Knight of Desire

by Knight of Desire (lit)

  “I love you to the depths of my soul,” he said into her hair. “I do not know how I lived these months without you.”

  She pulled his head down to press her lips to his. In an instant, his kiss turned hungry, demanding. His hands were all over her, rubbing up and down her back, over her buttocks, pressing her against him.

  Abruptly, he pulled away. “Are we hurting the babe?”

  Feeling dazed from his kisses, she blinked at him for a moment before she understood.

  “The babe is fine,” she said, smiling. “Marged tells me that if a woman is healthy, she can share her husband’s bed almost until the child is born.”

  She rose on her tiptoes and put her mouth to his ear. “I am exceedingly healthy, William.”

  He needed no further encouragement. They were on the bed pulling each other’s clothes off without knowing how they got there.

  Once he had her naked, he leaned back to run his eyes over her. In a ragged voice, he said, “You are even more beautiful than I remembered.”

  “With this belly?” she said, putting her hand on it as she smiled up at him.

  “You are more rounded now, love. Not just your belly, but also”—he gave her a wicked smile—“your breasts.”

  As if unable to resist, he leaned down and nuzzled his face between them.

  “I hope you do not prefer me like this,” she protested, “for I will not always be with child.”

  He lifted his head and said, “You are my Kate and beautiful to me in all ways.”

  Her pulse quickened at the desire she saw in his eyes.

  “How I have longed for you,” he murmured as he pressed his face into the curve of her neck. “Night after night, and day after day.”

  “I, too,” she whispered back as he trailed slow wet kisses up and down her throat.

  “I lay awake nights thinking of doing this,” he said, then circled her nipple with his tongue with tantalizing slowness. “And this,” he murmured, and took it into his mouth.

  At last. She closed her eyes.

  After a time, he worked his way down to her belly. She watched as he pressed tender kisses over it.

  With his eyes on hers, he ran his hand up the inside of her thigh. “Shall I show you the other things I longed to do?”

  She swallowed and nodded.

  He trailed kisses all the way down her leg to her toes. Then ever so slowly, he worked his way back up again. Her heart raced and her breath came fast in anticipation. His hand moved ahead of his mouth, up the inside of her thigh. Finally, his fingers reached the spot where she was aching for him to touch her.

  Even as her body responded to the circling motion of his hand between her legs, she was aware of his lips and tongue inching up the inside of her leg. She forgot to breathe as he moved closer and closer to her center.

  When his mouth replaced his hand, new sensations rocked through her. It felt so good. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Had she said that aloud? Fleetingly, she hoped she would not be struck by lightning for her blasphemy. Then that thought, along with all others, left her. All she knew was his tongue moving over her. And then he was sliding his finger in and out of her and sucking.

  As the tension grew inside her, she tossed her head from side to side. She wanted to tell him, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” but she could not form the words. Every muscle was taut; every part of her was focused on his tongue, his mouth. The tension grew and grew until she wanted to scream in frustration.

  Then her body convulsed in waves of pleasure so intense she thought she might never recover. After, she lay limp, her limbs boneless.

  When he came to lie beside her, she rolled weakly to her side. He enveloped her in his arms from behind. She heard his harsh breathing in her ear.

  “I love you,” he said, and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

  He ran his fingers lightly over her skin, sending tingles through her. He kissed her neck, her cheek, her hair. When he reached around to cup her breast, she felt his erection against her bottom, and she moved closer. He pressed more insistently against her, and she wanted to feel him inside her again.

  His hand was between her legs, his breath hot in her ear.

  “You are the only one, Kate. The only one I want. The only one I’ll ever want.”

  When he entered her, she was engulfed in his warmth, his desire. She could no longer tell where he ended and she began. They moved as one; they were one. When he cried out, his cry was her cry, too, and she was swept away with him.

  She dozed with his arms wrapped around her, happy and at peace. He wanted her back. He loved her.

  When she awoke, she turned in his arms to look at him. In the firelight, he was all sharp angles, golden skin, and long sinewy muscles. How she missed seeing him like this. He was so beautiful he took her breath away.

  He cupped her cheek with his hand. His dark honey eyes were intense, serious, as they gazed deep into hers.

  “It almost killed me to lose you,” he whispered. “I could not bear it again.”

  She put her arms around him and buried her head in his neck, wanting to comfort and reassure him.

  Soon they were kissing. Warm, long, wet kisses. Melding, merging, deep, deep kisses. Then he was inside her again, and they were moving together. This time, the intensity of emotion between them was almost overwhelming. Catherine let down every barrier. She gave herself up to him utterly, absolutely, holding nothing back. She let his passion and love surround her, complete her, and make her whole.

  She awoke hours later to a gush of cold air. She stretched and sat up as William came through the door with a heaping platter of food and a heavy pitcher. She smiled at him as she pulled the bedclothes up around her shoulders.

  “The weather has turned bad,” he said, draping his wet cloak over a chair by the fire. “I was told Robert left yesterday to beat the storm.”

  The smell of warm bread and roasted meat set her stomach rumbling as she joined him at the small table. Judging by the way he fell to his breakfast, William was as ravenous as she. They ate in silence for some minutes before he spoke again.

  “I know you are anxious to be home and see Jamie,” he said, “but we shall have to wait another day for this storm to pass.”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded.

  “Will you be angry if I confess I am glad to have my wife to myself for another day?” He leaned across the table to give her a slow, lingering kiss. “Tomorrow is soon enough for putting on clothes and traveling with the men.”

  William had not wanted to ask questions—or hear answers—that might spoil the complete happiness between them while they were ensconced in their bedchamber at Beaumaris. Lost in their passion, they spoke little there beyond love talk.

  So it was not until they started on the long ride home to Ross Castle that they began to share details of their time apart. William gave her the mundane news of Ross Castle first. Gradually, he turned the conversation to her weeks of captivity.

  He asked first about her time with the Tudors, since he knew she had not suffered unduly there. For a time, she entertained him with stories of the antics of little Owain. Then her face grew serious.

  “If you had come a day later, I would be back at Harlech.” She clutched her cloak tightly about her as she rode and stared off at the horizon. “It was a close thing.”

  He asked about Glyndwr. From the way she spoke of him, it was clear she admired the rebel leader.

  “Maredudd told me Glyndwr can always tell a falsehood, but I managed it.” She gave a light laugh, and he heard the pride in her voice. “I got better each time. When I told him I was not with child, I looked straight into his eyes—and this man has eyes that see right into your soul.

  “Of course,” she said, her face turning grave again, “if I had returned to Harlech, he would have seen I am with child and never believed me again.”

  It was midday, so William called his men to halt so they could eat and let their horses drink in the nearby stream.
He took Catherine’s hand and drew her away from the others. They found a flat boulder to sit on in a sheltered spot at the stream’s edge to have their meal. The sun was out, but it was still cold. Huddling close to him, she took the cup of mead he poured for them to share.

  “Glyndwr would have thought you carried the prince’s child?” he asked as he laid out dried meat, bread, and cheese on a cloth. The question was an awkward one, so perhaps he should not have asked it.

  “Glyndwr began to doubt what he’d been told about the prince and me,” she replied thoughtfully. “However, on the chance he held the only child of the heir to the English throne, he would have kept me and the child under lock and key.”

  If that had happened, William might not have gotten her back until this miserable rebellion was crushed.

  “William, you are hurting my hand.”

  Startled, he eased his grip. He kissed her fingers, saying, “Sorry, love.”

  “Edmund was badly injured when they took you,” he said.

  Her eyes went wide. “He was?”

  “ ’Twas a long recovery,” he said. “But he has his strength back now, except in one leg.”

  They sat in silence while William got up his courage to ask the question that had tormented him for months. He heard the rustle and clatter of his men packing up their things, but he ignored their restlessness. He needed to ask this question face-to-face; he could not wait and ask it as they rode.

  “Edmund and Stephen both say that the Welshmen who took you that morning…” He paused, struggling to find a way to ask what he wanted to know without sounding as though he were accusing or blaming her. “Well, they thought the men knew they would find you riding to the abbey then.”

  “ ’Tis true! I have given it much thought,” she said, putting her hand on his arm and leaning forward. “We must have a traitor at Ross Castle—or in the village.”

  Unbidden, the image came to him of his wife laughing as she told him how well she lied to Glyndwr.

  “I asked Maredudd how they knew,” she said. “He said he did not meet our traitor but that Rhys Gethin did.”

  William was not sure what she had done, or if she had done anything at all. But he wanted her to know she did not need to lie to him. Not about this or anything, ever.

  “I want honesty between us now,” he said, resting his hand on her knee. “You told me I hurt you even more than Rayburn had. So perhaps you wanted to leave, to get away from me, and later changed your mind. If that is how it was, I would understand. Nay, I would be grateful you changed your mind.”

  He took one look at the shock and fury on her face and started backtracking as fast as he could. “I am not saying that is what happened,” he said, holding up his hands. “What I mean to say is that I do not care how it happened or what you did, so long as you will stay with me now. Nothing else matters.”

  Catherine threw the full cup of mead in his face and jumped to her feet. “That is not all that matters!” Her eyes were narrowed to slits, and her voice was low and threatening.

  He had seen her angry before, but never like this. Fleetingly he thought of the blade she usually carried and hoped her Welsh captors had disarmed her.

  “Honesty! You ask for honesty between us?” Her voice was seething. “You bed me for two days, all the while thinking I arranged my own kidnapping? What, did you think I went willingly, and only came to regret it when Glyndwr threatened to marry me off to the Fierce One?”

  “He did what?” William said, rising to his feet.

  He would have been impressed by the string of oaths Catherine rained on him if he was not quite so intent on getting an answer to his question. When she turned on her heel and stomped off, he ran after her and caught her arm.

  “Who is this man you call ‘The Fierce One’?”

  She turned and shoved his chest hard with both her hands. “You insult me with these horrid accusations, and all you can say to me is, ‘Who is the Fierce One?’ ”

  Belatedly, he realized that if she had played no part in her kidnapping, he had committed a very grave error by asking if she had. Why could he never think clearly when it came to this woman? He would never have committed such a blunder with anyone else.

  “I am so very, very sorry, Catherine,” he stumbled. “I… I just could not find another explanation. And I wanted you to know that I love you, no matter what.”

  “I don’t want you to love me in spite of who I am and what I’ve done,” she ranted at him. “I want you to love me because of it. If you think I am someone who commits treason and breaks promises to those I care about—or, worst of all, abandons her child—then you do not know me at all.

  “I do not know who you think you are in love with, William FitzAlan,” she finished, “but it surely is not me.”

  Beneath her anger, Catherine’s heart was breaking with hurt and bitter, bitter disappointment. While she had pined for William over those long months apart, he was thinking unspeakably low thoughts of her.

  She marched over to the man holding her horse and grabbed the reins from him. Waving off his attempt to help her up, she mounted and set off down the road at a gallop.

  Let them catch up to her if they could. She had dallied long enough. Her son was waiting for her.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  William was beside her almost before she reached the road. Soon after, she heard the other horses following at a safe distance behind. William’s men were brave soldiers, but they would let him face this kind of trouble alone.

  He tried to speak to her, but she fixed her eyes on the road before her and ignored him. Eventually, he ceased to try.

  At some point during the long ride, she resolved not to let her anger and resentment toward William spoil her homecoming. She had waited too long for this. When Ross Castle came into sight at long last, she thought her heart would burst. She leaned forward and spurred her horse into a full gallop.

  “Is it wise to ride so hard in your condition?” William called out as he raced beside her.

  She did not spare him a glance. She would be damned if she would walk her horse the last mile home. A figure on the wall next to the gatehouse jumped up and down, waving. It had to be Stephen. She waved back.

  A surge of emotion had her weeping as she rode through the open gate. All the household was running across the bailey to meet her. Stephen flew down the stairs from the wall and reached her first.

  She pulled her horse up and almost fell into his arms.

  “I missed you so much!” She stepped back to look at him. “Why, you’ve grown half a foot! And you are even more handsome than before.”

  Stephen’s face turned crimson in embarrassed pleasure.

  “Where is Jamie—”

  “Mother!”

  She turned to see Jamie running toward her and dropped to one knee to catch him in her arms. The force of his greeting nearly toppled her. When he buried his face in her neck and clung to her, she knew Marged was right. Her son had not forgotten her.

  All evening, they fussed over her. Alys insisted she sit close to the hearth and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Thomas put a stool under her feet. Others brought her cakes and hot spiced wine. Tears stung Catherine’s eyes; she was so grateful to be home and among her own household.

  While the servants ministered to her, William stood close by, silent and watchful. After a time, he signaled for them to leave, saying, “Lady Catherine is tired from her journey.”

  At his words, she felt the weight of her exhaustion. She held her arms out to Jamie. He crawled into her lap and soon was fast asleep against her chest.

  He felt so good against her. As she watched his sweet face, slack with sleep, she saw it had lost some of its plumpness in her absence. His hair was longer and darker, too. She brushed it back and sighed for all she had missed.

  Still, she had her son in her arms now. She was home.

  She must have dozed, for she awoke with a start when William touched her arm.

  “T
he two of you should be in bed,” he said, lifting the sleeping boy from her lap.

  A rush of cool air replaced the warm weight, and she felt the loss acutely. Looking up, she saw that William had Jamie on one shoulder. He was holding his other hand out to her. She took it and let him help her up.

  As they climbed the stairs, he squeezed her hand and said, “When you were gone, I would carry Jamie up to bed and imagine you were with us, just like this.”

  He was trying to make up to her, but she was not yet ready. They continued up the stairs in silence, past their own rooms, to Jamie’s. After William laid Jamie on his bed, she pulled the bedclothes up and kissed her son good night.

  “Father,” Jamie called in a sleepy voice as he stretched out his arms to William.

  William embraced the boy and kissed his cheek. Jamie was asleep before they slipped outside his chamber door.

  “Jamie started calling me that some weeks ago,” William said, sounding defensive. “I saw no reason he should not.”

  “I would never criticize you for that.”

  In truth, the warm bond between Jamie and William made her wish she could forgive William his other transgressions. Her anger had dulled, but she was a long way from forgetting. The disappointment of learning he thought so little of her left her with an ache in her chest.

  “I’ll sleep here with Jamie tonight,” she said.

  She would not meet his eyes. She did not want to see the hurt she knew was there. What he offered her was good. It just was not all she hoped for. She understood she needed to accept it and be grateful. But she was not ready to make that compromise tonight, not when the hurt was so fresh.

  He did not argue but leaned down to kiss her cheek. When she felt the warmth of his breath and smelled the wood smoke in his hair, she was tempted to lean into him. But her heart was too bruised to give in. In time, she would be strong enough to be with him and still protect that true part of herself she valued most. The part he could not see.

  But not tonight.

  When Jamie’s nursemaid appeared, Catherine asked her to help her undress and then sent her away for the night.