Kate returned his grin and rubbed her stiff neck muscles. “You haven’t lost the game.”
“Yet,” he added. Micah’s brow furrowed. “Are you all right?”
“I…I think so.”
“You should rest.” He stood and offered his arm. “Besides, the break will give me time to ponder a way out of this predicament.”
Kate chuckled and accepted his arm.
Micah walked her to the stairs, bowed, and left.
The corridor leading to the sleeping rooms stretched long and narrow. At the end it opened to a landing, then more stairs ascended to the left. A torch halfway down had gone out and the glow from the one next to her cast an eerie light. Kate’s heart lurched, the darkness reminded her of the dungeon hall that had led to her prison.
Kate snorted to herself and straightened her shoulders. She was being foolish. This was not the passageway to her prison. She would not allow herself to turn tail and run because of a silly torch. Micah had just spent days teaching her how to face her fears. Kate refused to allow his lessons to go to waste. She lifted her chin and stepped forward.
Halfway to her room, a terrible reek of decay and death assailed her, destroying her peace of mind. She heard the screams of prisoners under MacLeary torture. Kate closed her eyes. It’s not real. It can’t be real. But her senses betrayed her. She opened her eyes and the corridor to her prison blurred before her.
Kate’s terror was so tangible she could touch it. She could embrace it and lose herself to it, then she would no longer feel the pain of fighting. Perhaps she was mad. Perhaps the time with Micah was all some strange hallucination brought on by MacLeary torture; her mind’s desperate attempt to save itself. Her head felt like it was going to split.
MacLeary’s laugh echoed, again and again. So many times he had walked the corridor to Kate’s prison, terrorizing her but never entering her cell, leaving the beatings to Stephan. She blinked furiously. It’s not real.
At the end of the passage, MacLeary stepped out of the shadows. Kate staggered backward and screamed until her lungs burned.
***
Micah stopped mid–stride when he heard Kate’s cry and sprinted after her.
He hit the stairs running and looked up. Kate cowered, screamed and backed toward the stairs. She was going to fall. Micah lengthened his stride and caught her as she toppled over.
“Kate?”
Lost to her terror, her body contorted in his arms and her moan made Micah’s hackles rise. He glanced up and searched the darkness for whatever reason the corridor terrified her. He had to get her away. Where could he take her? The great hall was too much for Kate in this state and he did not dare return her to her room. Abruptly, Micah lifted her into his arms and charged out of the castle.
The cold wind bit through Micah’s thin tunic but at least the sun broke through the clouds. He turned for the gardens. The chill of fall had stripped most of the trees but the grounds lay peaceful and serene. Kate sucked the cold air into her lungs, her hands clutching his tunic. Micah found a bench and cleared off the soggy leaves. Gently he set Kate down and held her to him.
“Easy, Kate, ‘tis all right now,” Micah whispered, stroking her hair.
Kate buried her face against his neck, sobbing, her tears hot against his skin. Her fingers still had a death grip on his tunic.
Micah steeled himself. Her hair smelled faintly of spice, her skin incredibly soft beneath his hand. “Look, Kate, you are outside. You are no longer a prisoner of the castle.”
This gained her attention. She gulped down a sob and Micah felt her shift to peek at her surroundings.
“I am in the gardens?” her voice was tremulous.
“Aye, lady.”
Kate inhaled deeply, and Micah had the distinct feeling she savored the fresh air.
“What happened?” he asked. His fingers traced down her cheek although he tried to stop them.
“The smell…the screams…I thought MacLeary had returned. I saw…” Her voice broke.
Micah sighed. Obviously Kate’s memory had been so powerful she thought she was back in that terrible cell. He decided not to push her but still had to ask one question.
“Why did you face the corridor if it frightened you so?”
Kate pulled away and looked up at him. A new chill replaced the warmth against his chest.
“You taught me to face my fears.”
Micah blinked at her. His actions had led her forward, even in the face of pure terror. His work had caused her to make a leap of faith.
He smiled and hugged her tightly. “Beautiful Kate, you truly have the courage of a knight.”
“I do?”
“Aye, lady, you do. But remember one thing. You never have to face your fears alone. Please call on me next time.”
Kate relaxed against him and said nothing but Micah knew she understood his point. She shivered and he wished he had a cloak for her. Micah was unwilling to give up the warmth of Kate’s body against him and the solitude of the garden. But this cold was not good for her.
“We need to go back inside before you catch a chill.”
Kate nodded but did not move away. Micah smiled, she did not wish to leave either.
“Do you know how much I’ve missed these gardens?”
He looked down at her in surprise, moving her hair away from her face.
Her bright eyes gazed at the stark trees. “Even in fall this place is beautiful and peaceful.”
“Ma chérie automne,” Micah whispered then clamped his jaw shut, not believing he had said the words out loud.
“What does that mean?”
Micah winced. Damnation, why can’t I keep my mouth shut? But Kate expected an answer. His face burned as he spoke. “My autumn darling,” he said tightly.
Kate blinked at Micah, her hand instinctively going to her hair. Her smile curved slowly, mischievously.
Micah wanted to crawl under the bench but he helplessly returned her grin. The familiar ache in his chest returned. He stared at her mouth, it beckoned to him like a siren’s call. God, how he wanted to kiss her.
His heart dropped to his boots and he inhaled sharply. Was he completely daft? Micah had no business taking liberties with Kate. But the desire burned in his gut. He couldn’t, he did not dare. His fingers traced over her cheek, her skin so soft and warm, her lips enticing him. If he did not break the spell he would kiss her in spite of himself. Why was he so out of control? Never before had he been forced to fight desire as he would an enemy on a battlefield. Abruptly Micah looked away.
“Come, lady, I do not wish you to fall ill.” His gaze traveled back to her.
Kate nodded and ducked her head. He watched her curiously. Was that a flash of regret? Micah chided himself for being foolish and vain. She looked up at him again and Micah’s battle returned with a vengeance.
He could not submit to his desire. For all he knew MacLeary had bedded her. His stomach twisted into vicious knots. Micah tried to convince himself that if Kate did carry MacLeary’s child the best place for her was a convent. As much as Micah did not want to take her home from her, he might be forced to.
What would happen to Kate if she did go? Micah did not like the answer. Kate would become a prisoner once again, perhaps with an unwanted child conceived by rape. She would be alone and terrified. Micah firmly believed she would die trapped in anguish if she was forced into a convent.
Helpless frustration filled him. His grip tightened around her. Did Kate know his worry of her breeding? Did she know how this tore at him? Micah could not bear to see Kate destroyed, not after the courage she had displayed.
Why did the thought of MacLeary touching her fill him with savage rage? Micah had promised to keep her safe and he would uphold that promise.
So why was he leaning toward her? Why were his fingers trailing over her cheek and down her throat? Why did she not back away? His blood quickened. Micah lost the battle to his desire and crushed his lips against hers.
Kate stiff
ened with surprise, her mouth parted and he swept his tongue across hers, devouring the sweet taste of her, exploring her mouth and the softness of her lips. Fire roared through Micah’s veins, his hands pulled her closer until her body pressed so firmly against his that she molded perfectly to his hard frame. Micah heard her tiny moan deep in her throat as she timidly returned his kiss. His hands caressed her face and hair, sliding down her shoulders and exploring her narrow back. The feel of her was more heady than the strongest wine, the scent of her dizzied his mind until nothing existed except for the beautiful woman in his arms and the raging lust that demanded he lose himself inside her.
The demon within Micah lunged, destroying his hold over the emotions he kept so tightly leashed. They threatened to break free and flay open the pain he had buried. Micah jerked away.
What in the hell was he doing? The urge to kiss Kate again continued to rage. Micah’s body ached with it. His thoughts tangled in it.
Kate stared up at him, dazed and very confused. Good Lord, he prayed he hadn’t offended her. She trusted him and he’d used that trust against her.
“My apologies,” Micah muttered. “Let’s go inside before you catch a chill.” He stood and wrapped Kate’s arm in his. Micah did not speak his true reason. He had to get away from Kate before he made a complete ass of himself by kissing her again.
***
Kate slowly awoke to see the sunrise alighting her room with a golden glow. The fog of her dream melted in the hazy dawn. She blinked and stared up at the ceiling. Her nightmare of MacLeary imprisonment had given way to a wonderful new dream. The memory of Micah’s kiss.
She didn’t understand anything about the man. He had been so kind in helping her conquer her fear. And then Micah’s kiss in the garden had filled Kate with strange emotions, desire for him to touch her, to return his kiss, to enjoy the feel of his body against hers, the safety of his arms wrapped around her.
But Micah had brought it all to an abrupt end. His frown and the tight set of his jaw made his displeasure obvious. Kate wondered what she could have done to offend him so. Perhaps, because she had accepted his kiss, she seemed wanton to him. But it was he who had kissed her, not the other way around. Still, over the past three days Kate had seen little of Micah. Only at dinner would he join her at the table and then he was gruff and imperious.
Micah had ceased their work in the great hall. Kate, however, continued on her own, finding herself more victorious each day. Although still apprehensive, she could dine with Micah and the others in the hall.
Kate arose and quickly dressed. There was little she could do around the castle, Micah had everything well in hand. But Mary, the cook, had been overwhelmed with the sudden job of having to prepare meals for a baron and his knights, and Micah was acting baron until they received a decision from Henry.
Kate discovered her help was needed in the kitchens and took over with practiced ease. Now, another day awaited her and more meals. Kate descended the stairs with confidence. Even if Micah was displeased with her, he never complained about the food.
***
Micah leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh. He eyed the ragged remains of what had been a glorious dinner. Smothered in a wonderful vegetable sauce, the roast pheasant had been delicious. Freshly baked bread filled the hall with a mouthwatering scent. Micah spooned a small bit of honey on a slice of still warm bread, enjoying the simple but tasty dessert. Kate had certainly outdone herself. Since she had taken over the kitchens, the meals were finally fit for nobility. Mary was a good cook, she merely needed the guidance of the chatelaine.
He glanced at Kate sitting next to him. Her cheeks were a bit wan and she only ate a handful of food. She had grown more distant since the day in the garden. As Micah had feared, he had offended her, he was certain of it. He wanted to return to the easy camaraderie that had been developing between them.
“The meal was good,” Micah said.
Kate’s face brightened. “Thank you, my lord.”
He smiled at Kate and refilled her glass of wine. The keep’s door banged open. A page announced the arrival of Sir Evan from London. Micah jumped to his feet. Evan entered, ice lining the edges of his cloak and beard.
“Good glory, Evan,” Micah said in shock.
“Greetings, my lord,” he replied hoarsely and lowered his hood. “Wine,” he bellowed to a servant.
“God’s bones, man, you must be half frozen.”
Evan smiled and thrust a scroll case at Micah. “Half frozen is not enough to stop me from delivering Henry’s message.” He looked at the table longingly.
“Sir Evan,” Kate said. “Sit yourself by the fire. I’m certain we have some roast pheasant left over.”
He bowed. “My gratitude to you, lady.” He walked to a chair before the fire and sank down.
Micah stared at the scroll with the King’s seal and dread washed over him like a wave. What would Henry’s decision be? Would he bring Micah to heel again and renege on his promise? Or would Kate be damned to a convent?
Micah suddenly felt as if he held an adder by the tail. He didn’t want to know Henry’s words for they would be like venom in his blood. But he had little choice. Somehow, Micah slowed his pounding heart and summoned his courage. He carefully broke the seal, his hands steady.
***
Kate hurried to gather some bread and pheasant. A servant followed her with wine. She glanced at Micah as he opened the king’s missive and sat, the muscles in his jaw flexed.
Handing the steaming food to Evan, she helped him with his soggy cloak and boots.
“Kate,” Micah said softly but his voice silenced everyone with the effectiveness of a shout.
Kate approached, studying Micah’s face. His jaw clamped so tightly she thought he would break his teeth. His eyes flashed blue fire. Micah hunched his shoulders slightly, reminding Kate of a wolf ready to pounce. Her heart raced. Had Henry granted her inheritance?
“King Henry has handed us his decision,” Micah said, his voice rasping. The cords in his neck stood out. He opened his mouth as if to speak then abruptly snapped his jaw shut. Micah shoved the missive into Kate’s hands and stalked away.
Kate looked down at the parchment in shock. Her gaze slipped easily past the preamble of greeting and congratulations at freeing Appleby Castle. Her eyes widened as she looked at the heart of the matter.
I am well aware of my promise to you but the survival of Kate Liulf changes the situation drastically. Above all, Appleby must not fall under control of the Scots. Although I do not wish to give strength to the rumor–mongering that has been prevalent in court, I cannot ignore the possibilities of why Kate alone survived. If one of those reasons is the fact that she carries MacLeary’s bastard heir then the situation is dire indeed. Therefore, I give you a choice. You may take the lady in wedlock and be granted the status of baron by marriage of the surviving heir. Or you may denounce her as traitor for conspiring with an enemy of the throne and send her to a convent. The barony will then be granted to you by right of arms.
Horror shot through Kate and the awful weight of the great hall again bore down on her. Instead of bolting, her legs simply folded. Fortunately, there was a chair next to her and she managed to sink into it but her entire body quaked.
Tears gathered in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Henry gave Micah the choice and she knew which one he would make. Too easily, she could put herself in Micah’s place. How could he be expected to take a woman, who Henry implied was nothing more than a harlot, bent on saving her own skin, as a wife?
Sweet Mary, help her. What was she going to do? Kate would not survive being sent to a convent but her only other choice would be to plead for Micah to marry her. Her tears flowed faster. Micah would not marry her, not when he had the option of gaining the barony without complication of a wife. If Kate begged him, she would humiliate herself and make it evident that she was doing so only to save herself.
Kate stared at the letter and Micah’s voice whispered
in memory. I am glad that my battle actually saved a life instead. But she had not been saved. She was just as effectively damned as she had been with MacLeary.
She suddenly wished MacLeary had hanged her with her family.
With a strangled sob, Kate crumpled the letter and threw it into the hearth. She sprinted up the stairs to her room. Kate slammed the door behind her and dropped on the bed, crying bitterly.
***
Midnight wrapped Appleby in its embrace but Micah could not sleep. His rage still fogged his mind and coiled his body with the violence of preparing for battle. He stalked through the bailey wearing only his braes and boots, with a bottle of wine in hand. He had lost count of how many he had emptied but neither did he care.
Micah paused before a pile of broken furniture that had been left from when he took the keep and now waited to be burned. With careful deliberation, Micah moved some of the furniture into a separate pile. He grabbed a torch from a stanchion and with a strangled cry, tossed it onto the small mound.
With any luck, Micah could feed the fire from the remaining stack and it would last all night. He watched the flames spark and start to devour the wood, but he knew, no matter how hot the fire grew, it would never match the burning of his rage.
“Micah?” John called softly as he approached. “Are you all right?”
Micah almost ordered John away but hesitated. Throughout everything, Micah had never known a better friend. His jaw tight with anger, he told John about the letter. “I want nothing more than to wring the life from Henry now,” he growled and took another drink.
“Aye,” John said quietly.
“Ever since my uncle tried to kill me I have questioned my loyalty to the king.”
“That is understandable, Micah.”
He snorted. “Aye, but now Henry’s actions increasingly provoke that habit, especially with his failed promises over the past two years. Now, I think I finally understand. I made a grievous error supporting Henry on that day. I lost my family because of it.”
“Micah, you cannot blame yourself for what your uncle did.”
Warriors Of Legend Page 18
