Read Online The Truest Heart by Samantha James - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Samantha James
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can you be certain?”
“The day before the attempt on the king’s life, I entered the counting room to speak with Papa. I thought he was alone, but there was someone with him, behind the curtain. I heard Papa speak of the king—and hunting.”
Fear leaped in Brother Baldric’s faded blue eyes. “Lady Gillian, never tell me you know the identity of the other assailant—that you’ve known all along!”
“Nay. I saw but the shadow of a man. Yet I had the feeling I did not know him.”
There was more, for in truth, something elusive nagged at her. More than once she’d experienced the unmistakable feeling there was something she should have remembered about that encounter, something vitally important. She struggled to remember, but alas, it would not come.
It seemed she was no better than the man inside the cottage.
“I was curious,” Gillian went on. “Not long after, I asked Papa who was there with him in the counting room. He was angry, Brother Baldric, and said that I was never to mention it to anyone.”
“Do not,” Baldric said in a strange tone. “Tell no one what you have just told me, Lady Gillian. Tell no one. Indeed, I pray you did not know him—I pray you do not remember—for it might place you in still more danger.”
Gillian looked at him sharply. Was it the gloom of twilight and the coming storm, or had his skin turned a rather ashen gray? She was still striving to decipher both his meaning and his countenance when all at once he bent low, seized by a dry, hacking cough.
Gillian grabbed his arm. “Brother Baldric,” she cried, “are you all right?”
It was some time before the paroxysm ceased and he raised himself upright, still more as he labored for breath and summoned the ability to speak.
“It has passed, child. Do not worry. Now, I must be on my way.”
“Not yet. Please, Brother Baldric, come inside,” she urged. “Wait until the storm passes before returning to the village.” As she spoke, Gillian scanned his features. The sudden pallor of his skin was not due to alarm as she’d first thought, but to sickness.
“Nay. Father Aidan will be expecting me.”
“Brother Baldric, you’re ill!”
“I am not,” he denied. Gillian had twisted her fingers into the sleeves of his robe, but he held himself firm. He straightened his shoulders and seemed to stand a little taller, and in the movement Gillian glimpsed a stubbornness that revealed itself but rarely.
” ‘Tis a cough from a chill,” he dismissed. “Naught to worry about, child. The days I traveled with Father Aidan were long and wet. I am well,” he insisted. “Now go, Lady Gillian. Tend your patient. He is far nearer the grave than I.”
But Gillian was suddenly stricken. A rending ache pierced her heart. Perhaps it was childish, but it was as if the world that had been so safe and secure her entire life had vanished.
Indeed, it had.
Her father was forever lost to her. Perhaps Clifton as well. Brother Baldric was all that was familiar, all that was left of that world. She could not bear the thought of losing him, too!
But she sensed there would be no dissuading him. She reached up and kissed his cheek. “Look after yourself, Brother Baldric, else I will stand watch over you night and day and make certain that you do,” she warned with mock severity.
He gave a rusty chuckle. “I do believe that you would.” His smile faded. “I will bring clothing the next time I come.” His gaze flitted briefly from the cottage, then back to her.
“Remember, Lady Gillian, do not trust lightly.”
His meaning was not lost on her. Gillian stood motionless, watching as he weaved toward the tall grasses that led to the path.
Papa had urged much the same thing. Be wary, he had said.
An eerie foreboding washed over her. Gareth’s image floated into her mind, dark hair, green gaze of piercing intensity. What part, if any, would he play in her life? she wondered. Would the future bring the return of his past? His
“The day before the attempt on the king’s life, I entered the counting room to speak with Papa. I thought he was alone, but there was someone with him, behind the curtain. I heard Papa speak of the king—and hunting.”
Fear leaped in Brother Baldric’s faded blue eyes. “Lady Gillian, never tell me you know the identity of the other assailant—that you’ve known all along!”
“Nay. I saw but the shadow of a man. Yet I had the feeling I did not know him.”
There was more, for in truth, something elusive nagged at her. More than once she’d experienced the unmistakable feeling there was something she should have remembered about that encounter, something vitally important. She struggled to remember, but alas, it would not come.
It seemed she was no better than the man inside the cottage.
“I was curious,” Gillian went on. “Not long after, I asked Papa who was there with him in the counting room. He was angry, Brother Baldric, and said that I was never to mention it to anyone.”
“Do not,” Baldric said in a strange tone. “Tell no one what you have just told me, Lady Gillian. Tell no one. Indeed, I pray you did not know him—I pray you do not remember—for it might place you in still more danger.”
Gillian looked at him sharply. Was it the gloom of twilight and the coming storm, or had his skin turned a rather ashen gray? She was still striving to decipher both his meaning and his countenance when all at once he bent low, seized by a dry, hacking cough.
Gillian grabbed his arm. “Brother Baldric,” she cried, “are you all right?”
It was some time before the paroxysm ceased and he raised himself upright, still more as he labored for breath and summoned the ability to speak.
“It has passed, child. Do not worry. Now, I must be on my way.”
“Not yet. Please, Brother Baldric, come inside,” she urged. “Wait until the storm passes before returning to the village.” As she spoke, Gillian scanned his features. The sudden pallor of his skin was not due to alarm as she’d first thought, but to sickness.
“Nay. Father Aidan will be expecting me.”
“Brother Baldric, you’re ill!”
“I am not,” he denied. Gillian had twisted her fingers into the sleeves of his robe, but he held himself firm. He straightened his shoulders and seemed to stand a little taller, and in the movement Gillian glimpsed a stubbornness that revealed itself but rarely.
” ‘Tis a cough from a chill,” he dismissed. “Naught to worry about, child. The days I traveled with Father Aidan were long and wet. I am well,” he insisted. “Now go, Lady Gillian. Tend your patient. He is far nearer the grave than I.”
But Gillian was suddenly stricken. A rending ache pierced her heart. Perhaps it was childish, but it was as if the world that had been so safe and secure her entire life had vanished.
Indeed, it had.
Her father was forever lost to her. Perhaps Clifton as well. Brother Baldric was all that was familiar, all that was left of that world. She could not bear the thought of losing him, too!
But she sensed there would be no dissuading him. She reached up and kissed his cheek. “Look after yourself, Brother Baldric, else I will stand watch over you night and day and make certain that you do,” she warned with mock severity.
He gave a rusty chuckle. “I do believe that you would.” His smile faded. “I will bring clothing the next time I come.” His gaze flitted briefly from the cottage, then back to her.
“Remember, Lady Gillian, do not trust lightly.”
His meaning was not lost on her. Gillian stood motionless, watching as he weaved toward the tall grasses that led to the path.
Papa had urged much the same thing. Be wary, he had said.
An eerie foreboding washed over her. Gareth’s image floated into her mind, dark hair, green gaze of piercing intensity. What part, if any, would he play in her life? she wondered. Would the future bring the return of his past? His
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