by K. C. Helms
She handed him his linen shirt. “And what trifling excuse am I to invent when I do not open the gates to him?”
Her husband had no ready reply, as she knew he would not. She leaned toward him. Taking her cue from his comment, she answered her own question. “I shall call out to him from the ramparts and say you are punishing me for past sins by keeping me locked away.”
“And spying your happy countenance he will not believe a word of it.”
“Have you a better thought?” She gave her skirts an inviting swish.
“With you so close I am prodigiously distracted.”
Her lips quirked in merriment. “That, my lord, is difficult to believe.”
He leered at her. “Come hither,” he instructed with a beckoning finger. “And examine your influence upon me.”
Katherine sighed with pleasure as she stepped into his embrace and felt for herself his raging desire against her hip. “My lord, you astound me. A tested knight in the king’s service— ”
“Brought low by a mere wife.” Dafydd finished. “Aye, madame, I am ready for service!”
Katherine perked up, put as much allure into her smile as possible. “Then allow me to remain by your side, sir knight, that you will not find the nights long and empty.”
Laughing, he drew her closer.
She pressed her hands to his broad chest and beseeched him, “Watch your back, Dafydd. I would have you return safely.”
“Aye, dear wife. I shall return posthaste, for all I desire abides herein.”
* * *
“Praise St. Winifred, she has answered my prayers.” Anne stood beside Katherine, straining to keep Simon in view as they stood on the western parapet, their backs to the morning sun. But the knights and soldiers were quickly gone on their trek into Wales. She released a forlorn sigh.
“What did you ask of her?” Katherine asked, yet eyeing the road to Shrewsbury.
“That you would be joyed to see Sir Dafydd safely recovered.”
Katherine nodded with a smile.
“I feared you would think to save your misery and let him perish. Simon thinks him the best of masters. I am glad you have reconciled your feelings toward your husband and have relinquished your hopeless dream of Sir Rhys.”
Swallowing nervously, Katherine recalled her husband’s warning. He claimed she would betray him. Setting a scowl upon her brow, she turned away, but not before her hand shook from nervous tension. She wished an end to this unsettling conversation.
“If we dally much longer, we shall grow quite brown. Come, Anne, let us to Gilbert and see him occupied with the king’s latest edict.”
“First, I must needs see the embroidery on my collar finished.” Anne smiled with a sudden sparkle. “As a wedded woman, I shall require such finery.” She turned and started toward the stairs.
Jack, the dyer’s son, stood at the end of the wallwalk.
“I must speak to ye, m’lady.” His eyes shone with excitement. “I’ve gladsome news,” he murmured. “But ’tis a secret.”
Anne leaned closer and Katherine chuckled, drawn in by his youthful intensity. Always bursting with eagerness, Jack would have some grave concern. It usually amounted to naught, except within his own mind. As always, she showed forbearance, for he was a polite and hard working lad.
“Well, Jack, out with your news. I must find Gilbert without further ado. The king has sent us new instructions.”
The lad nodded, his eyes animated, but he looked behind him before he leaned close to whisper, “We’re not knowin’ who we can trust. Ye must keep mum of what I say. Do ye give me yer word?”
“Of course, Jack,” she replied, smiling. ’Twas easy to indulge the boy. Would that she had as much of his energy these days.
He leaned closer yet. “Your babe was stolen.”
Katherine’s breath came out of her as though she had been clouted with a mace.
Beside her, Anne’s face went deathly white.
Jack whispered into her ear. “He abides not far from here.”
Her heart pounded in her breast. “My—my child lives?”
“Aye, but tush, m’lady.” Jack nodded with a scowl. He tugged her forward. “Hurry, before someone stops us. The babe is not dead. He abides in Shrewsbury.”
Chapter Thirty-one
“Come hither, Katherine. Come greet your son.”
At the familiar and dreaded voice, Katherine froze in the doorway of the small chamber. Though her mouth went dry, she had no chance to indulge her fears. Sir Geoffrey grasped her arm and pulled her within the sparse cell of the Abbot’s guest house. Her senses heightened, she was more than aware of the knight, with his hot, putrid breath and his hulking frame pressing close.
But for once she ignored him. Her vision focused on the nun seated on the low bench. With her back against the far wall and her face framed by the white wimple of her order, Sister Mary Margaret clutched a sleeping babe.
Her babe.
Without hesitation, Katherine stepped into the small chamber, staring fixedly at the swaddled bundle nestled within the nun’s arms.
Mindless of the consequence, she and Anne had followed Jack to Shrewsbury Abbey, ignoring her husband’s desperate caution. Against his orders she had been enticed away from the safety of Haughmond.
But what an extraordinary inducement!
Leaning closer, she peered into the tiny face, trying to catch each detail in the flickering illumination of the lone candle. The babe stirred and struggled to open his eyes. Yawning, looking so like Anne, he lapsed back into sleep.
Katherine’s heart skipped a beat.
Sister Mary Margaret stood, her eyes fastened on Sir Geoffrey. But her words, clearly, were meant for Katherine. “He was christened Robert. We thought you would be pleased. I have loved him in your stead.” Ever so carefully, she laid the babe in Katherine’s outstretched arms, so gently he never wakened.
With all her love pulsing within her embrace, Katherine took her child, cradled him to her. The weight of him, relaxed and heavy in sleep, with his small head rolling against her breast, filled her with awe.
But while she stared at him in wonder, the ache in her heart—her constant companion these past months—dissipated beneath a rising fury.
“You stole my babe. You let me think him dead.” Her voice, low and determined, came out in a grating rasp. “You dare tell me you have loved him? In my stead? When you kept him from me?” She lifted her gaze and met Sister Mary Margaret’s troubled stare. Startled by the nun’s pale and gaunt face, and by her eyes—round hollows of fear—Katherine caught her breath. Wrath took flight. Terror rolled through her, for Sir Geoffrey’s fearsome threat pierced her memory.
A quick snap of its neck will put it out of its misery.
Whirling, she met the dangerous glitter emanating from the depths of his ice-blue eyes. He would show no mercy. Rhys had known that, had clearly sought to protect their child by hiding him.
But he’d ridden off to war.
Fear, and the instinct to protect—to flee—gripped her. She sidled past Anne, toward the doorway. Sir Geoffrey’s heavy hand clamped down upon her left shoulder, holding her immobile.
“I grow weary of this discourse,” he growled. “Give me the child. We will end this folly.” Within his grip a blade flashed in the candlelight.
Knowing escape was impossible, Katherine’s heart pounded in her ears. Clutching her precious burden to her breast, she spun away from her stepfather. Using her body as a shield, she huddled against Anne, whose arms encircled her.
Startled awake, Robert let loose a wavering cry.
Sister Mary Margaret pushed past them and stood betwixt Katherine and certain death. “You do harm my grandson, ’twill be the last day of your earthly existence.”
Startled by the breathless pronouncement and the heavy silence that followed, Katherine peered over her shoulder, saw her stepfather hesitate, saw his startled interest. Her gaze flew to Sister Mary Margaret. This was her husband’s mothe
r, Rhys’s mother?
Brandishing his knife, Sir Geoffrey eyed the nun. “Which of this whore’s lovers do you claim as your kin?”
“Dafydd de la Motte is my son. He is not like to thank you for slaying his heir.”
Sir Geoffrey drew in a sharp breath.
“Aye, this is your grandson thereto, more is the pity,” Sister Mary Margaret grit out.
“Then we have been lovers.” He inspected her from head to toe. “You must have come late to your order, for I have never been tempted by one of God’s chosen.” He pointed the blade toward her face. “For your deception and your insult on the day of the joust, think you your crucifix will save young Katherine’s brat?”
Sister Mary Margaret angled her head away from the glinting blade with a wary eye.
Katherine clutched Robert tighter, bringing from him another howl of protest.
Drawing herself taller, the nun spoke with conviction. “You will not harm him. Know you he is your grandson. He is Dafydd’s heir.”
“So you do claim, but I doubt me ’tis soothfast. I have had information that says elsewise. He bears a Welsh name. No son of mine is Welsh.” The flash of Sir Geoffrey’s blade accompanied his disgust.
Sister Mary Margaret stepped back. “’Twas the worst brand I could cast upon a child of the Marches,” she murmured, fingering the rosary at her waist. “I thought ’twould be fitting punishment. Should you ever meet your bastard child, you would needs speak the hated Welsh language.”
Sir Geoffrey’s snarl filled the chamber. “A cruel twist from a vengeful bitch.”
Sister Mary Margaret crossed herself. “’Twas appropriate at the time, the worst appellation I could bestow. I viewed your handiwork with disdain. God forgive me, I have since come to love my son most dear.”
Sir Geoffrey pointed his knife at her throat. “Tell me your name, that I may know who bestowed her favors so freely.”
“Bestowed?” Sister Mary Margaret’s chin rose defiantly. “’Twas outright theft.”
Sir Geoffrey pointed his knife closer. “Tell me, else I put truth to your words and steal your life.”
“Cecilia de Chaumont,” came her halting murmur.
Warmth flooded his eyes. “Ah!” His wrist snapped and the blade pointed toward the plastered ceiling. “I recollect you.” He stepped closer. His hand slid under the wide white collar of her habit and closed over a round breast. When she shuddered, a sickening smile of pleasure filled his lips. “You came to my chamber at Truxton Castle.”
Tension showed in the nun’s hunched shoulders. “You forced your way into mine.” Tears glittered her lashes.
Sir Geoffrey’s hand continued its rhythmic motion. “You were most accommodating.”
The nun shook her head. “Nay, ’twas upon the hearth where you did take my maidenhead.” Though her lips barely moved, the words came out in a rush betwixt the babe’s swelling cries.
Sir Geoffrey smiled and his hand moved with more precision. “You must have been anxious for me. A bed is usually preferred.”
“’Twas where you caught me when I tried to flee.”
Pity filled Katherine’s heart. “Oh, Sister!” she murmured.
Sir Geoffrey scowled in her direction. “Her smiles must have been inviting.” His gaze shifted back to the nun. “You got what you deserved, Cecilia.”
“I was young and knew no better. You left me with a babe in my belly!” The broken cry rose above Robert’s loud squalls.
“Would that you had been willing, when my seed took root so readily. Had I known you carried a son, we could have wed. Your father never broached a marriage contract. How cruel to have kept my son from me,” he snarled.
“You were already married to a bride you had yet to meet.” A tear dropped to Sister Mary Margaret’s cheek.
“Estrild?” Sir Geoffrey snorted in derision. “She was taken by plague before I set eyes upon her. ’Twas a most unfortunate circumstance, being married and yet celibate.” He smirked. “How fare you in a similar circumstance, dear Cecilia? Was that by choice, or was your family so shamed that they locked you away?”
Biting her lip, the nun stared at the flagstone floor.
Sir Geoffrey chuckled. Past the rosary beads tucked at her waist, his hand moved downward. “I see celibacy has been no cure for my touch. I feel the trembling.”
Sister Mary Margaret remained outwardly motionless, yet her unsteady breath showed the effort of a weakening resolve.
The knight’s eyes, alight with power and excitement and success, made Katherine shudder. His ungodliness soured her stomach. She yearned to close her eyes, to shut out his dreadful sight. But the danger of his dagger made that impossible.
Suddenly, Sister Mary Margaret gasped and jerked backwards.
Sir Geoffrey burst into laughter, cruel and full of scorn, full of arrogance. His eyes became slits of anger. “Do you repudiate me because I arouse your womanly desires or because they languished for so long? ’Tis plain you desire my touch.”
Would that she could flee. Katherine yearned to cover her ears and not endure this woman’s humiliation. Her husband’s mother deserved better. But she stood silent—and terrified. She and her child were equally helpless.
Sir Geoffrey’s sarcasm continued. “Did you think of me when you were banished to a nunnery? Did you blaspheme me when you endured a life of celibacy?” He quirked a brow. “Did you ever touch yourself? Like this?” He fondled her breast once again. “Or like this?” His hand pushed her skirt between her legs.
With her hands clenched in fists, Sister Mary Margaret met Katherine’s gaze, her eyes raw pools of shame and misery. Helpless to do aught for the nun, Katherine struggled to calm her squalling babe—and her own fears.
A footfall, sharp and urgent, sounded from the corridor. Katherine’s heart leaped with hope. Thanks be to Saint Winifred, someone had arrived to save them.
Anne must have reckoned the same, for she called out, “Pray, help us!” But in the next moment she shrank back with a frightened cry.
Lady Adela swept into the chamber with her black cloak swirling about her ankles and her black eyes flashing with anger. They settled on Katherine, bore into her as though she were hollow.
As Aunt Matilda had feared, they were at Adela’s mercy. Katherine could hardly breathe. Forsooth, all her aunt’s grim predictions were coming to pass.
Lady Adela’s penetrating gaze lowered to Robert. His cries began to lessen, as though he too feared this woman. Or as though he had been given a silent command. Was Lady Adela not a witch?
Katherine’s world stood still. Panic nigh choked her. She clasped her precious burden tighter to her breast.
But Lady Adela’s attention was fleeting. Closing the chamber door with a firm snap, she swung to face Sir Geoffrey. “Our success depends upon your restraint, sir.”
Her low and clipped tone sent chills coursing down Katherine’s spine. Plainly, these two had a scheme. New fear and panic overwhelmed her. Hanging onto Robert one-handed, she drew her sister closer.
Lady Adela continued in the same, startling tone. “You needs be reminded of our arrangement, no doubt?”
“Our plans are recast.” Sir Geoffrey’s voice, restrained and controlled, was clearly meant to appease.
Never having heard so cajoling a tone from his lips, Katherine hung on to his words. He seemed to expect dissension from Lady Adela. It was the first time in her memory her stepfather displayed a lack of aplomb. Did he fear Lady Adela? Katherine tried to breathe normally. What would become of them? Only small, stuttering gasps remained from Robert’s outburst. Thanks be to Saint Winifred, ’twas easier to think more clearly without his frantic cries tearing at her heartstrings.
“I know of no change.” Lady Adela’s tone betrayed the depth of her indignation, as did the firm set of her lips.
Sir Geoffrey looked her square in the eyes. It seemed to Katherine almost as though he dared her to repine. “Katherine is to be our guest at Myton,” he announced in a firmne
ss that brooked no argument.
Reeling in disbelief, Katherine’s breath deserted her. Her legs threatened to give out beneath her. ‘Twas Anne’s strength alone that kept her from falling to the floor. At Myton, she’d be at Adela’s mercy. Like her mother, she would not survive. Robert would not survive! To be able to flee, to find sanctuary elsewhere within the abbey.
But Lady Adela stood at the door.
Could she dash past? Did she dare place herself close to the witch? Clearly Sir Geoffrey intended her to be his prisoner—to keep her beneath his masterful hand at all costs.
“Nay,” cried Sister Mary Margaret with a mutinous expression.
Plainly taken aback by the knight’s words, Lady Adela’s eyes narrowed. “To what purpose does she come to Myton? I cannot vouchsafe such a scheme, sir. Do not provoke the king’s wrath.”
“My husband will not allow it.” Katherine spoke with all her conviction, hoping to sound strong, though she trembled within. “I doubt me ’twill be to your benefit once your son hears of it. He will lay siege to Myton. He will have the king’s blessing, thereto.”
Lady Adela stepped closer to Sir Geoffrey. “I beg you, heed the bitch’s advice. You chance to lose your standing with Edward. He mislikes having his barons squabble. You could lose Myton. Edward could banish you—banish us both.”
Sir Geoffrey seemed to weigh the counsel, for he held his silence. But a dark scowl built on his face. His mouth twisted in a snarl. “Begone, you feckless creature. You do not interfere in these matters.”
Lady Adela’s dark eyes burned with resentment. “A young and beautiful woman within the walls of Myton means but one thing. Summon a priest. Let him join us in holy wedlock. You promised me this, that my children would be your heirs. I carry another child as we speak. He shan’t be born a bastard as the others. Let him be your true heir.”
Sir Geoffrey shook his head and spoke as though chastising a wayward child. “You must bide your time, Adela.”
Lady Adela stepped closer, clenching her fists in outrage, her eyes snapping. “You will take her to bed the moment my head is turned.”
