She’d never heard of that place. “’Tis an honor to dance with you, my lord.”
“And with you, Highness.”
She inclined her head to him before the dance began. They didn’t have an opportunity to speak too much more as they weaved between the others and passed partners. Cat continued to search the crowd for Bracken or Lochlan.
But again, she was disappointed. Not even Simon was around. Where could they all be?
Lochlan froze as he entered the hall and saw the dancers on the floor. In truth, there was only one dancer who drew and captured his gaze immediately and she was the most graceful of all. Every arc of her arm, every step of her foot was a symphony. Surely the woman had to be descended directly from a muse to possess that much talent. There was no other explanation.
And when he saw her smile at the stranger she was dancing with an unwarranted fury assaulted him. Never in his life had he wanted to kill anyone as much as he wanted to kill that unnamed man.
Before he could think better of it, he was across the room and cutting in.
Cat looked up with a gasp as she finally saw the one person she’d been seeking.
“May I?”
Lord Frederick graciously backed away.
Cat couldn’t breathe as she saw the look of furious pain on Lochlan’s face. “Are you going to dance with me?” she asked, hoping to lighten his mood a trifle.
“If I must.”
The reluctance in his tone was enough to make her merciful toward him. She took his hand and led him away from the other dancers.
Lochlan let out a relieved breath that she hadn’t forced him to dance. “Thank you for not embarrassing me.”
Her smile literally took his breath away. “It’s the least I can do for the man who intends to relieve me of my current predicament.”
Lochlan smiled at her words as he continued to hold her hand. “So you received my message?”
“Aye and it couldn’t have come at a better time. I was already near madness.” She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath as if savoring the thought. “Thank you.”
He tsked at her as he led her outside to a small garden that was just off the hall. “Do you think me such a villain that I’d leave you to your worst nightmare after you saved me?”
“Honestly, I’ve known many who would have. But nay, I expected you to come for me.”
“Then I’m grateful I didn’t disappoint you.”
Cat paused by a bench to look up at him. In the moonlight, he was so incredibly handsome. Then again, he was always handsome, no matter the light. There was just something about the moon that softened his features and made him appear less harsh and stern. Her heart pounding, she wanted to taste him.
She rose up slowly.
Lochlan let out a feral growl before he pulled her against him and kissed her breathless. She should have no feeling for this man and yet she did. All she wanted was to hold him close. To keep him right here, in her arms. She didn’t know why, but she drew strength from him. Comfort.
And she never wanted to leave that.
But the most surprising thing she felt was the foreign sensation of being home. It was as if she were meant to be in his arms.
Closing her eyes, she breathed him in.
Lochlan cupped her head in his hands as desire flooded his body. In all his life, he’d never ached like this for a woman. He wanted her in a way that defied any reason. He was about to do something for her that he’d sworn he’d never do for anyone.
Jeopardize his people. Risk his life.
And he didn’t even care. Nay it wasn’t that, he did care. But keeping her safe was even more important to him.
Someone cleared their throat.
Lochlan pulled back to find Lord Reginald scowling at them.
“Your Highness?” the man said coldly.
Cat blinked her eyes open. Instead of looking behind her to see Reginald, she continued to look up at Lochlan. The innocent desire he saw reflected in her eyes tore through him like fire. Whatever this madness that had possession of him had also taken her.
“Highness,” Reginald practically barked. “I think it best you return inside.”
“Don’t forget me,” she mouthed the words to him.
“Never,” he breathed.
Her smile floored him before she pulled away and turned to follow Reginald back inside. Lochlan stood there, his heart aching from the loss.
“You are a brave man.”
He turned at the deep voice that was coming out of the darkness behind him. He could make out only the faintest outlines of the man’s body. “How so?”
Damien St. Cyr stepped out of the shadows to eye him coldly. As before, his face was concealed by a silver mask, which made Lochlan wonder if the man wasn’t infected with leprosy. “You dabble with a princess when half her father’s court is in attendance. What else could you possibly be?”
“Foolish.”
Damien let out a low laugh. “Aye, of that I have no doubt. I will say this though, my cousin doesn’t trust anyone and yet she followed you out here. I find that…odd.”
“Is that why you were spying on us?”
Damien smirked. “Nay. I was here already. You two disturbed the fresh air I was trying to find.”
“Then I shall leave you to it.” He started back for the hall.
“Lochlan?”
He paused at Damien’s call. “Aye?”
“A word to the wise. There are enemies aplenty here.”
His blood ran cold at the warning. “Meaning what?”
Damien brushed his bottom lip with his thumb as if considering how to respond. When he did, his voice was laden with warning. “A good friend once told me to be wary where you put your trust. Not everyone is as careful with it as you are.” And with that he vanished back into the shadows.
Lochlan stood there, contemplating those words. They were wise indeed, but he wondered what had prompted them. He was still frowning when he returned to the great hall.
A quick scan failed to locate Catarina. But Simon joined him almost as soon as he returned.
“Are you all right?” Simon asked.
“Aye. I just had a strange encounter.”
Simon’s eyes widened. “Are you speaking of your tryst with Catarina?”
Lochlan scowled. “I beg your pardon?”
“That was on the tongue of many a wagging gossipmonger when I arrived. It appears you were seen kissing Catarina outside in the gardens.”
Lochlan let out a sound of disgust. “Nay. Have they nothing better to do?”
“Than ruin lives for no other reason than they can? Nay. ’Tis the nature of people, I fear, to speak out of turn and harshly about those they don’t know.”
Truer words were never spoken.
Simon cleared his throat. “Well if you aren’t speaking of the gossips, then what has you scowling so?”
“I spoke to Damien St. Cyr outside. He told me to be wary of my trust. That others wouldn’t be as careful with it as I.”
“Hmmm.”
There was something hidden in that idle comment. “What?”
Simon folded his arms over his chest. “I find it odd myself. ’Tis something Stryder used to say when we were youths together.”
Hmmm indeed. That was interesting. “You think it a threat against Stryder?”
“With Damien, one never knows. Something truly horrible happened to him in the Holy Land. He didn’t come back intact and I don’t mean just his face was disfigured. Methinks his mind as well.”
“Disfigured?”
He nodded. “It’s why he wears his mask. Apparently the Saracens tortured him and his face was destroyed. To my knowledge no one has seen it since he returned.”
So that explained it. “I thought he had leprosy.”
“Nay. But from the tales that are told, he would probably prefer that.”
No doubt. Lochlan let out a tired breath as he scanned the crowd again seeking a dark, slight form.
> “If you’re seeking our lady, they took her above as soon as she entered the room. Most likely to get her away from…oh what term did the crone use? Your most lecherous lips.”
He cringed at Simon’s teasing. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
Simon grinned playfully. “Nay, I was hoping to incense you.”
“For any particular reason?”
“My nature. Now if you’ll excuse me, I see my lady wife is attempting to climb out of her chair. Let me go assist her.”
Lochlan watched as Simon rushed across the hall to a petite but plain woman. Her features softened the moment she saw him and the love in her expression made his own chest tighten. He would give anything to have a woman look at him like that.
Just once.
Simon kissed her hand before he practically picked her up out of her chair and set her on her feet. Offering her his arm, he escorted her to the stairs.
Lochlan glanced up to the ceiling above his head as he wondered where Catarina was and what she was doing. He felt her absence like a physical pain.
But they would be together again soon enough. Holding close to that thought, he made his way back toward his tent.
Cat couldn’t stop pacing as time once again dragged on unmercifully. It really was true that time only passed swiftly when one enjoyed oneself. If one were suffering, it lagged like the weakest of snails.
But finally midnight came.
Relieved, she used the pretext of needing to go to the garderobe to get past her guards and Reginald’s wife. As soon as she was certain they weren’t following her, she diverted her course toward the gardens where she’d left Lochlan earlier.
The moon had fallen behind a cloud, making the entire area dark and spooky. Her imagination went wild with seeing demons and wolves in every shadow.
Or worse someone who would call out to the guards to take her.
She moved slowly and with purpose until she was back at the very spot where they’d stood earlier.
Her heart hammering, she tried to peer through the darkness to find her champion. Where are you, Lochlan? The question chased itself around in her mind until she felt a presence behind her.
She turned toward it with a smile…one that faded as soon as she could see the man’s face.
It wasn’t Lochlan.
Terrified, she started to move away only to run into another man’s body. Tall and broad-shouldered, he looked down at her with an evil glint in his eye.
“Evening, Princess.”
Before she could move, he stuffed a cloth in her mouth and wrapped a rope around her body. She tried to scream and kick, but they seemed to expect it.
The next thing she knew, they’d covered her head with a sack and had her completely tied up.
“She may not have a brother to demand his life, but methinks the king will be sure to kill Lochlan for us. Now leave the cloth and let us go.”
Chapter 11
Lochlan frowned as he continued to wait for Catarina in the shadows by the stairs. She should have been here long ago. Something was wrong. He knew it.
Worried, he headed outside to where Simon and Stryder were waiting for them so that they could take Catarina to safety. “She hasn’t shown.”
Simon looked to Stryder. “You did tell her the stairs, correct?”
“Me?” he asked, aghast. “I thought you were to tell her.”
Simon snorted. “Nay. I distinctly remember we decided you would be the one to give her the meeting time and place.”
“No one informed me of this. Last word to me was that you would be the one to speak to her.”
A bad feeling went through Lochlan. “She told me after supper that she’d received my message.”
Stryder scowled. “Did she say who’d given it to her?”
He shook his head.
A muscle worked in Simon’s jaw. “Do you think Bracken could have told her?”
Lochlan doubted it. “Since Bracken was taking your lady wife home, nay. I didn’t give him the location for fear of endangering them.”
Stryder cursed. “Then who did she speak to?”
“That would be the question…” Along with who else would have known about their plans. Lochlan scanned the area, but there was no sign of her anywhere.
Stryder stepped back. “I’ll have Rowena check her room. Maybe she’s still there. Something could have happened. Perhaps she couldn’t get past the guards.”
That would definitely make Lochlan feel better. He wanted to believe that she was still safe and sound in her room. “I’ll wait here until your return.” But that was the last thing he wanted to do. He felt the need to start searching for her immediately. Every second they delayed, could be critical to her well-being if she wasn’t there.
“I’ll check the stables for her horse,” Simon said. “And if it’s still there, I’ll check the stairs again.”
“My thanks.”
Lochlan paced the small area while a million scenarios went through his head. Part of them revolved around Catarina running on her own from them, but she’d seemed content enough that he and the others would take her from here.
Had someone kidnapped her for ransom? It was possible and frightening.
After several minutes, he paused in his pacing as he saw Stryder approaching with a stern grimace on his face. “She wasn’t there. Rowena found this in her room.” He held out a piece of folded vellum.
Lochlan opened it and read the note that was signed with his name and as he did so, fury sizzled through him. Who the devil would have used his name? “I didn’t write this.”
“We figured as much. Rowena said that it was left out in the open as if someone had meant for it to be seen. If Cat had truly gone to meet you as planned, she wouldn’t have left anything behind to incriminate you in the deed.”
That was true enough. “Who could have left it, then?”
Stryder shrugged. “I’m sure whoever sent it to her. Have you any enemies?”
Lochlan snorted at the obvious answer to that. “Oswald.”
“True, but I don’t think his hatred would cause him to risk his own life. If the king finds out his daughter has been taken against her will and his, the culprit will die.”
True enough. This newest deed defied logic, but then people seeking vengeance often did things that made no sense. “Someone is after me and I’m willing to wager whoever it is will kill her for it.”
“I agree.”
Terror for what they might be doing to her even while he spoke to Stryder invaded every part of him. “We have to find her as soon as possible.”
“Aye and I know just the person who can help us.” Stryder motioned him to follow as he turned and made his way back to the tents where the knights were camped.
Lochlan scowled but didn’t speak. Why would they come here and not set out immediately?
But he knew enough to trust the earl.
After a few minutes, they reached a tent that was set apart from the others, on the outer edge of the field. It was all black. Stryder motioned him to silence before he parted the flap. There was a small lamp burning inside that illuminated a pallet on the floor where a lean man lay sleeping. Lochlan grimaced at the harsh scars marring the man’s flesh. He had long brown hair that fell over his face, obscuring his features.
Black armor was set to the opposite side of the tent on a dummy. And by the red and gold markings on the man’s black shield, it was obvious he was a bastard-born mercenary with no lands or title.
Yet there was no sign of a sword or dagger.
Stryder approached the sleeping man but before he could touch him, the man awoke. Cursing, he swung his arm out and it wasn’t until Stryder caught his hand that Lochlan realized the man held a dagger that would have slit Stryder’s throat had he not expected and countered the attack.
“It’s me, Kestrel. Relax.”
He wrenched his arm free of Stryder’s grip. “You know better than to wake me.”
“I know, but
I need your help.”
Kestrel narrowed his suspicious gaze on Lochlan. “Since he stands at your back, I’m assuming he’s a friend.”
“Aye. He was traveling with the French princess and now she’s been taken. It appears whoever took her is trying to blame it on him.”
Kestrel clenched his teeth, then nodded. “I’ll be dressed and ready to travel in three shakes.”
Stryder released his hand. “Thank you.”
Kestrel gave a subtle nod before he brought his sword out from under the blanket.
Stryder straightened up and led Lochlan from the tent. They stood off to the side to give the man privacy while he dressed. “He’s a bit harsh at times,” Stryder said in a low, apologetic tone. “But he’s had a hard past.”
“Can we trust him?”
“I’d put my life in his hands.”
There was no better statement than that. “He was with you in Outremer?”
Stryder nodded. “After we escaped and he returned home to his family, his father disowned him.”
Lochlan was stunned by that. “Why?”
“Because he returned and his older brother didn’t.”
That made no sense to him, but having had a father who would have most likely reacted the same way, he understood. “Was he bastard born?”
Stryder shook his head. “But none of his family is allowed even to speak his name. So he wears the mark of a bastard and refuses to acknowledge any of them. He won’t even use his given name anymore.”
Lochlan felt for the poor man.
He started to speak, then paused as Kestrel joined them. His long hair was pulled back at his neck and stubble marred his otherwise perfect goatee. He was dressed in a black pair of breeches and a plain black surcoat. The only thing to mark him as a knight was the sword he wore and an air of competent death that surrounded him.
Kestrel approached them with determination. “What do you need?”
“We have no trace of the princess,” Stryder said. “You’re the only man I know who can track them.”
One corner of Kestrel’s mouth quirked up in a deadly smile. “Do you have anything?”
Stryder handed him the vellum. “Only this note.”
The Warrior Page 14
