Gayle Callen (23 page)

“D
id you hear me, girl?” the priest demanded. “What is your name?”

Reynold looked baffled by her behavior, but Katherine could not explain.

She licked her dry lips and kept her eyes downcast. “Father, I have never traveled through this village before. You must be mistaken.”

When the priest remained silent, Katherine busied herself with Reynold’s leg. As she rewrapped his wound, she wished desperately for medicine, but she could ask no favors of her childhood tormentor. When Reynold clasped her arm to get her attention, she narrowed her eyes and gave a barely perceptible shake of her head. He was so weak that he closed his eyes and slipped from consciousness. Biting her lip, she leaned over him and felt his forehead.

“If he does not live,” the priest said, “I have not the men nor money to bury him.”

“He will live,” Katherine replied fiercely, glar
ing at the man. She saw her mistake immediately.

The priest frowned and stared at her. She held her breath, unable to look away from those black, hate-filled eyes. They suddenly narrowed and Katherine gasped as he gripped her arm with a cruel hand.

“Lady Katherine, you have aged well,” he said, his voice a reptilian hiss.

She shuddered. “Release me at once,” she said, with the hollow echo of authority in her voice.

His grin was slow and smooth, stretching the wrinkled skin of his face. His eyes danced with sudden merriment.

“I never thought to see you again, my lady. The parish does not provide me adequate funds for travel. How kind of you to come to me instead.”

Katherine leaned protectively over Reynold. “Stop this foolish pretense at politeness.”

“Why, my lady, I am ever polite,” he said, genially spreading his hands wide. He glanced down at Reynold’s still face and a flicker of distaste glittered in his eyes. “This poorly dressed man is your husband?”

Katherine knew she was not a very good liar, so she skirted the question. “We have been traveling, and did not wish to attract attention.”

“Traveling while a war is about to begin? With no retainers or guards?” The priest’s eyebrows rose towards his bald head.

“My husband insisted.”

He clucked his tongue. “How foolish of him. Yet how fortunate that you came upon my humble lit
tle church.” He looked up at the smoke-darkened timbers of the roof. “I have not the amenities you are used to, ’tis certain. I have no amenities at all, thanks to your father.”

Katherine’s stomach tightened with dread as the priest’s voice seemed to rise with each word. She clutched Reynold’s hand and wished to God that he would awaken.

“My father did nothing to you.”

“Oh, but he did, my lady Katherine.”

He suddenly grabbed a handful of her hair, yanked back her head, and forced her gaze to meet his. Katherine cried out and clawed at his hands.

“I told you not to tell anyone, didn’t I?”

When she couldn’t answer, he shook her head violently.

“Didn’t I?”

“I was frightened!” she cried, feeling tears well from her eyes as strands of her hair tore from her scalp. “But it did not matter. My mother didn’t believe me.”

“Perhaps you thought not, but your father chose to punish me regardless.”

“Punish?” She gasped as the priest pulled her head so far back she thought her neck would snap. The revelation that her father knew and had believed her made her feel relief that lasted but a moment.

The priest sneered. “I, though nobly born, was banished to this peasant parish, with no hope of advancement, no need for my special skills and
great intellect. I have been made to work in the fields!”

“There were not enough young girls for you?” Katherine spoke before thinking.

His fist struck the side of her face, and she fell hard to the dirt floor. She braced herself on her hands, trembling, trying to gather the strength to kill him. She knew one of them would have to die. There was no doubt in her mind that he deserved it.

The priest grabbed the back of her gown, hauling her to her feet with a power she didn’t think him capable of. He pulled her backwards against his body, his arm like a snake about her waist. She vividly remembered everything about him, the harsh projections of his hip bones, the wiry strength of his muscles. Time seemed to slip away from her as she heard his harsh breathing at her ear, felt his hands grope her breasts. She was a child again, terrified and alone.

“That’s it,” he murmured in her ear, “do not fight me, young miss.”

Katherine remembered those words, relived her fright and confusion. His hands made her feel dirty, and she had vowed never to feel that way again.

She jabbed her elbow into his stomach and the priest grunted. He caught her flailing wrists with one hand, and with the other ripped the neckline of her gown. Katherine screamed until her voice went hoarse. She kicked at his legs and flung her body from side to side, anything to avoid the
loathsome feel of his callused, boney hand on her bare flesh.

He threw her hard to the floor, knocking the air from her lungs and bruising her ribs. Panting, she reached for Reynold’s boot only inches from her fingers. The priest gripped her ankle and dragged her backwards. Katherine’s panic erupted in a sob, as tears blurred her vision.

“Reynold!” she screamed, but he lay like one dead. Was he gone from her, leaving her all alone to face a madman? She felt the priest tearing at her skirts, grasping at her bare legs. Katherine twisted and flailed in his grip, her face scraping the rough floor. With a sob she kicked up behind her. The priest gave a high-pitched shriek and fell back. He rolled on the floor, clutching between his legs, invoking curses that burned her ears.

Her bruised chest heaving, Katherine crawled towards Reynold and grabbed the eating knife from his belt. She scrambled to her feet and backed away from the priest, holding the knife before her in a shaky fist. The room seemed to shiver between the tangled strands of hair in her eyes. The priest had ceased to groan. His face dripping sweat, he pushed himself to his feet and stepped around Reynold’s body. He lifted the walking stick up menacingly.

“You should not have done that, my lady,” he said. His bleached face cracked in a hideous grin.

The stick weaved in tiny circles. Katherine’s tired eyes followed. She shoved the knife towards him and he backed up a step.

“Stay away from me!” she cried. “I’ll kill you, I swear it!”

He laughed in a low, hypnotic voice. “No, my dear, your memory is playing tricks upon you. I did nothing you did not want me to do.”

“You lie! I was but twelve years old!” The blade lowered an inch. “You betrayed everything I believed in.”

“My hands upon you felt right,” he said soothingly.

The walking stick glittered in the sudden flash of lightning.

Tears dripped from her eyes. “God help me,” she murmured forlornly.

“Only I can help you, Katherine.” He laughed in triumph and raised his weapon.

As the walking stick whistled down to strike her, Katherine’s soul rebelled. She flung up an arm, barely deflecting the blow. The pain burned, but it seemed like it was happening to another person. She raised the knife high above the priest’s chest, saw his momentary look of terror. Yes, now he knows the fear!

Before Katherine could attack, the priest stiffened and let out a shriek. He fell forward, his body striking hers, knocking them both to the ground.

She screamed and sobbed, twisting beneath his weight. “Never! Never! Never!”

“Katherine!”

Reynold’s beloved voice sounded so far away. She went still, her chest struggling for air, her nose filled with the fetid stench of the priest.

“He’s dead,” Reynold said.

She felt the heavy weight of the corpse being lifted from her. Rolling to her side, she clutched her hands over her bare chest and sobbed. Her bruised ribs ached. She gasped Reynold’s name and he lifted her up, surrounding her with his warmth and tenderness.

“I am here, my sweet,” he murmured into her hair.

“I—I thought you were dead,” she managed to say, her voice hoarse from screaming.

“I shall never leave you,” he said fiercely, hugging her until she groaned. “Forgive my clumsiness—”

“No, hold me tightly, Reynold.” She buried her face in his rough tunic.

“He is the reason you broke your arm?” he asked a few minutes later.

She nodded and burrowed closer. “Oh, Reynold, your leg.”

“Hush, my sweet, it is better. I will not die from so paltry a wound. Tell me what he did to you.”

Katherine blotted her tears against Reynold’s chest and took a deep, shuddering breath. She wished she could forget that the priest was lying dead on the floor. “Let us leave this place first.”

“Katherine, the storm yet rages. And we cannot leave the body like this for all to see. Tell me everything.”

She expected the telling to be difficult, but it all suddenly rushed from her like a river when the damn is broken. How she’d trusted the monk who
advised her mother, how naive she’d been to think that he wanted to be her friend. She’d been so alone, with a mother who would not send her away to be taught a noble wife’s duties, yet ignored the teaching herself.

“I trusted him,” she whispered. She glanced once more at the body and shuddered.

Reynold kissed her brow and the corner of her eye.

“He lured me into his room, and I was so foolish—”

“Cease,” Reynold ordered quietly. “You were a young sweet girl, who knew not the dark side of life.”

“He—he tried to kiss me first, and I thought—I thought he just wanted affection, but didn’t understand—” Katherine swallowed, wishing her words were coherent. “Then he put his tongue in my mouth and—”

She looked up into his face, with those dark brows which hid such generosity and goodness. “It was not that way when I kissed you. He pinched me, and put his hands…he pulled up my skirt—” Shivering, she leaned against Reynold’s chest once more.

Through their silence, the rain beat a steady pulse on the leaky roof. The wind blew gusts of rain past the tattered parchment at the windows. And still Reynold held her, absorbing her sorrow.

He spoke gruffly. “Did he—”

“No. I kicked him and ran. That’s when I stumbled and broke the fall with my arm. I almost wel
comed the blinding pain. I didn’t have to think anymore, I could just…let go.”

“Why did your father banish the priest instead of having him executed?”

She looked up into his eyes, feeling for the first time that her heart would someday recover. “But don’t you see, I never knew my father did anything. I only told my mother, and she didn’t believe me.”

“What?” Reynold lifted his head to look into her face, clearly aghast.

Katherine frowned and carefully smoothed his tunic where she had grasped it. “This changes so many things. Perhaps my mother believed me, but did not know what to do. Or perhaps she told my father, and he believed me.” She gave a ragged sigh. “I can’t tell you what it felt like to think my parents didn’t care…especially my father. I feel so much better, Reynold.”

Then she remembered the body on the floor. “We’ve killed a priest,” she whispered. “What shall we do?”

James Markham jumped away from the window just in time. Rain had long since plastered the hair on his head, and seeped down beneath his armor to wet his padded fustian. He leaned back against the rough wall and tried to pretend he hadn’t seen what he thought he had. But his mind, though dazed, could not deny what had occurred.

He shook his head in bemusement. He almost wished Galway was not so proficient at following
a trail. James had been thankful to find Katharine and Reynold alive, after all the blood he’d seen in the clearing. By the time he had followed the trail of blood to the church, the mad priest was stalking Katherine, spitting words James couldn’t hear over the storm. Just as James was about to leap through the window to Katherine’s rescue, Reynold had risen as if from the dead. If only it had ended there.

James angrily closed his eyes, but the picture was burned in his brain. He could still see Katherine falling into Reynold’s arms, his face bending to hers, his lips kissing her cheeks, her tears. James had turned away before his worst fears could be played out.

He pushed himself away from the wall. He didn’t have time for this, he thought grimly. His men waited nearby, prepared for battle. Forcing his anger aside, James vowed he would deal with Reynold and Katherine later.

K
atherine spent the rest of the stormy day, sitting within Reynold’s arms, staring at the stone altar, behind which they’d hidden the priest’s body. Her gaze was drawn to it continuously, although Reynold tried to distract her with stories of his childhood. Part of her was merely relieved, as if a great weight no longer bowed her head. But another part mourned her childhood and recent years, when she hid her true self. She had never trusted anyone—after all, no one would believe her if they knew the truth.

Reynold knew. He knew and accepted, and perhaps even loved her in spite of it all. Katherine sighed and tucked her head beneath his chin. If only love were all that mattered.

She looked down at herself and surveyed the damage done to her gown and smock. Both were ripped almost to her waist.

“I cannot travel like this,” she said, pointing to her chest.

Reynold looked down, then quickly up again. He cleared his throat. “I have some thin cord we can use to mend your garments. It will be visible, but it will cover you.”

He handed her a knife and string from his sack, then gave her directions while obviously trying not to stare. Katherine fumbled with the knife, afraid she’d cut herself in her attempt to prick new holes to lace up the dress. With a sigh, Reynold finally took the knife away.

They brushed heads as they both bent over her loose bodice. Reynold’s hands seemed to shake as he tore new holes, but Katherine made no mention of it. She breathed in air warmed by his body, touched by his scent. When he began to thread the cord, his knuckles brushed the slope of her breast, and her skin burst into tingling awareness. They broke apart hastily. With clumsy fingers, Katherine finished the lacing herself.

“Reynold,” she whispered, glancing uneasily at the altar, “let us leave here.”

“When lightning no longer singes the trees, we will leave. But first I must take care of your tormentor.”

She grasped his arm as he rose. “But the lightning—”

“Precisely the reason no one will be about. I shall drag the body farther into the forest, where it will look like thieves fell upon him.”

“I’ll help you.” She stood up and ignored his look of disbelief.

“Katherine—”

“You are still weak. Show me what to do.”

He stared into her eyes a moment, then finally relented. “Behind the altar is the door to the priest’s garden. Peer outside for any villagers. But do not let yourself be seen!”

The last of Katherine’s fears began to vanish. She was cleaning up the carnage from some of the worst moments of her life, and it felt right. She even took the priest’s arm and pulled when she worried over Reynold’s injuries.

In the dark, the forest crackled with the energy of the storm, but she refused to allow herself to be cowed. That part of her life was over. She would be brave and do her duty by James, to keep peace between their families. She would be strong enough—she had to be.

Reynold insisted they remain in the church until just before dawn. Though Katherine longed to be on her way to the king, she knew the storm would only hinder them. And still she worried over Reynold’s leg. Sleep would give him time to heal. His fever was gone, the bleeding stopped. She intended that he have as much rest as he needed—which meant no fisticuffs. Surely if the kidnapper were following them, he would have caught up by now.

Reynold drew her against him and sat stiffly, as if he dreaded her touch. Katherine allowed herself to relax in his embrace and sleep, until the grayness before dawn, when he woke her. They left before the few remaining villagers could come to mass.

They traveled between hills and crossed many a flowing stream before making camp that night near water. Reynold’s face was white with strain, but no fresh blood stained his bandage. In silence, they ate the last of the twice-baked bread and dried beef Reynold had brought from Bolton Castle.

The setting sun glinted off the nearby stream with a hazy golden glow. Katherine sighed. It would be wonderful to scrub away the last of her recent ordeal.

“Reynold—”

“Yes, you should bathe,” he said, smiling at her surprised reaction. “Your mind is not hard to read when you gaze so longingly at the water.”

“Do you still have soap?”

Nodding, he delved into his magic sack and came up with a tiny, soft lump of soap wrapped in doth. “I have been meaning to look at the scrape on your face and make sure it is clean.”

She touched her right cheek and winced. “I had forgotten. When he knocked me to the ground…” Her throat tightened, swallowing up her words.

“Do not speak of it,” he said gently.

After getting a rag from his sack, Reynold took her hand and led her to the stream. Together they knelt on the bank, where he dipped the cloth in cool water and dabbed at her cheek. Katherine sucked in her breath and looked up into his face. He frowned as he concentrated, his gentle fingers caressing her with the rag. Katherine let go of the last of her anger at his deceptions and tried to find
peace. Amazing as it seemed, he must truly love her, and she ached for his pain.

The cloth dripped water down her face and neck, trickling between her breasts. Licking her suddenly dry lips, she loosened the laces. She saw Reynold’s gaze drop to her chest. His fingers stilled on her face. His eyes searched hers for a moment, then glanced at her lips.

The slow curl of heat began its insidious crawl below her stomach, winding its way through her body until she felt overwarm and languorous.

His hands framed her face and slid into her hair. “Katherine,” he whispered, then lowered his lips to hers.

With kisses, he caressed her mouth, her cheeks, her forehead, her hair. Katherine leaned into him, her hands on his shoulders, their bodies lightly brushing together. Every sense was aware of him, his mind, his heart, his warm body. He was everything she wanted, but could never keep.

His open mouth captured hers once again. As their tongues met and stroked, she moaned and clasped him tightly to her. His thighs rode between hers and she rubbed herself against him, feeling the roughness of linen across her breasts, and his hard loins between her legs. She was mad with longing for him; nothing and no one else mattered but the feel of his big hands on her body.

Reynold loosened the laces at her neck and reached a hand inside the torn material to cup one breast. He lifted it in gentle hands, teasing the peak while exploring her lips with his. Katherine rev
elled in the feel of his body worshiping hers, showing with his hands and lips how he desired her.

Pulling her harder against his hips, Reynold kissed her neck and the hollow of her throat. Katherine’s head dropped back, giving him access to any part of her he wanted. He pulled the gown off her shoulder and pressed kisses to her collarbone and the curve of her breast.

His lifted his head. “What is this?” he asked, staring at her breasts.

As if in a dream, she allowed him to lift her body toward the last glow of the sunset. Purple bruises dotted her skin.

“He hurt you.” Reynold’s trembling fingers traced the marks.

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Just kiss me, Reynold.”

“Oh, my lady,” he whispered, and the sorrow in his voice shattered Katherine’s heart. Tears stung her eyes and she leaned against him, inhaling the scent that was only Reynold, feeling his warmth and strength surrounding her, protecting her.

He separated their bodies, and before Katherine could even think about what she must do, he lifted the tunic over his head, and discarded his braies. She caught her breath, marveling at how the beautiful lines of his body moved her. Every scar was a piece of his history, every muscle a testament to his dedication. She did not speak, but merely smiled as he gently removed her clothes. When she
tried to come into his arms, he held her back.

“Wait, my lady,” he murmured.

At her low groan of frustration, Reynold looked up at her with sparkling eyes. Still on his knees, he picked up the discarded rag beside them and leaned over the water. Katherine watched the workings of muscle in his arm and side, and could not resist running her hand down his body.

He straightened and paused, his eyes closed, as she traced the muscles of his chest and stomach. Reynold caught her fingers.

“Not so soon,” he said, and picked up his soap.

“What are you—”

“Shhh.”

He soaped the cloth and Katherine felt an excited, anxious shiver run through her body. She was unprepared for the first touch of the wet cloth on her breast; she shuddered with a maddening need for more.

“Let me cleanse you, my lady,” he murmured, rubbing the cloth slowly, mesmerizingly over her breasts. The material grew warm with his movements, and slid over the soapy wetness of her skin. “Forget everything but you and me. I will wash your past and your hurts away.”

Katherine gave a ragged sigh and closed her eyes. Reynold lifted her and eased her back onto his tunic. She surrendered to his warmth, to his sweetness. As the last bright light of day vanished, the trees formed a fresh green canopy over them, and the water murmured in her ear. She lay still and Reynold washed her.

Every movement of the wet cloth against her skin brought her flesh to tingling life and awareness. He lingered at her breasts until she moaned her need of him. Still he tormented her, wiping soap and moisture down her body, following the line of one leg as he encircled it with his hands and massaged downwards. He soaped each foot, lingered at her ankles, then slid the cloth up the inside of her leg.

Katherine shivered with desire. She pressed her hand to her mouth, throwing her head back, arching off the ground. He could not possibly dare to—

He released her legs and began to soap one arm.

Katherine’s tense body sagged back to the ground in disappointment. She heard Reynold’s soft chuckle, but even that faded away as he soaped her fingers and forearm, circled her elbow, and slid up to her shoulders. His wet, soapy hands massaged her breasts, and she shook so hard that she stuttered over her words.

“R-Reynold, please,” she cried, reaching up for him. He eluded her hands and leaned over her to wet the cloth in the river. She lifted her head and licked his nipple. He groaned and sat back.

“Not yet, my sweet Katherine,” he said hoarsely as he dragged the cloth from her breasts down her abdomen. “I am not nearly done with you.”

As the water dripped down her body, she moved restlessly, eyes half-closed, watching Reynold. He parted her legs, and then as he gazed into her eyes, he slid the cloth down between her thighs. Katherine sucked in her breath, then cried
out as a wave of savage desire rolled through her body. He caressed the deepest, pleasure-sensitive part of her, until she shuddered and covered her face.

When his hands left her body, Katherine opened her eyes in a panic. He was suddenly there, covering her, his hard body imprinting itself on her flesh. She wrapped her legs and arms about him as with one thrust he filled her completely. Katherine convulsed into a release of desire so intense, she could only hold him and shake.

And then he began to move, and she could no longer tell where the first burst of passion ended and a new one began. She only knew that every touch of him was like fire in her blood, painful and sweet, and she could never, never have enough.

Reynold lifted his shoulders up and looked down into Katherine’s face. As he slid deeper and deeper into her, she cried out, rolling her head back and forth, and arching her body up to meet every thrust of his. He did not want to lose this image of her, even as the darkness grew ever stronger and their surroundings faded. She was all he would ever want, and she was slipping away. He moved slower, striving to delay the stunning release that would only bring reality back to them again.

When he finally could control his passion no longer, he poured himself into her, shuddering, dropping down to pillow in the softness of her body. Katherine clutched his shoulders, and with a moan, joined him in sweet pleasure.

As their breathing eased, and their racing hearts slowed, Reynold rolled off Katherine and sat up. She slid her hand up his thigh, but he stopped her and got to his feet. He had been so determined that he would not leave their lovemaking with a feeling of melancholy, but the sadness pulled him down. If only he could make her see how pure and good their love was, if only…

As he stood at the edge of the water, looking out into the darkness, she came up behind him and pressed against his back. Her breasts teased him, and instead of rejoicing at her passion, he felt only more depressed.

“Katherine, do not—”

And then she pushed. Reynold tottered on the river bank off-balance, and fell in face-first. He came up sputtering water, to hear her laughing! With a growl he caught her wrist and pulled. She gave a merry scream and fell on top of him, and they both went under.

For the first time in a long while, Reynold felt hope blossoming again in his heart. He chased her along the river’s edge, caught her up and tossed her into the depths. They frolicked like children, then made wild love again beside a fire that lit Katherine’s body with a golden glow. She fell asleep in his arms.

He cradled her against his chest and whispered, “I love you,” over and over into her ear, praying that somewhere deep inside she would hear and understand.