by Claudia Dain
"So you leave before the messenger...
"And catch him waiting for me with one eye closed," William finished.
"You think Lambert waits for you to leave Greneforde?" Kendall asked, not keeping pace with this rapid conversation.
"I know he waits," William answered.
"But..." Kendall began, his brows furrowed in thought.
"I know he waits, just as I would wait, for a chance at Greneforde again. And now I am off to enjoy my wife's company before I must depart. Rowland, be ready to leave the hour before dawn," was his final instruction before he slipped out of his chair and across the hall, his mantle floating behind as silently as wind-driven fog. Kendall watched him leave with his mouth agape.
"I never suspected that he would want to keep her, knowing what he now knows about her," he murmured half to himself, half to Rowland. "She has been with another."
Rowland leaned forward on his seat and reached for his wine. He took a long, full swallow before turning to glance sidelong at Kendall.
"Yea, she has," he said.
Kendall looked into the face of the older man with something like awe. "William is truly a man of Christ that he can forgive such a betrayal. I have never known a man to forgive so much; 'tis godlike."
Rowland took another long swallow, Kendall's words turning in his mind like twirling knives until he could endure no more. It was time Kendall became more fully a man.
"Cathryn of Greneforde was used by a ruthless man when he illegally occupied her tower," he said with blunt force, ignoring the look of shock that crossed Kendall's features. "During his occupation, she saw her half-grown brother brutally murdered at this man's hand. She submitted herself to him and, in doing so, kept all under her care free from harm." Rowland took another swallow. It went down heavily. "What is more, she gave no thought to the hurt she endured in their stead. She gave of herself with an open hand. Now"—he paused and pinned Kendall with his dark eyes—"should William love her the less for it?"
"Nay," Kendall whispered, the images rolling through his mind with the force of the surf. "He should love her the more."
Rowland reached over to cuff Kendall with all the gentleness of a mother bear with her cub. "And so he does."
Chapter 18
When William came upon her in the chamber they shared, she was shrugging off the scarlet acca, the amber mantle already buried within her chest. She did not turn to face him as he entered. She did not smile in greeting. Her mood was low. He had known it would be. She had assumed the mien of the woman who had greeted him on that first day with all the slender and cold strength of a sword blade; the Cathryn he had freed from the bondage of abuse and chilling guilt had walked back into her prison at the mere mention of the name of her jailer. Her prison offered one thing that he did not: familiarity. Familiarity could be a warm companion—this he knew firsthand—but he could not allow her to sink back into the icy tomb of total and frigid control, a control that held together the broken shards of her heart. He had sworn to save her, and he must. He must, for he had not saved Margret. He must because he loved Cathryn with a love deeper than the pain of failing Margret in her broken and bleeding innocence. The thought, both new and familiar at once, filtered through his mind. He had sworn to love her from the beginning, and he was a man of his word, but now... now he loved her. He did not love her because of his vow. He did not love her because of Greneforde. William did not know how long this had been so; he knew only that his love for her was not new, only the knowledge of it.
William smiled at Cathryn with gentle affection and teased, "You remove the scarlet? I loved you in it."
She had heard him enter. She was becoming accustomed to his near-silent arrivals and departures; and more, she could sense his nearness. But Lambert was nearer. Lambert was in her head and she could not drive him out. Lambert had invaded again, invaded and conquered her innermost thoughts, and though it was not a physical invasion, still it was complete and he was immovable. He had gone to the king to claim Greneforde, claiming her. He would be back. She saw his pale blue eyes so clearly, felt his damp and fleshy hands upon her breasts, heard his voice speaking to her with amused condescension; she heard him call her Cat, and she trembled as if from the cold. But it was not cold. It was Lambert.
Cathryn folded the scarlet, her hands moving swiftly over the rich fabric, and packed it into her chest. It was a cloth too richly colored for her. It was not for her.
"I am more comfortable in my old bliaut," she answered coolly, not adding that she also felt less conspicuous.
The talk of Lambert had shaken her, and with good cause. She was the object in a deadly game and she had no defenses; nay, she had one: William. He would stand for her; he would convince her of it, but it would be done lightheartedly, for Cathryn's spirit could take no more battering this day.
"I love you in the scarlet," he said mildly, moving to kindle the fire in the hearth, "but then I love you better out of it." And he stood abruptly, stalking her with a comical leer. Instinctively she backed away from him, wearing nothing but her shift.
In spite of her heaviness of spirit, he cheered her. Cathryn smiled and answered, "As much as I would love to have you love me better, I draw the line at going about unclothed."
"'Tis a moot point," he rejoined, catching her and kissing her lightly on the nose. "I do not believe I could love you any better."
The heaviness of her heart at hearing those casually spoken words threatened to crush her. He did not love her. He had never claimed to. He held her as wife and he would not relinquish her, at least not easily, but he did not love her. Oh, he spoke of love in his teasing way, but it was just his way, a word he used lightly. After all, he was French, and they looked at these things with a different eye. She understood. With her emotions suppressed, Cathryn slipped on an old bliaut of bister; what cared she that the color was heavy and dull? It matched her mood. It was a most perfect gown for her.
"I understand," she answered William softly, turning from him to leave the chamber.
"Do you, wife?" he asked, barring her passage. She understood so little. That would change—and now.
"To love you better, I would not slumber so that I could watch you sleep through the night, watch you as you sleep with your hand beneath your cheek and your hair tangled around your throat."
Cathryn started and looked into her husband's eyes. They were the color of wood smoke as it reached for the night sky.
"To love you better," he continued quietly, "I would not travel more than two leagues distant for the ache being away from you brings, though I must find meat to fill your rumbling belly and to fatten your war-starved frame."
Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them away, but it would not work, for they just as quickly filled again, and she saw him through a watery haze.
"To love you better, I would travel to the king with all speed so that I may the sooner tell him that I will not, cannot, be parted from you, my wife, my very life's blood, except by God's own express will."
And now she saw—or thought she saw—William clearly, and the love that poured from him seared her, cauterizing whatever wounds remained. Lambert disappeared in the flame and smoke of William's love as though he had never been. She was clean. William's love had washed her, as he had promised it would.
"I would sooner die than relinquish you, Cathryn," William whispered. "Nay, wife, I cannot love you any better." And brushing back a stray tendril of her golden hair, he added, "But do you ask it, I will try."
She had no words to match his, this man of such eloquence. She had no words that would survive the throbbing passion of her heart and the tears that drowned her cheeks. With a sob, she rushed into his arms, crying out her love, her passion, her gratitude for such a love as his. Crying, crying into the strength of him, her sobs choking her as they ripped up from her soul to beat against his loving strength. William held her hard against him, not permitting even the force of her cries to tear her from his grasp.
; Marie, having come to comfort Cathryn over the ordeal at the dinner table, stood listening at the door. She turned away, the tears magnifying the intensity of her blue eyes before coursing down her face.
Chapter 19
At the hour before dawn William and Cathryn walked together into the yard. William wore his mail and gray surcoat; he was a study in gray, almost invisible in the dim and foggy light of the predawn hour, Cathryn, also, was dressed for traveling. She wore a heavy woolen bliaut of burnet, the rich brown as dark as the earth itself, and a mantle of lighter brown. At her waist she wore a jeweled knife, a gift from her husband, and she fingered it lightly as they walked to the horses. Not expecting her, they were one mount short.
Or so they thought.
"You travel with William?" Kendall burst out in surprise at seeing her.
"Yea, she travels with me," William answered for her. "A man so soon wed should not be expected to depart from his bride. Cathryn stays with me," he finished with pleasant firmness.
"The way may not be easy," Rowland murmured seriously, his mind awash with the memory of his Lubias at the sight of Cathryn standing so resolutely by her lord's side.
"No way is easy, comrade," William said gently. "The Lord God has taught me that time and again, but Cathryn has asked to stay with me. I cannot refuse her. In truth, I have little inclination to."
"Lambert waits," Rowland said in a near whisper, turning his face from Cathryn's so that she would not hear him.
"She knows it well, Rowland, mayhap better than we. 'Tis why she is in mortal fear of staying at Greneforde, 'twould be too similar to that other time. I can protect her better than Greneforde's walls; this I know and this she believes. I will not leave her," he finished.
Rowland looked deeply into William's silver eyes; he saw that William would not leave her. As he had not been able to leave Lubias. Even knowing the end, would he have ridden away to leave her in the relative safety of the town? No, he would not, for he could not leave her, such was her love and his weakness.
"Then do not," Rowland said solemnly, "but know that I ride at your back, now as always. She will be well protected." And his dark eyes swore the truth of it.
William clasped the arm of his blood friend in quick embrace and smiled. "Knowing you ride with me made it a simple thing to grant Cathryn's request, but you, Kendall," William continued, his voice rising as he parted from Rowland, "you shall stay at Greneforde and see to her defenses. Your hide will be forfeit if you burn her down in my absence!"
"She shall not burn, William," Kendall answered with his own smile. "But you may return to find the rest of the west field planted, and then I will expect due compensation for dirtying my hands at field labor."
"Nay, Kendall," William contradicted. "Do not leave the enclosure until we return and bring news of our success. Open the tower gate for no man, be he walking or riding, if he is not well known to you. I must know that Greneforde is secure."
"Aye, William," Kendall readily agreed, all the humor wiped clean from his face. William left him in charge of his legacy. He would not fail him. "You shall return to a holding worthy of you."
William smiled and fit his hands into his mufflers. "I would be content to return to the holding gifted me. I am not sure but that I would ride by a holding that was worthy of me, thinking it the bishop's new tower."
And as Kendall and Rowland laughed at William's latest vanity, knowing full well that he sported expressly to lighten the seriousness of his ride to the king, Cathryn spoke in like manner to Marie.
"Nay, it has been decided," she said again and for the final time. "I ride with my lord and you remain within Greneforde's walls."
"But lady, there is danger without. I would be with you," Marie pleaded.
"Marie, I will be safe with him," Cathryn said with all the confidence of a woman in love, "but would not ask too much of him. What man, no matter his merit, can handle two women?" Smiling at her joke, cajoling Marie into smiling with her, Cathryn said more seriously, "I would know you are safe, and it will be easier for me if I have only myself to worry over. Do you comprehend?"
And in a flash of understanding, she did. Lady Cathryn had endured much, sacrificed much, to protect her. An image of being hustled into an open chest before Lambert came bursting through the door rushed upon her, causing her to live that day again. How much easier would it have been for Cathryn if she had not been compelled by her own nature to act in defense of Philip, of Marie, of John, of them all?
"Yea, Lady Cathryn, I comprehend," Marie said humbly in her new understanding. "God go with you and keep you from harm," she whispered, and quickly kissed Cathryn's hand in effusive affection and gratitude.
Cathryn returned the affection of Marie's kiss with a quick embrace and whispered in her ear, "I pray that God will also keep you from harm." And when Marie pulled back to gaze questioningly into her face, she added, "I thought to keep you safe within Greneforde's walls, but now I wonder if a greater danger does not dwell under my own roof." And with her eyes, she directed Marie's gaze to Ulrich, engaged now in whining conversation with William over his being left behind.
Marie, with a swift change of mood, giggled lightly. Mayhap staying behind would not be so onerous.
Their good-byes said, they were mounted and gone before first light, though their departure had been delayed. William rode in front, leading Cathryn's mount, as it had been many years since she had ridden and she was unsure of herself, and Rowland followed close behind. For all that she knew Lambert lurked somewhere in England and that he still desired Greneforde for his own, Cathryn could not subdue the heady joy that rippled through her. She was exploring the land outside of Greneforde's walls; truly, she felt freer than she had since her childhood. The open land of England was not as safe as it had been in the days of her father—this she sensed though it had not been explained to her—yet she could not fear. Did not William ride before her? And did he not love her? She smiled fully, hugging the knowledge to herself, afraid the pounding joy within would topple her from her horse.
The day was clear but cold, the rising sun striking the frozen earth with weak force, warming it not at all. But it was clear and sunny, the rain absent as it had not been for many weeks. She could not help but be joyous on such a day. And why try?
The barren trees were a gray tangle against the brightening blue of the sky, no breath of wind stirring against their nakedness. The ground was frozen and firm and brown beneath the hooves of the horses they rode, the constant rain having washed away the snow long ago. The air smelled clean to her; it had no aftertaste of wood smoke or soap or manure, as did the air of Greneforde. It was a clean day, as cleanly clear of blemish as she. What a glorious day!
The day passed quietly for them, she enjoying her freedom, Rowland and William alert to danger so that she should remain so. It was coming on to dusk when she must have made some noise of pleasure, for William turned to smile at her; or mayhap she had made no noise and he just looked for the sheer joy of looking.
"You are bright today, lady, brighter than the struggling sun." He grinned, slowing until her mount had come abreast of his.
"'Tis a bright day and I am the brighter for it," she answered cheerily, holding her face to the sun.
"I am much afeared that I have a traveling woman on my hands, one not content to remain at home, but ever about and restless to be off. Pray, deny it, wife, that I may sleep at night in my own bed."
Casting him a coquettish look, one she had borrowed from Marie, Cathryn smiled. "And why, pray, would you want to sleep at night when there are so many other diversions that await you in your bed?"
Rowland, smiling softly, let his horse trail farther behind, giving them privacy.
William raised his brows in mock astonishment and answered, shaking his head with pretended woe, "Oh, I have unleashed far more than a traveler. You, lady, are insatiable; you are fortunate in having me for a husband, for I have the cure for what is your malady."
"'Tis no ma
lady." She laughed.
"Mayhap not for you, but for your aging and weary husband?"
"Is my husband truly so weary?"
William's gray eyes twinkled with all the shine of polished steel. "Nay, not so weary as all that, but you have not heard the cure."
"I have not been convinced that there is a malady."
"You may be convinced of the malady when the cure becomes known to you," he responded, pulling her closer to his side.
"Is this a French malady?" Cathryn asked suspiciously.
William shrugged arrogantly. "I make no claim that we French have exclusive rights to the malady, but we most assuredly have the market on the cure. Would you hear of it?"
"Mayhap I had better, before you puff with Frankish pride upon this additional feat of your people; verily, the list of your..."
"Superiority?" he supplied helpfully.
"Arrogance," she answered, "grows longer by the hour. You had best tell me, though I have near forgotten what you intended to say."
"Then allow me to remind you," he said softly. "You, dear wife, have a malady, and its name is hunger, insatiable hunger."
"I am not hungry."
"But you are. I can hear your body's call."
"My body makes no sound," she denied, afraid that her stomach rumbled and that he could hear.
"Nay, there is no sound, but still I hear it call. You are hungry for me, Cathryn." His fingers brushed the rim of her delicate jaw, and his mouth hovered close above hers. "Is that not so?"
"Is this the malady?" she hedged.
"Do you hunger for me, wife?" he demanded gently.
"And what is the cure?" she countered.
"Do you want me, Cathryn?" he demanded again, with greater force.
His face was so close, and it was a closeness she yearned for with greater intensity with each hour she spent with him. The sun gleamed with blue light on his black curls; his eyes were as darkly gray as thunderclouds, his skin as fine as silk. Yes, she wanted him.
