The Truest Heart (33 page)

Since his return, Gareth had been busy fortifying the castle defenses. Walls were inspected and mended by the mason. Supplies had been laid in, even before the autumn harvest. Several times Gillian glimpsed a brooding tautness about him as he scanned the horizon. His knights practiced daily, but without quite so much laughter. She knew he worried about the threat from without… the king’s forces… or others.

But he was ever solicitous of the burden she carried, always there to slide a stool beneath her feet, to lend a hand when she needed it.

But Gillian couldn’t banish the doubts that took hold and churned within her. Did he regret stepping in to save her from the king? Did he regret this marriage? Would he grow to resent her? He would be forever saddled with a babe he did not want, a wife he did not want.

And now that she was heavy with his child, did he protect her only because the babe she carried was his? What would happen when the babe was born? There would be no reason to withhold her from King John. Would he seek to be rid of her then?

Every look, every touch brought a painful swell of emotion to her breast.

Oh, he made love to her as passionately as ever. She cherished those nights, whether he held her in peace or in passion.

Yet never did he say he loved her.

If she could journey through his mind, what would she find? If it was true what all said, it was a love so great he would never love another … never love her.

Despair clogged her chest. Ah, but it was so hard to cling to any hope!

Sitting with Robbie one afternoon in the rose garden, she tucked him beneath the folds of her mantle when he shivered.

“I’m glad that Papa is home,” he announced suddenly. “I didn’t like it when he was gone.”

She brushed a kiss across his brow. “Neither did I, Robbie.”

For a moment, he stared at her. “I saw Papa kiss you once.”

“Did you now?”

“Aye,” he said solemnly. “Like this.” He mashed his lips against the back of his hand, screwing his face into all manner of contortions.

Gillian smothered a laugh.

“Papa loves you, doesn’t he? He must, to kiss you like that.”

Her smile withered, along with a little of her heart. She couldn’t say a word, but Robbie didn’t seem to notice.

“You love him, too, don’t you?”

Gillian wasn’t prepared for the stark, rending pain that seared through her breast. And now Robbie was gazing at her in that innocent way only a child possessed, awaiting an answer.

“Aye,” she whispered past the ache in her throat. “I love him, too. But let this be another secret between us … just for a while.”

Emerald eyes gleamed. His head bobbed eagerly. Gillian blinked back tears and gathered him close. And it was almost as if she could hear her heart breaking…

Her time grew near.

Perhaps it was that which kindled a gnawing unease inside her. Or perhaps the way the castle continued preparations for its defenses. Whatever the reason, she was unsettled and uneasy these days.

And she had been dreaming of late. Always it was the same dream. It was the day before the attempt on the king’s life, when she had heard another man in the counting room with her father—and seen his shadow. Her father was angry with her, shouting that she should not spy on him.

But that wasn’t the way it had happened.

Papa had been angry. Mention this to no one, he’d said. And she hadn’t, except to Brother Baldric …

She saw it again, a shadow high on the wall behind her father. There dwelled in her memory something elusive, something that tugged on the fringes of her mind, something vitally important.

Yet she could never quite place it, either in dreams, or the bright reality of day.

She tossed and turned one night. Gareth was not yet abed. It must have been well after midnight when her mind finally began to blur. But then came the creak of the door.

She woke with a start. Bolting upright, a sharp cry tore from her throat. But it was only Gareth, at last coming to bed.

He was at the bedside in an instant. “What, Gillian? Is it the babe?”

“Nay,” she said shakily. “You startled me. And the babe will not come for nearly a month.”

Strong arms closed about her.

“Do you think the king will send his hounds sniffing about to see when this babe is delivered?” Indeed, she half-expected Roger Seymour, black, venomous eyes agleam, to appear at the gates that very moment. She shuddered. “If this babe comes on time,” she said unsteadily, “John will know that you lied.”

Gareth brushed his knuckles across her cheek. “Do not trouble yourself. If that should come to pass, I will deal with it,” he told. “But I do believe the king has more important matters to contend with.”

She wasn’t deceived by his dry tone. She was aware he sought to reassure her. Nonetheless, she prayed this babe would be early, for in his madness, she feared the king’s wrath as much as ever.

Gareth pulled off his clothes and stretched out beside her, pulling her loosely into his embrace.

Do not trouble yourself, he said. If only it were so easy!

“Gareth?” she whispered.

“What, sweet?” He dropped a kiss on soft, crimson lips.

“There has been no word from the men you sent in search of Clifton, has there?”

“Nay.” It was disclosed with clear reluctance. His tone was quietly troubled.

Gillian took a deep, fortifying breath, willing aside her pain. “The man who conspired with my father. Do you think the king will ever find him?”

“He hasn’t yet. He is either very clever, as elusive as smoke. Or already dead.”

A shiver went through her. “He was at Westerbrook with my father,” she confided, “the day before the attempt on the king.”

She’d shocked him. His arms about her grew taut and rigid. “You saw him?”

His sharpness frightened her. “Nay! Not really… they were in the counting room. A shadow, perhaps. No more.”

“You said you knew nothing!”

“I don’t,” she cried. “I didn’t see him! They were behind the curtain. I heard Papa say something about hunting. When I asked after the other man, he chastened me and said I was not to speak of it. It was only later I realized the man was the other assailant.”

“Dammit, Gillian, why did you not tell me this before? Didn’t you trust me?” His mouth twisted. “No, I don’t suppose you did.”

Her eyes cleaved to his. His expression was blackly fierce. Suddenly it was all she could do to hold back a sob.

Her mouth was tremulous. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it mattered. I didn’t know him! ‘Tis only of late I’ve begun to feel there is something I should have remembered.” She drew a deep, racking breath. Something inside her seemed to crumple and fall. “Gareth, please don’t be angry with me!”

Her control was tremulous, her beautiful mouth all atremble. Seeing her thus, he made a muffled exclamation. Strong arms engulfed her. He locked her tight against his side. She wrapped herself around his limbs, burying her mouth against the musky hollow of his throat, breathing in his warm, woodsy scent.

“I’m not angry, Gillian.” He tucked her head beneath his chin. With his lips he nuzzled the fine skin at her temple. “But if there is anything else, you must tell me. Do not hide it from me.”

She knew then … knew he feared for her. Feared for her safety. A shadow slipped over her. All at once she was fast in the grip of an ominous foreboding. She clung to him, and his hold tightened even more. Yet even the heat of his body, the shielding protectiveness of his body around hers, couldn’t entirely vanquish the chill inside her breast.

Gareth gave strict orders that she was not to leave the walls of the castle. Gillian chafed at the confinement, but she understood his reasoning. Still, she was restive.

She had taken to walking nightly along the tower walls. The exercise kept her legs from cramping, and the solitude cleared her mind.

Seated at the table with his men, Gareth lifted his head with a frown when she arose. But she inclined her head toward the doorway that led into the courtyard, and up the tower stairs. He gave a nod and returned his attention to his men.

On this late September night, the air was damp with the nip of a recent rain, but the skies had begun to clear. A full moon hovered high in the sky, behind a silvery veil of clouds. A strong breeze billowed her mantle behind her, but she was not cold. There had been a nagging ache in her back throughout the day, and she paused. Her fingers came around to knead the hollow of her spine. Raising her face to the heavens, she took a deep, cleansing breath and allowed the solitude to seep within her bones and wash away the turbulence inside her.

An eerie prickle raised the hairs on her nape, a tingle that warned of a presence beside her own… a presence of evil. Her head turned slowly; it skidded through her mind that she was right.

The king had sent his hounds after all. But it was not Roger Seymour who stood behind her.

It was Geoffrey Covington.

Chapter 22

“I’ve been expecting you, milady.”

Slowly she turned to face him. She could scarcely hear for the pounding of her heart. She’d been right to be wary, she thought numbly. For there was something deadly in his eyes, something that made her go cold to the very tips of her fingers.

“Lord Covington,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

Something passed across his handsome features, something she couldn’t comprehend. Oddly enough, it was almost as if an air of sadness clung to him…

“I think you know, milady.”

Ice swirled in her veins. “You mean to kill me,” she said numbly.

“I fear I’ve no other choice.”

Gillian’s mind was whirling. He sounded bleak—almost resigned.

She wet her lips. “How did you get in?” she heard herself whisper.

“I hid in a cart brought in by one of the villagers.”

Fear began a rising spiral within her. Her nails dug into her palm… if she could only keep him talking, perhaps someone would come. Or if she could just dart past him. But she was no longer fleet of foot.

“I’ve been watching you, you know. You linger here upon the ramparts. You won’t be missed for some time to come. The guards in the watchtower will not hear you cry out. The wind is too strong.” He shook his head. “I do not relish this, Gillian. Indeed, I regret that I must do this. Truly I do.”

Her eyes blazed. “Liar!” she hissed. “How could you harbor any regret when you serve a master who is as vicious as the devil himself!”

“Ah, milady. You do not understand. ‘Tis not for the king that I must kill you. ‘Tis to save my own neck. I’ve no desire to hang from the gibbet, as the king would have seen your father hang.”

Her lips parted. “What do you mean?”

“Come, Gillian. Surely you know.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “It was you with my father … you are the other assassin.”

“You don’t understand, do you?”

Dazed, she stared at him. “Nay,” she said faintly. “Nay!”

“I did it for England,” Covington said softly. “For the good of the country.”

“But that makes no sense! You were—are!—one of his closest advisors.”

“Aye. At first I served him out of loyalty to the Crown. I remained because of that loyalty—and because I thought to sway him, to influence his decisions. But he is the monster everyone believes. He listens to no one. He heeds naught but his own interests.”

“So you and my father plotted to kill him?”

“Yes. But I am not the callous, heartless man you think, Gillian. I abhor bloodshed. All we sought was to save England from his greed. There was no other way to be rid of John. Your father and I agreed. A single arrow to the heart. We were able to lure John away from his hunting party. And alas, if John’s horse had not reared, if that blasted guard had not followed, it would have been done. But nothing went as planned. The guard had glimpsed two figures.”

“And you went slinking back to John’s side, no doubt pretending outrage, while my father fled for his life. Damn you!” she burst out. “You are a coward!”

“Oh, come now. It was I who advised the king that he must leave the forest and the shire at once, thus allowing your father’s escape from the woods—and from Westerbrook later that night.”

“To save your own hide … you didn’t trust that if my father was captured, he wouldn’t reveal you as his accomplice!”

Covington spread his hands wide. “What else was I to do? Do you think me a fool? John did not suspect me, but he is a sly one. I could not leave then else I’d have aroused suspicion. But later I remembered there was you… I didn’t worry so much about Clifton. But when I learned your father had sent the two of you away, I wondered if he had told you of our plan to kill John.

“I confess, I’ve never seen the king so furious as when he discovered your father killed himself without revealing his accomplice. When he dispatched Gareth to do away with you and your brother, I was certain I would never be discovered. I was in a quandary when we returned here to find that Gareth had you in tow.”

“So why didn’t you kill me then?” she demanded.

He gave a tight little smile. “You are a beautiful woman, Gillian. I had no desire to taint my hands with your blood or the blood of your child. Nor did I wish to make an enemy of your husband. With you under Gareth’s wing, John was content to let the matter rest. And I believed you when you told the king you knew naught of your father’s attempt on the king’s life—naught of his partner.”

“Because it was true!” she challenged bitterly. “I heard someone in the counting room with him, but I didn’t know it was you!”

“Ah, but now it’s too late and you do know, dear girl. Only you and I know the truth—and you are the only one who might connect me with the assassination attempt. The king has vowed to find that man and I will not risk being discovered. John’s reign is crumbling. His health is waning, but I will not allow myself to be accused of treason! Even if he dies, he still has many supporters who would see that I paid with my life.”

“My father paid with his. ‘Tis no more than you deserve!”

“And no more than you will get, I’m afraid.”

“You bastard! My father died protecting you. He took his own life rather than reveal your name!”