Gayle Callen (15 page)

If she gave James a chance, he might be gentle,
but always her secret would lie between them. Should she tell him the truth, that she was a virgin no longer? It might ease her conscience, but he would demand revenge upon Reynold, and possibly her father, for she had broken the vows of the contract. Now was not the time. Reynold was still too close, too vulnerable.

Katherine donned a wine-colored gown with a fitted bodice and low-slung jeweled girdle. A maid silently brushed out her hair and covered it with a soft golden hood and a veil falling down her back. Katherine looked sedate and respectable, a lady, not a peasant. Why was she so miserable? Why did she feel such a fraud?

After mass in the chapel, Katherine sat on the raised dais next to James, picking at her morning meal of porridge, bread, and ale. She felt uncomfortable being the center of attention, uneasy, as if everyone could guess all the terrible things she had done in her life. James sat beside her, occasionally conversing with his steward or the sergeant-at-arms.

She stared listlessly at her food, wishing that her longed-for meeting with James had never happened. She hugged her arm to her chest.

“Katherine?”

She lifted her head with a start. “Yes, James.”

“You seem very distracted this morning. I hope your journey is not weighing on your mind.”

She smiled weakly.

“You’ve done a brave thing, and I’m sure the king will appreciate it.” James took a sip of ale,
but his gaze remained on her. “What did you say the name of your benefactor was?”

Katherine forced a chunk of bread down her dry throat. “He wouldn’t tell me his name.”

“No? Didn’t you consider that odd?”

“He rarely spoke at all. I think he was worried someone at the monastery would find out he had aided me.”

James nodded thoughtfully, with the faintest frown etching his brow. Katherine prayed for a release from these embarrassing questions, prayed that James would forget a man had ever helped her. But her prayers only produced Reynold himself.

He sat at the farthest trestle table from hers. She ached with longing to be sitting thigh to thigh with him, not on display. Only the crown of his cloth hat was visible as he bent over his meal. He wasn’t eating. With a sudden stab of pain, Katherine realized he was praying. Her guilt doubled and she prayed that God would understand that everything was her fault. Reynold suddenly looked up, and Katherine’s emotions swung to fear. His beard had thickened, making him seem even more like a stranger, remote, cold. He gave her a glare that would frost a desert.

R
eynold clutched the eating knife loaned to him by one of the servants. He had never realized how truly painful it would be to watch Katherine laugh and talk and flirt with his brother. Her dark red gown emphasized the creamy flesh above her breasts, something only his eyes and mouth had touched. Katherine hid her golden curls beneath a veil, but in his mind he saw them tumbling across his skin—a sight James would soon see.

Reynold looked down at his trencher, willing himself to eat for strength, but his stomach seemed overfull with the emotions he could never show again. James would have everything he’d ever wanted, a wealthy, beautiful bride. Their sister Margery would have Reynold’s holdings for her dowry.

And Reynold? He would have the church as his penance. With that he would have to comfort himself at night in his cold, lonely bed. He would have no wife, no children.

Reynold gripped the knife with white-knuckled violence, barely keeping himself from glaring at his brother. He stared at his hands instead. When he realized that violence raged through him, he dropped the knife in disgust.

He heaved a sigh and slumped lower on the bench, resting his elbows on the table. None of this was James’s fault. Reynold’s own arrogance had been his downfall, and caused his brother’s death. He remembered the sound of James’s hoarse cry of pain when Edmund breathed his last. Reynold knew he did not deserve Katherine, but he wasn’t sure James did either. Would he make her happy? Would he cherish her for her strength, her loyalty? Even her sweet clumsiness plucked at Reynold’s heart.

He frowned and picked at his food. Why had James barely visited Katherine during their betrothal? For once he wished he and his brother were closer, that he knew his brother’s mind.

Perhaps Reynold really did belong cloistered away. Regardless of his sins, he could not stop this envy of his brother, which feasted on his soul and tore him apart. He stood up, stepped over the bench behind him, and left without another glance at Katherine.

Katherine gladly waved good-bye to James as he and his men rode out to hunt. She needed to be alone. Only then would Reynold come to say good-bye, as she knew he must. She spent the afternoon in her room, with a frame, cloth, and
thread given to her by a serving woman. The needlework was mind-numbing in its monotony, and as Katherine stared at it, she realized the rest of her life would be like this. Oh, she would live in grander rooms, dress in fine clothes, even rule the servants, if she were lucky. She would be the wife of an earl and bear his heirs.

Katherine sniffed and dabbed at her wet eyes. At least she would have children to comfort her. Suddenly all the air seemed to leave her lungs and Katherine stifled a cry. Heirs. She dropped a hand to her stomach and felt it twist into knots. She could already be pregnant with Reynold’s child.

Gasping in air, she covered her mouth and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Tears dripped down her cheeks. Unless she married James soon, her shame would be known by everyone, her dowry forfeit, her family dishonored. Why had none of this seemed important when Reynold held her in his arms? She buried her face in her arms and sobbed.

That night sleep eluded Katherine with a subtlety that was exhausting. She would doze off, only to see Reynold’s face, hear his voice in her ear as they lay in a naked embrace. She tossed and turned for a comfortable position. Again, he appeared in her dreams, this time glaring his hatred.

Katherine groaned and rolled onto her back. A large hand suddenly covered her mouth, pressing her lips against her teeth. She stiffened in wide-
eyed terror, then relaxed as she saw Reynold’s face looming over her.

He released her and stepped away from the bed. He was tall and broad, filling the small room with his forbidding presence. His face with its low brows was shadowed by flickering firelight, his expression unreadable.

“I knew you’d come,” she breathed, unable to stop herself from staring at him.

“You think I am so enamored of you that I have no will of my own?” His low voice was laced with bitterness.

Katherine lowered her gaze, feeling his pain as her own. “You know that’s not true. I only hoped that I would be able to say good-bye, to thank you for all that you’ve done for me.”

“You wish to thank me for stripping you of your prized virginity?”

“That was more my fault than yours,” she said, wishing she could take away his bitterness.

“I do not see it that way.”

“You should!” She covered her mouth and looked quickly at the door.

“Katherine—”

“Can we not say good-bye in a civilized manner, instead of hating ourselves for the sins we’ve committed?”

“I try not to hate myself!” he answered fiercely, bracing himself on one knee beside her. “I hate that you must give yourself to him.”

“Give—but Reynold, you act as if I have a choice.” Katherine leaned back, looking up as he
filled her vision. “There is a contract between our families. I cannot turn my back on it and bring shame on my father.”

“Perhaps he’s brought shame on you.”

“What are you saying?”

“Have you not considered how careful your kidnapper was not to hurt you? Do you think a stranger would have ordered such treatment?”

“But I am an earl’s daughter!” she insisted.

“Perhaps the earl has a secret to hide,” he said.

Katherine felt anger well up inside her. “Are you implying that my own father had me stolen away, locked up?”

Reynold still loomed above her, but she wouldn’t back down, even in the face of his ominous silence.

“Not for a moment do I believe my father had anything to do with this. One of the traitors arranged this and I hope to discover who. Please do not bring up such foolishness again.”

He looked away from her, absently rubbing the skirt of her smock between his fingers. She watched his strong hands, and saw that they were trembling.

“Reynold—”

“I am sorry for upsetting you.” He turned earnest, violet eyes on her face. “When I watch you with him, I am not myself. I see you sitting close to him, wearing garments he gave you—”

“But I have nothing else!”

“—laughing at his stories—”

“Do I have a choice?” she demanded, pulling
her skirt away from his hand and inching backwards on the bed. “He is my future husband. He has the power to kill you for what we’ve done. Do you think I want him to have time to remember you, to wonder who you are and where you’ve gone?”

Reynold brought his other knee onto the bed and leaned forward, bracing himself on his arms. His body hovered over her legs, and Katherine drew them up as close to her body as she could. Her breathing quickened and her flesh began to tingle, remembering his hands upon her. She couldn’t allow this to happen again.

“Reynold—”

“You do this for me?” he asked softly, his breath touching her hair, her face. “You worry for me?”

“You’re wrong,” she said, but her voice was unconvincing. She was having trouble remembering their conversation. All she could think about were his muscled arms on either side of her legs, trapping her in the bed.

“Why are you shaking, my lady?” he whispered, leaning nearer.

Katherine saw him in her memory, naked, his body covering hers, pressing into her flesh until they were joined.

“I’m c-cold,” she said without thinking—and immediately regretted it.

“Allow me to warm you.”

She sank back on her pillow in excited dismay as he rose above her. Cool lips touched her cheek, stubbled chin brushed against her own. He
smelled as sharp and clean as the outdoors. She tried to push him away, and he kissed her fingers, her palms, until she cupped his head between her hands.

“Reynold.” She whispered his name with pained regret, suddenly wishing with new understanding that he was her betrothed.

His mouth covered hers, his lips soft, yet insistent. She kissed him back with no restraint, saying good-bye the only way she could. Their tongues met and dueled with desperation, while his body pressed hers down into the coverlet. But when he touched her breast through the thin linen, she shoved hard against him and turned her face away.

“I can’t betray him again,” she whispered, more to herself than to Reynold. His body lifted off hers and she closed her eyes in relief, willing her tears to remain hidden.

“I am always apologizing,” Reynold said, moving away from the bed.

“Then let this be the last time.”

He bowed his head. “As you wish, my lady. I shall be gone in the morning.”

“’Tis for the best,” she said, unable to look at him. “Every moment you stay you risk discovery. James did not like the idea of my being alone with a strange man.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“No. I just don’t wish to give him the chance to question my story.”

“Good-bye, Katherine.”

Her throat tightened and her eyes misted over. She blinked and slowly looked up at him. Her heart twisted and seemed to die within her. “Farewell, Reynold.”

“Brother Reynold,” he said.

Katherine could feel the tears pushing at her eyes, the sobs catching in her throat. And then he was gone, as silent as a cat. She sank back in the bed, pulled the coverlet over her head, and let the tears come.

Before dawn, Reynold knelt on the cold stone floor of the chapel, his head bowed as he asked the Almighty for forgiveness. Just one more sin, he thought, clutching the habit he had stolen from the priest. By meager candlelight, he dressed and slipped out the door.

In the gray light, the castle dogs gathered around him, whining for his attention. He patted them absently, nodding to the passing soldiers who staggered to their pallets after a night on duty. They bowed to his black Benedictine robe and Reynold’s smile turned grim beneath the cowl. He no longer deserved the respect they accorded him. He would have to earn it all over again, and the thought was hardly pleasant.

At the gatehouse, the guards retreated a step when he walked by. As the first sunlight touched the trees, Reynold began his journey to the monastery, back to his search for family power, back to loneliness and atonement for even more sins.

James paced before the hearth as he awaited Katherine’s appearance. He wondered if he could find a moment alone with her, taste more of her kisses. But he had not been the only one alone with her, he thought, frowning.

Sipping a tankard of ale, he watched the servants stack the trestle tables against the wall after the morning meal. Katherine had claimed her traveling companion innocent of touching her. From his first impressions of her many years ago, he could have believed a man would not be tempted.

But now, when he watched the mysterious depths of her blue eyes, the swell of her breasts—a lone man would have trouble resisting such temptation. But Katherine had not seemed frightened or even guilty. Still, the man had asked for no reward. James didn’t believe in good deeds. And he had a very bad feeling about it. It couldn’t possibly be—

He gulped down the rest of his ale and called for his sergeant-at-arms. A few moments later, Galway appeared, breathing heavily from his morning broadsword practice.

“Yes, milord?”

“The man who accompanied Katherine—you said he escaped the dungeon by himself?”

“Aye, milord.”

“Did he leave the castle immediately?”

“’E was seen at a meal or two, milord. Should I ’ave watched him?”

James shook his head. “Has he been seen today?”

“Not by me.”

“What does he look like?” he asked, then waved away the question. “Just bring him here.”

An hour later, as James walked through the lady’s garden with Katherine on his arm, Galway stopped outside the gate and waited.

“I’ll be back in a moment, my dear,” James said, leading her to a bench. As she leaned over to admire the flowers, he sighed. How could a woman always be content in a garden? Flowers—just sat there.

Galway walked along the curtain wall with him. “Milord, the man ’asn’t been seen since yesterday afternoon.”

James cursed softly.

“I did find out somethin’. A monk left ’ere at dawn today. Father Carstairs doesn’t know ’im.”

James felt disaster creeping all around him. “Katherine says a laborer from the monastery helped her escape. Perhaps….” He headed for the stables at a fast walk, calling over his shoulder, “Give the lady an excuse for my absence.”

At the sound of horse’s hooves on the deserted dirt road, Reynold cursed his luck. There was no time to hide. But why should he? Katherine was safe, and he was merely a monk once again. The horse slowed to a walk as it approached him, and he resisted looking over his shoulder.

“Brother!”

As he recognized the voice, Reynold grimaced, knowing his luck had turned. He felt an irrational
urge to flee, but he could hardly outrun a horse. He glanced desperately towards the trees, then gave up the thought of escape.

James’s voice was cold. “Are you the man who helped my betrothed, Lady Katherine Berkeley?”

Ducking his head so the cowl draped over his face, Reynold nodded. He kept putting one foot in front of the other.

The horse moved up alongside him, and he could smell the sweat of the animal, hear the breathing that sounded as ragged as his own. Why this fear of confronting his brother? Was he afraid James would read the guilt on his face? Or was it that Reynold would be hard pressed to quell the bitterness on his tongue?

“Brother, the morning is hot,” James said. “Allow me to share a horn of ale with you.”

With a sigh, Reynold halted. Resistance was useless. James dismounted with a squeak of leather. Perhaps Reynold could sip the ale quickly, without showing his face, and be on his way. He watched in dismay as James drained half the container himself. Reynold was trying to imagine how he could keep his face hidden and still drink, when James suddenly jerked the cowl backwards and tossed the contents into his face.