian could see the scrap on his knee. It wasn’t bad, and didn’t look dirty, but she’d bet it stung like crazy.

“Ouchie. How did that happen?”

The slim, dark-haired boy of eleven or so, shook his head in disgust. “He’s always clumsy. He fell because he was following us.” The scorn in the older boy’s voice was apparent.

The younger boy, face screwing into an indignant scowl, sucked in a breath.
“You pushed me!”

Both older boys laughed.

“Hmm.” Gillian looked down at the boy. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

He looked surprised, then hurt. “I’m Francis, my lady. Don’t you know me?”

The boys laughed again and the stockier one sneered, “I’d forget that face, too, if I could.”

What did that mean? She’d seen the little guys running around, but didn’t remember being introduced. Gillian placed an arm around Francis’s shoulder. “Of course I remember you, Francis. And what are your friends’ names?”

Francis pointed to the slim, dark-haired boy. “Peter.” He pointed the stockier one. “And he’s Ulrick.”

“Nice to meet you, boys. Did you know I went to school with a boy who was frequently clumsy? He was always falling down and into scrapes like you wouldn’t believe. It’s so sad what happened to him.” Gillian shook her head.

Francis looked worried. “What happened?”

“Are you sure you want to hear this?”

The boy nodded and the other two moved closer, grinning.

Gillian sighed. “Okay, but remember, you asked. Well, the guy, Derek, was always falling down, scrapping his knees, tearing his clothes, getting bruises. The other boys used to tease him.” Gillian shot a narrowed-eyed glance at the older boys and they smirked in return.

“But it turned out the reason he was so clumsy was because he was going to grow so big! The guy ended up huge! All muscles and fighting ability. And completely graceful with a football . . . er . . . lance when he got older. All the girls were in love with him. All the boys wanted to be his friend.”

She looked into Francis’s deep blue eyes. “So, there it is. I’m sorry to be the one who has to tell you, honey. I surely wouldn’t want muscles that huge. But chances are you’ll be very big one day. Perhaps as big as Derek.”

Tears drying on his face, the child looked at Gillian with awe. “Truly?”

“Yup.”

“Is he as large as Lord Marshall?”

Gillian nodded and mentally crossed her fingers. “About that size exactly.”

A smile spread across the boy’s face.

The dark-haired boy lifted his chin. “You made that up! No one is as big as his lordship. Runt here is never going to be larger than a tadpole. And I’ve never heard of a Sir Derek. My father is
Lord Marlow
and he’s never mentioned him.” His arrogant tone amused Gillian.

“Really?”

His friend shrugged, not quite so indignant. “Nor has my father, Lord Stonor.”

Gillian stared blankly. “Who are they, exactly?”

“Both of Oxfordshire, my lady,” said the stocky boy, sounding shocked, while the other’s mouth dropped open and he sputtered.

“Hmm. Well, maybe they don’t know him. Anyway, that’s exactly what happened. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.” Gillian made a crossing motion over her heart.

All three boys recoiled slightly. “A needle in your eye?” Peter said in disbelief. “’Tis disgusting.”

Francis wrapped skinny arms around her waist and hugged her, as if worried her feelings might be hurt. Gillian smiled down and gave him a squeeze, her heart melting.

“Beatrice, hand me my pack.”

Beatrice handed it over and Gillian rummaged around for a moment before pulling out the last of her miniature candy bars. “I have something that will make you feel better.” She didn’t think it would be a good idea to let them have the wrappers however, so she opened the bars one at a time, handed them around, then popped one into her own mouth. “Mmm.”

Francis looked dubious, but finally ate the candy. The boys and Beatrice quickly followed suit. Francis’s eyes widened. “What is it?”

Gillian smiled. “Chocolate. It’ll cure anything that ails you.”

Ulrick quickly swallowed his. “Can I have another?”

Gillian smiled. “They’re addicting, aren’t they?”

“My lady,” said Beatrice.

Gillian glanced up to see Beatrice gesturing frantically.

Gillian turned her head as Kellen and a couple of his men came toward them. Ah, her shipboard romance, right on time. She felt a rush of blood through her veins, tingles of excitement, just from looking at him, and couldn’t help the smile spreading over her face. Speaking of addictions. He might even be able to compete with chocolate. “I thought you were training?”

“I am.” He wasn’t returning her smile. “Gillian, I must object to your coddling the boys. As pages, they are yours to raise, but I don’t want you ruining them for the squires they are to be.”

Francis squirmed away.

“Mine to raise? I don’t understand. Where are their parents?”

At Kellen’s signal, the boys ran off.

Gillian lifted a hand. “Wait! We need to clean that scratch!” The boys rounded the corner and were gone.

Kellen sighed. “I am fostering the boys. I do my duty by them and will not have them softened. Your mothering must cease. What were you feeding them?”

Gillian arched a brow. She held out a hand and he easily lifted her to her feet, his warm touch and effortless strength making Gillian’s knees weak. Cheeks heating, aware of their audience, Gillian removed her hand from his and brushed at her gown. “I was feeding them chocolate. I thought you just said they were mine to raise?”

Kellen sighed again. “Men are honored to send their sons to me for training because I make them strong. You are not to interfere with such. What is chocolate?”

Gillian smiled. “Being around me might make them soft?” Gillian teased.

Kellen’s eyes dropped to her chest, then he looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. “You are not to be too easy with them.”

Gillian laughed. “But they’re just little boys. They should still be with their mothers.”

“Gillian. You will obey me in this.”

“Fine. No hugs and kisses. I’ll go get my whip.” She dug into her pack and retrieved the last candy bar, opened it and placed it to his lips. “Here. This is chocolate.”

He ate it, his eyes widening. “More?”

She laughed. “It was my last piece.”

Kellen studied her face, lifted a hand as if to touch her, then let it drop again. “I understand your gentleness with Francis. I beg you’d not believe me ungrateful Lord Corbett showed his support by refusing the return of his heir when Catherine died. I’m glad the alliance is still strong. While I understand you are happy to see your brother, no babying.”

Gillian’s mouth dropped slightly and she was suddenly lightheaded.

“Gillian?”

Her mouth snapped closed and she swallowed. Had she heard him correctly? Francis was her brother? Or rather, Edith’s brother? No wonder the kid had looked hurt when she hadn’t known his name.

“Are you all right?”

Gillian forced a smile. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”

This wasn’t good. Would the little twerp give her away? Expose her? Reveal her as the imposter she was? Get her killed? She swallowed again.

“I’d not meant to hurt thy tender feelings.”

“Uh, huh.” On the other hand, Francis had hugged her and seemed to think she should know him. Maybe he didn’t remember his sister well? Maybe they weren’t close? Still, she’d better stay away from the kid.

“Gillian?”

Gillian refocused on Kellen, waved a hand, and forced the smile back to her face. “I am, of course, happy to do your bidding.”

His snort turned her smile into a real one.