Her Lord and Protector (formerly titled On Silent Wings)

by Pam Roller

  “I remember,” Alex replied flatly. The purpose of the trip was to meet his bride. How optimistic he had been!

  “I was too young to go,” Agnes said. “Were you there, Lady Katherine?”

  Alex looked over to see her reply, thinking he would need to get her a new slate before she left—one on which the chalk wouldn’t squeak so badly. She had been toying with a ribbon on her dress and jerked up her head at Agnes’ question. She blinked as if she hadn’t heard.

  Agnes rolled her eyes. “I asked you—oh, never mind. Go on, please, Lord Wiltshire. I would like to hear all about Court.”

  Wiltshire’s small eyes peered at Katherine. “Are you well, my lady?”

  “Perhaps she is tired,” Alex said. “We toured the keep today.” That wasn’t it, though, he knew. The searing knowledge was evident under his breech laces.

  “I see,” the baron replied. He droned on with his witty reflections, closing his eyes at times as if he were standing in Whitehall all over again.

  Katherine slanted her eyes toward Alex, and then she straightened in her chair and held her head erect. She wore a quite pleasant and utterly false expression. Alex noted the slow tapping of her thumb on her folded hands.

  What was she thinking right now? Could she be worried about the marriage arrangement? Surely she’d know that he wouldn’t pass her off to the first man who would have her, although it seemed he’d done just that.

  Or, her mood could stem from her lingering disgust over his actions on the battlement, which she had spurned with disdain. Why had she suddenly broken away from him?

  And why, just a few minutes ago, had she gone limp in his arms, her hands in his hair roving with sensuous languor, her mouth opening to his? She had returned his kiss with such enthusiasm. For a moment, he’d known of her passion for him. Or was it simple loneliness?

  Regardless of the reason for her response, he knew it was temporary. His slip of self-control would not happen again.

  The servants announced the meal, and as Agnes was still in attendance, Elizabeth invited her to dine. Alex thought Agnes’ display of hesitation to be almost believable.

  During the meal, Elizabeth’s eyes widened in fascination as Wiltshire continued his colorful story of Court life. For the first time since Alex could remember, her shyness vanished. She laughed with recklessness and seemed to come alive under the baron’s twinkling eyes.

  She never behaved this way with Edward. Alex had the feeling that Robert’s son, so cautious and slow in his courtship, would be wise to liven his pace if he wanted to keep her attentions.

  Agnes also seemed enthralled, for once apparently forgetting herself and reacting with delight at the baron’s lively anecdotes.

  Only Katherine seemed unmoved. She had surely attended regular parties at the palace and witnessed the courtiers’ tendency for frivolous wantonness. Perhaps she had engaged in affairs herself, but from her uncultivated response atop the battlement, Alex had the feeling that her purity was intact.

  The thought of another man possessing her body made something deep in his gut twist into a jealous knot.

  “And then that obnoxious Duke of Lauderdale,” Wiltshire was saying with a laugh, “invited himself to a small dining party given for King Charles. To get rid of him, Charles, after conferring secretly with his host, ordered a double syllabub as refreshment, and offered one to the duke. The duke drank it down, praising that no person had such good taste in drink as His Majesty. Well, in due time, the king cried out, ‘My lord, Lauderdale is sick!’ and they carried him out. And the king was no longer troubled with the duke inviting himself to private parties.” With a twinkle in his eyes, the baron grinned at each of them in turn.

  “What?” Elizabeth asked with a wide smile. “What was in the drink?”

  “Syllabub, of course,” Lord Wiltshire replied, “with an ample quantity of horse urine.”

  Elizabeth and Agnes giggled freely into their hands, and Alex, chuckling in spite of himself at the story, glanced over at Katherine. Normally ramrod straight when she sat, she was now casually resting against the back of the chair and regarding him with a thoughtful expression. As she gazed at him, a slow smile lit her features. A rusted joy surged through Alex.

  Oh, if he could only keep her here with him to harness that joy. If only he could love her, protect her, and hope that she wouldn’t learn to hate him.

  As Mary had.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Katherine, I am so happy for you,” Elizabeth said as they sat in the parlor after the meal. “Lord Wiltshire seems like a good man.”

  Indeed he did. But she didn’t want him.

  “Oh, I do agree. Don’t you, Katherine?” Agnes prodded.

  Katherine sighed her agreement. What else could she do? The prison doors were fast closing on her

  “My goodness, but doesn’t Alexander make him seem a withered old goat?” Agnes asked with a giggle. Then, she held up her nails to examine them. “I suppose Alexander can court me now that his year of mourning is over.”

  “How nice, Agnes,” Elizabeth said with surprise in her voice. “I wasn’t aware that he wished to. Alex often hides his feelings.”

  Katherine feigned disinterest, but she grew heated by the memory of being held in his arms. He hadn’t hid his feelings on the battlement, nor in the corridor outside his study. His mouth had been warm and tender and demanding, his hands gentle yet ardent.

  Would he kiss Agnes like that? Would he hold her and make her feel that she was the only woman on earth? A sudden, hot flash of jealousy made Katherine close her eyes to wipe out the image.

  “Katherine? Are you ill?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Your face is flushed,” added Agnes.

  Gads! It was no use. She couldn’t conceal her emotions. And Agnes had read her mind, as was apparent by the narrow-eyed look the woman was bestowing upon her.

  Katherine forced herself to relax, and returned Agnes’ scowl with a fierce smile, as wicked as any glare.

  “You must be swooning over your baron,” Agnes said. “I am truly sorry you are leaving. I hardly got the chance to know you. Someday, I hope we shall be friends. When I am Lady Drayton and you are Lady Wiltshire, we can hold lovely parties and visit one another. Alexander can take me to London whenever I wish, and perhaps I will dance with King Charles.” She held her fan over her mouth. Her voice lowered. “Perhaps, if the king wishes it, I will become his mistress. I have heard that he has a large—”

  Appalled, Katherine shot up a hand to stop her.

  Elizabeth stood, pink and flustered. “Katherine, you are quite flushed. I will get a damp towel for your face.” She hobbled out quickly as if grabbing at any excuse to be away from Agnes.

  Despite Katherine’s sparring with Agnes, she had a rare opportunity to question her about Lord Drayton’s past. She was almost certain now that he was kind and gentle behind the walls of his brusque exterior, but Millie had said that Mary and Agnes had been friends. Agnes would know the details of Mary’s death, and Katherine’s heart would be settled.

  She went to the writing table and wrote her question.

  “Oh, what is it?” Agnes asked crossly. She took the note. A strange look crossed her face as she read the words. “Whatever makes you curious about how his wife died? She fell from her window, ’tis all.” Agnes raised and lowered her bare shoulder and then fanned herself with rapid strokes.

  Relief filled Katherine like a soothing tonic, and she relaxed in her chair. She would refuse Lord Wiltshire’s offer of marriage, if he made one. There was time to get to know Alex, to cut through the armor surrounding his heart.

  A glance at Agnes, however, gave her pause. A measuring glint had lit the woman’s eyes. “Just what do you know? Did Alexander say anything? Elizabeth?”

  Katherine shook her head.

  The paper disappeared into a pocket of Agnes’ dress. “Well, I do not know what you’ve heard, so I will tell you what you need to know.” She bent forward and Katherine became l
ocked into her emerald green eyes. “You know that he was married to a madwoman. She was my best friend. I tried to help her, truly I did. She—”

  “Here we are.” Elizabeth limped in with a towel in her hand. “There was still a water pitcher in the dining room.”

  Katherine dismissed Agnes’ words, only giving heed to the fact that the woman had tried to help Lady Drayton in her condition. Perhaps Agnes possessed a smidgeon of compassion.

  She didn’t need the towel now, but rose and took it from Elizabeth with a nod of thanks. Smiling, she fetched a candle from a table near the door and headed toward Alex’s study to tell the baron he could go home.

  She reached the study door and knocked, but there was no answer. Voices sounded, though, from the withdrawing room off the study, and she crept closer.

  “...take care of her.”

  “Why would I not? She is a lovely woman. Truly, I do not understand your sudden reluctance. Are you wanting her for yourself, Drayton?”

  There was no answer from Lord Drayton. Katherine’s hand was suddenly leaden, and she dropped it to her side. Would he not champion her?

  “I suppose your silence means no. I will take her off your hands tomorrow, then.”

  The scrape of a chair made Katherine falter backwards until her shoulders touched the opposite wall. Quickly she turned and fled.

  The meeting had ended and the details worked out. Now, she needed the cool dampness of the towel on her brow.

  Soon she would be far from this dark, anguished castle.

  And far from the man who made it so.

  ****

  “Wait, Wiltshire,” Alex said. “Sit back down.”

  “What now? I have told you that I will be kind to her, that she will want for nothing. You’ve informed me of her fear of small spaces. What else do you want? Gadzoks, Drayton, you’d think the woman was your own daughter!” Wiltshire plunked his body back onto the plush, high-backed wing chair that flanked the round table.

  What did he want? Alex knew Katherine dearly wanted to leave. What woman wouldn’t who had been kissed and held and then told that it all meant nothing?

  But it meant a great deal to him, especially when, on the battlement, he realized that he no longer held her from worry over her near demise, but for another reason altogether. When a year’s worth of stout refusal to let go of his emotions had culminated in a blazing kiss.

  But had she not pushed him away in disgust, he might have taken her right there on the windswept stone.

  The marriage contract lay on the table between them, awaiting his signature. For some reason, he could not make his hand pick up the quill. He groped for words to delay the moment.

  Wiltshire glowered. “Well? Did you bring me from Kensington just to give me excuses?”

  “A doctor,” Alex declared suddenly. “Yes. I have a doctor coming to look at her throat. He will be here within a fortnight.”

  Wiltshire shrugged. “Fine. Send him on over to my home to look at her. But I rather enjoy her silence.”

  Alex wanted to wrap his hands around the man’s plump throat. “I cannot.”

  Wiltshire raised thick graying brows. “Because?”

  “He is coming in secrecy. No one can know.”

  Wiltshire rolled his eyes and puckered his lips in impatience. “What are you talking about?”

  Alex lifted his tankard of ale, grasping at thoughts while he gulped the cool, pungent liquid. Then, he set the mug down. “He is a Jew.”

  A stunned silence ensued, marked only by the crackling of oak logs in the fireplace. At length, Wiltshire cried out, “Are you daft? Those people are the devil’s spawn!”

  “They are healthy. They rarely have the diseases we have. And I have heard that their doctors are among the most learned in the world.”

  “They are not part of us, Drayton,” Wiltshire sputtered, his face reddening. He pounded the chair’s carved arm with his fist. “They’ve been sneaking into England for years. I do not care if the king protects them. By God, I will not let one defile my wife with his filthy hands!”

  Alex glanced at the blank signature line on the contract. “She is not your wife, Wiltshire. You have no hold on her.”

  “Did you not tell me that the king’s own physician examined her throat and proclaimed that she would never speak again? Why are you asking an inferior doctor to look at her?”

  For Alex to admit his belief that Jewish doctors might be more knowledgeable that those of the king would be treasonous. “I shall search out all cures before giving up on her voice.”

  “Bah! Piss on her voice!” Wiltshire’s face bulged with rage. “I will enjoy her body and teach her to pleasure me. That is all that matters.”

  Alex shot to his feet, as did Wiltshire, who thrust out his wobbling chins and stared up at him. He could snap the baron’s neck in a single twist, or shake him like a rag doll.

  Instead, with deliberate calm, Alex picked up the contract and held it in front of Wiltshire’s indignant face.

  “No,” he said. “That is not all that matters. And I have changed my mind.” He flung the contract into the fire. “Lady Katherine shall not become your wife.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  No light filled the room when Katherine ran her hands down her naked body. Powerful, sizzling desire made her gasp and tremble.

  She waited for him, her nipples hard and tingling, her inner thighs hot and slick with wetness. She touched herself and writhed in pleasure.

  Hurry. Please, hurry.

  At last, the creak of her bedchamber door was a welcome sound, his footsteps toward her bed even more so. She turned eagerly toward him. He lifted the covers and slid down beside her, his naked body warm and hard.

  He drew her within his arms. She sighed in contentment and curled into the broad expanse of his chest.

  He nuzzled her neck and then kissed her for many minutes. She held his face tenderly, slid her arms over his powerful shoulders, stroked his smooth back.

  Wanting engulfed her as his hands caressed her hot skin and his lips whispered endearments. Now. It must be now.

  Finally, he poised above her. Instinctively she parted her legs for him, knowing what she needed to free the coiled spring inside her—exactly what he had to give.

  Take me...take me, Alex.

  Her long sighs of pleasure woke her.

  She explored her hot, damp body, entwined with her nightgown. And knew she was alone.

  For a time she lay still, staring at the dark shape of the canopy overhead.

  The strength of the dream and her reaction to it paled in her baffling disappointment that it wasn’t real.

  ****

  Lord Wiltshire’s presence at breakfast caused Elizabeth to display more of her unusual behavior of the evening before. She laughed heartily at the baron’s witticisms, and Katherine was certain the woman had gone completely daft.

  He spoke with much less enthusiasm than he had last night, but he really hadn’t been funny then, either. Katherine had heard the stories before; Ellis himself had witnessed the Duke of Lauderdale’s unfortunate acquaintance with horse urine. The only thing she’d enjoyed about the baron’s version was Lord Drayton’s resulting smile. It had lit up his face.

  This morning, though, his lordship glowered down at his plate and speared his hot mutton pie with harsh stabs of his three-pronged fork, and made the barest attempt to join the conversation.

  Katherine sipped her coffee and studied his face. In her betraying dream, she knew he’d had no crease between his brows, no grim downward turn of his lips.

  Might his shoulders and back be as smooth as her mind had imagined? And his hips, would they fit perfectly between her thighs as if he were made for her body?

  Unbidden desire shook her. Her coffee sloshed over the cup and onto the white-clothed table. She gasped, but not at any pain.

  Lord Drayton raised his head, and his startled gaze met hers before darting to her hand still holding the cup.

  “Oh! Have y
ou burned yourself?” Elizabeth stood too quickly and, hip twisting, lost her balance. She lurched to her right. With a small scream, she fell against Lord Wiltshire, turning his wig askew so that it covered one half of his face.

  “Damnation!” the baron exclaimed as he shot up a hand to catch her.

  Alex rushed to Katherine’s side as Lord Wiltshire helped Elizabeth back into her chair. “Is everyone all right?” Alex asked, but his eyes never left Katherine.

  “I am. Thank you,” Lord Wiltshire said with a haughty air. He lifted his hands to his wig and gave it a jerk to the left.

  Elizabeth sat, red-faced and blinking tears.

  It was an appropriate farce to end her stay here, Katherine thought, although as far as she knew, her trunks still hadn’t been packed. She slid back her chair as a servant approached with a cloth to lay over the coffee puddled on the table.

  “Is your hand injured?” Lord Drayton asked her.

  What did he care? He wanted her gone. Katherine shook her head and coolly held up her hand to show him that the coffee hadn’t touched it. Nonetheless, he took her fingers and peered closely at them. At his tender touch, Katherine’s breath caught in her throat.

  “’Twould be one more wound,” he muttered, and released her hand. “I will have to keep you protected in a room full of cushions before long.”

  Katherine looked sharply at him. What did he mean, before long? She was leaving, wasn’t she?

  “The baron will be departing, but I believe he would like to speak to you first,” Lord Drayton said.

  The awareness that he had answered her unspoken question was overshadowed by the implication of his words.

  “I most certainly would,” the baron replied in a flat tone. “I shall converse with her directly after breakfast.”

  Katherine gasped. She might stay. With Lord Drayton. Alex.

  They locked eyes as he resumed his seat. This time, something in his expression—could it be hope?—betrayed his usual aloof countenance. Ignoring her nervousness, she inclined her head and pegged him with a direct thought.