All at once Owen understood the reason for his unease. It hit him with a heart-stopping blow.
Kate was out there, somewhere.
~ ~ ~
Like an angry beast, the storm rampaged across the sky. Lightning leapt through the clouds in a wild artless dance to thunderous applause. The tide retreated back across the sands as if in fear, the waves whipped into a white tipped frenzy. Kate walked barefoot, the pain in her ankle being preferable to the pain in her heart. Strangely, she felt no fear at all. The storm exhilarated her. She sucked in a deep breath of salt air as if trying to taste the very essence of it.
Lightning reflected off the pale cliffs and exaggerated the dark opening of the cave, but that was not her destination this time. Kate's only intent was to escape, to run from the harsh realities and treacherous fantasies of her life. She followed an uncertain, dangerous path across the sands, with no set plan and no destination. Nor did she carry any baggage, other than a broken heart and a handful of shattered dreams.
Despair, sudden and intense, overwhelmed her. At that moment, she would have taken death and purgatory over a life with Edgar. He disgusted her and she could never love him. Worse, the man she did love was promised to the church. A sob caught in her throat as she wiped away a tear.
A lightning bolt exploded overhead, illuminating the bay like the sun. When darkness descended again, Kate lifted her eyes to the sky and let out a cry of pure anguish.
~ ~ ~
Owen and Thomas rushed into the stable. Arrio snorted a greeting and pawed the ground. Owen glanced around, his eyes frantic as they searched the darkness.
“We need something to muffle Arrio's hooves. If someone hears him on the cobbles--”
“In the corner there.”
Thomas gestured to the back of an empty stall as he slipped the bridle over Arrio's head. Owen followed his direction and grabbed a wad of old sackcloth, using his dagger to tear it into strips. Thomas wrapped them around Arrio’s feet, like thick stockings.
“Christ help us, Thomas.” Owen winced as a clap of thunder shook the night. “The lass is out there alone somewhere.”
Thomas handed the reins to Owen. “She’ll be alright, lad. She has more lives than a cat.”
“I pray you're right, old friend.”
Not bothering with a saddle, Owen led Arrio out into the courtyard and partway down the lane before climbing onto the horse's back. The stallion, perhaps sensing his master's anxiety, sprang into a full gallop. Moments later the shoreline loomed ahead. Owen pulled the horse to a halt at the edge of the sand just as the first drops of rain tumbled from the sky. They fell hard, hitting man and beast like small stones. Arrio snorted in apparent displeasure.
Owen patted the stallion's neck. “Easy, old man. Easy.”
A fork of lightning split the night sky, followed by another in rapid succession. Each exposed the dreadful expanse of the bay for a moment, but Owen saw no sign of Kate. He leaned over and whispered in the horse's ear. “Where is she, Arrio?”
Arrio tossed his head and Owen dropped the reins as the stallion set out across the sands.
~ ~ ~
Driving rain stabbed at Kate's skin and stung her eyes. She bent her head against the assault, resolute in her flight. Flashes of lightning gave her glimpses of her path, but otherwise she walked blindly. She looked to the east where the pale cliffs loomed out of the darkness. They lay behind her now. She had never walked out this far before, even in daylight. The tide continued its retreat, peeling back to expose miles of treacherous sand. Here and there, outcroppings of limestone broke through the sand's surface, hidden by the night. Kate slowed her step, fearful of stumbling on the sharp grey rocks. Her resolve faltered a little as she struggled to see through the gloom.
Another lightning bolt exploded overhead and Kate saw a flat outcrop of limestone directly ahead. On it stood a creature, as unmoving as a statue and as pale as the rock beneath its feet. Piercing yellow eyes challenged her to come any farther.
Darkness descended again, thick and black, and shock enveloped Kate like an icy cloak. Was she mad? Was it real, or an apparition? Her mind tangled with fear and disbelief, unable to accept what her eyes told her. The night sky lit up once more, but now the rock stood empty. Kate cried out and spun around, fully expecting to see the creature behind her, but there was no sign of it.
“It cannot be,” she whimpered, wiping the rain from her face. “It cannot be.”
The rain stopped with a sudden finality, like some great and unseen power had closed a door on high. Kate lifted her gaze to the heavens and saw a faint glimmer of stars through the thinning clouds. Even the wind had subsided to a soft breeze, managing only an occasional gust. Shaken and confused, she stumbled over to the rock and sat down, taking the place of the ghostly creature that had stood there moments before. No, she was not mad, and it had not been an apparition. Kate felt certain of it.
The wolf had returned.
A faint sound filtered through the darkness and Kate strained to listen. Footsteps? Aye, it sounded like. Was the wolf circling her, readying for the kill? She held her breath as she peered into the night, trembling with fear. How ironic, she thought, to be killed by the beast that had been an obsession for most of her life.
But it was not the wolf.
Instead, a great white horse came out of the darkness and stopped in front of her. Arrio blew softly as he lowered his head, having apparently completed his task. Kate choked on a sob as Owen slid from his stallion's bare back. She might have known he would come to her rescue. Was this, then, the reason for his arrival in her life? To save her from the jaws of the wolf?
He stepped forward – a true reflection of her dreams. She loved this man with all her heart, yet now he would never know of her love. Determined not to cry, she rose to her feet. Owen paused less than a stride from her, his face shadowed by the night. Even so, she saw a glimmer of relief in his eyes.
He cupped a hand to the side of her face. “Kate.”
His voice grated with obvious emotion. By all the saints, her name on his lips sounded so sweet. Despite Kate's resolve, a disobedient tear escaped and slid down her cheek.
“You should have told me,” she said tonelessly.
“Told you what, lass?” He stroked her cheek with his thumb and captured the errant tear.
“That you're to be a priest.”
He closed his eyes for a moment and heaved a sigh. “Where did you hear that?”
“At dinner. Earlier.”
“Ah. You were listening.”
“You should have told me.”
Owen dropped his hand to his side. She wished he hadn’t. Her cheek tingled with the heat from his touch.
“I have many things to tell you, Kate. But not here. Not now. We must return to Wraysholme before you're missed.”
Kate lifted her chin and frowned through a fresh well of tears. “I've decided I'll not marry Edgar, no matter what my father says. I would rather die.”
“Do not say such things. Come with me, lass. Let me take you home.”
Kate shook her head and turned her eyes toward the pale headland. “It has returned.”
“What has?”
“The wolf. I've seen it.”
Owen followed her gaze. “You're overwrought, my lady. Your imagination--”
“I did not imagine it, sir,” she said, clenching her fists. “I know what I saw.”
He shifted on his feet. “You're certain?”
“I am. It stood right here--” she bent and patted the rock, “--and looked straight at me.”
“Kate, I think--”
“It had yellow eyes,” she interrupted. “It could have hurt me, but for some reason it didn't. If it hadn't stopped me, I'd still be wandering out there somewhere.”
Owen's eyes narrowed as he studied her. Kate tried to read his expression, but the night masked any thoughts that might have been written on his face.
“Do you believe me, Owen?”
He did
n't answer. Instead, he gave her his beautiful, familiar smile, raised his fingers to his lips, and blew a high, shrill whistle. Arrio whinnied, tossed his head, and danced on the sand. Kate’s eyes widened in startled surprise. “What--?”
“Hush,” said Owen. “Watch.”
Remnants of the wind played around them as they stood in silence, waiting. Somewhere off in the distance a fox yipped into the night. Then Kate heard another noise - faint soft splashes in the wet sand - footsteps out in the darkness, coming closer. She tensed and Owen wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to his side.
“Don't be afraid, Katherine Rose,” he whispered.
A wolf emerged from the shadows like a great pale ghost from the past. Kate drew a breath and held it, captivated by the powerful image. Like his predecessor, he no doubt roamed the ragged grey rocks and ran free on the dark sands. He approached them without hesitation, ears pricked, eyes like yellow flames of fire in the night. Kate let out a short gasp and Owen's arm tightened around her. “Easy, lass. He'll not harm you.”
The magnificent beast halted in front of them, his silver-grey coat shimmering in the darkness. He looked at Owen with an expression of trust and expectation that questioned the reason for his summons.
“Kate,” said Owen. “This is Lio.”
Chapter 7
Steam rose from Arrio's damp coat, yet the warmth of the stallion's skin felt good against Owen's legs. Kate's slender body, resting against his, felt even better.
He had climbed up behind the lass for the ride back, telling himself she was chilled and in need of his warmth. Truth be told, both of them were sodden to the marrow, each bearing the look of a shipwrecked soul. Owen smiled to himself. The image of Kate standing on the sand - barefoot, bedraggled and defiant - would stay with him forever.
Thank God she came to no harm. Thank God and all the saints.
Prompted by a fresh surge of relief, Owen's arm tightened around her. Kate stiffened, and Owen smiled again, aware of the reason for her discomfort. She didn't yet know he had lied about his ordination. To her mind, no doubt, an honourable priest should be walking at Arrio's head, leading the beast. His arm should not be nudging the swell of Kate's breasts, so exquisitely defined beneath the cling of wet fabric. Nor should a priest be fighting to keep his desire from prodding an innocent lass in the backside.
It was more than that though, he pondered, aware of a sudden ache around his heart. When he'd first seen her on the shore that morning, the lass had looked at him with something akin to wonder. Then, on the staircase at Wraysholme, she'd looked at him with hope and, dare he admit it, adoration. Tonight, on the shore, her eyes had been filled with nothing but pain, despair and... disappointment.
His smile dissolved.
Had his lie about being a priest prompted her desperate action? Was that why she had taken off into the night? Was it because Owen was no longer what she thought him to be? And what is that exactly? The maid's saviour?
Aye. Her saviour. That's exactly how she saw him and had from their first meeting. He couldn't ignore the other strange reflection he'd seen in her eyes either; that of recognition.
No, I must have imagined it.
He frowned, wondering if fatigue was addling his thoughts.
“Where did you find him?” Kate's voice startled him from his musing.
“Who?”
“Lio.”
Owen glanced at the wolf who trotted at their side, ever vigilant.
“I found him in a Welsh forest next to the body of his mother. She had an arrow lodged in her neck. He's been with me ever since. His full name is actually Sandalio, which means 'true wolf'.”
“He's truly magnificent, but I hope my father doesn't see him.”
“Don't worry. Lio knows to keep out of sight.” He glanced over at the cave in the cliffs. “He was up there this morning. If you'd managed to make the climb, you'd have seen him. I'm not sure what he would have done had he seen you.”
Kate followed his glance and let out a deep sigh.
“Don't despair, Kate,” he murmured. “I'll not let anyone hurt you.”
“Are you still leaving in the morning?”
He grimaced at the anguish in her voice. “I'm afraid I must.”
“Then how can you claim to be my protector, sir? I'm to be married to Edgar in a little over two weeks. You've seen him. He's old and drunk and I... I just can't bear the thought of him touching me. I don't understand why my father refuses to see the true measure of him.” She squirmed, pushing her bottom against his groin, and he groaned inwardly. “In fact,” she continued, seemingly oblivious to Owen's torture, “I think I'll tell Papa I wish to take my vows too. I find the idea preferable to the union with Edgar.”
At that, Owen pulled Arrio to a stop. Kate a nun? Never.
“Kate, do you trust me?”
She nodded. “Yes, of course.”
“Then listen to me.” He stroked her wet hair back from her face. “Meeting you so soon wasn't part of the plan, but you should know that I'm not here by chance.”
“Plan?” She twisted to face him, her brow creased in a frown. “What plan?”
He smiled. “It's time you knew the truth, my lady. About who you are and my purpose for being here.” He looked across the sand to the black outline of Wraysholme. “When we get back, go to your room and leave your door unlatched. I'll come to you and explain everything.”
“The truth about who I am?” She blinked at him. “I don't understand. You're frightening me, Owen.”
“There's nothing to fear, Kate, I promise. But you must also promise not to speak of this to your father. At least, not yet.” He reached for her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “If you have need of help while I'm gone, speak to Thomas. He'll do what he can.”
Kate shook her head. “Thomas? Why...why in heaven's name would I speak to Thomas? I don't trust him. I never have. He would surely betray me to my father.”
“Thomas will say naught to anyone.”
“Yes, he will, I tell you. I swear that man is not what he seems.”
Owen chuckled. “Aye, that much is true. But believe me, you needn't fear him.”
Kate looked at their joined hands. “While you're gone? So, does that mean you're coming back? I don't understand, Owen. I don't understand any of this.”
He urged Arrio on again, still shadowed by Lio. “You will. Just have faith in me, please.”
“I do.” She squirmed again and desire shot through him like liquid fire.
“Good.” God give me strength. “Sit still, lass.”
“I have something to tell you as well,” she muttered.
“Then tell me, my lady.”
“I...um...I dreamed about you.”
Owen smiled. The maid was adorable. “Pleasant dreams, I hope?”
“No…I mean, yes, but you don't...that is...” She took a deep breath. “I've dreamed about you many times, Owen. Even before we met.”
The smile changed to a frown and a sharp chill slithered down his spine.
“Before we...met?”
She nodded and he felt a tremble in her body. “You've been in my dreams for some time, actually.”
“I don't understand.” He halted Arrio again, who chomped at the bit and shook his great head in apparent disgust. “What are you telling me, Kate? How can this be?”
Still trembling, she told him everything in a voice strained with tears. Owen listened with a growing sense of bewilderment, trying to grasp the incredible truth of her claims. His mind filled with the images she described. Her tears fell as she spoke of the dark presence and the terrifying dream she had experienced that afternoon.
“Someone was shot with an arrow, I think. I saw blood. Then...” a sob rose up in her throat, “...I was taken. To him. To the Dark One. They hurt me, Owen.”
Christ. What under Heaven's light is going on?
He sat silent for a moment, the impact of her story rendering him beyond coherent thought. One came t
o mind though, bringing with it some vindication. It hadn't been his imagination after all. She had recognized him that morning.
“You don't believe me,” she whispered, her teeth chattering.
“Ah, Kate.” He dropped the reins and wrapped his arms around her. “Of course I believe you. I just don't understand what it all means.”
“Neither do I,” she sobbed, burying her face in his chest. “It's been awful, not being able to tell anyone. I thought they were only dreams, but when I saw you this morning I knew they had to be real because you're real. That means he's real too. The Dark One. And he frightens me, Owen.”
“No, cariad. Don't be frightened.” He rested his cheek on her hair. “Listen, maybe it's Edgar. It makes sense that you'd see him as a dark presence in your dreams, does it not?”
“Maybe.” Kate's voice was muffled by Owen's shirt. “Although I don't think Edgar would shoot anyone with an arrow. He'd use his sword.”
“Hmm. Well, perhaps the dream was meant to indicate something other than what you actually saw.”
“Or perhaps I'm some kind of witch,” she mumbled, in such a dejected tone that Owen chuckled.
He tilted her chin upwards with his finger. “If you're some kind of witch, Katherine Rose Harrington, then I'm the pope.”
She giggled through her tears. “You're not even a priest yet.”
He opened his mouth to tell her the truth of it, but changed his mind. It could wait until they got back to Wraysholme. Instead, he brushed the tears from her cheek.
“That's better,” he said. “A face so beautiful merits a smile upon it.”
She leaned into him again as if seeking comfort. Owen closed his eyes and breathed in the soft scent of her damp hair. He didn't know what to make of her claims. Who, after all, would want to take her? Or hurt her? And for what reason? The lass was worth little in ransom value. John Harrington lived well enough, but he could not be considered a wealthy man.
As Edgar's wife, she would be worth more. But taking a woman hostage? No. It made no sense. Still, he didn't doubt the lass had seen things as described, but a future event? Some people were said to be gifted with foresight, but Owen thought it to be hereditary. Adela, as far as he knew, had displayed no such gift.
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