The Truest Heart (7 page)

“Ah, so you do remember. Have you been on Crusade?”

“I have,” Gareth stated promptly.

“And what of King John?” Baldric surveyed him closely.

Gareth’s response was a long time in coming. “I do not know,” he said at last. “And yet I cannot deny the feeling that I should know.” His voice carried a faint bitterness. “Then again, it would seem there is much I should know, but cannot remember.”

“True,” Baldric agreed.

“I can only hope that Gillian is right,” Gareth stated quietly, “that as my body mends, my memory will as well.” He glanced at Gillian. One corner of his mouth curled upward. “I owe the lady much,” he said softly. “Indeed, I owe her my very life.”

Baldric slid his hands into the wide gray sleeves of his robe. “She has a warm, giving nature. No man was more aware of it than her husband.”

Gareth’s gaze jerked back to Baldric. “Her husband?”

“Yes. She is a widow, you know. She still grieves deeply for her husband, who died when he was thrown from his horse. As she brought you here to heal, so did I bring her to this place to heal.”

Gillian smothered a gasp. Why was Brother Baldric compelled to perpetuate that horrid lie— and more? she wondered wildly. There was no need, no need at all. She winced as she felt the touch of Gareth’s eyes anew. Brief though it was, it was piercingly intent.

“You brought Gillian here?”

“I did. She felt the need to spend her grief in solitude.” Baldric lifted a brow. “Have you a wife, sir?”

Gareth shook his head. “There is no one. I can feel it.” His gaze slid back to Gillian. “A pity,” he remarked, “that one so young as the lady here should find herself a widow already. Perhaps it is good that I am here, for now she need not be alone.”

Brother Baldric’s head came up. Each man found himself the object of a shrewdly measuring survey by the other.

“I wish you a swift recovery,” Baldric said with a stilted smile. “Without doubt you must be eager to be well—and perhaps you will have remembered the rest of your past as well. I’m certain you’ll then be anxious to return to your home, wherever that may be.” With a bow he retreated toward the door.

Gillian followed him outside. Before she could say a word, Brother Baldric held up a hand. “I know what you will say, child. You think I am wrong. In truth, I know not what to believe about this man who calls himself Gareth.”

“And I do not know why, but somehow I think he is a man of honor.”

“And he may well be a man of honor. But there is something in the tilt of his head, his manner of speech, that leads me to believe this man Gareth is a bold man. A daring man. A knight in service of some powerful lord … mayhap even a knight in service of the king—”

Gillian protested. “He did not even know John was king!”

“So he said. But he remembered King Henry and King Richard. Therefore, you cannot tell him who you are, nor the true circumstances that brought you here. Your father was sharply critical of the king, and the less you tell Gareth, the better.”

It was true. Her father had harsh words for the king, from the day he ascended the throne. His petty wars, his ceaseless demand for taxes from the people of England.

“We cannot be careless, Lady Gillian. You cannot trust blindly. There is too much at stake.”

A fierce gust of wind swirl whipped her skirts about her legs. Her gaze was drawn unwittingly to the sky. Alas, even now, the sky was seething. Black, threatening storm clouds hovered just above the choppy seas, a bittersweet reminder …

Ah, but if only Papa had been unjustly accused.

Perhaps he might have lived Then she would not be here near the blustery shore where rain and wind and storms abounded.

The world seemed to blacken. Bleakness seeped through her. Her dreams had once been fanciful and full of the exuberance of youth, full of eager energy for what the future might bring. But now such thoughts of the future wrought only heartache and fear. Brother Baldric insisted that she was strong, yet Gillian felt as if the pain of a thousand fetters weighted her down.

Never would she forget the last time she’d seen her father, that bleak September night that thunder raged and sheets of rain thrashed the walls of Westerbrook—the night he’d swept into her chamber in the dead of night.

Never would she forget his last words.

“I’ve failed you, daughter,” he had said with tears in his eyes. “I’ve failed you and Clifton. And I pray that you will forgive me, for I will never forgive myself for what I have done to you and your brother—for leaving you in such peril.”

Gillian had known immediately that something was horribly, horribly wrong.

“Papa,” she cried, “what is it?”

“The king visited William de Vries these last few days,” he said heavily.

“Yes, I’d heard.” William de Vries was a baron whose lands bordered Westerbrook’s to the east. His wife Isabella had been godmother to their eldest son.

“There was an attempt on King John’s life today in the forest,” he said.

As the words passed his lips, he did not look her in the eye. Gillian knew then… knew her father was the man responsible. A man of bluntness and bold action, Ellis of Westerbrook was ever a man to speak his mind—and he had been outspoken in his contempt of King John almost from the moment he came to power.

He had taken matters into his own hands.

A choking dread assailed her. “Papa,” she whispered in horror. “Papa, no! Oh, dear God, it was you, wasn’t it?”

Slowly he raised his head. There was a world of pain in his eyes, the eyes so like hers. “Aye, Gillian. It was I who loosed the arrow, but it missed its mark and struck the king’s guard instead. Ah, what a fool I have been! I know it now, now when it is too late. All I could think was how England would be the better if our people were rid of him, for it has been a time of seething emotions and great unrest in our land. So many of us have grown weary and outraged by his unceasing demands for taxes and the call to arms, that John might regain his lands across the Channel.”

His expression was tortured. “I was so angry when the Great Charter failed to rein in John’s power as king. I fear it will but make him stronger, all the more determined to oppress the people of England. There are rumors that he seeks mercenaries from across the Channel; that he has promised them the castles and lands that belong to us, the people of England, in return for the defeat of those who gathered against him at Running-Mead.”

He shook his head. “But once again, the barons can agree on nothing. I was convinced the easiest way would be to see John struck down now, and with the opportunity so close at hand… Ah, Gillian, I thought only of success, and never of failure. And in my zeal, I was reckless. You and Clifton are innocent, yet now I fear I have condemned you for the rest of your lives.”

Gillian listened numbly as he seized her hands.

“We are in danger, all of us. I know the king, and he will not rest until he finds those responsible. Indeed, ‘tis my worst fear that John may vent his wrath upon you and Clifton as well, for he is a man of venom and spite. That is why we must flee, all of us, now while we cannot be seen.”

“Now?” Her gaze slid apprehensively toward the shutters. She had disliked storms since she was a child, but as if to underscore the question, a flash of blinding lightning ripped across the sky; the crash of thunder shook the very walls of her chamber.

“Yes, child. I fear it cannot be helped.” His hands tightened around hers. “But we cannot be together, Gillian, none of us. I have entrusted Clifton to the care of Alwin, for I know he will protect my son with his life. They have already departed.” Alwin was his chief retainer.

“Where have they gone?”

” ‘Tis better that you do not know. Brother Baldric awaits you in the stable,” he said gently. “Gather several warm gowns and your mantle. There is neither the time nor the room for more.”

Gillian was still reeling from all that had transpired. In the space of a moment, her life had changed forever, it seemed. “What about you, Papa?”

“Once you and Brother Baldric are on your way, I will make my own way.”

“Alone?”

“It is best that way.”

“Papa, no! Let me stay with you,” she begged. “Let me help you!”

“Nay, Gillian.” He was adamant. “It must be like this. At least this way, if one of us is caught, the others will live.” He ran his fingers down her cheek. “Be wary, child. Put your faith in no one but Brother Baldric. If I am able, I will find you and Clifton.”

But that was not to be. It was not to be, for as he’d predicted, he’d been discovered and caught by the king’s men.

His life was forfeit.

At the remembrance, an odd prickle curled down her spine. Her father had not been alone in his endeavor to kill the king. He had shielded someone, but who … Who?

“The other assailant,” she said slowly. “Has the king discovered his identity yet?”

Baldric sighed. “It would seem not,” he said heavily, “and I do not know if that is a blessing or a curse. Your father gave his life to protect this other man. Was it worth it? May God forgive me, but there are times I wonder if Ellis did not give his life in vain.” He shook his head. “Before he died, the king’s guard swore that he saw two men when the attempt on the king’s life took place. Yet what if he was mistaken? What if there was only one man?”

“My father.” It was a quiet statement of fact, not a query.

Baldric winced. “Yes. What if the guard’s eyes deceived him?”

Quietly she said, “They did not.”

Brother Baldric peered at her oddly. “Why do you say that? How can you be certain?”

“The day before the attempt on the king’s life, I entered the counting room to speak with Papa. I thought he was alone, but there was someone with him, behind the curtain. I heard Papa speak of the king—and hunting.”

Fear leaped in Brother Baldric’s faded blue eyes. “Lady Gillian, never tell me you know the identity of the other assailant—that you’ve known all along!”

“Nay. I saw but the shadow of a man. Yet I had the feeling I did not know him.”

There was more, for in truth, something elusive nagged at her. More than once she’d experienced the unmistakable feeling there was something she should have remembered about that encounter, something vitally important. She struggled to remember, but alas, it would not come.

It seemed she was no better than the man inside the cottage.

“I was curious,” Gillian went on. “Not long after, I asked Papa who was there with him in the counting room. He was angry, Brother Baldric, and said that I was never to mention it to anyone.”

“Do not,” Baldric said in a strange tone. “Tell no one what you have just told me, Lady Gillian. Tell no one. Indeed, I pray you did not know him—I pray you do not remember—for it might place you in still more danger.”

Gillian looked at him sharply. Was it the gloom of twilight and the coming storm, or had his skin turned a rather ashen gray? She was still striving to decipher both his meaning and his countenance when all at once he bent low, seized by a dry, hacking cough.

Gillian grabbed his arm. “Brother Baldric,” she cried, “are you all right?”

It was some time before the paroxysm ceased and he raised himself upright, still more as he labored for breath and summoned the ability to speak.

“It has passed, child. Do not worry. Now, I must be on my way.”

“Not yet. Please, Brother Baldric, come inside,” she urged. “Wait until the storm passes before returning to the village.” As she spoke, Gillian scanned his features. The sudden pallor of his skin was not due to alarm as she’d first thought, but to sickness.

“Nay. Father Aidan will be expecting me.”

“Brother Baldric, you’re ill!”

“I am not,” he denied. Gillian had twisted her fingers into the sleeves of his robe, but he held himself firm. He straightened his shoulders and seemed to stand a little taller, and in the movement Gillian glimpsed a stubbornness that revealed itself but rarely.

” ‘Tis a cough from a chill,” he dismissed. “Naught to worry about, child. The days I traveled with Father Aidan were long and wet. I am well,” he insisted. “Now go, Lady Gillian. Tend your patient. He is far nearer the grave than I.”

But Gillian was suddenly stricken. A rending ache pierced her heart. Perhaps it was childish, but it was as if the world that had been so safe and secure her entire life had vanished.

Indeed, it had.

Her father was forever lost to her. Perhaps Clifton as well. Brother Baldric was all that was familiar, all that was left of that world. She could not bear the thought of losing him, too!

But she sensed there would be no dissuading him. She reached up and kissed his cheek. “Look after yourself, Brother Baldric, else I will stand watch over you night and day and make certain that you do,” she warned with mock severity.

He gave a rusty chuckle. “I do believe that you would.” His smile faded. “I will bring clothing the next time I come.” His gaze flitted briefly from the cottage, then back to her.

“Remember, Lady Gillian, do not trust lightly.”

His meaning was not lost on her. Gillian stood motionless, watching as he weaved toward the tall grasses that led to the path.

Papa had urged much the same thing. Be wary, he had said.

An eerie foreboding washed over her. Gareth’s image floated into her mind, dark hair, green gaze of piercing intensity. What part, if any, would he play in her life? she wondered. Would the future bring the return of his past? His future, she acknowledged suddenly, was no less uncertain than hers.

Neither of them had any choice. She could only wait, wait for whatever fate would befall her …

And Gareth as well.

Chapter 5

“He doesn’t believe me. Nor does he like me,” Gareth stated flatly.

Gillian had done little more than cross the threshold of the cottage when she was hailed by Gareth’s statement; it was readily apparent he spoke of Brother Baldric. She pushed the door shut, then turned to face him.

Gareth had pushed himself up to rest against the pillow. No semblance of a smile softened the grim line of his lips.

She considered his statement, a trifle unsure how to respond. “There are reasons for that,” she said finally.