Catriona’s Secret

by Madeline Martin

  Still another thought prevailed, louder and more insistent.

  He was here. With her. Alone. He should not squander such an opportunity. And yet, it would not be chivalrous to not say anything.

  “We shouldn’t be here alone together.” His protest was half-hearted, even to his own ears.

  She gave a little laugh. Moonlight limned her body, gilding her loveliness with silver. “We were always together, Geordie,” she said softly. “It was never wrong before.”

  “We were children then.” His hand reached out of its own volition and delicately traced an invisible line down her jaw. “We’re grown now, me a man, and you a woman. A beautiful woman, at that.”

  She coquettishly ducked her head. “You think me beautiful?”

  It was all he could do to keep his entire confession from tumbling out. “Aye,” he whispered. And before he could even realize what he was doing, his face was lowering to hers, anticipating the soft warmth of her lips.

  4

  Catriona’s heart slammed hard against her ribs at Geordie’s nearness, at his obvious intention. To kiss her.

  Never in all of her youth had she thought of him romantically. But that was before they’d grown into adults, before she’d appreciated how tall he was, how broad his shoulders were, how endearing was the affectionate way he gazed at her. How soft his lips looked. A reciprocating flame ignited within her.

  She said his name on an exhale and breathed him in. It had been a mistake to do so. He no longer smelled like the Geordie she had always known, of sweat and mud and mischief. His new scent, of the grease used for polishing armor, of well-worn leather, was the essence of a man. Of a knight.

  He found her beautiful.

  Her head spun with the dizzying sensation. The way one reacts to flattery from an attractive man. Her stomach clenched. Was she truly considering kissing him? She had allowed Sir Gawain kisses.

  Her heart clenched into a knot in her chest.

  Was she now considering kissing yet another man? Only two months later and her womb filled with another man’s child, was she truly anticipating Geordie’s kiss?

  Shame burned within her.

  She meant to protest, to pull away, or turn her cheek for his lips to press upon. But she had not acted quickly enough, and his mouth descended upon hers. It was not a greedy kiss with the probing of tongue as Sir Gawain’s had been. Nay, Geordie’s was gentle and filled with such reverent affection, it made her soul ache.

  His lips brushed against hers like a whisper. Chaste, sweet. Thrilling. His reservation made her want more, to open herself to his kiss and taste the spice of wine on his tongue with her own. She, herself, had not drunk the wine that evening, not when it turned her stomach. Tasting it on his lips, however, was suddenly alluring and made her just as intoxicated as if she’d drunk it all herself.

  His hand moved to the back of her head, cradling the weight in his large palm with the care one might use when handling spun glass. He pressed his mouth to hers again, savoring with his lips only, delicately kissing her with a restraint that was evident in the slight tremor of his hand.

  “Catriona,” he murmured against her mouth. “My Cat.”

  My Cat.

  The words simultaneously made her knees go weak, even as they stabbed deep into her, hitting a raw wound that had only recently been torn open and had no chance to begin healing. What was she doing?

  Was she really encouraging Geordie’s affections? What did she expect? For him to offer marriage and raise another man’s bastard?

  Geordie would do it, of course. Gladly. And most likely, after having killed Sir Gawain.

  Geordie had been the one to save her. He’d helped pull her from the darkness after her mother’s death, he’d carried her in his arms when she’d injured her ankle as a girl, and had been there for every fear, every problem. Every difficult step of her life, he had been at her side.

  He would do anything for Cat, but he was a knight now with far too much to lose.

  She couldn’t allow him to risk the future he’d worked so hard to build. It wasn’t fair to take away his freedom, to force him to take her and a child on.

  Surely, he had attracted many women at court.

  Something pulled deep inside her at the thought of it, a visceral and sudden disliking for the women who might have vied for his attention. And even more for the ones who had most likely received it.

  She hadn’t realized she had stopped kissing Geordie back until he pulled away. His cheeks flushed in a blush she had always loved. At least the hardness of war had not stripped him entirely of his sweetness.

  Disappointment crumpled like something useless inside her chest.

  She drew in a breath to speak and paused, uncertain what to even say. I’m with child by a man who is already married? I cannot kiss you because it makes me feel sinful and wanton? I cannot have you ruin your life for me? You cannot save me this time?

  Geordie’s brows furrowed and the support of his hand behind her head fell away. “Forgive me, Cat. I should not have taken such liberties.”

  She almost laughed aloud and would have, were there not a knot firmly lodged in her throat. Sir Gawain had never apologized for “such liberties” as he’d pawed at her and whispered his lies. He’d slid over her like the oily sheen on the surface of a bath, clinging to everything he touched, unapologetic and rapacious.

  A flash of anger sparked in Cat. At her own foolishness, aye, but also for the experience Sir Gawain had wielded with her. And even more, how he had ruined this moment, this otherwise wonderful and perfect moment, with Geordie.

  “It isn’t that,” she stammered. “Rather, what I mean was you didn’t—”

  She hesitated. He’d been her confidante for most of her life. Why should this be any different?

  And yet it was. Charming a honey pastry from Nan wouldn’t fix her problem; silly faces couldn’t heal the depth of her hurt. Nothing could make any of this better.

  And she certainly would not allow him to sacrifice everything he’d worked so hard to achieve. Especially not for her.

  “I should not have kissed you.” He lifted his fingers to gently sweep over the line of her jaw.

  She loved how he did that, how the brush of his fingertips sent her skin igniting with a heat she had never experienced before. It made her want to turn into his caress, to welcome it and encourage more.

  “I’ve been taught to respect women,” Geordie said with thoughtfulness. “I made a vow of chivalry and have not acted thus.”

  It was not until he said the last bit that she realized his speech was not just thoughtful, but also laden with guilt.

  Not every knight took their vows as seriously. Cat knew better than most women but kept the bitter remark to herself.

  “You did not disrespect me.” Cat’s voice came out breathy and low. “I kissed you back.”

  He was so fascinating to view this close, to see how much his features had changed. His cheekbones were more pronounced, his jaw harder and darkened with the shadow of a beard, his lips softer. God forgive her for her wantonness, but she wanted to kiss him again.

  “Cat…” His fingers on her jaw tilted her chin up.

  As though he intended to kiss her again. Her cheeks went hot with yearning and shame and self-loathing. Had she not already experienced passion, if that could be what that was called? Geordie deserved better than this. Better than her.

  “I should retire to bed,” she said, instead of divulging the truth. Yet she did not pull away from his delicate hold on her chin, and her face remained angled toward him, their mouths only a layer of control apart. “Tomorrow I should like to see you, if time allows it, mayhap to practice.”

  His eyes crinkled slightly. “I’d like that.”

  “I can see how much you’ve learned as a knight.” She tried to be playful, but the teasing came out flat.

  The tenderness of his expression blossomed into a wide grin regardless. “I doubt I can shoot an arrow as good as you,”
he said. “I still have yet to find any man who can shoot with your skill. But I may have some new things with a sword to teach you.”

  “Drake has been teaching me to use the sword as well.” She couldn’t help the beam of pride. When she’d first learned the bow, it had been to keep her from the fray in battle since she was so young. No one had expected her to excel at it as she did. Now she was plenty old enough and wanted to learn weapons at close range.

  “I look forward to seeing what you’ve learned.” His thumb swept over her chin, just grazing the bottom of her lower lip.

  A soft sigh escaped her mouth and she found her face lifting higher, encouraging just one more kiss. It was just as gentle, just as restrained and made her burn all the more for him.

  “On the morrow,” he murmured against her mouth.

  “Mmmmmhmmm,” she hummed as he broke away from their chaste kiss.

  Anticipation and dread twisted together in her stomach. It had been far too easy to kiss him. It would be easier still to let him kiss her again.

  Regret burned like an ember in her chest. When she’d been at court, she’d been swept away by flattery, allowing kisses with the shy curiosity of a maiden who was often overlooked. Now though, with Geordie, there was the pull of something deeper, richer.

  But she would have to turn her back to it and let it grow cold. She’d had her moment of reckless disobedience and it had cost her everything. Including Geordie.

  Geordie remained outside long after Cat’s figure had disappeared down the hall and he’d heard the door close behind her. He breathed in the spring night air and let the welcomed chill allay the raging heat in his body.

  Cat’s kisses had been far sweeter than he had imagined. And he had spent a considerable amount of time imagining them over the four years of their separation. His body had reacted instantly to the contact of their mouths, hot and hard and demanding. Not at all the way any knight ought to respond.

  He should not have kissed her. He should not have given into the temptation of wanting to have her.

  And yet, it had allowed him to sample the extent of her own desires. His affections were requited. Geordie pulled in a deep breath of air that puffed out his chest and slowly, steadily, let it out. He stared up at the bold face of the moon hanging among the heavens. He needed only one good commission, something to grant him land and a home for Cat.

  It was all so close that he could nearly taste it.

  He had spent so long dreaming of their life together, using those aspirations to get him through the cold, bitter nights on campaign. While others were haunted by the faces of those they’d killed and the perils of battle, he had filled his thoughts with Cat, with the beautiful children they’d have with his dark hair and her laughing blue eyes. When men cried out, he had filled his ears with the sound of her singing lullabies.

  They would be parents who loved their children, of that he was certain. All of them, the naughty ones and well-behaved ones alike. Never, never, never would they allow one of them to be sacrificed or lost to any nefarious cause.

  Not like his own father. Nay, Geordie’s children would have a better life than the one he had been afforded by his own parents.

  Anger flashed hot in his chest. Even though he’d risen above his father’s lies and treachery, Geordie’s rage had never truly been doused. The recollection of his parents singed away the remnants of lust stirring in his loins and finally allowed him to retire to his own room for the evening.

  The following morning, after a night of poor sleep, he found Cat waiting for him in the bailey, wearing a pair of snug fitting trews. They stretched up her long, lean legs, revealing finely shaped calves and slender thighs. The plain shirt she wore belted over the trews did nothing to hide the firm roundness of her perfect bottom.

  Heaven save his soul, when did Lord Werrick begin to allow his daughters to wear such revealing clothing on the practice field—much less around soldiers.

  Cat settled a hand over her lush hip. “Intimidated already?” She touched the hilt at her side, and only then did he see the sword strapped to her waist.

  Intimidated wasn’t the word he would use. “What happened to the hose and long tunics you used to wear in practice?”

  Cat looked down at her clothes without concern. “This is far easier to move about in.” She kicked her leg out and stopped her foot in midair, inches from his face. “See?”

  Geordie clenched his back teeth. The flexibility of her lithe body called to a deep part of him that made his blood run hot.

  “Aye, I see,” he replied as casually as he could.

  “How did you sleep?” She lowered her leg. “Was it luxurious to finally rest in a bed after so long traveling?”

  In truth, he had scarcely slept, despite the fine bedding and the clean comfort around him. He’d been too long on poor beds at best, and filthy stables or hard floors at worst. He almost did not recognize sleep without someone snoring nearby, without the stinging nip of a flea or the itchy welt left behind. Nay, he’d tossed about in his fluffy mattress as he stared at the ceiling and thought about Cat.

  “Well enough,” he replied. “And you?”

  No sooner had the question been asked than he was imagining her in her bed, wearing only a simple chemise. Sweet. Sensual. He could picture himself lifting the hem, drawing it higher over legs he now knew the shape of.

  She pulled her sword from its sheath with a hiss. The blade reflected the sun with a flat sheen, the edges dulled for safety. “Do you want to see what I’ve learned?”

  He pulled his own sword free with an element of trepidation. If her kick was indicative of what he would encounter while they sparred, he was in peril from his own imagination.

  She flicked her blade against his and grinned. “You needn’t look so nervous.” She circled him and gave him a teasing look. “I won’t hurt you.”

  “I assure you, that is not my concern.” He lifted his drooping blade. He could do this. Cat had sparred with him countless times before. They’d spent the better part of their childhood out in the bailey, firing arrow after arrow at the straw-filled target.

  Cat had always been better at it than him, no matter how hard he tried. But his efforts were not in vain. While he had been mediocre next to Cat, he had been exceptional compared to his fellow knights.

  But knights were not known for their skill with the bow. They were known for their swordsmanship, for their valiance and bravery.

  She launched herself at him without warning, arcing her blade through the air with a dexterity he almost fell prey to. His body acted before his mind could acknowledge the attack. His own sword drew up and knocked hers harmlessly to the side.

  He nodded in appreciation. “I see Drake has taught you well.”

  Cat beamed at the praise. “And I see you’ve become much faster.”

  He gave a nonchalant shrug that made her laugh as she settled into a fighting stance. He had missed sparring with her as much as he had their time climbing trees and roaming the land together; the flash of her eyes, the fierce set of determination that quickly gave way to a ready laugh if she misstepped.

  Cat could even make battle enjoyable.

  He swept his blade at her, and she stepped back. He pursued and circled his weapon around hers, knocking it easily from her grasp. Before he could declare his victory, she crouched low and leapt at him.

  As her body slammed into his, she curled one leg around the back of his, so his knee buckled, and they both crashed to the ground. She sat atop him, straddling his waist with her long legs. Jesu. Yet another innocent childhood pastime that held so much more awareness as an adult.

  She smiled triumphantly down at him. “I win.”

  5

  Geordie wouldn’t lose that easily. “Do you really think I would give you such a quick victory?” Careful to keep her from knocking her head on the ground, he flipped her over. “I win.”

  Her eyes narrowed with that fierce determination he loved. She swept her leg up, impossibl
y flexible as she’d always been, and attempted to shove him off with her knee. He palmed her thigh and pushed her away. It was hard to ignore how intimate their position was: bodies pressing together, writhing and grunting with effort.

  Her body had new curves from the last time they’d battled, and he felt every one of them beneath him now. She panted up at him as they both struggled, the sounds far too similar to that made during intimacy.

  Doubtless, this was another act that knights did not engage in. But then, there wasn’t protocol for fighting a woman when England had no other female warriors, save the five daughters of the Earl of Werrick. What Geordie did know was that Cat had never wanted to be treated as a delicate lady.

  Her long-ago words echoed in his mind: I’d rather you treat me like a man in training than be in battle and be killed.

  Still, he was careful with her. He was no longer a skinny boy, but a man trained to kill.

  He managed to shove aside her knee from his chest, then lowered his fist down as he faked punching her in the stomach. Though his hand moved far too slow to be an actual strike, and though he stopped it several inches from ever touching her, she gasped and clasped both hands protectively over her stomach.

  He immediately drew away, horrified. “I wasn’t actually going to strike you, Cat.”

  Her cheeks went red. “I know that.”

  But she would not have blocked herself in such a desperate manner if she truly did. Geordie frowned slightly as he thought through the movements again. Nay, he had truly moved his hand at a glacial pace, so slow, it would have been evident he’d had no intention to strike her.

  In the course of their childhood sparring with one another, he’d never struck her. Any weapon, including his fist, had always stopped before connecting with her. Why would she now assume he would actually hit her?

  He quickly got to his feet and offered his hand to her to aid her in standing.

  She accepted his assistance and allowed him to pull her up. “Forgive me, Geordie, I—” She shook her head.