The Truest Heart (15 page)

There was a knock on the door. It opened a crack, and the maid Lynette peered in. When she saw that Gillian was awake, she stepped inside.

There was a tray in her hands. “I’ve brought food for you, my lady. I hope you’re hungry.”

After the girl had shown her to her chamber last eve, she’d helped Gillian undress. Gillian had liked her on sight. Wisps of drab brown hair escaped from beneath her cap, but bright, shining eyes lent her a warm vivacity.

Gillian obligingly sat up, and Lynette slipped the tray onto Gillian’s lap.

Gillian blinked. There were two huge hunks of bread dripping with honey, several wedges of cheese and a dish of stewed figs.

“My heavens, I am but one and there is enough here for at least two!”

“Well, you did miss your meal last eve, my lady. And milord said your nourishment had been lacking of late, so I made sure you had good hearty servings.”

There was no doubt that worry had cost Gillian a goodly bit of flesh since she’d departed Westerbrook. Her meager store of gowns hung limply from her shoulders and hips, and gaped wide at the neckline, where before they’d fit her form perfectly.

Gillian was adamant. “I cannot possibly eat all of this.” She held up the plate. “Would you like some, Lynette?”

For an instant the girl appeared taken aback. “Oh, I could not—”

“Oh, please do! Unless, of course, you’re afraid the master will beat you if he finds out. I should hate to land you in trouble because of me.” Gillian found herself holding her breath. She had a hard time envisioning Gareth bullying the servants, but one never knew.

To her surprise, Lynette laughed. “Oh, ‘tis not that,” she announced cheerfully. “The master is hardly likely to beat us, nor will he allow anyone else to beat us. Our lord is surely the most kind, generous lord in all the land. I daresay, there is not a man, woman, or child here at Sommerfield who is not amply fed and warmly clothed. But I thank you, Lady Gillian, for your generosity. ‘Tis simply that I broke my fast not long ago. If it would please you, though, when you are done, I’ll see if one of the kitchen boys wishes to finish what you do not eat.”

“An excellent idea, Lynette.” The girl’s response affirmed Gillian’s initial assessment. “It would be a shame for it to go to waste, and I vow I cannot possibly eat all of this.” As she spoke, Gillian broke off a chunk of bread and dipped it in a swirl of honey.

It fairly melted in her mouth, warm and yeasty and sweet. In all her life, Gillian didn’t know when she’d tasted anything so delicious.

Lynette hid a smile as she whisked the tray from Gillian’s lap a short while later. Gillian had devoured all of the bread, and nearly all of the cheese.

“Would you like a bath, my lady?”

“A bath would be lovely.”

“I’ll see to it then. Oh, and I cleaned your gown, my lady.”

Gillian felt herself redden. “Thank you, Lynette. That was most kind of you.” She darted a quick glance at the girl, but her expression revealed little. If Lynette thought it odd that she had come to Sommerfield with no trunks or servant of her own, she kept her opinion to herself.

Left alone, Gillian glanced around curiously. The chamber she’d been given was not overly large, but it was well furnished. Rich tapestries adorned the walls. There were rugs on the floor to guard against the cold. The small seat beneath the wide arched window was strewn with plump, inviting cushions.

Slipping from the bed in her shift, she peeked through the shutters. Sommerfield was a grand castle, far grander than Westerbrook. The timbers that stretched across the huge expanse of the great hall had widened her eyes. Now in the light of day, she saw that knights, squires, and pages swarmed the courtyard.

Before long, there was a second knock. Gillian leaped back into bed and drew the covers up to her chin before she called out for the newcomer to enter. Several girls traipsed in with buckets of hot water. Another hauled out a wooden tub and screen, wrestling it toward the fire. By then, Lynette had returned to help her bathe.

Gillian very nearly dismissed her. It was awkward, having someone to assist her after so many months alone, but Lynette’s openness and ready smile banished her reluctance. It felt wonderful to have the dirt scrubbed from her hair and scalp, and the leisurely soak in fragrant, steaming waters did much to ease the soreness that had settled in her muscles from the journey.

Lynette had just finished braiding her hair when there was a tap on the door. The girl went to answer it; a young squire stood there. The conversation they exchanged was brief and low-voiced.

Lynette turned back to her. “The master would like to see you belowstairs. Would you like me to show you?”

Gillian nodded. Her mouth was suddenly dry as parchment.

Lynette ushered her into a room just off the great hall. Two men flanked Gareth as they stood behind a wide table, but all her attention was captured by the man between. This morning in the bath she’d wondered how she would feel when she saw him again, but she had deliberately put it from her mind.

But now she knew. Her palms were damp and her pulse quickened madly. The very sight of him stole her breath. The tattered clothing in which she’d grown so accustomed to seeing him was gone. He was richly dressed, clad in a forest green tunic that deepened the color of his eyes and clung to the breadth of his chest. It seemed so odd, seeing him in a different light, that of lord of the castle.

He had straightened upon seeing her. “Lady Gillian,” he said. “May I present two of my knights, Sir Marcus and Sir Godfrey.”

Both men bowed and greeted her warmly. Sir Godfrey, she learned, was the elder of the pair. Sir Marcus was of an age with Gareth, she guessed, but not quite so handsome.

“Marcus, Godfrey, do you mind?” He directed a faint smile toward the pair. “I must speak with the lady.”

The two knights quickly withdrew and they were left alone.

When Gareth turned to face her again, the smile was gone. He gestured her toward the chair and closed the ledger with a snap. “I trust you slept well.”

Gillian lowered herself to the chair and folded her hands in her lap, but her legs were poised as if she were prepared to flee.

“I slept very well, thank you.”

But Gareth had not. He grimaced, for it had proved a night where thought after thought ran rampant through his mind. God’s blood, who was he trying to fool? It wasn’t just the dilemma that faced him. It was her. Her. In truth, he’d missed the feel of her beside him, for it had grown vastly familiar in these past weeks.

But Gillian was convinced that of a certainty he did not appear glad to see her. His mouth had tightened, as if in disapproval. The second ticked by as he continued to regard her. For a fleeting instant she had the oddest sensation that he knew not what to say.

But then she heard his voice. “There is no easy way to tell you this,” he said abruptly, “so I must simply come out with it. You confided that your father sent you and your brother away from Westerbrook because he feared for your safety—and Brother Baldric heard tales that John had sent an assassin to scour the country for you.”

Gillian clasped her fingers together to still their sudden trembling. “Aye,” she said.

He gazed at her unblinkingly. “You were right, Gillian. There was indeed a man dispatched to seek and find you.”

A strange feeling crawled up her spine. “You’re certain?”

“I am.”

Gillian went cold to the tips of her fingers. “How?” she whispered. “How do you know?”

“Because I am that man,” he said at last. “I am the man the king sent”—there was a taut, ringing silence—“to be your executioner.”

Chapter 11

For one awful moment, Gillian feared she was surely losing her mind. Numbness befell her. She regarded him in shocked, frozen silence. Unbidden, she recalled the days after she’d found him … idly talking when he lay still and unconscious, praying that he might hear. She’d guessed that he was a hunter like her father…

Never in this world had she dreamed that she was his quarry.

She could feel every drop of blood drain from her cheeks. “Holy Mother Mary,” she whispered. “You were sent to murder me.”

“Aye.” There was no denial, no apology, just a flat pronouncement of fact. He was so calm, so matter-of-fact that it ran through her mind that he would do the deed here and now.

She lowered her head. The hand she lifted to her temple wasn’t entirely steady. Gareth flinched, for he’d glimpsed the flare of panic that leaped in her eyes, the slump of her slender shoulders. Her countenance was stripped of all color. He thought she was defeated—after all she had endured, this had finally broken her.

He was mistaken.

In an instant he was up and rounding the table. He extended a hand toward her, his only thought to comfort her. All at once she was on her feet, propelled by anger. Taken wholly by surprise, her shoulder struck a jarring blow against his chest; he grunted and stumbled. Her attack took him wholly aback.

“You tricked me!” Her eyes blazed with the fire of her fury. “You told me I was in danger. What you neglected to tell me was that I was in danger from you!” She launched herself at him anew, venting aloud her outrage.

He captured one flailing hand before she could claw at his face, then managed to snag the other. His arms imprisoned hers, hard and unyielding. With the weight of his chest he trapped her against the wall, holding her fast. Gillian struggled and screeched and swore.

“You brought me here to kill me, didn’t you? You dared to call me a liar—to make me feel the guiltiest sinner on this earth for allowing you to believe I was a widow. But you are the one who lied. You said you would protect me, while all the while you meant to kill me!”

“Nay, Gillian. That is not true.”

She tried to wrench from his hold. He wouldn’t let her. “That’s why you were on the ship, isn’t it?”

“Aye. I was on my way to you. But the storm tore apart the ship, and when I woke I recalled nothing of my mission, nothing but my name. The rest you know. When I sensed you were in danger, I brought you here to Sommerfield.”

Her lip curled scornfully. “Oh, that is rich. You’ve only just recalled the king would have you kill me.”

His face was lined and drawn, but she was too incensed to notice. “I have been gone for three months, Gillian. Three months! But not until we arrived last eve did I remember the reason for my departure.”

“No matter when or where or how you remembered, it seems you are still one of the king’s lackeys!” She delivered the words with stinging disdain.

Gareth’s lips compressed to a thin line. “I am not the king’s lackey.”

“Oh, but I think you are, my lord. I confess, I’m curious … what was the price of my life? What sum did the king pay you to murder me? A fair price, I do hope.”

His teeth clamped tight. Lord, but she could be infuriating! “He paid me nothing,” he said curtly. “I agreed only to save my son.”

“Your son!” Her eyes opened wide, then narrowed in blatant suspicion. “You have no son. You said your wife was dead!”

“She is.” He was grim-lipped and abrupt. “I don’t know how or why, but I know it as surely as I am here at Sommerfield. My son is a lad of nearly five. His name is Robbie.” His eyes darkened. “May God forgive me, but I recalled nothing of him until my return here.”

Gillian released the storm in her heart and soul. “You expect me to believe you?” she cried. “To pity you? Do you seek to arouse my sympathy? Well, I will not put aside the truth! You are a fiend. A toad. The most disgusting rodent on this earth cannot compare to you!”

Deep down, he knew she was terrified. Stunned and furious. It was no more than he expected. No more than he deserved. For that reason alone, he bore her tirade for as long as his patience held out.

“That is enough!” he said harshly. “Your point is taken. Now calm yourself.”

“Calm myself, he says! By God, if I were a man, I’d run you through!”

“Then I shall give thanks ever after that you are not and cannot.”

With that he whirled her around and placed her in the chair. When she would have jumped up, he clamped his hands around her wrists, staying her movement.

“Sit!” he thundered.

She was momentarily quelled, but by no means beaten. She glared up at him mutinously as he straightened.

“You wish the truth and so you shall have it. We are far from court here, but I had heard of Ellis of Westerbrook’s attempt to kill King John. I was aware of the rumble of discontent throughout the land during John’s reign, but I had no patience with the way the barons argued incessantly among themselves. I find myself amazed that they united and were able to force King John to sign the Great Charter! I had gone on Crusade with Richard. I had done my duty to the Crown and it was my intent to hold myself distant from the squabbles of the kingdom as much as I could. For the most part I succeeded— until the night the king and a small party of his advisors passed by Sommerfield on their way to the north and sought shelter for several nights. I could hardly tell him to be on his merry way, for one does not refuse the king.”

His voice took on a note of grimness. Tell her, he would. Spare her, he could not, not one detail. If he was merciless, it was because she demanded it. “I learned from the king’s party that Ellis of Westerbrook had been captured and was being held at Rockwell, near the Scottish border. Apparently John was intent on discovering the man with whom your father conspired to kill him, but torture did not compel your father to confess the other man’s identity.”

Torture! Gillian nearly cried out. A rending pain ripped through her, as if a lance had pierced her heart. “He thought he could save England from the king’s tyranny. That is why he tried to kill John. And in the end, he took his own life rather than bow to John’s will.”

“Aye. The king is clever. I will give him that. Perhaps John already suspected that your father would not yield to such tactics, for it seems he had already ordered his men to Westerbrook. No doubt it was in his mind to seize you and your brother Clifton to blackmail your father into revealing the name of the other man responsible for the murder attempt.