by Sherry Ewing
“’Tis not right, nor the way things of this nature are done. Riorden protects what is his as any proper knight should.”
Katherine fell back onto the pillows. “I don’t want his protection. What I want of him is to somehow learn to trust him again. How can I do that if he’s forced to retrieve his wife? I’d always doubt his sincerity that he’d never take another mistress. I don’t need someone in my life who will continue to tell me lies.” Katherine turned on her side to watch Lynet. “Promise me you won’t send for him, I beg of you.”
“I do not like it, but I give you my oath we shall keep you in our care and not send for him.”
“Thank you,” Katherine said in relief but continued to watch the young girl. “Well, now that we’ve discussed my troubles, what of your own? Has your handsome beau Ian seen fit to come grace you with his presence, or have you also given up on the man who holds your heart?”
“He is not my beau,” Lynet murmured roughly and picked up her stitchery again. Katherine watched as she all but plunged the needle in and out with enough force to tear the delicate fabric.
“So he has not come for you,” Katherine surmised.
“Nay, nor has he bothered to send even some form of a letter in five long years. I hate him!”
“It’s been said there is a fine line between love and hate. I have the feeling, Lynet, you care as much for your Ian as I still do for my Riorden.”
Lynet stopped her work and looked at her with dejected eyes that surely mirrored her own. “I know it does me no good to continue to care for him, but as you yourself just proclaimed, how do I dare not endure to have hope that someday he may return my love?”
“Long distance relationships rarely work, Lynet, and in your case he doesn’t even come to see you so you can plead your cause. Perhaps it’s time to move on with your life. I am sure Dristan and Amiria could find many eligible men who could make you happy.”
“Bah! Dristan has paraded enough of them afore me for too many years, hoping against hope that one may catch my eye. But they are either too old, or too ambitious. They have all been fools and only see me as a means to get closer to my dowry and mayhap further their alliance in the king’s eyes,” Lynet wiped a stray tear from her eye and again began her work. “I would rather be alone or sent to a nunnery than be wed to a man of their kind.”
“So you do still love the man,” Katherine surmised, thinking how their stories were so similar, in so many ways.
“Aye,” she whispered, “he is a most bonny man and is what every woman wishes for in a knight.”
“Maybe you should send for him or write him a letter. Maybe he doesn’t know how you feel,” Katherine suggested.
“Oh, he knows how I feel, since I all but threw myself at his feet. He did not want me then, and ’tis obvious, he does not want me now.” Lynet sighed.
Katherine stared at the girl, who she felt began to feel like a little sister to her, just as Brianna was. “Is there more to this story that you’re not telling me? It seems like something is missing. You can tell me and it will stay between us.”
Lynet put down her needlework again, but this time, when she gazed up into Katherine’s face, there was so much grief reflected in her eyes that Katherine opened up her arms. Lynet all but fell into them and began crying. Katherine just held the girl and felt her sorrow. Suddenly, Katherine recognized her own sorrowful behavior, for it seemed that all she did was cry these days. Maybe Aiden was right when he asked where the lioness in her had gone. Perhaps it was time for her to start showing that fighting spirit that so intrigued Riorden in the first place.
Lynet finally gave a very lady like sniffle and sat up wiping at her eyes. “Oh my...what must you think of me?”
Katherine placed her hand on the girl’s cheek. “I would think that you’ve held in your emotions way too long for them to build up like that. A person needs a good cry now and then. It wipes away all the pain of the past so you can pave out a way for a bright, new future.”
“Speaking from experience, Katherine?” Lynet questioned with a small grin, the little imp.
“Something like that, although I never was very good at taking my own advice. So what did he do that he hasn’t returned to Berwyck these many years? I thought this was for the most part his home.”
“Aye, he was practically raised here and was the captain of Amiria’s guard. That is where the problem lies,” Lynet murmured with a heavy heart, “for he was in love with Amiria.”
“That does pose a setback, doesn’t it? Did she know?”
“Aye, I believe she did, along with Dristan. ’Tis why he left. Ian ensured that the woman he loved was wed properly, and then he was gone. Of course, he returned from London to help with taking back the castle when it became known ’twas once more under siege. But he has not returned since. He saved me that day from someone who would have ill-used me and gave me a kiss that I have remembered every waking hour since his lips touched mine. If I was not in love with him afore, that day was when he completely stole my heart. It has not been the same since.”
“Somehow, I have the feeling he is just trying to get over his feelings for your sister. When you love someone so deeply, and you lose that love, it can take some people years until they are ready to move on,” Katherine declared knowingly. “Trust me on this one. I’ve been in the same position and am not so sure I’m not exactly in the same place now.”
Lynet seemed to ponder her words. “I would not even know where to dispatch a letter to find him. The last we heard, he was traveling in France, attending the tourneys there.”
“We’ll ask Amiria, discreetly of course. I’m sure your sister will be only too happy to help aid you in finding your soul mate.”
“Maybe there is hope, after all,” Lynet breathed, and, for the first time since they began discussing their problems, Lynet gave her a bright smile that lit up her whole face.
Hope...perhaps, Katherine would pray for a small measure of hope for herself, as well. She had the feeling she would need it, including a lot of patience in the months to come.
Chapter 27
Riorden waved away the ever diligent servants, who continually tried to force him to eat. Leaving a tray near at hand, they left him brooding. ’Twas almost as if he could hear Katherine’s voice telling them to take care of him, but he cared not for the attention. Nothing mattered anymore, except the spirits that dulled his inner turmoil and pain.
Bleary eyed, he refused to look at the chair across from where he slouched. Instead, he stared mindlessly into the flames of the fire, blazing in the hearth. Even the eyes of the lion head, carved in the hearth mantle, seemed to jeer at him for being a fool. Reaching over with a shaking limb, he took hold of the platter and let it go flying. He watched in satisfaction as the food smeared its way across the embodiment of his title. At least he did not have to look at it any longer.
A snarl of considerable outrage rang inside his head and interrupted his thoughts. He at last looked towards the chair he had been avoiding. Ever so briefly, the image of his father sitting there with a stern look of displeasure came afore his eyes, ’til he vanished. Even in his darkest hour, his sire would not deem it fit enough to have a conversation with his heir. So much for fatherly love! A few more drinks afore he would be numb again and could lose himself in the few fleeting memories he had of his wife. ’Twas the only thing he cared about anymore.
Riorden barely noticed when the door to the keep opened, nor did he comprehend that his brother came to sit across from him. They sat there in silence, ’til Gavin finally reached across and took the whiskey from his hand. The bottle was mostly full. Odd that he should feel so intoxicated with the small amount of spirits he had consumed.
“What are you doing, brother?” Gavin asked folding his arms across his chest to await his brother’s answer.
“What does it look like I am doing? Drinking and sulking. What else should I be doing?”
“You have an estate to run. Or have you forgott
en such a grave matter as the coming winter and seeing that enough supplies fill the cellars?”
“Others can attend to such things.”
“You have never been one to overindulge in drinking, Riorden. Although I understand the cause, you do yourself harm to imbibe so liberally.”
“That is just it, Gavin. I never remember drinking but a few sips, and yet I cannot seem to stop reaching for a bottle.”
“You must needs get control of yourself, Riorden. You do Katherine’s memory an injustice by neglecting those in your care,” Gavin advised.
Riorden wiped at his eyes, trying to clear his vision. “What are you doing here? Do you not have your own keep to see to?” he asked, frustrated that Gavin deemed it necessary to bring up things he would rather not discuss. Though, he knew where this discussion was leading.
“Aiden sent me a missive. He felt, mayhap, I could put some sense into your thick skull, where everyone else had failed.
“You need not have bothered. As you can see, I am managing.”
“God’s Wounds! Have you perchance seen yourself lately, brother?” Gavin argued. “You appear as if King Henry’s entire army trampled over you several times, and back again!”
A disturbing chortle erupted in Riorden’s throat. “’Tis exactly how I feel, so why should I not look the same?”
“And exactly why is it Marguerite is still here, hovering over you like some lovesick cow?” Gavin fumed. “She should have been dispatched to Dunhaven Manor long ago?”
“She serves her purpose here,” Riorden answered, although his words echoed shallow in his head as to his reasoning for keeping her at Warkworth.
“Are you insane?” Gavin bellowed.
Riorden looked upon his brother and was certain his grief was mirrored in his sibling’s eyes. “Go home to your bride and live your life. Leave me to what is left of mine,” he muttered.
Gavin leaned his elbows on his knees and put his head between his hands. Then he quickly stood, growling his irritation and knocking over the chair he had been sitting in. Raising his fist in the air, he turned towards the hearth. “Why do you not do something to ease his suffering?”
Riorden’s brows knitted at Gavin’s outburst. “Who the hell are you talking to, or have you lost your wits?”
“’Tis father, of course. Who else would I be talking to, since you do not listen to my council, or anyone else’s, for that matter?”
“Bah! Our sire is dead, as is my wife. Although I am certain Katherine’s soul has been lifted up through heaven’s gates, I am equally convinced that our father shall be rotting in hell for all he has done to me!” Riorden spat.
He did not even see his brother move. Afore he knew what was happening, Gavin grabbed his tunic, yanked his unsteady form out of the chair, and slammed his fist into Riorden’s face. Riorden was too sotted to make much of an effort to retaliate as he fell, uselessly, to the floor.
“Bloody Hell! You broke my nose!”
“I will do more than break your nose if you do not get your damn head out of your arse and get your act together, Riorden! Do not dare speak about father and wish such on his soul!” Gavin yelled, standing over him ready to do battle again. “You have become a disgrace to this house, our family, and Katherine’s memory. ’Tis clear you were undeserving of her!”
“Do not tell me that. I loved her.” Riorden made to rise, only to have Gavin push him back down onto the floor to make his point. Dazed, he stared at his younger brother.
“Sober up, Riorden, and put your household in order. Do not make me come back here again and find you in such dire straits,” Gavin threatened then left the hall.
Riorden did not understand what was physically wrong with him that such a small amount of whiskey could make him feel so drunk. Perchance, if he could sleep this off, he would feel better come the morn. Rising, Riorden weaved his way towards the stairs so he could go rest in his chamber.
If he had been able to see clearly from his drugged state of mind, he would have glimpsed the ghost of his father, who lovingly put his arm around his son, as if protecting him and seeing to his safety.
* * *
The Great Hall at Berwyck Castle was quiet. The morning meal was long since over. The tables had already been scrubbed clean by hardworking servants. All the knights had broken their fast and had gone to the lists hours ago to begin the day’s training. There was no resting for the guards in the service of the Devil’s Dragon. Dristan demanded their best and would not be caught unawares by invading forces with guardsmen who were weak. He did everything in his power to protect and care for his people.
Taking advantage of the peace and solitude by the fire that was a rarity in an estate this size, Katherine set down the tiny garment she was attempting to stitch. She was determined to put together something made by her own two hands that would at the very least be passable. Lynet had been a Godsend, teaching her the fundamentals of this nasty business called sewing. Though it wasn’t going to become a talent she would be proud of anytime soon, her unborn child deserved, at a minimum, one garment made by his, or her, own mother.
Katherine gathered a MacLaren plaid about her shoulders when a gust of wind blew across the chamber with the opening of the hall doors. Winter was fast approaching, and soon the ground would be covered in snow. She would be interested to see what a winter in England would be like, compared to those she had to bear when growing up in Michigan. She shivered with the thought of those relentless blizzards of her youth. The only good thing that came from storms of that magnitude was when the schools were shut down. As a child, she had loved nothing better than to hear on the radio such news. As an adult, she was thankful to leave the shoveling of snow to others and live in San Francisco where she only dealt with rain and the occasional bout of driver road rage.
As if to confirm where her memories had wandered, she finally noticed Fletcher, shaking off a slight dusting of snow from his broad shoulders. He was a handsome man, much like her husband. She was surprised when her heart did a little flip when Fletcher waved in her direction upon seeing her sitting near the hearth. Startled, or rather alarmed by where her next thoughts had momentarily wavered, the baby gave her a swift kick in protest, as if to remind her she was a married woman.
Placing her hand on her stomach, she gave it a small pat, as though telling the child within that all was well. Looking up, she had to promptly retract those thoughts as Fletcher swiftly began shortening the distance between them. My God, he was just so damn good looking, much like the rest of Dristan’s guards. She may be married, but it never hurt to look. Touching was what would land you in trouble.
Trying to find something to keep her composed while her heart began to suddenly hammer away in her chest, she picked up the godforsaken bit of fabric. What in hell was she thinking to even consider that stitching would have a calming effect?
“May I?” Fletcher asked, indicating the vacant seat next to her.
“Y-yes...o-of course,” she stammered shyly. What other response could she have given him and still remain polite? Even her voice didn’t sound like her own!
“There is a nip in the air this day,” he murmured, watching her face before he relaxed back into his chair and closed his eyes.
He sounded tired. He looked tired. That he should feel comfortable enough to let his guard down to actually rest in front of her said a lot. A lock of black hair fell rakishly across one eye, and she had to subdue the impulse to reach over and smooth it back from his forehead. He reminded her so much of Riorden that for just the briefest of instances she thought it was him until he opened his eyes. They were amber with golden flecks in the irises instead of the deepest blue she had come to cherish.
She gave a low, weary sigh but continued her observation of him from the corner of her eye while he extended his hands toward the fire to warm them. Apparently, his brief rest was at an end. Still...she continued to reminisce on how she had allowed Fletcher to lead her in a dance when she and Riorden were previousl
y at Berwyck. It had been after they had had their first real disagreement, and an invisible barrier had grown between them that neither of them had been willing to let down or breach. She could still see herself standing there, pleading for Riorden to approach with her eyes and hoping against hope he would take Fletcher’s place. Instead, he remained as stubborn as ever while she did her best to make him jealous.
It hadn’t been a hard task to appear she was enjoying herself with Fletcher, nor to be flirting with him. He had treated her with respect, but there had been a twinkle in his eyes that he understood what she was about and had no problem in helping in her attempts to win Riorden’s affection. They had formed a silent friendship during that dance, and she was glad for it. One could never have enough allies in one’s life.
That night seemed as if it was ages ago, though the memory of it was forever ingrained in her soul, but not because of her brief time with Fletcher. How could she ever forget the night Riorden came for her, and they made love for the very first time? She would remember such a night for the rest of her days.
Even though she had been lost with thoughts of Riorden, Fletcher must have felt her blank stare upon him, since she noticed he had turned his attention back toward her. Hastily, she ducked her head and began poking the needle in and out of the cloth. She was surprised she didn’t tear the fabric in her need to appear engrossed in the project before her.
Good Lord! Why did all of Dristan’s guards have to look so much like Riorden? She thought she was doing a good job of appearing absorbed in her work until, in her haste to keep her mind off the gorgeous hunk of man-candy sitting next to her, she stabbed her finger instead of the cloth.
