To Capture Her Heart (5 page)

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Gwendolyn didn't like the way Tristan clung to her side possessively during the remainder of the evening. She had graciously allowed him one dance, though he was greatly disappointed when she reminded him that it wasn't exactly proper for her to be dancing in public until she'd had her entrance. Truthfully, she didn't care for the silly rule and knew that on this day her family didn't either, but it was a valid and useful excuse to get out of further dances with him. He was more than eager, however, to sit with her on the outside of the room and watch the other guests dancing merrily, the music lively and upbeat.

“If I may be so bold,” Tristan spoke, interrupting her thoughts once again, thoughts that had been centered too frequently on Gavin and his broken heart. “May I inquire as to when your entrance is?”

Gwendolyn laughed at his forwardness. “It will be within the month, though the day has not been agreed upon as of yet.”

“Will it be held here, at Herfordshire Castle?” The look of hope upon his face could not be mistaken for anything other than what it was.

“'Tis probable, though I honestly do not know. I'm leaving all the details up to my mother and Terric.”

“Aren't you excited about such an occasion?” he persisted in his inquiry.

Gwendolyn shrugged casually, “Nay, not really. 'Tis just a tradition I am required to participate in, nothing else. It holds no special meaning for me.”

She didn't miss the look of disappointment that flashed in his eyes. “But surely you are at least somewhat eager to be courted.”

“Honestly I haven't given it much thought. I have other things on my mind, things of greater importance to me at this time in my life.” Tristan was looking at her strangely now, as if he couldn't fathom her disinterest in being pursued by the opposite sex. Mayhap she'd be more excited if there was someone whom she wished to be courted by, but it certainly wasn't him.

“Do tell me then, where your interests lie if not in courting.”

Gwendolyn nibbled her bottom lip, furiously trying to think of something to say to him. She wasn't about to tell him that she was more interested in pursuing her unknown gift more than she was a husband. Certainly that would only make her appear more strange to him.

“Mayhap you'd be interested in this.” A low voice spoke from behind them causing both Gwendolyn and Tristan to startle. Turning, they both faced Gavin who was holding out one hand containing the most perfectly formed plum Gwendolyn had ever seen.

Squealing with delight, she reached for it and cupped the fruit to her breast, reverencing it as the prize it was. “Oh thank you, Gavin. I can't wait to partake of it.”

“Do not let me keep you from your enjoyment,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips.

Without hesitation, she put the plum to her lips and sunk her teeth deeply into its flesh. She closed her eyes in delight, relishing the succulent fruit's perfectness. Her eyes flew open when she felt a warm hand cup her cheek. She watched in wonder as Gavin brushed one thumb against her chin, just below her bottom lip. Her skin prickled with heat at the contact.

“You had some juice running down your chin,” he said apologetically, quickly withdrawing his hand.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, unsure of why she was all of a sudden very aware of him. She took a moment to study his face and noticed the slight dimple in the center of his chin, barely noticeable under the stubble that covered his face. His bottom lip was fuller than his top, and on one cheekbone there was a faint white scar not longer than an inch. She briefly wondered how he had gotten it.

“Don't you have an entry to guard?” Tristan asked petulantly, seemingly eager to be rid of the defender.

“Don't you have a king to guard?” Gavin countered back.

“Of course. 'Tis why I'm here. I am doing my job.”

“I think if you'd spend more time focusing your eye on King Terric and less time watching Gwendolyn, you would know that he and Queen Rosalind have just departed. I suggest you go find out where they went.”

Tristan looked around the room, frantically searching out the king and queen. Sure enough, they were no longer in the Great Hall. He sprung to his feet, saying a hasty goodbye to Gwendolyn before taking off in search of his charge.

“That's one way to get rid of him,” Gwendolyn observed wryly.

“He's a vexing lad, that one. I ran into your brother on my way in here. It seems he and his bride are seeking to retire for the night. I'm certain he will have no further need of Tristan's assistance till morning.”

Gwendolyn looked into his brown eyes sparkling with mischief and pretended to scold him. “You naughty, naughty man.”

“No need to reprimand me when a thanks will suffice,” he said with a wink then turned and quickly walked away. Gwendolyn watched his retreating figure until it disappeared into the corridor. What a mysterious man, she thought, as she slowly consumed the rest of the plum in her hand.

Chapter 7

A Deep Discontentment

Walking into Emerson Castle, Gwendolyn breathed the familiar scent of her home deeply into her lungs. It felt so good to be home. Her mother was close behind her, instructing the servants to take their chests of clothes up to their bedchambers.

“Are you tired from the journey?” Her mother asked.

“Nay, but I could do with a bit of something to eat.”

“Would you like me to have something delivered to your chamber?”

“That would be lovely.”

As Gwendolyn entered her bedchamber and sat on the edge of her bed, she realized that mayhap she was more tired from the journey than she initially realized. A servant followed shortly behind her, bringing a tray of cheese and fruit which she nibbled on as she sat, thinking of how quiet and lonely the house seemed without Rosalind there.

A sense of ennui filled her bosom unexpectedly. She hadn't given much thought to how things would be at Emerson Castle once Rosalind and Terric were married. It wouldn't be so bad if her brother Aedan was at home, but since he had been promoted to King Lawrence's lead defender, she knew she'd be seeing him even less than she had before.

Finishing up the last bite of cheese on her tray, she rose, deciding she better find something to do before her sad thoughts of boredom and loneliness consumed her. Walking down to the Great Hall, she found her mother sitting in her favorite chair, embroidery in hand. She instantly went and sat at her harp, lowering the instrument in place as she began to play.

She hummed along as she played, but the usual satisfaction she took in playing was not there. She chastised herself inwardly at each mistake she made, no matter how minor. She eventually gave up altogether. Removing her fingers from the strings she placed her hands in her lap in a huff.

“Why ever did you stop playing, my dear? I was truly enjoying listening,” her mother asked, glancing curiously at her as she spoke.

“Because I'm no good, that's why.”

“Nonsense, child. Do not speak so. You are a very talented harpist and have always loved playing.”

“I've been playing for more than half of my life and am nowhere near as good as the performer at Terric's wedding feast.”

“There is no need to compare yourself Gwendolyn,” her mother chastised. “Everyone is blessed with different talents and abilities. You play the harp beautifully. Please continue.”

“That's just it, Mother, everyone seems to be blessed with extraordinary gifts but me. I suppose I play the harp passably well, but I wouldn't say that I'm gifted. It's just like my healing; I can perform the tasks fairly but I am in no way gifted, at least not like you are.”

Her mother exhaled slowly as she set her embroidery down in her lap. “Why are you so concerned with possessing a gift? Can't you be content with what you have, who you are?”

“Mayhap,” she sighed. “I try to be content, honest I do, but when everyone around me keeps boasting of their gifts, it's hard to forget that I am without one.”

“Gwendolyn, not everyone around you has a gift.”

In her desperation to prove her point, she started listing off everyone she knew who had one, “I spent weeks with Rosalind as she learned how to use her gift, which originally belonged to Terric, may I remind you? And the harpist at the feast told me that she's only been playing for two years. Two years, Mother! She said that her playing was a gift. Then there is you—Papa was always telling us what a special gift your healing is. He fell in love with you partially because of your gift.”

Millicent laughed. “'Tis an old fable. My gift had nothing to do with his love for me.”

“Aye, but it did. If you didn't have the gift of healing, the King would have never sought you out to heal Papa when he was injured. You say it was not a factor in him falling in love with you, but without it you would never have met.”

Ignoring her logic, Millicent spoke to her daughter firmly, trying to make her see reason. “Darling, I fear that you are putting too much weight into the concept of gifts. 'Tis true that certain people have them, and 'tis also true that a handful of people closest to your acquaintance are in possession of them, but you are being blinded by your jealousy. Look around you and you will see that the majority of people are just regular folk who go about their lives developing their talents and working hard to be happy and content with their lot in life. Aedan does not possess a gift. Your papa did not have one. Most people do not. Now I beg of you to get over this obsession before it drives you mad.”

Gwendolyn stood swiftly, knocking over the chair behind her. “I thought you understood me, Mother, but 'tis apparent you do not. I need to get some fresh air. Please excuse me.”

Her mother's words hurt her more than she cared to admit. Why couldn't she see how important this was to her?

“Gwendolyn, please don't go.” Her mother was calling after her, but she ignored her and stalked angrily out of the castle.

As soon as she was outside, she began running. And though she was unsure of where she was going, she kept running as fast as her legs would take her. Tiny drops of rain landed on her skin as she ran, but it wasn't bothersome enough to get her to turn around and return to the castle.

Before she knew it, Gwendolyn was approaching the edge of the village. She forced herself to slow from her sprint to a swift walk. Mayhap she would do some shopping to try and clear her mind of her sullen thoughts. Her eyes took in her surroundings as she passed several merchants selling wares from their carts. She inhaled deeply as she passed the spice merchant, enjoying the delightful smells that emanated from his supply of goods.

She passed the shoemaker and the tanner before coming to the intersection of the road where the blacksmith's was located. “Gwendolyn,” a young lad said eagerly as she came to a stop in front of the shop.

Gwendolyn favored him with a smile. “Jarin, how do you do?”

“My day has just improved.” His smile was boyish yet charming. “I haven't seen you in weeks. I must confess that I have missed our occasional visits.”

Jarin had spent many afternoons walking her back to Emerson Castle when she had come to the village on errand for her mother. He made no effort to hide his interest in her, but she had never minded. He was a comfortable companion and never forced the bounds of propriety.

“I just returned this afternoon. We have been in the Southwest for the wedding.”

“How could I forget? Well, what brings you to the village today?”

Gwendolyn's face fell. “I came to get away from my mother.”

Jarin eyed her shrewdly before saying, “Let's go on a walk, and you can tell me what is wrong. Give me a moment to tell Father.”

“You are busy Jarin, you don't have to do that.”

“'Tis no problem at all,” he said as he disappeared into the shop. A brief moment later he had returned, his leather apron having been removed, and began leading Gwendolyn down the street. “Now tell me why you are running from your mother.”

“I'm not sure you'd understand. Nobody seems to understand me lately.”

“You may be correct, I may not understand, nor will I pretend to, but I do hate seeing you so forlorn. Please tell me, if only to release the burden from yourself.”

She looked into his boyish face, his brown hair mused, and smiled. How could she not tell him when he was always so kind to her?

“Very well,” she exhaled. “I was having a moment of pity for myself when my mother called me on it. It seems she thinks I'm only a foolish child.”

“What brought on this pity?”

“I just don't understand why everyone has a gift but me,” she spit out, feeling her anger rise once more. Jarin laughed at her display of emotion, which only made her more livid. “Jarin, don't you start thinking I'm foolish too. You insisted I tell you what was troubling me. I had no idea you meant only to mock me.”

“Calm down, Gwendolyn, I'm not mocking you. I just think you're funny when you're upset. Besides, if you could hear yourself you'd see how silly you sound. This isn't the first time you've complained to me of your lack of gift, and I've never made fun of you in the past. But, your insistence that everyone has one is what I find humorous. You do realize you are talking to a mere blacksmith's son—I have no gift either. Neither does my father, nor my mother, nor my two sisters for that matter. Just because a select few people in your world are in possession of a gift, does not mean that everyone has one. Look around, and you'll see that the majority do not.”

“You sound just like my mother. I would never have come here if I knew that you would chastise me as well.”

Coming to a stop, Jarin placed his hand on her arm. “You misunderstand me. I am not chastising you in the least. Please forgive me for coming across that way. I was just trying to be logical.”

His sincere apology softened Gwendolyn. “I forgive you. And mayhap I was being a little irrational, but it vexes me to no end that I am just, well, ordinary.”

Jarin's easy going manner changed to one of intensity as he spoke. “You are anything but ordinary, believe me. I've never met anyone as amazing as you.”

Instead of feeling flattered by his compliment, Gwendolyn grew uncomfortable. His intense stare and the husky quality of his voice set her on edge. She liked Jarin a great deal and had tried on more than one occasion to feel something for him beyond friendship, but it was always to no avail. It wasn't that she didn't find him handsome, for he had a childlike charm to him, and when he smiled his whole face lit up. But he didn't exude a rugged manliness, and she highly doubted if they ever found themselves in danger, that he would be able to rescue them. And the few times he had touched her, she felt not a single thing. His touch wasn't at all like the time Gavin had cupped her face to wipe the plum juice from her chin causing her entire body to tingle and become alert. She shivered slightly at the memory and hoped desperately that Jarin didn't notice.