The Truest Heart (31 page)

Robbie had been playing with clay balls upon the floor, but soon climbed up beside her on the window seat. Gillian brought him close; he snuggled against her side. His chubby hand beneath hers, she shaped his palm to her womb. As if the babe knew exactly what she wanted, there was a fluttering movement there beneath that very spot. It came again, stronger this time.

Feeling it, Robbie gasped and snatched his hand back in alarm.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said with a soft laugh.

He sat up. With mingled curiosity and suspicion, he eyed her belly. “What is in there?”

“A babe grows inside me,” she told him, “a babe that is your brother or sister.”

“Is that why you grow fat?”

Gillian chuckled, for she knew he meant neither affront nor disrespect. “Aye, I suppose it is. But he must grow even more before he is born.”

Robbie cocked his head to the side. “But how will he get out?”

Lynette was in the room as well. For an instant she was too shocked to say a word. She looked at Lynette blankly, whose eyes had gone as wide as hers. But then Lynette’s shoulders began to heave in silent laughter.

Robbie was still waiting for an answer. “How will the babe get out?” he said again.

Gillian bit her lip. “Robbie …”

“Does Papa know?”

Gillian glanced at Lynette, whose eyes were sparkling. Lynette’s brows arose, as if she, too, awaited an answer.

“Aye,” she said weakly.

Robbie gazed at her calmly. “Perhaps he will tell me when he returns.” All at once his childish lips puckered thoughtfully. “But wait. How did the babe get in your belly?”

Gillian was utterly mortified. She was certain her face was crimson, and she heartily wished she’d never broached the subject!

“Did he crawl?”

Gillian longed to sink through the floor. “Robbie, I-I cannot say. But I think you are right. ‘Tis a good question between father and son.”

“You seem much perplexed.” Robbie crossed his arms over his small chest and nodded. “Perhaps you should ask Papa, too.”

“Perhaps I should,” she said faintly.

“Perhaps he will even show you.”

Gillian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Indeed, she thought vaguely, he already had …

“He showed me how to ride my pony, you know,” Robbie boasted.

She gulped. “Your father is… a man of great knowledge and … and many abilities.”

Lynette’s shoulders were still shaking with barely restrained mirth as she exited the room. One thing was certain, Gillian decided. She would most assuredly not linger should Robbie pose such questions of Gareth in her presence.

One night a few days later, there came a knock on her door at midnight. She opened it to find Robbie’s nurse standing there, with Robbie at her side.

“Forgive the intrusion, my lady,” the woman said quickly, “but the little one here is fretting and refuses to sleep until he sees you. I’m sorry to be a bother, but he’s most insistent.”

Gillian had already opened the door wide. “It’s no bother, nurse. Robbie can spend the rest of the night with me.” She glanced at Robbie. “Would you like that, my little lord?”

There was no need for an answer. Robbie was already inside, hiding his face against her legs and clutching her bedgown.

She bid his nurse good night, then closed the door. She lifted him into the bed, giving an exaggerated groan.

“My, but you’re heavy. Why, you’ve grown so I daresay your papa will hardly recognize you.”

The glimmer of a smile chased across his lips, but then it was gone. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen—she could see he’d been crying. She climbed into bed and tugged the covers over them both. Something was wrong, she knew, but perhaps it would be best if he told her of his own accord.

She gathered him close, pressing a light kiss on his brow. He nestled against her side, his cheek plumped against her arm, his fist curled against the mound of her belly.

She hadn’t long to wait. “Gillian,” he whispered. “How long will you stay at Sommerfield?”

Taken aback by his question, Gillian went still. Once she and Gareth were wed, once she was with child, she had always assumed that she would remain here after the babe’s birth—indeed, the rest of her life. Yet for an instant, a flurry of panic assailed her. When the danger of King John was no more— she could not bear to think it might never be so!— what would happen then? Would Gareth want her gone? Her and the babe?

No. No. It was an answer pulled deep from the reaches of her soul. Aye, she hated that Gareth served the king, yet she could not fault him for it. In setting out after her and Clifton so many months ago, he sought only to protect his son. In marrying her, he sought only to protect her.

She would never know the man he had been. In all truth, he might never know the man he had been, for he might never recapture his past.

But she knew him for the man he was now. With every deed, with every word, with every touch, he had revealed himself as a man of honor and respect. A man of depth and feeling, of care and consideration.

Aye, it was duty that first brought him to her. Duty that bound him to her, the duty of a husband and father. He might never love her as he had loved Celeste, but Gareth would not abandon her.

He was not a man to forsake his duty.

And she could never leave him. For in this matter of trust that she had battled almost from the moment she’d tended him back in the cottage, there was suddenly no more doubt. She had yielded her life into his hands, and he had guarded it well.

He was her husband. Her heart. And if only someday he would come to love her. Love her the way he had loved Celeste …

Love her as she loved him.

But Robbie still awaited an answer. She smoothed his hair from his forehead.

“Always,” she whispered. She blinked away a stinging rush of tears before Robbie could see. “I will be here always, Robbie.”

“You won’t leave me like my mother did?” His voice was small and quavering.

Her fingers stilled. “Robbie, why do you ask such a thing? Did someone say something?”

“Aye,” he admitted woefully.

“Who?”

“Cedric, the wainwright’s son. I told him… what you told me. That my mother was Lady Celeste, that she had gone to live with Our Lord in Heaven. But he laughed at me. He said my mother left me because she did not like me.”

“Robbie, that is not true.” She sat up, twisting slightly so she faced him. She hunted for the right words, and prayed they would come. That it was a concept he was not too young to grasp. “Cedric is wrong. Your mother was indeed the Lady Celeste. She carried you here—” she pressed his little hand against her belly—“as I carry this babe. Your mother was your father’s first wife. I told you that, too. Do you remember?”

Those woebegone eyes never left her face as he nodded.

“Your mother did not abandon you.” Her conviction rang out. “She did not desert you. She was very ill and-and she died. She did not choose to leave you. And you need not tell Cedric, for I shall tell him myself.”

She’d thought to reassure him, to convince him. But he remained utterly forlorn.

Her hands cradled his shoulders. “Robbie. Robbie, do you understand?”

“Aye,” he said.

“Then what is wrong, love?”

With the back of his hand he scrubbed away the tear that splashed onto his cheek. “I still don’t have a mother,” he said in a wobbly little voice. “Unless … you will be my mother.” He eased closer. Huge blue eyes searched her features. “Will you be my mother?” he whispered. “And … may I call you mama?”

Gillian stared down into his upturned face. Robbie, she thought shakily. My dear, sweet boy….

She remembered the day he’d first come to her room, asking if she was his mother, and something inside her came undone. Nay, he was not a child of her flesh. She had not felt him move and kick and stir beneath her breast, as the child in her womb moved now.

Yet she couldn’t have loved him more.

She loved him for his laughter and sweet nature, for the sheer delight she felt in holding him close … for the bounding joy he brought into her life. She loved him because he was Gareth’s son…

And hers as well.

Shame pricked her soul then. All at once her jealousy of Celeste seemed so petty and small, for Celeste would never hold his small, sturdy body snug against her own. There was so much that Celeste had already missed. The way he played at swordplay with Gareth, a sight that never failed to make her smile. The way he grew straight and tall, even now.

Her heart twisted and tears spilled down her cheeks. She reached for him, gathering him tight against her breast. Her knuckles tenderly stroked his face. “Robbie,” she said unsteadily, “are you sure that’s what you want? To call me mama?” She drew back to look at him.

“I do,” he said promptly.

There was a glow inside her, spreading to every part of her. “I would like that very much, Robbie. So if it pleases you, it most certainly pleases me!” She hugged him long and hard, burying her chin in the golden cloud of his hair.

Finally she drew back. “Now, young sir”—she wagged a finger in mock admonishment— “I do believe it’s time you slept.”

His eyes had begun to sparkle anew. “Very well… mama.” With a mischievous giggle he dove across the bed.

Gillian snared him and gave a watery laugh. He snuggled against her, warm and content.

They both slept quite late the next morn.

“Papa is home!”

Less than a sennight later, Robbie whooped the announcement and charged from the hall into the courtyard.

Gillian had just come up from the storerooms where she had stowed away the spices the cook had used for the evening meal. Her eyes widened in dismay. Her hands flew to her cheeks.

“Tell me quickly, Lynette,” she cried. “Is there dirt on my face? My chin?” She’d tied a ribbon around her hair to keep it from her face. No doubt she looked like a child! “My hair,” she fretted. “I must comb my hair.” She glanced down at her skirt and gasped. “Oh, heavens, I’m filthy! I must bathe—”

Lynette laughed at her. She stepped forward and briskly brushed away a cobweb from her skirts and straightened. “You look fine, my lady. Truly you do.” Her lips twitched. “Besides, there is no time.” With a lift of her brows and a nod, she gave a silent signal that someone had joined them.

Gillian swung about. The beat of her heart grew still.

Gareth stood in the doorway, holding Robbie. Hearty. Whole. So devastatingly handsome he made her quiver both inside and out.

Their eyes caught and held—endlessly, it seemed. Slowly he lowered Robbie to the floor and advanced toward her. The hold of his gaze had yet to release hers.

Nor could Gillian tear her eyes from his. The rush of feeling that swamped her made her feel liquid and weak. The world could have crumbled beneath her, and it would have been just the two of them. She couldn’t have moved if red-hot flames had licked beneath her slippers.

And then he was before her. Close enough to reach out and touch. And oh, how she wanted to! She wanted to run her fingertips over the pleasantly abrasive roughness of his beard-stubbled jaw, the smoothness of his lips.

“You’ve gained some flesh,” she blurted, eyeing his tall, powerful form. The width of his shoulders and depth of his chest strained the fabric of his tunic so there was nary a wrinkle.

A corner of his mouth turned up. He looked her up and down. “So have you, sweet.”

She blushed hotly. “In different places, methinks.” Her hand fluttered to her middle. Nearly three months had passed since they had seen each other. She knew she looked much different than when he’d left. “Robbie says I am fat.”

“Hardly that,” he scoffed. “You’re more beautiful than ever.” His gaze roved her face avidly—almost hungrily—sending her spirits aloft.

His gaze settled on her mouth, no doubt deepening her blush to a deep pink… and doubling the rhythm of her pulse.

Together they withdrew to the table, her hand nestled intimately into the crook of his arm, tucked there by strong, lean fingers.

His knights had already begun to file inside. Meat and ale were brought to the table while they spoke about all that had transpired in his absence. His men were eager to hear news of the outside world. When one of his knights queried him about the doings of the king, a light seemed to go out inside him. He was all at once very somber.

A hush went over the table as every eye turned upon him.

“The winds of unrest blow across the land, more strongly than ever. I fear for England,” he said softly. “I fear for Sommerfield. I sought not to choose sides, not to rally behind the king, nor aid the rebels who fought against him. And now I am forced to wonder … was I wrong?”

“You did what you had to,” Sir Godfrey said. “Ye gods, man, he had your son! You could not have stopped him from taking young Robbie hostage! His troops would have burned Sommerfield to the ground!”

Gareth raised a hand. “It pleases me to hear you say that, for once again, the king put me to the test. These many weeks, I do believe I’ve traveled every hill and valley of our land at least thrice. The king, you see, sought to have me curry favor with the barons in an attempt to win them back to his side, or so he claims.”

Gareth’s smile held no mirth. “Not an easy task, I assure you. In truth, many a time I was lucky to escape with my head, for there are some who still regard me with suspicion because I was not present at Running-Mead.

“Perhaps I should have been. Indeed, there are many who abandoned the cause when the Great Charter failed. But now the rest of the rebels rail against the king, and I fear they will tear this kingdom apart. They cannot rally themselves together as they should. Even now they still bicker and fight amongst themselves. And now there has come yet another threat to England.”

“From France,” Sir Marcus said quietly.

“Aye,” Gareth said heavily. “The king regained the pope’s good graces by promising that when the troubles with his barons has ended, he will lead an army to the Holy Land. Now the rebels are in disfavor with the Church. In fighting against John, they made an enemy of the pope. They are fools,” he stated flatly, “all of them, and in their foolishness they appealed to Prince Louis of France to help defeat King John. But Louis’s only intent is to seize England for himself! Indeed, he already controls a corner of the southeast. But the castles he took were not returned to the barons who requested his assistance. They were turned over to Louis’s own men!”