by Shea,Lisa
The sun streamed brightly through the frosty air, adding a glistening sparkle to the world. Catherine moved with deliberate slowness along the path, taking in several long, deep breaths as she reached the herb garden. Her tense mood sloughed away as she inhaled the fresh crispness, as the glow of the sun permeated her. Nature was refreshing the soil, the plants, even the very air. The chives were already sending young spears of green sprouts through the crisp soil, and their gentle fragrance was soothing and refreshing.
Her heart was comforted as she continued more slowly through to the gravel walkway that led toward the pond. It was lined with a glowing jewel-colored progression of crocuses in blue and purple. A sense of serenity infused her, and she dropped to one knee to breathe in their fresh fragrance, a delicate scent that could only be appreciated up close.
Jack came up quietly behind her, standing with her for a moment. “They are beautiful, are they not?” he praised softly, his eyes running down the row of color and ending on her upturned face. “It is a shame the blooms only last a week or two.”
Catherine, feeling almost renewed, smiled up at him. “That makes the flowers even more special,” she replied. “It means that I can look forward to each unique day, to coming down this walk and sharing their glory with every other person here. It is part of what makes our world so wondrous - that each week offers something new and miraculous to appreciate.”
She took one last look at the velvety petals, then pushed up with her right arm to stand. She gave a soft whimper of pain as her arm did not take her weight.
Jack immediately leant over, putting a strong grip beneath her left forearm, gently helping to raise her up. He slid his fingers down to her hand as she made her way to a standing position.
Catherine, nodding her thanks, looked up at him. He did not release her hand, and she did not seek to withdraw it, either. The warm spring sun shone down in a golden shimmer, and she became lost in his tender gaze.
She could not fall for Jack. Not when …
Her face flushed in a wave of heat. She pulled her hand from his, turning her gaze back down to the delicate flowers.
After a few moments, Jack took a deep breath and spoke softly. “You are here to be wed to my foster father; to become the lawful wife of Lord Epworth,” he stated with quiet certainty.
Catherine’s face could have been doused in hot water, so strongly did her cheeks flare at his words. She began to shake her head, to postpone the discussion for at least a little while, but his voice came again, sure and even.
“There is no need to deny it,” he soothed her. “I have known for some time that he craved a son of his own blood. He has been sorting through potential candidates for months. Your credentials are impeccable; you are just what he has sought. Your sudden arrival here, just as he was about to return, speaks clearly to your purpose.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, turning away from him completely. All of her painful, submerged feelings came streaming to the surface. The aches of her shoulder, her ribs, her legs almost faded away beneath the soul-shattering frustration and longing.
She felt his hand, ever so gentle, on her arm, and it only made it worse, made her impotent fury at her situation boil over and fill her, bursting into every corner of her being.
His voice was tense with concern. “Catherine?”
“Please!” she cried out in angst, pulling her arm free, not sure what she was asking him to do, just knowing that she was in pain, so much pain, and she wanted it all to stop. She pulled her arms tightly around her, her eyes stinging with held-back tears.
Jack moved to stand before her, his shoulders so sturdy and strong, his eyes steady, wise, caring. Suddenly she was lost. The words bubbled out of her, escaped her control, flowing as if a dam had caved in, burst beyond all repair.
“My life has been dedicated to protecting the villagers, the people I love,” she rasped, her throat tightening with emotion. “I trained daily. I pushed myself through every obstacle, all so I could serve them with my very best skills.” Her breath hitched, and the enormity of her situation threatened to overwhelm her. “Now I am ordered to flee to Ireland with Lord Epworth, for my safety? To become a brood mare?”
The tears started and she pressed her lips tightly together, fighting to regain control. It was bad enough she had spilled out her most intimate frustrations. She would not – could not - allow herself to break down like an unschooled farm girl.
Jack’s gaze became protective, and he put a hand gently against her face, to where the purples of her injuries were fading to mottled patches. “To be safe from the aftermath of the attack?”
Catherine barked out a harsh laugh. “If only it were for such a noble sentiment,” she growled, turning from his concern, looking down the path, no longer seeing the beautiful flowers, only the hopelessness of her life. The pain of her trap twisted in her heart, coiling there like an angry snake. She put a hand there, willing herself to relax, to rein in her feelings before she lost control of them.
“My council feels that political unrest is inevitable,” she ground out, her voice raw. “It is why we are not being represented at this debate. They have given up completely. They are sure that the land will be razed by the conflict, and want me off hidden in Ireland, where I can create a new Bowyer clan.”
She ran a hand through her hair in frustration. “Here we had finally finished the due diligence with Magnor, and I could at last re-enter the world. It is just at that moment that my council immediately orders me to marry a coward and abandon the lands I love forever. They want me to turn my back on those I vowed to defend.”
She shook her head in anger. “Our clan was founded on honor - on protecting those around us. The new clan will be founded on me running away and breaking faith with everyone I hold dear.” Her voice turned cynical. “Now there is a trait to pass on.”
Jack turned her face gently with his hand to look into his eyes. “Surely they will take your feelings into consideration,” he offered reassuringly. “If you have strong concerns, they will listen to you.”
Catherine chucked without mirth. “Yes, I was given a choice,” she snapped bitterly. “The order is to marry Lord Epworth and join him as he deserts his homeland, all to ensure the continued line of the Bowyer family. I have been granted a few weeks to ‘decide’, up until Lord Epworth leaves with his feathered entourage for his palace-in-exile. Either that or ...” She looked down with frustration.
Jack’s voice was quiet. “Or?”
Catherine took a deep breath. “Or I will be cast out. My council will banish me from my own lands and strip me of all rights. I will be forever separated from my dearest family and friends.”
Jack shook his head slowly. “They cannot mean that; surely that is an idle threat. You are the sole heir.”
Catherine turned and walked over to a carved stone bench, wearily sitting down. “You know enough about political games to realize that is never true,” she reminded him. “You are Lord Epworth’s foster son, and yet after all these years he is suddenly seeking to marry in order to have a biological son to supplant you. Not the most noble of actions.”
She dug a toe into the dirt. “In Bowyer, my mother has a cousin who is about your age. He has always been furious that I, a mere female, was in line to inherit, and not him. Raymond is well respected by the council. He was one of those who lobbied most strongly for this current situation I am now in.”
Her mouth quirked wryly. “Raymond forced me into hiding for four long years. Now he will cause me to be sent as far away as possible. I am fortunate he did not hit upon a scheme to send me off to Rome itself.”
Jack sat beside her, nodding in understanding. “If you accept the marriage, you end up far away from him. Any family you raise is not a threat. If you refuse to wed, you have proven your disloyalty to the council and he waltzes in to take your place.” He looked across at her, his voice softening. “Either way, you are cut off from what you have been working for your entire life.”
Catherine’s anger slowly drained out of her, leaving a hollow sense of resignation. She turned wearily to look at Jack. “On the other hand, I am now twenty-six years old. I have spent my life exactly as I have wished. I chose to be a negotiator and was provided with that training. I wished to become the best swordswoman I could and was given that opportunity as well. My mother was at times reluctant, but she gave me my head.”
She rolled a rock along with her toe, staring at its progress. “I am now, as my mother repeatedly informs me, at the proper marrying age. Yes, many women marry older still, especially in these hard times, but …”
Jack was shaking his head. “Eleanor, our Queen, did not marry King Henry until she was thirty,” he pointed out. “Together they had eight fine children, and one of those is now our King.”
Catherine brought her eyes up to gaze at her sword hand, slowly flexing it. “I also shoulder the extra burden of being an untraditional bride,” she murmured. “My skills with blade and tracking are not ones that many men would appreciate.” She gave a sigh. “My mother warns me that I should be grateful that someone as well stationed as Lord Epworth would overlook my strangeness and bless me with this opportunity.”
Jack’s eyes were suddenly sharp with anger. “Do not ever think that way,” he replied harshly. “Every person who is born deserves to reach their greatest potential, whatever that may be. We are, each of us, God’s creatures, on Earth to do His will.” He drew in a breath, reigning in his emotion with effort. “You deserve to be with a man who appreciates your skills, not one who wants you to hide them away in shame.”
Catherine brought her eyes up to his. “Whatever I might feel personally about Lord Epworth, my mother has made it clear that this alliance is very important to the family. Surely loyalty has some part in what I choose to do?”
Jack maintained his gaze, but his eyes shadowed, swirling with conflicting emotions. “Loyalty where it is earned is perhaps the most important quality a person can have. But loyalty for no reason, or for the wrong reasons ... that can be the cause of great evil.” He dropped his eyes.
Catherine took in a deep breath, running her hand through her thick hair. “If I lose my honor, then I have little left,” she murmured. She gave herself a shake. “I should get back to my room; it is about time for some fresh bandages,” she added quietly.
Jack stood immediately, putting out an arm, helping her slowly to her feet.
“I would be happy to escort you …”
She shook her head before he could finish. “I will do fine on my own,” she replied, her voice somber. She kept her gaze low, not willing to meet his eyes, to be drawn to stay with him, to talk with him, to share her heart. Instead, she resolutely turned and began the lonely trek back toward the main building.
* * *
Catherine looked up from the dinner table for at least the tenth time, half listening to what Peter was saying at her side, wondering when Jack would ever finish with his duty at the debates. She knew the first day of introductions would be long, even interminable, but surely the man had to eat? She rolled her shoulders, grateful at least that the grinding aches were slowly easing from her bones, the wounds were tentatively drawing together and healing. Peter was indeed a talented herbalist.
She smiled suddenly – there he was. Jack’s muscular build, his steady stride brought a quickness to her heart. His grey eyes, the color of a misty morning, scanned the room as he moved, lighting up with pleasure as they met hers. In a moment he was crossing through the other tables and chairs to come up to them.
Peter glanced up as he approached, calling out cheerfully, “There you are; we are almost finished, but certainly, join us.” Jack made his way around the head table, and Peter waved for another ale. “Did you hear?” he added, grinning from ear to ear as Jack drew near, “we are going to have some music tonight, and Maya will be singing!”
Jack settled down on Catherine’s other side, and nodded with a welcoming smile. “Indeed, we were told about it during the debates.”
Catherine looked down sharply at the mention of the debates; a wrenching sensation twisted at her heart. She shook it off with resolution. She stabbed perhaps a little too heartily at the piece of chicken she was finishing off, ripping a section of flesh away, before drawing in a deep breath.
Calm. She had to remain calm.
A soft curse came from her side, and then Jack’s voice was gentle, drawing her in.
“Catherine, have you heard Maya sing? She has a most exceptional voice, almost an angelic quality to it. My father invites her here frequently.”
Catherine gave a halfhearted attempt at a smile. “I did meet her earlier this afternoon,” she agreed. “Tall, blonde hair, blue eyes? She looks like an angel; I suppose it is no surprise that she sounds like one as well. I will be very interested in hearing her voice.”
She took in a deep breath, then turned more fully to face Jack. She would not dodge the issue. “You were sweet to change the topic, but I cannot hide from the debates.” Her voice dropped low. “I need to learn to accept the path I am on.”
Jack looked as if he would counter her statement, but after a long moment he nodded. “If that is your choice,” he offered, his voice neutral.
A weary sense of acceptance settled into Catherine’s soul. “I agree I will not be attending the debates, as much as I might wish to. However, even if I cannot be present, I am still very interested in hearing what is taking place in the sessions.”
Jack’s response was instant. “How can I help?”
Hesitance hitched at Catherine’s heart. Was it fair to ask this of Jack? Her desire to know about the events prodded her to keep speaking. “I realize it would be an imposition, but would you be willing to give me a summary, at the end of each day, of what was said?”
Jack was nodding even before she had finished. “Of course, it would be my honor,” he agreed readily.
A wave of contentment swept over Catherine, and she put her hand on his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I cannot say how much this means to me,” she offered with a smile.
He seemed caught by her gaze, and it was a long moment before he nodded, his face quiet, his eyes not leaving hers.
A servant bustled over with his meal, and Catherine gave herself a shake, returning to her own food. In a moment Jack was going step by step over the introductions, explaining each person’s rank and stance on the continuing hostilities between King John and the Pope. Catherine found herself impressed with his memory, with his keen interpretations of the motivations of the various dignitaries. The time flew by, and it seemed only a few moments before the remnants of the meals were being cleared away.
A pair of servants carefully dragged the large harp into the central area of the room while the hall filled with people who were eager to hear Maya sing. The warmth of the bodies, swelled by the roaring fire crackling to one side, brought a welcome counterpoint to the chill winds whistling outside.
The three acolytes stretched out on the dense fur rug before the fire, Michael carefully tucking his ankle in a swaddle of blankets. John, his toned muscles barely flexing with the effort, helped to move him into a comfortable position. Even Father Berram was brought to a well-worn leather chair in a corner and covered with a blanket, his wrinkled face relaxing into contentment.
Jack glanced up, signaling to one of the young pages circling the room. The lad nodded, and in a moment he brought over three mugs of mead to the novices. Jack toasted his friends, and they returned the toast with smiles all around.
There was a flurry of activity at the main doors, and all eyes in the room turned to look.
Maya waltzed into the hall, waving to admirers as she crossed the space. She was wearing a long, cascading ivory dress, replete with gold embroidery on the neck and arms. Catherine chuckled, watching the woman as she flowed across the room. Maya apparently knew of her celestial reputation and did her best to play it up in every way possible.
Catherine shrugged. There was
no harm in promoting one’s assets, and Maya certainly was beautiful. Her golden hair fell to her waist, and her face was smooth and clear. The crowd quieted when Maya finally took her seat behind the harp and put her hands to the strings.
Jack’s voice murmured at her side. “It is a shame Carl and Craig are not here to see this,” he offered. “The two men are good friends of mine, and they have a special fondness for female singers.”
Catherine’s shoulders pulled into tense alertness, and she kept her face turned away in the darkness, willed herself to relax. Carl and Craig. Those monsters were in the past now. That they had apparently fooled Jack with their jovial façade was not worth worrying over. Many had been lured in by the fiends’ false fronts over the years.
A strumming of strings turned her attention, and Maya’s voice floated with ethereal lightness into her thoughts, melting away all other concerns. The crowd sat spellbound as her voice soared and fell, drifting gently through songs of summertime love and daydreams. Peter watched as if he was captivated by her.
Catherine enjoyed the beauty of Maya’s voice. It drew her out of her musings, distracted her from her dense web of emotions, her body’s jagged aches, if only for this short while.
Maya sang for an hour, then took a short break before singing for another half hour. The crowd applauded their appreciation, and Maya was escorted from her harp by several fans. The hour was getting late, and many of the crowd straggled off for their rooms.
The three young novices came over to sit at Catherine’s table. Walter’s round cheeks were bright with drink. “She was wonderful, was she not?” he crowed with appreciation.
Peter was still staring dreamily after Maya, and turned at this. “Yes she is,” he agreed readily. “If you want to hear a really moving performance, though, you should hear Catherine sing sometime. It is an entirely different experience.”
Three young pairs of eyes swiveled to look at Catherine, and the voices all spoke up in chorus. Walter’s eyes were bright. “Sing for us!” he cried eagerly.
