by Shea,Lisa
“How about your left shoulder,” he asked, finishing up the right arm’s bandaging. “Should I look at that as well?”
Catherine’s response was quick and short. “No!”
She blushed and looked down, taking in a deep breath. “I think you have done enough for one day,” she added in a more gentle tone. “My left shoulder is fine.”
Jack tucked in the bandage’s free end and examined the results. “It is still going to slide if it is touched,” he mused, half to himself.
He reached down to his brown cloak and with a quick movement tore off a thin strip from the bottom. He looped that through the white bandage, then looped it over and under her shoulder. “There, that should give you a little more support,” he offered, giving a test tug on the bandage. “How does that feel?”
“Ouch!” cried out Catherine suddenly, then she burst out laughing, the peals ringing out down the valley. Jack stared at her, his brow creased in confusion.
“What is it,” he asked, looking at the bandage in concern. “I did not touch you after that tug ...?”
Catherine’s eyes were glowing with mirth as she turned to him. She held out her right hand, which had a spot of blood forming on the index finger’s base. “I was playing with this vine and I have poked myself,” she chuckled. “I think I need a doctor.”
Jack looked at the tiny spot of blood, back at the sword wound he had just bandaged up, and a smile eased on his face. “Here, I have plenty of bandages for all of your ills,” he offered with a sweeping bow. He ripped a short, small strip of brown cloth and fashioned a mini-bandage for her finger. “For you, my lady.”
Catherine’s laughter settled down, and she presented her hand to Jack. He held her hand with his left, then slid the brown ring onto her finger with his right. Suddenly tenderness swept over him, and he involuntarily glanced up at her. Her eyes were shining, and she held very still in his grasp. He finished settling the ring onto her finger, and then lowered his lips to her hand, brushing her skin with a gentle kiss.
Catherine was trembling in his grasp, and when he looked up at her, her eyes were shining. Then she let out a long, shaky breath and looked away, flustered.
“Thank you,” she murmured softly. “I feel much better now.”
After a moment Jack found his voice. “I had better get your dress laced back up,” he commented hoarsely. He sat behind her and slowly, tenderly, laced up the white chemise, laying it gently against her damaged skin. Next he re-laced the green dress. He left his hands against her neck for a moment when he was done, closing his eyes as he did so. He could smell her scent, a mix of her natural sweat and rose coming from her body and hair. It was almost intoxicating. He leant away from her slightly and gently swept her hair into place, laying it down along her back.
“They should not notice the spot on your shoulder if you have your hair over that area,” he suggested, his voice low. “You should be fine now.”
Catherine clasped her hands on her lap and began unconsciously to play with the brown ring. “Yes,” she echoed quietly, hesitantly. “I am sure things will be fine now.”
She stood and brushed the dirt off of her dress. “I suppose I should go back and ...” She sighed, looking in the direction of the cathedral. “I need to do something with those crocuses,” she added in resignation.
Jack picked up the cloaks and weapons and walked alongside her as the two returned to the cathedral. When they reached the main stairs, he handed her the black cloak and dagger. His hands met hers beneath the bundle, and he held them for a moment, feeling their warmth and strength, before she slid free of his grasp.
Her eyes lowered, she turned quickly with her items and headed up to her room, leaving him to stare up after her.
* * *
Jack found himself daydreaming during the debates, and strove to focus on what they were saying so that he could relay the information to Catherine later on. He found his step quickening as he headed toward the dining hall. Lord Epworth was already there, with Maya on one side of him. Jack pressed his lips together, nodding to her in quiet greeting as he took his customary seat on Lord Epworth’s other side.
“Is Catherine eating elsewhere tonight?” he asked in a low voice, striving to keep his tone neutral.
Lord Epworth gave a sigh. “I am afraid the poor girl was feeling worn out, and only wanted a small snack in her room before turning in.”
Disappointment filled Jack’s soul, but he instantly steeled his emotions and nodded noncommittally at the news.
Lord Epworth’s eyes sharpened, his look full on his foster son. “You would not know at all why she would be that tired, would you?” he asked pointedly.
Jack held himself steady; he could not betray the trust Catherine had placed in him. “Not at all, sir,” he responded with a casualness he did not feel. “I am sure she is simply enjoying your present.”
That thought seemed to brighten Lord Epworth’s mood, and he nodded, turning to talk with Maya. When the meal was over, the group of musicians played a series of lively songs. Halfway through the first one, Lord Epworth whispered something into Maya’s ear. The two rose to their feet, then walked out toward his study arm in arm. Jack watched them go, his gaze following them in quiet speculation. He stayed in his chair long after the musicians had finished, as the room cleared out and drifted into silence.
The fire mellowed down into glowing embers and the room immersed in shadows. Jack shook himself, picked up his tankard and walked over to the fire to sit on the nearby bench. As he approached he was surprised to find Michael curled up in the corner chair, furtively reading a codex with a finely tooled cover. Michael looked up guiltily as Jack came nearer.
Jack gave the lad a gentle smile. “Is not that one of Lord Epworth’s personal tomes?” he chided.
Michael flushed and nodded, hiding the codex beneath a fold in his tunic. “Do not tell him, please? I promise to return it as soon as I am done. I cannot help myself; I love to read. I will devour anything I can get my hands on. My parents were scholars and I am afraid it rubbed off on me.”
Jack waved away his concerns. “I am not sure why Lord Epworth is so stingy with his library,” he conceded. “It would be better if the stories were enjoyed by many, rather than collecting dust as wall ornaments.” His eyes brightened. “Just make sure he does not spot you when you return it, or you will learn what a Worcester Whipping is all about.”
Michael nodded nervously and scurried out of the room. Jack sighed and leaned back, taking a long pull on his ale. He sat by the fire alone, staring into the dying embers.
Chapter 10
Catherine woke early the following morning, took her seat by the window, and stretched wearily in the soft dawn haze. She watched with quiet attention as the men parried and thrust in the courtyard below. The sun rose slowly behind them, sending light and shadow in dappled patterns across the stonework.
Peter was sure, steady, classical in his motions, but she found her eyes drawn as if by a powerful magnet to follow Jack’s movements. She remembered how he had been willing to fight off Conrad’s entire team to keep the lads safe. She could see that same passion in his movements below, the same directed focus. He was a man she would be proud to have by her side …
There was a movement to the right, and John walked along the edge of the sparring area, his eyes watching the men with interest. The lad was well built, and Catherine was surprised he did not join in the activities. Out of the three acolytes, he seemed the one most suited to learn sword work, if only for self-defense. However, for whatever reason, he merely watched for a while, then faded back into the main hall.
She felt that way herself, trapped on the sidelines. She was an observer only, a gulf forming between what she had wanted out of life and what was now an option.
She sat still, even after the men had finished and headed inside, staring at the mosaic of stones. She could not bring herself to take her habitual pre-breakfast walk through the gardens, to look at the many headles
s stalks that now would fill her favorite pathway. It would only emphasize her growing feeling of despair.
She pressed her lips together, turning away from the window. A part of her scolded: she was an adult; she should not be reacting so harshly to such a minor incident. After all, they were only flowers. Lord Epworth had meant well.
She took in a deep breath, then sighed deeply, looking down. She knew the truth deep in her heart. It was not just the flowers, It was the lack of understanding behind the action. It was the fact that Lord Epworth had no idea that cutting down the entire garden of flowers would bother her in the least.
She pursed her lips, standing. What was done was done. She had already sent the wilted flowers down to the compost bin. She could only try to communicate with him more clearly going forward, to help him understand her more fully.
Catherine decided to find a quiet look for today’s outfit. She put on a soft tan dress over her chemise, and braided her hair back with brown ribbons. She suddenly glanced at the brown ring she still wore, realizing that her color choices were perhaps not as arbitrary as she had thought.
She considered leaving the token behind, but could not bring herself to remove it. It made her feel better, somehow, to have Jack’s ring on her finger. It made her feel as if she had some small say in her life’s path. She had avoided dinner last night, but she could not hide out in her room forever. It was time to go down and face another day.
She was the first of her party to the dining room, and she watched attentively as Lord Epworth and Jack entered together. Jack seemed attentive to his foster father, and Lord Epworth for his part was respectful to Jack. Still, she noticed that Lord Epworth took cares to keep himself between her and Jack, even when the two men walked around the table to join her. Jack gave her a nod in greeting, but was shut out from any attempt of eye contact after that.
Catherine nodded at appropriate intervals during Lord Epworth’s small talk as they ate breakfast, but her mind was on the coming hours, wondering what the day had in store for her.
Lord Epworth turned to Catherine as the meal was cleared from the table, sitting back with a smile. “I do not have any duties this morning,” he explained with a warm grin, “so I thought I would offer you a special treat. How would you like to come down and see the vaults? There are a few quirky carvings down there that might amuse you.”
Catherine could sense Jack’s sharp eyes on her, and she remembered that he had been in the garden when she had the conversation with Michael about the pagan artworks. She forced herself to smile brightly.
“Of course, I would love to spend time with you,” she replied, holding the smile in place. She stood and put her hand on Lord Epworth’s arm, forestalling any attempt at a hug. She willed herself not to look back at Jack.
“We will see you later, Jack,” commented Lord Epworth smoothly, dismissing his foster son. He immediately guided Catherine toward the door that led into the depths of the building.
* * *
Catherine strode up the long, dark stairs, pushing the heavy wooden door wide, willing herself to hold in her strong emotions until she was clear of all watchers. The hall was deep in gloom, and a heavy rumble of thunder shook the walls, but she did not slow one step as she marched toward the hooks. She yanked her dagger off of one, grabbed her cloak from the other, and in a moment she was through the main doors and crossing the cobblestone courtyard. She flung the hood over her head as she strode beneath the arched entry gates and out toward the woods.
She was just within the first layer of trees when the sound of racing feet came from behind her, and the skies opened up with pelting torrents of rain. A lightning flash sizzled overhead, immediately followed by a ground-shaking clap.
Jack’s voice was sharp with frustration. “God’s teeth, Catherine, you could have waited ...”
Catherine continued her stride without a hitch in her step. Jack moved alongside her, pulling his own cloak closed. He glanced over at her for a moment, studied her face, and let his comments fade into silence.
They moved side by side through the thick woods. The trees provided shelter from the storm which raged overhead. There was the steady patter of falling rain landing high above; occasionally she felt the thud of a drop or two that worked their way through the thick canopy.
Eventually Catherine slowed, her inner steam easing slightly, but she could still feel the tenseness in her shoulders, feel the sharpness in her angular stride.
When they reached the top of the hill, she sat on the far end of the log where it nestled up against an elderly oak tree. Jack slowly lowered himself to sit at her side. The thick branches of the oak offered good protection against the rain which fell heavily across the landscape. The rain washed away the remaining snows, leaving the forest glistening and fresh.
Catherine could not draw rein on the racing thoughts which pounded and stampeded within her head. The carvings had been beyond beautiful. The thought of them being destroyed mingled with her fears for the villagers she was leaving behind, with the crash of another clap seemingly inches away, and finally the words burst from her in an explosion she was helpless to stop.
“Those carvings are priceless,” she cried in half agony. “They are intricate, they are full of meaning, they are true treasures that should be protected and cared for. He is just going to abandon them! He knows well the dangers that await those things left behind. They will be burned, smashed, and destroyed. He is just going to leave them!”
Another flash of lightning, and her breath caught at the hopelessness of it all. “How can he just abandon all of this?” she railed, her voice shaking with angst. “How can he leave, when he knows so much depends on him ...”
She felt wetness on her cheeks, and she no longer knew if it was from the heavy rain around them or from tears streaming down.
Jack took in a long breath, and she could feel the tightness in his arm where it lay beside hers, the tension in his face. She wished with all her heart that he were free, that she were free, that life’s path had not led to this web of agony.
He moved toward her slightly, then stopped, looking down. He paused for a long moment, then murmured to her in a hoarse voice.
“There is always hope, Catherine,” he half whispered. “Look what I have found. It is the first snowdrop of the year, right here where we have had our talks. It is our sign of spring …”
Catherine felt as if a lightning bolt had seared through her heart; her defenses were completely overrun. The torrents of pain and hurt within her exploded into geysers, and she burst into uncontrollable, heart-wrenching sobs.
Jack reached out his arms and pulled her tenderly to him. She collapsed against his broad chest, unable to think or move, only to cry. He held her gently, pressing his lips softly against her forehead.
Many long minutes passed, and Catherine felt as if time suspended. There was only her pain, his sheltering arms, and the curtains of pelting water which shut out the rest of the world.
Catherine slowly became aware of the dripping of the rain from the leaves, the rustle as the branches moved in the light breeze. She felt the warmth radiating from Jack’s chest, and it took every ounce of strength for her to draw up, to move slightly away from that protective embrace.
She took a long look at the small snowdrop at their feet, then she moved her hands up to her neck and carefully removed a leather loop that was hidden beneath the white chemise. She took it off over her head and handed it to Jack. Jack examined the carved pendant which hung at the end of the twined strand. It was a white granite snowdrop blossom, a fine work created by a skilled craftsman. She knew the stone flower was still warm from her body heat, and she blushed as he cradled it in his palm.
“That was given to me by Susan and Marcie,” explained Catherine quietly, her voice hoarse from the crying. “It has been our tradition, from when we could barely walk. We always tried to find the first snowdrop. It began in January of each year, and we scoured the forests, the roads, anywhere we could, t
o see who would track down the very first one. You could not cut it, of course. You had to locate it and then bring the other two to proclaim your victory. They would then grant you your prize.”
Catherine’s eyes welled with fresh tears, and she absently brushed them away. “When I left, there were not any snowdrops yet. I do not even know if snowdrops exist in Ireland. Susan and Marcie gave me this pendant to remember them by.” Her voice dropped down to a soft whisper. “As if I could forget ...”
Jack took her hand tenderly in his own. “I am so sorry; I had no idea.”
Catherine took a deep breath and looked up into his eyes. “Of course you did not, and I am being silly about it. It is just a flower. It is a silly childhood tradition. I am letting myself get worked up over nothing at all. Nothing that matters.” She looked down at the small flower and willed herself to accept her path in life.
Jack’s voice came to her as if from a great distance. “What was the prize that was won?”
Catherine smiled fondly at the memory. “It is your heart’s desire,” she responded simply.
She sat for a long moment, staring at the flower, then gave herself a shake.
“It could be anything,” she elaborated, her tone calming. “One year when Marcie found the snowdrop, she insisted she wanted to win that fall’s pastry bake-off. We helped her test recipes all summer long, and when fall came, she got her wish. When Susan was the winner once, she decided she wanted a new bow of yew wood. It took us months, but we found her the perfect branch to make it from.”
Her mouth quirked into a sad smile. “Our rule was that no wish was impossible or silly. We trusted each other. Whatever it was that the winner decided on, it was the duty of the others to help make that dream into a reality.”
