Badge of Honor - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 10)

by Shea,Lisa

  Jack’s voice was hoarse. “What of my dream?”

  Catherine looked up at him, and the world dissolved around them into a misty fog. Nothing else existed in the rain except her and him. His hair was now glistening from the rain; his eyes were tenderly focused on hers. She was lost in his gaze. He moved down toward her, and suddenly they were kissing, their arms wrapped around each other in a gentle embrace.

  She closed her eyes and lost herself to the kiss, to the moment. His embrace was an encompassing cocoon of safety and tenderness. His lips were firm, tender, and filled her with a longing she had never known. The kiss seemed to go on forever ...

  She pulled back, breaking apart from him with an effort, drawing in shuddering breaths. She longed to lean in again, to lose herself to him, but she could not. It was unfair to lead him on when she knew her course in life.

  Catherine’s eyes teared again at the warring emotions in her breast. Her voice ached with pain and regret. “Jack, I am so sorry …”

  Jack took a deep breath, sitting back slightly with rigid effort. He looked down to his hand, and with a long exhale he lifted the pendant, offering it back to Catherine wordlessly.

  She folded his fingers over the stone carving, and pressed it gently to his chest.

  “Please keep it. It is yours now.”

  Jack shook his head. He reached forward with his other hand and gently stroked the side of her face; she closed her eyes and leant against his hand, sighing.

  “The pendant is not what I desire, Catherine,” he murmured, his voice ragged.

  Catherine opened her eyes and gazed into his. She could see clearly the agony he was going through. She finally looked away with an effort and stood up.

  “It ... it is all I can give you,” she responded at last, her voice low. She pulled the hood of her cloak up around her face and headed back down the hill.

  Jack stood quickly and strode down after her, coming around in front of her when they reached the stream. His eyes caught hers.

  “Catherine, I must know the answer to a question,” he insisted, his eyes dark with turmoil.

  Catherine hesitated, then responded cautiously, “What question would you ask?”

  Jack’s eyes held hers with serious intent. “If you were to choose not to marry Lord Epworth, to take another path … would there be an obstacle to my courting you? Would you fear Lord Epworth’s wrath? Your council’s disapproval? Would my birth be an issue?” His voice caught, then grew firm as he forced himself to continue. “Would Shadow -”

  Catherine could take no more. She turned her face sharply away, the torment slicing through her. She had abandoned so much which was necessary to her very existence ... and now the most ideal man she could dream of was pleading for her hand.

  There was a loud shout. Looking down the path, her heart raced. Three men were approaching quickly, their black cloaks swirling behind them. Her mind snapped instantly back to the here and now, and she cursed that she only had the small dagger at her hip. She quickly stepped apart from Jack, giving them both room to act in case the men were hostile.

  Jack reacted instantly to her movement, putting his hand to his sword, his eyes alertly turning to gaze in the direction she faced.

  Catherine sighed with relief as the newcomers closed. It was only Lord Epworth with two of his guards. Their cloaks were wet with rain. Her shoulders stiffened suddenly - Lord Epworth’s face burned scarlet with anger, and his eyes looked between the two with quick agitation.

  Lord Epworth went directly to stand before Jack. “What in the world are you thinking, having Catherine walking on a day like today?” he shouted in fury. “You should have more sense than that!”

  He turned to Catherine and his voice softened. “I am so sorry, little one,” he apologized. “Your delicate ears should not have to hear this. The soldiers will escort you safely back to the cathedral at once. I will see you later, at dinner.”

  Catherine found herself being bundled off by the soldiers before she could respond.

  * * *

  Jack watched the trio move from the clearing, every instinct urging him to remain by her side. It was only firm force of will which kept him in place, had him remain as she faded into the murky woods. Soon even her footsteps could no longer be heard.

  There was a clearing of a throat, and Jack was brought back sharply to the present. Lord Epworth was staring at him, his gaze less than friendly.

  “Catherine is at my home for a single, express purpose,” the man reminded him with a firm voice that was laced with icy coldness. “As my foster son, I expect you to fully support me in my wishes here. I have raised and sheltered you these past twenty years. I have never asked for anything in return.”

  Lord Epworth paused a moment, then continued with a harsh edge creeping in to his words. “As both your foster father - and as a man about to marry – I insist you tell me the truth. Have you compromised her?”

  Jack’s face flashed with steel, and he threw his head high, looking steadily at his foster father. “No, sir.” he replied tersely.

  Lord Epworth eyed Jack for a long moment, then nodded in grim acceptance. “That woman should be grateful I am even considering her,” he bit out. “Twenty-six years old? I doubt she is pure at that age, especially given the lifestyle she has maintained over the years.” He fingered his broach absently. “Her mother swore to me Catherine has been quarantined these past five months. Any child she bears will be my rightful heir.”

  Jack stiffened at the word ‘quarantined’. Was Catherine some sort of a prize cow to be thus discussed and treated? She was a woman, a woman of intelligence, of wisdom, of strength …

  Lord Epworth stared at Jack with a frown. “You are interfering with my progress,” he stated coldly. “Whatever immature resistance she is mounting, she will give up soon enough. She needs to accept her life as a docile female of hearth and home. Her main duty will be that of bearing children. These outings are not a habit I will permit when she is my wife. From this point forward, Catherine is not to leave the cathedral.”

  He stared at Jack for a long moment, his eyes considering. “Also, Jack,” he added, his voice now crisp, “you are not to talk with her at all. For any reason. Do you understand?”

  Jack nodded shortly. He did not trust himself to speak. Lord Epworth held the gaze for several seconds, then turned on his heel, striding with resolution back toward the cathedral.

  Jack stood without moving, the stream tumbling by his feet, the torrents pouring down from the heavens, the waters and spray washing over him in a never-ending deluge.

  Chapter 11

  Catherine sat by the window, watching as the torrential rain hammered down on the courtyard, the men below working through their sword practice as if it was any other day. Her mouth quirked into a smile. She remembered well the many days on patrol in the mud and grime, the nights when she huddled by a campfire, soaked through to the bone. At least here the men could come inside when they were done, put on dry clothes, and get warm food into them.

  She put on her tan tunic again, pressing her hand absently against her chest, to the spot where until recently a small granite pendant had hung. She was oddly content. She did care for Jack. He now carried a token of her affection, and she wore his on her finger. When she married Lord Epworth, Jack would remain a constant presence in her life. She would care for him, would love him from a distance. It would be enough.

  She smiled, making her way down to the main dining hall. Lord Epworth was sitting at the head of the table, and she took her place beside him, allowing him to bend his head to kiss her hand in greeting. The servants moved around them, bringing in eggs and sausage.

  Jack’s seat at Lord Epworth’s other side remained empty, and Catherine’s heart quickened. It was one thing to be held apart from him – but could she not even see him, to know he was nearby?

  Lord Epworth talked in a constant patter, discussing one of his trips to the countryside, naming the people he had met along the way. Sh
e nodded, encouraging him, her mind in a whirl. When Lord Epworth finally stood and headed in to the conclave, she barely saw him go. She scanned the room for Peter, but did not see him either. The rain pounded down outside the windows, sending a constant patter of sound into her thoughts.

  She moved absently toward the main door. Jack had always appeared when she went out on her walks, and there was so much they had left unsaid. It would be good to clear the air with him, to explain why her life had to take the path it was set on. She gathered up her cloak and dagger from the hooks, pushing open the heavy door, looking out into the sheets of grey.

  A guard on the steps turned to gaze at her with dour calm. “I am sorry, M’Lady,” he offered in a low voice. “You are to stay inside the cathedral walls from now on.”

  Catherine stiffened in unbelieving fury, her eyes swiveling to the main gates in the wall, to the stretch of meadow and forest beyond. She was a prisoner? She was being held captive within this stone structure? The walls closed in, the press of people around her stifled her, and fought to remain calm.

  “Of course,” she agreed to the guard, turning and resetting her items on their hooks. She made her way to the main hall again, settling herself into the leather chair in the corner, curling herself up in it, staring out as the sheets of rain which blocked out all view of the gardens beyond. She was trapped. In a short while they would relocate to Ireland, and maybe the building there would be even smaller, the breadth of her domain closing in on her. She could not take it. It would overwhelm her spirit …

  She closed her eyes, resteeling her focus. She could do it, and she would. It was being required of her, and she had been trained for this type of task. She would find a way to survive, to last in this deprivation. She had thrived on long assignments in pouring rain and deep snow. Surely she could handle this task, held ‘hostage’ by a roaring fire with delicious food and flowing drink?

  Footsteps sounded near her and she looked up with bright attention. Her heart fell slightly; it was Michael who walked over to her, book in hand. She smiled fondly at the lad, motioning to the bench next to her.

  “How are you doing?” she asked, turning to look him over. “Your ankle seems well mended.”

  He nodded, sitting and leaning back. “Yes, thanks to Peter’s fine care I am as good as new.” He held up the scroll in his hand. “Look what I have found – it is a copy of The Iliad, by Homer.”

  Catherine’s eyes lit up with delight. “How perfect for a rainy day,” she mused, tucking her feet beneath her. “Would you read it aloud?”

  “I would be delighted,” agreed Michael, settling in. He waved a hand at a passing servant, and in a moment they had a pair of tankards of mead. Michael propped open the curled parchment on his lap. The words rolled out in Michael’s quiet voice, and Catherine allowed herself to get lost in the story. Time unfurled as a never-ending stream, moving, unwinding …

  She glanced up in surprise as the room filled with people. The grey clouds outside had darkened, and she realized that it was already dinnertime. She smiled fondly to Michael, truly grateful for his time and distraction for the long afternoon. She made her way over to the head table, taking her seat, her eyes scanning the room with hopeful attention.

  Lord Epworth walked in with Maya on his arm. The two came over to the table, Lord Epworth sitting down between the two women. Catherine found her gaze sharpening slightly. That was Jack’s seat the woman was taking.

  Lord Epworth noticed the direction of her gaze and chuckled, patting her hand. “Do not worry about Jack,” he commented quietly, his eyes distant. “He, Peter, and some of the men are out on a training exercise. They should not be back for several days.”

  “Out in this rain?” asked Catherine in surprise, looking past Lord Epworth to the heavy sheets of water which still pounded down from the sky.

  Lord Epworth pursed his lips. “Yes, well, the men will not melt. Maybe it will do some good,” he commented roughly. He waved for mead, and in a moment food and drink was being distributed to the table.

  Catherine descended into a grey melancholy. She had only spent time with Jack for a week, and already he seemed so much a part of her, a constant presence at her side. She focused on eating her food, on drinking her mead. Lord Epworth spent half of his time talking with Maya on his other side, and Catherine relished the quiet periods, her time to reflect.

  The musicians came on, the flutist with his shock of red hair showing off his talents with a series of solo pieces. Maya clapped with delight, and even moved down to accompany him on two occasions. By the time the evening had ended, and Lord Epworth moved to escort her to her room, Catherine had lost the will to resist. She closed the door behind her, pulling off her dress, climbing straight into bed.

  Chapter 12

  Sunday morning dawned as dismally as the previous, with rolling grey clouds and a deluge of steady rain. Catherine sat for a long time by the window, looking down at the empty courtyard, wondering how Jack, Peter, and the other men were faring. Were they under shelter, or trekking through the mud and gloom? She knew the feeling well, the heavy clamminess of leather armor dense with water, the eye strain of trying to make out shapes in the grey mist. She sent her thoughts out to the men before turning to dress.

  She put on her purple outfit, the best she had brought, and brushed her hair out well before moving to go downstairs. Lord Epworth was waiting for her with the others, and together they moved into the main cathedral. Catherine found herself smiling as they took their seats. It was a magnificent building, the flickering candles and stained glass windows adding an ethereal beauty to the scene. The Latin mass boomed out in echoes around the room. It was calming, soothing. She reminded herself what she was here for, what her purpose was. She could help maintain the tradition, help bond these ancient families together, help to preserve some part of the past.

  When the mass was over, she moved with docility at Lord Epworth’s side as he talked with various delegates, greeted newcomers, and caught up with old friends. Soon they were at lunch, then sitting on a velvet couch in Lord Epworth’s study, talking with a pair of men from London. At each stage Catherine remained quiet, patient, letting the men talk, letting the words roll over her.

  By the time dinner rolled along, Catherine had become transfixed in a dream-like state. She realized Lord Epworth was smiling down at her, and she automatically returned his smile. He picked up his glass of mead, leaning over to clink it against hers.

  “Today was wonderful, simply wonderful,” he extolled, his eyes shining. “I could not have asked for a more perfect partner. You were beautiful, demure, and completely appropriate. I think this shall work out very nicely.” He took a long sip, then carved in to his roast pork.

  Catherine nodded at the compliment, but the words rolled around within her like a rock underfoot during a long walk. They itched at her, prodding her. Was this to be her life? Long days of saying nothing, of smiling and nodding at her husband’s side while living in some sort of a haze? Is this what she had trained and studied for?

  The tall, thin harpist set up his travel instrument, and within moments Maya had come down to join him, setting up her own harp at his side. The two played duets for several hours, delighting the room with their talents. Lord Epworth put his hand on top of Catherine’s, and she let it sit there, trying out feelings for this man at her side. He would not beat her, he would not misuse her. Surely that would be enough? Could she grow to love him, to respect him?

  He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and Catherine felt no frisson of pleasure, no response at all. She thought back to her times with Jack. The slightest touch from him, the briefest look would send her heart fluttering, would send waves of joy throughout her body. With Lord Epworth it was as if a cold clamminess settled over her, dampening her emotions, shutting her down.

  The musicians ended their set, and Lord Epworth stood at her side, drawing her up. He escorted her to her room, standing patiently as she pushed open her door. She nodded her far
ewell, closing the door behind her, moving to lay face down on the bed, utterly lost.

  * * *

  Catherine’s life settled into a dull routine. Mornings were spent listening to Lord Epworth discuss one of his trips in exquisite detail. Afternoons would pass reading with Michael, or perhaps playing cards with Walter and John. An evening meal, and then time listening to the musicians for an hour or two. Each night Lord Epworth escorted her to her door, ensuring she was safely within before going about his business.

  Catherine could easily see this cycle perpetuating for the rest of her life. There would be no escape, no change, no rescue. She found her will fading, found herself submerging in the pattern.

  Finally, Friday dawned with shafts of sunlight streaming through gaps in the grey clouds. Catherine sat at the window for a long while, staring at the empty courtyard, energy rekindling as the sun moved across the stones. Some fresh air would do her good. She would venture on the back garden path to see what remained of the flowers.

  She dressed in her tan outfit, smoothing it down over her chemise. She idly spun the brown ring which she had not yet removed from her finger. She glanced out the window again, her mood lightening. Surely Lord Epworth could not intend to keep her locked inside forever. Once spring came in earnest, he would undoubtedly let her go for her walks in the forest, if even with a guard escort.

  She moved quickly down the stairs and out into the back garden. The world was misty and wet, a breeze dancing across her face with a gentle touch. The herbs smelled fresh and rich after the long rain they’d gotten. She breathed in deeply, filling herself with their fragrance. To her relief the crocus stems looked simply like thick grasses along the path. Daffodils were coming up alongside to give trumpet shows of yellow and white.

  Catherine smiled in earnest, looking around her with pleasure. Nature had renewed itself. She needed to learn to trust in that.