by Sherry Ewing
They left the hall with her hand placed lovingly in the crook of his arm. He was talking to her again, but, as they crossed the inner courtyard, none of his words registered in her head while she looked ahead to the outer baily. Coming out of the small tunnel, Katherine came to a blinding halt while her gaze flew to the unbelievable sight meeting her eyes.
Ever so prettily sitting atop a striking dapple grey mare with reins in hand, Marguerite looked down at Katherine from her lofty perch and gave her a smile that only another woman could interpret with precision.
Katherine felt as if her heart dropped out of her chest, and she turned to Riorden, trying to form some kind of response. The silence between them crackled with tension. Still trying to think of something to say to express her feelings, nothing came to mind, and her lips just moved soundlessly until she clamped them tightly shut in a grim line of fierce disapproval. She must have looked like an idiot!
She quickly turned her back on the woman, whose irritating laughter suddenly reached her ears. “Really?” she gasped, taking his arm and ushering him a short distance away so they could speak privately. “She’s to ride with you?”
“’Tis her dower house, Katherine. You knew I would need to ensure ’twas ready so she could leave,” Riorden answered.
“But why does she need to go with you?” Katherine tried to keep the hurt from her voice, but, from his look, she hadn’t done a very good job of it. He put his arm around her shoulder to give her a reassuring pat.
“There are some things that Marguerite must needs see to herself. The sooner the estate is settled, the sooner she can leave Warkworth for good.”
“But, Riorden−”
“But what, Katherine?” he exploded. “Have you so little faith in me that your jealousy of that woman would blind you to how I feel for you? Blind you to everything we have gone through just so we could be together? Merde! You carry my child. Does that not prove my love for you?”
Katherine flinched to hear how he spoke to her. “You don’t understand. Your father−”
He growled at her like a wounded animal and made no effort to hide his pent up frustration that he had obviously been holding back. “For the love of God, woman, do not speak to me thusly of my sire. He is dead! Let him stay that way,” he shouted furiously.
“I won’t mention him again,” she whispered in fright, not knowing how to handle this side of her husband. The way he was looking at her, he wouldn’t hear her words about Marguerite wanting her dead in a dream anyway, let alone that she poisoned his father. She choked back her tears as she gazed at him.
“God’s Wounds!” Riorden swore and enveloped her in his embrace. “She is nothing to me, Kat. Please try to remember that whilst I am gone.”
“I will,” she said slowly.
“I should be gone no longer than two fortnights, mayhap, less,” he declared, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
“A whole month?” she squeaked out.
“Aye,” he answered. “I will leave Aiden here for your protection and to watch over you, if that suits.”
Katherine only managed a shrug of indifference. “That’s fine,” she said simply.
He leaned down and kissed her lips. “Stay inside the castle walls unless you have your guards and Caldwell with you and take care of our child.”
He turned from her with his cape fluttering behind him in the morning breeze. He gave one backward glance in her direction until, with a wave of his hand, their horses were set in motion, leaving through the barbican gate. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him disappear from view, but the expression Marguerite gave her was sure to remain in her memory for days to come. It wasn’t a look that boded well for her good health.
Chapter 14
Riorden slowed Beast to a halt at the rise of a hill and looked down upon the land surrounding Dunhaven Manor. His father used to tell him how his mother had always loved this country estate, not far from the hustle and bustle of London. He had said she thought ’twas just far enough from the city limits to give her the feeling she was still north at Warkworth. He had been told she did not care for life in the city, nor that of court.
He shared her sentiments, not that he remembered much of his dame. Dying young, giving birth to his brother Gavin, his only reminder of her was a small portrait he had carried with him for years whilst in service to Dristan. He would see if the larger painting that once graced the Great Hall could be found. It should be hung in a place of honor. Although he would not be surprised to learn Marguerite had burned it to ashes.
She moved her horse forwards ’til she was abreast of him, almost as if she knew his thoughts had momentarily settled upon her. Sighing with pleasure at the sight below, she turned her sparkling eyes in his direction. “’Tis lovely, is it not, Riorden?”
“I have heard tell my mother always thought so,” he answered, still thinking of a woman he had never truly known. Of all the estates Marguerite could have chosen as her dower house, he was unpleasantly taken aback that his sire had allowed her to choose the one place his mother had called her own. He should have not given it a second thought. ’Twas of no consequence to him where she lived, as long as he could soon be rid of this troublesome woman. He just wished she had chosen another estate.
“Aye, well...’tis mine now, and I shall endeavor to make the place my own.” Marguerite reached out, placing her hand upon his arm. “You will stay, will you not, to ensure all is in order?”
“Only as long as necessary, Marguerite. I have a wife waiting for me at home and Warkworth is still in need of provisions to be readied for the winter.”
She smothered a laugh with a gaze upon him that at one time he would have seen as a come hither look. Years ago, he would have taken her up on what she was silently offering. He was thankful those days were long since gone, and he now had an understanding of what true love really was all about.
He nudged Beast with his knee, and they began a slow trot down the hill. Afore long, they were dismounting, and he was assisting Marguerite from her mare. He did not care that her hands lingered longer upon his shoulders than they should have. He ignored the looks cast at him from Ulrick and Nathaniel and made for the manor’s front door. Reaching for the knob, Riorden barely touched the cool metal afore the door was hastily wrenched inwards.
A gasp greeted him, along with the shocked expression on the servant’s face. “Bless me soul, ’tis the young master!”
“Good day, Timmons,” Riorden said with a fond smile. “’Tis good to see you still watching over the old place.”
“Where else would I go, Sir Riorden, since this ’as been me ’ome for as long as I can remember?”
Marguerite pushed her way into the entryway, much like a full blown thunder cloud. “’Tis Lord de Deveraux to you!” she ordered. “He now holds his father’s title of Earl.”
“Apologies, milord,” Timmons replied carefully and inclined his head to Marguerite. “Countess...’tis good to ’ave yer return.”
“Harrumph! I should think so,” she muttered snidely.
Riorden patted the old man on his back. “Can you see to having chambers aired out for the Countess, along with me and my men, Timmons? We plan to stay here to see to what stores you may need for the coming winter months afore the Countess returns to move in permanently.”
“Of course, milord. I shall see to it at once.”
Timmons left the entryway with shuffling feet, and Riorden’s gaze swept the manor with a practiced eye. The place was chilled to the bone, and he pondered how much work would really need to be done afore Marguerite would be comfortable enough to see to her own needs. Knowing her as he did, he would not be surprised if she encouraged him to stay till spring.
* * *
Marguerite pulled her hood closer about her hair as she quickly made her way to the stables. Darkness had descended, but the cold night, for her, usually brought with it her dead husband. For once, she was glad he had not been able to follow her to Dunhaven Manor.
Perchance, his soul was destined to remain at Warkworth, since that is where he died. ’Twas just an assumption on her part, but she thought it sounded logical if things of this nature ever really did make any kind of sense in an otherwise normal world.
Normal? Bah! There was nothing normal about her life of late. Haunted by a dead husband she never should have married, and her ex-lover returned with a wife! Wife! Who would have thought Riorden would disobey the king and get himself married without permission up near the wilds of that barbarian land of Scotland? She swore she would have him once more, no matter the cost. Drastic times called for drastic measures. ’Twould not be the first time she would use whatever she needed to ensure she receive all that was due her! He was supposed to be mine. Damn Katherine’s soul to hell!
Watching her steps and surroundings to ensure her secrecy, she carefully opened the wooden door to the stables and cringed when it squeaked loudly to her ears. No one seemed to be there with the exception of the animals, more’s the pity. He was late, and she would tell him how displeased she was with his tardiness. She could not afford to be caught this night, not if she wanted to fulfill her plan to have Riorden back in her bed. Once there, she knew her beauty alone would have him mesmerized. Then and only then, would she know that he had not forgotten her all those years ago, and that they could spend their days making up for lost time. ’Twould be of little consequence to her, knowing his wife would also conveniently disappear.
A soft whistle met her ears. She searched the darkened interior of the room afore espying a man stepping from the shadows and coming to nonchalantly lean on one of the pillars towards the center of the stable. She glared at him when she recognized his familiar face as he stared at her, as if he had all the time in the world.
“I see you got my missive I sent from Warkworth, but you are late,” she hissed, “and ’tis not the first time.”
He looked her up and down, admiring her form afore he broke out into a wicked grin. “Seems to me you are the one who is late, madam, since I have been waiting for you all of a score of minutes.”
Marguerite looked up at his handsome profile and remembered the last time they had met. She came to stand afore him, and he reached out to caress her cheek with his finger. She shivered, despite the fact that she had no intention of tumbling with him in the hay...not that they had not done such afore. ’Twas not that it had been an unpleasant coupling, but she had other things on her mind this night that certainly did not include him.
“Not tonight, Warin,” she told him with disinterest. She watched him shrug, as if it mattered little to him if he took her or not. Although she felt put out that he did not press the issue, Marguerite got back to the subject at hand. “Do you have what I seek?”
“For shame, Marguerite. Do you have no time for play? The night is still young after all.”
“Nay. I will be missed at the manor.”
He gave a knowing smirk that struck a chord of disdain, causing her eyes to narrow. “I doubt it, my pet.”
She watched as Warin opened up a satchel and pulled out a small vial of liquid. She held out her hands, greedily, but he only lifted the container high above her head, out of reach. “And what do you have as payment for me, my dear Countess? Something worthy enough, I hope, for all the trouble I have gone through on your behalf.”
“The other is set in place, then?” she inquired with a gleeful smile.
“Was there any doubt? You paid me well. Why would you think I would not keep my end of the bargain?”
“When?”
“A se’nnight, mayhap more. These things take time to set in motion. I do not wish to be caught dirtying my hands for you, no matter how fond I am of your delectable body.”
“I am most grateful for your assistance, Warin,” she voiced softly, and yet still wary of what price she would pay this night for his help.
“Just how grateful are you, my dear? Although you are the best tumble I have had in some time, I do not relish having my neck stretched on a rope for you,” Warin pushed off the beam and walked around her, making her uneasy. “Why do you care what happens to her anyway? Was not getting rid of your husband enough for you?”
She went to slap his face, but he easily grabbed her wrist, giving it a small twist. She cried out. “How dare you?” Marguerite gasped.
He laughed in her face as he leaned down but inches from her own. “My, my, my...you have become quite the little martyr, have you not? You kill your husband and plan to get rid of his son’s wife then act as if you have been the one wronged.”
“Who do you think you are to judge me so?” she declared with ferocity through clenched teeth.
“I am the man who still holds something you want,” he gave her a mischievous grin, holding out the flask, “or did you forget about this?”
“Will it work?”
“Again, you doubt me. I should be hurt by your refusal to take me at my word.”
“Why should I trust you that it will not kill him, too?”
“If you had followed my instructions, your dear departed husband would still be alive and most biddable so you could find where he hid his gold,” he said roughly. “I told you, but a drop or two would do the trick, and he would have told you anything you asked of him, but you never did listen to me.”
“I have looked everywhere I could think as to where Everard may have hid his coinage, but to no avail. If I find his monies, I will pay you handsomely, as I promised you I would for helping me.” Marguerite reached for the vial again. “Give it to me!” she ordered. Her eyes widened when he rubbed his manhood up against her.
“’Tis exactly what I had in mind,” he said as he pulled her into the shadows of the stable and chuckled. “Mayhap, you would be worth it after all.”
’Twas some time later that Marguerite carefully made her way back into the manor with a satisfied grin on her visage. Warin may be a bit of a brute, but he truly did know how to make her moan in pleasure. As she made her way to her chamber, she passed Riorden’s door and fondly remembered their brief time together. With a shake of her head and the vial hidden in the folds of her cloak, she was appeased with the knowledge that he, too, would be in her bed afore long. As for his wife...well...she would not be around much longer to be a problem at all. As far as Marguerite was concerned, Katherine’s demise could not happen soon enough.
Chapter 15
Katherine’s legs were beginning to cramp. How long she had been kneeling on the cold, hard stones of the chapel floor, praying for Riorden’s safety, she couldn’t say. Her knees had become numb at least an hour ago, and yet still she kept her vigil before the marble statue of St. Christopher. It was the least she could do for her peace of mind, since there was little else to occupy her thoughts other than her own musings warring inside her head.
She couldn’t remember ever having prayed so much in her life. Each morning since Riorden had left, she attended mass with the other inhabitants of the castle. The small chapel, located next to the barbican gate, filled up quickly, but her place as the keep’s new mistress was always reserved in the front. Personally, she wouldn’t have minded if she blended in with the rest of the people who crammed the benches behind her. She couldn’t understand the Latin the priest spoke anyway, but she knew it was important she set a good example. At least Gavin, Brianna, and Aiden kept her company so she didn’t sit alone.
She heard someone enter the chapel but continued on with her prayers...prayers she was unsure were going to be answered any time in the near future. Was she even praying in earnest? She didn’t think so, since her mind continued to wander in so many directions, her heart was just plain aching.
She was ruining it all, and with little help from Marguerite! How many times had she been warned that her time here at Warkworth would be put to the test until that vicious woman would be dispatched to her dower house? Well, she was at her dower house, all right...along with her husband! She knew they would both be returning soon to Warkworth, as one trip wouldn’t be suffi
cient, but it grated on her nerves that they were basically alone together. Her faith in her marriage wavered in uncertainty, knowing there was nothing to stop Marguerite from taking what she wanted most. Why she even doubted Riorden and the love they bore one another only confused her more.
Jealousy! Was there really any other emotion that could tear a relationship apart faster than jealousy? It had always been the worst emotion for her to try and control, most likely because she had been cheated on more than once in her past. It was hard for her to trust people, and, because she had been hurt in her past relationships, she was left feeling vulnerable and alone.
With her emotions raw and her current state of being pregnant, everything and anything was escalated tenfold. She was angry with the world. She was angry that Riorden, at the very least, hadn’t taken her with him. More importantly, she was angry with herself for letting Marguerite get the best of her. Yet, she had no idea how to stop all these horrible feelings from rearing up in the forefront of her mind. The knife in her back twisted sharply to the point where she could almost feel someone pouring salt into the open wound. She supposed the thought of being poisoned tended to do that to a person. If only Riorden would have listened to her concerns before he rode away still irritated at her behavior.
“How long has she been at it today?”
Katherine winced hearing Aiden’s voice behind her, and his loudness seemed out of place within the quiet chapel.
“Long enough,” Caldwell’s low deep voice answered from his constant vigil against the chapel wall. Even his tone spoke that he felt she had done her duty toward her husband from the length of her prayers.
