The Truest Heart (22 page)

With a giggle, Robbie did the same.

Gillian felt her heart catch. Lord, but he was a beautiful little lad. His cheeks were plump, his skin so fair. His hair was silky and gold, with a few curls at his nape. Lynette had said the boy greatly resembled his mother Celeste.

And all at once she couldn’t help but think of her own dear brother. Not nearly so young as Robbie, but still just a boy, hardly ready to be on his own … Clifton. A rending ache pierced her heart. Oh, Clifton, where are you?

But a moment later the boy’s sparkling green eyes searched her face. Then: “Are you my papa’s wife?”

Some of the smile deserted her heart. “I am,” she confirmed.

He appeared to consider. “If you are my papa’s wife,” he said slowly, “then you must be my mother.” He peered at her more closely. “Are you my mother?”

He was so earnest, his expression so hopeful. Gillian’s heart twisted. Indeed, she almost hated to disappoint him.

“Nay,” she said gently. “I am Gillian. Sometimes, you see, when a man’s wife dies, he may choose to take another wife, a second wife. That is what your papa did, and I”—she stumbled a little—“I am your papa’s second wife. Your mother, Celeste, was your papa’s first wife. She’s gone to live with our Lord in Heaven.” She hesitated, suddenly a little uncertain what to tell him about Celeste—what he knew, or what he’d been told. It was strange, to speak of a woman she’d never known.

But not just any woman. Gareth’s wife.

Just as strange, to realize that while she spoke of this child’s mother, she—Gillian—would likely be the only mother Robbie would ever know. But that was too much for a child of his age to grasp just now. Indeed, she thought faintly, almost too much for her to grasp.

Unable to stop herself, she asked, “Do you remember your mother, Robbie?”

“No. Do you?”

For an instant Gillian was taken aback. But it was a logical question, she realized. This time it was she who shook her head. “I never knew your mother, since I’ve only just now come to live at Sommerfield,” she explained. “But do you know what?”

“Nay. What?”

“I’m rather lonely, Robbie, and … I am in great need of a friend.”

Chubby fingers slipped within hers. “I shall be your friend, Gillian,” he said gravely.

Gillian’s heart melted. “Would you?” Lord, but he was sweet! “That would make me very happy, Robbie.”

The lad beamed up at her.

“But now, my young sir, I do believe we should find Nurse.” She rose and held out her arms. “Shall we?”

It was odd, Gillian reflected later, for it was Robbie who gave her the courage to brave the day… and the lord of Sommerfield.

Nonetheless, she was rather relieved when she heard one of the men mention that Gareth had ridden out to inspect his lands. Lynette spied her in the hall and hurried over. When she offered to show her the castle and grounds, Gillian readily accepted. It felt good to stretch her legs, and no trace of stormy skies remained. Though the air was bracingly cold, sunshine peeked through fleecy white clouds.

There had been little time to explore yesterday. Once again, Gillian was left in awe. The castle sprawled high atop a hill, surrounded by the deep waters of the moat. To all appearances, it had been well kept in Gareth’s absence. They walked about at leisure, clear to the soaring battlements atop the castle walls. The river snaked through the valley. Not so far to the north were the wilds of Scotland.

Gillian was grateful for Lynette’s company, and she was an excellent guide. She relayed how the castle had been built by Gareth’s Norman forebear, Lord Robert, who had been granted the land by the Conqueror in reward for his assistance.

“Was Robbie named for him, then?”

“I expect so,” Lynette replied.

Gillian tugged her mantle more tightly about her shoulders, for the breeze that whipped here on the battlements was decidedly cold. A pang swept through her. There was so much she longed to know about Gareth’s marriage to Celeste … or was she better off not knowing?

Lynette left her, but Gillian lingered a while. Despite the whistle and chill of the wind, she liked it here. Below in the courtyard, figures moved briskly to and fro. Laughter and shouts drifted upward, borne by the wind. She’d hated the solitude of the cottage, the feeling of being so alone. And—oh, but a part of her would be loath to admit it to Gareth— it felt good to be a part of something again.

It was midafternoon when she descended the long stairway to the ground. She made her way across the courtyard, nodding to some of the servants, calling a few by name. Lynette had introduced her to many, and her head still buzzed with all the names and faces. It would take her a while to know all of them.

She skirted a cart sitting in front of a narrow doorway, but suddenly a sack topped from the end of the cart to her feet. Gillian started to lift it back, but all at once a woman darted from the doorway.

“Nay, my lady, let me! A woman in your state dare not lift such things!”

The woman wrestled with the sack, then dropped it back into the cart. Wiping her hands, she turned toward Gillian with a broad smile. “My lord made the announcement to all of the servants about the babe, my lady.” Before Gillian could utter a word, the woman seized her hand and rushed ahead.

“Oh, I am glad for you, my lady. My ‘usband and I ‘ave six wee ones, and there is no blessing like a child. We wish you much joy, my lady.” With a curtsey, the woman ducked through the doorway.

Gillian was mortified. Dear God, she had wandered blithely among these people the entire day. And all of them believed … Oh, God, how would she ever be able to hold her head up again?

A shadow fell over her. Gillian knew, even before she turned around, who stood behind her. Without a word he took her elbow and led her to where no one stood near.

Gillian yanked herself away the instant he stopped.

Gareth tipped his head. “I trust you have something to say, wife.”

She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. In all her days, she didn’t know when she’d been so furious. “You heard?” she asked tightly.

“Aye.” Hands behind his back, he was totally nonplused.

Gillian’s gaze traveled from his black hair, tousled by the wind, to the tip of his dusty boots. “Well,” she stated bitingly, “your opinion of yourself never wanes, does it? ‘Twould seem you are a man above all other men to announce to all that we expect a child—especially when you’ve yet to plant the seed.”

“And I must point out that in order to conceive a child a woman must lay with a man.”

Gillian’s eyes were snapping. “I need no reminder!”

A black brow quirked. “Why so distressed? The king believes you are. What if he should return and mention it? Would you have everyone agog? He might easily guess the truth then, that you did not conceive before we were wed. And the king’s men will know as well.”

Gillian shivered. The king’s men, Stephen and Alexander, stood near the guardhouse, burly and bearded, their thumbs hooked into their swordbelts.

As always, Gareth had an answer ready at the fore. She cursed the glibness of his tongue, yet in truth, she must concede the point. But all at once her heart leaped …

“And what if I am barren?” The question emerged with difficulty.

Gareth’s regard sharpened. He could almost see the invasion of fear. In truth, it was something he’d neglected to consider.

Uncertain how to answer, he feigned a nonchalance he was suddenly far from feeling. “Then we will both be damned to hell. But take comfort—at least we will be there together, husband and wife.”

That, at least, brought her chin aloft. Deliberately he changed the subject. He was pleased when he arrived back at Sommerfield to hear that she’d spent the day mingling with the servants in order to learn their names and duties. His first glimpse of her came in the courtyard, walking idly across the yard, smiling at those who called out in greeting.

“I would like to present you with the keys to the household.” A brow arose. “You do know how to run a household?”

“Of course I do. After my mother died, my father left such things in my hands.”

“Ah,” he said softly. “And I’m sure we shall find that they are capable hands, indeed.”

Gillian flushed. Her guard went up like a shield, for the smile that flirted on his lips made her heart pound. She had the uneasy sensation he meant something else entirely, for though it was her hands he referred to, his eyes had dropped to her lips .,. and it was there they now dwelled.

Reaching for her hand, he uncurled her fingers and placed a set of keys in her hand. With his own, he closed her fingers around the keys. When it was done, he didn’t release it for the longest time. Aware of the way his hand completely enveloped hers, an odd tumult began to rage in her breast.

“I shall see you at dinner.”

With a long, slow look, he left her standing there, her heart in her throat.

The conversation weighed heavy on her mind as she returned to the bedchamber. Ah, but she was a fool! she acknowledged despairingly. Gareth was right. She could hardly beget a child herself.

She had no choice but to reconcile herself to the inevitable…

She must lie with him.

Tonight.

At dinner, he greeted her, cut her meat, and kept her cup filled. Much of his attention was claimed by his knights as they discussed the events of the day.

Nonetheless, Gillian wasn’t nearly as composed as she wished. It was disconcerting to sit beside him. Every so often his thigh nudged hers. For Gillian, it was a potent reminder of all that had passed between them last night. She hadn’t forgotten the way he’d looked, his chest wide and imposing, so unmistakably virile and masculine. Nay, she need not be near him, even see him, to remember what he looked like. But alas, she was near him, and all at once she couldn’t forget the way he’d wrenched her thighs apart, the ruthlessness of his kiss as he tumbled her down upon the bed. Though she had sidestepped the thought throughout the day, she was still stunned that he had stopped. That he chose not to take her as he had promised.

Aye, he had stopped. He had not hurt her …

What if he was not so generous tonight?

Her nerves were screaming and her head had begun to ache. She raised a hand to rub the hollow between her brows, unaware of Gareth’s scrutiny.

He turned his head. “Would you like to retire now?”

There was a definite coolness in his tone. Gillian felt as if she’d been caught in a web from which there was no escape. She smothered an hysterical laugh. Should she say yea or nay? Indeed, what did it matter?

Either way, the outcome was the same.

To prolong this torture must surely be harder than to bear it, she decided bitterly.

The veriest tremor went through her. “Aye,” she said woodenly.

“Then I give you leave to do so.”

Gillian quickly rose. She’d not gone more than a step when his voice stopped her.

“You may wish to wait for me.” A deliberate pause. “I’ll not be long.”

Their eyes collided. A trace of panic shot through her, for his features were set in implacable lines.

Within his eyes shone a determined resolve. And Gillian knew …

It was a warning.

She lowered her lashes and fled. But Gareth had glimpsed her bruised, wounded expression. He caught up with her near the entrance to the stairs, swinging her around to face him.

“Why do you look like that?” he demanded.

“You know why.” Her eyes grazed his, then slipped away.

His features darkened. She stood with her arms huddled over her chest, her narrow shoulders hunched together, her gaze averted. It was a pose of abject misery, of defenseless hurt—a pose that made him feel as if he’d crushed her like he would a bug beneath his heel. A sliver of remorse shot through him, but he refused to give in to it.

She’d dealt him a substantial blow to his ego that he’d not soon forget—or forgive, for that matter! He’d spent a hellishly uncomfortable night, curled up against an outer wall, that no one would know he’d been spurned by his wife on their wedding night! In the cottage, he’d known the feel of her even before he’d known her. He missed the feel of her in his arms. He missed her warm, sleepy scent, the warm trickle of her breath against his skin. He felt… bereft without her softness warming his side. He had no wish to douse her spirit, but she was his, and she must come to terms with it.

A thumb beneath her chin dictated she meet his gaze. “You make me out to be a monster,” he said, his jaw tense. “But I am not a man without compassion, without mercy. I did what I had to do to guard my son’s life—just as I did what I had to in order to save yours.”

Gillian regarded him with eyes both pleading and accusing. “Please”—with the tip of her tongue, she moistened her lips—“if you could only give me time.”

His breath hissed in. His gaze stabbed into hers, as he would stab into her, she thought wildly. “There is no time,” he cut in abruptly. “Now make yourself ready. I will be up shortly.”

On that note, he left her alone. Gillian made her way to his chamber—she could not think of it as theirs. It was too soon, if indeed she ever would …

She would accept that she must get with child. But she did not have to like it, she thought with a sniff.

As before, the chamber glowed with candlelight. Again, there was a decanter of wine and two goblets on the table near the hearth. It was there that Gillian directed her steps. She poured herself a generous portion of wine, and sank down on the rug before the fire, the goblet next to her.

Holding her hands to the fire, she stared into the crackling blaze, then reached for the wine. ‘Twas a fine wine, indeed, and she sipped again. Smoother than any she’d ever consumed, she decided, as the beaten silver touched her lips once more.

The first glass, along with the blaze crackling in the hearth, made her all toasty and warm, both inside and out. The second made her rather blurry and fuzzy—and lent her courage. The prospect of the night ahead no longer seemed so daunting. She was hardly the first woman to lie with a man; ‘twas silly to dread it so.

At length, she pillowed her arms on the upraised hearth, and lay down her head. Fatigue settled in. She was suddenly so exhausted she could not move. She would rest, she decided, for just a moment…