Page 28 of Liberating the Lady of Loughmoe (The Ladies of the Keep #1)

“Y ou have kept your word and brought Harald the Saxon and his band of rebels to London. You shall have the promised grain and coin when you leave. The cattle will be coming from one of our estates to the west.”

Pausing as if for effect, King William then broached the subject of Garrick’s marriage again. “Now about your wife. We have decided to set her up in an abbey until we have the church court look into your circumstances. Then I shall see if your new neighbor Henri du Guerre would be willing to marry her.”

The words cut through Garrick, shredding his soul to ribbons.

“Sire. You cannot.”

“I understand that you are grateful, Merewood, but do not overstep your bounds gainsaying your king.” The low tone the king used belied the anger suffusing his face with color.

“You did not give me the chance to speak before I left to bring in the rebels. I no longer wish to set aside my wife.”

The king’s eyes narrowed. “Your wife. I thought you had not consummated the marriage.”

“My wife and I came to an understanding; the marriage has been consummated.”

Rubbing a hand across his brow, the king grew thoughtful. “This presents a problem, I have already spoken to du Guerre. He believes Lady Jillian to be a virgin, that the marriage was never consummated.” His voice elevated as his temper rose. “I have given my word,”

Not wanting to anger his liege further by professing his love for his wife, Garrick instead broached the subject of her meeting with the king. “Lady Jillian seeks an audience with you as soon as possible.”

“What does she wish to discuss?”

“I believe our marriage,” Garrick lied.

“Bring her back here before we sup. I’ll speak with her then. I would advise you to keep your distance from the lady until we settle the matter of her holding.”

Nodding his head in silent agreement, Garrick returned to his chamber. He couldn’t believe his king’s ready agreement to meet with his wife, but he was worried about du Guerre. The king was a man of his word. How would he be able to convince him to go back on it?

*

Jillian wrung her hands from the moment she learned of her appointment until she was shown through the door to the king’s chambers.

A servant motioned for her to be seated and for Garrick to leave. Though she longed to have him stay, ’twould be much easier to speak her mind without his presence.

“Now then, Lady Jillian, what do you wish to discuss?” the king asked from his seat in the center of the room.

Jillian felt that she was at a distinct disadvantage seated at the floor level rather than on the dais, but she was prepared to fight for her rights. It didn’t matter where she sat. “The ownership of Loughmoe Keep.”

The king remained silent for a long time, his large hands steepled together. Finally, he asked, “What concern is it of yours who owns Loughmoe?”

“It belonged to my father and my father’s father before him. My family has tilled that land for generations. No one else could possibly love the land as I do.”

“Loving the land and making it profitable to your king are two distinctly different matters.”

“I have watched how my husband cares for his land and his people. You would find no better lord to run Loughmoe.”

“I have already spoken to Henri du Guerre, he is to take control of the holding.” King William looked her in the eye as if to challenge her, “He needs a wife.”

Jillian felt the bottom drop out of her world. Her head began to pound, and her palms grew sweaty. Deathly afraid of his answer, she rasped, “Whom did you have in mind?”

“You.”

Bright spots swam before her eyes, making it hard to focus. Heat suffused her body, then fled, leaving her stone cold. Gripping the arms of the chair, she rallied bravely to regain control of her traitorous emotions. “I already have a husband.”

“Who seeks an annulment,” he countered.

Pain left her bereft of speech. Oh God, she had been a fool. She could not believe their joining meant nothing to him. It had to be a lie. Nay, her heart refused to believe the king. But why would he lie to her?

“But I thought—”

“You thought?”

The calm tone and level look only added to Garrick’s betrayal. The wound cut her so deeply no threads would ever hold it together. Pride was all she had left.

“Lady Jillian?” William’s eyes searched her face, looking for a sign as to what she was thinking.

“I thought, that is we…” She could not think, let alone speak of last night without dissolving into tears, which she refused to do. In the midst of her suffering, a bleak thought speared through her. What would happen to those back at Merewood if the grain and cattle were delayed, or diverted on the way to Merewood Keep? She needed to ensure they received the added wealth of her land. She could not turn her back on them. Though only for a short time, they had been a family to her and treated her as one of their own. She owed it to Garrick’s people to ask one more time.

“Sire, is there no way to change your mind?”

The speculative look in his eye did not bode well, of that she was certain. The long silence that followed wreaked havoc with the tenuous hold on her control.

“Mayhap, after bringing the rebels to justice, I should grant the holding to Merewood. What say you, Lady?”

Eyes bright with hope, she answered, “He would rebuild it back to its former glory, Sire. The people would respect him.”

She had to give Garrick that much, though he played her false, he would never do anything to hurt the people who depended on him for their livelihood.

“If Merewood were to marry a Norman woman…” the king began, “mayhap I will find somewhere else for du Guerre to live. But if du Guerre is difficult, and he holds me to my word, would you marry him if I granted your wish and gave Merewood the land?”

Jillian froze in the chair, eyes wide in stark terror. She knew then she would never live at Loughmoe again. It had been an unrealistic dream to picture a life there with Garrick. Besides, he didn’t want her. What truly mattered was that someone would care for her family’s land. Garrick was that someone.

She loathed the idea of marriage to anyone other than Garrick; she loved him more than life itself. But it would be selfish to put her wants and needs before the good of so many. Hundreds of his people could be fed and clothed this winter and the next, and the people of Loughmoe would have food to eat and grain to plant come spring. ’Twould be a small price to pay, giving Garrick his freedom so that he could marry another, a woman who had the means to rebuild both Merewood and Loughmoe. The loyal people of both holdings would not suffer further. ’Twould be her gift to her parents loving memory, restoring their home. Though she would never live there, it made a difference that Garrick would.

“Aye, Sire.” Jillian rose slowly and moved to the dais. Sinking into a deep curtsy, she waited until she was bid to rise, then took her leave.

The moment the door closed behind her she started trembling. The uncontrollable shaking made it impossible to walk, so she sank to the floor and waited for the reaction to pass.

While she sat, she thought of all that had transpired. Had Garrick truly asked the king to intercede with the church court and seek an annulment? Had he told the king of his earlier plans to set her aside?

He couldn’t have, could he? There must be another explanation, one she couldn’t quite grasp. Garrick would not betray her that way. There had to be more to the story than their monarch let on. Mayhap he was testing her loyalty to Garrick? With that thought in mind, she rose, albeit still wobbly, and walked back to their chamber.

“Jillie lass, are ye all right?” Winslow’s voice seemed distant.

She shook her head and struggled to put one foot in front of the other. Strong hands pulled her through the open doorway and pushed her into a chair.

Jillian felt cool water lapping against her lips; she drank deeply. As she became more aware of her surroundings, the room gradually came into focus. Garrick stood on the left side of the chair and Winslow to the right.

“What happened?” Jillian’s brain was fuzzy, a delayed reaction to her meeting with the king.

“I left you alone with the king,” Garrick said slowly. “When I arrived to escort you back here, you were already gone.” His concern seemed genuine. But was it?

Bits and pieces of her audience came back to her,

“We spoke about Loughmoe.”

“And?” Garrick waited expectantly.

“He agreed to give it to you.” She did not add, only if Garrick either married a Norman woman, or she agreed to marry du Guerre.

The look of joy on her husband’s face took her breath away. He had been through so much because of her, what right did she have to make demands upon him now? If her father had lived, he would have given the land to them anyway, she was his only heir. She decided to hold off asking him if what the king said was true, if he had asked for an annulment.

“She needs to rest,” Eyreka said, shooing the men out of the room. “I’ll stay with her.” The sound of the door closing echoed in the quiet.

“Tell me the rest,” Eyreka softly commanded.

When Jillian opened her eyes, the look of concern on her friend’s face was endearing. She would miss Reka.

“The king said Garrick wants to set me aside.”

“You cannot believe—”

“In return for granting the land to Garrick, I am to marry Henri du Guerre,” the last words came out in a rush.

Eyreka hugged her tight to her chest, cursing her son for his timing and her king for using two innocent people as pawns in his bid to claim all of England for his followers.

“Are you going to tell my son the rest of the king’s decree?”

“Why should he be concerned, when he is getting all that he wished?”

“Because he loves you,” Lady Eyreka calmly explained.

Jillian sniffed back a tear. “He could not wait to be rid of me.”

“If he wanted to be rid of you, why would he go to the trouble of rescuing you when we were held captive?”

“You were held captive with me.”

“Why did he stay by your side ’til you wakened from the fever?” Garrick’s mother insisted.

Jillian shrugged. “He felt guilty.”

“Why didn’t he leave you to wander the halls of the castle?”

“’Twould have caused talk. Besides, he needed to find out what the king had to say,” Jillian reasoned.

“What will you do?” Eyreka’s voice was breaking.

“I will do what my king wishes.” Though I may die inside.

*

MacInness stood in the buttery, behind the partition separating the pitchers of wine and mead from the great hall. He could hear Owen speaking to one of his daughters. Listening intently, he strained to hear their conversation.

“Father, is it true? Will Jillian have to marry Henri du Guerre?” He recognized the voice as Owen’s youngest daughter, Madelyne.

So that’s the rumor circulating around the castle and what is wrong with the lass! Garrick needed to learn of this. Pausing before turning to go, he listened closely.

“A wise person does not go against his king’s wishes.”

“But what of Garrick?” Madelyne’s concern for her friend seemed real.

MacInness remembered that the two women had been friends, before Jillian married and moved to Merewood Keep.

“He will be allowed to set his wife aside, then he will be free to marry again.” Owen’s voice was tinged with anger.

“What if Henri were not free to marry Jillian? What would become of her?”

“The king would probably send her to an abbey until he found someone suitable to marry her.”

Owen answered a summons from across the room. MacInness heard him say, “Find your sisters and be seated, daughter. I must speak with Aaron.” Owen’s voice faded away.

MacInness thought he was alone, until he heard Madelyne whispering, “I’ll not be used like a bargaining chip to bring two plots of land together as one. I’m not a Norman…I’m a Saxon woman with rights,” she said in a low voice, “and I’ll not be set aside like Jillian.”

His fists clenched at his sides, MacInness waited for the sounds of her retreat.

“Mayhap Henri will not mind some company this night.”

The Scotsman nearly swallowed his tongue at the implication he heard in Madelyne’s seductive tone. ’Twas time to search out Garrick. With what he had learned earlier from Lady Eyreka, and what he had just heard, they had much to plan if they were to save Jillian from her good intentions.

*

“Milord Owen!” Aaron hailed his overlord.

“What news have you?” Owen demanded.

“We found naught but broken bits of barrel.” Hesitating, he added, “the graves contained Rebels.”

“Merewood must have taken the ransom back with him,” Owen muttered aloud.

The warrior shook his head. “I overheard one of his men bragging about the battle.”

“And?” Owen demanded.

“His men hid in empty barrels. Once they were inside Harald’s camp, they sprung their trap. There was no ransom.” Aaron waited for his overlord’s reaction. He was not disappointed.

Owen hurled his goblet against the wall, denting the metal beyond repair then drew his sword and slashed the tapestry hanging on the wall over the bed.

Aaron watched the two pieces drift gracefully to the floor, never to be whole again. Like the man buried by the ravine.

In a bid to calm his liege, Aaron spoke. “Rumor has it Lady Jillian is to wed du Guerre in a bid to regain Loughmoe.”

“The selfish little whore,” Owen hissed. “Wasn’t it enough marrying Merewood?”

“But you said he would set her aside. How could it be enough?” Aaron’s confusion was evident.

“Loughmoe should be mine. William gave his word.”

“I thought you said he was considering granting the land to you,” Aaron said.

“’Tis the same thing.” Owen stopped mid-stride, openly glaring at his vassal as if daring further comment.

“Milord?” His manservant interrupted the heated discussion.

“Aye?”

“’Tis the Lady Madelyne. She’s not in her chambers.”

The speculative expression Owen wore changed to one of satisfaction. His recent conversation with his youngest replayed in his head. Her concern for Jillian, her worry over Henri du Guerre…

“Du Guerre!”

“You think she’s with du Guerre?” Aaron stood ready to act with his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Owen rubbed his chin, his eyes half open.

“Lord Owen, about Madelyne,” his servant began.

“Mayhap my daughter is ready to make an alliance. Aaron.”

“Aye?”

“Post a guard outside du Guerre’s chamber. See to it no one leaves, or sees you there.”