Geordie put an arm up on Eldon’s shoulder and said something that made the man laugh. It was the first time she’d seen Geordie from afar like this. As a man, confident in his skill and his place in life, a natural leader. The casual ease of his demeanor passed off to those he spoke with. He was both liked and admired by others; that much was apparent in both of Werrick Castle’s soldiers.
Pride swelled in her, happy and warm as it expanded nearly too large for her chest. Geordie had worked hard for that admiration. For all of it. And he’d done it through tireless effort and the grit of sheer determination. This was why she could not tell him. She couldn’t allow him to sacrifice all those years of dedication, throw them away to settle the score of an offense.
Geordie broke off for a moment to ask a passing serving woman for something. When he was done, his gaze did not skim over her departing backside. Nay, his attention flicked first to the stairs, then to Cat.
His smile widened and he lifted his cup in silent toast toward her. If she hadn’t known him, if they hadn’t had the lifetime of closeness and bonding, she would still be tempted to approach him following such a welcome invitation. For as handsome as he was, what woman would not?
“Now, Freya.” Cat held back a wistful sigh as her heart gave a fluttering beat. “Now we can join them.”
“Aye, my lady,” Freya replied with a smile in her voice.
Together, they approached the men. Geordie followed Cat’s path the entire way, a slight lift to the corner of his mouth in a lazy, appreciative grin. Eddies tickled low in her stomach, a warm, pleasant sensation she enjoyed.
“My lady.” Geordie bowed low and kissed her hand.
His lips were soft against her skin and made her recall the gentleness of his kiss the night of his return to Werrick Castle.
How she craved another. How she craved him. Even as she knew she shouldn’t, even as she knew he would be best without her, she could not stop the thrum of her own true desire.
She inclined her head as he straightened. “Sir Geordie. You appear to be in fine spirits.”
“All the finer now.” Even as he said the words, and despite the flirtation in his stare, color touched his cheeks.
Ever her sweet Geordie. Her own face flushed warm.
“I hope you’re hungry.” He glanced to the left as several steaming trenchers of hearty pottage and bread were set upon a nearby table.
“Is all that for us?” Cat asked, incredulous.
“It’s for Eldon. Our food will be out shortly.” Geordie bumped his arm against the taller soldier.
Eldon rubbed his hands in anticipation. “Finally, someone appreciates my appetite.”
Cat laughed and allowed Geordie to lead her to the food-laden table. They had not traveled as long today as she had on the first day of her previous journey to court with Ella. Which meant there would be more days of travel this time than the last.
Cat caught Geordie’s shy smile aimed at her and suddenly was grateful for that extra time. It would make her further along in her condition, aye, but it would also give her more time with him.
And more time to figure out what she was going to do if Sir Gawain would not offer his aid.
The following four days were blessedly uneventful as they followed the old road along the river, the remnants of what an ancient city had left behind. In some areas, Geordie noted the brush had not been cut back to two hundred feet as per the king’s orders, which meant the likelihood of attacks increased. They kept to the center of the road in those areas, as well as they could over the patches of broken cobbled paving.
Thus far, each inn they stayed at had been clean, proving Durham’s ability to pick accommodating lodging. It was one of the reasons the dark-haired Englishman had been sent along with their party. The man had a knack for finding a good place to sleep.
Better than anything, however, was Cat. Over the course of their journey, she had come to life once more. It was as though she was shedding the husk that had become the new Catriona, and revealing a shinier, more exuberant part of herself.
After getting settled into a new inn for the evening, Geordie found himself glancing toward the stairs that led from the private rooms above to the hall. It was a routine they’d fallen comfortably into. Cat and Freya settled into their rented room and refreshed themselves, while the men enjoyed some libation and ordered a round of warm food to be brought down after dumping their belongings unceremoniously into their rooms.
Movement caught Geordie’s eye on the stairs. His heart leapt as Cat descended with graceful, airy steps. She made her way toward him, a smile lighting her face. Other men turned to watch in appreciation as she passed, but she paid them no mind, if she even noticed them. Nay, the entirety of her attention was fixed on him alone. As though Geordie was the only man in the room to exist.
That was how it had always been with Cat. Even as his own parents had abandoned him, leaving him to die for their betrayal, Cat had made him feel like he belonged. Like he was wanted. He had a fortnight remaining to enjoy the time with her before she would meet with Lord Loughton and his son. Geordie’s stomach twisted.
“Is there to be a feast tonight?” Cat scanned the crowded hall where the musicians were already beginning to play. In the air hung the unmistakable scent of fat crackling over a spit and succulent roasting meat.
“Aye,” Geordie grinned, already anticipating a night away from their usual fare of pottage or bread and cheese.
But it was more than that, he wanted to dance with Cat. Mayhap to even kiss her, woo her and keep her from ever thinking of marrying the baron’s whelp.
They ate heartily, supping on roasted venison and stewed vegetables, followed by generous helpings of wine and ale. This time, Geordie did not wait for Cat to question if he would ask her to dance. Instead, he simply held out his hand to her.
“Do you anticipate my answer so readily that you do not even ask?” She put her hand into his and allowed him to pull her to standing.
He spun her about and caught her by the waist. “Aye.”
She laughed as he led her to where a group of people were already dancing in time to a jaunty tune.
They moved together through the music; their eyes locked on one another. Attraction crackled between them; the air thick with currents of energy like the feeling before lightning strikes.
The closer their bodies got, the more noticeable the sensation, drawing them together as though they’d been made to fit perfectly with one another. They were already nearly touching when a drunkard passed them, his arms and legs flailing in a mockery of the dancers. His lifted leg bumped into Cat’s back and sent her sprawling into Geordie.
He caught her in his arms and regarded the man who had hit her. Something in him snapped, that deep part of him trained to be a warrior, a fighter, a protector. Men were to respect women, not hit them and walk by as if nothing had happened.
“Geordie, he’s drunk,” Cat said softly.
Geordie’s muscles went hot with the need to confront the man, to demand an apology on Cat’s behalf. The man needed to learn how to respect a woman. “He hit you,” Geordie replied tersely.
He hadn’t realized he’d taken a step toward the drunkard until Cat put a hand to his chest.
“It was not on purpose,” she protested. “And if I were truly offended, I assure you, I could handle it myself.”
They both looked down at where her hand rested on his chest at the exact same time. Her cheeks flushed red and she pulled her hand back as if she’d been burned.
“I don’t mind your touch.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “I never have.”
She bit her lip. “Geordie…”
There was trepidation in her voice as she said his name, as though preparing to say something she didn’t want to. But something she ought to.
He ran the back of his knuckles down the slope of her smooth cheek. She exhaled a soft breath and it whispered over his skin.
His heart thundered in his chest, his blood pou
nding–nay, singing–urging him to tilt back her head and claim her luscious mouth. He brushed his thumb over her chin and her lashes swept lower. With a single finger at her jawline, he lifted her face.
A crash sounded nearby. Geordie had just enough time to pull Cat toward him as a tankard went flying past the spot where her head had been. Shouts rang out around and two men launched at one another, their faces red with drink and outrage.
Geordie led Cat away from the men, toward an alcove where no errant drinks might fly at them. Even still, he kept his back to the crowd with her against a wall, blocking anything that might come. “You weren’t injured?” It was a statement as much as a question.
Cat chuckled good-naturedly and shook her head. “Even if I’d been struck, I doubt I would have suffered any real harm. Thank you for saving me.”
“I told you,” he said earnestly. “I’ll always protect you.”
The laughter in her eyes melted away. “I don’t want that. You must leave me to care for myself sometimes.”
Geordie pressed closer to her, enough to detect the sweet, familiar scent of her. “But I want to keep you safe.”
“Don’t say that.” Even as she spoke, she lifted her face upward and pulled him toward her. She pressed her mouth to his, not with the lightness of his past kisses, but with a hungry explosion of passion. Her lips closed over his and the tip of her tongue teased into his mouth.
Fire shot through his veins. He wanted to run his fingers over her body, learn with his hands what he saw with his eyes. He wanted to kiss her and kiss her and kiss her until all thoughts of Lord Loughton and court were cleared from her mind.
Abruptly, Cat broke off the kiss and pressed her forehead to his, her eyes squeezed shut.
“Forgive me, Geordie.” She leaned back to look at him, her eyes glossy with tears. “I cannot accept your protection.”
And with that, she slipped away, darting through the crowd and hastening up the stairs.
10
Cat should never have kissed Geordie. She pushed the door to her room closed and leaned back against it. Her heart raced with such frenzy, she had difficulty catching her breath. Why had she done it?
Her head lowered back with a dull thud against the door.
She knew exactly why she’d done it. Because he was so wonderfully brave; because the concern in his eyes made her insides melt. She wanted to be a girl worthy of his protection, but her secret could destroy him. Nay, it would destroy him.
If he’d been ready to confront a drunkard who had bumped into her, what might he do to a man who had plied her with drink and fumbled about under her skirts? A shiver ran down her spine, trailing prickles of goosebumps in its wake.
She was all too aware of what he would do.
That thought weighed on her like a blacksmith’s anvil, all through the night and well into the morning. By the time they were on the remnants of the old Roman road once more, exhaustion pulled at her. At mid-day, her eyes were gritty with sleeplessness and her bones felt as though they were sagging in on themselves.
That was when the rain began.
Patters of icy droplets spattered them. At first, the drops were sporadic, but soon became a driving rain as the storm began in earnest. Freya gave a little scream of surprise at the suddenness of it, and Cat pulled her cloak over her head to shield herself from the chilly deluge. Thick clouds blotted out any warmth the sun provided.
Geordie immediately began issuing orders in a calm voice, sending Durham ahead to find lodging and instructing Eldon to aid Freya into the cart so she didn’t get wet. Geordie went to Cat himself and helped her from Star.
He caught her with strong arms and guided her to the cart. His arm remained over her as they walked, providing her with warmth, and as much shelter from the rain as he could manage. She was perfectly capable of remaining upright on her own, and yet she reveled in his closeness, in the wonderful comfort of Geordie.
He lifted her into the covered cart as though she weighed nothing and settled her beside Freya. His dark hair hung in wet waves on either side of his face and rain dripped from his strong nose, but he did not appear to notice either. “Stay in here until the rain abates, aye?”
She nodded and scooted closer to her maid so that they might share body warmth. Geordie remained in the rain, seeing to the horses to ensure they were on the firmer parts of the road and out of the sucking puddles of mud.
With that, their small party moved onward once more, moving to meet Durham, who hopefully had found lodging nearby. Their pace was slow, which Cat was grateful for lest the cart rattle her apart.
A swell of pride heated in Cat’s breast again, even as icy water seeped through her cloak and wind sent chills prickling over her skin. It was only the rain Geordie was saving them from, aye, but he’d done it with such ease and confidence that she could easily imagine him on a battlefield. She was certain he would make all his decisions as readily, quickly chosen and yet carefully considered with the knowledge of how they would affect the lives of his men.
Durham met them soon after and led them to the inn he’d found. Even then Geordie continued his efforts, first seeing to Cat and Freya, then focusing on the care of the horses. He was the last one to enter the inn and seek shelter for himself. Indeed, his hair was still wet with rain when they sat down for supper.
The following morning when they resumed their journey, she noticed a glassiness to his eyes and a flush to his cheeks. He shrugged off her worry when she asked after it, but she kept her attention on him as they traveled throughout the day. His eyes slipped closed several times as he rode, but each time, he straightened immediately and blinked his eyes open.
Cat’s heart gave a little squeeze. He was not well. It was for that reason she went to Durham herself to see if he might find a monastery for them that evening, one with a healing cottage for treating illness. He agreed without complaint, obviously having seen Geordie’s condition deteriorate through the day as well.
Geordie protested weakly that he needed no care, but his objections died away after several minutes of riding. Eventually, he fell completely silent, his head dipping forward to his chest multiple times. When they arrived at the monastery, he dismounted on his own, his shoulders squared with determination.
Cat slid from Star before he could approach her to help her from the horse. She would not have him care for her when he needed care himself. He strode toward her, his gait slow, yet purposeful. He staggered slightly, veering to the left and knocking himself off balance.
Cat ran to him and grabbed his arm to steady him. His body blazed with heat, even through his sleeve. She cried out in alarm and put a hand to his brow. His skin was like fire.
“I’m fine,” he mumbled.
“You are far from fine,” she said in horror. “You must let the monks see to you at once.”
He gazed at her through glassy, heavy-lidded eyes and finally acquiesced with a slow, lazy nod. Despite his agreement to receive healing, he insisted on walking himself.
They made their way inside, one slow, stubborn step at a time and were shown to a large room filled with beds. Most were occupied, some neatly made and ready for an occupant.
The aged monk took them to one of these beds. Cat helped pull down the blankets for Geordie, guiding him to the thin mattress. He sagged to the small cot and lay upon it. His eyes fell closed and his breathing became deep and even. He did not wake again for some time.
Cat sat at his side, watching him sleep, grateful for each swell of his chest as he breathed.
She had never been to a monastery for healing. She’d only known of their existence based on conversations she’d overheard at inns. It was not like the little stone room at Werrick Castle, where Isla would have had an herbal concoction at the ready to aid with whatever ailed the person.
Nay, the monks offered the sick several prayers, a bed and a bit of broth thickened with ground almonds and beans.
The heat of Geordie’s skin did not abate under such ministr
ations. In fact, he seemed to grow hotter still as the night dragged on. Panic welled in Cat’s chest.
“Is there nothing else to be done?” Cat asked when the monk next appeared.
The man was young, his face unlined. There was something in his wide blue eyes that made her think of their priest at Werrick Castle, Bernard.
This man, however, was not as twitchy and carried himself with an air of authority. “If he is ill, it is doubtless a direct result of a sin committed. Praying will aid with the purging of his fever.”
Helpless tears welled in Cat’s eyes. She shook her head in angry frustration. “Nay, he is the purest, kindest man there is. Surely, there must be something else.”
The monk nodded to where Geordie’s sword lay on the ground beneath his bed. “He is a soldier, is he not?”
“Aye, a knight.”
Something flashed in the monk’s eyes. “Then he is neither kind nor pure.”
Cat wanted to protest that the man didn’t know Geordie, that whatever he thought of soldiers, Geordie was not like others. But it would do little good. “Is there something we can do for him?”
“A barber will come in two days and will bleed him if his humors are out of balance.” The monk lowered his head in reverence. “Until then, he is in God’s hands.”
The man said nothing more and moved on. Cat clenched her fists in an effort to tamp down her anger at the man’s reaction to finding out Geordie was a knight. The monk had not been in battle; he did not know war as Cat did.
And while she knew little of medicine, she knew with certainty Isla did not approve of bleeding. The barbaric practice of educated men, she’d hissed once before.
Cat pressed a hand to Geordie’s scalding forehead. He gave a soft humming sound and turned into her touch.
“Cat,” he murmured.
“I’m here, Geordie.” She pressed her hand lower, to his cheek. It had been years since she’d been sick with fever, but she remembered well how the cool press of a palm felt like heaven.
Catriona’s Secret Page 8
