“You can sketch?” Marissa wasn’t sure she believed her.
“Yes. Very well.”
At the display of confidence, Marissa felt slightly relieved. At last, a womanly accomplishment. But she was skeptical, too. Gillian’s standards might be low and her skill merely adequate.
“Would you like to see?”
Marissa’s mouth half-opened to respond in the affirmative, but the half-smile, the excitement in Gillian’s expression stopped her. Because what Marissa saw was that Gillian truly wanted to sketch.
“Sewing first.” Marissa grabbed up a garment from the top of the pile. “Kellen has torn this sleeve to such an extent as to render the garment useless. You will sew it back together. Later you can demonstrate your skill at sketching.”
After getting Gillian set up with needle and thread, Marissa ignored her for the next ten minutes and listened to the chatter of her ladies. When she finally could stand no more, she checked Gillian’s progress and her heart sank. “This is very poor work, Lady Corbett.”
Looking crushed, Gillian held up the garment. “What do you mean?”
“The stitches are too far apart and uneven. You need to apply yourself.” Marissa took the garment and demonstrated.
Gillian watched carefully, then sighed. “How long is this going to last? When will Kellen be back?”
Marissa tried to check her exasperation. “Do you want your lord to be poorly clothed or to have his garments fallen to shreds? Are you not ashamed at your lack of skill?”
Gillian shrugged.
“I warn you, ’twill be unpleasant if your people think you slothful. The servants won’t respect a lady that refuses to set an example.”
Gillian’s lips tightened.
Marissa sighed. “Lady Corbett, I don’t understand your belligerent attitude. I am trying to aid you.”
Gillian face slowly relaxed, then she nodded. Finally the girl straightened in her chair. “I see that. I’m sorry. I’ll try harder.”
Marissa resumed her seat and relaxed a little as Gillian seemed to concentrate on her stitching. When Kellen’s daughter wandered in with a maidservant, Gillian beckoned to her. “Come sit by me, Amelia. I’m learning to sew.”
Marissa watched as Gillian situated the child and the two of them took up stitching. Marissa shushed Lady Vera when she loudly whispered that Amelia’s skill might outshine Gillian’s. Gillian seemed determined to make the task fun as they played a game of who could make their stitches the tiniest.
A few minutes later Marissa checked on Gillian’s progress again. “Better. But try to make your stitches more even, each one the same. And watch that you don’t take too much material into the stitch. It still has to fit his arm when you’re done else you’ll have to take the stitches out and start again.”
Marissa demonstrated once more before resuming her seat. At least the girl improved with direction, so she wasn’t totally hopeless, but Marissa was truly concerned about Gillian’s lack of skill. After Marissa went back home, Gillian would be in charge, but her attention seemed on flighty matters. Mostly she seemed to want to spend time with Kellen. And, Marissa had to admit, Kellen seemed to feel the same about her.
How could one so lacking in skill attract a man? She was pretty, certainly, but beauty didn’t get the work done.
Lady Yvonne smiled sweetly at Gillian. “Lady Corbett, ’tis admirable how well you work with the child. Perhaps ’tis because you seem such a child yourself. Might I ask thy age?”
“I’m twenty-four.”
Lady Vera rolled her eyes. “Thy true age, Lady Corbett. Though you act no more than four.”
“I am twenty-four,” said Gillian, her tone firm.
Lady Vera’s brow crinkled as she lowered sewing to her lap. “Truly?”
“Truly.”
Marissa slowly lowered her own sewing, shocked to realize Gillian told the truth. She was older than Marissa had realized. How awful. “I had thought you younger than thy sister. You’ve never married? You have no children?”
“Nope. Never been married. No children.”
“At thy age?”
Gillian sighed and glanced up. “At twenty-four I’m hardly in my grave yet. My biological clock isn’t even ticking.”
Pity for her burned in Marissa’s chest.
Lady Vera finally took a breath. “You must forgive our shock, but you are so old.”
Lady Yvonne jumped in. “You must feel gratified that Kellen is willing to take you in. Is he aware of thy true age?”
Gillian laughed. “Kellen is five years older than I am. I don’t see the problem. Would you want to marry him off to a child?”
Marissa tried to hold onto her pity, but it was hard to feel sorrow for one who did not regret their own sad plight. Besides, her throat had tightened uncomfortably. Her own husband was twenty-three years older than she. Did he see her as a child? Was that what bred his lack of interest?
Gillian glanced up from her work. “So what age did you ladies marry?”
Lady Yvonne straightened proudly. “I was but fifteen when I wed. Were my husband still alive, we’d be celebrating our eighteenth year of marriage.”
“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss. Thirty-three is so young to be a widow.”
Marissa’s eyes widened at Gillian’s quick calculation, but she only said, “Lady Vera wed at fourteen, and I married at the age of eighteen, but only because my betrothed had died. It was needful for the king to grant permission for a new match, else I’d have married sooner.”
“So young,” said Gillian.
At least they hadn’t been so old. “By the time I was your age I’d borne two children.”
“You’re Kellen’s stepmother, right?”
Stung, Marissa nodded once and resisted lifting a hand to her face to check for wrinkles. “I am barely older than Kellen.”
“So, you must be a lot younger than your husband?”
“Yes.”
Gillian shrugged. “Well, May-December romances work out all the time, right?”
Romances? Again Marissa felt the sting and grasped for something to say. “There is not much time for romance in a marriage. I take joy in running the household, in doing my duty, and in my two young sons.”
Gillian lowered her stitching, a look of incredulity spreading across her face. “No time for romance in marriage? That’s a sad thing to say. It sounds like the two of you need some time away together. Something certainly needs to change.”
The pity on Gillian’s face offended Marissa and she swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “People do not change.”
“People change all the time. They just have to want to.” Gillian looked around. “Did you say you have two sons? I’ve only seen the one.”
Marissa glanced to where her young son sat on a blanket, playing with a wooden sword, and her heart filled with love and grief. “Quinn, my child of eight, has recently been fostered to Lord Waldegrave.”
Gillian looked shocked. “Fostered? What is it with you people and farming your kids out? Eight is too young for a child to be separated from his parents. Don’t you miss him?”
Miss him? Marissa’s eyes burned as she bent over her sewing. She ached for him, worried for him, and prayed hourly he was being treated with kindness. She could only hope Lady Waldegrave cared for him with the love of a mother.
“I’d never allow anyone to separate me from my children.”
At that, Marissa lifted her head. “You’ll not have a choice.”
“We’ll just see about that, won’t we?”
The challenging words and stubborn tilt of Gillian’s chin had Marissa’s brow drawing together. She wondered if perhaps Gillian would get her way in this. Marissa had no doubt the first thing Kellen would do when he returned was search for Gillian. If he continued his infatuation within their marriage, mayhap he’d indulge her.
How did she do it? Putting vanity aside, Marissa knew she was pretty also, yet she couldn’t seem to hold her husband’s attention more than a moment. And this . . . this . . . unskilled . . . well she could hardly be called a girl . . . this woman, so effortlessly received what Marissa would give her eyeteeth to have. Her husband’s caring, his attention and . . . affection.
Lady Vera lifted her chin and glared at Gillian. “Your education certainly seems to be lacking. You don’t appear to know anything about the way of things.”
“Yes,” Lady Yvonne concurred. “’Tis quite sad, actually.”
Marissa was aware her ladies were responding to her distress over her son, and that she should intervene. But she could not make herself.
Her chest burned, and bitterness crept like acid up her throat. Why should this girl have it all? How did one such as she receive everything, while Marissa, who worked herself to the bone, was barely noticed?
Marissa bore and taught her children, planned food stores, menus, she kept her husband’s home comfortable and well run. She sewed, embroidered beautiful tapestries, and kept herself attractive.
This girl planned outings, field days, and the like. Frivolous activities. She wanted to swim, to see sights, and Marissa had no doubt Kellen would accommodate her. The girl brimmed with an unfounded confidence. Yet how could she? She did not know the first thing about running a keep. And her speech was strange. A trait Kellen simply seemed to find charming.
And if she had sons, would she have them wrenched from her if she did not desire it? Or would her husband abide her wishes out of his love for her?
Marissa couldn’t sit with Gillian another second. She stood, and startled, her ladies followed suit.
“Are we done?” asked Gillian.
Marissa started toward the door. “You are not. You will sit there until the work is done correctly. Even if that takes the whole night through.”
As she exited the room, she could still see Gillian’s confused face and was dismayed at her own shrewishness, and for taking her inadequacies out on the girl. But all the same, she could not stay another moment. She had to get away before she did something stupid and out of character. Like burst into tears.
Hours later Gillian finished darning a sock, tugged at the stitches to see if they’d hold and, satisfied they would, set it down in the finished pile. She looked at the sewing still to be done and closed her eyes.
She felt like Cinderella, but was trying hard not to have a pity party. She didn’t have the time. There was still at least half the clothing to be mended. Beatrice had come in and offered to help, but Gillian hadn’t let her. The last thing she wanted was Marissa believing Gillian hadn’t done the work.
Kellen’s stepmom was a certified witch but, regardless, Gillian was determined to prove to the woman that she did
not
have a lazy bone in her body. This went beyond her reluctance to do Edith’s work. Gillian’s reputation was on the line. She’d finish every bit of the mending and would do an excellent job.
She quickly sewed a small tear on a pair of boys’ hose and held them up to check for more rips. She thought she was getting better, and faster, too.
Anyway, it hadn’t been all bad. For the first time since she’d been there, she’d actually had time alone to think and had come to a decision.
She was taking Kellen and Amelia with her.
Yes she’d only known him a short time, but Edith didn’t know him at all, so Gillian refused to feel guilty for stealing him. She had strong feelings for him and was convinced he did for her, too. She’d be a wonderful mother to his child. They could have a great life together.
So, rather than miss him like crazy, she’d just take him with her. The twenty-first century had a lot to offer.
They could live in the house her parents had left her. It was nothing like his castle, but it was a good-sized home. Once he’d tried the food, the entertainment, the
bathroom
, he’d be hooked. He could find a job—probably some type of outdoor physical labor—and they’d be happy together. Make more babies. Raise a family.
She tried to picture him living and working in Seattle. Perhaps he could work a job in construction? Or as a police officer or maybe a fireman? A gardener? She sighed when nothing seemed to click.
Here, he was already in his element. A knight-in-shining-armor, running his castle, training his men. She was having a hard time picturing him anywhere else.
Still, technology had a lot to offer.
She
had a lot to offer. Maybe she could tempt him?
“Gillian?”
Kellen’s voice broke into her thoughts and she glanced up to see him poking his head into the room. When he spotted her, she smiled. “I was just thinking about you.”
He looked pleased and a little shy, his gaze falling as he entered the room. “Missing me, I hope? I searched everywhere and none seemed to know of your whereabouts.”
He’d bathed. His masculine face was clean-shaven, and his hair damp on his shoulders. The long shirt and belt he wore didn’t hide the well-developed muscles of his chest and arms. Maybe he could learn to play football? He might like that. She couldn’t help the sappy grin she was positive adorned her face. She really didn’t want to lose him.
“Do you wish to join me in the kitchens to find some supper?”
Forcing herself to stop ogling, she glanced instead at the sewing pile. She was hungry, but determined to finish. “Not yet. I still have a lot of mending to do.”
“I could help.”
“Really? I thought this was considered women’s work. Since when do big, strong, handsome,” she drew the last word out and grinned at him, “knights sew?”
“Ah, flattery.” Kellen grinned and closed the door. “Now you’ll not be able to rid yourself of me. Leastways, two will finish more quickly and we can be on our way.”
“True.” Suspicion had Gillian’s brows drawing together. “But do you even know how to sew?”
Kellen crossed the room and retrieved another candle, bringing it back to hold the wick against the flame beside her. “Not many women grace the battlefield, yet there is still torn clothing aplenty. I was a squire once, and had to sew my lord’s clothing as well as my own.”
He shrugged. “Of course, that was years ago and expected. So a warning. If you happen to mention that I helped you this day, I will, of course, have to slay you.”
“That sounds ominous.” Gillian smiled as she retrieved another needle and threaded it for him. “How exactly will you do me in?”
Kellen hesitated, and Gillian glanced up. Suddenly serious, his smile gone, he said, “There are many and varied ways I am capable of doing the deed, though I will say I do not count poison among my skills. I tend to be more forthright.”
He was talking about Catherine. Well, Gillian was sick and tired of Catherine and the damage she’d done this man. He’d been playful only moments before and she wanted that back.
“I never thought you did. But what about drowning? I bet you could make it look like an accident if you tried. You could tell everyone we were going swimming and when you return alone you could fake tears and that would be that.”
Kellen laughed. “Too much effort, especially the weeping part. Besides my dagger is sharp and handy.”
Gillian grinned. “But think of the mess. What if you arranged a horse riding accident? Everyone knows I can’t ride. Or better yet, what if you threw me off a cliff, or placed a snake in my bed?”
Kellen smiled, then chuckled, almost as if he couldn’t help himself. “Again, ’tis all too much effort. Adders are especially difficult to find. I suppose I must needs keep you and suffer the ribbing my men are sure to give.”
“You’re assuming I’ll talk. I won’t, you know. All your secrets are safe with me.”
Kellen glanced up, a quick upswing of his head as he studied her face, before he snatched up a piece of clothing and searched it for damage. Long enough for her to see the vulnerable, seeking expression. She breathed out slowly. Catherine had a lot to answer for.
“So, tell me about the stolen cattle. Did you get them back? I hope no one was hurt?”
Kellen shrugged. “We found our men tied up and, other than a few scuffle marks, unharmed. We found most of the cattle, and have two men in the dungeon.” His sudden smile was edged with satisfaction.
“Will you try and retrieve the missing cattle?”
“’Tis pointless.” When he finally looked up again, his expression was unreadable, the earlier traces of vulnerability gone. “They are long away by now and the further into Scotland they go, the more like we are to face ambush and loss of life.”
He really was a good leader. He cared more about his men than his pride. As Gillian watched the play of candlelight on one of Kellen’s high cheekbones, she realized the sappy expression was probably back on her face.
Kellen finished the shirt and held it up for her inspection. “Well? What think you?”
He’d done a better job than she could have. “Not too shabby.”
“Do I receive payment?”
“What kind of payment?”
“You are sure you have no more of the chocolate?”
She chuckled. “I wish. It really is all gone.”
“I suppose.” His look was sly. “I will have to settle for a kiss then, as payment.”
Gillian glanced at Kellen’s mouth and, suddenly breathless, barely refrained from licking her lips. “Settle, huh? I don’t think so. Anyway, that’s hardly fair since you’re the one who tore it in the first place.”
Kellen crossed his arms and narrowed his gaze. “You would deny me payment?”
“Are you going to pout if I do?”
Kellen glanced away, his brows drawing together. “Nay.”
“You are!” She laughed. “Well, perhaps I’ll kiss you when the work is all done.”
“I always think it best to deliver payment as work is completed.”
Gillian laughed. “For each piece? An installment plan?”
“Yes, I wish for an installment.”
“All right.” Still smiling, unable to resist, she leaned forward. “One kiss.”
Kellen quickly took advantage of her capitulation and leaned in and fitted his mouth to hers, kissing her gently. He coaxed her mouth open and tasted her, making her boneless, making her moan.
She lifted an arm and slipped it around his neck and Kellen dragged her across his body. Her other arm rose of its own accord to circle his neck. She was getting dangerously addicted to him. To his taste and—
The door creaked slightly as it swung open. “
Saints protect us!
”
Gillian scrambled back as Kellen let her go.
Marissa’s shocked expression was quickly replaced by a glare directed at Gillian. “I leave you to work and this you do instead? Have you not the pride to fulfill your duties?”
Heat fired Gillian’s cheeks. “Uh . . . I was actually sewing,” Gillian pointed to her pile. “And got quite a bit done. This was the first time I’d stopped working since you left.”
“Do you take me for a fool?” Marissa turned and pulled the door closed behind her.
Gillian sighed and looked at Kellen who didn’t seem upset in the least. She glared at him. “Well?”
“Yes?”
Gillian gestured frantically toward the closed door. “So much for impressing the woman. Now I’m not only a sluggard, but a slut.”
“A slut?”
“A wanton.”
Kellen laughed. “I could but wish.”
Gillian sank back with a laugh of her own. She looked over at the pile of clothing still to be done. “Well, no point in continuing now.” She turned to an unrepentant Kellen and his smile irked her. “But for the record, you’re a jerk.”
He laughed. “Shall we go down to supper now? Or we could stay here and finish. I find I’m not as hungry for food as I had believed.”
His eagerness made her laugh. “If we stay here, I’m sewing. I’m not risking her coming back and finding us making out.”
“Making out?”
“Kissing, necking, smooching, snogging, sucking face. Whatever you call it.”
Kellen laughed and leaned in, obviously intent on kissing her again.
“That’s it.” Gillian stood. “I’m out of here.”
Kellen scrambled to his feet. “No, wait. I must needs discuss this sucking of face with you.”
“Not another word.” Gillian was out the door before he reached her.
***
After the morning fast had been broken, Kellen knew he should leave. He had much to do, but lingered anyway.
Marissa and her ladies moved to sit by the fire and, after a flatteringly long look in his direction, Gillian followed. Kellen, unable to help himself, followed too, stopping nearby to lean against a whitewashed wall.
After they’d
raided the kitchen
the night before, as Gillian had named their foraging, they’d sat in the great room before the fire until complaints from those trying to sleep had sent them abed.
Kellen smiled at the memory of Gillian’s dread of bedding down with Marissa. He’d offered to let her sleep with him, but she’d rolled her eyes at the suggestion so he’d walked her to her room instead. The lack of privacy had allowed for but a few kisses, leaving Kellen yearning for more throughout the night. He couldn’t wait until she was his the whole night through.
Marissa sat with her ladies and sorted through the mending, checking the clothes and Gillian’s work. “Lady Corbett, I’m pleased with what you’ve accomplished.” She held up a shirt. “Look here. If you but decide, you are quite capable of doing an adequate job.”
Recognizing the shirt as the one
he’d
sewn, Kellen pushed himself off the wall. “Adequate?” He asked, offended.
“Yes, adequate. The stitches are not precisely even,” said Marissa. “But ’tis a start. She is doing well enough.”
Kellen leaned back and crossed his arms while Gillian, her face turned toward him, struggled not to laugh.
“As you did so well last night,” Marissa continued, “you may now demonstrate your skill at sketching.”
Gillian squealed, ran over, grasped Kellen’s hand, and tugged him toward a chair. He offered little resistance.
“Sit here.” Gillian was gleeful as she pushed him down, then pulled up another chair and sat across from him.
“Gillian, I cannot stay. I have much to do. My men are no doubt waiting for me to show myself.”
“Oh, come on. Please?” She wasn’t even looking at him, but digging in her pack, sure he’d give in. He sighed. For her, he would. “To please you,” he said. “But I will demand payment.”
She chuckled and jumped up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Payment.”
He shook his head at her, but couldn’t help smiling at her contagious joy. She gave him a slow grin that had his heart speeding as she arranged him to sit as she desired, his legs outstretched, hands enfolded on his lap.
He was gratified at how easily she touched him, something his first wife avoided even after four years of marriage. Gillian smoothed a hand down one of his legs and patted his knee.
“Aye, touch me wherever you like,” he said quietly. Gillian winked at him and his grin broadened.
“Now sit still and don’t fidget.” Gathering her paper and sticks, Gillian seated herself and studied his face a moment before beginning her sketch. She looked carefree, her blue eyes shining, a half-smile on her full lips. He was pleased she was settling in. She was fast becoming Kellen’s weakness and he wanted her happy.