Knight of Desire

by Knight of Desire (lit)

  For now, King Henry and the prince were busy sweeping up the last remnants of the rebellion in the North. The Welsh had been quiet since their losses at Grosmont and Pwll Melyn in the spring. The lull in the fighting, however, would not last.

  Soon, he would be off fighting the Welsh. Perhaps the French as well. Once the fighting began again, he might be gone for weeks. He tried not to think of it.

  Still, he worked his men hard to keep their skills sharp so they would be prepared. He had only to catch a glimpse of Catherine, though, to be distracted. If she walked into the hall while he was talking with his men or crossed the bailey yard while they practiced with their weapons, he would stop in place and watch her until she passed from sight.

  His men were amused by the change in him. They had always respected him as a sure and talented commander, a skilled fighter, a man who kept his word. But they had never been at ease with him before. Now he laughed at jokes they would never have told him before. They even teased him about the cause of the new lightness in his step.

  To a man, they were green with envy when Catherine left the hall on his arm each night. Truth be told, he suspected they were all a little in love with her. Even so, they were all pleased for him.

  All, that is, save for Edmund Forrester.

  Edmund warned him to watch for the betrayal he was sure would come.

  The next weeks passed in a blur of happiness for Catherine. She and William could not wait for night to come. As often as he could, he slipped away for an hour or two in the middle of the day to whisk her off to their rooms.

  Jamie adored William and followed him around like a puppy. Every time she heard Jamie squeal with delight as William swung the boy onto his shoulders, she thanked God for her blessings. She would not have dared hope for so much only a few weeks before.

  There was just one mar on her happiness: Her husband still did not trust her. Edmund’s goading bothered her even more now that she bared her own soul to William every night.

  “William, you have never told me about your family or your home in the North,” she said as they lay in bed.

  They had come to bed early, as had become their habit, and spent themselves making love. The summer evening sky was still light enough for her to see the outline of his strong features.

  She decided that if he trusted her enough to share his secret with her, she would tell him about Edmund’s behavior. She could be sure then that he would believe her.

  She propped herself up on one elbow and rested her hand on his bare chest. “I want to know everything.”

  “Everything?” He waggled his eyebrows, trying to make a joke of it. “All the women as well?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Just the ugly ones.”

  He laughed and kissed her.

  “Stop it!” she said between kisses. “You are trying to divert me.”

  He rolled her onto her back and pressed his erection against her hip. “Tell me I am succeeding.”

  He trailed kisses down her neck. When she gave in, she did so wholeheartedly.

  She did not, however, forget her question. The next morning, she grabbed his arm as he was slipping out of bed.

  “Why will you not tell me?”

  “Tell you what?” he said, pretending not to understand.

  “About your family.”

  “Must you badger me about this, woman?”

  Hurt, she released his arm and said nothing more.

  William began to dress. The silence was strained, but she was not going to be the one to break it. William picked up his boots and sat down to put them on.

  “All right, Catherine.” He expelled a deep breath, making no effort to hide his exasperation.

  He jerked on one boot. “Like most boys, I was sent off for my training at an early age.” He jerked on the other boot. “Perhaps I was a bit younger than most.”

  He stood and took his belt from the back of the chair. “I was never close to any of my family. Except for John.”

  She noticed how his voice changed when he mentioned John.

  “He was my half brother, younger by three years,” he said as he strapped on his sword. In a tone meant to convey the subject was closed, he said, “John is dead. Without him, there is nothing and no one for me in the North.”

  “What of your mother and father? Are they still living?”

  William picked up his leather riding gloves from the chest where Thomas had set them out the evening before. “Will these be your parting words to me, Catherine? My men await me.”

  “Oh, you go to Hereford!” she cried, putting her hand to her mouth. “I had forgotten.”

  He was meeting with the other Marcher lords in Hereford and would be gone at least four days. She leapt out of the bed and into his arms. His clothes felt rough against her bare skin.

  “I wish I could go with you,” she said.

  “That would be far too dangerous.” He smiled and winked at her. “These Marcher lords are a conniving lot, so I must have my wits about me.”

  “But I know the whole conniving lot and could advise you,” she said. “Watch out for Lord Grey. He has the land north of here and wants to add some of ours to his.”

  “The risk is too great to take you, since I travel with only a half-dozen men.” He kissed her forehead. “I am leaving most of the men here to keep watch on this part of the border.”

  She leaned against him, knowing the argument was lost.

  “You and Jamie will be safe here,” he said, rubbing his hand up and down her back. “I am leaving Edmund in command.”

  “Not Edmund!” She said it before she knew it.

  “He is the best man I have,” William said. “I trust him to keep Ross Castle—and you—safe until I return.”

  She put her hand on her hip and pressed her lips together.

  “That is more important to me than whether you like the man, Catherine. I do not know what you find so objectionable about him. Edmund is a good man.”

  She did not want to argue with William as he was leaving. Instead, she wound her arms around her husband’s neck and gave him a kiss she hoped he would remember all the way to Hereford.

  Catherine went out to the garden with Jamie, hoping the sunshine would lift the melancholy that settled over her after William’s departure. She watched Jamie try to catch a grasshopper. Each time he brought his cupped hands over it, it leapt away just in time. It got away for good when William’s manservant came into the garden and interrupted Jamie’s concentration.

  “What is it, Thomas?”

  “M’lady, there are men at the gate. They’ve come from the North to see Lord FitzAlan.” He hesitated, then added, “One of them is FitzAlan’s brother.”

  “His brother?” She must have misheard Thomas. William just told her this morning that his brother was dead.

  “He is only a youth, m’lady. A boy.”

  “But we were not expecting anyone,” she said, unable to hide her surprise.

  “I happened to be near the gate when they arrived.” Thomas cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “One of the men escorting him recognized me and told me the boy’s mother sent him.”

  She thought she heard Thomas say under his breath, “Saints preserve us.”

  “Thank you, Thomas. I will come at once.” Trying to sound pleased, she said, “Come, Jamie, we have guests!”

  She felt uneasy. ’Twas odd that they received no prior word of this visit. And why had William not seen fit to mention this younger—living—brother to her?

  She hurried across the bailey with Thomas and Jamie in tow. On the way, she stopped a passing servant to give instructions.

  “Jane, tell Cook we have guests and need refreshments brought to the hall at once. Tell Alys to have rooms prepared.”

  She did not recognize the livery of the dozen men waiting on the other side of the portcullis, but they had the look of Northerners. Perhaps it was all the ginger hair and beards, or the way they stood as though they owned the worl
d and were almost hoping for a fight.

  She signaled for the guards to open the gate and waited as the men rode in. A well-dressed youth of perhaps twelve or thirteen dismounted and stepped forward, fidgeting with his hat. He was a good-looking boy with auburn hair, warm brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He looked not one whit like William.

  The lad looked over her shoulder, as though expecting someone else. Realizing his rudeness, he colored.

  Catherine had to stifle a smile as he gave her a beautiful, if rather dramatic, bow.

  “I am Stephen Neville Carleton.” His voice broke with nervousness as he said it. “I thought to find my brother, Lord William Neville FitzAlan, here. If you would kindly tell him I am here, m’lady, I would be most grateful.”

  “I’m afraid Lord FitzAlan has been called away,” she told him. “I do not know if you received news of your brother’s marriage, but I am Lady Catherine, your new sister-in-law.”

  She gave him a warm smile. Though she did not know it, from that moment, young Stephen was hers.

  “Welcome to Ross Castle,” she said to the men who accompanied Stephen. “I am sure Lord FitzAlan will be as grateful to you as I am for bringing his brother to us safely.”

  The men took turns bowing and introducing themselves.

  “The servants will take care of your horses,” she said, bidding them to follow her. “We have refreshments for you in the hall.”

  She took Stephen’s arm and walked with him toward the keep. They were of a height so that her face was close to his as she asked him about his journey. He had an appealing, almost pretty face, with large dark eyes, a straight nose, and full rosy lips. As he got older and his looks turned more masculine, he would have the ladies sighing.

  As they passed through the second gate to the inner bailey, Edmund came running down the steps of the keep two at a time. He shouted greetings at a couple of the Northerners who came with Stephen.

  “So this is young Stephen,” Edmund said, thumping him on the back. “I would not have known you. You were crawling on all fours and smelling of piss when last I saw you.”

  Stephen scrunched his shoulders and made a face, but Edmund did not appear to notice.

  “This will be quite a surprise for William,” Edmund said.

  It sounded like a warning; from the wary look on Stephen’s face, the lad took it as such.

  As soon as she had the visitors settled at table with wine and ale, Edmund appeared at her side.

  “Pardon us a moment,” he said to the others. His smile was polite, but his grip on her arm was unyielding. “The lady and I have an urgent matter to discuss.”

  He marched her into the corridor outside the hall.

  “Why was I not called?” he demanded. “William made me responsible for the safety of this castle. You should not have ordered the gate open without my permission!”

  “I do not need your permission to admit guests here,” she said between clenched teeth. “I admitted no dangerous men, only my lord’s young brother and his escort.”

  “God’s beard, how could you be sure it was his brother? And a man’s brother may also be his enemy. William can tell you that, if you do not know it.”

  “But you know these men,” she argued, “and that boy is surely no threat.”

  “My God, woman, we are in the midst of rebellion,” he said, raising his hands in the air. “You shall not act so foolishly again while I am in charge.”

  Catherine was too angry to concede anything. “You hear me well, Edmund Forrester,” she said, shaking a finger in his face. “I have been the mistress of this castle since I was twelve years old. You may order the men about, but you shall not give orders to me.”

  She jerked her arm from his hold and left him there, wishing she had a door to slam.

  Thomas watched Edmund take Lady Catherine from the hall. He did not like it. Not at all. Hearing their raised voices, he grew more concerned. He drummed his fingers as he thought of an excuse to interrupt them.

  The door was flung open, and Lady Catherine entered, eyes blazing and silk skirts flowing out behind her. The men in the hall stopped, their cups midair, to watch her.

  She looked for all the world like a beautiful avenging angel. Thomas shook his head in wonder. Surely, God had found the perfect woman for William. A woman strong enough to break through his barriers, to demand his heart, to heal his wounds.

  Chapter Thirteen

  William ended his business in Hereford early and set a fast pace for home. Home. It struck him that Ross Castle was the first place he had ever thought of as his home.

  His mother’s house was never that. His very existence had been a source of strain. As soon as his mother could convince Northumberland to take him into his household, she sent him. William’s status on Northumberland’s vast estates was complex and uncertain. No one knew whether to treat him as a poor relation of Northumberland’s first wife, which he was, or as the great man’s son.

  William’s true relationship to Northumberland was an open secret. God’s truth, it would have been difficult to deny he was a Percy. He looked like a younger version of Hotspur.

  Although Northumberland never claimed him, he assumed William’s fealty. Likely he thought William should be grateful just for being brought into his service to train for knighthood.

  In time, Northumberland let him lead a few men in the frequent skirmishes along the Scottish border. William proved able and rose in the ranks. After a few years, Northumberland gave him command of a portion of his army. Remnants of that force still served under William.

  This past spring, Northumberland sent him to fight against the Welsh rebels. The great man saw no need to tell William he was sent as a diversion, a false show of Percy loyalty. While William fought with the king, his father was in York hatching another conspiracy.

  When Northumberland made his move against the king, he ordered William to return to the North with all possible speed. William ignored the call. He’d sworn his oath to King Henry. All he had of value was his honor—and his fighting skills. While his father took up arms against the king in the North, William fought rebels in Wales.

  William pushed aside his memories of that difficult time. At the next rise in the road, Ross Castle appeared on the horizon, and his thoughts returned to Catherine. She was the reason he left Hereford in such a hurry.

  But Edmund’s words of warning came back to him.

  “What man would not want such a woman in his bed? But for God’s sake, do not trust her,” Edmund harped at him. “Have a care, or one day you’ll find she’s opened the gates to rebels—or made false accusations about you to the prince.”

  Trust came hard to a man who grew up having uncertain ties and no true place in the world. While William did not truly believe Catherine would betray him, he kept his guard up.

  He tried to, anyway. His resolve was slipping day by day.

  His anticipation grew as he approached the gate. He looked up at the ramparts, half expecting to see her there watching for him. ’Twas foolish to be disappointed. She did not expect him for another day.

  Who would have thought three days could seem so long? All he wanted was to get her alone in their bedchamber, to feel her naked against his skin.

  He threw his reins to a stable boy and left his men without a word. Ignoring their ribald remarks, he ran ahead to the keep. He looked up at the sun. Almost noon. He would find her with the rest of the household at dinner in the hall.

  He burst through the doors, and she was there, just where he expected to find her. She stood and called his name, pleasure radiating from her face. His heart leapt in his chest as he strode across the room to her, intent on sweeping her into his arms and kissing her senseless.

  He did hold her tantalizingly close before she put a firm hand against his chest and offered her cheek.

  “William, we have guests,” she whispered in his ear.

  Damn, damn, damn. Grudgingly, he r
eleased her and turned to see what fool had the poor sense to visit today.

  He looked around the table, taking in each man. With a sinking feeling, he recognized the livery of Carleton, his mother’s latest husband. He supposed he should stop thinking of Carleton as her “latest,” since she’d been married to him for a dozen years or more.

  It never ceased to amaze him how his conniving mother managed to end up with men who had a knack for choosing the losing side of every major political intrigue. Carleton had sided with Northumberland in this latest debacle. The man lost most of his lands—but was lucky to keep his head.

  William nodded at the men he recognized as his gaze moved from man to man along the table. When he came to the boy sitting next to Catherine, he started. The resemblance to his mother was striking. This boy had to be Eleanor’s youngest son.

  The boy stood and gave him a bow. Looking at William with their mother’s bold brown eyes, he said, “Greetings, sir. I am Stephen Neville Carleton.”

  “Aye, I can see that is who you are.” William neither smiled nor moved to greet the boy. “How is it that you find yourself here at Ross Castle?”

  “William!” He heard Catherine’s whispered reproach but ignored it.

  The boy blushed, but he held William’s gaze. “Our mother insisted on sending me.”

  “There is no thwarting her,” William said, shaking his head. “Sit down, Stephen.”

  He could hardly send the boy away in the middle of his dinner. While William washed his hands in the basin a servant brought to him, Catherine filled his trencher. It had been hours since he rode out of Hereford, and he was ravenous.

  “Where is Jamie?” he asked Catherine as he stabbed a hunk of roasted pork.

  “He was worn out from trying to keep up with Stephen. His nursemaid took him up for a rest as soon as he finished eating.”

  After William ate enough to take the edge off his hunger, he leaned forward to address Stephen, who sat on the other side of Catherine.

  “So, how old are you, Stephen Carleton?”