Knight of Desire

by Knight of Desire (lit)

  She crawled into bed next to her son and breathed in his scent: damp earth, dogs, and the barest hint of his baby smell. For the hundredth time that day, she prayed her thanks to God for bringing her home and keeping her son safe.

  She lay awake thinking of the changes in her household. Not only was the bond between William and Jamie stronger, but there was also an easy closeness between him and Stephen that was not there before.

  The servants’ attitude toward William had changed as well. Alys, in particular, seemed to have developed a strong affection for him. She complained repeatedly how he had lost weight.

  The problem was not that Catherine did not recognize and appreciate her husband’s many good qualities—but that he did not recognize hers. She sighed and rested her cheek against Jamie’s hair. Unbidden, the abbess’s words from last summer came back to her. She should be grateful her husband was an honorable man who treated her son well. That should be enough. It must.

  Hours later, she felt William slide into bed behind her, fully clothed. She was too drowsy to complain. Instead, she let herself sink into the comfort of her cocoon. With her husband’s arms wrapped around her and her own wrapped around Jamie, she fell into deep sleep.

  When she awoke in the morning, William was gone. She rubbed her hand over the indentation where he had slept, but there was no trace of his warmth. With a sigh, she dropped a kiss on her sleeping son’s head and then climbed out of bed.

  She slipped her robe over her shift and headed down the stairs to dress for the day.

  She was one step from the landing before she saw Edmund outside the solar door. Instinctively, she put one foot back on the step behind her, ready to retreat. But Edmund had already seen her.

  She meant to ask about his health, to tell him she was sorry for his injuries. But his gaze moved down her body with deliberate rudeness, making her conscious that her hair was loose and her robe hung open. She jerked the robe around her and glared at him.

  She noticed his limp as Edmund walked toward her. He did not stop until his feet touched the step on which she stood. She did not back away, though he was so close she could smell him and feel his breath on her face.

  “It is curious,” he said, his eyes level with hers, “that after such a long time apart, you do not sleep with your husband.”

  “Get out of my way.”

  “Is it because you carry another man’s child that William will not have you?” he asked in a harsh whisper. “Or is it you who turns your husband away? Perhaps you cannot appreciate a good man after whoring with Welshmen.”

  He caught her arm as she swung to slap him. They stood glaring at each other, neither one backing down.

  “Which is it, Edmund? One time you say I must be as cold as ice, another you call me whore.” She narrowed her eyes at him and hissed, “But we both know the true reason you resent me.”

  “And what, pray tell, is that?”

  “ ’Tis because you will never have me,” she said. “Do you suppose I don’t know you’ve lusted after me from the first?”

  From the way Edmund’s eyelids twitched, she knew she hit her mark dead-on. She let the satisfaction show in her eyes.

  “If my husband knew how you look at me, he would rip your eyes out.” Thrusting her shoulder against his chest, she shoved past him.

  “Then why do you not tell him?” Edmund called out behind her. “He would not believe you, would he?”

  Yesterday, before the ride home, she would have told William. But now? William believed she deceived him in things more important than this.

  The solar door opened. Her husband’s dark amber eyes swept over her, taking in her crimson face, loose hair, nightclothes, and bare feet. Then they shifted past her to Edmund.

  “You have embarrassed my wife, catching her before she is dressed for the day,” William said. “Next time, wait for me in the hall.”

  William gave her a nod and headed down the stairs. Before Edmund followed, he ran his eyes up and down her. She wanted to throw something after him. Slamming the solar door was not nearly enough to satisfy her.

  Pulsing with anger, she paced the room. She could no longer pretend Edmund was merely an annoyance. Though she was not certain he was truly dangerous, he was her enemy. One way or another, she intended to get him out of her home.

  The abbess must have left the abbey as soon as she received William’s message telling her of Catherine’s return. She arrived just as they were sitting down to the midday meal.

  “You are with child!” Abbess Talcott said as Catherine rose from the table to embrace her. “What a happy surprise. William did not tell me you were blessed.”

  “He did not know of it,” Catherine said. “I discovered I was with child after my capture.”

  William caught the unease in Catherine’s voice and wondered if she spoke the truth. Had she known she carried his child before she left and not told him?

  The abbess sat next to Catherine and squeezed her hand. “It was a charity William did not know. The poor man would have only suffered more.”

  “I see William has won you over as well,” Catherine teased. “Even Alys adores him now. I swear, the woman goes on about poor William turning away his favorite foods. Forget that I was in the wilds of Wales, sleeping on the hard ground and growing a babe on food prepared by a rebel who could not cook!”

  Catherine meant to make a joke of it, but the abbess gripped Catherine’s hand and asked, “Was it as bad as that? We were so very worried about you.”

  “Nay, ’twas not,” Catherine assured her friend. “The travel was a bit hard, for we covered long distances over rough roads. So long as I was with Glyndwr, though, I always slept in houses. It was only later, when I traveled alone with Maredudd Tudor, that we slept outside—and I had to eat his dreadful cooking!”

  William listened intently; this was the first he had heard in detail of the rough travel his wife had endured. Her attempt to make light of it did not deceive him.

  “Maredudd dragged me all over western Wales before taking me to his home,” she said with a slight smile and shook her head. “When we finally headed toward Anglesey, we traveled on back trails through the Snowdon Mountains.”

  “Oh, dear,” the abbess said, patting her arm, “that must have been terrible.”

  “Though I would have bargained with the devil for a bath and a clean gown,” Catherine said, her voice losing its light tone, “I never felt afraid with Maredudd.”

  The pulse at William’s temples throbbed as the darkness of his guilt engulfed him. Somehow, he had never let himself think of her as being truly in fear of her captors.

  Catherine had gone white. Belatedly, the abbess saw that her questions were causing Catherine distress and changed the subject.

  “Now that you are safely back,” she said, “perhaps we can devote our attention to the question of Stephen’s betrothal.”

  One look at Stephen’s scarlet face, and Catherine was on her feet. “Shall we go to the solar, Lady Abbess? It is pleasant there when the sun is out, as it is today.”

  As the ladies left the room, the abbess’s voice carried back to the men at the table. “I’ve made a list of all the heiresses of an appropriate age in the Marches. I assume you do want him nearby.…”

  Stephen sent William a terrified look.

  “Don’t worry, little brother,” William said with more confidence than he felt. “I will have the final say.”

  William was on edge. In spite of having every reason to be happy, things between him and Catherine had gone horribly wrong. Their time at Beaumaris had been everything he had hoped for. And more. Somehow, he lost it all with a single question.

  Catherine did not even want to sleep with him on her first night at home. At least she did not kick him out when he slipped in beside her during the night. He wanted to believe it was a sign she was warming to him, but he suspected she had been just too tired to argue.

  He hoped to talk with her after the abbess left, but there seem
ed no opportunity. The servants hung about, waiting on her hand and foot, and he could hardly send Stephen and Jamie away. He understood too well that they needed the reassurance of having her near.

  Even if he got Catherine alone, what would he say to her?

  As he went into supper that evening, Stephen sidled up to him. “What have you done?” Stephen hissed in his ear.

  “Now that you are all of thirteen,” William said, “you believe you can counsel me?”

  “No one has thrown a cup of mead in my face.”

  If this young brother of his did not learn to watch his tongue, it would be the death of him.

  “How did you hear of that?” he demanded.

  Stephen shrugged. The boy seemed to hear everything, but he never revealed his sources.

  “I would hate to have Lady Catherine cross with me,” Stephen said. “If I were you, I would do whatever she wants to make amends.”

  “So, you advise complete capitulation in dealing with women?”

  “ ’Tis what Mother taught me,” Stephen replied with a grin. “But Lady Catherine is so much nicer, I would think you would want to make her happy.”

  “It is all I want,” William said, his eyes on Catherine, who was entering the hall. “All I want in this world.”

  After supper, Catherine turned to him and said in a low voice, “I cannot bear having the servants smother me again tonight. I am taking Jamie up to the solar.”

  She did not invite him, but neither did she ask him not to come. He followed her up, with Stephen on his heels. No doubt Stephen was coming along to whisper more helpful guidance in his ear, should he need it.

  The four of them spent a pleasant hour together, and William began to relax. Then Catherine announced she was going upstairs with the boys to put Jamie to bed.

  Would she return, or would she sleep in Jamie’s bed again?

  His shoulders sagged with relief when he heard her light steps coming down the stairs. Watching her hesitate at the doorway, he knew the decision to return had not been easy for her.

  He hurried across the room to her, intent on making sure she did not regret her decision, and took her hand.

  “Thank you,” he said as he raised it to his lips.

  Keeping his eyes on hers, he turned her hand and kissed her palm. When she did not pull back, he told himself it was going to be all right.

  With his tongue, he lightly circled her palm. He felt the pulse at her wrist quicken. In bed, at least, he could make her happy. From the way she was looking at him, he suspected she was going to let him take her there.

  She did. He was so intoxicated by the feel of her skin against his, the way her body responded to his every touch, the sound of her crying his name as he moved inside her, that he did not notice. Or did not let himself notice.

  But after it was over, he knew. He felt so suffused with love for her that he fought against the dawning recognition. But as he clasped her to him, both of them still breathing hard, he knew. Something had changed since the last time they made love. Something was different.

  Missing.

  For those two days at Beaumaris, she gave herself to him wholly, holding nothing back. He felt as if he held her heart in his hands. As she held his. If not for Beaumaris, he might not know she withheld a part of herself from him now.

  In the nights that followed, he made love to her again and again, trying to break down her barriers. Unable to find words that might bring her back to him, he used the strength of his love and desire to draw her. But no matter how deep their passion, there was a part of her he could not reach. A wall he could not climb. A place she guarded from him.

  He satisfied her body, even pleased her. He knew he did. But when he told her he loved her, she became upset. So upset, he stopped saying it.

  Except sometimes, when he was deep inside her, he could not hold back the words. I love you, I love you, I love you.

  She did not say them back.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Catherine, you must help me understand the rebel leaders so that I can end this rebellion more quickly,” Prince Harry said. “This conflict with our Welsh brothers only weakens us for the war we must inevitably wage with France.”

  At William’s request, the prince had given Catherine a week to recover before coming to Ross Castle to question her.

  “Glyndwr is a good man,” Catherine told him. “He wants what is best for his people.”

  “What he has brought them is razed villages and ruined crops!” the prince said with irritation. “That is all this rebellion will ever bring them. They cannot prevail, so their suffering is for naught.”

  “Glyndwr believes God supports him, just as you do,” she said in a reasonable voice. “He will not give up easily.”

  William listened as Prince Harry pressed Catherine for every bit of information she had gleaned during her capture. He asked her everything from the character of the rebel leaders to Glyndwr’s intentions regarding the French pope to the number of armed men defending Aberystwyth and Harlech. The two discussed the Tudors at length.

  Observing their interaction, William was struck by the prince’s obvious faith in the accuracy of her reports. It was easy to believe he had drawn up battle plans based on information she provided.

  “What can you tell me about Rhys Gethin?” Prince Harry asked.

  William sat forward and watched his wife closely. He’d been afraid to ask about this rebel—or any of her experiences with the rebels—since their disastrous conversation on the way home from Beaumaris.

  “I know Rhys Gethin is a fearless and skilled commander,” the prince continued, “but what is he like as a man?”

  For the first time, Catherine seemed reluctant to answer.

  “Gethin is a rougher man than Glyndwr or the Tudors,” she finally said, looking away from the prince as she spoke. She paused, then said, “I thought him the most dangerous of all.”

  Keeping her eyes focused on some distant point, she said, “Glyndwr threatened to have my marriage annulled by the false pope so he could wed me to Rhys Gethin.”

  So Gethin was “The Fierce One.” The blood pounded in William’s head at the thought of her being treated like chattel and traded for favors.

  “Glyndwr let Maredudd Tudor take me from Harlech to remove me from Gethin’s sight,” she said. “He feared Gethin might carry me off to be ‘married’ by a village priest with a knife pricking his back.”

  “So Glyndwr wanted to protect you from Gethin?” the prince asked.

  “It was more that Glyndwr would not permit Gethin to force his hand,” she said with a rueful smile. “You see, Glyndwr had not yet decided what to do with me.”

  A chill went up William’s spine as he thought of how close he had come to losing her. Catherine’s pale, pinched face told him the discussion of Rhys Gethin had distressed her as well.

  “My wife is tired,” he said before Prince Harry could press her with more questions.

  “Forgive me, Kate,” the prince said, hopping to his feet. He dropped his gaze to her belly for the briefest moment and blushed faintly. “I did not realize how long I droned on.”

  The prince was a leader of armies, a battle-hardened commander. It was easy to forget he was also a young man of eighteen, inexperienced in other ways.

  Catherine touched his arm and smiled up at him. “I am not ill, Harry, only with child.”

  “You feel well, then?” he asked in an uncertain tone.

  “In sooth, I feel extremely well these days,” she said, her smile broadening. “So much better than the first weeks, when I was nauseous and bone-tired.”

  From the look on the prince’s face, this was more than he wanted to hear. He bid Catherine a quick good night and excused himself to speak to his men.

  William’s stomach clenched as he thought of Catherine, ill with her pregnancy, traveling hundreds of miles over rough roads. Sleeping out of doors in the rain and mud, for God’s sake. As long as he lived, he would never forgive h
imself.

  Stifling an urge to carry her, he helped her to her feet and escorted her up the stairs. Once he had her in their bedchamber, he resolutely ignored her protests and tucked her into bed.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his knuckles against her cheek. “I am sorry I was not there to protect you or ease your discomfort.”

  “I do not blame you,” she assured him, but he could not accept her absolution for his gross failure.

  “I also apologize for suggesting you could have helped bring about your capture.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, weighing the sincerity of his words. After a long moment, she said, “I want to know who gave me up, William. Someone did. Someone told the rebels I was going to the abbey that day.”

  She could not absolve him, but perhaps she had given him a means to partially redeem himself.

  “I will do my best to find the man who betrayed you.” And make him pay dearly for her suffering. “I’ll question everyone in the castle and the village again.”

  “Ask about the tenant Tyler,” she said. “I always suspected he carried messages to the rebels for Rayburn.”

  If Tyler had a hand in this, he will not see another sunset.

  William kissed her forehead and left her to rest.

  Back in the hall, he and Prince Harry talked by the hearth until late, going over the information Catherine had shared.

  “What a woman!” the prince said, shaking his head and grinning.

  “Aye,” William agreed quietly.

  “No prince ever had a more perfect spy,” Harry gloated. “She is courageous and daring—and her loyalty is boundless.

  “Boundless, I tell you,” he repeated, swinging his arms wide. “By the saints, she can lie through her teeth to an enemy, make him believe every word. Yet, she could not lie to me or to you to save her life!”

  William winced. Though Harry did not intend to chastise him, the young man’s absolute faith in Catherine made William feel like a worm for doubting her.