To Capture Her Heart (6 page)

When Gwendolyn didn't express gratitude for his compliment, he shifted nervously then changed the subject. “I must be getting back to the shop. I told Father I wouldn't be long. But, if you come back and visit me tomorrow, I just might have something that could cheer you up.”

“Truly?” she asked in anticipation.

“Truly,” he smiled as he bowed his head in departure. She watched his tall, lanky form until he had disappeared once more into his father's shop, before she turned and wisely began heading for home, before night would fall upon the kingdom.

Chapter 8

Unrequited Love

When Gwendolyn arrived home the night before, she purposely sneaked up to her room, avoiding her mother and the barrage of questions she was sure to inflict. It wasn't until they were breaking their fast the next morning that she constructed a brief, if semi-insincere, apology to her mother. She wasn't altogether terribly sorry for getting upset with her or for venturing into the village, for surely her visit with Jarin had done something to lift her spirits.

“Do you have any errands you would like me to run for you today?” she asked her mother as she nibbled on a piece of rye bread, most of the tension between the two having disappeared.

“I do have a few things I am in need of. Why don't we go to the village together, make a day of it?”

“Nay,” Gwendolyn was quick to protest. She did not want to have to explain her visit with Jarin to her mother, for surely she would read more into it than there was.

Millicent eyed her daughter suspiciously. Gwendolyn squirmed under the scrutiny. “'Tis just that I had been looking forward to the walk into the village, as a sort of time to think and clear my head.” She knew her reasoning was lame, but it was the best she could come up with.

Luckily for her, her mother wasn't prone to question her motives, no matter how weak. “Very well. I suppose there is still lots for me to do around here. I can go to the village another day.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

Gwendolyn quickly finished eating, anxious to return to the village. This time however, her walk there was leisurely. Instead of running, she took the time to enjoy the wildflowers growing along the path and listen to the birds chirping above. 'Tis true that she felt better after a good night's sleep, but she still felt a deep discontentment that was rooted in her very core, a feeling she couldn't seem to shake.

Several times she felt as if somebody was watching her and would quickly turn her head expecting to meet a passerby on the road, but each time there was no one there. She forced the feeling of unease down and quickened her pace, anxious to reach the village and escape the unsettling feeling.

Her first stop upon reaching the village was the Blacksmith's shop. She found Jarin outside, as if he had been expecting her. He smiled his familiar smile and met her on the street.

“I was hoping you'd come today,” he said happily.

“How could I refrain when you promised me something to lift my spirits?”

He immediately reached one hand in the deep pocket on the front of his leather apron. Clasping something in his fist, he held his hand out to her and said, “Give me your hand.”

Gwendolyn obeyed. Jarin unclasped his hand, and she felt something heavy fall into her own palm. Bringing her hand close to her face for inspection, she noticed that he had taken an ordinary iron nail and shaped it expertly into a heart that hung from a simple leather chord. “'Tis beautiful, Jarin. You are truly a skilled craftsman.”

Her compliment made him blush, though he furiously tried to hide it from her by ducking his head and taking her hand that held the necklace. “May I put it on you?”

“Of course.” She turned from him, lifting her thick, raven locks as she waited for him to tie the leather chord securely in place around her neck. As soon as she felt the charm fall into place, she let her hair drop and turned once more to face him. “I will wear it always, to remind me of a dear friend and his worthy attempts to cheer me.”

His blush deepened. “About that, Gwendolyn. I am pleased that you wish to wear it always, but I was hoping you'd see me as more than just a friend.”

His awkwardness only proved to make her feel awkward as well, and she wasn't sure she liked what he was implying. In an attempt at diffusing the situation, she chastised him lightly, “You forget yourself, Jarin. I have yet to have my entrance; therefore, this sort of talk is not at all appropriate.”

“Forgive me for forgetting myself, but you have no idea the affect you have on me. I know that you will be of age shortly and I only wished to secure your affections before someone else came along.”

She should have known that by accepting his kind gift, she was giving him the wrong impression. She briefly debated whether she should remove the necklace and return it to him, but was afraid it would hurt the lad more than she intended. Instead she said, “'Tis very flattering to know you think so kindly of me, truly it is. But for now, let's just remain friends.”

“Friends,” he grumbled in dissatisfaction. “Very well, but only if you promise to consider more as soon as you've been granted your entrance.”

Gwendolyn thought about it, briefly tempted to mess up her entrance, when the time came, to avoid having a repeat of this conversation for at least another year. Everyone in the Kingdom knew that if you messed up performing the traditional entrance dance, the Saylatee, to such a horrible degree, the presiding king would be forced to deny your entrance into womanhood, and you'd have to wait an entire year to attempt the feat once more. The idea did have some merit.

“Very well, Jarin. But only if you promise not to bring it up again until after my entrance has been granted.”

You would have thought she promised him her heart by the way he was smiling. A silly grin stretched across his face, nearly from ear to ear. “Come back again tomorrow, and I'll have another gift for you.”

Gwendolyn laughed at his eagerness. “I cannot promise I'll be coming to the village tomorrow, but the next time I do, I promise I will stop by the shop and pay you a visit.” She made a mental note of staying away for some time, in hopes that his desire for her would cool some.

She fingered the heart-shaped charm the entire way home, pondering if she should remove it from her neck and only wear it when she visited the village, or if she should keep it on always as she had told Jarin she would. It truly was a beautiful, if simple piece, but she was afraid she'd give the wrong impression by wearing it. Finally, she let go of the charm, letting it's heaviness settle into the shallow dip above her collarbone and figured it wouldn't hurt to wear it, at least for now.

***

Gavin anxiously waited for the sun to set, knowing that as soon as it did, his freedom would begin. At least until sunset the following day when his one day off a week would end and he'd be forced to return to Hefordshire Castle where he was treated not much better than a slave. The sun could not set fast enough behind the rolling hills in the distance, and as soon as it did, he was off to the stables to retrieve his destrier, Ichabod.

The ride into the nearby village was familiar to him, for he made it weekly. His first and only stop was The Morlock Inn, a place neither too reputable, nor too seedy for his liking. He quickly instructed a young lad to take Ichabod to the stables, flipping him a small coin for his trouble, before entering the all too familiar inn.

“Well if it isn't Gavin the great,” his favorite tavern wench, Deborah, purred as she sidled up to him, her curvaceous body pressing into his. Her frizzy auburn hair hung over her bosom as she bent to retrieve a mug of ale from the rough, wooden counter behind him, handing it to him with a self-pleased smile. She always seemed to be anticipating his needs.

He took the offered ale in one hand, bringing the frothy brew to his mouth and downing the entire mug in a single gulp.

“That's my boy,” she cooed as she reached for another mug. This time he drank much slower, putting his arm loosely around Deborah's shoulders as they walked further into the inn. Gavin couldn't wait for the numbing effect of the ale to take place.

He found an empty chair in one corner and pulled a willing Deborah down into his lap. She giggled as his ale splashed onto her skirt, not caring that he had just soiled her gown. That's one of the things Gavin liked most about her; she was always up for a good time, all smiles, all fun, never bothering him for more than what he was willing to give. There was no real connection with her, but that also meant that there was no vulnerability and he liked that very much.

“What have ye been up to this past week?” she asked, as she slowly rubbed her hands up and down his chest.

“Just the usual,” he said with a mock arrogance. “Defending the Kingdom and keeping Darth safe.”

She leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Strong, brave, and capable. Just how I like my men.” For a minute Gavin allowed himself to get lost in the fantasy, here in the inn where he could pretend to be whatever he wanted to be. Deborah had no idea he was the lowest of defenders at Hefordshire Castle, given the most distasteful of tasks. All she knew was that he was a defender and anything else he wished to tell her, true or not, and that was enough for her.

She nuzzled into his neck as he finished off his second mug of ale. When both of his hands were free, he placed them around her wide hips and pulled her closer to him. Instantly his mind raced with thoughts of holding a much more slender girl in his arms. The girl-child, Gwendolyn, wasn't nearly as full-figured as Deborah, but the reminder of her slight body beneath him in the maze made his blood simmer unexpectedly.

And it wasn't just the feel of her petite body beneath him it was the reminder of her sapphire eyes, full of expression and fire that pricked his heart as well. He stiffened and cursed. Why was he even thinking of her right now, when his whole aim was to not be thinking at all?

Deborah noticed his reaction. Pulling back, she forced her lips into a pout. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Nay, I just need more ale,” he gruffly replied. He would just have to drink until he stopped feeling anything for anyone. The last thing he needed was another woman to interrupt his thoughts and lure him in with her charms.

Deborah reluctantly slid off his lap to go retrieve him another mug of ale. He ran a hand through his hair, forcing it off of his face as he tried to think of anything but Gwendolyn, or his former fiancée, or any woman for that matter.

It took Deborah longer than normal to return and Gavin was just about to go seeking out his own mug of ale when he saw her reappear, though he noticed with great irritation that her hands were empty.  “Somebody is asking for ye up front,” she said curtly.

Gavin shook his head, trying to dispel some of the fog that was already starting to settle in from the ale. “Who is it?”

“How am I supposed to know?” she snapped. “'Tis not the first time she's shown up here looking for ye though.”

So this mystery person was a female? That could explain Deborah's sudden shift in moods. “What does she look like?” he asked, as a sick foreboding filled him. The only woman who might possibly be looking for him was Clarice, his former fiancée.

“Why don't ye hurry up front and find out for yerself,” she bit out acerbically before turning and huffing away.

Gavin ran both hands through his hair nervously as his breathing deepened in an attempt to calm his frayed nerves. He looked anxiously around the back of the room, hoping to find an inconspicuous way out of the inn to avoid an encounter with Clarice all together. There was none.

Just as he stood, his ears were assaulted with an all too familiar voice, a voice that dripped like honey through a honeycomb. It made him cringe.

“Gavin, 'tis so good to see you.”

He froze and watched as the woman he once thought he loved walked towards him. Her white-blonde hair was braided and hanging over one shoulder. Her pale face housed large, ice-blue eyes and pink lips that were twisted into a tentative smile. As she came to stop directly in front of him, her eyes were nearly even with his own. She was tall and stately, with plenty of alluring curves. She was even more beautiful than he remembered her, but the only emotion he could feel towards her was a seething hatred.

She reached out and boldly ran a long finger down his cheek. “Dare I hope that you missed me as much as I have you?”

He shuddered with revulsion at her touch, but she must have mistaken it for desire, for before he knew it she had flung her arms around his neck, forcing herself into his arms and was pressing her lips boldly to his own.

Deborah reappeared, clearing her throat loudly as she shoved a mug of ale towards Gavin. “If ye are going to continue as such, the boss will insist ye get a room.”

Clarice pulled back slightly, searching his face expectantly. “Shall we, love?”

“Shall we what?” he asked, confused by her question. Curse the dratted ale that was making his thinking slow.

“Get a room and become reacquainted after all our time apart.” Her honeyed voice was pouring over him, suffocating him.

Gavin pushed her from him then, repulsed at the thought of being alone with her, and even more perturbed that she wanted to waltz back into his life after betraying his feelings for her and leaving him for another man, pretending as if none of it had ever happened. “Get away from me,” he slurred angrily. “I never want to see your face again.”

He turned from her, but she quickly moved in front of him. And much to his chagrin, her wide eyes were filling with tears. “Gavin, please. Give me a moment to explain myself, to tell you why I have come back. I owe you an apology. Please be decent enough to allow me to ask for your forgiveness.”

A red-hot fury filled his breast. Turning on her, he grabbed her shoulders angrily. “Nay. Don't you dare speak to me of decency. I gave up everything to be with you and you had the gall to leave me for someone else the day before we were to wed. You left me heartbroken and devastated. If you didn't have the decency to apologize to me then, I certainly do not want to hear it now. I will not forgive you.”