“Sorry, Kate,” he whispered, and kissed the tip of her nose. “I shall go slower next time.”
“Slower?” she asked in a startled voice. She did not sound grateful for his good intentions.
He leaned up on one elbow to see her better, but he could not read her expression in the dim lamplight. Gently, he smoothed back her hair.
He hated to ask, but he had to know. “Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head and said in a soft voice, “It did not hurt at all this time.”
“It hurt you before? With Rayburn?” He did not want to remember that she had belonged to another man and disliked even more having to mention the man’s name here in his own bed.
Catherine tried to turn her head away, but he would not let her.
He rested his forehead lightly against hers and asked, “Did he never give you pleasure in bed?”
She drew her brows together.
This was worse than he had thought. He sighed and lay back down beside her. Perhaps he should have expected this. But he had not. In his vanity, he had never doubted that once he had her in bed, she would enjoy it.
He had heard, of course, of wives who considered going to their husbands’ beds a duty to be suffered, an obligation necessary to meet their husbands’ vulgar needs and produce heirs. All of his own experience, however, was with women who came to his bed for pleasure. They sought him out and returned for more.
His wife’s voice brought him back abruptly to the present.
“May I go to my chamber now?”
“You are welcome to sleep here.” He hoped she would.
“I am sure I could not sleep,” she said, her brows going up in surprise. “And Jamie would not know where to find me. He has bad dreams sometimes.”
“If you do not wish to stay tonight, I will not insist upon it,” he said, still hoping she would change her mind.
Her foot was on the step beside the bed almost before the words left his mouth.
“Catherine,” he said, grabbing her arm to delay her escape, “you have a husband now who wants you in his bed. You must tell Jamie he can find you here when you are not in your own bed.”
As she raced out the door, he called after her, “But teach the boy to knock.”
The succeeding nights were no better.
He told himself he would not take her if she did not also want him. But each night he did. As he moved inside her, he would close his eyes and think of the other Catherine. The girl who threw her head back laughing and reached for the stars.
She came to him each night without his asking. She told him she prayed daily for another child. Though he knew he did not take her against her will, he felt shamed by what he did. Each encounter left him feeling emptier than before.
Though she denied him nothing, she rejected him wholly. When she left his bed, as she always did, he told himself he hoped she would not return the next night.
But in his heart, he knew if Catherine did not come to him, he would go to her. He knew better than to want something from a woman she could not give. And yet he could not stop himself from wanting more from Catherine.
Other men kept mistresses. There were plenty of women who would gladly fill that role for him. Beautiful women. Eager women.
But he wanted no woman but Catherine.
Chapter Ten
Catherine could let her guard down, knowing she would not run into William as she went about her tasks. Early this morning, he received a report of raiders crossing the border and took a group of men to flush them out.
He seemed grateful for a reason to be away.
She met with Alys as usual. She approved the housekeeper’s plan to send the household servants to do a thorough cleaning of the gatehouse while most of the men were out of the way. Next, she spoke with the cook. She wanted a hearty supper prepared for the men when they returned this evening.
At midmorning, she sent Jamie off with his nursemaid and settled herself gratefully into the quiet solitude of the solar with her embroidery. She felt confused and on edge. William’s behavior bewildered her. When he looked at her with that weary sadness, she found herself wishing for the burning looks he used to give her.
She perceived she was somehow the source of his wretchedness. But how had she failed him? She had every reason to hope he would get her with child soon. She went to his bed every night. It was not nearly as bad as she had expected. In sooth, she’d grown to like the way he kissed her face and hair… and some of the other things he did as well. Most of it was so unsettling, though, that she found it difficult to sleep afterward.
If only she had another woman to talk to! Her mother had said little about what went on between man and wife in the bedchamber beyond vague allusions to duty and perseverance. She had no sisters, no close female cousins. The only person she might have such a conversation with—though she blushed at the thought—was Abbess Talcott.
’Twas unlikely, however, that William would approve of a visit to the abbey any time soon.
She was startled from her thoughts by the crash of the solar door against the wall. Looking up, she was astonished to see Edmund Forrester filling her doorway.
“There you are!” He said it as though he’d caught her someplace she should not be. “I’ve been looking for you.”
She could smell the strong wine on him from across the room.
“The servants know where I am,” she said with a calmness she did not feel. “Any one of them could have brought a message to me.”
He did not respond to her subtle reprimand for entering the family’s private living quarters without invitation. Instead, he stared at her in a way that made her glad for the heavy table between them.
“What is it that you need, sir?”
With the household servants all working at the gatehouse, no one would hear her if she screamed. She chided herself for letting her imagination get away with her. She’d never felt easy with Edmund, but she had no reason to fear him.
She set down the embroidery frame she was clutching to her chest and posed her question again. “What is it that I may do for you?”
He turned and shut the door. She jumped at the sound of the bolt sliding home. Before she could gather her wits to look for something to use as a weapon, he pulled up a stool and sat across the table from her.
“There are any number of things you could do for me,” he said with a broad smile. “But as you are my best friend’s wife, I will not suggest them.”
She fought the urge to wipe her damp palms on her skirts. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing how frightened she was.
“I presume I have permission to use your given name?” he asked with false politeness.
She glared at him. “You do not.”
“Catherine.” He drilled his fingers on the table, quite aware, she was sure, of the effect on her taut nerves. “You made a fool of William, claiming you could have an annulment a full week after your wedding night.”
“How dare you speak to me of this?” she said, gripping the sides of her chair. “Leave my rooms at once.”
“Everyone thought William unable to perform his husbandly duty.” Edmund leaned forward and gave her a long, penetrating look. “But we know better, don’t we, Catherine?”
Catherine folded her arms and fumed in silence, waiting for him to have his say and leave.
“You should have seen the ladies at court!” he said, leaning back and slapping the table. “I swear, the widows gave him no peace. Poor William developed the skills of a diplomat trying to keep the women with living husbands out of his bed.”
Edmund dropped his smile and tapped his finger on the table. “If an annulment was yet possible, the defect was not William’s.”
Despite herself, her face flushed hot.
“At first, I did not believe it possible he had not taken his rights as a husband,” Edmund said, rubbing his chin. “And yet, it explained much. He’d been on edge and foul-tempered ever since the wedding.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “How did you convince him not to touch you? Did you claim disease?”
Catherine stood, so angry now she was shaking. Putting her hands on the table for support, she leaned across it to make her own threat. “I shall tell my husband how you have spoken to me. I suggest you take yourself some distance from the castle when I do.”
Edmund grabbed her wrist and held it. “Who do you think William will believe?” With his other hand, he slowly ran his finger up the length of her forearm. “A woman who deceived her first husband and sent him to his death? Or his best friend?”
When her gaze wavered, he said, “You may as well sit, for we are not yet done with our talk.”
“If you leave marks on me,” she said, looking pointedly at where he held her wrist, “William just may believe me.”
When he released his grip, she hugged her arms to herself and sank back into her chair.
“I know he beds you now.”
Her face grew hot again as she imagined the servants whispering each night she sent her maid away. It would be easy for Edmund to learn of it, if he had a mind to.
“Even William, tolerant as he seems to be of your antics, would not risk having all the Marches laughing at him a second time.”
She tried not to listen, tried to keep from hearing the offensive things he was saying to her. Surely he could not go on much longer.
“How is it, then,” he said, his tone shifting from mocking amusement to accusation, “that William is even more miserable than before?”
She was stunned. How could Edmund be asking her the very question that troubled her?
She met his eyes without flinching and pointed to the door. “I will tolerate your insolence no longer. Get out.”
Once again, he acted as though she had not spoken.
“Your husband was happy for an excuse to leave today,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Rumor of a few ragged men crossing the border was not sufficient cause for William to lead the party himself—unless he wanted badly to be gone.”
The words stung and Edmund saw it.
“I have my suspicions as to the reason for William’s misery,” he said, watching her closely. “I wager you are as cold as stone in bed.”
Cold?
“God’s beard, that is it!” he said, slapping the table. He shook his head and gave a short laugh. “ ’Tis not enough for William to have a wife so beautiful that all the men lust after her. Nay, our William must have her warm and willing, too.”
Edmund leaned forward, his humor gone. “You will never make him happy,” he said, his eyes burning into her. “Leave before it is too late, before he gets you with child. You need a better plan this time. I can help you.”
Catherine was stunned again. Edmund was sincere. In his own way, he was trying to protect his friend. But from what? From her?
“William wants me to stay,” she stammered. “I promised him I would not leave again.”
“As if a promise matters to you!” he said, pounding the table. “William is not the first fool to trust you. Is destroying one husband not enough for you?”
His words were so harsh she felt as if he’d slapped her. It was useless to argue Rayburn deserved neither honesty nor loyalty.
“I’ll not sit by while you bring William down,” he said, shaking a finger at her. “Know I have my eye on you. Be warned, I will discover your secrets.”
“I have no secrets.” At least none you will ever find out.
Edmund barked a laugh and leaned back in his chair, his mood changing once again. “Perhaps another woman will divert him in time. If William wants a woman who takes pleasure in bed, there are many to oblige him.”
She looked up, unable to hide the question in her eyes.
“Not yet, but he is bound to,” he said with a grim smile. “If he gets another woman with child now that he is wed to you, he will hate himself. And he’ll not forgive you for driving him to it. William wants no bastards.”
In her mind’s eye, she saw William as he was on that first night, his eyes burning with ferocious intensity. I want children, and I will have them only with my wife.
She lifted her chin. “No man hopes for children outside of marriage.”
A look of surprise crossed his face, then shifted to smug satisfaction. He stood and leaned over the table.
“You do not know, do you, Catherine?” he said, a mocking smile on his face.
She glared up at him, refusing to ask what he meant.
“William has not told you who his father is, has he?”
“ ’Tis FitzAlan,” she blurted out, “is it not?”
“If William has not told you who his true father is, then he has told you nothing that matters.” He shook his head. “I feared lust had blinded his good judgment, but I was wrong. He trusts you not at all.”
Edmund went to the door, then turned to give her his parting words. “ ’Tis an open secret who his father is,” he said. “You must be the only one in the realm who does not know it.”
Hours later, Catherine was still angry and upset about the encounter with Edmund as she sat in the kitchen garden watching Jamie. He was following a kitchen maid from plant to plant, asking questions as the girl gathered herbs.
How dare Edmund corner her and speak to her like that! She tried not to think about what he actually said. The hateful man. But she could not help it. Who was William’s father? If all of England and Scotland knew, why would he keep it secret from her?
Jamie grew bored with the herbs and hopped around pretending to be a bunny. When he tired of that, he came over and tugged at her arm.
“Can we go up?” he said, pointing to the top of the wall. “Please?”
He wanted her to take him up to the walkway that ran along the top of the wall. Her spirits lifted at the suggestion. The weather was glorious, and the view of the Wye River curving through the lush green hills was breathtaking from up there.
“You must promise not to let go of my hand this time,” she told him sternly. “Otherwise, I shall not take you.”
As soon as they were up on the walkway, she felt herself relax. The light breeze and the late afternoon sun felt good on her skin. She could not remember a lovelier day.
She undid the circlet and net that held her hair and carefully set them on a low square of the crenellated wall. A married woman was required to keep her hair covered, but there was no one to see her. The men patrolling the wall were on the far side of the castle, near the gatehouse. William and the other men were not expected before dark.
It had been years since she felt the wind blow her hair. The sense of freedom it gave her made her want to sing with joy.
“Your hair looks pretty,” Jamie said, beaming up at her.
She lifted him up and kissed him soundly.
They walked first along the south wall, facing the river. They took their time, stopping to look at birds and watch the peasants toiling in the fields. When they reached the west wall, the sun was low on the horizon over the hills. It cast a warm glow on the stone walls and the fields below.
She lifted Jamie onto a low part of the wall for a better look.
“There they are!” Jamie shouted.
She squinted against the sun and saw the line of men riding toward the castle. She could pick out William, riding at the front. As she watched, the riders veered from the path and rode across the field toward them.
Jamie waved and several of the men waved back.
What could be drawing them to this spot? As the men pulled their horses up below her, she leaned over the wall as far as she dared. She brushed away the hair blowing across her face. Then her eyes locked with William’s. The burn of his gaze seared through her.
Her hair! She jumped back. Without a headdress, she felt exposed, half naked. She grabbed Jamie and ran to the closest set of steps down the wall. If she hurried, she could be inside the keep before the men rode through the gates.
A quarter hour after William saw her on the wall,
Catherine arrived in the hall to greet him. Her color was high, and she was breathless from running.
The eyes of every man were on her as she swept across the room toward him. William was too spellbound himself to chastise his men for staring at her. As one, he and his men tried and failed to keep from staring at the rise and fall of her chest in the close-fitting gown.
The elaborate azure headdress made her eyes look a startling blue and emphasized her long, graceful neck. Though not a lock of hair showed, the image of her above him on the wall was seared into his mind. With her long tresses blowing about her, she’d looked like a fairy queen sent to enchant them. He suspected every man with him imagined the pale gold waves falling over naked shoulders and breasts.
But he was the only man who would see her like that.
“I am glad to see you home safe, husband,” she said, dipping her head in greeting.
A slow smile spread across his face as he lifted her hand to his lips. “And I am glad to be home.”
Chapter Eleven
After sending hot water up to William’s chamber, Catherine went to the kitchen to make certain all was in order. The cook had everything well in hand, of course, but Catherine needed to keep busy.
She touched her headdress to be sure it was in place as she returned to the hall for supper. At least William did not chastise her in front of his men, as Rayburn would have. She smiled to herself, recalling the warmth in William’s eyes when he kissed her hand. Perhaps he was not too angry with her.
At supper, she listened with half an ear to the men’s talk of their fruitless search for rebels. Edmund’s harsh words plagued her. What if he was right? Was it possible William was unhappy with what took place between them in the bedchamber?
What could be wrong? She had every reason to hope he would get her with child soon. William was able to perform each time. And he wanted to do it. Over and over.
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