His throat went dry, his tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth. ‘Well, there’s always me.’ The words blundered out of him, awkward, jittery. His hands seemed to be in the wrong place, floating uselessly at his sides; he stuck his thumbs decisively in his sword belt, waiting. He shrugged his shoulders, playing down the offer; she could take it or leave it. It was of no consequence to him. Except that it was. Eyes of turquoise roamed her face, irises streaked with silver.
Stunned by his words, Katerina’s mouth dropped open, smoky eyes widening. Had she heard him correctly? Her heart thumped rapidly, blood pulsing, picking up speed through her veins. ‘Have you gone completely mad?’ She stared at him, astounded. ‘You would marry me, just to protect me from my uncle?’ She smoothed her hand down the front of her skirts, slowly.
No, I would marry you because I love you.
‘Of course,’ he replied lightly, ‘I forced you to return home, I got you into this mess. I never intended to wed anyway, given the kind of lifestyle that I lead. It makes no difference to me, either way. Look at it as a kind of business transaction.’
Her heat plummeted, sank. So that was it. That was how he saw her, as a business transaction, a burden for whom he felt responsible. How could she live with him, like that, together, and yet so apart, so distant? Would her spirit be able to bear such a thing? But then the thought of him walking away from her, maybe today, maybe tomorrow, never to see him again, seemed infinitely worse. Maybe marriage, albeit in name only, might be preferable.
She bit her lip, reddening the pink skin, twisting her fingers. ‘Are you sure about this?’ She scoured his face, looking for the jeer, the put-down, but could see only kindness in his eyes. He felt sorry for her, that was it, and realised he could help. Nothing more, nothing less.
He nodded. He had never been more certain of anything in his life.
Her mind scrambled, overwhelmed by his offer, overwhelmed with thoughts of what might be and what could never be. What could she do? He felt responsible for her, nothing more. Raising one hand shakily to her forehead, she tucked a shining strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Lussac, I think you will regret this... I’m sure, I’m sure you will meet someone one day who you will want to marry...’ her speech stuttered, faltered a little ‘...who you will love...’ She stumbled to a halt.
I have already met her, he thought.
‘Think about it,’ he said. ‘But at least wear this—as my betrothed, I can protect you.’
He delved inside the collar of his tunic, pulling out a ring on a silver chain. The gold circle spun in the air, catching the light. ‘It was my mother’s,’ he explained, removing the ring from the necklace. Seizing her cold fingers, he slid the warm metal on to the fourth finger of her left hand.
‘I...’ An anguished look crossed her fine features, the words strangling in her throat. Her fingers clutched at her throat, at the rapid pulse that beat beneath her skin. The curving neckline of her gown puckered.
I’m moving too fast, thought Lussac, panic threading his chest. She feels trapped already, hemmed in by my offer. ‘I’ve told you,’ he said, deliberately keeping his voice blank, neutral, ‘you’re under no obligation to me. Wear this ring until you decide—then give it back to me if it’s not what you want.’ He shoved a hand through his thick, silky hair, sending the glossy strands awry. ‘The ring means nothing, but others will take heed of it. It will keep you safe.’
She inclined her head shakily, praying that her swaying knees would keep her upright. ‘I will tell you after we have fetched Philippe,’ she whispered. ‘I will tell you after that.’
He heard her words and wished the whole thing could have been different between them. Wished that he could have told her how much he loved her, how much he cared for her, to hear her shriek with joy, with happiness at the prospect of marrying him. But he saw the reticence in her stance, her agitation and embarrassment around him, and knew it could not be. She held no love for him, no respect. His only hope was that she would agree to his proposal. If that was the only way he could be near her, then so be it.
‘Philippe?’ He frowned. ‘I thought he came with you?’
So that was it, she thought miserably, noting his dark eyes lifting to the attic space above the main chambers, searching the room for Philippe. Why had she even dared to hope that things might be different between them? She had to show him she was capable of picking herself up and starting again, capable of looking after herself. In that way he would not feel so obligated towards her.
‘My uncle’s men locked him, and me, in the tower at Longthorpe.’ She threw him a meek, apologetic smile, ‘I managed to escape, came here.’ Her thumb nudged the unfamiliar metal on her ring finger, twisting it, pushing it back and forth across her skin. ‘I was planning to go back later, when everyone was asleep, and help him.’
‘On your own?’
‘Margrete was going to ask a few men in the village to come with me,’ she declared. ‘It’s not fair that Philippe was caught in the middle of all this.’
‘Were you going to wait for me?’
‘I had no idea where you were, Lussac. Or what had happened to you.... I couldn’t leave Philippe locked up in the tower like that.’ Patches of exhaustion reddened beneath her eyes.
He smiled down at her. ‘You don’t have to be so brave all the time, Katerina. Let others help you.’ Let me help you. ‘I think you should stay here, with your friend, and I will fetch him myself.’
Katerina was already shaking her head. ‘The only way is across the marshes. The mist is too thick tonight; you’ll never make it. You need someone who knows the route.’
‘And I suppose that someone is you.’ His eyes twinkled over her.
Katerina nodded.
* * *
She waited, restlessly, on the slight rise of the stony track while Lussac coerced his destrier into the lean-to shelter fixed to the side of the cottage, pushing one hand against the stubborn rump. The moon picked out the gleam of his hair, the diamond sharpness of his eyes as he settled the animal. The situation was hopeless: she had no idea how to be with him, how to behave or what to say to him. His ring winked on her finger, yet she had never felt more distant from him.
As Lussac approached, she flicked her skirts away and began marching off, her dancing step light and effortless across the loose gravel. Silently, he followed her, curbing his usual long strides to match her pace. His jewelled sword-hilt glinted, the silver blade wedged securely in a leather sheath that knocked occasionally against his leg as he walked.
Katerina shivered in the thin stuff of her gown. Since her escape from the tower at Longthorpe, she hadn’t thought to borrow any extra clothes, no dress, or cloak, from Margrete; now she strode through the chill night air wearing only a chemise and her underdress of worn, shabby wool. Icy fingers of air crept beneath her skirts. All logic, all sense of practicality had vanished with the sheer unexpectedness of Lussac’s proposal. Her senses were awry, shot to pieces; it was imperative to pull herself together if her heart were to survive at all.
Trailing her quick, purposeful gait, Lussac allowed himself to admire the seductive sway of her hips, the glittering plaits that bounced down the narrow indent of her back. In the moonlight, her hair faded to pale gold, a rich colour, incandescent. Her head was held high; he imagined her face set with a proud, scowling expression, her sweet, tip-tilted nose pointed up into the air, brooding over his proposal.
She stopped so abruptly he almost barrelled into her, twisting around decisively, glaring at him. He rocked back on his heels, keeping the distance between them. In a small copse of trees marking the end of the village, an owl hooted, the sound echoing eerily over the boundless sea of waving reeds to their left.
‘What’s the matter?’ His breath punched out, a white mist dispersing.
‘How can you do that?’ she cried up to him, shivering
, wiggling her toes within her boots, trying to keep them warm, to keep the circulation moving in her feet. ‘How can you propose marriage like that?’
‘I just did, didn’t I? Isn’t it the solution to your situation?’
‘Yes! No!’ Katerina stammered out incoherently, teeth beginning to chatter. Not like that! Not as some soulless agreement, she wanted to shout at him. Her head drooped. ‘Lussac, I don’t want you to throw your life away for me.’ She hopped from one foot to the other; her feet seemed to be turning into blocks of ice. How could the temperature outside be so different from inside Margrete’s cottage?
‘I’m not,’ he said bluntly, almost as if he hadn’t heard her. He frowned down at her trembling frame, the way her arms crossed fiercely across her stomach, hands dug into her armpits to keep warm. ‘Where’s the other one?’ he said, suddenly.
‘Other one?’ she repeated, puzzled. Hadn’t they been discussing his proposal?
‘Your other dress,’ he said. ‘Weren’t you wearing a dark-blue gown over that thing? And your cloak, where’s your cloak?’
She was shivering uncontrollably now, her slight frame racked with shudders. ‘I had to leave them at Longthorpe,’ she explained in a rush. ‘And then I forgot to ask Margrete for something to wear.’ Forgot, because you were there. Because of what you asked me.
He was shaking his head at her. ‘You’re freezing. Here.’ He swept the cloak from his shoulders, enveloped her in the fine warm wool, fastening the voluminous cloth deftly at her shoulder. His knuckles brushed her earlobe. ‘There,’ he said, ‘at least you’ll be a little warmer now.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied, stonily, annoyed at her own lack of self-preservation. The gathered wool of his cloak hugged her neck and shoulders, fell almost to her feet, shielding her from the cold, warming her. ‘I don’t know why you keep doing things like this for me, why you keep helping me. You hardly know me.’
His eyes deepened in intensity, sparkling over her. He adjusted the fall of his cloak, making sure it covered her properly. ‘I disagree, Katerina. I know you.’ The velvet timbre of his voice hurtled her back to the river, the flattened circle of grass, the delicious weight of his body slanted across her own. The breath snagged in her chest, knotting sharply; clapping one hand to her mouth, she staggered back, temporarily stalled. A ripe red flush stained her cheeks.
‘My thoughts exactly,’ he murmured.
‘Yes—b-but,’ she stammered out, ‘a b-business transaction, you said.’ Memories of their intimacy shimmered between them, colouring the air, his raw, bleak gaze holding on to the smoky charcoal of her eyes.
If that was the only way he could be with her, then so be it, he thought. Strong, fingers grazed her chin, lifted her face to meet his. ‘I’m sorry, Katerina. Sorry for everything. I should never have left you at the castle with Philippe.’
‘You’re not responsible for me, Lussac.’
I want to be. The silent admission seared through him, scorched his brain.
‘Besides,’ she continued, fighting to keep her tone even, neutral, despite the touch of his fingers lingering on her chin, ‘you had other things on your mind.’ Her voice lowered to a whisper.
‘Hardly,’ he interrupted her. ‘If truth be told, any thoughts of revenge disappeared long before I left Longthorpe. It was pointless, me riding off to Hambridge like that. Stupid.’
‘But you wanted to speak with my uncle...’ Her voice trailed off.
‘I changed my mind. You changed my mind, Katerina.’ One side of his mouth quirked upwards, his fingers lacing with hers.
Her heart jumped, then plunged, beating faster, stronger under the light pressure of his hands, heat blossoming outwards from his rough palms. As if under a spell she swayed towards him, cleaving towards his muscular solidity. A moth to a flame, she thought, sadly, hopelessly. Unable to control herself around him, unable to hold her traitorous body in check.
He heard the truncated seize of her breath, felt the resisting brace of her muscles as she backed away. ‘Forgive me,’ he murmured, dropping his hands swiftly. Shame crawled through him. He had offered her a way out of her desperate circumstances, a life-line; he was in no position to abuse such a situation. He had to keep his hands away, his true feelings close to his heart, otherwise he might lose her for ever.
Stepping down from the village track, Katerina plunged down into the marsh, leading the way through the vast flatlands of rustling reeds on narrow, constantly dividing paths. Tall, bristling plumes waved madly above her head, feathers of bleached parchment in the glowing moonlight. The loose edges of his cloak, too big for her, billowed out, dark wings flapping. In the wake of her skittish pace, Lussac felt like an oaf, a great lumbering fool behind her, his marching stride heavy and purposeful.
Perched on its small bump of land, Longthorpe Manor rose out of the shifting wreathes of mist, the tower black and angular against the silvery sky. Lussac reached out, caught Katerina’s upper arm, curbing her fast stride. ‘Where is Philippe?’
They were hidden in the mass of rushes, the muddy ground soggy and yielding beneath their leather boots. ‘He’s up there, second floor in the tower.’ Katerina pointed out the dull glint of glass. ‘But he has iron bars across the window; he cannot climb out that way.’
‘Then how did you escape?’ Lussac asked, not certain he wanted to hear her answer.
She smiled gently. The cloying air had spun her hair into delicate tendrils, framing her face like amber lace. ‘There were no bars on my window; it was easy.’ His fingers warmed her upper arm, heat travelling up to her shoulder, across her chest.
He glanced up at the crenellated edge at the top of the tower, marked the windows, the tremendous height from the ground, and knew that Katerina had climbed out. ‘You fool!’ he hissed. ‘You could have been killed!’
‘No, it was easy; you know what I can do,’ she replied.
‘I should have been here,’ he murmured.
‘You’re here now.’
He acknowledged the softening of her voice; his heart threaded with desire. His hand cradled the curve of her chin, his thumb drifting across the silken nap of her cheek, grazing the corner of her mouth, lustrous and pliable, then dropped away. ‘Who do you think is in there?’
‘My father, of course, and my uncle. And about half-a-dozen soldiers, at least two of them outside Philippe’s chamber, and possibly one still sitting outside mine.’ She laughed—an abrupt sound, disparaging. ‘Fools, all of them.’ Her eyes moved to his sword. ‘Too many for us to fight, Lussac.’ She paused. ‘But I have a plan.’
He tilted his head to one side. A hard pulse knocked steadily at the base of his throat, surrounded by powerful, corded muscle. ‘I’m listening.’
‘I will climb up the outside of the tower to Philippe’s window—’ she began enthusiastically.
‘Absolutely not!’ he interrupted.
‘And secure a rope to the bars,’ she ploughed on, raising her voice against his objection. ‘Then you will climb the rope and chop through the iron bars, and both of you will climb down.’
‘And what do you suppose I chop through the iron bars with?’ he questioned drily. ‘My teeth?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she replied, frowning suddenly, looking about her, at the wind funnelling through the rushes, at the ground, as if the answer would helpfully materialise out of the air. ‘Maybe...your sword?’
His expression was kind. ‘Katerina, it’s not going to work. The bars alone will defeat us. And I’m not having you climbing again, taking a risk like that. Is there no other way in, a way that would enable us to catch your uncle unawares?’
She thought for a moment. ‘Well, there’s always the kitchens, then up through the back stairs to the gallery. From there we can access the tower and bypass the main rooms on the ground floor.’
Lussac sighed wit
h relief. He had no wish to remonstrate with her, nor belittle her considerable skill, but he had no wish to place her in danger either. ‘Come with me, then,’ he said, holding out his hand, ‘and show me the way.’ The shimmering moonlight flooded his face, throwing his long, spiky lashes into shadow on his cheek. ‘And for God’s sake, keep close by me,’ he murmured as his hefty grip engulfed her slender fingers. ‘That way I can keep you safe.’
Chapter Nineteen
Hugging the field hedges that ran up in rickety lines from the marshland, Katerina advanced on her home, aiming for a low huddle of buildings on the north side, Lussac behind her. A haze of cloud drifted across the moon, dulling the limpid brightness, shadowing their progress. Gaining the top of the gentle slope, she flattened herself against the mossy wall, reaching out for the circular handle, the ridged, cold metal pressing into the palm of her hand.
Strong fingers closed over hers. ‘Let me go first,’ Lussac murmured. Drawing his sword, steel rasping against the leather sheath, he turned the handle slowly, very, very slowly, nudging the door inwards with a faint squeak, the lightest protest from the rusty hinges. Damp, musty air flowed out from the darkened kitchens, the smell of rotting, fungal growth, of disuse and poverty.
Stepping down into the vast, cavernous space, Katerina picked out the huge fireplace, the jumble of pots and pans heaped up on the long trestle table in the middle of the room. Her heart lurched once more at the dismal state of the kitchens. ‘My father has been living on next to nothing,’ she said, trying to explain. ‘I must go and find him, make sure he’s all right.’
‘No, stay with me,’ Lussac replied sternly. ‘We fetch Philippe first, then we find your father.’
‘But my uncle was here...there’s no telling what he might do!’
He held up one hand, hard callouses ridging the base of each finger. ‘If your father has managed to exist without you for this long, then a little longer won’t matter. How do we reach the tower from here?’
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