The Truest Heart (18 page)

“I do not, my lord.” Her heart drummed painfully as she thought of the man behind the curtain. But then resolve hardened her heart. Her father had died protecting this man. Even if she’d known who he was, she wouldn’t have confessed to him!

“Do you know your brother’s whereabouts?”

The king’s tone was almost pleasant, but Gillian was not fooled. It was but a way to coax her cooperation. Her fingers interlocked before her as she raised her chin. “I do not, sire. He left Westerbrook the same night as I, but he did not accompany me. My father thought it would be safer that way.”

John looked to Gareth. “Does she speak the truth?” he demanded.

“She does, sire. The plotting and scheming were left to her father, and the other man involved.”

A hush borne of tension descended. Gillian had heard tales of the king’s penchant for jewels—that at his coronation, even his white gloves were adorned with sapphires. No doubt it was true; there was a ring upon nearly every finger, laden with precious stones—emeralds, diamonds, and sapphires. A huge, brilliant ruby dangled on his chest; suspended from a heavy gold chain, it glittered with every turn of his fingers. He toyed with it endlessly, until she longed to tear it from his thickset neck that he might stop.

It was Gareth who broke the silence. “You need not worry that she will cause you such trouble as her father,” he stated smoothly. “I will keep her in check, Your Highness. Nor will she flee, even if it means keeping her under lock and key.”

Such arrogant presumption earned him the seething regard of his wife.

John’s eyes narrowed as he studied her. Thoughtfully he stroked his beard, so meticulously trimmed and waxed. “I am reluctant to release my vow that Ellis’s kin be wiped out. But indeed, ‘twould seem that a mere woman and a boy can hardly pose any threat to me—and in truth, her brother may well be dead already.”

Gareth was forgotten. The king’s speculation that Clifton was dead tore into her breast like an arrow, clear to her heart. No, she cried in silent anguish. Please, God, no! It was beyond bearing that Clifton was dead.

John transferred his gaze to his ministers. “Geoffrey … Roger … what is your counsel?”

Covington frowned. “It may well be,” he began slowly, “that perhaps we should take the girl’s survival as a sign—”

“By all the saints, Geoffrey, you sound as if you’ve gone over to the Church! Spare me such drivel.”

Geoffrey’s fair cheeks reddened. “What I mean to say, sire, is that it may not be wise to harm the girl. What if someone should discover you gave the order to slay the daughter of Ellis of Westerbrook? The barons might—”

“The barons … Lord, but I wish someone would rid me of every one of them. I gave in to their demands and signed the Great Charter at Running-Mead, yet still they grumble. They are like a nest of vipers. They will not be content until I give up my crown, and I will not give in to them again, I tell you. I will not!”

Gillian’s skin prickled. She turned her head to see that she was the object of Roger Seymour’s scrutiny. Her pulse skittered. How long had he been watching her? He did not smile or desist when their eyes met. Her heart skipped a beat, for she sensed his dislike keenly.

He surprised her by echoing Geoffrey’s sentiment. “We can deal with the barons, sire, but Geoffrey may be right. Even if you were to throw her into prison, some of the barons might seize on just such a move. It’s probably wise not to give them cause to incite their passion anew. And further bloodshed will do little to rally the people to your side.”

“So you believe I should let her go,” the king mused aloud.

Gillian held her breath. Seymour stared at her in a way that made her heart drum painfully.

“Aye,” he said at last. “My counsel is to let the matter rest and leave her to Sommerfield for now.”

For now. Those two simple words made her blood run chill. But it appeared John’s anger had begun to abate. He gestured Gareth forward.

“Very well, then. I leave her in your hands.” He leaned an elbow on the arm of the chair and fixed those small black eyes on Gareth. “But what of the money you owe me? You borrowed a goodly sum when last I visited here.”

Gareth’s lips compressed. Gillian was close enough to see the sudden sizzle in his eyes. “Much eludes me still, but I recall that night most distinctly. I am certain I owe you no coin, my lord.”

The king’s mouth assumed a petulant droop. “Perhaps you are right.” He glanced at Geoffrey. “We’ll not be staying the night. Send for the boy.”

Again Gareth intruded. “For what purpose, sire? He is but a boy and has no further need of your … care. Lady Gillian is no longer in hiding. She is here, and I have vowed I will keep her under control. The boy belongs with his father.”

Gillian’s gaze bounced from Gareth to the king. John stared hard at Gareth.

“The boy has done very well with me.”

“I do not dispute that, sire, and for that I thank you.”

“If I leave your son with you, I have no assurance that you will not join with the rebel barons.”

“You have my word,” Gareth said quickly. “My every assurance. But if you doubt me, leave some of your men here to assure that I comply.”

“I could do that,” the king said slowly.

“I have never been disloyal to you, sire,” Gareth reminded him. “I must ask that you not disregard my request. I merely do what is best for my son.”

John pursed his lips. “I suppose you are right,” he said shortly. “The lad is indeed of a tender age.” Thus relenting, he got to his feet, tugging his surcoat over his girth before returning his attention to Gareth. “I do trust that you will be ready to serve me as the need arises?”

Something flickered across Gareth’s features, something she could not decipher. He gave a low bow. “As the need arises,” he confirmed.

King John swept by without another glance at Gillian. Geoffrey Covington and Roger Seymour followed in his wake. The door closed with a hollow thud. Gillian swallowed, fighting to slow the thunder of her heart.

Gareth stepped up beside her. “You did well,” he murmured.

“And I would commend you for your performance, if you were not such a lying blackguard!” Air left her lungs in a scalding rush. “You must be mad to tell the king such a tale.” A part of her was still aghast. “It is not possible that I carry your— your child!”

“Very true,” he drawled. “And there is only one way you can be with child.”

“Precisely,” she snapped. “How then do you intend to fool the king?”

A slow-growing smile crept across his lips. “I don’t,” he said very softly.

All at once Gillian could scarcely breathe. “What do you mean?”

A thick black brow climbed aloft. “Come, now,” he chided. “Surely you know the ways of the world.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “But if you insist, I will be happy to explain further… nay, mayhap it would be better to show you…” He reached out to grasp her arm.

She jerked it away with a toss of her head. “Don’t touch me!” she cried. “I will never allow the man who would have murdered me to lay a hand on me! I’d sooner bed an adder than bed with you!”

She didn’t bargain on his reaction. He snatched her to him with a suddenness that ripped the breath from her lungs; the fierceness of his hold betrayed his wrath. With thumb and forefinger he captured her chin, demanding that she look at him. His features were implacable; the harsh line of his mouth exactly matched his voice.

“Perhaps you should ponder on this, then, lady. It will be in your best interest to get yourself with child—and quickly, for that will be the only thing that saves your life.”

Gillian blanched, going utterly cold inside. He released her abruptly, as if he could no longer stand the sight of her. Without another word, he strolled from the chamber and slammed the door.

She stared at the oaken portal. A sickly dread clutched at her. Sweet Mother Mary, she thought shakily. Was it a prediction he made … or a threat?

Vivid in her mind’s eye was the way he’d looked as he stormed away. His tightly constricted features betrayed a ruthlessness that was frightening.

It was the face of a stranger, she thought vaguely, the face of a man she no longer knew … for in truth, she knew this man not at all. Bitterness welled up inside her, for the hell of it was that he was right. If not for his protection, she’d be fast in the clutches of the king.

Chapter 13

Gillian spent the remainder of the afternoon in her chamber, alternately stewing, then chafing over his high-handedness. He was quite an accomplished liar, this new husband of hers, and if she didn’t have to face him until the other side of forever, it was too soon!

She was lying on the bed, trying to sort through the tumult of the day, to bring some order to all that had transpired when a knock sounded on the door. Gillian sighed. She very nearly called that she didn’t wish to be disturbed, but then the door opened slightly.

“My lady?”

It was Lynette. The girl stepped inside. “My lord bid me to come and ask you to join the celebration in the hall.”

A frown drew Gillian’s brows together. She very nearly queried the girl as to why there was a celebration going on. Then she remembered … this was their lord’s wedding day … her wedding day.

And Gareth was her husband. Her husband.

Lynette had crossed the floor to close the shutters. It was later than Gillian realized. The steel-colored sky had turned almost black. Snowflakes had begun to float toward the earth.

Refusal leaped to her lips. But she wouldn’t put it beyond him to come and fetch her. Besides, it wasn’t right to shift such a burden to Lynette. Gillian was not afraid of him, and she would not cower and hide as if she were!

“Would you like me to comb your hair before you go down, my lady?”

Gillian hesitated, then gave a nod. She sat quietly upon a bench beneath the window, with Lynette behind her. No doubt Lynette expected a brilliantly radiant bride, but there was no joy in her heart this day, no wild elation. How could there be?

Lynette set aside the comb, separating Gillian’s hair with her fingers deftly. “Your hair is lovely, my lady,” she said wistfully. “So dark and shining.”

There was a painful catch in Gillian’s breast. Her mind sped straight to Celeste. What was it Gareth had said? As if you could forget, scoffed a needling little voice inside.

So beautiful, he had praised. Soft and golden and warm. The color of bright summer sunshine.

Celeste. Gareth’s wife. But no, she —Gillian—was now his wife.

It seemed so impossible. When she woke this morning, she’d never thought the day would end with Gareth as her husband. And the little boy, Robbie. Gareth’s son. Ah, but it was so difficult to comprehend … he was now her son, too!

To become wife and mother, and all at once …

Something inside her cried out. Perhaps it was selfish. Perhaps it was wrong. Aye, he was a beautiful little boy, but… it wasn’t supposed to be like this, she thought wrenchingly. It wasn’t the way she had dreamed it would be. She’d hoped for joy and love and laughter on the day she became a bride, but there had been none of that.

Quietly she posed the question to Lynette. “Does Robbie resemble his mother?”

Lynette’s nimble fingers stopped their movement. Gillian glanced over her shoulder, not surprised to find the girl’s expression a trifle uncertain.

“You needn’t look like that, Lynette. I know of Gareth’s wife, Celeste.”

Some of Lynette’s unease seemed to lessen. “Aye, Robbie resembles Lady Celeste,” she admitted. “He has the same fine golden hair…. I’ve always said it looks as if it had been sprinkled with fairy dust.” Her fingers began to move swiftly through Gillian’s hair. She stopped long enough to smile. “He is asleep now, the little mite. My lord scarcely let him out of his arms this afternoon. My lord was so unhappy after his lady died, but already ‘tis different here in the castle. Now that he is back—and Robbie is back—it no longer seems so empty.” Almost shyly she added, “And now he has you, too, my lady.”

Gillian said nothing. Gareth’s feelings for his son were unquestionably apparent. The heartfelt emotion in his eyes as he sank down on his knees … the way Robbie had clung to him … it was enough to make her throat achingly tight once more.

But his feelings for her were quite different from what Lynette imagined—quite different indeed.

“There, my lady, ‘tis done. I do hope it’s to your liking.”

Gillian had to refrain from a cursory examination in the mirror the girl held up. Lynette was so anxious to please that Gillian couldn’t bear to disappoint her. Looking into the mirror, she saw that Lynette had caught it up and twisted it into a long rope, then wound it atop her head.

“It looks lovely, Lynette.” She smiled in genuine pleasure. “Thank you.”

She made her way to the hall alone. She felt rather awkward standing alone in the doorway— and this her wedding day! She wondered belatedly if it was a calculated move, sending Lynette after her. Had Gareth done so deliberately in order to put her to some sort of test?

All around was the sound of boisterous merrymaking. The lilting tune of a lute carried through the air. Her eyes scanned the revelers, searching for Gareth. At last she spied him. He stood near the dais, surrounded by his knights, a striking figure clad in boots and a tunic of forest green. The material stretched across his shoulders, bringing to the fore the latent power that lurked beneath. Despite her best efforts to quell it, her pulse began to clamor. Seeing him with the others made her acutely aware of how tall and broad he really was. He was laughing and seemingly well amused by something Sir Godfrey had said.

He must have sensed her arrival, for he raised his head and gazed over to where she stood.

His smile withered. He clamped his hand on one man’s shoulder, then turned and began to close the distance between them, his strides long and easy. As he reached her, she saw that his lips were compressed, as if he were displeased. He barely gave her a glance.

“‘Tis about time,” was all he said.

For the space of an instant it was as if he trod upon her heart, but then a saving anger flowed through her. Oh, but he was hard to the bone and she was a fool! For several moments upstairs, she’d allowed herself to soften. Yet now it was instantly regretted; in its stead simmered a fiery resentment. If he was determined to show his indifference, then so would she.