The Love Knot (36 page)

'About what?' He leaned closer. His hand crept up beneath her wimple and his cool fingertips lightly stroked the back of her neck.

'About what I'm doing here.' A small, sensuous shiver ran down her spine.

He frowned. 'You made the right choice, you know that.'

'Yes . . . yes, I know that.' She gnawed her lower lip. 'It is just that I feel as if I don't belong.'

'Well, you don't. . .' He jerked his head at the high table. 'At least not to them.' He leaned closer, and her bones melted at the darkness in his voice. 'But you do to me, you've always been mine.'

She laughed shakily. 'Are you so sure of that?'

His dark eyes flashed a look that said he was supremely confident and she was foolish for even token resistance. 'Gome,' he said. Dragging her to her feet, he led her to the large apple wassail tree in the centre of the hall around which guests were dancing to honour the season.

Catrin hung back, but Louis's grip was lean and strong and, with a laugh, he pulled her forward. From the tree's branches he grabbed a chaplet of evergreen like his own and pushed it down upon her wimple, the holly berries glistening like drops of fresh blood.

'Dance,' he commanded, and kissed her lips, his tongue flickering lightly round their outline before he withdrew.

And Catrin danced, because Louis was the piper and his dark glamour called the tune.

As the evening progressed, and the wine flowed freely, Catrin's sombre mood lightened beneath Louis's determined onslaught. First she smiled and then she laughed. Enjoyment crept up on her, and suddenly she could almost forget.

Louis led her to join in boisterous games of bee-in-the-middle, hoodman-blind, and hunt-the-slipper. Catrin discovered that she had a knack for the latter which involved passing an item of footwear among a circle of other players and trying to keep the owner, who stood in the middle of the ring, from guessing who was in possession. Once the owner did guess, the loser had to forfeit their own shoe and become the hunter in the middle.

By sleight of hand, an innocent expression, and great good luck, Catrin succeeded in never being caught out. Louis, by far the best dissembler of them all, was finally trapped by the pure guesswork of the flushed wife of a baron whose turn it was in the centre.

With much good-natured rolling of his eyes, Louis got to his feet and stepped to the middle of the ring to take her place. He presented the shoe to its owner with a courtly flourish and a kiss on the hand. The gesture met with jovial banter and cat-calls and the red-faced woman laughed and gave him a hefty push. Grinning, Louis gave an exaggerated stagger, stooped to remove one of his ankle boots and gave it to her. She swept him a mock curtsey, returned to her place amongst the hiders, and the game began again.

Catrin, the merrier now for three cups of wine, could not quite smother her giggle as the man on her right sneaked the boot beneath a fold of her skirt. Louis caught the movement from the corner of his eye and, whirling round, pointed straight at her.

Flushed, laughing, Catrin spread her hands to show that there was nothing in them. Louis, however, was not fooled, and continued to advance. 'Being your husband, I command you to lift your skirts, wife!' he declared, hilarity brimming in his eyes. There were loud guffaws at the sally.

Catrin sat a moment longer, hoping that her look of wide innocence would fool him, but he continued to advance. Grabbing the shoe from its hiding place, she sprang to her feet. 'Then you must catch me first, my lord!' she cried, and fled from the circle.

To loud laughter and cheers of encouragement, Louis set off in pursuit.

It was impossible to run through Canterbury's packed great hall, but Catrin wove her way determinedly through the crowds and between the trestles. To mark the Christmas season Louis had given her a new gown of strong grass-green that suited her colouring. It also made it easy for him to follow the path she threaded through the other guests.

Catrin glanced behind her and saw Louis shouldering after her, drawing closer. In the pit of her stomach there was a tiny spark of panic, a response to the primitive instinct of being hunted, but that only added to the thrill. Obviously, even hampered by the lack of a shoe, he was going to capture her in the end, but she would make him work hard for his victory.

Round the wassail tree she skipped, then beneath the batons of two jugglers entertaining one of the trestles. Briefly she joined a group of women admiring someone's new lap-dog -a fluffy creature resembling a burst pillow - that had been purchased for an exorbitant sum from an Italian merchant.

Louis lost her for a moment. She saw him over by the jugglers, his eyes travelling rapidly from face to face. She hid amongst the women for a little longer, then rose on tiptoe and, clutching the shoe, waved her arm on high. Louis's gaze met hers through the crowd like a hunter's in the forest. Hot, dark, dangerous. Her loins contracted. She stuck out her tongue, then gave a little gasp of excitement as he started towards her.

She took off again, squeezed past a group of knights who were discussing the merits of Lombard war horses, and scurried behind an embroidered curtain that screened off a twisting stairway. It was difficult climbing the wedge-shaped steps in her full skirts. She had been breathless when she reached the stairs. By the time she gained the next floor, she was gasping, her calves too tight to carry her any further than the arched, stone walkway leading off to the rooms beyond.

She looked at Louis's shoe. He had small feet, not much larger than her own, and she could have worn his footwear without any difficulty - especially these, with their embroidery and green braid lacing. Putting her hand inside the shoe, she inhaled the tang of new leather.

The sound of her own breathing and the rapid thud of her heart concealed the scrape of Louis's footsteps on the stairs. The first she knew of his presence was the moment when he lunged at her from the last step and caught her against the wall.

She barely had time to scream, and that was muffled by the cupped palm he pressed over her lips. 'I've caught you now,' he panted against her ear. 'I claim my forfeit.'

Catrin was unable to speak, but she poked out her tongue and licked the salty skin of his palm. The wine sang in her blood, and the wiry strength of him was delicious. Her arms went around his neck and she rubbed against him.

'My forfeit,' he repeated, his voice a little slurred, but more with lust than drink. 'I command you to lift your skirts.' He took his hand from her mouth and raised his tunic to reach down inside his braies.

Catrin's eyes widened. She glanced around. 'What, here, on the stairs?'

'Lost your daring, Catty?' he taunted with a devilish grin. 'Forgotten that time against the salted herring barrels in Chepstow?'

'I had bruises for weeks after,' she protested, but the spark in his eyes was kindling enough, and she began to gather up her skirts. 'Someone might come,' she added on a last thread of reason, as he seized her hips and angled her body towards his.

'I certainly hope so,' Louis said incorrigibly, and thrust into her.

It was not the most comfortable coupling, but the excitement and novelty more than compensated for the rough stone at Catrin's back and the jolt of pain in her spine each time that he lunged. Sheer, raw lust was what had fired their marriage before, and it was as incandescent as ever. Catrin cried aloud at the pleasure, then, remembering where they were, clenched her teeth and held the sound in her throat.

'No, Catty, let it go!' Louis panted in extremis. 'I need to hear you!'

She shook her head from side to side.

'Please!' Louis groaned.

Her climax struck, enhanced by his pleading, and her scream echoed along the walkway as her knees buckled. Louis took her weight and plunged into his own crisis with a long moan. Then he too lost his strength and staggered, pulling her down with him so that they ended in a tangle of limbs on the cold stone floor.

After a moment, Louis rolled on to his back, a blissful grin on his face. 'The best yet,' he said breathlessly.

Catrin struggled to sit up. Her spine was sore, her loins tingled and burned. The pleasure had been intense, but she was not sure that it was 'the best yet' for her. It was fun to couple in unexpected places, but she also liked the slower, sensual comfort of a feather bed, and the small, niggling voice that she preferred to ignore informed her that Louis seemed to derive his greatest pleasure from coupling with her where the danger of being discovered lent an added spice.

'You don't answer me, wife.' He glanced at her sidelong.

'You leave me no breath to do so,' she retorted, then turned her head sharply towards the stairwell. The sound of voices and the scrape of shoe on stone were far too close.

She scrambled to her feet and frantically shook out and smoothed the skirts of her gown. Louis, in no such rush, slipped his genitals back inside his braies and stood up almost lazily. He was bending over to pick up his shoe when King Stephen and William d'Ypres stepped on to the walkway that led to the private solar.

Catrin performed a flustered curtsey, her face flaming. Louis flourished a bow and, at the same time, grasped the shoe.

Stephen raised his brows. 'Is a place of honour in the hall not good enough for you that you should choose the royal apartments instead?' he asked with a smile. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and weariness dragged at his mouth corners. The months of imprisonment had taken their toll.

'No, sire,' Louis responded smoothly. 'We are grateful indeed. It is just that I needed a quiet retreat to give my wife her Christmas gift.'

'I see.' Stephen eyed the shoe that Louis held in his hand, then looked at Catrin where she stood flushed and dishevelled. 'Was it well received?'

Louis smiled. 'Yes, sire.'

William d'Ypres snorted in amusement and shook his head. 'I do not know how you do it.'

'I could explain, sir.' Louis waggled his brows suggestively.

D'Ypres laughed and gave Louis a push. 'That wit of yours is sharp enough to carve you a path to success or cut you to the bone. Have a care which way you use it.'

'As ever, sir.' Louis bowed.

'As never,' d'Ypres retorted, but his tone was indulgent. 'Perhaps in the New Year, I'll see what you can accomplish.'

'You will not find me lacking, my lord.'

'As to that, a gambler takes his chances,' d'Ypres responded drily.

The two men made to go on their way, but Stephen stopped and turned round. 'Mistress healer, do you have a cure for a sore throat?' He rubbed his larynx to indicate the pain.

'Surely, sire,' Catrin answered, her colour remaining high. Louis had taken the brunt of the banter, and the King and his chief mercenary had been indulgently amused, hinting that they were well accustomed to discovering Louis in such situations. He had done no more than live up to expectations - theirs and his own. Catrin felt, rather ashamedly, that she had lived down to hers, and would gladly have remained overlooked. 'You must drink a tisane of blackcurrant, liquorice and horehound, sweetened with honey. It will ease, but not cure,' she added as a safeguard to her reputation.

'Then mix it for me, and bring it to my chamber.' His winning smile flashed across his face. It should have lifted his features, but instead it made him look all the more exhausted.

'Sire.' Catrin bowed her head, and the men continued on to the royal chambers.

Louis hopped into his shoe. 'If I didn't know that Stephen was so attached to his wife, I'd think he had a fancy to you,' he remarked with a grin.

Catrin gave her husband a withering look. 'Some men at least, carry their brains above their belts.'

Louis knelt to fasten the horn toggle on the side of the shoe. 'Now why should I think that your blade is aimed at me?'

'If the cap fits, then wear it.'

Louis stood up and looked at her, his expression suddenly serious. 'It doesn't fit me, Catty, whatever you think. I've made mistakes, but I've learned from them.'

'So you keep telling me,' she said. 'But I believe that actions speak the louder.'

'What do you want me to do? Have myself tonsured and profess a vow of chastity?'

Catrin smiled at the notion, but then she sobered. 'No,' she said. 'I would not put such a strain on our marriage. Keeping your faith to me will do. I am your wife, and you know how much I sacrificed to stay with you.' Her voice took on depth and vehemence. 'I won't remind you of it again; I am not a martyr, but hear this, Louis. I will not have our lovemaking used as cheap coin to feed your self-importance and your standing in the eyes of other men!'

'But you enjoyed it as much as I did!' he blustered, spreading his hands in a gesture of disbelief. 'Your cries weren't for me to stop!'

Catrin tightened her lips. 'It was the way you jested with the King and Lord William.'

'That was nothing, harmless banter. All men do it.'

'That is what I mean about the brains below the belt,' Catrin retorted smartly. 'Condemned out of your own mouth.' She gathered her skirts. 'I have a tisane to brew.'

He watched her go to the stairs, chewed his lip and tugged at his hair in perplexity. 'Catty,' he said as she set her foot on the first step.