But there Sir Gawain was, standing and speaking with a comely brunette who flushed at whatever he whispered in her ear. Cat could only guess, though her assumptions would most likely be accurate, since the same words had been graced upon her once before as well.
Lady Jane was a liar in many ways, but in this one thing, she had been correct: Sir Gawain attended the feast.
While it was an honor to be the focus of a feast hosted by the king, Geordie had been ready for it to end as soon as it began. He did not like hearing his deeds in battle so publicly put on display. Especially when details got grislier as the hour drew later and the knights had more to drink.
With each passing story, Mistress Howard appeared to grow more and more disgusted. Not that Geordie minded. It was for the best. He’d already told the king of his lack of interest and confessed he was not yet ready to marry. The king had been gracious in understanding and had not forced the union.
Geordie’s mother, however, listened to the heroic tales with affection glowing in her eyes. She stared at him the exact way he’d spent a lifetime wishing a parent would watch him: with love and with pride. His father had not come, citing illness.
It had been so easy for Geordie to forgive his mother, who had been yet another victim of his father’s perfidy, but he would never offer clemency toward Lord Strafford.
The king leaned closer to Geordie. “We think we know the lady who has stolen your heart.” His gaze fell on Cat. “Is that the one we hear hit the center of the target with every arrow she fired in the garden a few days prior?”
Geordie couldn’t help but smile. The court had been in a flurry of gossip over it. “She’s always been good with a bow.”
“Mayhap we ought to allow women in our army.” The king chuckled good-naturedly. “Her father is the Earl of Werrick. She is one of the few of his daughters left unwed. It’d be good to see another of his children with an Englishman, before they all marry those infernal Scots.”
Geordie observed Cat for a long moment. It appeared the coldness between herself and Tristan had melted away into something far friendlier. Far more flirtatious. Energy flared hot through Geordie and left his muscles raging with the need to fight. Even as his body prepared for war, a slice of pain lanced his heart.
Jealousy. He knew it for what it was.
Cat would not have him. She wouldn’t accept him when she knew he would demand to know who the babe’s father was. Why couldn’t he set that notion aside?
For her honor.
And he couldn’t so easily set aside something as important as Cat’s honor.
If he could, they could be together. Except the not knowing would be a rock in his soul, rattling about and painfully obvious. Nay, he could not so easily set such an idea aside.
“She is the reason you turned down the opportunity to wed Mistress Howard, eh?” the king pressed.
Tristan leaned toward Cat and whispered in her ear. She laughed at whatever it was he said, the sweet notes of her joy trickling over the din of conversations and made its way to Geordie.
He turned his attention from her. “I am not ready to be wed.”
The king nodded and then tilted his head, not fully accepting Geordie’s declaration. “We hear your father is unwell.”
Your father. The words turned Geordie’s stomach. “Baron Strafford has been suffering from poor health, as I understand it from my mother.”
“When his soul departs this world, it will be good to see a just man in the barony.” The king raised his goblet toward Geordie. “It is difficult to endure one’s parents using them as a pawn in political games.” The flinch to his lips told Geordie he understood. And how could he not, with what his own mother had put him through for years in her grasp for power?
The king recovered quickly. “Strafford has never done anything so grievous that we could strip him of his lands and title, but never have we given him our full trust.” He paused to drink. “You, however—we are alive because of trusting you. We release you from your promise to be our personal guard so that you may pursue your birthright as baron.”
“Any of your men would have done the same for you, Your Majesty,” Geordie protested.
“But not nearly as well.” The king grinned. “Off with you. Go let the ladies of court have at you. We can see them eyeing you like a flock of birds at a fish market. Good luck to you.”
Geordie rose from his seat and almost immediately ran into a woman whose brunette hair was coiled beneath a layer of fine gold netting.
“Sir Geordie.” She curtseyed and flashed him a saucy smile. “Lady Catriona was supposed to introduce me, but it appears she’s otherwise occupied this evening.”
He flicked a glance toward Cat to find Tristan helping her from the table. One only knew where they would go from there. The dance floor mayhap, where he would be forced to observe Tristan touching her subtly as Geordie once had? To the garden, to steal a kiss? Geordie’s cheeks went warm.
“I should like to know more of your stories,” the woman said.
“I don’t even know you,” Geordie murmured.
“Lady Jane Steward.” She purposefully let her stare drift down his body. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Her forwardness unnerved him, especially when it was unwanted. “Well met,” he replied. “I bid you good evening.”
Her mouth fell open in protest, but already someone was approaching him. Sir John. Geordie nearly groaned. Hopefully, the king had told the knight of Geordie’s decision not to wed the man’s daughter.
From the corner of Geordie’s eye, he caught Cat moving through the crowd.
“I hear you’re to become the next Baron Strafford.” Sir John held out a hand to Geordie and they clasped forearms. “Fortune falls in your favor.”
“Forgive me.” Geordie cast a glance toward Elizabeth. Better to air out the truth than let lies and distrust cause unrest among them on the battlefield. The knighthood was a brotherhood with a trust to transcend all else.
Sir John shook his head. “Nothing to forgive. My daughter is highly sought after. I only hope the man she finally marries has as good a soul as you.”
Geordie regarded his brothers-in-arms surrounding them. “There are many good souls here.”
Cat was moving quickly now, nearly directly behind Sir John, easy to watch. Tristan was not with her, but she had her attention fixed on someone.
“Enjoy your feast.” Sir John clapped him on the shoulder. “You deserve it.”
Geordie nodded his appreciation and moved toward Cat, trying to see where she went. A dark-haired man turned toward her and the smile spreading easily over his face told Geordie what he had been seeking. The expression was too quick, too eager, too intimate.
He knew the man. Sir Gawain. One of the knights who seemed to always find his way out of battle rather than into it, a man known to enjoy loving over fighting.
Cat tilted her head and said something to him that caused him to look about and nod with a sly grin. With that, the two of them began moving toward one of the doors exiting the great hall.
Geordie’s stomach twisted. Surely, she was not going for a tryst with the man after she’d been flirting with Tristan. Geordie clenched his hands into a fist, refusing to believe it of her. Especially with a man like Sir Gawain.
He tried to walk through the crowd toward her, but a man stepped in front of him, a baron something, to introduce his eligible daughter. Cat and Sir Gawain exited through one of the side doors to where the hall was no doubt quiet and filled with darkened alcoves.
Geordie politely accepted the introduction and moved five paces toward the door, when yet another person appeared in front of him. Frustration burned along the back of his neck.
At this rate, he would never get to Cat, but he knew he had to at least try.
19
Catriona followed Sir Gawain through the masses toward the door. It had been so easy to convince him to be alone with her, requiring only a flirtatious wink and the su
ggestion of intimacy.
He turned to face her briefly before they were fully free of the feast’s attendees. “Wait a moment before following me.” His blue gaze wandered down her body. “The second alcove on the left.”
The second alcove on the left.
His usual cave of debauchery, no doubt. And he’d said it with such ease.
Cat swallowed her disgust and simply smiled in reply. He raised his brows in a way he obviously thought charming. In a way she had once found charming.
He strode from the room with his arrogant gait. How had she ever even been attracted to him? He oozed cockiness and overinflated confidence she’d been so naïve as to interpret as worldliness and authority. Her sisters were right—she truly was a bad judge of character.
She paused by the door and adjusted her belt to ensure her dagger was within reach. She’d swapped out her eating dagger for one with a sharper, longer blade. He would not take advantage of her again.
After a careful sweep of the room, and a supportive nod from Tristan, Cat slipped through the door. While the feast had been lit with candles and alive with the chorus of conversation and music, the hall was cast in shadows and empty.
Her heart raced with what she was about to do, but she willed it to calm. There was no turning back, not when she had put far too much into this endeavor. She was nearly to the alcove when Sir Gawain stretched out a hand and grabbed her to him. Immediately, his touch was on her, pawing at her bosom, grabbing her bottom to press her to his arousal. His tongue thrust into her mouth, nearly choking her with the lingering taste of sour wine.
He overwhelmed her with the onslaught of his lust. Like last time. The odor of his costly musk and ambergris perfume slammed at her memory with fresh reminders of that night.
For a brief moment, her head swirled with panic.
“Cease this,” she growled against his lips.
He did not.
“I’m with child.”
That stopped him. He pulled his head away from hers, breathing heavily from his gaping mouth. He glanced down at her stomach.
She resisted the urge to cover the small bump. He did not need to witness any weakness on her part. She had to be strong.
His brow lifted. “Who shall I congratulate?”
The knave. It was tempting to pull the dagger from her belt and turn the sneer on his face into a mask of terror.
“You.” Cat forced her word to remain steady. “You are the father.”
He laughed, a hard, brittle sound that echoed down the empty hall. “You came to me with such eagerness, I’m sure you’ve slept with half the court.”
Cat clenched her hand into a fist. “I was a maiden when you took me.”
“A virgin?” He scoffed. “You fell open with the ease of a whore.”
Cat’s chest blazed at the offense, even if she knew it for what it was: a ruse to discourage her from his own accountability.
“I’ve been with no man but you.” She lifted her chin with a pride she did not feel. This was it. Even if she no longer held faith in the outcome, she had to say it. “Will you take the child as your own?”
He stared at her as if she’d asked him to carry the child in his own belly. “Are you actually trying to pass off another man’s bastard to me?” His lip curled in disgust. “I have a child on the way. I’ve no need for your lovers’ leavings.”
She did cradle her womb at that. “This child is yours, though I wish to God it was not.”
Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Sir Gawain stiffened. “Stop saying that.”
“How would your wife feel knowing that you’ve taken so many women at court?” Cat demanded.
His eyes narrowed and she was struck with how very much he looked like a rat with half his face buried in shadow. “She’s a proper lady who knows well how to turn the other way and hold her tongue.”
“Would she still be so obliging if she knew I carried your child?”
“Cease your accusations at once,” Sir Gawain said through clenched teeth.
“May I remind you that I am an earl’s daughter and you are a mere knight?” She lifted a single brow, haughty in her delivery. “If my father were to make a complaint against you to the king, he would believe my father over you.”
“Then your father would know you’re ruined, and your life would be destroyed.” Sir Gawain smirked. “I refuse to listen to another word.”
He made to step forward, but she shifted to stand in front of him. He shifted to go around her, but she put herself before him once more, their feet scuffling off the hard floor and echoing around them.
“My life is already destroyed.” Anger heated through her veins at the truth in her words, at what Sir Gawain had cost her. “I never asked for what you did to me. How dare you refuse to listen? How dare you deny culpability?”
“Culpability?” He straightened his doublet and suddenly did not look as arrogant as he had only moments before. “You were the one who flirted shamelessly with me, fluttering your lashes and catching my eye at every turn.” His words pressed a sore spot within her, and he knew it.
“You took advantage of me,” she said without the strength she would have liked.
He tried to move around her once more. “I didn’t make you seek me out while you were at court.”
She blocked him again. “The wine.”
“You mean the wine you drank as freely as any alehouse slattern? I asked you to join me in the garden and you said aye.” He tilted his head so that he gazed scornfully down his long nose at her. She hoped her child would not inherit that terrible nose.
“I told you to stop.” The breath panted from her, a heady blend of rage and fear and shame.
He gave a harsh bark of laughter. “What did you think we were going to do in the garden? Kiss sweetly while I whispered of your beauty in the moonlight?”
Heat prickled at her eyes. That was exactly what she’d assumed.
Sir Gawain scoffed. “You’re even more foolish than I initially thought.” He shoved her. The action was unexpected and done with such force, she was sent stumbling backward.
She staggered in her surprise but managed to remain upright.
“Leave me be, little slut.” He strode past her. “Seek out one of your other lovers to pin this offense on.”
“This is your child.” Cat grabbed his arm. “You will not leave me to deal with this on my own. You will accept responsibility.”
He spun about and his hand struck out at her like a snake, too fast and unexpected to block. It smacked her cheek with an audible pop that reverberated off the walls.
“You will learn your place among men,” he snarled.
Stars danced in her vision, but she shook them off. She’d been hit worse before in training.
“As you will learn yours among women.” She lunged at him, throwing the force of her elbow to his jaw. His head snapped to the side and blood spurted from his mouth. He cursed and stared at her, dumbfounded. His shock did not last long.
He roared in rage and ran at her with blind fury, his moves erratic and his foe sincerely underestimated. She ducked to avoid his clumsy punch.
She straightened and delivered a blow to his nose with the heel of her hand. Blood exploded from beneath her palm followed by a grunt of pain.
The hit had been done to diffuse him, but it had the opposite effect. Rather than fall beneath the pain, something in his eyes flashed and he went wild.
He shoved her back again. This time before she could steady herself, he pushed her against the wall with his forearm pressing into her neck.
A burning ache filled her throat as her head slammed against the stone wall. Her lungs screamed for air, but her inhale only resulted in a ragged choke.
“You broke my nose, you slattern.” He pressed harder on her throat.
A door opened in the distance and light flooded the darkened hall.
She could no longer draw breath. Her hand skimmed the smooth edge of her belt to where the hi
lt of her dagger jutted from its sheath. In a single motion, she slipped it free and pressed it to his groin. Just enough for the sharp edge to remind him of the damage a knife could do to such delicate skin.
The pressure on her throat eased.
“Hit me once more and I’ll ensure you never touch another woman again,” she rasped.
A bellowed cry of rage in the distance was followed by the force of a massive shadow, sweeping in and dragging Sir Gawain from her. Cat’s heart caught in her throat.
Geordie slammed Sir Gawain against the wall. “How dare you treat a woman thus?” He pushed his elbow into Sir Gawain’s throat as Sir Gawain had done to her. “You defile what it is to be a knight.”
Sir Gawain made a terrible choking sound. That was when Cat realized Geordie was not only holding him against the wall but lifting him completely off his feet.
Sir Gawain’s heels scrabbled silently against the tapestry behind him in a vain effort to find purchase. Geordie’s eyes were cold and intense, fixed on his task.
Alarm prickled at the back of Cat’s neck as her worst fear just became a real possibility. Geordie intended to kill Sir Gawain.
Geordie gritted his teeth as he shoved his full body weight against the wall, digging his forearm into Gawain’s skinny neck. For that was how he would think of this blackguard, not as Sir Gawain. He was undeserving of such a noble title.
Blood spurted from the man’s nose and ran hot down Geordie’s sleeve. Geordie had no intention of stopping, not until Gawain had ceased breathing and didn’t plan to remove his arm from the man’s throat even then. He’d killed enough men to know choking had to continue beyond loss of consciousness.
And he wouldn’t stop until Gawain was dead.
Cat pulled at his arm. “Stop, Geordie,” she cried. “You’ll kill him.”
Gawain’s eyes fluttered and started to roll up into his head.
“That is what I intend,” Geordie growled.
“And that’s why I didn’t tell you.” Cat pulled at him. “Stop.”
A door banged open in the distance and light spilled into the hallway, illuminating Gawain’s slackening face.
Catriona’s Secret Page 15
