by Shea,Lisa
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”
Catherine waved a hand, encompassing the clearing. “Be my guest, but the light is fading as we speak.”
Jack went to work immediately, moving quickly but surely along the perimeter of the clearing. Catherine knew what he would find. During the weeks they had been traveling, it had only taken a short period of time before each of their shoe prints had become as familiar as their faces. There was Peter’s sturdy leather soles, with the dent by the front toe. In that spot was the elderly priest’s tread, with the rippled heel. When Jack returned back to where Catherine stood, he was nodding in slow agreement. “I do not see anything else. I cannot believe it - but it looks like you were right.”
Catherine glanced up at the sky, where the sunset was sending streaks across the sky. “There is still the chance that someone threw the knife from further out. That was what I wanted to do - to check to make sure there was not another solution.”
Jack scanned the forest. “We will split the work. I will search the northern half, and you take the southern. We should have enough time to get that done before darkness falls.”
Catherine nodded and carefully circled the area, staying within sight of him. If there were indeed an assassin still lurking in the woods, she wanted to make sure they faced him together.
It took them until the light was just about to fade completely, but they were certain of their findings by the time they regrouped in the clearing. There were no signs of anyone else being present in the area.
Without a comment, they walked back to the main camp area. The others had gathered up the supplies and loaded up the wagon. Catherine retrieved her horse from the gulley she had tied him up in, and together the party pressed on toward their destination.
Even in the dark, they rode as quickly as the cart would go, the wheels making a surprisingly loud rumble on the rutted dirt road. Catherine and Jack rode at the front of the party, straining their ears to listen for any sound that could signal the hoofbeats of assailants. The moon lit the road well, throwing shapes on the side of the road into sharp relief. It helped them to push along at a fast pace, covering the miles quickly.
It was almost dawn when the group approached the main cathedral of St. Albans. The town was beginning to stir, and a few farmers nodded greetings as the travelers passed by. When they moved through the Cathedral’s main gate, Catherine immediately dismounted and spoke in a hurried whisper to the gatekeeper. He nodded and ran inside with her to fetch help. Jack and Peter remained by the cart with the other men, finally relaxing their guard.
In only a few moments the brothers of the house arrived along with house guard. The elderly priest and John were both led off to separate rooms, while a page waited for Jack and Peter to wearily dismount. Michael’s body was reverentially conducted to the chapel.
The page looked up with quiet respect. “If you please, we have rooms set up for you.”
Jack glanced back at the wagon. “The horses will be taken care of?”
The page nodded. “We have everything in hand, sir. This way.”
* * *
Catherine sighed in relief when she, Jack, and Peter were shown into her room and the door closed sturdily behind them. In many ways it was much like the room she’d been given at the Christ Church - two large windows looking out over a quiet countryside, a large, canopied bed, a table to one side with three wooden chairs around it. A warm fire radiated gentle heat from one wall of the room.
She sat wearily in one of the chairs, waving for the men to take the other two. From a flagon on the table she poured out three large measures of mead.
“Drink up,” she offered somberly, taking a long sip of her own.
The men were apparently as weary as they looked; they sat without question and eagerly took long pulls on their drinks. Catherine felt the exhaustion hit her again - as well as the anger and confusion. She put her metal cup down a bit too strongly on the table, and the impact rang out loudly in her ears. Jack and Peter’s eyes flashed to meet hers.
Catherine found it hard to say the words. She took another swallow before she held Peter’s eyes and growled, “There was nobody else in that clearing. Nobody.”
Peter’s face registered the shock that she and Jack had been absorbing these past few hours. Jack leant forward, his face serious. Peter looked between his two friends. “You are sure? You are absolutely sure there was no other person?”
Catherine looked up at him. “The moonlight was very strong, and the soil was damp from all of the rain. Every step that we took showed up clearly in the surrounding grounds. Jack and I traced the entire circle thoroughly. I looked for broken branches, for bent leaves, for anything. I checked for trees that could be climbed. I found nothing. The only footsteps that went into that clearing were those of our own group members.”
She sat back and let her eyes fall shut. “I do not know what to think,” she admitted wearily. “I just do not know what other solution there could be. Maybe Michael became overwhelmed with guilt or shock and committed suicide. He was a sensitive lad. Perhaps the priest simply found his body there after that happened.”
She opened her eyes again, looking to Peter. “You stayed near the wagon. What did Father Berram say about it, during your ride here?”
“He said he found him as he lay, with the knife in his chest, already unconscious,” responded Peter in a quiet voice. “That there was nothing he could do, and he called for help.”
At the image, Catherine’s eyes welled with tears, and she brushed them away. “If I had not recently sworn to myself to trust you two, I suppose I could say that one of you had done it.” She glanced up at their worn faces, and smiled wryly. “But no. I have had enough of that pain. I believe that you both are true, and that you have no hand in this.”
Peter’s face furrowed with concentration. “Any alternative before us is hard to fathom.”
Jack swirled his cup slowly on the table. “If Michael did not commit suicide, what other options would we have? Either Father Berram or John would have had to have done it. John could have killed him, then snuck back into bed, leaving Father Berram to discover the body.”
Peter wrinkled his brow in disbelief. “The boys were as close as brothers,” he pointed out. “But the other alternative is that Father Berram made the killing blow. I do not know if the elderly man is even capable of such an action. He can barely climb into the wagon each morning.”
Catherine nodded wearily. “No solution seems even remotely possible,” she agreed. “Just in case it was not suicide, I asked for the two to be given separate rooms, and for a guard to remain on each man. At least for tonight nobody else can get to them. We will have to sort this out somehow in the morning.”
Exhaustion pulled at her, and her eyes closed again of their own accord.
Peter slowly stood, his joints clearly aching with the strain. “I will let you get your rest,” he offered to Catherine with sympathy. He glanced at Jack. “Maybe you could give her some assistance,” he suggested, his voice gentle. Then he turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
Jack got to his feet, then moved over to help Catherine shakily climb to her own. She half fell against him, and he put his arms out to catch her. The strength of his body was against hers, and suddenly she was clinging to him, her arms entwined around his in a powerful embrace. He kissed her hair, her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.
His murmurs came to her ears in a low rush. “You are alive … you are safe … oh Catherine … Catherine …”
He swooped her up into his arms and carried her over to the canopied bed, laying her down on the soft sheets. She slid her hand down to catch his wrist, holding his hand against her. Looking up, she caught his eyes with her own.
“Please stay,” she whispered, her voice wistful. “I do not want to be alone.”
Jack groaned, kissing her hand tenderly. When she slid over to make room, he pulled the blankets up over her, then lay down alongside her, on
top of the covers.
“I would be by your side for every moment, if I could,” he promised in a soft breath, his hand gently tracing the curves of her face.. “Every second.”
Catherine twined her fingers into his, laying her head back onto the pillow. “Stay,” she sighed again.
In another moment she was sound asleep.
* * *
Catherine woke with a start when the door creaked slowly open. She was wide awake in a moment, turning to reach for her sword. She stopped short when she saw Jack lounging in the bed next to her, a comforting smile adding a slight glow to his somber face.
He spoke over his shoulder to the person at the door. “It is all right, Peter, she is awake now. You can bring in lunch.”
Peter’s face poked around the door, and he nodded in welcome to his two friends. “I was starting to wonder if I should just wait until dinnertime,” he offered gently, coming into the room with a large wooden tray. It held an assortment of cheeses, a fragrant loaf of bread, and slices of dried apple.
Catherine pushed herself up into a seated position, and Peter laid the meal across her lap with a courtly bow. He brought a pair of mugs over from the table and set them down on the tray as well. He pulled over a chair to sit next to them, grabbing a slice of apple from the tray and munching on it.
Catherine found that she was ravenous, and ate the food with great relish. Jack sat back against the pillows, his face easing. “It is good to have something to be happy about,” he commented quietly to Peter, watching her eat. “What have you found out so far from the morning sessions?”
Catherine paused between drinks to look over at Peter, a question in her eyes.
His eyes shadowed. “They are looking into the murders,” he explained. “Is this all related to King John’s issues, or separate? It seems a bit unbelievable that so many people have been slain and there is no organization proclaiming credit. Why burn an entire town if your reputation will not grow from your actions? Even mercenaries want their deeds to be known so that they can charge higher prices on their next jobs. Before we get to a ‘why’, surely we should have known by now the answer to ‘who’.”
Jack snagged a piece of bread and took a bite, lost in thought. “Any more thoughts on why Michael was killed? Any ideas at all from John or Father Berram?”
Peter shook his head, his face puzzled. “Both hold to their stories and repeated questioning from various people has not shown any change. The only thing we can figure at this point is that the lad committed suicide. Maybe the tragedy of his friend’s death was too much for him to bear.”
Catherine had consumed most of the food that Peter had brought and was starting to feel more like herself again. She ran her fingers through her long, tangled hair to draw out the knots.
“I have been going over in my mind everything the Bowyers had been working on recently.” Her throat caught, but pushed on through it. She needed all of her facilities sharp to help avenge her family. “It seems clear that the attackers had help from the inside for many reasons. The enemy got through our outer wall. Legends are that the wall has never been breached - I imagine that someone from inside let them in. Also, the assassins knew of Walter’s lineage, something that was very much a secret.”
Jack’s brow furrowed. “They could not account for Raymond’s body, last I heard. They were still tallying up the bodies ... there was a lot of damage to sort through.” He looked over to Peter. “Have you heard anything new?”
Peter nodded. “Raymond’s corpse is still missing,” he agreed quietly. “There is more news from town. One of the mercenaries was caught. He does not know who hired him, or for what reason. However, he does know that two people were allowed to leave the enclosure before the attack began. He assumed they were spies of some sort.”
Catherine exhaled slowly, drumming her fingers on the tray. “It seems unbelievable. I am hard pressed to imagine that any member of my community could participate in such a heinous action. Even Raymond’s ambitions did not seem to run so high.”
She tapped her lip for a long moment. “Raymond had lands of his own, located between Bowyer and those of Sir Magnor. He had amassed quite a fortune over the years. Maybe he has been kidnapped and is being held for ransom.”
She shook her head. “I cannot see the sense of Raymond being involved in this attack. He had won. I was exiled. Even if Raymond had some part in these events, why would he kill the inhabitants of Bowyer? Those were his own lands at that point. Those were his own people.”
Emptiness filled her. She looked down at her hands, and the brown ring which still remained there. She drew her focus onto it. She had not quite lost everything. She still had Jack. She clung to that thought with every ounce of her focus.
Jack reached out to hold her hand, and her breath caught. Suddenly it seemed that the shocks of the past few days had created a hyper-awareness in her of a desire to live, to love, to be held by Jack, to lose herself in his embrace. Warmth flushed down her spine, and a ragged breath eased out of her.
Jack raised her hand to his lips, pressing them tenderly against the back of her hand. “I am here for you, always,” he promised, his voice as firm as steel.
Peter quietly took the tray and left the room without a word, closing the door softly behind him. Ever so gently, Jack pulled Catherine with his hand until she lay against him, their faces only a few inches apart. Her breath caught as she brushed the hair from his eyes. He was so strong, so skilled - and yet he handled her with such great care, as if she were a fragile doll.
She ran a hand along his cheek. “I will not break, you know,” she promised huskily.
Jack needed no further encouragement. With a groan, he pulled her down hard to him, kissing her with fierce longing and desire. She answered his passion with a fire of her own, rolling him over so that he pressed down against the length of her body. He traced kisses down her throat, her chest, undoing the lacing as he went. A small flame leapt out from each place that he touched her.
She lost track of when she slipped the outfit over her head, when she helped him draw his own off. She was lost in the touch of his fingers, the feel of his flesh on hers, the movements of his body against hers.
The streaming sunshine had drifted into gentle evening shadows before she lay, exhausted, on top of him, the sweat of their bodies mingling. She kissed contentedly along his neck, feeling his hand gently caress her waist. Their breath had settled into a more even pattern, and she was happier than she had been in years.
Jack’s gaze was steady on hers. “I will never again let you out of my sight,” he vowed. “I will never again risk allowing anyone to harm you.”
Catherine’s grin grew. She nestled herself tightly against his body, causing him to wrap his arm around her waist in a reflexive motion. She gave him a gentle kiss on the mouth before commenting, “I suppose now would be an inappropriate time to remind you that I never made it to see Lord Xavier.”
Jack’s eyes glanced up at hers, first as if this was a jest, then narrowing when he realized she was serious. “You must be joking,” he protested, his voice deep and solemn. “After everything that has been happening, you cannot expose yourself to that risk.”
Catherine propped herself up on one elbow so that she could easily meet his eyes. She lay a hand against his face, again marveling at the gentleness and strength that co-mingled there.
“I will not go alone – I will take a group of soldiers for protection. However, it is because of everything that has happened that I must go. This is no coincidence, that all of this is occurring now - now when your foster father has left, when Father Berram has decided to bring the Book on its journey to St. Albans. There is a reason behind all of this.”
She held his gaze with tenderness. “Someone has gone through an incredible amount of time, effort, and money to cause all of these events to set into motion. We must find out why, and Lord Xavier must be persuaded to tell me. He holds a key to this, because of his involvements in the Wilmslow Ne
gotiations.”
Jack did not hesitate. “Then I shall go with you.”
Catherine looked down his well-muscled form, down the strong arms, the rippled stomach. The temptation to have him by her side, to be safe in his protection, called to her with a power she could barely resist.
It was several moments before she shook her head. “If I arrive with you, then Lord Xavier will feel the church is involved. Even if you swear you are acting on my behalf and not for your foster father, the thought will linger in his mind. He would never tell me what I need to know.” Resolution built within her. “I must do this without you. My task will be delicate and challenging enough as it is.”
Jack’s face drew in tense worry. “I realize that I cannot watch over you every moment, but surely this can wait? Walter and Michael are barely in the ground. This is not the time to be taking chances.”
She felt the rightness of her path as a certainty. “Time is absolutely of the essence,” she gently retorted. “I must go soon.”
He let out a deep breath, nestling his face down into her thick hair. “Surely there must be another way,” he pleaded, his voice rough with frustration.
Catherine gazed fondly down at him. “I felt this exact same way when I left you on the road, so many days ago. At the time, you were in far more danger than I was, escorting the group with their valuable cargo. Every hour that I was away, I envisioned you under attack, fighting for your life. I had to control an impulse to run back to you, to stand by your side. It was the not knowing that wore away at me.”
Jack leant up to kiss her tenderly for several seconds. He drew away again to look at her with concern. “We care for each other because we make a stand for what is right. That is part of the attraction. And yet, that makes it so much harder to be apart from you.”
