The Holding - Book 1 in The Medieval Knights Series (16 page)

On impulse, he asked, "'Twould please me to have you attend me at bath, Cathryn." His gray eyes shifted and glimmered like a well-polished shield turning in the sun.

But for all the warmth in his eyes, she froze.

"But Ulrich awaits," she whispered, her eyes locked with his.

"He is my squire, Cathryn; you are my wife."

His wife. Cathryn's thoughts flickered as wildly as his silver eyes. They would be alone in their chamber. She would pull the clothes from his sweat-drenched body and the man would be revealed to her. His arms would bulge, the muscles twisting as he lowered himself into the bath. The cloth would be in her hands and she would touch him with it and feel the silk of his skin and the raw strength that lay just beneath. The steam would rise and match the color of his eyes.

Yea, the steam would rise.

Impossibly, they shared the same thought, the same image. He could see it in her eyes. And she could see it in his.

" "Tis a small request," he said under his breath, his voice low and compelling.

"That is so," she whispered, her gaze caught and held by his. And the image did not fade before her eyes; rather with William sharing it with her, it grew until she began to quake from the center of her soul. She could not feel such for him; she could not. There was no room in her heart for what he called forth from her. There was no room for him, for he was not a man to share her heart; he would want the whole of it, and that she could not—would not—give him. The voice of that other one—with his blue-white eyes—invaded her thoughts, and her tremors increased.

Lan, coming heavily up the stairs and sloshing out as much water as he sought to bring, broke the moment and William's hold on her.

"Please excuse me," Cathryn said in a rush. "There is much that needs my attention."

She flew down and away, her golden hair swinging out behind her before she was gone completely. Lan lost his footing and sloshed water on William's foot. He apologized quickly and continued his climb, his back to William. It was essential, to hide his smile of satisfaction.

William hardly noticed. His eyes marked the spot where Cathryn had stood, his brows drawn low in displeasure that only increased as the minutes passed. He had read the image that she had held of him, naked and covered with naught but water, and he had seen the seed of desire send forth its roots in the deep brown of her eyes. But it was not desire that had flourished within her; it had been fear.

Turning, he ascended the stair, and with each step he called himself a dozen kinds of fool. He reached his chamber before he had exhausted his list.

Lan had been but the first of a long and steady stream of men who carried water to the chamber William had shared last night with the Lady of Greneforde, although Lan was the only one of them to be so clumsy as to spill the contents of his bucket. Ulrich had found the Flanders soap he had been searching for and was ready with a large square of linen to dry William. William stood to one side of the chamber, his arms crossed over his chest, and watched the procession of men through his room. They shared one characteristic besides their common filth, and that was nervousness. There was not one fellow of them all who behaved with anything approaching ease.

Ulrich approached and helped him out of his tunic and hose; when William looked up again it was to find a half a dozen dirty men staring at him, agape. With a final slosh of water into his bath, they disappeared at a pace just shy of a run. It was peculiar, but then there was much that was peculiar in Greneforde Tower.

Lowering himself into the hot water with a sigh, William closed his eyes and enjoyed the penetrating heat of his bath.

"Ulrich," he questioned as he began to scrub his torso, "what can you tell me of the Greneforde folk? How seem they to you?"

It was a logical question. The common folk might be reacting badly to him and even to Rowland because they were knights. He had seen for himself how different was their manner with John the Steward. Ulrich was but a squire, and young.

"I find them as skittish as an untried warhorse," was Ulrich's blunt reply to William's question.

William looked askance at his squire. There was more emotion in that answer than the question warranted. It appeared that Ulrich was having his own defeats in Greneforde's courtyard.

"You have finished here," William announced unexpectedly and to Ulrich's profound pleasure. "I would have you locate the Lady Cathryn and quickly. I desire a tour of Greneforde before we partake of the coming meal, and I ask her courteously for her guidance."

Ulrich rolled his eyes. William's request of Lady Cathryn might have been couched in words that fertilized the flower of chivalry, but it was a command nonetheless. Who knew that better than he?

As he made to leave, William stopped him with another "request."

"When you have found her and delivered my message, I want you to spend the next few hours in the vicinity of the kitchen. Most all of Greneforde will be there preparing the meal, I suspect, and I would have you in the thick of them. Now, Ulrich, here is the crux of my purpose: by whatever subtle means at your disposal, find out what you can of the events at Greneforde preceding our arrival."

Cool silver eyes took his measure, and Ulrich stood the straighter for the slow scrutiny.

"'Tis a man's mission," William said seriously.

"I have been squire to you for three years, William," Ulrich said proudly. "I am eager to serve and will not disappoint."

With a nod, he was dismissed. Ulrich all but flew out of the room. He was eager to prove his worth... and to find the girl with the eyes of sapphire blue.

* * *

It did not begin well. Ulrich was having little success in finding Lady Cathryn, and she had been the easy part of his mission.

Not knowing that she was sought, Cathryn was in deep conversation with Father Godfrey. William would not have been pleased, had he known. Fortunately, he did not know.

"Then we are agreed," she said softly, her eyes luminous. "The mass will be read at dusk."

Godfrey searched her eyes with compassion, understanding her eagerness.

"Yea," he answered simply, "we are agreed, but may I ask, have you spoken of..." He paused uncomfortably.

"Nay, I have not," she said, mercifully breaking the silence of his discomfort. "I do not see the need." And she turned away to shield her face from the priest's eyes.

"William wants to know."

Cathryn clenched her hands into a tight and compact knot.

"He said so?"

"He said as much," Godfrey answered. "With the knowing would come understanding and pity for your time of hardship," he finished diplomatically.

Cathryn turned at that, the skirt of her green bliaut swirling in an angry tide at her feet.

"I do
not seek his pity," she said forcefully, each word distinct and clear. "I did not know William le Brouillard during Greneforde's hard year, nor the years before. I do not see that he has the right or the need to know the private details of my life before the day he entered it. Indeed, in that it was a time of poverty and hunger and war, I would prefer to forget it."

Godfrey crossed the space that separated them, space she had deliberately created, and took her hand in his. It was like the moment, even to the hour of the day, when he had taken her hand to place it in the larger and much stronger hand of William le Brouillard. It was a reminder and they both knew it.

"You are bound to William now, your life to his."

"My life as it began yesterday and not one hour before," she argued coolly.

Godfrey was gathering breath to answer her, to explain that life was not cut into segments, but was a continuous thread that began in the womb and ended in the grave, when man was resurrected to a new life. Cathryn did not give him the chance. She turned and left, as cool and erect and as hurried as Godfrey had ever seen her. Truly, William's wife was not hampered by an excess of emotion.

For the third time that day, Cathryn was nearly run down on the stairwell, and for the second time, Ulrich was the juggernaut.

"Lady Cathryn!" He gasped, his cheeks pink with exertion. "Lord William asks that you be ready to show him Greneforde, all of Greneforde, so that he may be better able to understand her strengths and weaknesses and provide for her in either case."

"You have delivered your message," she answered. "I will be waiting for Lord William in the great hall. But Ulrich," she added, her eyes as serious as she could make them, "you will cease to run this stair as if pursued. Someday, someone, likely me, will be knocked to her death while you are on yet another mad charge to accomplish your lord's bidding."

"Yea, lady," he readily agreed, and then charged off down the stair, the ringing of his shoes echoing against the stone.

Cathryn shook her head with rueful humor. Ulrich was a likable youth, and she found herself closer to laughing than she had been in many a day. Or month.

Reaching the hall, which was quiet just now, Cathryn considered the possible, plausible excuses she could offer William. Yes, she had accepted Ulrich's message, but she had no intention of fulfilling the request. Why be coy? It was a command, no matter the wording.

There was the matter of the venison, on the fire even now, and the attendant meal that would accompany such a feast of fresh meat, yet she had used the cooking and serving of meals often in her efforts to elude her husband's company. It might come about that he believed the people of Greneforde to be inept, and that she must avoid. Perhaps the care and storing of the bounty he had brought into the marriage would serve her purpose, for such wealth must be well cared for and well guarded. In truth, none of the Greneforde folk would meddle with it, but of his own men, she had no such certainty. There was no sickness to which she must attend and no injury and she could not ask her people to feign, for they would risk rude disclosure if le Brouillard chose to become involved.

She was still pondering when John appeared. John, ever at her side and ever quick in the exercising of his mind; he would have a solution.

"John!" she called softly.

Cathryn had been his goal upon entering the hall, and he was soon at her side.

"Yea, lady, how may I serve?"

"John, the lord has required that I lead him about Greneforde, explaining as we go every blade of grass and the setting of every stone. I would spend my hours in other pursuits."

John considered this for but a moment. Lord William's request was not unusual; rather, it spoke well of the man who would lead the folk within Greneforde's walls. Also, it was not burdensome toil he required of his bride, though he knew she did not see it so. In any other circumstance, Cathryn, who loved the stone of Greneforde as much as honor, would have been joyous over walking every step of her home with a man who was prepared to love it just as much as she. It was not the request; it was the man who rankled her. And because John loved her as a daughter, he would help her.

Before he had the chance to speak his plan, William le Brouillard appeared as suddenly and as silently at her elbow as the Lord Christ had appeared in the midst of his disciples.

"Thank you for waiting, lady," William said pleasantly, his hair still damp and tightly curled from his bath. "I would not have had you endure my company in my former state, and since I would have a most thorough tour of our home, I think we will be fully occupied for what remains of the day."

Cathryn whirled at his first words and held his look most politely. When he had finished, she looked toward John with hope carefully masked.

"Your pardon, lord," John bowed. "Greneforde's last mare has turned her leg, and Tybon has requested Lady Cathryn's aid in soothing her while he applies the dressing."

Cathryn was already nodding and moving away from William, a smile just kept in check at John's cleverness, when she felt le Brouillard's fingers close on her elbow.

"This is sad news, John," William said sympathetically, but Cathryn felt his fingers tightening as she edged away, and she was not deceived into believing his sympathy genuine. "Tybon requires help in the bandaging of a mare? Would that be the ancient mare I noted standing solitary in the stable when I arrived yesterday? And how ancient is this Tybon that he requires aid when dealing with such a remnant of horseflesh?"

John had no answer. He merely looked at Cathryn, his wise eyes resigned.

Cathryn did not relent so quickly.

"Tybon is not ancient and he is not inept, nor is he incapable of tending to the ails of our mare. 'Tis just that he understands that the animal would be more soothed were I present." Cathryn stopped and gave William a measuring look. "The beast, her comfort and care, is more important than Tybon's pride, is she not?" she finished chillingly.

William smiled, but his eyes did not, and his hand slid more firmly upon her arm, his hold sure.

"Nay, Cathryn, the mare does not take precedence over you, and since the animal is so skittish and unpredictable in her behavior, I would have you well away and far from possible injury."

Wrapping his free arm around her waist, he guided her to the stair tower, looking for all the world like a besotted husband when she and everyone else in Greneforde Tower knew that he was not.