The Truest Heart Read Free Page B

stayed with him. I should have stayed with Papa!”
    “He would not have allowed it.”
    He was right. Her father could be so stubborn. Yet still the memory speared her heart, her very soul. From the moment she’d seen her father so many weeks ago, she had prayed for the best… all the while fearing the worst.
    Alas, it had come to pass.
    Events of the outside world were slow to reach this remote corner of the land, but earlier in the month Baldric had come with news. There was discontent among the barons; that they had ever come together at Running-Mead seemed a miracle.
    But there was more … it was with obvious reluctance that he’d delivered the heartrending news that her father had been caught… and was now dead.
    Gillian could not help it. A hot ache filled her throat. She choked back a sob.
    “Painful though it is—small comfort that it is— try to remember, it was God’s will.”
    “God’s will that my father take his own life? God’s will that he was buried in unconsecrated ground?” Her tone laid bare the bitterness etched deep in her breast.
    “I can see why your faith would be tested. But I pray, do not do this, Lady Gillian.”
    “My father did not take his life because he was weak—because he was afraid. He took it rather than give up another to the king’s wrath. Nay, he was not weak—it is I!”
    “Nay, child, nay! I am proud of you, for not many could live as you do—here, alone with only an old man for companionship. You are strong, Lady Gillian. Strong enough to face the future.”
    Alone? That single word unspoken seemed to hover between them. For alas, she did not feel strong. Though she was a woman full grown, she felt weak as a mewling child. This austere existence was a far different life than she had lived at Westerbrook. … Fleetingly she wondered how King Henry’s wife Eleanor had lived in exile for sixteen long years. Yet it was not what Brother Baldric thought. Nay, in truth it was not the loneliness that Gillian minded … but the storms.
    “I leave with Father Aidan to accompany him to the east, Lady Gillian. But before I leave, walk with me a while. It will do you good.”
    Brother Baldric was right. She must not give in to despair. Nor would she cause him worry—indeed, it almost seemed as if the myriad lines in his forehead were etched even deeper as he gazed at her imploringly. In truth, she decided, surely she fretted enough for both of them.
    “Ah, Brother Baldric. What would I do without you to guide me?” She reached out and gave his thin shoulders a quick, fond hug. He was a humble man; he’d grown to manhood poor and remained poor by choice.
    Together they set out on the trail that cut along the edge of the beach. As they walked, she glanced over at him. “Is there news of the kingdom?”
    Brother Baldric sighed. “All is unchanged, I fear. The barons rumble, yet King John remains unchallenged.”
    The soft line of Gillian’s lips tightened. She was convinced there was naught but vile blackness in the king’s soul—naught but darkness in the heart of John of England … or John Softsword as he was referred to in snide snickers by some of his subjects.
    “John is a fiend.” Her tears vanished and her eyes flashed as she voiced her opinion of the king aloud. “He promised his mother Eleanor when he captured Arthur of Brittany that no harm would befall the prince. No doubt he thought he was so clever, for he showed those who had been captured with Arthur no violence. Yet they were given no food, and what is that if not cruelty? Arthur was never seen again once he was imprisoned in Rouen. How can there be any doubt that he was killed and his body thrown into the Seine? How can the people not know that John is a monster? He is a dangerous man. Ah, that we, his loyal subjects, should be subject to his whimsy. He cares not about his people— the people of England,” she went on fervently, “but only of his own greed!”
    “That is something the world may