his hands into the pockets
of his breeches. He was freezing, but uncharacteristically reluctant to leave the young girl's company.
Normally, children made him uneasy and girls the age of this one were a nuisance.
“You should,” Gillian was saying. “I would wager he'll give you magnificent progeny.” She nodded
thoughtfully. “Should you find him a mare suitable to his temperament and size."
“S ... size?” Kaelan stammered, feeling something happen to him that had never happened before in the
presence of a young girl.
“Well, you wouldn't want him to hurt her, would you?” Gillian snapped.
“Oh, god!” The Prince blinked away the embarrassment that was flooding his soul. “You shouldn't talk
like that in front of a man, brat!” he chided her.
“What way?” she challenged.
“Get yourself inside,” he ordered her. “It's too cold out here."
Gillian shrugged, thinking grown ups never really said what they meant. Tugging the great cape closer
around her thin body, she looked him up and down, wondering why he half-turned away from her.
“Unless you're of a mind to catch your death of cold, Your Grace, you'd better go get yourself warm!”
With a toss of her head, she darted back into the Great hall.
“Warm,” Kaelan breathed. He shook his head. Nay, he'd stay right where he was until the cold could do
away with the problem her bold words had engineered.
* * * *
It wasn't until the eve of the Duke of Warthenham's joining to the Countess Elga Junstrom—one month to
the night after that disastrous chat on the balcony—that Kaelan saw the youngest Cree girl again. By
then, he knew her name: Gillian.
As he made his way to the Temple for the ceremony, he thought he heard crying coming from one of the
deep recesses along the corridor. He stopped, listened, and frowned when the unmistakable sounds of a
breaking heart came to him from out of the darkness. Not stopping to consider his actions, he followed
the wretched sobs.
“Go away!"
The command brought him up short. Kaelan sighed. “Gillian?” he questioned, knowing that petulant
voice anywhere.
“I don't need your help, Hesar!"
Hesar? he echoed silently. By the gods, but the little brat was discourteous. He frowned and squeezed
himself through the narrow aperture where the young girl was hiding.
I told you to go away!” Gillian hissed at him.
She was sitting huddled on a ledge, her legs drawn up to her chest. Her entire posture gave off the
impression of bleak despair and the fat candle sitting on the floor cast dark shadows under swollen,
tearful eyes.
“Whatever it is, it can't be this bad,” he said, coming to hunker down before her. “Do you want to talk
about it?"
“Why can't you just go away and leave me alone?” she sobbed.
“Because it hurts me to hear you crying like this,” he said and was surprised that he was speaking the
truth.
“Why should it?” she flung at him. “No one in this bloody cold hell cares anything about me!"
Kaelan had always felt the same way, himself. Her words could well have been echoes of his own from
long ago. “Why do you say that, brat?” he asked quietly.
“Stop calling me brat!” she spat at him.
“Is it the Joining?” he asked, knowing full well that it had to be.
“She's a witch!” Gillian stated.
Kaelan smiled. “I've often thought so, myself."
“She's a whore, too!"
The young girl's words stung him. Had he not been one of the men who had added to the Countess
Elga's reputation? Not that it mattered. But to a young girl whose father was no doubt the center of her
universe, the potential of betrayal would always be there.
“Have you told your father how you feel?” Kaelan asked. Not that that mattered, either. Hadn't Kaelan
tried talking to his own father when the old man had married Anson's mother, Ensula?
“He loves her!” Gillian said, as though it were the greatest betrayal of all.
“Don't you want him happy?"
The teenager's head
of his breeches. He was freezing, but uncharacteristically reluctant to leave the young girl's company.
Normally, children made him uneasy and girls the age of this one were a nuisance.
“You should,” Gillian was saying. “I would wager he'll give you magnificent progeny.” She nodded
thoughtfully. “Should you find him a mare suitable to his temperament and size."
“S ... size?” Kaelan stammered, feeling something happen to him that had never happened before in the
presence of a young girl.
“Well, you wouldn't want him to hurt her, would you?” Gillian snapped.
“Oh, god!” The Prince blinked away the embarrassment that was flooding his soul. “You shouldn't talk
like that in front of a man, brat!” he chided her.
“What way?” she challenged.
“Get yourself inside,” he ordered her. “It's too cold out here."
Gillian shrugged, thinking grown ups never really said what they meant. Tugging the great cape closer
around her thin body, she looked him up and down, wondering why he half-turned away from her.
“Unless you're of a mind to catch your death of cold, Your Grace, you'd better go get yourself warm!”
With a toss of her head, she darted back into the Great hall.
“Warm,” Kaelan breathed. He shook his head. Nay, he'd stay right where he was until the cold could do
away with the problem her bold words had engineered.
* * * *
It wasn't until the eve of the Duke of Warthenham's joining to the Countess Elga Junstrom—one month to
the night after that disastrous chat on the balcony—that Kaelan saw the youngest Cree girl again. By
then, he knew her name: Gillian.
As he made his way to the Temple for the ceremony, he thought he heard crying coming from one of the
deep recesses along the corridor. He stopped, listened, and frowned when the unmistakable sounds of a
breaking heart came to him from out of the darkness. Not stopping to consider his actions, he followed
the wretched sobs.
“Go away!"
The command brought him up short. Kaelan sighed. “Gillian?” he questioned, knowing that petulant
voice anywhere.
“I don't need your help, Hesar!"
Hesar? he echoed silently. By the gods, but the little brat was discourteous. He frowned and squeezed
himself through the narrow aperture where the young girl was hiding.
I told you to go away!” Gillian hissed at him.
She was sitting huddled on a ledge, her legs drawn up to her chest. Her entire posture gave off the
impression of bleak despair and the fat candle sitting on the floor cast dark shadows under swollen,
tearful eyes.
“Whatever it is, it can't be this bad,” he said, coming to hunker down before her. “Do you want to talk
about it?"
“Why can't you just go away and leave me alone?” she sobbed.
“Because it hurts me to hear you crying like this,” he said and was surprised that he was speaking the
truth.
“Why should it?” she flung at him. “No one in this bloody cold hell cares anything about me!"
Kaelan had always felt the same way, himself. Her words could well have been echoes of his own from
long ago. “Why do you say that, brat?” he asked quietly.
“Stop calling me brat!” she spat at him.
“Is it the Joining?” he asked, knowing full well that it had to be.
“She's a witch!” Gillian stated.
Kaelan smiled. “I've often thought so, myself."
“She's a whore, too!"
The young girl's words stung him. Had he not been one of the men who had added to the Countess
Elga's reputation? Not that it mattered. But to a young girl whose father was no doubt the center of her
universe, the potential of betrayal would always be there.
“Have you told your father how you feel?” Kaelan asked. Not that that mattered, either. Hadn't Kaelan
tried talking to his own father when the old man had married Anson's mother, Ensula?
“He loves her!” Gillian said, as though it were the greatest betrayal of all.
“Don't you want him happy?"
The teenager's head
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