Samantha James (32 page)

That same moment found Guy striding through the doorway of the chamber he'd occupied previously during his stay here. He'd be damned if he'd sleep in that bastard Richard's bed!

He gestured Hugh inside and closed the door. 'There," he muttered. "At least we can speak freely now." He stripped off his leather jerkin and dropped it on the bed. "How goes it here?"

Hugh's mind veered straight to Elizabeth. "Well," he murmured. "Exceedingly well, in fact."

'There's been no insurrection?"

"Only an idle man in the first month or so. Richard was not a man to inspire loyalty among either his tenants or his knights." Hugh's lips tightened. "He was not a man given to compromise or reason. Punishment and retaliation were his only methods of keeping those beneath him in line."

"So anyone might have murdered him then," Guy said slowly.

Hugh smothered a smile. "I take it you've decided Kathryn did not kill him." His friend nodded. He had the grace to look slightly ashamed. "Richard is the last man I'd mourn," Hugh added. "But no one has come forward to admit it."

Guy dropped down on the bed, thrusting a booted leg out in front of him. "I dislike not knowing who murdered him."

Hugh grimaced. "I know, Guy. But I've had no luck in the matter. Frankly, I'm inclined to believe whoever did it may have fled that very night."

When Guy said nothing, Hugh hesitated. "Speaking of Kathryn," he ventured, "I must admit I was startled to see she is with child." A frown puckered his forehead. "Elizabeth confided that she—"

"The child is mine."

Indeed, Hugh thought. He was not about to question his friend's conviction. If Guy's expression was anything to go by, it was sour enough to curdle milk. But as he watched his friend jump up and begin to prowl restlessly around the room, he was unable to still his tongue completely. There were few men who were a match against Guy—and Kathryn was but a woman.

"I see," he said coolly. "And you're angry because your seed found fertile ground in her?"

Guy stopped short. His head swiveled around. He scowled. "I only lay with her twice." He scowled.

"Where a man plows the field the harvest will be yielded. It takes but a single seed to bear fruit, milord."

"Do not look at me like that," he growled. "I didn't know she was with child when I left Sedgewick and took up Henry's flag."
But you should have
, taunted an inner voice. He was furious with himself for failing to consider the possibility she might be with child, for Hugh was right— it took but once. And then when last he lay with her, he remembered thinking her breasts seemed fuller and riper, her nipples rouged a deeper, darker pink. Aye, he should have at least suspected!

His jaw clamped together. "How was I to know when she chose not to tell me? When she learned I was expected home, she sought to flee to a convent! Only by the grace of God was I able to catch her!"

The sight of his mighty lord scrambling to defend himself was immensely amusing. Hugh bit back a smile. "I take it your time with Kathryn has been rather taxing."

Guy snorted. 'That woman would try the patience of a saint."

Hugh sighed. "Did you truly think to tame her? She is much like you, I think. And you've the devil's own temper."

"And she's the devil's mistress!" Guy was rather affronted that his friend was taking Kathryn's side against him.

Hugh sighed. "Guy, you cannot blame her for this."

"I do not intend to." He shoved a hand through his hair and stared broodingly across the room. At length he turned to his friend once more. "Enough of my troubles, Hugh. Let's hear yours instead." He clapped a hand on his shoulder. "When last we saw each other, I swore you were smitten with Elizabeth."

"And still am." Hugh gave a lopsided smile. "Nor do I expect to be otherwise."

Heavy dark brows shot up. "That's quite a prediction, my friend. Is it so serious then?"

Hugh's smile faded. "I do not know if Kathryn has told you," he said slowly. "But their mother was raped and killed, and Elizabeth saw it done. 'Twas Kathryn who told me how Elizabeth has been fearful and timid around any man since then. I've known almost from the start that I loved her, but for that reason I've had to bide my time and go very slowly with her. My only regret is that I have so little to offer Elizabeth." A light like a thousand suns filled his eyes. "But I think she loves me, Guy. Nay, I know she loves me and will take me as I am. So as soon as I'm certain she's ready, I intend to ask her to become my wife."

It was a long time later when Hugh finally left for his own chamber. Sleep did not come easily to Guy, however. Whenever he closed his eyes, images of Kathryn danced behind his eyelids. Over and over he envisioned her expression throughout their journey here. She had looked so lost and hopeless. That expression had haunted him—it haunted him still. And it was with his mind thus occupied that he came to realize... there could be but one solution to their dilemma.

Kathryn would fight him. She had fought him on everything else, he reflected bitterly, why not this, too? He knew better than to expect her willing compliance. He stared at the shadows flickering on the ceiling, his mouth tight. Were that the case, she'd have naught but more perfidy in store for him!

But he'd be damned if he'd have her running off at every opportunity that presented itself—and her carrying his child yet! He expelled a long frustrated breath. Somehow, he thought tiredly, they must come to some agreement.

In the morning, he would go to her. Reason and cajole. Demand if need be...

But morning came too soon, and with it, Henry's entourage. For the next four days, Guy scarcely ate or slept. As was his wont, Henry demanded as much of his followers as he demanded of himself. Guy spent the days—and half the night—cloistered with Henry and his advisors. It was well after midnight before he fell into bed; he dragged himself out before dawn. The privacy he sought with Kathryn was simply not to be. There was no chance to speak to her, even in passing. He saw her but once.

With Roderick, blast her fickle, faithless hide!

But for Kathryn, too, those days numbered among the longest and most painful of her life.

King Henry was not what she expected. His youth took her by surprise, but not for long—the sheer commanding power of his presence alone proclaimed that he had taken his place as ruler, by right as well as might.

She and Elizabeth were summoned to the hall the morning of his arrival. Kathryn spotted Henry immediately, for she'd heard tales of his fiery-red hair—and the temper that matched it. His figure was lean and spare, his shoulders broad, though he was not quite as tall as Guy, who stood at his side, quietly listening and nodding. Though she could not make out the words, the timbre of his voice was deep and booming, his manner fierce and energetic as he gestured and finally threw up his hands, as if in dismay. Sir Hugh approached the pair and snared their attention, gesturing over his shoulder toward Kathryn and Elizabeth. As they awaited introduction, Elizabeth was clearly petrified. She clutched Kathryn's arm so tightly Kathryn knew she'd have bruises on the morrow.

The king stepped up to them, flanked by Guy and Sir Hugh. Guy directed a tiny smile at Elizabeth. "Your Grace, may I present Elizabeth of Ashbury?"

Elizabeth sank into a deep curtsy. When her head came up, it appeared her nervousness had miraculously fled. "Sire—" Her voice betrayed only the merest hint of a quiver. "—you humble us with your presence."

He brought her hand to his lips. "And you humble me with your beauty, Lady Elizabeth, a beauty that rivals my queen's." His ruddy face lit with a grin. " 'Tis glad I am that Eleanor is not with me that I may appreciate such loveliness more fully." While Elizabeth flushed a becoming pink, he turned to Kathryn.

Guy was no longer smiling. "And here, Your Grace, is Elizabeth's elder sister—Kathryn."

Praying her calm would not desert her, Kathryn inhaled deeply and looked up at the king. His face was square and intelligent, his beard as fiery-red as his close-cropped hair. Despite his charm, it gave her a start to see that his eyes were as gray and every bit as keenly piercing as Guy's.

Her curtsy was a bit awkward. "Sire," she murmured, "I hope your stay here is a comfortable one."

Henry raised her to her feet, his eyes on her exquisite features. "God's blood! Not one beauty but two! And sisters, you say?" His gaze bounced between Elizabeth and Kathryn, noting the dramatic contrast in their coloring. "Amazing!" he said with a throaty chuckle.

Guy spared her not a glance as he moved away with the king. Kathryn felt his dismissal like a stinging slap in the face.

Yet despite his indifference, she nursed a halfhearted tendril of hope that Guy would come to her, that he would beg forgiveness and whisper that he was glad of the child. But soon even that frail hope withered and died.

It twisted her heart to see Elizabeth with Hugh, both of them so enamored with each other that when they were together, they had eyes for no one but the other. And when Elizabeth began to speak of love, Kathryn couldn't help it.

Never in her life had she been so miserable. She was aware she was feeling sorry for herself, but she could not rid herself of this wretched self-pity. She didn't know which was worse, Helga's scornful disdain or the pity she glimpsed on Elizabeth's and Hugh's face whenever their gaze chanced to rest on her thickened waistline.

On her fifth day there, she stood on the parapet, watching the endless procession of carts weave through the gates. It was Hugh who told her King Henry had abandoned his plans to conquer Ireland, at least for the moment. And so the king had departed, on his way to his next destination to carry out the business of running his country.

A bitter despair seeped through her. Henry could go where he chose, whenever he willed— not because he was king, but because he was a man. Her soul cried out at the injustice dealt her by the cruel hand of Providence. Even the lowliest villein possessed more choice than she, for if he so desired, he could change his lot in life. He could prosper and buy his freedom from his lord; he might escape and remain free for a year and a day. Or he could enter the Church.

He could aspire to freedom. She, as every other woman of the times, could not. . . She must remain subject to the whim and will of whatever man controlled her destiny, be he father, husband, lord, or king.

From birth until death.

How long she stood there, those bleak and discouraging thoughts her only companion, she did not know. A violent wind whipped her hair and skirts—it did not wipe the chill from her heart.

The sun sank low in the sky before Kathryn finally made her way down the tower stair. She had nearly reached the bottom when guttural male laughter drifted up the narrow enclosure.

". . . she always did look down her nose at the lot of us—why, even her uncle!"

"She was never like her mouse of a sister, that’s for sure," another agreed.

Kathryn froze, one small foot poised on the last step. The men were undoubtedly several of Richard's men-at-arms—and they were talking about her!

"Can't say as I blame de Marche for wanting such a fine piece of fluff. Nor did it take him long to dip into her honey pot!" Lewd laughter followed.

"He brought her down a peg or two when he made her his whore. She's not so haughty now he's put his bastard in her belly."

The blood drained from Kathryn's face. There was a horrible constriction in her chest, so painfully acute it hurt to breathe.

Until that moment, she had scarcely let herself think about the child she bore within her; despite the fact that the babe moved within her, it still seemed vague and unreal. But in that mind-splitting instant, the life within her far eclipsed her own.

They called her child bastard. Bastard. Oh, God, she thought wildly, she could not even say the word aloud. She couldn't even think it. The pain that blotted her soul was as vivid as a bloodstain.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. She felt listless and drained, unable to summon much feeling for anything. At supper that night she sat at Elizabeth's elbow, pale and withdrawn, saying little, eating even less. As usual, the hall teemed with activity; knights and servants alike swarmed to and fro. Guy was late but Kathryn scarcely noticed. Misery enshrouded her, sealing her off from everything save her own heartache.

The last dish was offered and served; the meal ended. From where he sat on the raised dais, Guy rose to his feet and called for silence.

The rowdy talk and laughter ebbed. Only then did Kathryn rouse herself from her trancelike state. The hall hummed with quiet. Nearly every eye was fixed upon the handsome figure that strode from the dais to the center of the hall, commanding everyone's attention.

Guy raised a hand. "I ask but a moment of your time, and I promise I'll be brief so that you may be off to spend the evening as you will." He smiled slightly and glanced around. "I asked much of you these many months past when first you swore your allegiance to me. It pleases me greatly to know there are none here who have disappointed me. But now it seems I must ask not only for your allegiance once more, but your trust in my judgment as well. There is among us," he went on, "a man you have come to know well—Sir Hugh Bainbridge. Sir Hugh served me well as a boy. He has served me even better as knight, as well as friend."