by Barbara Bard
She rode slowly forward, gazing down at the looted bodies of what had once been her captors. She recognized Black Charlie, an arrow in his chest and one in his forehead, though the ravens had already plucked out the tender morsels of his eyes. Catrin smiled as she also recognized the fletchings on the arrows that killed him. Ranulf.
Gilbert, too, rode among the corpses, studying them closely. She smiled wider as sweat dripped from his brow to trail down the side of his cheek, his lips thinned with what could only be called anxiety. “So Ranulf Thorburn lurks in his castle, choking on his revenge, does he?” she asked, her tone soft. “He is here, Gilbert, perhaps searching for you.”
Gilbert scoffed, glaring at her even as he swiped the sweat from his cheek with the back of his glove. “If Thorburn is looking for me, he certainly knows where I can be found. Obviously, he took the gold I paid old Charlie here and absconded back to Scotland.”
“So sure, are you? Perhaps he is waiting for you to come out from behind the walls of your castle before he pounces. Just as you have now.”
With deliberate slowness, Catrin gazed up at the surrounding hill tops, noting the thickets where anyone may hide behind. “Perhaps he is watching even now, biding his time, waiting for you to return me to my father before he attacks, and rips through your men like a scythe through a field of oats.”
Even as the Earl continued to scowl at her, his men glazed around, licking their lips, clearly nervous. Their hands rested on sword hilts, their mounts shifted uneasily under them. Though he tried to deny that Ranulf’s presence in England worried him, Gilbert’s fear sweat, and darting eyes told Catrin a very different story.
Gilbert feared Ranulf.
“There is nothing more we can do here,” Gilbert announced. “These men were outlaws, and thus do not deserve a decent burial. Let the ravens feast on them. We ride.”
Setting his gold spurs to his horse’s flanks, Gilbert galloped out of the valley, Catrin right behind. Amused that he set a faster pace than previously, her heart rose to know that Ranulf had indeed come after her and had avenged her capture by Black Charlie by killing him. Ranulf was in England, perhaps watching Gilbert as she had claimed, or finding Henry’s true murderer as he wanted. He might even rescue her from Gilbert’s clutches if her father did agree that Gilbert merited her hand in marriage.
The day waned into afternoon as they rode across Whitewood lands. A small band of horsemen cantered toward them, led by none other than her father’s knight, Sir Alban. His banner flew above them, snapping in the breeze they made. Relief and gladness swelled Catrin’s heart at the sight of him, as she had always liked him, and he was staunchly loyal to the Duke.
Sir Alban reined in, raising his fist to halt his men. He bowed, smiling at her. “Lady Catrin,” he said. “Right glad I am to see you safe and unharmed. Your father has been beside himself with worry and plans a feast in your honor.”
“It has been an adventure,” Catrin said, riding forward to rein in beside him. “It is good to see you. Is my father well?”
“Better once he received word from Lord Gilbert that you had been rescued.”
Sir Alban glanced at Gilbert. “His Grace the Duke thanks you for your incredible service this day, and vows to never forget it. We will take Lady Catrin on home now.”
“I do believe I will accompany you to the Duke,” Gilbert replied, with a dangerous smile. “As Ranulf Thorburn is lurking about somewhere, you should have the extra men to ensure the Lady’s safety. I wish to speak with His Grace regarding a private matter.”
Catrin hoped Sir Alban had the Duke’s orders to turn Gilbert back, but that proved not to be the case. Disappointed, she listened and watched as Sir Alban bent his head in acquiescence. “As you wish, My Lord.”
With the armed escort greatly enlarged, Catrin rode next to Sir Alban with Gilbert on his other side, thankful for the knight’s presence. Though intellectually she knew Gilbert would never dare harm her, the menace he presented kept her nerves on edge. As they rode, she made only limited conversation for the last hour of the journey, despite Sir Alban’s questions. Reluctant to speak of Ranulf or how they had come to like one another, she did tell him of Black Charlie and his gang of ruffians.
“Your father did hire him to bring you out of Scotland,” Sir Alban said. He eyed Gilbert sidelong. “However, it appears our friend the Earl here paid the outlaw instead of your father.”
“And lost my gold when Thorburn killed Black Charlie and his bandits,” Gilbert added. “I will get it back when I skin Thorburn’s hide.”
“Ah,” Sir Alban replied, his tone neutral. “Of course.”
At last Castle Linfield, Catrin’s ancestral home, emerged around a bend, the Duke of Whitewood’s banners flying above the turrets. Her spirits rose at the sight of it – safety lay within its high walls, behind its raised drawbridge. The bridge was down, permitting them to cross it at a gallop and clatter into the bailey. Though she did not see her father, she knew he was most likely inside watching them approach even now.
Her father’s seneschal, Lord Creighton, bowed as she slipped down from her sweaty horse. “Greetings and welcome home, My Lady,” he intoned gravely. A small and withered man, Catrin had never known him to show emotion or crack a smile in all the years he had served the Duke. “Your lord father awaits you in the great hall.”
“Thank you.”
With haste that no doubt appeared unseemly, Catrin crossed the cobbled bailey, nodding to the servants and men at arms who offered her respect, ignoring the chickens and hounds who skittered out of her way. The great hall was where the Duke held his feasts, but it was also where they ate their meals even when no guests were present. The place, built to accommodate hundreds, was half filled with the Duke’s vassals, knights, and men at arms, and a few local nobles sat at the high table.
She found him seated on the dais, at his place at the high table, his familiar and beloved face smiling as he spread his arms. He stood straight and tall, no doubt forcing the weakness from himself in the presence of others, never bending to the debilitating illness.
“Catrin,” he said. “You are home, my Catrin.”
Approaching, Catrin dipped into a curtsey before rushing up the steps into his arms. “Father,” she cried. “Are you well? I missed you so much.”
Holding him tight, breathing his clean, familiar scent, Catrin closed her eyes against the unwanted tears. She knew full well that Henry’s death and her own kidnapping would put cruel stress on his body that could not handle it.
“Yes, I am well,” he murmured in her ear, his hand stroking her hair. “You are returned, safe. That is all I need.”
Blinking rapidly, Catrin let him go so he could return to his chair. She felt the tremble in his body and knew he could not stand for long. As he did, she gazed into his face, noting the telltale signs of his illness in his pale and sunken cheeks. But his eyes burned with life and happiness as he returned to his chair.
“I thank God you are back and unharmed,” he said. “Did Thorburn treat you well?”
“Yes, Father,” she said, glancing up as Sir Alban and Lord Gilbert entered the hall. “With honor and respect.”
“Good, good. I feared so many things, Catrin – torture, rape.”
“No, nothing like that happened at all.”
Standing before the dais, Sir Alban and Lord Gilbert bowed. “Here is your daughter, Lady Catrin, returned safely to your halls, Your Grace,” Gilbert said formally. “As I have said before, I would bring her home to you and I have.”
Henry inclined his head graciously. “And you have my thanks, Earl Hargrove. Please, join us for the feast I have ordered. I invited others to come and celebrate my daughter’s safe return, and you are welcome as well.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Gilbert replied. “I will accept. I wish to speak with you in private first, however.”
Catrin held her breath, watching her father. A tendril of relief spread through her when he shook his head. “Tomorrow,
perhaps. Tonight, we celebrate. Come, sit at my left as my guest of honor.”
As Catrin usually sat there, she met her father’s eyes with a lifted brow. His eyes met hers, and he quickly shifted them to the chair at his right hand, silently informing her that is her place this night. Seating Gilbert on his left, not his right, indicated honor, but less so. While not insulting Gilbert, the Duke implied that the Earl of Hargrove was less important than a woman.
“Father,” Catrin said. “I wish to wash and dress properly. By your leave?”
“Of course, Catrin,” he replied, smiling. “Return soon and tell me what had happened while you were gone.”
Curtseying, Catrin shot a swift glance at Gilbert. His face, still devoid of emotion, indicated little of what the Duke’s ‘honor’ meant to him. She left the hall by a door behind the dais, one that only servants and the ducal family used. Returning to her quarters she had left on that morning so very long ago, she found it much the same. Her tiny maid, Deana, was inside, performing her usual duties of caring for Catrin’s things.
She curtseyed instantly. “Thank God you are back, My Lady,” she said.
“Thank you. I need to wash and change quickly, I know I am a mess, but I will bathe later.”
Thirty minutes later, her lustrous, auburn hair brushed and neatly coiled atop her head, clad in a clean gown of yellow and gold trimmed in white lace, Catrin returned to the great hall. No few rose and bowed low as she appeared, Gilbert, seated at the Duke’s left hand, among them. Taking her seat at her father’s right, she found a brimming cup of red wine already placed there.
As though her arrival was the signal, servants brought in huge platters of roasted beef, suckling pigs, whole chickens on spits, smoked salmon, freshly caught trout that had been fried to a crisp, hot loaves of bread, whites cheeses, huge bowls of gravy, and a whole roasted swan. As the servants served the high table first, she and the Duke took their choice as per their right.
“Regale me with the story of your adventure,” Henry said, toasting her silently with her cup.
Taking a slab of roast beef, bread, cheese and a large piece of trout, Catrin began with the morning she rode ahead of her escort and ended with her arrival back home at Castle Linfield. She omitted nothing, not even Gilbert’s part, save her special relationship with Ranulf and Gilbert’s declaration he would marry her with or without her father’s consent. Those she would save for a less public time and place.
As she spoke, she devoured her food and told her tale in between bites, drank her wine, and felt safe for the first time since she had been kidnapped by Black Charlie.
“So that man is dead,” Henry said thoughtfully. “He had his uses, I will admit.”
“I cannot believe you would hire him to find me,” Catrin said. “He is unbelievably cruel. That man’s screams –”
She shuddered. Henry eyed her with affection. “Call it a desperate act to get you back, Catrin. I would have done anything, even start a war, to get you home.”
She rested her hand on his and smiled. “Now, I am home.”
Catching Gilbert watching her from her father’s other side, Catrin saw his knowing smile, she felt a nervous tremor start in her stomach and radiate outward. Tempted to lean toward Henry and inform him of what Gilbert had told her, she decided not to. Knowing his temper, he would demand Gilbert leave immediately, in shame and rejection. That would lead only to more problems between the two noble houses, and potential bloodshed.
Henry raised his goblet. Slowly the great hall grew quiet as the people fell silent. Once he achieved silence, Henry roared, “To my daughter, the Lady Catrin!”
Across the hall at every table, cups were raised in a toast as the words, “To Lady Catrin!” exploded from every mouth. The sound was deafening, and, as Catrin blushed, all eyes rested on her.
Especially Gilbert’s.
***
Rising early, Catrin dressed and went down to the hall for breakfast, hoping to speak with her father before his private talk with Lord Gilbert. Breathing a quick sigh of relief, she found him alone, eating his breakfast. Sir Alban stood nearby, giving his lord some semblance of privacy while also guarding him. He bowed to Catrin as she entered, and Catrin gave him a quick smile in return.
“Father.”
Henry glanced up and gestured for her to take the seat beside him. “I thought you would sleep later,” he said. “You were so exhausted last night.”
“I still am,” she replied as a servant placed a plate of eggs, bread and bacon in front of her. “I need to talk to you. Before Lord Gilbert comes.”
“Oh?”
Henry eyed her quizzically. “Go on.”
“Father, the man is evil, demented,” she said. “He murdered a shepherd boy in Scotland. He plans to ask you for your permission to marry me.”
“Yes, he already asked. And killing a Scot is not a crime in my book.”
“The boy was no threat to him, Father,” Catrin said, her tone urgent. “It was cold blooded murder. And he told me he will marry me, by force if necessary. Even without your blessing. He told me so.”
“Now that angers me.”
Wiping up egg yolk with a piece of bread, Henry appeared anything but angry. Catrin watched him, worried, as he sat back in his chair and drank his ale. Henry watched her in return, smiling a small secretive smile.
“I take it you do not wish to marry Gilbert?”
“No, the man appalls me. He is evil, corrupt. He will hurt me, Father.”
“That would not surprise me.” He patted her hand. “Well, he disgusts me, too. I have no idea why your brother liked him so, but have no fear. No matter what Gilbert has done or sacrificed to bring you home, I have no intention of marrying you to him.”
Relief spread through her like the sun dispersing a raincloud. So much so, she felt weak and utterly boneless, and she almost collapsed on the table. Laughing weakly, she bent over to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, thank you. I was so afraid you would be grateful enough to agree to his suit.”
“He manipulated me,” Henry said. “Or tried to. His rescue of you was an attempt to blackmail me into marrying him to you. I do not care to be manipulated, as you very well know.”
“I do know.”
Catrin found her appetite with her relief, her worry gone, and ate her breakfast will zeal. “But now I fear he will try something,” she said, munching her bacon with relish. “He swore to marry me no matter what and inherit after your death.”
Henry eyed her. “Then I will have you protected, and if you slip your guards again, well, then you are on your own.”
“I will not, Father.”
“Good. Here he comes.”
Catrin glanced at Sir Alban, catching his eye, then shunted hers toward Lord Gilbert striding into the great hall. Sir Alban snapped his fingers. Instantly, a dozen men at arms materialized from the shadows outside the reach of the rush lights, armed to the teeth. Their mail glinted in the faint light, and under the table a hound growled.
Lord Gilbert reached the dais and bowed. He wore a dark red tunic with his coat of arms emblazoned on the chest, black trousers, and a mantle of hunter green that fell to his spurs. Girt with his sword, mail gleaming at his throat at wrists, he looked ready for a fight. “Greetings, Your Grace. Lady Catrin.”
“Greetings to you, Lord Gilbert,” Henry replied easily. “Breakfast?”
“No, thank you, Your Grace,” Gilbert replied. “I came to ask if we may speak in private.”
Henry gestured around the nearly empty room. “We are as private as I ever am,” he replied. “You know I am never without my advisor, Sir Alban, and, well, Catrin is my daughter. She can hear what you have to say, can she not?”
Gilbert smiled thinly. “Since my request concerns her, I suppose it is right for her to be here. As you may have guessed, I came to ask for Lady Catrin’s hand in marriage. I expect you will agree I have earned the right to her hand.”
Henry’s brow rose. “You think so, do you?�
�
“I do indeed. Do I have your blessing to marry the Lady Catrin?”
“No.”
Gilbert looked as though Henry had smacked him across the face, an expression of astonishment creased his features. “No?”
“That is correct,” Henry answered calmly. “No. You will not marry Lady Catrin.”
“But I rescued her from Thorburn’s hands,” Gilbert insisted. “You owe me.”
“I owe you nothing. Nor do I appreciate you trying your best to hold that over my head. You have my thanks, and that is all you will have from me.”
