Mary Reed McCall

by Secret Vows

  He paused, and she sensed his withdrawal from her, though he didn’t move in a physical sense. “I must curry favor with King Henry,” he continued quietly, “so that he will continue to grant me lands and appoint me to positions of power. Positions like Sheriff of Cheltenham. Only then will I be able to see justice done for others in a way that was denied me. This I vowed on the day that Gillian died, no matter what the personal cost to me, no matter what the pain. I cannot be deterred or distracted from that goal. I cannot forsake it lest I fail Gillian, and myself, again.”

  He spoke as if he’d uttered that statement many times before. As if he struggled to remind himself again now of its importance above all else in his life.

  A horrible thought took hold of Catherine. She stood facing him, feeling the warmth of his skin under her hand, sensing the powerful play of muscle beneath her fingertips, remembering their lovemaking near the willow field. And understanding struck her with the force of a gale wind, sucking the life from her with its impact.

  She’d never considered their marriage from any other point of view but her own. Not until now.

  Whatever the cost, whatever the pain…?

  “Sweet Jesu, our union was forced upon you, wasn’t it, Gray?” she whispered. “And you endured it, joining yourself to a woman you knew you would hate. Someone whose very presence couldn’t help but remind you of your enemy and your sins every time you looked at her…”

  She tried to see into his eyes, needing to read the truth in the one place he couldn’t hide it. She stood on tiptoe, shifting until he could avoid her gaze no longer, and recoiling with almost physical pain when she saw her answer there.

  “I’ll not lie to you,” he answered, raggedly. “It was like that at the start. But not now. It hasn’t been so for—” He broke off and clenched his jaw, emotions full in his eyes.

  Then he shook his head and seemed to become almost angry, shaking her hands off of him to grip her arms fiercely with his own. “Damn it, don’t you understand? I can’t allow myself to feel like this about you. I can’t let anything cloud my direction or get in the way. Not now. Not ever.” He let his hands drop from her arms as he looked away. “Gilbert de Clare’s accusations today reminded me of that. ’Tis the way it must be.”

  “Nay. You only make it so by believing it. If you would just—”

  “’Tis not just belief. ’Tis the truth that makes me stay this course—the only truth I’ve known for years.”

  The truth. Catherine’s stomach clenched and she felt like screaming aloud. If only he knew the complete and horrible truth. The truth about her lies and her identity. She wanted to tell him right now. She wanted to blurt it out and the rest be damned, but Gray’s next words stopped her as cold as if he’d shot an arrow through her heart.

  “I have to leave, Elise. Alban brought a message from King Henry, ordering me to ride immediately to Cheltenham. I’m to take part in a grand assize there to judge a land dispute between a powerful abbot and a prior, both vital for their support to the Crown.”

  “What?” Terror shot through her, masking all else for the moment. “But you can’t go now! Please—you must wait a little longer, so that I can—”

  “I can’t stay,” he broke in. “’Tis the king’s wish that I settle this problem without delay, and I’ll not risk my appointment to Sheriff by ignoring his command.”

  She wanted to say something, anything, to make him stop what he was doing, but she couldn’t get past the grim purpose in his eyes. He looked away. “I’ll return as soon as I can.” Without meeting her gaze again, he stalked away toward his men, who stood clustered, awaiting him by their steeds. She heard him give the order to mount up, saw him swing astride his stallion…

  Taking two running steps forward, she started to call out for him. She felt him slipping away, and she wanted to make him stop, even if it meant shrieking out the secret that had been bottled up inside of her for all of these weeks, gnawing at her insides. But the words lodged in her throat.

  She swung her head, gazing around in desperation; a hundred eyes of villagers, knights, villeins, and lasses seemed to stare back at her. Curse his soul, but Eduard had done his work well. She imagined suspicion in every gaze. Sly awareness. They were like vipers waiting to strike and destroy her.

  Just like the deformed man, any one of them might be Eduard’s spy.

  Or all of them.

  Her fists clenched and her breath rasped painfully. Nay, ’twas too dangerous to speak out. Her own destruction she could bear, but not her children’s. She’d not risk their lives more than she already had by committing another selfish act. She’d do what needed to be done in the right way, at the right time, when there might still be hope of Gray’s help and protection from Eduard.

  Silently, she watched her husband spur his heels into his steed’s side and wheel toward the castle. Saw him lead his men away from her in a thundering cloud of dust. He didn’t look back.

  Wrapping her arms around her middle, Catherine walked across the Village Square and back to the servants who held her horse for her. With a few words of explanation, she mounted and allowed them to escort her back to the castle by the same trail Gray had taken moments earlier.

  Her heart felt heavy, and her head ached. She didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to think any more. Only one thing stood out clear and apart from the confusion and the pain: now more than ever she knew that she needed to tell Gray the truth, but it had to be far away from here. Somewhere secluded, where she could confess without fear of anyone listening and reporting back to Eduard.

  She made a clicking sound, urging her mount faster on the trail to the castle. How long did it take to complete a grand assize? A week? Two? A month? Sweet Mother Mary, but she hoped that Gray meant it when he said he’d be back soon. He had to be. Because it appeared that she was going to have to wait until then to unburden herself of all the lies that had grown these past weeks, flourishing into vines that had risen up to strangle her.

  So she’d wait.

  And pray.

  Gray wheeled his stallion to a halt several hours later, calling for his men to make camp. ’Twas not quite dark, but they’d made good time from Ravenslock. It wouldn’t hurt to allow them some extra rest tonight.

  While the five knights who’d accompanied him on this mission moved off to gather wood and secure shelter, Alban dismounted with Gray and helped him lead the horses to drink from a nearby stream.

  “All right, my friend,” Alban said. “What’s the plan? I know you wouldn’t have interrupted my training of the squires to join you in this unless you had a damn good reason.”

  “You’re right. ’Tis of the utmost importance.”

  “Something to do with your assignment from the king?”

  “Nay. ’Tis a matter of the heart,” Gray answered, cupping some water from the stream. “My heart.”

  Alban scowled at him. “Christ, man, I knew you never wanted to marry, but I can’t believe that you’d allow yourself to get involved with another—”

  “My wife is the woman in question.”

  A long moment of silence passed before Alban finally broke into a grin. He slapped Gray on the back. “Well, why didn’t you say so? I’d hoped it would all work out. She’s a fine woman and a good match.” His voice faded when he caught Gray’s expression. “There’s more to it, I gather.”

  Gray nodded and clenched his jaw, stroking his mount’s nose as the stallion raised his head from the water. “I think Elise is hiding something from me. Something important. It lies like a shadow between us.”

  “I’ll be the first to admit your ability to sniff out secrets,” Alban murmured, and Gray knew that his friend was remembering how he’d saved him from his nearly fatal imprisonment so many years ago. “What makes you think your lady is keeping one?”

  “Just a feeling, mostly. But I have reason as well. Elise…well, she wasn’t untouched when we consummated our union.” Looking off to the side, he mumbled, “Which was this af
ternoon.”

  “Today?” Alban asked, incredulous. “You waited until today to bed her? Why in hell did you put it off for so long?”

  “’Tis involved,” Gray said wryly. “Suffice it to say that my wife was not virgin when I joined with her.”

  “You think she’s taken a lover, then?”

  “Nay—hell, I don’t know. Not since we’ve wed, at least. I’m not sure about before. But I get the feeling that there may be more to all of this than that.”

  “It sounds serious,” Alban said, shaking his head as he loosened the bridle on one of the horses. “What do you plan to do about it?”

  Gray reached into his saddlebag and retrieved a purse full of coin. “I want to gather some information about Elise. About her life before we married. Only I suspect ’twill be a few days until I’m able to leave Cheltenham and devote my full attention to it.”

  He tossed the purse to Alban. “And that’s where you come in, friend. If you’re willing to help me, then take this. On the morrow when the rest of us continue on to the assize, veer off toward Somerset and start nosing around for me. I’ll meet you there in a few days to see what you’ve found, and to add my own efforts to the task.”

  Alban whistled, weighing the purse in his palm. “God’s bones—there’s a small fortune in here.”

  “Aye. And we may end up spending every last farthing of it to get to the truth. I want to know all that I can about Elise and her past. But we must work quickly. I need to return to Ravenslock by week’s end.”

  “That’s not much time.”

  “’Twill be a challenge, no doubt, but one that I must undertake.” Gray held out his hand. “Will you begin it for me, Alban?”

  His friend clasped him by the forearm, gripping him tight. “You know I will. I’ll get started at first light.”

  Gray nodded and looked back toward the clearing and the orange flames winking at them through the wood. “The men have kindled the fire. Come. We can discuss the particulars of your journey later.”

  “After we eat, I hope?”

  Gray allowed himself a smile. “Aye, Alban. God knows you think better on a full stomach.”

  As they made their way back to the clearing with the horses, Gray jested with Alban about the reliable voracity of his appetite. But for all of his apparent calm, he felt a knot of anxiety twisting tight inside his belly. Because he knew that what he learned about Elise in the next few days would likely spell his heart’s salvation—or mark the beginning of its final demise.

  Chapter 13

  Squinting, Catherine blew a strand of hair from her eyes. Her knees ached from sitting in a cramped position for the past three hours, even though she’d been using the padded weaving mat that had mysteriously appeared in her chamber a few days ago. Worse, her fingers felt as if she’d dipped them in boiling water. But she couldn’t stop now. ’Twas almost done.

  There. Slipping the final strand of willow through, she deftly wove it among the other supple rods until it held. Then she pushed herself to her knees on her mat to better survey the finished product.

  The chair was her best yet. Its large, curving back was graceful, the arms sturdy looking, but with an intricate woven design along the edges that set it apart from others she’d made. ’Twas a kingly chair, fit for a noble knight or a great leader.

  Fit for Gray.

  She stood abruptly, gripping the chair’s back as his name resounded through her mind and soul, flooding her with all of the thoughts she’d done her best to keep at bay for the past six days.

  Time was running out. Eduard wouldn’t wait forever to take what he wanted. He’d been with King Henry for nearly two months already, and she had a sinking feeling that her luck wouldn’t hold much longer. Soon he’d be breathing down her neck again, demanding that she help him to finish their evil bargain or allow her children to suffer for her inaction.

  Her hand tightened on the chair until the long, graining weave imprinted on her already sore fingers. Her skin was stained with tannin from the boiled rods, and her fingertips had long ago gone numb. She’d been weaving night and day, it seemed, since Gray had left for the grand assize. But the simple act of creating had calmed her, as always. Had helped her to think.

  Now she knew what she must do, though it was breaking her heart. For as much as she loved Gray, and as much as it would destroy her never to see him again, she had to leave Ravenslock. She could wait no longer to save her children from Eduard.

  Her stomach rolled with the thought of what she planned. Rescuing the twins without help was risky at best. Her skills in swordplay were barely enough to carry her through rudimentary drills, not to mention defending herself and the children against Eduard’s trained knights. But with Gray in Cheltenham for God knew how much longer, it was the best she could offer.

  Foolish twit, waiting like a lovesick maid for your prince to return. Such nonsense was the stuff of dreams. It never happened in real life. Not for someone like her, anyway. But she’d clung to the fragile hope that Gray might return in time to hear the truth. That she’d somehow manage to keep his love, despite her lies and her sins against him.

  It had been a dream built on air, one that had served no purpose but to place her children in more danger.

  Silently cursing herself, Catherine blinked back tears. Ian and Isabel needed her, now more than ever, and she’d sat here doing nothing for them. The time had come to act.

  Tonight.

  Aye, she’d leave tonight. The Punkie Night celebration would be under way by sundown. ’Twas an evening of freedom and wild revels, when the castle gates opened wide for a flood of people descending to the village for the harvest festivities. If she was careful, no one would notice her slipping off onto the dark down the road back to Somerset. They wouldn’t raise the call that she was missing until much later, after she’d made good distance from Ravenslock.

  A tingle of fear went through her as the reality of her decision sank home. What would she need to take with her? Her boy’s garments, of course. And her sword. Her jaw tightened at the thought of actually using it on anyone, but she tried to concentrate instead on what else she should gather before sunset. A large, dark cloak to conceal herself. And a swift mount. As much as she hated the thought of adding horse theft to her list of sins against Gray, she’d never reach the twins by morning unless she rode to get to them.

  It was settled, then. Yet those things needed to be gathered at the last moment, to minimize the chance of anyone noticing. What provisions could she garner now without raising undue suspicion?

  Food.

  She’d need as much food as she could carry with her, for both herself and the twins. Enough to last them all for a few days, at least. By then she hoped to have traveled nearer to London, where the three of them could more easily disappear into the crowds and where she might hope to earn even a meager living through her weaving.

  After taking a few deep breaths, Catherine poked her head out the door of the weaving chamber and looked around. ’Twas quiet in the corridor. She headed toward the stairs, preparing to sneak down to the larder to fill a sack that she could hide in her room until tonight.

  She could hear the sounds of preparation for the Punkie Night festivities increasing as she got closer to the gallery above the great hall. She stopped a few paces shy of the stairway, keeping back in the shadows. From her position near the rail, she could see people scurrying back and forth, scrubbing, cleaning, setting up wooden trestle tables and shaking out linens. They darted about, trying to avoid colliding with servants who were in the process of laying fresh floor rushes sprinkled with herbs.

  Several women moved through the confusion, giggling as they pushed a handcart piled high with fat orange pumpkins toward the courtyard door. One of them shrieked and veered around a boy replacing torches; at their movement, a few of the pumpkins rolled from the barrow and cracked on the stone floor. Peals of laughter mingled with grumbling while the women jostled each other to scoop up the mess of seeds and st
ringy pulp.

  Taking advantage of the distraction, Catherine swept down the staircase and out of the hall. She only stopped when she was in the cool dark of the corridor leading to the kitchens.

  Pressing her hand to her stomach, she leaned against the wall, trying to still the nervousness that radiated through her entire frame. It was then that she realized that she stood in almost the same spot where Eduard had cornered her so many weeks ago. The same spot where Gray had come to her rescue and made her loathsome brother by marriage pull in his claws and retreat.

  Grief threatened to overwhelm her, flooding her with a thousand sweet memories of Gray. Sweet Jesu, it was going to be hard to leave him. Clenching her jaw hard, she pushed away from the wall and continued to the larder, managing to nod and murmur something about a picnic to the page and two cook’s assistants she passed on the way.

  Young Tom, the gallant who had accosted her and Gray near the stream with his friends, looked up from his pot-scrubbing duty as she passed. He grinned and waved, and she mustered a smile for him. Another pang cut through her. Everyone had been so kind to her here. But she couldn’t think about that now. She fought to keep the image of Ian and Isabel at the front of her mind, reminding her of what she needed to do.

  Finally, she reached the larder. After glancing to see that no one watched, she slipped into the cool chamber. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom as she scrounged for an empty sack. Like every other part of this wondrous castle, the food stores here exceeded imagination. Provisions of every kind lined the shelves and filled the barrels stacked on the floor. And it all smelled wonderful. Eight freshly baked loaves lay cooling on a board near a pallet of cheeses with thick yellow rinds.

  She tossed three of the loaves and two circles of cheese into her bag, adding seven or eight crisp apples, topped by numerous handfuls of walnuts from one of the barrels. She allowed herself a tiny smile while she scooped up the hard fruits; Ian always adored cracking open their shells with a stone to get to the meat inside. Pray God she’d find him well enough to take the same pleasure in dissecting these.