by Shea,Lisa
Catherine rotated the shoulder experimentally a few times, and did not feel the sharp ache again. She shrugged dejectedly. “I imagine it will be fine. Peter wrapped that area up rather thoroughly.” She smiled faintly as she looked out at the pond, thinking back. “I have had injuries before, especially during my early years of sword school. I will heal if I take it easy. That was always the challenge for me. I hate to just sit around.”
“Peter told me you have been training since you were thirteen,” commented Jack with gentle curiosity.
Catherine turned to lean against the railing, to look out at the dark water, a strong resistance kicking in at any thoughts of her past. She should not be sharing her memories, not discussing them …
Jack waited patiently beside her, not pressuring her, his gaze steady, full of understanding.
She took in a deep breath, then let it out. He was to become part of her family, after all. She had a responsibility to make this transition a smooth one, whatever pain it might bring her. He had the right to ask questions about her past and to receive honest answers.
“Most Bowyer youth who have an interest in swords do start training earlier,” she commented quietly. “In my case, I did not feel that call until I turned thirteen. The teachers allowed me to join at that late age, and with a great deal of effort I caught up with the other students in a fairly quick time.”
“I have no doubt,” commented Jack quietly. “There was no issue with you being female?”
“I imagine, with so many sword makers and sword trainers in our area, we have far more women interested in martial activity,” she contemplated. “I suppose it would be the same if you grew up in a pottery community, you would want to learn if only because everyone else was doing it. If my mother was upset, it was more that I was avoiding other things I could be learning, rather than that I had specifically chosen to focus on swordfighting.”
Jack’s moved his gaze to the quiet pond, his voice gentle, almost soothing. “What was it that your mother wanted you to learn about?”
Catherine shrugged, leaning against the railing. “The usual, I imagine. History, dancing, and singing. She agreed with my negotiation trainings. She was pleased that I excelled in those lessons; she felt they were the ideal use of a woman’s natural talents.” Catherine looked down. “My mother felt, and I see her logic, that a person should dedicate themselves fully to one path in life. She thought that knowing how to beguile an opponent at every turn would bring triumph in the end. To her mind the history, dancing, and singing lessons were all tools in a negotiator’s toolbox.”
Jack maintained his focus on the ripples on the water’s surface. “… but?”
Catherine ran a hand idly along the wood surface of the railing, relishing its weathered texture. “I think it never occurred to my mother that my path was quite different than what she planned for. She envisioned me as an elegant debate participant, drawing in the eye of a polished nobleman to one side, soothing a seasoned warrior at the other. In her mind, having me possess any physical strength would detract from that goal.”
Her mouth quirked into a smile. “It was an interesting balance. While my mother did not mind the idea of me being talented with a blade, and took pride in my victories, she did worry that I would end up scarring my face or hands. She thought any physical deformity would distract my ‘victims’ so they did not fully fall into whatever trap I had laid for them.”
Jack cocked an eyebrow. “You did not worry about permanent disfigurement? Most women I know -”
Catherine’s laugh was short. “I am afraid you will find that I am not like most women,” she replied, her voice regretful. “That was always an issue between my mother and me. I could not care less if I wore the latest fashion or hairstyle, while she felt they were absolutely essential to the path she had laid out for me.”
Catherine shrugged again, and her face drew tight. “It took her years before she realized that her goals were greatly divergent from my own. It had never occurred to her that what I intended to do with my life was not what her grand scheme had plotted for.”
Her hand dropped to nurse her other forearm for a long moment, and her voice lowered. “Yes, I do have a scar or two from my fights with bandits in the area. I always considered them badges of honor for keeping my people safe.” Catherine pressed her lips together for a moment. “If my future husband dislikes my scars, that will be an issue for him to come to terms with.”
Jack thought a moment, then carefully undid the laces on the elegantly worked leather bracer on his right arm. Catherine realized that the cuff was quite different than the rest of his well-worn outfit. The bracers were far more flashy and almost garish in their design. When Jack had unlaced the leather, he removed it, revealing a nasty gash that ran along the full length of his forearm.
“This is from a fight on the roads north of here,” he offered simply, looking down at the scar. “I was escorting a pair of nuns to their abbey and a group of bandits felt they would be an interesting prize.” He looked at the wound for a moment, then commented, “When I returned, my father took one look and then had these bracers made especially for me. He asked me to wear them, to hide the wound, because it disturbed him and others to see the injury.”
The wound had healed with an ugly red twisting scar, but Catherine did not feel bothered at all. To her, this was the sign of one who had defended the innocent. She put her fingers on the scar and ran them lightly along it, wondering at the stroke that had caused such an injury, at how Jack had fought on despite it. Jack shivered under her touch, almost drawing away. She held him with her tender caress, lost in thought.
Catherine looked down at the scar, thinking of her own wounds, of the choices that lay before her. If nothing else, she could show Jack that not all took such a shallow view of human beauty. She tenderly raised Jack’s arm and kissed the end of the scar.
“For Honor,” she saluted softly. She could feel Jack breathing deeply and did not trust herself to look up at him. She had already taken a great liberty, giving the responsibilities she had. She should not be encouraging a relationship with the son when she was duty bound to tie herself to the father.
A friendly shout sounded from above them, and the two quickly stepped apart, Jack moving to lace the bracer back on his forearm. Peter came down to join them from the garden path, smiling. “Catherine, there you are. Lord Epworth and I are finished, and he sent me to find you. He would like to have a talk with you; please attend to him.”
Catherine bristled at being summoned, but reminded herself again that this was her duty and bit down the annoyance. She forced a smile and nodded. “Of course, Peter. Thank you for bringing the message.” She turned to look at Jack. His eyes seemed distant, aloof. “Thank you again,” she offered simply.
Jack hesitated for a moment, then turned to look out over the pond. “It was nothing,” he replied shortly. Catherine could tell by the set of his shoulders that this was far from the truth, but she did not wish to press the issue. She nodded again at Peter, then turned and walked down the flower-lined path.
Catherine made her way through the stone hallways to Lord Epworth’s study. The young guard at the door let her in with a friendly nod. The spacious room was richly furnished with thick tapestries, elegant burgundy curtains, and luxurious brown fur rugs. A large wooden desk stood beneath an intricate stained glass window, and two plush chairs waited by a roaring fire. Lord Epworth was sitting behind the desk when she entered, and came around with a wide smile to greet her.
“Catherine, thank you for coming so promptly,” he welcomed her warmly. “Come, sit by the fire. I would love to spend some time with you.”
Catherine did as she was told, willing herself to relax. She had worked out many difficult truces - she could get through an hour or two of discussion. The surroundings were certainly pleasant enough.
“That is a gorgeous depiction over your desk,” she offered, figuring that praise was always a safe topic. She looked at the leaded gla
ss more closely. A male saint was riding on a boat across choppy seas, sailing toward a distant shore. Overhead, a pair of seagulls soared.
“Is that Saint Brendan?” she asked with pleasure, recognizing the features of the scene.
“Yes, well done,” answered Lord Epworth in surprise, sitting back in his chair, looking fondly at his guest. “You are indeed very quick! Saint Brendan is the patron saint of travelers. I always light a candle to him before I embark on one of my journeys. He is my favorite saint.”
“He is mine as well,” agreed Catherine with a smile. “It is always my wish that travelers reach their destination safely.”
“Well, then, we will have a wonderful time of it!” smiled Lord Epworth. “For I love to travel, and you love to keep travelers safe!” He looked her over and nodded. “Your mother was quite right. You are the ideal partner for me. You already have years of training in negotiation. You understand the value of appearance, of deportment, of dress and manner. Your parents trained you in this from when you were young, much as mine did.”
He smiled and took a sip of his wine. “My father always talked about how people judge with first impressions, how they react to you before you open your mouth. ‘It is not fair, son,’ he would say to me, ‘but it is the way the world is. You best learn to be wise in this area.’ I took his advice to heart. I always seek perfection in my dress and in my surroundings.”
“I did learn a lot in my years of treaty work,” murmured Catherine cautiously. She did not know if she agreed with his leap from first impressions to a desire for flawlessness, but perhaps he was simply generalizing for her benefit. “So, tell me more about your travels, I would love to hear of them.”
As Lord Epworth warmed to the topic, Catherine realized this conversation was going to be a very easy few hours. Lord Epworth launched into a series of long, intricately detailed tales from his latest trip to Rome. He seemed to mention every famous person he had met and every historic site he had visited. Catherine only had to add an appreciative murmur or a well-placed “Oh really” to keep him rolling along.
Eventually lunchtime arrived, and Lord Epworth escorted Catherine to sit with him in the dining hall. Michael, Walter, and John joined them at the main table, and Lord Epworth regaled them all with tales of his trips during the meal. The young novices listened in rapt attention, not having seen much of the world yet and appreciatively gasping over each new tale. Catherine smiled and nodded, taking the time to become lost in her own thoughts.
A movement caught her eye; she glanced up to see Jack enter the hall, followed by Peter. Jack looked over and met her gaze, then looked down again and walked with Peter to the smaller table by the fire. Catherine was washed with a strong desire to get up and join the pair, but with deliberation she remained in her seat and turned back to Lord Epworth. He had not noticed her momentary distraction; he was deep into an epic story and playing off the rapt attention of his young audience.
When the meal was over, Lord Epworth bowed with a smile to Catherine. “I need to go prepare for the debate, a boring chore which I will not tire you with,” he apologized. “That begins in an hour. I will see you at dinner. Enjoy your afternoon!” He turned to a nearby page. “George, please tell Stephanie to come by the study. I need her to handle something for me.” The page nodded obediently and left. Turning, Lord Epworth strolled down the hall.
Catherine closed her eyes for a moment. Claustrophobia washed over her - she needed to get out of the cathedral for a while, and not just within the walls of the back garden.
She offered her farewells to the acolytes, then went to take her black cloak and dagger from a peg by the entry hall. She strapped her dagger around her waist, hefted her cloak onto her shoulders carefully and strode toward the main gate.
She had just reached the open gates when Jack came up alongside her. He wore a deep brown cloak over his leather armor, and had a longsword strapped against his left leg. His voice was a concerned growl. “You cannot possibly be thinking of going outside the walls alone with the threat of bandits out there?”
Catherine barely checked her step. “I need to get some fresh air,” she replied with determination. “I will not go far, I just need to get out … away ...”
Jack fell into step beside her. “I will go with you then,” he stated firmly.
Catherine strode across the threshold, beneath the looming shadows of the large gates and walls. Her voice was low and bitter. “Conrad and his crew are hundreds of miles away by now, running wild. They are a menace to others now.”
“There are other dangers in the woods besides those particular men,” continued Jack, his voice still terse.
Catherine did not respond; she simply turned left off the road and into the open meadow beyond. As she left the walls behind, a weight lifted from her shoulders, and she took in a deep, cleansing breath. Yes, she really did need some time away.
There was a cart path leading up into the forest, and she walked along it. Jack stayed alongside her in silence. Catherine was quite comfortable with the quiet, feeling no need to fill it with idle conversation. It began to seem almost natural for the two to be out in the forest, enjoying the beautiful day together.
There was still a fair amount of snow on the ground in the forest; the shadows were keeping cool temperatures. Catherine enjoyed hearing the crunch under her leather boots as they walked. After a while, though, her body began to ache, reminding her that she was far from healed.
She found a fallen log on a rise which gave a lovely view of the cathedral down below. She carefully sat down to rest. Slowly, the peace and serenity of the hilltop location swept through her, and she closed her eyes in appreciation.
* * *
Jack stood at the edge of the clearing, his hand on his hilt, scanning the surrounding countryside, all too aware of just how beautiful Catherine looked as she relaxed in the forest, of how her face glowed with contentment, of how she seemed to almost come to life once nature had surrounded her.
Every sinew in his body urged him to move to sit by her side, to feel her warmth next to him. He resisted with an effort, remaining at the overlook, gazing out at the snowy hills, the grey walls of the cathedral below.
“This was my patrol route,” he commented, half to himself, “when I was younger. I have not been up here in a while.”
Catherine breathed in the fresh air with a wistful smile. “I loved going on patrols,” she reminisced. “We would be out for weeks at a time, walking through the wilderness, keeping an eye on the villagers. Our group was like a small family, sharing stories, relying on each other.” She stretched out her legs and sighed. “If I could lead that life forever, I think I would be quite content.”
A pang ached in his heart; he knew exactly what Catherine was talking about. He dropped his head in frustration. His loyalty to his foster father meant that he should be convincing Catherine to look ahead, not reminding her of what she was going to lose.
“If you enjoy traveling,” he pointed out with a forced smile, “then you will be quite happy going to a new location. Think of all the fascinating landscapes you will visit, the unusual people, animals, and plants you will come across. You could enjoy a world of amazing discovery, and write back to tell your family and friends what you have encountered.”
Catherine’s eyes lit up. “Yes, that would be quite fascinating,” she agreed. “I have to focus on the positive aspects of this task. There will be a wealth of knowledge for me to learn about, and to share.” She rubbed her injured shoulder absently. “Still, I will miss many things about my homelands.”
“You mean Susan and Marcie,” asked Jack quietly. “They were your friends from Bowyer?”
Catherine nodded absently. “I have known them from childhood,” she confirmed. “We were inseparable. We did almost everything together. It was very hard to leave them.”
“Would they go on patrols with you,” pursued Jack with interest. He was glad to have Catherine talking about her past. Until now she had at
tempted to deflect such conversations, but she seemed to have lowered her guard, out here in the woods.
Catherine laughed merrily to herself, and the sound carried across the clearing. Jack realized that he had never seen her truly happy until now - her entire face lit up with delight. “Oh, no,” continued Catherine with a wide smile. “Susan was certainly a good archer, but Marcie was a little on the ...round side. She loved to cook. They would wait for me to come back from patrol, and we would cause mischief around town, but no, they were not the wandering type.”
She thought about her friends, and her face tinged with sadness. “We were alike in many ways, but we were also quite different women.”
Jack saw his chance to slide in a question he had been puzzling over for days. “Oh, then maybe Shadow was one of your patrol group?” He kept his voice neutral, and glanced over to see what her reaction would be.
To his surprise, Catherine’s body tensed, and a look of deep angst came over her. She looked down, scuffing at the snow with her boot. “I do not wish to talk about Shadow,” she replied in a low, flat voice.
She stood suddenly and walked to the rise to look down at the cathedral. Her shoulders were hunched, and she crossed her arms across her chest. She continued in a quiet voice, almost to herself, “I will have to forget that name, once I go away with Lord Epworth.”
She turned suddenly and strode back down the trail toward Worcester.
Jack’s brow creased at the sudden change in her mood, and his thoughts spun through the possibilities. He had expected Catherine to know of Shadow, but their relationship appeared to be more serious than he would have imagined. His face became somber as he stepped forward to catch up with her.
The two remained silent as they returned along the path and through the gates. As they came through the wooden doors into the arched entryway, Lord Epworth came up to meet them. He looked from Catherine’s upset face to Jack’s thoughtful gaze, and pursed his lips. The silence stretched on for a few moments.
