Chapter Two
Gillian stood at the bottom of the stairs surveying the raucous scene in the great hall. So many men. When was the last time Lyndon had hosted such a horde? The rumble of voices mingled, no single conversation clear from even this short distance.
Near the head of the table, the earl stood in conversation with Father Anselm. The village priest nodded as they spoke, and both men then broke out into laughter. Gillian's breath caught in her throat.
Never had she seen a more handsome sight than the earl's tawny eyes twinkling with humor.
His lips curved, revealing even white teeth.
Even from her position across the hall, the faintest hint of dimples in his now clean-shaven cheeks caught her eye.
Until now, he'd only scowled, his eyes flashing with anger. Seeing his smile tempered her wariness.
As if sensing her gaze upon him, he turned. Her awareness of the cacophony around her faded. 'Twas as if he held her captive with his golden gaze, which seemed to delve into her soul. A curious look replaced the humor in his face.
A hand on her arm startled her. She turned, realizing she had been holding her breath. Simon scowled, and drew her into the corner.
"What happened?"
"Nothing." She glanced toward the earl. His smile had vanished. Her gut knotted.
"Then what's wrong?" he asked.
She gazed sadly at him for a moment. "Everything is... changing. I'm worried for you. He says he will set you on another detail."
"Don't fret. 'Tis not a problem, and I understand. You'll be his wife."
"I'm afraid he might send you away. Or me. I... want to tell him who you really are. You're more than just a knight in the garrison. You're –"
His fingers on her mouth silenced her.
"Tell no one. We will be fine Gilly, both of us. You'll see."
"Tell no one what?"
At the sound of the earl's voice, Gillian stiffened. She turned. The hard lines of his face revealed no emotion, yet she sensed his tightly leashed fury. He glared momentarily at their clasped hands before turning to Simon.
"I've already explained to Lady Gillian you are no longer needed as her guard. Did she not inform you?"
"Forgive me, my lord, if I still harbor the need to ensure her safety. I've done so for a very long time."
Gillian held her breath at the hint of resentment in Simon's voice.
"Yes, well, no longer. Seat yourself at the lower table with the other men at arms. See my captain in the morn for your new duties."
Gillian opened her mouth, but her brother nudged her toe, signaling her silence.
"Yes, sir. My lady, if you will excuse me." Simon bowed again and turned on his heel. "Who is he to you?"
Her eyes widened at his question. Though his tone was bland, his eyes held a glimmer of mistrust. Was the fierce Panther jealous of Simon? Were he not scowling openly at her now, she might laugh.
"He is my guard, my lord." She would say nothing more as long as Simon wished it so. For now. She would not keep this secret forever.
One dark brow arched and she knew he did not believe the half-truth. But he remained silent, merely offered her his arm to escort her to the head of the table.
***
The still night air offered welcome relief after the oppressive heat and noise of the great hall.
The men of Lyndon and Montchester had devoured every morsel of food laid out before them, leaving Gillian to wonder whether anything would be left in the stores for the wedding feast. Tonight, the earl sat in the lord's chair, Gillian beside him.
It proclaimed so much that at this point, the wedding was little more than a formality.
Royce's presence had encompassed the hall, leaving no doubt who was in possession of the land.
Throughout the long meal, she had answered his questions about Lyndon, but those had been few.
The worst part was sharing a trencher. Their hands had brushed several times, and by the time the meal ended, Gillian's nervousness had reached a level she'd not known before.
He'd watched her intently all evening, adding to the unbalanced sensations.
Keeping her hands steady had been a monumental task.
All her life, she'd been surrounded by her father's men.
Never had any affected her this way. His very nearness made her heart race, her palms sweat, her stomach flutter.
She attributed the reactions to fear, but the underlying thread of dark pleasure lured her.
How would she survive a marriage to him if she could barely control these unfamiliar feelings whenever he was close?
What kind of man was he, truly? When he had held Anne in his iron grip, fury had emanated from him as though Gillian might be able to reach out and touch it. She'd never witnessed such intense rage before. She prayed he never directed his anger at her.
A footfall in the bailey drew her from her musings and she turned.
As if she had conjured him with her thoughts, the Panther stood behind her, silhouetted in the moon's glow.
The light glinted off his dark hair. His position obscured his face but she felt his gaze upon her.
Again. She pressed her damp palms against her gown.
"You should not be alone out here." He stepped closer. "'Tis not safe."
"This is my home. No one would dare to try to enter with the sentinels on duty."
"Lyndon is close to the Welsh border. There is always danger."
"So you've said. But the Welsh have been subdued. They won't bother us."
"Listen to me. Lady Anne might very well be involved with a Welshman. A traitor in our midst will prove disastrous. Unless you have a particular reason for feeling so confident?"
He stepped closer still, only inches away.
So close she now saw every stone-like feature in his face.
Her heart pounded in a crazy, erratic rhythm.
At the hint of accusation in his words, she found herself almost too angry to respond.
Amid the tangle of sensations, a hint of warning sprouted. She ignored it.
"Do you accuse me of being a traitor?" She made no effort to hide the hostility in her voice. He tilted his head and she found herself caught by his golden eyes. He gave a soft chuckle. "Nay, but I wonder if you are truly so na?ve."
"Not na?ve, my lord. Safe."
He shifted again, and his eyes seemed to bore into her. Perhaps 'twas a trick of the moonlight that made him seem even more imposing. Clad entirely in black, he loomed over her, yet she did not find him threatening.
Instead, an odd fascination with the way his tunic stretched across broad shoulders drew her focus. What would it feel like enclosed in those arms, protected against the wall of his chest?
Bah! 'Twas the words of bards she imagined now. Foolish girl! Shaking her head, she forced herself to respond.
"I often walk here after dinner. I've never seen anything amiss. Not for years now."
"Bandits are not always visible and they don't always endlessly lay siege. Perhaps they lay in wait in the forests."
"For all this time? Why hide in the forest? They would have attacked long ere now if so."
"They're cunning. The right moment is key to winning a siege."
Gillian didn't like the direction this discussion took. "And how do they determine that? Wait for years and then strike? It makes no sense. Not to me."
"You do not understand the political maneuvers being waged."
"So they wait for the right time. How will they know when to strike?"
"A signal from inside the walls is most likely." He folded his arms.
"Now I think I understand. Do you say, my lord, I am giving a signal to attack my home?"
"Are you?"
Spine stiffened with indignation, she lifted her chin.
"How dare you! I would not betray my king. More importantly, I would not betray my people. If you believe that, you are a fool."
"I am no fool, my lady." Tightly leashed anger wove through his words.
"And I am no traitor." She made no attempt to conceal the ice coating her words, despite the tremor of alarm threading through her veins.
An awkward silence hung between them. She bit her lip, startled when he shut his eyes and turned away, his shoulders rising with a deep breath.
"Nay. Still, you should not be alone."
She glanced around the bailey. Several soldiers gathered near the stables.
Extra guards had been set along the ramparts and at the gates.
In actuality, she was not alone, though she doubted he would be pleased should she point that out.
But Gillian wanted to be alone, needed to get away from him.
She had much to think on, and couldn't concentrate with him so near.
"My lord, I have tasks to attend. If you will..."
"I shall join you."
When he reached for her, she backed up a step. Jesu! Judging from the tight set of his jaw, she had just reinforced his suspicions.
"You must have other business more important than I."
"Nothing is more important than my bride. Ease my worries for your safety, demoiselle, and allow me to escort you."
Though he claimed concern, his words clearly held a command. Did he think she planned a clandestine meeting with Welsh rebels? He had no reason to worry about not gaining Lyndon.
'Twas already his. He only came because the king ordered it. For some reason, the realization stung. Deep inside, she wanted him to care for her, even a little. The urge to deny him hung on the edge of her tongue. She held it back.
Refusing him would raise his suspicions further, so she silently allowed him to take her arm and escort her to the mews.
"Your father enjoyed hawking?"
"The hawks aren't my father's."
"Then who hunts with them?"
"I do."
She restrained the grin that threatened at his look of surprise. She opened the gate and ducked into the tiny building. Moonlight streamed through the window, casting a silvery glow.
Most of the falcons slept upon their perches, jesses fastened to prevent a sudden flight should they be startled awake.
"Close the door," she ordered, stepping up to the rows where her dozen birds perched.