Sharon Schulze

by To Tame a Warrior's Heart

  Ever since his startling revelation the other night he’d been strangely silent, but his eyes reminded her of a cornered animal’s. He refused to meet her gaze, and every time she’d opened her mouth to speak, the look he sent her froze the words before they left her lips.

  By her estimation they’d been traveling for at least three or four hours. If Nicholas didn’t call a halt soon, she’d have to ask him to.

  Idris bounded back down the trail toward them. His injuries appeared to have done him little harm, she was happy to note. She seemed to be the only one still suffering the effects of the attack, if she discounted any misfortune Nicholas felt at being saddled with her. Considering the grief she’d given him, she couldn’t blame him if he wished to leave her to her own devices.

  But as she’d known all along, though only now would she admit it to herself, Nicholas Talbot was a decent man. Why else would he go to Ashby when it so clearly caused him pain?

  He did it for her.

  The mare stopped, jarring her from her thoughts. After looping the reins around a branch, Nicholas came to help her down. Though it galled her to confess it, she needed his help. She accepted his assistance without giving him her usual argument. He still looked greatly troubled.

  Nicholas lowered Catrin to the ground, grabbing her about the waist again when her legs wouldn’t hold her. He swung her into his arms and carried her to a grassy knoll alongside the path, uneasy with the way she trembled. “Rest here while I find some water.”

  She smiled as though to reassure him, but her face was very pale. Perhaps he could convince her to take some of the painkilling potion.

  “I need to—” She tilted her head toward the trees. Nodding his understanding, he helped her stumble into the bushes. He stood waiting with his back to her, trying not to laugh at her sudden shyness. Evidently she didn’t remember the things he’d done for her the past few days.

  Or she chose not to.

  When she rejoined him, he could see that it was an effort for her to manage the short distance. Sweeping her into his arms again, he carried her back to the knoll and wrapped her in the extra cloak.

  He tried to check her for fever without being obvious about it, pulling the cloak up around her throat, but Catrin realized what he was doing. “Yes, I still have a fever,” she said, burrowing deeper into the fabric. She grabbed his arm when he would have stood. “We don’t have to go to Ashby, Nicholas. Not on my account.”

  The sympathy shining in her eyes shamed him. “Save your pity for someone who needs it, milady.” He infused his voice with ice. Shaking off her hand, he rose to his feet “I don’t want it.”

  “But I’m feeling much better. If we wait a few more days I could go on to l’Eau Clair. You needn’t do more than take me there, and then you’d be free to travel on to Llywelyn’s keep to take care of your king’s business. We need not go to Ashby at all.”

  Nicholas dropped wearily to the ground beside her. “Aye, ’tis necessary.” Leaning against a tree, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “King John’s business be damned! It can wait, for I doubt its importance. My liege enjoys making me jump to his commands. Indeed he has used the spur of my former life to goad me on.” He opened his eyes. “But no more. I cannot hide my past—nor avoid Ashby—forever. I’ve taken the coward’s way for too long already.”

  “You are no coward.” She placed a hand on his arm, then removed it when he remained silent. “In spite of the things I said in the past, I never truly believed that of you. ’Twas only another insult to throw your way.”

  He scanned her face for a moment, then looked away. She meant the words, he was certain of it.

  And glad.

  But it changed nothing. He knew what he must do. “I sent a man to Ashby to command it in my stead, but I’ve balked too long at going there myself and making it mine.” He shook his head. “Besides, we’re much closer to the place than to l’Eau Clair. If I brought you to Gillian in your present condition, ’twould shock her into giving birth on the spot—if she didn’t kill me first.”

  “If you’re sure.” He nodded. “Then I’ll gladly be your first guest, milord. Thank you for your kind invitation.”

  Hearing the smile in Catrin’s voice, he could no longer ignore the temptation to look at her. Nicholas reached out to toy with the strands of hair curling about her face. “One of the things I’ve always admired about you—when I wasn’t cursing you for it—is the way you meet every challenge headfirst. No hesitation, no equivocation, just an immediate response.”

  “Is that how you see me?” He couldn’t be sure, but he thought ’twas pleasure softening her eyes to the pearly gray of dawn’s first light. “I’m not like that at all. I’m never certain what to say or do. More often than not I’m wrong. You must have noticed.”

  “What I notice is that you always act. If you’re afraid it never shows. Mastering one’s fear is one of the first things a warrior learns, but of late I’ve allowed my fear to rule me. ’Tis a craven way to live.”

  “I’m sure you have reasons for avoiding Ashby,” Catrin said. “I know what it is to dread something so much that I’ll try to evade it at all cost.”

  “If you knew what my life was like before I inherited the honors of Ashby, you’d truly think me mad to have stayed away. There were times I would have given up the promise of heaven merely to have a roof over my head and enough food to fill my belly.” He kept his features set in a smooth expression, but inside Nicholas shuddered as he remembered those days. “Of course, now I have the wealth of my holdings to provide me with a comfortable life. But I have other worries instead.” Such as what the king will do to me if I spoil his plans again, he thought, giving a fatalistic shrug. “I wonder what it takes to be happy.”

  He wondered if Catrin had heard him, not that it mattered. But her attention seemed to focus on something within, something humorous, judging by her expression. “Is what I said so funny?”

  Eyes alight, she met his gaze, sending a jolt of pure appreciation through his overeager body. Calm yourself, he ordered. He stared at the trees, the sky—anything but Catrin. However, the full, rich—rare—sound of her laughter nearly destroyed all his efforts within the space of a breath.

  “No, no, it’s not that. I beg your pardon for laughing, but what you said reminded me of Gillian as a child.”

  He was confused by the change of subject. What did Gillian’s childhood matter when he couldn’t think beyond fighting the insistent demands of his body?

  “Clearly you’ve not heard what my beautiful, charming cousin was like as a child,” Catrin said, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

  “No, never.”

  “Gillian’s childhood was unusual by most standards. Her mother was dead, and Lord Simon, God rest his soul, knew nothing about raising a daughter. Gillian ran wild at l’Eau Clair, roaming the countryside dressed as a lad. The first time I saw her—she must have been ten or so—she was rolling about in the bailey wrestling with a pack of boys, as filthy as any villein.”

  That was a sight he couldn’t imagine! He couldn’t contain a snort of laughter.

  “Do you doubt me?” Catrin asked indignantly. “Ask your friend Rannulf about the first time he met his wife.”

  “I was there for that. I recall nothing unusual about it.”

  “I don’t mean last year when you came to command l’Eau Clair. I’m talking about six or seven years ago. Rannulf didn’t realize Gillian was a girl until she’d nearly bested him at swordplay. I hear she pinned him to the ground before he realized the truth.” She laughed in remembrance.

  “I wish I’d seen it,” he said, chuckling so hard he could barely speak. “Rannulf is so proper, so noble. He took it hard, I’d imagine. But how did what I said remind you of this?”

  “’Twas what you said about being happy. Before the confines of the outside world intruded on Gillian’s life, she was probably the happiest person I’ve ever met. She gained so much joy from life. ’Twas beautiful to witn
ess such innocence. But I think her happiness stemmed from the fact that she didn’t know any better.”

  Wrapping his arms around his upraised knees, Nicholas considered her words. “Like Adam and Eve in the garden?”

  Catrin nodded. “Few people ever have the opportunity to remain so unaware. And by our very natures, we always seem to want whatever we do not—or cannot—have, once we realize it exists.”

  “That’s more true than you know,” Nicholas muttered under his breath. In a louder voice he said, “Enough of such profound thoughts. Will you accept that I wish to go to Ashby?”

  “I yield, milord. I’ll badger you no further.” Catrin’s lips curved into an enchanting smile, her tongue darting out to moisten them.

  He yearned for another taste of her mouth. Before he realized it, he’d brought his finger up and dragged it along her lower lip. When he pressed lightly, she opened her mouth enough to allow him access and he slipped his fingertip in, smoothing it along the damp, petal softness. The delicate brush of her tongue over his rough skin sent a trail of fire running directly to his loins.

  Cupping her chin in the palm of his hand, Nicholas bent his head and trailed his tongue over the same path his finger had followed. He took her lips in the most delicate of abductions, scarcely dipping his tongue within the warmth of her mouth, enticing her to echo the caress.

  Catrin sighed as she felt her breasts brush against his chest. Nicholas moaned, the sound vibrating from deep within him.

  It acted as an alarm, cooling her ardor as swiftly as Nicholas had aroused it. Jerking her mouth from his, she stared at his lips, wanting nothing more than to kiss him again. “No, no, no. Why do I let you do this to me?” she groaned. She buried her face in her hands. “Why do I do this to myself?”

  Nicholas slipped his hand beneath hers and gently forced her to raise her head. “Is it so wrong to kiss me? Or for me to kiss you?” He brushed his thumb along her lip.

  “Stop that!” she demanded, pulling his hands away. “’Tis what started this in the first place. No more, do you understand?” She hated the quaver in her voice, for it showed Nicholas the reaction she couldn’t hide.

  “As you wish, Catrin,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips. His eyes sending her some indecipherable message, he kissed her fingers, then placed a lingering caress on the inside of her wrist.

  “You’re right, ’tis time to go.” When she would have stood, her legs refused to hold her, so she allowed him to scoop her up off the ground and set her atop the mare.

  Whistling Idris to his side, Nicholas took up the reins and set off.

  His feet so cold and wet they felt like blocks of ice, Padrig stumbled and pitched forward, rolling headlong down the steep embankment. Experience had taught him to curl into a tight ball, though he already bore so many bruises, he couldn’t imagine he’d ever look normal again. He made no effort to stop himself; ’twas futile. At least this was faster than trying to walk down the slippery slope.

  He hit the bottom with a thud, then lay there, struggling to get his breath back. He didn’t fight for air, as he’d done the first few times this happened, for all that did was close his lungs up more.

  Despite his many aches and the fact that his stomach cried out for food, he couldn’t help grinning.

  He was alive!

  Three days ago, he wouldn’t have believed he could survive this long.

  He’d been afraid—especially at night, when the clouds hid the moon and he could do little more than huddle under a pile of wet leaves until it was light enough to see. Sounds he’d never heard from within the confines of Gwal Draig sent shivers of foreboding rippling along his spine.

  But as soon as he could see to travel, night or day, he set off once again. He had a mission, a duty.

  He would save Lady Catrin, or die trying.

  Padrig filled his lungs with air and rose to his feet. The only trouble with falling down a hill was that he still had to climb up the other side. He cast a glance at the pinkstreaked sky. He hoped there would be sun today, instead of the unceasing rain, for it had been a struggle to get his bearings.

  If he were correct, he should be near l’Eau Clair by now—or a town, a keep. Surely there must be people living here.

  Somewhere.

  These past few days, he’d felt as though he were the only person left in the entire world. Trudging through the forest, running when he could—he refused to give in to the fear that Lady Catrin might perish because he had failed her. But he found no signs of civilization, not so much as a shepherd’s hut.

  He paused to catch his breath when he reached the crest of the hill. After the first day, he’d learned to pace himself, to rest when he needed to. He made better progress.

  The rhythmic sound echoing eerily through the trees was so faint, he almost didn’t notice it over the noise of his ragged breathing. But the sound lingered, slowly grew louder, until he could place its direction.

  Was it real, or a figment of his weariness?

  Voices joined with hoofbeats, drawing ever nearer.

  Padrig jumped up and headed toward the sounds. “Hello! Over here!” He raced through the trees onto a rough trail. Boots slipping in the mud, he climbed another rise and stood, panting, on the crest.

  “Lord Ian!” he shouted as the riders came into view. Grinning, he waved his arms, then swiped at a tear with his sleeve as the men spurred their mounts up the road.

  “Padrig—it’s good to see you, lad!” Ian left the saddle before his stallion had come to a stop. He’d recognized that orange cloak immediately, despite the muck and leaves clinging to it. The boy looked frozen and ill, face pale but for the bright slashes of color high along each cheek.

  He whipped off his cloak and swung it about Padrig’s bony shoulders.

  “Milord,” Padrig said, his voice raspy. He attempted a bow and nearly fell over. Ian grasped his arm and steadied him. “We were set upon by bandits days ago—four days, I think. They took us by surprise, and the guards—”

  Ian ignored the tears washing over Padrig’s dirtsmeared cheeks and urged him toward a large rock alongside the trail.

  “Sit, lad, and catch your breath.” Dai handed Ian a flask; he uncorked it and held it to the boy’s lips. “Rest a moment. You can tell us when you’re ready.”

  Rannulf joined them, wrapping a blanket about Padrig. He crouched next to him and offered him food. Padrig refused with a shake of his head. “Later, milord,” he said. “I can wait a while longer.”

  The boy huddled into the blanket, still shaking like a leaf in the wind. But he looked determined.

  “I fear for Lady Catrin, milord.” He swallowed, fighting back tears. “She took my sword, ordered me to go for help, then ran after the bandits. I heard sounds of battle, but she made me swear to leave at once.” He tugged the blanket high about his throat. “It’s been so long, sir. I came as fast as I could.”

  Ian patted him on the shoulder. “You’ve done well, lad. You’ll make Lord Rannulf a fine squire.” He turned to Rannulf. “Would we be better served to make camp here, or to take him back to l’Eau Clair?”

  Rannulf led Ian away from Padrig. “From the look of the boy, we’d best get him inside the keep. L’Eau Clair is near enough as to make no difference.” Ian nodded. “Do you think he can tell us where they were?”

  “I hope so,” Ian said. “At least we’ll know where to start looking.”

  He turned back to Padrig. “Think you can sit a horse?” he asked.

  Padrig nodded, then crumpled over in a faint.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Late afternoon found Nicholas and Catrin plodding wearily along the rutted track leading to the gates of Ashby. Surprisingly, they met no one approaching or leaving the keep. The unnatural silence and the absence of people sent a chill down Catrin’s back.

  “Nicholas, there’s no one working the land.” The fields surrounding the road were devoid of laborers and lay untended—nay, abandoned—for as far as she could see. It l
ooked as though they’d seen neither scythe nor plow in many years, far too long for them to be left fallow.

  “I know.” He led the mare to the side of the road. “’Tis eerie to see no one. These fields should have been plowed and planted, and we ought to have met someone on this road—it leads to the main gate of the castle.” His hand lowered to his waist, meeting the emptiness where his sword should be. “Damnation. I don’t like the feel of this at all. And to enter a strange stronghold unarmed—”

  “But ’tis your keep. Surely there’s no danger to you.”

  He tugged his hauberk off the mare’s back and unfolded it, spreading it over her rump. “At least I have this.” He wriggled into the armor. His head popped out of the neckline, the sight of his disheveled curls making Catrin’s fingers itch to smooth them.

  She laughed. “You don’t quite have the look of an invincible warrior, I must admit.” But no one would ever mistake you for anything else, she thought as her gaze roamed over his powerful body and took note of the air of command that was so much a part of him.

  “I doubt anyone here would recognize me under any circumstances. Who knows what they might do before they discover who we are?” He bent and slipped the small dirk into his boot, then buckled his belt and settled it about his waist. Checking the dagger and sharpened stick, he tucked them into the belt. “Although I must admit, the men they’ve sent me to train up as men-at-arms were singularly ill-prepared. There’s probably little threat. But I’d rather not take any chances with your safety. I brought you here to get well, not to harm you further.”

  Catrin felt more secure simply knowing that Nicholas was prepared for adversity. He’d gone to so much trouble for her already. “A moment, Nicholas,” she said before he had a chance to walk away. He turned back to face her, his expression questioning. “Wear my favor, milord. For luck.”