“Ha!” My voice was more steady than my stomach, which was trembling as though it were a winter’s night. “Asses are made to bear, and so are you.”
His grin turned sly. “Women are made to bear, and so are you.”
Heat flared into a blush on my cheeks and I fired back, “Not for you, sir.” How had this become a game of sniping about bedsport? This was too close to last night, and me in my nightgown!
I shook off the sensation and struck back with words. “How much did my father pay you?”
He froze, feigning a stricken look. “What? Did my words at your window mean nothing to you?”
“Indeed, nothing. I know full well no man would marry me save for my dowry.” How it pained me to say it out loud. “Your words are noise and flattery. I know my reputation.”
“Your reputation,” he repeated, tasting the word like wine in his mouth. “You have a reputation among the men in this village?”
Monstrous, the way a lilt in a voice, a lift of an eyebrow, could suggest all sorts of things. My skin heated again, mingling anger with embarrassment. My hand shook in his. “Not for any reason you seem to imply, sir. There is nothing light about my worth. My reputation in that is all it should be.”
“All it should beeee?” he scoffed, dragging out the last word. “And yet the bees do buzz.”
I could feel my eyes narrow, my lips tighten. What was it about him, his words, that dragged such reactions out of me? “Foolish gossip of idle folk who know nothing. You have been here only a few days. What can you know of my—?” As I had the night before, I stamped my foot. The shock of it, here on the stone flags of the hall, rang up my leg and into my hips. “Blast you!” I cried. “If you hear a buzzing, take care you don’t get stung.”
“Hmm,” he mused, one hand thoughtfully on his chin. “If that is the threat, my remedy then is to pluck out your sting.”
“Oh yes,” I shot back, “if you could find where it lies.”
“Who does not know where the bee hides its sting? In its tail.” He lunged, reaching behind me.
I jumped back and he let me go. “Nay, in her tongue.”
That was no good. He was looking at my mouth now.
“I know not what arrangement you may have made with my father, but I will not be bought and sold like a Moorish carpet. And so, farewell.”
I headed for the front of the hall and the safety of the stairs, but his words arrested me.
“What,” he said, “will you leave me with my tongue in your tail?”
I spun and he was right there behind me. My tongue in your tail. My face flared hot again, and something fluttered in my gut, lower…. “Listen, Kate,” he murmured, “I am a gentleman—”
“I’ll test that—” Spinning in his grasp, I swung my free hand around and slapped him, hard. The snap of it resounded in the empty hall. My own shock was reflected in his eyes, but he recovered more quickly than I. He grabbed my wrist, pulling it down. I cried out, more affronted than hurt, for he was surprisingly gentle. In a moment, he had twisted me around so that he held me from behind, one arm around my waist, the other holding my arm. But he didn’t seem angry, as any right-minded man would be, only amused.
“I swear I’ll cuff you if you strike me again,” he warned, soft in my ear.
Even as frustrated as I was, I couldn’t resist the pun. “So may you lose your arms. If you strike me, you are no gentleman, and if no gentleman, no coat of arms.”
He chuckled, the vibration of it tingling against my spine. “Are you a herald, Kate?”
I writhed, trying to break free. Futile, of course. The man was a warrior, and my struggles only served to prove his strength. I had thought he might become embarrassed by overpowering me. He did not.
“Oh yes, a herald. Tell me, sir, what is your crest? A coxcomb?”
“A combless cock, unless Kate will be my hen.”
I was blushing again. “No cock of mine. You fight like a craven.”
“Fight, fight,” he said, murmuring in my ear. “Why must you always fight me?”
I went rigid in his arms, all my breath lost. For that was the question, wasn’t it? Why was I fighting him? Here he was, saying he loved me—oh, that was scarcely to be believed—but at the least offering me honorable marriage and an escape from this wretched family, this awful town, when no other tolerable offer was ever likely to come my way… and only yesterday I had raged at my father for rejecting his proposal. So why was I doing the same today?
Because there was a sack of gold behind his proclaimed passion for me. There had to be. Why would he take me otherwise?
He was still waiting for an answer.
“You—you are too old and wrinkled for me.”
That must have surprised him for he loosened his grip just enough for me to squirm away, breathing hard to make him feel guilty for holding me so tightly. At least, that’s what I hoped. It did not work, so far as I could tell.
“I? Old and wrinkled?” He put a hand to his face. My hand lifted, mirroring his, and I forced it back down.
“Aye.” I looked at him, that perfectly formed face, those sparkling eyes, that trim form, and had to continue the lie. “Aye. Wrinkled and withered and dried up as a crabapple in winter.”
“I am still young,” he protested, “but a handful of years older than you. If my face be marred, it is with cares and worries, not with age.”
A noble knight, just returning from the king’s court? What cares and worries could he have?
“I care nothing for you,” I said and made a dash for the front stairs. He was too fast for me. His arms encircled my waist again and he pulled me to him. My eyes were at his chin, my breath panting in the hollow of his neck, my hands pressed against his chest. Every inch of me, in fact, was pressed against every inch of him, a fact of which I became aware in that instant. I raised my eyes. He looked down. His eyes were so very blue, and so very amused.
I struggled to break free. He moved with me. His bawdy jokes took on new meaning. My heart began to pound. I tried to speak, failed. I tried again. “I will only make you… angry… if you hold me thus. Let me go.”
“Nay,” he said, drawing the syllable out. “I find this very pleasant.” He gazed down at me and my muscles surrendered, melting into him. Did he feel it, my body’s betrayal? I tried to pull away from him, but he held me close still. “This is the part of the proposal,” he said quietly, “where the man declares his admiration and affection, and the lady confesses herself flattered. It won’t do for her to make him suffer, and so she accepts.”
I struggled again, halfheartedly. “Out of obligation?”
“Or compassion. There are worse reasons to marry.”
“Like money,” I spat.
“Do you not believe my declaration?”
“Believe you? How is such a thing possible? Have you spoken truth once since you arrived?”
Anger kindled its hot flame within my breast again, but before it could blaze forth, I was suddenly free. Released so abruptly from his embrace, I collapsed to the floor and glared up at him. “You!” I cried, rising to my full height, moving away to a safe distance so I did not have to feel his heat. “Go and order your servants about, sir, and leave me alone.”
Yes, alone. Suddenly, I wanted—no, needed—to be alone, away from him, to stop this madness, to cease his flow of words, to calm my breath and my pounding heart. Away from him who could capture or release me at a whim, who could match me word for word, who wanted me—
No. He wanted the money my father offered up to take me on. The rest of this was just an amusement for him. What kind of life would this be, a constant struggle, pulse racing, skin tingling, day by day, moment by moment—?
“Ye—”
I bit down on the word as a sound drew his attention behind me, to the door to the courtyard. “Here comes your father,” he said. He strode toward Father, leaving me standing, swaying, in the middle of the hall.
Father approached him, rubbing his hands tog
ether like a miser spying a gleaming pile of coins. “Well, Sir William, how goes it?”
Father. At exactly the wrong moment.
“Very well, Master Mulleyn. How could it not?”
Father faltered a little in his stride, giving him a quizzical look. I turned my back on them both, biting a strangled scream off in my fist.
“Well, Kathryn,” Father said, coming up behind me. “What say you? Are you not happy now that I have arranged this for you?”
I spun around to face him. He shied, took a step back. ““Happy? You want me happy now? Yesterday I was not good enough for him, but today? What has changed? Oh, I know what it is. He refused Blanche, so you threw gold at him so he won’t think he’s getting a poor bargain.”
“But he wanted you,” Father cried. “He insisted!”
“You sold me,” I spat at him. “You sold me to get me out of the way, to make Blanche happy. You gave no thought to my happiness at all. And that’s how it has ever been.”
Sir William came closer. I backed away. “Father,” he said, addressing my father. My father! The audacity of the man! “Father, if you will permit me—” My father, curse him, nodded acquiescence. “I must tell you that everyone here has spoken wrongly of my fair Kate. She is not difficult but gentle as the dove. She is not hot-tempered, but mild and temperate as a spring morning.”
Father stared. I stared.
Sir William took another step toward me, reaching for my hand. I retreated again. “In fact, Father, we like each other so well that we have agreed upon Sunday as the wedding day.”
“What?” I burst out.
“Sunday?” Father exclaimed, either not hearing or disregarding my protest. “But this is marvelous news! A bit speedy. We’ll have to procure a special license, dispense with the reading of the banns—but what is that if my Kathryn is to be married?”
“I did not—” I sputtered.
Father grabbed my hand in one of his, Sir William’s in his other, and held tight. “I am speechless,” he said, belying his own words, “I don’t know what to say. Here, join your hands and God give you joy.” He slammed our hands together. Sir William squeezed my fingers in his so I could not pull away.
“Listen well to me, Kate,” Sir William said quietly. “You may not believe it now, but I am the only husband for you.”
“Sir William,” Father said, turning with a delighted smile to his new son, “let us go and see about those papers.”
Our war of words was, apparently, finished. I felt Sir William’s eyes on me, but I would not meet them. I stared at our hands clasped beneath my father’s.
“I trust you will attend to all the proper legalities, Father,” Sir William said. “I’m for Coventry to buy apparel, rings, and finery for my wife. Order the feast and invite the guests and I will see you on Sunday. Until then, farewell.”
He raised my hand to his lips and released it. My fingers burned from the contact. He and Father embraced, Sir William bowed, and then he was gone.
The door shut behind him. Father stormed in and out of rooms, yelling for his scribe, starting to send a servant to the lawyer’s house, then calling for his horse because he’d go himself. Diffident musical notes drifted in from the courtyard as Blanche continued to endure the attentions of Master Horton in disguise. But all of this was muffled and dim, noises in a fog.
Married. On Sunday. To him.
I wandered upstairs, my gaze fixed on the third floor where the solitude of my bedchamber lay, but the door to the solar was open. “Kathryn!” Blanche’s mother barked. “Come in here!”
The Mountain was up for once, her enormous bulk ensconced in a chair that had been specially built for her. It was wide enough for Blanche and me to sit in together and sturdy enough to hold a full-grown ox. A blanket covered her lap and legs, despite the heat. One silk-wrapped foot peeked out beneath it, sausage-like. At least she was out of bed today, and dressed. She must have heard about the men come courting in the last few days. She must have heard—
“Kathryn!”
I dragged into the solar, a condemned heretic to the stake. “Yes, Mother?”
“What is all the commotion?”
I glanced at the window. The tootling of Blanche’s instrument went on. “Blanche and I have been at our lessons with the new tutors.”
Her eyes glowed balefully, like dim candles in a pumpkin on All Hallows’ Eve. “That is not why your father is bound for the lawyer’s. Why does he need legal papers?”
I shifted my weight from one foot to another. She must be told, and if I didn’t tell her, Blanche would. Oh, how Blanche would love to tell her.
I raised my chin, squared my shoulders. “I am getting married.”
She snorted. Mayhap it was laughter, mayhap it was disbelief.
“To whom?” she barked. “No man from this town would have you.”
“There is no man in this town I would have,” I retorted. “He is a knight, a man of good repute from west of here.” I was still so shaken by our encounter, I could not bring myself to say his name. “Father knows more. He did not see fit to tell me anything of substance.”
The Mountain licked her lips, tasting the increase in status. If I married a knight, I would become Lady Kathryn and the entire family would thus be elevated. “A knight,” she repeated. “Well. This is— Well!” She shifted in her seat, threatening to rise, but I knew she would not. She would wait for Father’s return, get the details from him then. “And the wedding? When is it to be?”
The word was poison in my mouth. I spat it out. “Sunday.”
“Sunday? What, this Sunday? Three days from now? But that is outrageous!” She moved again, the mounds of her breasts and belly shuddering, the chair rocking under her. “How am I to arrange a proper wedding in three days, even for you? Outrageous! Monstrous!” She slammed her palms down on the chair’s arms. “Sunday? Pah! What do men know of weddings?”
“He said he was going to Coventry, to purchase finery for the wedding,” I said.
The Mountain scowled, a fearsome sight. “He may purchase what he likes, but still, we must provide him with a bride when he comes. You need a dress. Ah, but there is no time.” She turned her squinted eyes on me. I folded my arms and glared back.
“You always did look well in green,” she mused.
I was shocked she had ever noticed.
“Yes,” she said, apparently deciding. “We’ll get Dame Hutton to make over your green kirtle. We’ll send for her today.” She smacked the arms of her chair again. “Married on Sunday. Outrageous.”
I will never be sure what pulled me out of my house and into town that day. I just knew I did not want to hear the Mountain howling at servants about clothes and food and preparations. I did not want to be there when Blanche learned the news. And I did not want to be alone any longer.
I wanted to see Ellen.
Of course, we had not parted on the best of terms. Though I still doubted her about Master Cameron, I could tell her about Master Horton. At least she was correct that one of the “tutors” was in disguise. Surely she would forgive me for being cross with her. Besides, once I shared my news, all else would be forgotten. Ellen would understand.
She must.
As I cut across the stableyard to get to the inn’s rear door, I could hear voices in the stable and the drag and bang of objects being moved within. I swung open the heavy door leading to the kitchen and let myself in.
A crockery bowl smashed at my feet as the door collided with Ellen. “What on earth…?” she exclaimed, her eyes wide as they took me in.
“I am sorry, Ellen, I will pay for the bowl…”
“That you will, Mistress Kathryn Mulleyn.” Dame Brewer, Ellen’s mother, was a large and formidable woman, her dark hair barely restrained under a cap darkened with grease and soot from many long years in that kitchen. She frowned at me now from behind the kitchen’s long, stained table, a cleaving knife in her hand. “What mean you by this, coming in the back way like a servant
? ‘‘Tis not proper for a young lady.”
“I have come to speak with Ellen,” I said, and grabbing her wrist, I pulled her with me into a corner of the kitchen.
“Kathryn,” she protested, though she kept her voice to a whisper. “What are you doing?”
“Ellen, have you heard?”
“Heard?”
There was a toughness around her eyes that made me think she was being deliberately evasive. “About me,” I insisted. “Me and this knight, this Sir William. My father and he have come to terms. He says he will marry me.”
She glanced at the door, not the one through which I had come but the narrower one that led to the main room of the inn. “I know,” she whispered. “He came back here speaking of nothing else. He has been buying ale for everyone who comes through the door. Father is beside himself with delight.”
Dame Brewer’s cleaver came down with a loud thwack and I flinched. “Ellen,” she hollered. “You will clean up that mess. I don’t care who demands your attention or how rich she is.”
Ellen made a move toward the broken bowl, but I held her tightly by both wrists. “By now the whole town must be talking of it,” I complained.
“It matters not,” she said, “for he is leaving soon. His man is readying his horse and he is going away.”
“He said he would go to Coventry to buy things for the wedding,” I told her.
“All right, then,” Ellen said, clearly anxious to get rid of me so she could do as her mother bid. “And now that you are betrothed, Blanche is free to court, so she should be less of a torment to you, so you have everything you want. Now let me go.” She shook her hands, breaking loose.
“Everything I want?” I was stunned. How could she think such a thing?
I watched her on her knees picking up the broken crockery with the edge of her apron so as not to cut herself. I knew I should go, I knew she wanted me to leave, but her description of Sir William’s afternoon of revelry lured me to the door to the main room. I leaned against it, letting it swing open just a crack.
Finding Kate Page 10
