Catriona’s Secret

by Madeline Martin

  Catriona’s Secret

  Madeline Martin

  Copyright 2019 © Madeline Martin

  CATRIONA’S SECRET © 2019 Madeline Martin. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part or the whole of this book may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted or utilized (other than for reading by the intended reader) in ANY form (now known or hereafter invented) without prior written permission by the author. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal, and punishable by law.

  * * *

  CATRIONA’S SECRET is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and or are used fictitiously and solely the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Teresa Sprecklemeyer @ The Midnight Muse Designs.

  To John

  * * *

  Thank you for being the hero of my story and for our own happily ever after. I love you.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Madeline Martin

  1

  May 1341

  Brampton, England

  * * *

  Lady Catriona Barrington awoke to a familiar clenching of her stomach. She squeezed her eyes shut against the discomfort in the hopes it would pass. It did sometimes.

  She hated this queasiness. It reminded her of the sensation of being drunk, of having too much wine. Of that regrettable night with too many bad decisions. She hadn’t had a sip of wine since.

  That had been nearly two months ago, and still the memory was so strong in her mind. The wine, the poor decisions, Sir Gawain, that resonating hollowness within her.

  She shuddered under a fresh wave of nausea. Sweat prickled at her brow. She was losing her battle with the strange illness that had plagued her since her return to Werrick Castle.

  Isla thought it might be the switch from English fare to the more rustic food of the border. Cat had accepted the explanation and hadn’t bothered to seek further counsel, even though she continued to be ill. Eventually, she would readjust to the food at home. Wouldn’t she?

  Cat’s mouth filled with a flood of saliva. She clenched her hands into the sheets, inundated by thoughts of Sir Gawain’s whispered promises and flattery.

  All of court had been thus: promises and flattery. Resplendent with costly fabric and sparkling gems that lay like a fine veneer over all the cultured courtiers.

  Her older sister, Ella, had always been the one to sway toward romance, but even Cat had fallen prey to the seduction of court. There she was not merely a younger sister, but a woman in the prime of her life, ripe for wooing. She had felt beautiful, special.

  She did not feel either such thing on the last night of her time at court, when she’d accompanied Sir Gawain into the rose-laden alcove. What had followed had been over quickly enough to send her reeling, leaving her with a sticky mess and regret.

  He had not mentioned marriage, but she could not help but think of it. She ought to marry him after what they had done.

  Cat lurched upright, yanked crudely from her unpleasant thoughts. Her attempt to put off her illness had left her with scarcely enough time to reach the ewer before her stomach divested itself of any remaining food in her stomach from the night before.

  When she’d first returned to Werrick Castle and found her effects moved to her mother’s former room, Cat’s reaction had been a blend of emotions. Disappointment to no longer share a room with her youngest sister, Leila, after eighteen years of having done so. But there was also an appreciation for her own maturity in now occupying her mother’s room, as all her older sisters had before her. Now, Cat was simply grateful.

  She was able to keep everyone from worrying unnecessarily over her while she readjusted to food on the border.

  After she’d cleaned herself, she made her way down to the great hall. A familiar voice among the conversations floated toward her.

  Marin.

  The realization that Cat’s eldest sister was visiting sent her speeding through the stone archway and into the wide expanse of the great hall. She’d always loved this room best in all the castle. It was where life happened, dances and weddings and feasts. Troubadours’ voices echoed in the great space as they spun their tales and added their own spice of magic to the room already filled with colorful tapestries.

  And now this room brought her a reunion with Marin, whom she had not seen in more than a year. Marin got to her feet as soon as her gaze landed on Catriona.

  Women as tall as Marin often wore their height like an ill-fitting mantle. But not Marin. Nay, she rose like a queen, her slender frame regal and beautiful.

  “My precious Cat.” She opened her arms and drew Cat into her embrace.

  Cat remained cradled against Marin for a long moment. Perhaps too long, but Cat didn’t care. She could stay forever hugged against Marin, breathing in the comforting scent of lavender that always surrounded her sister. Cat had been only six when their mother had died, thus Marin had been more mother to her than their own.

  “I hear you’ve been unwell.” Marin released Cat and examined her with a concerned eye.

  Cat waved her off and smiled as brilliantly as she could muster. “’Tis naught to concern yourself with. I simply need to get accustomed to border food again after all the rich fare at court.”

  “I hear you had a lovely time at court.” Marin tilted her head in suspicion. “You attracted the attention of quite a few eligible nobles.”

  She simply shrugged as the heat blazed in her cheeks. Sir Gawain would likely propose marriage soon and they would all know exactly which noble’s attention she had caught.

  Marin laughed. “If you are being quiet, then what I heard must be true.” She withdrew a missive from her bag. “I was visiting with Ella and she asked me to give you this.”

  “That was so kind of you to bring it all the way here to me.” It was all Cat could do to remain calm as she took the note. It was even more difficult to keep from tearing it open to read what Ella had written. No doubt it contained the requested information on Sir Gawain, exactly as Cat had asked.

  “Of course, I was already planning to visit.” Marin peered at the entrance of the hall. Not once, but several times. Cat turned to regard the empty corridor behind her to see what pulled at Marin’s attention.

  “Forgive me.” Marin flushed. “I confess, I’m also here to see Isla, in the hopes she might offer some advice on what I can do to encourage my ability to conceive.”

  “Oh, Marin.” Cat’s heart flinched for her sister’s barrenness. It was so unfair that the one who had been mother to them all for the last eighteen years would now be without her own children.

  “I’m not unhappy with my life,” Marin said quickly. Her face softened. “I’m incredibly happy at Kendal with B
ran. It is quiet and peaceful. Mayhap a little too peaceful now that his sister and her family have moved to their own home.” The familiar, wistful smile tugged at the corners of her lips, the same as it always did when she spoke of her Bran. He’d been an unlikely husband when he’d threatened to kill Cat in order to breach Werrick Castle’s walls seven years prior.

  She’d forgiven him almost immediately when she realized he’d managed to take the castle with only one single death. Eversham. The brave soldier’s name would forever be emblazoned on her heart. He had fought valiantly to keep Cat from being used as bait to force open the castle gates.

  Cat fingered her letter, prodding her fingertips with the corners as she listened to Marin, who always took the time to give everyone her full attention.

  “Regardless of what I try, of how much I pray, I continue to get my courses.” Marin glanced at the hall again. “Ella suggested I see Isla.”

  Something tickled at Cat’s mind. She hadn’t had her courses since just before going to court and hadn’t had them again since she’d returned. Cold prickled all over her.

  “Ah, there she is.” Marin reached for Cat’s hand. “Say a prayer for me.”

  Cat simply nodded, mute with the force of the sudden realization. How could she still be sensitive to food she’d spent a lifetime eating? Especially when Nan was such an exceptional cook.

  Cat had heard women with child were often ill. One of her sisters, Anice, had mentioned as much before. Typically, the illness occurred in the morning. Cat’s pulse thundered in her ears with the very real possibility that had not dawned on her until that very moment.

  She could be with child.

  With shaking hands, she wrenched open the letter from Ella, tearing through the Countess of Calville’s carefully stamped seal without ceremony. In desperation. Had Sir Gawain asked after her? Sought to see her again? Asked for her hand in marriage?

  They would have to be wed soon, of course. Immediately. The thought sent a shudder racing down her spine. But she could not think now on if she wanted to wed him or not.

  She unfolded her sister’s missive with haste and skimmed over the carefully curling letters looping across the parchment. There were several noblemen asking about Catriona after she’d left; one in particular, Lord Loughton, wanted to see her again so that she might meet his son who would be a wonderful match. Ella strongly encouraged the introduction. Cat drew her brows at that and read on. Why was Ella not mentioning Sir Gawain?

  More details on men who had showed interest, then a bit of information on Ella’s daughter, Blanche.

  Nearly panting in her frenzy for any news about Gawain, Cat flipped to the back of the page where one short paragraph was written. One awful, damning paragraph.

  You asked after Sir Gawain, and I tell you that you need not waste another breath on him. I learned that not only has he been married for some time, but that his wife is soon to bear their first child.

  Whatever strength had been holding Cat upright drained from her. She put her hand to the table to brace herself and carefully lowered herself to the bench.

  She touched her hand to her stomach as another wave of nausea rolled through her.

  Cat’s gaze went to the empty hall where Marin had departed with such hope, so desperate for what Cat did not want and irony’s cruel twist had most likely delivered upon her.

  For there was a very strong possibility that Cat was carrying a married man’s child.

  Four years had passed since Geordie Strafford left Werrick Castle. Now it rose before him, larger and far grander than even he remembered. The king’s coffers ran low from the war campaign and he’d sent the vast majority of his force home, including Geordie, who had no real home.

  With parents who had abandoned him, leaving him to be slain for their sins, and no wife, Geordie returned to the closest thing to a home he had: Werrick Castle. To Cat.

  His heart pounded in a collision of excitement, anticipation and nerves. He hadn’t seen Cat in four years, though they had exchanged missives when he was somewhere long enough to receive one. His gaze skimmed the top of the castle wall, seeking out a woman with ribbons of gold hair dancing in the sunlight, her bow drawn back to track his approach.

  But there were only Werrick guards. And no white-fledged arrow sank into the ground when he got within an archer’s range. She was still at Werrick Castle, was she not?

  But then, he had not received a letter in several months. Had she been married off, as Lady Ella had? The thought churned his stomach. If Cat was not at Werrick castle, was it still home?

  He did not ask after Cat when a soldier called down for him to announce himself, nor did he see her in the bailey. Lord Werrick emerged from the keep and gave him a hearty embrace as soon as Geordie disembarked from his steed.

  “My boy,” the older man said fondly. “Has the campaign finally run its course?”

  “For now,” Geordie confirmed. “Until the king can secure more coin, from what I understand.”

  “And you, a knight.” The Earl of Werrick nodded in approval.

  Geordie’s chest swelled with the praise. Lord Werrick was as close to a father as he’d ever had, and Geordie had spent his entire life in the pursuit of the honor of becoming a knight. A profession of the most noble, to compensate for his true father’s notorious perfidy. It was an accomplishment Geordie was proud of. One he could not wait to share with Cat.

  He glanced about the courtyard but did not see her.

  Lady Leila, the youngest of the Earl of Werrick’s five daughters, welcomed him next. The little girl had grown into a lovely young woman. His fellow knights would have tripped over themselves to bestow her with trite endearments of affection and nonsensical sonnets. She gave him a huge smile and embraced him. The scent of dried herbs told him she was still dabbling in the art of healing.

  “It’s good to have you back.” Lady Leila released him and stepped back. “Cat will be overjoyed to see you again.”

  “Is she—”

  Before he could finish the question, Drake, Werrick Castle’s Captain of the Guard, clasped arms with him in greeting. “Sir Georgie.” He flashed a wide grin at him and emphasized the word “Sir.”

  “You’ll be in these ranks soon,” Geordie promised. If it weren’t for the constant training from Drake, Geordie might never have succeeded in becoming a knight at all. Or lived through battle, for that matter.

  “Being half-Scottish doesna recommend me.” Drake spoke stoically, as though it didn’t matter, but Geordie knew it did. They had always shared their hopes of becoming knights.

  A howl of delight turned Geordie’s head. A large woman with gray hair peeking beneath a floppy mob cap bustled toward him and stopped abruptly. “Surely, this isn’t my Geordie.” Nan, the castle cook, cast a playfully shrewd look up at him. “He was a stick of a lad, as tall as he was thin.”

  Geordie offered a helpless shrug.

  “Always the quiet one.” She leaned close and offered a saucy wink. “You just wait ‘til Cat sets her eyes on you.”

  Geordie’s pulse spiked. “Is she here?”

  Nan’s kindly face split into a wide smile. “That she is, but she’s only been home for a bit of time since her jaunt at court. You’ve got excellent timing.”

  “How is she?” Geordie asked the simple question, rather than the storm of the ones assaulting his mind. Was she healthy? Was she happy? Had she missed him? Had she become betrothed?

  It was the last question that left a gnawing at his gut.

  Nans lips pulled downward. “She’s been ill since returning from court. The food there might have been too much for her. Aside from that, she’s been as bright as the sun, the same as she’s always been.” Nan winked at him. “And always eager to get a letter from you.”

  Warmth touched his cheeks at Nan’s last comment. “She is well now?”

  Geordie had only been to court once for a sennight, but he knew how rich the food could be, and how vastly different than the fare Nan dishe
d out.

  “I’ve not heard of any more complaints of her illness, and she looks bonny as ever.” Nan clasped her hands to her chest. “I’m so delighted to have you home. I’ll make some roast pheasant in honor of your arrival.” She hesitated. “If you still care for pheasant…”

  It was all too easy to recall Nan’s roasted pheasant, baked within a wall of bread and rising from a sea of roasted vegetables. After nothing but cold cheese, murky ale and the tough bit of grain they called bread at taverns, the idea of getting such a meal was nearly more than he could bear.

  “Oh, aye,” he confirmed. “I very much like pheasant still, especially if you already have some on hand. You needn’t go out of your way on my behalf.”

  “I don’t.” Nan swept at a dusting of flour on her apron. “But, I’m on fine terms with the butcher.” A flush colored her cheeks.

  Geordie stared at Nan with curious assessment. Was she actually blushing? “You mean the butcher you hated when he first bought old Betsy’s business?”

  Nan gave a girlish giggle. “Edmund is not so bad once you get to know him.”

  Any other questions Geordie might have asked died away on his tongue as the slender figure of a young woman filled the entrance to the keep. She strode outside, into a beam of sunlight that lit her hair like rare gold and made the deep sapphire blue of her eyes glow. If Cat had been ill, she did not look it now. She radiated with good health, her cheeks and lips a becoming shade of pink.