He remained locked in Cat’s embrace as he spoke, unwilling to remove himself from the consolation he had been craving so desperately. She held him the entire time, never once interrupting. Never once reminding him of how terribly and thoroughly he’d cast her aside.
When he was done, she released him and gently stroked his face. He closed his eyes against the caress, wanting to feel it for a lifetime.
“I know you never felt wanted by your parents,” Cat said in a gentle voice.
He opened his eyes. “You always made me feel wanted.”
“But I am not your parents, and they want you now.”
He scoffed, letting the bitterness of sixteen years show. “Because they have no more sons, and my wretch of a cousin, Robert, will destroy the land and wealth if he gets his greedy hands upon it.”
Cat tilted her head in consideration. “Do you not want the barony?”
“Nay.”
“Why not?” She went to a small table and poured a goblet of wine from a flagon set by the fire. “I know the obvious reasons.” She pushed the goblet into his hand and nodded for him to drink. “Deferring the title to another would cause many problems.”
Once his parents petitioned the king with him being their still living son, and the king accepted, Geordie wouldn’t be able to decline the title. He could abdicate, but it would not please the king. Cat was indeed correct in her assessment. It would cause many problems.
Geordie took the goblet and drained the wine in two great gulps. It seared down his throat, burning at the hurt of emotion knotted in his chest. “To accept feels as though I’m forgiving them for their abandonment of me all those years ago.”
She took the goblet and set it aside. “If you were a baron, you would not have to fight like a knight.” She gently touched the scar along his collarbone that peeked just beyond the neckline of his tunic. “You would be safer.”
“I worked hard to become a knight, to restore honor in my life,” he said through gritted teeth.
“And now you can restore honor to the Strafford name, to make a new legacy.” She gazed into his eyes. “If anyone can do it, you can.” She put her hand to his chest. The heat of her palm bled through and warmed his heart. “Do not let an inability to forgive keep you from what you deserve.”
“Will you join me? As my wife?” he asked.
The hope on her face wilted. “I cannot.”
“I will take the babe in as my own, give him my name,” he said. “We can all live a happy life together.”
She shook her head.
Desperation scrabbled in his chest, clawing at his heart. “I would no longer be a lowly knight, but a baron. I would be worthy of you, Cat.”
“Geordie,” she whispered. “It was never because you are a knight, or because Lord Loughton was a baron. You have never, ever had to prove yourself to me. I have always believed in you.”
“You have,” he agreed.
He brought her closer to him and breathed in the lovely scent of roses that always brought back a rush of joyful memories. His forehead rested against hers. “And yet you will not marry me.” His emotions were raw and unrestrained frustration welled within him. “Why?”
“If we wed, you will want to know who my child’s father is.” She set her warm hands on either side of his face and kept her brow on his. “Do not say you would not, for you know it is true.”
Geordie did not deny it, only because she knew him too bloody well for him to try.
“I cannot ever tell you who the father of my child is.” Her fingers stroked his face.
Geordie closed his gritty eyes. “Why not?”
“Because you would kill him.” Cat took a shaky breath. “You would destroy everything you have built, and everything you are now working to achieve.”
Geordie nearly protested that he would not kill the man, but he knew it to be a lie. A married courtier had taken advantage of Cat’s naivety. She’d come from a life filled with innocence, raised far from the debauched courtiers with their calculated flirtations and false declarations of love. Aye, if Geordie knew which man had plucked her flower intentionally, knowing she would be left ruined, he would run the man through with his sword.
Still, he tried to offer a protest. “If it would mean having you, I could—”
She shook her head against his and tilted her mouth to capture his lips. It was a tender kiss, one borne of a love that could not be given or taken, a kiss of finality for what could never be. He reached for her, intending to draw her closer, when she pulled away from him and headed for the door.
He couldn’t let her go, not like this. Not now. “Cat.”
She turned and looked back at him, her eyes glistening with tears.
There was so much he wanted to tell her, to declare his love for her, to apologize for how he’d treated her, to say he didn’t deserve the care and advice she’d offered him without question or reproach. “Thank you for coming.” It was inadequate for all the emotions tearing through him, but he knew he could not bring himself to say more.
“It is better this way.” She let her gaze linger on him a moment longer, and then she was gone.
He stared at the closed wooden door and his heart cracked open. “I love you, Cat.”
Cat leaned her head back against the wall, composing herself outside the door of the tower room before descending the stairs. If she had left promptly, she might not have heard his beautiful, final words to her. But she’d lingered in her pain and had been rewarded with the most bittersweet words.
I love you, Cat.
She covered her mouth to suppress the sound of her jagged inhale. Tristan would be expecting her soon in the great hall to keep her company as she broke her fast. He seldom did so himself. Not for the arrogant logic of most nobles, being that only laborers ate a meal in the morning to sustain their energy through the day, but that he simply wasn’t hungry.
Already, Cat had stayed too long.
She pressed her hands to her face as though doing so could reduce the redness her tears had no doubt caused. Several deep breaths later, she was prepared as well as could be expected to face another day at court. She made her way down to the great hall amid many others seeking to break their fast in search of Tristan.
“Good morrow, Lady Catriona.” He approached her with a wide enough smile to bring out the dimple on his right cheek.
“Good morrow, Tristan.” She inclined her head respectfully to him. “I trust the day finds you well.”
“All the better now.” He pulled the seat for her to take before a servant could do it.
She gave him a skeptical look before accepting the proffered chair. “None of that talk now. You know I am uninterested in marriage.”
If nothing else, she had expressed her lack of desire to wed from the first. Despite her protests, he had continued to hover at her side. As she’d needed an excuse to remain at court while waiting for Sir Gawain to show himself, she had no choice but to allow his company.
Tristan settled into his own chair and leaned closer. “If we may speak candidly, I also am uninterested in marriage.”
She reached for a loaf of bread. “And spending your time with me gives your father hope enough that he leaves you alone?”
“That, and I enjoy your cleverness.” He winked at her. “Even if you are in love with the honorable Sir Geordie.”
She lifted her brows at him. He saw much more than she had given him credit for. “Are you jealous?” she teased, knowing he would not be.
He laughed. “With all due respect, my lady, he would be the one to capture my interest more so than you. However, given the way he stares at you, I will answer your question with an emphatic ‘aye.’”
Cat’s mouth fell open in surprise, but she snapped it shut, recovering quickly. She understood now why Lord Loughton had been so eager for his son to meet her, and why he had been so driven to push them together.
“You will have to wed eventually,” Cat said softly.
“M
ore’s the pity.” Tristan reached for a slice of bread and spread a bit of salted butter over it. “But while we are prodding at open wounds, why do you not marry Sir Geordie? It is obvious to all at court that you both desire one another.”
Cat took a breath to reply, but Tristan leaned closer still. “May I guess?”
She pressed her lips together, suddenly frightened at what he might suggest. Slowly, she nodded.
“You’re with child. And it isn’t his.” Tristan leaned back in his chair. “Am I correct? I assume from your stricken face I am.”
Cat immediately smoothed her expression.
“Do you know when you are nervous, your hands cup your lower stomach?” He glanced into her lap where her hands were protectively folded over that delicate little bump. “I’ve only ever seen women with child do such a thing.”
She immediately unclasped her hands and settled them awkwardly on either side of the chair. “I will not be at court long,” she warned him. “I am to confront my babe’s father and then I will be gone.”
“And he is already wed, isn’t he?”
Cat made a face at Tristan. Was her situation so terribly predictable?
Tristan laughed good-naturedly. “It was honorable of you to inform me you were uninterested in marriage. Most women would have tried to pass their bastard off to a new husband.” He glanced about the large room. “Is the sod at court now?”
Cat shook her head. “Nay, but I anticipate he will arrive in time for Sir Geordie’s feast.”
“And where will you go after you speak with him?” Tristan bit into his bread and chewed slowly as he waited for her response.
“To Berkley Place, where my sister and her family live.” She brought her hands together and realized she nearly settled them over her stomach once more. Instead, she twisted her fingers together. “I hope once the babe is born without the prying eyes of court, or the rest of my family, that I can have it delivered to its father or to a good family.”
“And after the child is delivered?” he pressed.
She shrugged. “Then I return to Werrick Castle.”
“Such a barbaric land.” Tristan shuddered. “It is no wonder your Sir Geordie came out as tough as he did. I’d wager you’ve got a bit of an edge yourself.”
“No one can shoot an arrow like me,” Cat said proudly.
“I’d like to see that.” Tristan grinned. “Truly. You must show me later this afternoon in the gardens.”
“Where everyone will see?” Cat glanced around the great hall filled with arrogant nobles, resplendent in their kirtles, tunics and doublets of costly fabric.
He smirked. “Let them. Sir Geordie will be looking on as well.”
She hesitated.
“You are keeping yourself from love, but why not allow him to see you from a distance and be proud of you, just as you are proud of him?”
She tilted her head toward Tristan. “You really are curious enough to use that to goad me?”
He grinned. “Aye.”
“Very well. This afternoon, then.”
“Now that we’ve settled that, I have one more question to ask you.” Tristan met her gaze with his long lashed brown eyes. “If the father will not have the babe and you cannot find another home for it, would you consider marrying me?”
Cat frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“You know who I am.” He reached out and took her hand the way a lover might. “You know I will never be able to love you in the way a man loves a woman, and we would already have a child.” He narrowed his eyes meaningfully. “You would be free to love Geordie with the same discretion that I would use with my lovers.”
Tempting though his words were, Cat knew she could never allow Geordie to take her as a mistress. She could never tarnish his shining reputation thus. However, Tristan’s solution would offer her child legitimacy. A secret hope flared within Cat, a fledgling one that had begun to take shape with each tender stroke of her hand over her belly: the wish to keep the babe, to be its mother and love it as she had been loved in her own childhood.
She regarded Tristan’s hand on hers, his fine, tapered fingers, the rhythmic tap-tap of his pulse ticking at the underside of his wrist. It was the second proposal she had received that morning, and it was one she would be foolish to not consider.
18
Several days later on the night of Geordie’s feast, Cat dressed with extreme care. Not only for Geordie, who she was eager to see so rightfully honored, but also for her confrontation with Sir Gawain.
Many people had poured into the castle throughout the day and all now entered the great hall. Minstrels played a merry tune to welcome them into the feast and the tables sparkled with wealth. Golden goblets, jeweled salt cellars, costly plates gleaming and ready to be piled high with sumptuous food. The crowd made their way to their chairs in their best clothing and were greeted with hearty pours of wine. A feast was never an event to be missed, especially when the drink flowed freely and the food finely prepared.
For Cat, it was the culmination of everything she’d been anticipating since she left Werrick Castle.
Tristan guided her smoothly through the crowd to their places. The tension between them had melted away since he’d shared his own secret with her. Now they were like everyone else at court, tethered by promises to keep truths buried deep, while they put on a show of being who they were not.
How swiftly the court corrupted.
At least for all those who were not like Geordie. She saw him on the dais by the king in a seat of honor. He was slightly taller than the king, younger and far more muscular. Compared to those who sat around him, he looked like a god, perfect and powerful with strength.
“I hear he is heir to the Strafford Barony,” Tristan whispered into her ear.
Cat smiled and cast a coy look up at him.
“You know.” Tristan put on a show of mock offense as he took his seat. “The entire story is the stuff of a troubadour’s tale, how his father used Sir Geordie in good faith and then lied, even though he knew his son would pay the price with his life. Is it true?”
Cat’s smile faltered as she remembered that boy in his prison cell. His chin had been lifted high; his stance wide. There had been fear in his large brown eyes, and pain after such betrayal by his own family, but he had stood tall and brave in the face of death.
He’d been extraordinary, even then.
“My father never would have killed him,” she said in the age-old argument she’d often had with Geordie. “I think it was more fortuitous for my father than for Geordie that I happened to be in the dungeon that day. It gave him an excuse to let the boy go free.”
“I think the boy would disagree with you on that account.” Tristan nodded toward the dais where Geordie openly regarded Cat.
Heat flooded her cheeks. She stared back in his direction, effusing her look with all the pride in her heart. And all the love as well. For how could she not allow him how truly happy she was at the level of honor he had earned?
The feast opened with several speeches made in Geordie’s honor, and continued on until the end of the meal. Then, the entertainment began. One by one, the story of Geordie’s accomplishments came to light. How he had truly fended off twenty men on his own, how he had saved the king, how he had single-handedly shifted the fate of battle, and so many more stories.
Hearing such harrowing tales made it easy to see how he had sustained so many wounds on the battlefield. He had continually inserted himself into danger and had been strong enough to survive every time.
Cat listened to all his accomplishments with her heart in her throat. She was not the only female to do so, as every lady in attendance kept her gaze locked onto Geordie’s handsome face as he flushed with each story and met the rounds of cheers with shy smiles.
Cat knew the attention left him discomfited, but she reveled in the praise for him. This was his opportunity to shine and he had earned every moment of it. Let all the world see him for the man he truly wa
s.
Everyone appeared enthralled, with the exception of a gentleman off to the side with his dark hair pulled back and held in a thong. He sat back in his chair with his forearms crossed over his chest as he glowered in Geordie’s direction.
“Who is that man?” Cat asked Tristan and indicated the man.
Tristan scoffed. “You’d think he’d have more decorum than to show his irritation so baldly before the court.” He smirked. “That is the former heir to the Strafford Barony, Robert.”
A shiver wound down Cat’s spine. “Is he dangerous?”
“From the stories I’ve heard of Sir Geordie, I wager he’ll be fine.” Tristan narrowed his eyes at the former Strafford heir. “But if Sir Geordie were any other mortal man, it would be prudent to employ a modicum of caution.”
Cat hummed in agreement. “If all goes well tonight and I do not return, will you ensure Geordie is properly warned?”
“I will do it myself,” Tristan vowed with a twinkle in his eye.
“Then I’m glad to have given you a reason to speak with him.” Cat chuckled.
“As am I, my dear.” Tristan winked at her. “Even if he’ll only ever love you,” he whispered into her ear.
Warmth washed over Cat at his words. She shouldn’t wish them to be true. She wanted Geordie to have a happy life with a woman he truly did care for. Mayhap the demure red-haired daughter of Sir John who appeared to be pushed toward him in conversation while they all supped. From what Cat had heard of her, she’d recently emerged from a convent. She had the doe-eyed look of a lady released into a world she was ill-prepared to face.
Doubtless she did not carry another man’s child in her womb and would not even be at risk to experience such a fate. Though it destroyed Cat to admit it, Sir John’s pristine daughter was the kind of woman Geordie deserved: a woman as pure as him.
A man in the distance caught Cat’s attention, dragging her focus from Geordie and recalling her second motive for her attendance that evening. It had been far too easy to forget as she’d watched Geordie being honored.
Catriona’s Secret Page 14
