Kellen didn’t answer, but ordered someone to help the healer and make the man comfortable as they carried him out. He instructed Marissa to take the ladies up to their room and to stay inside with the door bolted. They were not to eat or drink anything. Kellen scanned the crowd.
Marissa tugged Gillian away.
“Someone was . . . was . . . poisoned?” Gillian asked again. “But why?”
“It was your platter that was tainted,” said Marissa. “Your food taster.”
Gillian stopped walking. “A food taster? What do you mean?”
Marissa gave her a push to get her going again. “Lord Marshall is a cautious man. Things are not as they seem here.”
“Someone really wants me dead?”
“You and Lord Marshall, it would seem.”
“But why?”
Marissa shrugged. “’Tis what Lord Marshall will discover.”
Gillian paused to look back at Kellen. He was shouting commands to lock the doors. No one was to leave. He turned to meet her gaze and his was as hard as granite. She shivered and let Marissa drag her away.
***
A half hour later Kellen’s fists clenched and unclenched. First someone tried to stab Gillian, then poison her? Who? Why? It made no sense.
He could fool himself no longer. When Catherine had tried to kill him, she’d had help, someone had turned her against him and that someone was now a threat to Gillian. The fact that he’d never found Catherine’s accomplice made this his fault.
Tristan and some of the guardsmen excused a group of servants and approached. “Any witnesses?” asked Kellen.
Tristan shook his head. “None remember who brought the platter and, other than a girl positive she saw demons flickering in the fire, none saw anything suspicious.”
Owen came into the hall and everyone stopped talking to watch his approach. He halted before Kellen and took a deep breath. “Frederick is dead. He could not give a name.”
Tristan swore.
Kellen’s mouth tightened and he looked at the ground. When he’d assigned Frederick as food taster, the man had been pleased to have the important task. No one, least of all Kellen, had truly believed the position a dangerous one. “Question the guards at the gates. Someone must have noticed something.”
The men turned and left.
Who were his enemies? Men he’d bested in battle? Or angered by having the King’s favor? And they’d sent assassins across the whole of England to kill his betrothed? Ridiculous.
He glanced to where Royce stood questioning servants in the middle of the hall. Granted, there was no love lost between them, but Kellen still considered him an ally. Besides, Royce had nothing to gain by Gillian’s death and had not been around when she’d been attacked with the dagger. Kellen headed to join him. “You were seated at Gillian’s side. Did you notice aught amiss?”
Royce gave an angry shake of his head. “Nothing. Would that I could name the blackguard who desires Lady Corbett’s death. I have questioned each of my men and many of the servants and they saw nothing awry. I suspect treachery from the north.”
The Scottish? Kellen doubted it. He scanned Royce’s men, but again, suspicion failed to take hold. Royce would not benefit by Gillian’s death.
“What can I do?” asked Royce. “I would help in your investigation of the matter.”
Kellen shook his head. “We will manage the search.”
Royce’s mouth tightened, but he nodded. “I understand. The less people milling about the better. But do not hesitate to call upon me if I might be of assistance.”
Kellen followed Royce and his men outside, watched as they mounted up, and wondered at Royce’s earlier assertion. Could it be the Scots? Two of their men resided in his dungeon. But the Scots generally dealt in physical attacks; rescues, ransoms, thievery, and the like. Not poison. And what would Gillian’s death profit them? If they murdered a lady, their men would be executed, there would be war, and they could gain nothing by antagonizing England. If they wanted their men back, they had only to return the cattle. Killing Gillian would accomplish naught.
Owen and Tristan returned. “No strangers were seen lurking about and no one suspicious passed through the gate,” said Tristan.
A growl issued from Kellen’s throat as he went back inside, his men following. He could not fight who he did not see.
Group by group, the stragglers were questioned, then sent on their way. The dwindling crowd was a relief after the earlier madness. Kellen headed for the kitchens and, upon entering, found Cook, crying. She looked up at his entrance. “Is Frederick truly dead?”
Kellen hesitated, then, lips tight, nodded. “Aye. ’Tis true.”
Cook turned away and started cleaning, banging pots and pans, instructing servants to throw out food she had doubtless worked the day through to prepare.
“I am truly sorry about Frederick. I know he was a friend to you. We will find his murderer.” He paused. “Did any come in here who should not have?”
Cook shook her head. “No one came in but Lady Gillian herself. No food left this kitchen poisoned, I can tell you that. I do not let just anyone dally about.” Cook grabbed a piece of cooked meat, lifted it for Kellen to see, and stuffed it in her mouth. As she chewed with difficulty, tears ran down her face.
Kellen put a hand on her shoulder. “I assure you that I do not distrust your loyalty in the least. I have known you my entire life and none could be so entirely above reproach as yourself.”
Cook swallowed, nodded, wiped her eyes, but the tears continued to flow as she turned away.
Owen and Tristan appeared in the kitchen doorway. Tristan elbowed Owen, and sighing, he pulled Kellen aside. “In considering the matter,” said Owen, “I note that on most occasions, poison is a woman’s weapon.”
He shifted on his feet, his cheeks reddening, but his gaze remained steady. No doubt he thought on Catherine, but Kellen could care less about her at the moment and only nodded.
“Marissa, her ladies and Gillian are the newest members of the keep,” said Owen, his tone careful.
Brows rising as he caught Owen’s meaning, Kellen shook his head. “Nay. Marissa and her ladies could have no motive for killing Gillian.”
Tristan and Owen exchanged a glance. “If you were to die, Marissa’s elder son would be heir to your father rather than yourself, but regardless, I agree. I do not suspect Marissa, nor her ladies.”
He hesitated, looked at Tristan who nodded again, then continued. “But Gillian’s sister tried to kill you. Perhaps this day you were the target again, and not the Lady Corbett. The platter was to have fed you both. Perhaps she’d not meant to dine?”
Kellen shook his head again. “I knocked meat from her hand as she was about to eat.”
“But she did not actually partake, did she?” asked Tristan.
“Someone attacked her with a dagger also, remember?” said Kellen. “She is the target.”
Owen took a breath. “We have only her word there was an assassin. A common knife was found and she the only witness.”
Kellen remembered Cooks claim that Gillian had gone to the kitchen before the meal started. Perhaps to arrange something? Immediately he shook his head. If it was Gillian, she was the best player he’d seen in his life. He’d known Catherine had despised him, but Gillian’s feelings seemed quite the opposite.
But she did continue to try and leave the keep. To visit the rocks and the cemetery. To meet someone? To acquire poison left by another? Did she blame him for her sister’s death? Or for her broken betrothment? Would she have Kellen dead rather than wed herself to him?
His chest tightened and, turning away from his men, he waved a hand. “Go talk with the men. See if they have learned aught.”
They left, but he could not erase the suspicion forming in his mind and burning deep in his stomach. Perhaps Gillian was simply more clever than her sister? Did she think to gain his confidence, draw mistrust from herself, then kill him?
He had never asked about her broken betrothal but thought on it now. If Kellen were dead, would she return to a former love? Or was her father the enemy? Had her father ordered both his daughters to kill him? Did Lord Corbett desire his death?
Closing his eyes tight, he lifted a hand to rub his forehead before turning and heading up the stairs. He needed to speak to Gillian. If she knew anything, he would get it from her.
“Why would anyone want me dead?” Gillian paced across the floor to the fireplace, tremors occasionally running through her body. She turned her back to the flames, hoping to capture some warmth. “I mean, poisoning? Seriously? The whole thing is . . . it’s just . . .
crazy
.”
The three ladies, busy with embroidery, looked at each other, and Marissa set her sewing in her lap. “Perhaps it has naught to do with you? Perhaps Kellen has an enemy and you were simply in the way?”
“In the wrong place at the wrong time?”
Lady Yvonne nodded. “Aye, just so.”
Gillian couldn’t help a laugh, and wasn’t surprised when the ladies exchanged another glance. Even she could hear the touch of hysteria. “Then I guess I’d better get back to the right place at the right time.
Aye?”
All three sets of brows furrowed and Marissa lowered her sewing once more and motioned toward the maid. “Beatrice, help your lady to lie down.”
Beatrice jumped up, but Gillian hugged herself and snorted. “Yeah, because I’d be able to sleep.”
As Beatrice subsided to her chair once more, Vera shook her head, but needle flashing, didn’t look up. “Sarcasm is never becoming. If you refuse to lie down then why not sit and—”
There was a knock on the door and Gillian hurried forward, but Marissa, who jumped up faster than Gillian would have thought possible, beat her to the door. She leaned her head close to the wood. “Who is there?”
At Kellen’s harsh but recognizable command, Gillian scrambled to help Marissa lift the bar and open the door.
Once inside, Kellen’s sharp-eyed gaze scanned the room, lighting on each woman. When his attention moved to her, Gillian crossed the space between them, threw her arms around his waist, and pressed her head to his chest. He tensed and, when he didn’t reciprocate or react in any way, Gillian slowly sank away, looking up to meet his harsh gaze.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Frederick is dead.”
Gillian’s hand flew to her throat and she took a step back.
“The food-taster?”
Kellen nodded once.
“It was poison?”
Kellen nodded again and continued to study her, his gaze penetrating.
Feeling vulnerable, she turned away. The room, Kellen, the ladies, everyone and everything suddenly seemed so foreign, unfriendly, frightening. She pressed a hand to the ache in her stomach and shook her head. “This isn’t right. This just isn’t right. Did he have a family? A wife? Children?” She glanced back to see Kellen shake his head.
“He was unmarried. None will carry his name, though he did have many friends and will be sorely missed.”
Tears filled her eyes. Kellen watched a moment longer before turning to answer the questions Marissa peppered him with.
Gillian pivoted away. The room spun and she grabbed the back of a tall chair to steady herself. People didn’t die of poison. In her whole life she’d never known one person who’d died of poison. But here . . . Catherine had died. And now a man was poisoned with food meant for them?
She wiped a hand down the front of her gown and stumbled as she walked to the window and looked out, seeing nothing. She had to get out of there. All along it had been a given that she needed to leave before Edith and her family arrived, but now she needed to go before someone actually killed her.
She lifted a hand to her throat, remembering the dagger. Whether this was about Kellen or not, it felt very personal. Like someone wanted
her personally
dead. Because she was Kellen’s fiancé? She had to get out of there.
She turned to look at Kellen. The thought of leaving him tore her apart. What if he missed her as much as she was sure to miss him? What if he would go with her if she only had the courage to tell him everything? What if she would be saving his life too?
Kellen was still talking to Marissa but glanced up, as if feeling Gillian’s gaze. “I must needs question Gillian. Alone.”
Marissa hurried forward to put an arm around her. “Now is not the time. Note how pale she is. The girl has been through too much this night. On the morrow is soon enough.”
Gillian shook her head. “No, it’s okay. Really. I want to talk to Kellen.”
“Nay.” Marissa’s tone was firm.
After one brief frustrated glance, Kellen turned to the other ladies. “Come. I offer escort to thy room. You need not fear, I am well aware of whom the murderer targets.” He looked at Gillian.
Gillian put a hand to her throat. “Do you know something you haven’t told me? Do you know who the poisoner is?”
Kellen stared for a long moment before shaking his head. “Not yet.”
After they left, taking Beatrice with them, Marissa rebarred the door and they started to undress, neither speaking as they went about getting ready for bed. Gillian pulled a nightgown over her head. Why had Kellen been so indifferent toward her? He’d been icy cold, his expression grim.
She huffed out a half-sob, half-laugh. How should he act? His friend had just died instead of the two of them. She was freaking out, why shouldn’t he? If only she’d had a chance to talk to him about it, to comfort him over his friend’s death, to be comforted.
“Do you feel unwell?”
Gillian climbed into bed. “I feel sad.”
“That is to be expected. But worry not, Kellen
will
find the murderer and he
will
be punished.”
It still wouldn’t change the fact that Frederick was dead, and it didn’t change the fact that Gillian couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t make any more half-hearted plans to go home. She had to go. But that didn’t mean she had to be happy about her decision.
Marissa’s breathing grew heavy, and Gillian turned onto her side, tears filling her eyes and dampening her pillow at the realization that this was likely her last night here.
She was going to miss Kellen so much. She wished she could stay. She wished things were different. That she really was Kellen’s fiancé. That they loved each other and could raise a family together. That no one was trying to kill her.
She’d give up a lot to have him: modern medicine, her career, indoor plumbing, chocolate. But she wasn’t willing to give up her life. Especially since he probably wouldn’t want her anyway once Edith arrived with her bags of gold, her land, and her family connections.
Or would he?
That was the thought eating at her. What if he would choose
Gillian
if given the chance?
She remembered how he’d looked when he’d left the room. Cold, indifferent, frustrated.
What if that was the last time she ever saw him? What if he were busy in the morning or gone when she got up? What if she never got the chance to ask him to go with her, or to say goodbye?
Some time later Gillian slid out of bed to the sound of Marissa’s soft snores. If this was her last chance to see Kellen, if only to say goodbye, she was taking it.
***
Kellen had almost talked himself out of his suspicions and was considering his warm bed, when he heard the scraping of a bar being lifted. Immediately tense, he straightened from the wall, moved back into the shadows, and waited.
The door opened and a small figure slipped into the darkness of the hall, her motions furtive and stealthy, the blonde hair that flashed in a slice of moonlight unmistakable.
Trying to rein in his doubt, to excuse her somehow, to squelch the dark suspicions rising within him, he watched and followed silently as Gillian made her way down the hall.
Perhaps she simply wanted to make use of the garderobe? Or mayhap she was hungry? After all, she’d had little supper this eve. None of them had.
But no, she went directly to his room and slowly pushed the door open. His jaw clenched, and a slow burn started in his chest as his mouth tightened into a straight line.
He should have known.
He should have known she had no true feelings for him. He should have sensed that beneath the lighthearted and cheerful facade she was a betrayer like her sister.
Did she think to kill him, as well? To finish what she’d tried to accomplish earlier when Frederick had been struck down? Perhaps she thought to stab him in his sleep? Smother him?
When she slipped inside, he was directly behind her, watching by the light of the small fire burning in the hearth, blood starting to throb painfully in his head, fists clenching. Kellen had truly believed in her, in her feelings for him, in their future together.
And it had all been a lie.
Darkness spread inside him, dangerous and vicious, as he watched her approach the bed. She hesitated and he waited for her to act. Was it to be poison dripped into his mouth? A knife? At this point he’d not be surprised if she drew a sword.
She stopped short of the bed, hesitated, then took a step back, seeming almost on the verge of leaving. Had she changed her mind? Did she harbor a small bit of the feeling she’d feigned for him? Had a portion of it been real?
She straightened her shoulders. “Kellen?” she whispered his name, and took a step forward. “Kellen? Are you there?” She closed the distance and reached out to feel the blankets, then sighed as if disappointed when she realized he wasn’t there.
What was she doing? He hadn’t expected her to wake him. He shut the door behind him with a solid thud and threw the bolt.
Gillian whirled and put a hand to her heart. “Kellen? My goodness, you scared me.”
She ran at him and he tensed, ready for anything. She threw herself at him and he grabbed her wrists, felt for a weapon, but found nothing.
“Kellen? It’s me. Gillian.”
Kellen slowly let her go and instantly his arms were full of soft, fragrant female. He allowed the embrace, but didn’t relax his guard. Just because she didn’t have a weapon at the ready, didn’t mean she wasn’t carrying one.
He closed his arms around her and resumed his search, hands skimming over her back, her hips, up the arms she’d lifted around his neck, kneading and tightening every few inches, sure there was a trick somewhere, a hidden danger.
She giggled and pressed closer and he realized the danger too late as his anger drained away. His breath caught and he broke into a sweat and escalated his search, bunching the sides of her nightgown in his fists, fighting his body’s reaction to hers.
If he could find a weapon and prove she intended to kill him, he could protect himself, harden his heart. He truly needed to despise her right now. Before it was too late.
***
When Kellen’s hand touched her thigh, Gillian jerked away, startled. She tried to read his expression but his back was to the fire and she couldn’t see his face in the shadows. He reached for her again and continued his octopus impression, his hands wandering above her waist again.
Sheesh
. Whatever happened to romance? She’d never tried to seduce anyone before, but was pretty sure it was supposed to start slower. His hands moved up her sides, cupping her shoulders, then around and under her chest.
Gillian gasped, jerked again, then giggled. It was sort of endearing that he hadn’t had much practice with seduction and was so clumsy at it. Not that she was an expert, but rubbing his hands all over her seemed a bit abrupt. Maybe she should do the same to him and see how he liked it?
She smiled. He probably would. “Kellen, slow down. We have all night. What if we start with a kiss?”
His hands stilled. “A kiss?”
He sounded so confused she worried she’d offended him by questioning his lovemaking skills. She knew she had to be careful. She’d heard men had fragile egos where stuff like that was concerned.
She petted his chest and the muscles bunched, making her shiver in response. She looked up and tried an alluring smile. It was probably wasted as it was so dark, the fire mostly burning embers, but it made her feel enticing anyway.
“Yes. A kiss,” she practically purred the words. Then thinking about the way his hands had just roamed her body she thought she might want to be specific. “On the lips.”
He was still for a long moment before clearing his throat. “You left the protection of your room for a kiss?”
She nodded.
“You could have been hurt. Injured.”
She smiled and moved closer. “I knew you were just down the hall. I knew you’d protect me.”
The flattery didn’t work. He stayed stiff and stilted, so she reached for him, placing a hand on his arm. They were in the dark, just the two of them, and
her
heart was certainly pounding. If his roaming hands were any indication, he seemed to like her well enough, too. This might be her first attempt at seduction, and off to a slow start, but she wasn’t giving up.
“So,” she tried to sound like a temptress. “Is that what you were doing? Checking me for injuries? Did you find anything interesting?”
As if reminded, his big hands started to move again, up and down her arms, clenching every few inches. It was almost as if he were searching her. He checked her finger’s one at a time, pausing to feel her ring, then his hand went up to her hair, feeling every inch of her scalp, then trailing down its long length. She laughed again. “Kellen! What are you?—”