Gayle Callen (3 page)

But that was the path to the sins he had once committed. He had to help this woman because honor demanded it, because a good Christian brother always helped those less fortunate. Yet Reynold’s gaze did not look for her soul. He saw long, golden-brown lashes resting on cheeks blushed red from the sun. Her face was saucy, heart-shaped, with lips soft and full for kisses.

Reynold broke into a sweat, but still he could not stop looking at her, could not move away even if the prior himself had come upon them. She was all soft and round and feminine, so small to his bulky body with its awkward height.

He suddenly saw the way his mind was moving, and he was horrified. His lust was unforgivable—only her safety mattered. For just one moment, her white, still face reminded him sharply of Edmund’s face.

My God, Edmund. It was still almost too painful to think of his brother, who had labored so long over books that his skin rarely saw the sun. That was what had brought Reynold to Katherine, her weakness, her need. He had tried to crush these things in his brother, as if such people weren’t worthy of the great knight, Sir Reynold Welles. He had paid for that pathetic arrogance, paid over and over with his brother’s blood. He had vowed to take his brother’s place as best he could, to atone for his sins, to help any poor soul who needed him, no matter the task. And yet—

And yet he was a man who appreciated spirit and courage, of which he suspected this girl had
aplenty. He would help her, though resisting her appeal might prove harder than any penance he had suffered.

Stretching out one arm, he rested his head upon it and continued to gaze at her. Her eyes suddenly opened and looked straight into his.

K
atherine choked back the scream that threatened to erupt from her throat. She lay face to face with the monk, body beside body, the heat of him overpowering the cold of the earth below. He stared at her from under dark brows, with eyes whose color she could scarce comprehend. They were a brilliant, clear purple, shining out of the prominent bones of his face, searing her with strength and a terrible intensity. What could he possibly want from her? He could so easily take everything by force.

Katherine scrambled up and away from him, her back against the moor cliff, the chasm closing in on her.

The monk slowly raised himself up on one elbow. “A good morning to you, my lady,” he said.

Clad in only a smock, Katherine crossed her arms over her chest and sank down against the uneven wall. The gritstone scraped her back, but she would do anything necessary to stay far from
the monk. Yet he did not look like one of the brethren anymore.

“Where is your habit?” she asked.

He sat up and glanced down at the peasant’s short wool tunic he wore belted at the waist. “I borrowed these clothes from the almoner’s supply. Surely you and I are people in need.”

She didn’t answer, but remained staring at his hairy legs.

The monk shrugged. “I have stockings here somewhere.”

Katherine looked away from those intense eyes. “You don’t look like a monk anymore.”

“Is that bad? We do not wish to be noticed, after all.”

“We” again, she thought, and shivered. She had once wished her life were not so boring; now she sat before a monk while wearing nothing but a smock. Her dirty feet were bare, and her long hair unbound and snarled.

“My lady, what is your name?”

She hesitated. Could he be her enemy, part of the plot to lull her into security? She could not risk her information for the king. “Katherine.”

“Lady Katherine…”

He drew out her name, waiting, but she remained silent.

“Do you remember more, my lady?”

She nodded.

“Yet you will not tell me.”

“I can’t,” she said, hugging her knees to her chest.

“Why? Have I done something to lose your trust?”

She bit her lip, trying to suppress a hysterical laugh. Her trust? No one had her trust anymore, least of all this dark monk who’d secreted her inside the earth. “Brother, please, understand that I can trust no one. A man kidnapped me.”

“Someone might resort to kidnapping if he desired to wed you for your dowry, but why imprison you at St. Anthony’s?”

“Since I am already betrothed, perhaps they feared a confrontation?”

The monk watched her from beneath his low brows. There was nothing soft about his face; it was all hard angles and strong bones. She could not help but study him, fascinated despite her wariness. From the pale training scars etched across his hands, she guessed he had not always been a man of God. And when his unusual eyes pierced her, saw through her, she couldn’t look away.

“You do not believe that,” he said. “You know exactly why they took you. But you will not tell me.”

She blinked her eyes against the entrancement of his gaze, and turned her head away. “I can tell no one,” she whispered, rubbing her arms. “I trusted someone once, and was stolen from my home. I will not risk that again.”

“Do you plan to return home?”

“I can’t. They will be waiting for me.”

“Where will you go?” he demanded, firing each question at her until her head spun.

“Nottingham.”

“Do you have relatives there?”

“Yes!” she said, smiling weakly to give credence to her lie. Was this a search for information? Now that he was outside the monastery, could he indulge his own plans for her? Katherine sighed. She hated feeling that everyone was an enemy, but she had no choice.

The monk stared at her in cold silence, obviously seeing through her deception. “Do you still plan to travel alone?”

Katherine nodded. “I do not wish to endanger you.”

“You will be vulnerable to any man who comes upon you,” he said quietly.

She recognized the truth of those words. Her face burned and she refused to meet his gaze.

“I could protect you.”

Katherine looked up at him. His voice was hard and unyielding, his body massive. No gentle words of God’s love had yet passed his lips. “Then I would be vulnerable to you,” she finally said.

He nodded, then fixed her with the brilliance of his gaze. “I give you my word of honor I will not harm you.”

A familiar pain twisted her heart. “A monk’s word does not mean much.”

He stiffened and slowly got to his feet. Looking down on her from his great height, he said, “Mine does.”

Katherine felt suddenly small against this monk’s anger, something she thought could be as
overwhelming as his body. When he knelt down in front of her, she pressed back hard against the uneven wall, trembling uncontrollably, tears burning her eyes. Black robes still haunted her dreams, and now they’d come back to torment her waking hours.

The monk searched her face a moment, then sat back on his heels. “Why do you fear men who have taken God’s vow?”

Katherine forced herself to look up into his eyes. “Because in my experience, they seldom keep it.”

He remained close to her, staring at her with dark heavy brows lowered over eyes she still could not believe were true. He seemed perhaps honest, definitely determined, but Katherine could no longer find it in her heart to give away her trust.

But she knew when to give up the fight. What choice did she have? A woman alone would not last in this dangerous countryside, now that the threat of war inflamed men’s minds. She smoothed the smock over her knees. “You said there was a gown to wear over this? And something about food?”

He smiled, and it transformed his face. He looked truly happy to be of service. Katherine should be thankful he seemed dedicated to his vows; instead the thought of them made her uneasy. He was large and strong, obviously not bred for the clergy.

“What is your name?” she finally asked.

The monk’s dark head lifted as he reached into his sack. “Reynold.”

“Brother Reynold,” she said.

He nodded once.

“Brother Reynold, do you know how to reach Nottingham?”

“I do, but I am not convinced that you have relatives there.”

Katherine forgot herself for a moment and smiled at him. “I don’t. But I must arrive there soon. ’Tis either that or wander about on the moors, for I will not tell you where my family lives.”

Brother Reynold tossed a brown woolen gown onto her knees and Katherine grimaced.

“And I should ask no more questions?” he said, rummaging once more in his sack.

She nodded as she stood and turned her back, drawing the sleeveless gown over her head and knotting the crude leather belt.

“My lady, though I am curious about your intentions, do not think that I will let you follow a whim.”

Katherine combed her fingers through her hair as she faced him. “Then I will walk alone and you will follow if you like. But we will still go to Nottingham.”

From his wallet of provisions, Brother Reynold brought out a round loaf of bread and a moldy piece of cheese, which Katherine pounced on. For once she did not care what someone thought of her appetite.

“Heaven help us,” he said, eyeing her with a dubious frown.

The horse, big and dull from field work, kept its head down, following a faint path through the grasses of the moor. The red-haired man pushed a ragged wool cap off his forehead as he squinted up at the hot morning sun. He wiped sweat off his crooked nose, and rubbed the ache that had already settled into his neck. He was sure the girl had come this way, running back to Durham and her father.

The monk’s aid had come as a surprise. He had been warned this could happen, but he had not heeded it. It mattered little. He was sure the monk would pose no problem. And he always finished the job. He had sworn to keep the girl safe, but nothing had been said about interfering fools. This one would be easy. The monastery didn’t prepare a monk for life on the road with a hunted girl.

Katherine watched the monk gather up their old clothes and bury them at the back of the chasm. He was so broad and tall, all bone and hard muscle. He did not look like any priest she had known, with either their fat bellies full of good living, or bodies pale and slender with fanaticism. His short-sleeved tunic revealed arms that rippled with his movement. She had never allowed herself to study a man’s arms before. His hands were stained with blotches of dark coloring, perhaps ink.

“What ails you?” she asked, pointing to the dirty rag wrapped around his elbow.

Brother Reynold’s vivid eyes peered out at her.
“We had best begin moving, Lady Katherine. Your captor should assume that by now, we are long gone from the monastery. Can I conclude that if he thinks you will run home to your father’s protection, it is somewhere other than Nottingham?”

After a moment, Katherine nodded. She would give away none of her secrets. She watched him draw on woolen stockings to his knees, then don rough leather boots with wooden soles. She wriggled her bare toes.

“Do you have any shoes in that magical sack for me?”

He glanced at her feet with a frown. “No boots to fit a small woman, but I found some heavy cloth shoes, more sturdy than those you were wearing.”

Katherine laced her feet into them and straightened. The monk was watching her again and her shivers began as bumps that raced up her arms. She did not sense any menace in him. Then again, she thought bitterly, she was hardly a good judge of men.

Brother Reynold stepped outside their small chasm, and the sun turned him into a blazing statue. Katherine huddled into herself, waiting for her tormentors to find them, for arrows to pierce his chest. Instead he arched his back and looked up at the sun, as if soaking it in. Probably praying, she decided.

“Come, my lady. I see no one.”

When the monk reached a hand to her, Katherine avoided it and stepped out into the sunshine.
The air was already hotter than normal, though the cool earth had shielded them.

Brother Reynold bowed and gestured ahead of himself. “You wished to lead, Lady Katherine?”

She raised her chin and walked a few steps beyond him, then turned when he did not follow.

“Unless you long for the wilds of Scotland, I suggest you come this way, my lady.”

The monk began to walk in the opposite direction, leaving Katherine no choice but to catch up with him. She forgot about the gown which had not been tailored shorter than normal as her own were. She tripped over the hem and sprawled into the monk, her hands landing flat on his backside. She gasped in mortification and dropped to her knees. He caught her up, and before she could pull from his embrace, she saw him grimace. She quickly lifted her hands from the warm, contoured skin of his arms.

“’Tis your elbow,” Katherine said, dusting off her dress.

Brother Reynold hefted his sack over his shoulder. “Perhaps it would heal if someone would have taught you how to walk.”

She squinted up into his dark face, haloed by the sun. Was he angry with her? She saw a flash of white teeth and relaxed, then caught herself. She mustn’t relax, not ever.

Brother Reynold offered his arm but Katherine declined, holding up her skirt as she walked beside him. The air hung hot and sultry, and her hair clung to her neck. Before them stretched rolling
hills covered in sparse grass, with occasional clusters of trees in the distance. No houses or people anywhere, just the two of them. Katherine swallowed hard and glanced at the monk.

“Your elbow…?” she prompted.

“A bloodletting yesterday.”

She grimaced, hugging her weak arm, which had many times suffered the same indignity. “Are you ill?”

“The brethren believe that an occasional bloodletting strengthens a man, purifies him.” He glanced sidelong at her and Katherine looked away. “’Twas the only way to be relieved from Night Offices. They would not miss me while I rescued you.”

Katherine stumbled, but caught herself in time. “You did that for me?”

He shrugged and kept walking, forcing her to keep up with him.

“Why did you do it? What am I to you that you risked your health for me?”

“Someone in need of help,” he said, slitted eyes gazing across the moor as if he could protect her from anything.

“But your calling—won’t they miss you?”

He hesitated and once again a strange emotion darkened his face. “They will not miss me overly much.”

“Will they take you back?”

“Almost certainly. I am the youngest and the strongest. They need me.”

Katherine fell silent, and her thoughts turned to
her family. Her father must be terribly worried. Did he think her dead, killed by wild animals? Did he have men searching the forest for her body? But her mother—Katherine doubted the woman even cared that she was gone. She was probably on her knees in her drafty, bare room, fasting, praying that Katherine did not humiliate the family by being compromised by her abductor.

As Reynold walked along, he felt the springiness of the ground beneath his feet, and the sun beating down upon his head with ferocity. He did not mind. For the first time in many a month, he was content to wait for what the day would bring. The air was fresh, not tainted with bitterness and neglect, as at Saint Anthony’s. But that was the life he must return to. It was all he deserved.

Far in the distance, he saw a large flock of sheep, grazing slowly along a hillside. The shepherd saw them, and Reynold waved. The woman beside him stiffened.

“Brother Reynold, how could you call attention to us? We are on a mission of utmost secrecy!”

“Are we?” he countered, looking askance at her with amused tolerance. “Pray inform me.”

He knew she would not. Instead Lady Katherine straightened her shoulders and walked a little ahead of him, as if she could possibly keep up the pace.

“I waved because by not appearing friendly, we appear suspicious. Would you have the youngster tell whoever might follow us that he saw two strangers to this countryside?”

Her chin lowered a notch. “I had not thought of that.”