And then there was Graeme.
She cared about him. Had loved him since they were children. But she could never imagine him doing that to her. The mere thought was mortifying.
Scrubbing herself with lemon-scented soap—Catrina had asked for the attendant to leave because she was perfectly capable of washing herself—she forced her thoughts back to the present. A short knock at the door undoubtedly signaled the return of the displaced attendant.
“Come in,” she called.
But as she got out of the tub and began to dry herself, the countess—Sara, she corrected herself—walked into the room with a swath of lavender material draped across her arms.
“I trust your bath was satisfactory?”
Sara laid the material on the bed. Walking toward the garment, Catrina could see the lavender cloth was actually a rich surcoat. A cream-colored kirtle lay underneath.
“I know you brought your own, but they’ll take at least a day to air. You’re welcome to wear this to dinner. You’ll be dining in the hall with us, of course.”
When Catrina told her it was unnecessary and asked to dine alone in her chamber, using the weariness of travel as an excuse, Lady Sara would not consider it.
So it was by her hostess’s gentle coercion that she now stood on a balcony overlooking the great hall, feeling every inch like a princess. Sara had even sent a lady’s maid to assist with her hair. Normally it hung loose, but she’d allowed the maid to pull it back. The pearl caul, also borrowed from the countess, held her tresses in place behind her.
Unaccountably nervous, Catrina scanned the hall below. She had sent her escort, the kindly lady’s maid, ahead, needing a moment alone. Well, not quite alone—the hall was filled with knights, ladies, and more servants than she’d ever seen in one place in her life. So much activity. And music. She scanned the room until her gaze rested on the lutist, whose song made her think of home. Of Scotland. The man was either from the north or traveled extensively since the tune was familiar to her.
He reminded her of a troubadour who passed through Brockburg every so often. His tale of “The Buik of Alexander” was always her favorite, but not likely to be played here in England.
Bryce.
Catrina hadn’t even realized she was looking for him. But of course she had been. He had just entered the hall with his brother and a woman who bore a striking resemblance to him. That could only be his sister Emma.
Not wanting to be found gaping, Catrina began to make her way down the spiraling staircase. Was it her imagination, or did the noise in the hall quiet as she walked toward the dais? There were plenty of other women in the hall. Why would they stare at her?
Because she was Scottish.
The Kerr girl.
Catrina wanted to turn and run back to her room, but Sara intercepted her at the foot of the steps.
“Where is Faye? I specifically asked her to—”
“I asked her for some privacy, my lady.” She may be Sara in private, but they were most certainly not alone here.
“Sara,” the countess chastised gently. Catrina drew her eyebrows together in confusion. Sara linked arms with her and led her to the dais as she attempted to explain. “We are slightly, how shall I say it, unconventional here at Kenshire.”
“Barbaric,” said the younger woman who’d arrived in the hall with Bryce.
“May I present Miss Emma Waryn?” Sara said.
So, she had guessed correctly. This was Geoffrey and Bryce’s sister. The girl looked a bit younger than her brothers, but Catrina couldn’t tell her exact age. She had the Waryn’s pitch-black hair and blue eyes; the girl was undoubtedly going to be a beauty. Her smile made her look even lovelier. My, they were a good-looking family.
“Of course, I speak only of my brothers, Lady Sara,” said Emma, looking behind her.
Catrina had avoided looking at Bryce all day. She had not spoken to him either. It would be necessary for them to communicate for her plan to work, but it was just too soon after…after what had happened between them. She was not giving up even though he was anything but receptive, but she wasn’t quite ready to speak to him just yet.
She looked now. He was apparently being seated next to her. How could she possibly endure it? Dressed for dinner in a strikingly black surcoat with a bright white linen underneath, Bryce looked every bit as noble as the rest of his family.
Though it was warm in the hall, she shivered. He held out her chair, his lips pressed in a tight line.
Catrina sat, aware of every movement next to her. No need to be nervous. So she was surrounded by strangers. Seated next to the man who had given her sensual pleasure the evening before.
She swallowed. “I trust your day was pleasant, Sir Bryce?”
Catrina broke a piece of bread and dipped it into the sauce of the first course, which had already been placed in front of them.
“Exceedingly so, Lady Catrina. I see you found a new dress?”
She nearly choked on the bread. The lout.
“Your sister-in-law was gracious enough to lend me one while mine are being hung. How kind of you to notice.”
Bryce looked at Sara and then back at her.
“I trust you’re getting along with the countess?” His tone was neutral, his face inscrutable.
Lady Sara had been stealing glances at both of them. But she had evidently assured herself that Bryce was minding his manners, because she turned to speak to her husband.
“Exceedingly well. She is very kind.”
A servant attempted to fill her wine goblet. Bryce held up his hand to stop her. “Ale for the lady. And for me as well.”
The servant moved away to fill Lady Sara’s cup and returned a moment later with two mugs of ale.
Catrina watched as the ale was poured. “I shouldn’t bring attention to myself.” She knew that although she did indeed prefer ale, it was unusual for a lady to favor it. It would be best not to stand out more in a room full of English men and women who already despised her.
“Too late.”
She glared at him, assuming he’d meant it as an insult.
Bryce leaned closer to her and whispered, “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Then how did you mean it?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to take them back. As usual.
Bryce sat back, took a bite of mince pie, and cleared his throat. Maybe he hadn’t heard her question. Good!
Catrina had just lifted the mug to her lips when he leaned back toward her once again, lowered his voice, and said, “I meant that the minute you walked into this hall, not surprisingly, every male in the room was made aware of your presence.”
She drew her eyebrows together.
“You’re strikingly beautiful, Catrina.”
And with that unlikely declaration, Bryce turned to Lady Sara and spoke to her as if nothing had happened. Catrina gently set her mug back onto the table without drinking from it. Her hand was shaking, and she feared she’d spill its contents.
He thought she was beautiful? He was usually too busy insulting her family to deliver compliments, though he had called her remarkable. And now this.
Some time later, after the meal was cleared and the lutist began to play once again, Catrina finally had a chance to speak to Bryce in earnest. Couples paired in the space between the trestle tables and the dais as the music wafted through the hall like a soft, lilting lullaby.
This was her chance to convince Bryce of the folly of his actions. He was clearly avoiding her, and she didn’t know when she might see him again.
Besides, he couldn’t walk away from her if they were dancing.
Tamping down her embarrassment, she forced herself to ask, “Do you dance, my lord?”
His look told her he most certainly did not, but Sara answered for him before he could refuse. “He loves to dance! My brother-in-law would be delighted to dance with you, Lady Catrina.”
When they both leveled her with skeptical looks, Sara admitted, “Well, perhaps love
s is not quite the right word. But he will dance, won’t you, dear brother?”
The man in question looked like he was liable to kill someone, but she would not allow him to back out. She needed to speak to him. Soon.
“Wonderful,” Catrina said. “Then it’s settled. It’s been too long since I’ve had the opportunity.”
With one final glower at Sara, Bryce stood up, trapped. He held out his arm, and they stepped off the dais to join the other dancers.
After a quick bow, she laid her hands in his as they lined up behind the other dancers, waiting their turn. Though she’d known this dance would require they touch hands, Catrina was still unprepared for the jolt it sent through her.
She took a deep breath, attempting to slow her breathing.
“Bryce, we need to talk.”
As they moved forward in line, Catrina looked straight ahead, not wanting to see his reaction.
“Is that why you asked me to dance?”
His perceptiveness was one of the qualities she admired. “Aye. Please. I beg you—” she didn’t have time to waste words, “—please reconsider what you’re doing.”
In front of the line now, they marched forward and back, kicking up one foot to the front and then to the side. He didn’t answer her. Didn’t even acknowledge that she’d spoken.
They repeated the movements, the lutist playing faster with each step. Soon their hands were joined again and Catrina was circling around him. She would not look down as she moved around his perfectly sculpted backside. But she was tempted.
“This isn’t the time or place, Catrina.”
And then he mimicked her steps. As he circled her, Catrina could feel his eyes on her the entire time. She glanced at the dais and noticed every person there was watching them. It didn’t matter. This was too important.
“It’s never a good time or place to talk about my family, Bryce.” They finished the movement and, hand in hand, moved to the back of the line. “Tell me,” she finally looked straight at him, “Are you really going to battle with my brothers? Someone will get killed.”
He didn’t flinch, but there was something in his eyes…sympathy?
She was a fool to think her words mattered to him. “You don’t care what I think. Do you?”
She looked away, regretting the decision to dance. When it came to her family, Bryce was as hard and unflinching now as he’d been the day they met. This was not the man who’d given her pleasure. This was the warlord, the hardened knight who’d never lost a tournament in his life. Who’d trained for the past five years for something he refused to give up.
Vengeance against the Kerrs.
She stopped talking, finished the dance, and begged pardon to be excused.
Bryce glared at her as if she had done something wrong. Geoffrey and Emma looked as if they wanted to say something to her, but neither of them spoke. She wanted to be alone. To think. To plan. Because this would not work. Bryce could never be convinced her brothers were not the enemy.
Maybe he was right. Maybe they were.
Which meant he was her enemy too.
16
After returning to her bedchamber, Catrina was, blessedly, left alone. As much as she adored Lady Sara, she didn’t want to talk to her, or anyone, about her predicament. Because there was simply nothing to talk about. She couldn’t escape. She couldn’t convince Bryce to change course. First, she’d worried about Toren attempting to find a way into Bristol and getting himself killed. Now her entire clan was preparing for a battle they would not win.
The might of Kenshire’s retinue was unmistakable. Not that she had extensive experience in that area, but she’d traveled a bit throughout her own country and seen enough holdings to know Kenshire and its retainers commanded an awe-worthy force. She couldn’t imagine being responsible for it all—a duty Lady Sara had taken on after losing her father.
She respected the woman immensely.
Perhaps I should speak with her? After all, she was out of ideas but desperate to do something. They were on opposite sides, of course, but she had a feeling the countess would listen nonetheless. It was as good a plan as any.
She asked for privacy the next morning and received it. Which meant she could only wear the loose yellow surcoat without ties. She searched her trunk for a belt and, finding it, tied it around her waist. A quick brush of her hair—there was even a small mirror in her chamber—and she was prepared to find Lady Sara.
“Pardon, my lady. Where are ye off to so early?”
It just occurred to Catrina that Faye was Hugh’s wife. She didn’t know him well, but Bryce spoke highly of his uncle. She was glad he could find happiness after losing his first wife.
“Good morning, Faye. I’m looking for Lady Sara, mayhap you’ve seen her?”
The plump woman, who looked to be in her late forties, cocked her head and gave Catrina a curious glance. “I have, but can it wait till you break your fast?”
She felt her cheeks warming. “I suppose. But I assumed after mass—”
“You’ll not find her in morning mass, my lady.” Faye waved a dismissive hand. “God rest her soul.”
Catrina missed morning mass so often at Brockburg that Father Simon joked he would have to change the time because of her. It made her smile to learn she wasn’t the only lady to do so.
“There ya go, Lady Catrina. Ye’ve been with Bryce far too long, taken on his sour disposition, I fear. A smile is much prettier.”
She almost said, “Being a captive will do that,” but thought better of it. This woman had done nothing deserving of her sharp tongue.
“Thank you, Mistress Faye, for the kind compliment.”
Faye beamed and took her by the arm. “If you want ta speak with mi’lady, I’ll show you the way. But try not ta be too shocked, if you please. She really is a lovely woman.”
Well of course she was. Why would Faye say such a thing?
She found out a short time later.
They exited the castle through a back, ground-floor entrance after making their way through more than one pentice. Catrina had never seen so many external passageways in one place. If left to her own resources, she would never find her way back.
Outside now, Faye pointed to a concealed entrance. “The sea gate will take you below the curtain wall and straight out to the, well, you’ll see.”
And with that cryptic comment, Faye left her staring at what she assumed was a secret entranceway. Did she not realize Catrina was a captive? Why would she tell her such a thing? Was she testing her?
Hesitant at first, she wound her way through the dark tunnel, moving down and then up stairs, and finally exited through a postern gate. Blinking, the sunlight bright against vibrant blue sky, Catrina emerged in tall grass. She looked below her soft leather shoes to see sand mixed with small rocks. As she walked, the sound of crashing waves clearly marked her location. Faye had led her to the shore. Sure enough, as the tall grass gave way to pure sand, Catrina found herself standing in front of the most magnificent sight.
Her first glimpse of the North Sea.
She walked toward the water and abruptly stopped. The landscape was beautiful, the lady in front of her equally so. Propped on a large rock, legs bent underneath her, the countess of Kenshire, the most elegant woman she’d ever met, wore…a highly unusual garment.
A pair of breeches, specially designed to fit her small frame, outlined Sara’s legs as well as any man’s. They were paired with a loose white shirt. She’d never seen such a thing. As if sensing her presence, or maybe her shock, Lady Sara turned and waved. Catrina lifted her hand in greeting and made her way toward the rock outcropping. The strange calls of white-bellied birds signaled her arrival, as if they thought to protect their lady from the intruder.
“Good morn, Lady Catrina.”
Catrina could not find her tongue to answer. Which, in itself, was exceedingly rare.
Sara smiled. “You haven’t seen the sea before, have you?”
She shook her head
.
“Isn’t it lovely? Come.” Taking Catrina’s hand, she led her toward the shoreline. “Wait.” She stopped and pointed to her own feet. They were bare. “You simply must take those off,” she said, referring to Catrina’s shoes.
Catrina lifted the hem of her dress to do as she was told.
“Here, let me help you.”
Sara steadied her as she took off each shoe.
Barefoot, Catrina nearly squealed in delight. “It feels so…odd.” She wiggled her toes and watched in fascination as they made imprints in the sand. As she walked closer to the water, the sand became harder and it was easier to walk. She was looking out toward the horizon in fascination when a wave crashed over her feet. She ran backward and straight into Lady Sara.
“My apologies. It’s just so cold.”
“I can’t imagine what it must be like to see this for the first time,” said Sara.
“I completely failed to consider that Kenshire Castle is on the coast. I may not have dreaded—”
Dammit.
“I mean to say—”
“Nay, tell me.” Sara seemed genuinely interested, which reminded Catrina of why she’d sought her out in the first place.
She wanted someone to talk to so badly. But she had to know something first.
“Forgive me for asking such an impertinent question, but why are you being so kind to me? After all, I—”
“Am the sister of my husband’s enemy. I know it well,” said Sara.
Which didn’t answer her question.
The extraordinarily beautiful woman crossed her arms and stared out to the sea. She didn’t answer for a moment, and Catrina certainly didn’t want to repeat her question. It had been an impertinent question to ask, and to repeat it would be to double the injury.
Finally, Sara answered. “After the raid, Geoffrey remained at Bristol long enough to learn that you apparently have somewhat of a reputation there.”
The Lord's Captive (Border Series Book 2) Page 16
