He opened the flap and stared down at the slight figure lying atop his bedroll, a blanket tossed over her.
Leave. Now.
But he did not. And when she turned toward him, enough moonlight shone through the opening in the canvas tent for Conrad to see her more clearly than he had in days.
He still loved Cait Kennaugh. Had, in fact, never stopped loving her.
And she was here in his tent. Alone.
God save him, for he would most certainly need saving after this night.
Chapter 14
Staring at the side of the tent, Cait touched her fingers to her lips. She’d done so at least a dozen times since Conrad had left. Would he come back? She so badly wanted him to, but it was late, and he was stubborn. While he was gone, she’d snuck out to retrieve her belongings and then removed the tight surcoat Sabine had found for her. The garment had been too tight around her breasts for her to sleep in it. Perhaps she’d wear her riding gown tomorrow, now that she’d revealed herself.
If he lets you stay.
She ran her fingers over lips, remembering how his lips had felt. Never had she imagined kissing Conrad would feel so . . . wicked. Colin had kissed her, twice in fact, but he hadn’t used his tongue either time. In fact, it was after that second kiss, in the stables of Bradon Moor, that she’d decided to return to England.
Her brother had been preparing for the voyage for days. The idea, once it had taken root, had refused to leave her thoughts. She’d penned a quick note to her mother and left. That time, she was not the only woman in the group. Cait had gotten farther because of it—she’d blended in with the other wives, although they had, of course, known she was among them.
A blast of air at her back announced his arrival.
Conrad was back.
She sat up, reaching a hand out to him lest he leave before speaking to her. But there seemed little chance of that. He took a few steps toward her and stood over her, watching as if he wished to speak. But he did not.
Cait moved to the edge of the bedroll and patted the space beside her.
Conrad shook his head.
She slid to the other end of the bedroll, where her feet had been, and patted the empty space again.
He paused, for just a moment, and then he sat.
A faint smell of smoke drifted toward her. So he’d sat by the fire after tending to the wounded man. Had he considered not coming back to her?
“I thought perhaps you’d not come.”
His look said he nearly had not.
“I would not blame you. It was wretched of me not to write to you. Not to explain.”
He didn’t make a sound.
This time, Cait had thought of what she would say. In fact, she’d thought of little else since their talk in the buttery, and while she did not have the answers he sought, not precisely, she would try her best to explain.
“I did not . . .” She pulled her legs underneath her. “I knew I did not deserve you.”
It was much easier to say these things in her head than it was to share them with Conrad when he sat so near, looking weary, interested, and extremely handsome. He’d always been the most assured man Cait had ever known. Even more so than Terric, if such a thing were possible.
How had she ever had the courage to ask this man to meet her privately?
“You are a man whose legend grew every time my brother spoke of your feats . . . your ideas. When your father died”—how did she explain this?—“you became an earl.”
His brows drew together, but otherwise, Conrad said nothing.
“I am the only daughter, the sister, of a chief. After what happened, my brother became even more protective of me. I . . . trusted no one, save my family. Save you. Words have never come easily to me, even when they’re required.”
“When you wrote, they came easily enough.” His harsh tone startled her. How could she know him so well, and not at all?
“One of the reasons, I think, for the letters. I’d never spoken with anyone, even in my family, so openly. Although we hadn’t spent much time together in person, I felt as if I could confess anything to you, and you’d write to reassure me.”
These weren’t the words she’d practiced.
“I mean to say . . .”
“Why did you come now, Cait?”
She licked her lips and noticed his eyes darken with desire. But Cait had not meant it as a provocation. She was simply unsure how to form the words. How to explain herself when her attention was so diverted by the solid, handsome presence at the other end of her bedroll.
Just say it. Say it!
“I do not want to marry Colin MacGregor.”
That was not quite it.
“So you came to escape an unwanted marriage?” he asked, anger flickering across his expression.
Nay! Ugh, he was maddening.
“I came because . . .”
Say it, Cait. You may never have another chance.
“I came because I never stopped . . .”
Loving you. Loving you. You told him already, in the buttery. Just say it again.
“I did not stop writing because I did not care.” Coward. “Or because I did not want for you to write back. Those letters were everything, are everything, to me.”
Then he did something she didn’t expect. Conrad reached for her, pulling her against his chest. His arms wrapped around her, and Cait never, ever wanted him to let go.
“You stopped writing because you cared more for me than you did yourself.”
He said it so quietly, Cait had to strain to hear each word.
It was true, of course. She’d hated herself for something that people kept telling her was not her fault. Conrad. Her new friends. They’d all told her she was not to blame, but in her heart she didn’t believe it. Even now, sitting with Conrad and admitting this to him, she still didn’t believe it.
She looked up, pulling away just enough to see his face.
In answer to the silent questions in her eyes—Did he understand? Did he forgive her?—Conrad leaned down and kissed her.
But this was unlike their first kiss, so soft and gentle it was hard to believe it was the same man. She opened for him as his tongue demanded entry, but even then it coaxed softly, moving in perfect rhythm with his lips as they glided over hers.
The long, slow kiss she wished would never end eventually did, Conrad watching her like she was a peregrine on his wrist, about to fly away.
Forgive me. Forgive me. Love me the way you once did.
He kissed her forehead and held her once more, answering her in his own way. She wasn’t sure exactly what this meant, and surely there was more that needed to be discussed, but being in his arms right now reminded Cait of why she’d first fallen in love with him so many years ago.
He was exactly who she wanted to be. Strong. Assured. And there was hope for them yet. She loved him still, had never stopped.
And I think he still loves me too.
Chapter 15
“You are a vile, wretched man, Lord Licheford.” It was not what Cait had imagined saying to Conrad after she’d slept in his arms all night. But she’d woken up alone, and it had soon become clear that he still intended to send her away.
After dressing, she’d made her way to the fire. Conrad smiled at her, and she could do naught but smile back. But before she even had an opportunity to say, “Good morn,” she noticed the three men already mounted, ready to leave. Her horse at the ready.
“No,” she had said simply.
“Cait Kennaugh,” Conrad said, too quietly. His men pretended to busy themselves with packing up the camp, but she caught their surreptitious glances. They were listening. “You are going back to Licheford with them. ’Tis too dangerous, where we are going.”
She opened her mouth to argue when he added, “Besides, ’tis not proper.”
That garnered more looks from some of the men. She ignored them.
“I will not go.”
There, it was a simple matt
er. He’d asked. She’d answered.
“You will go with them or find yourself hauled atop your mount.”
His calm tone made his remark all the more infuriating, but it was his next remark that elicited her appraisal of him as vile and wretched.
“And,” he added happily, “if you do not, I will tell your brother when we meet about the matter of Timmy . . .”
She gasped. “You would not?”
His grin said otherwise.
Timmy was a brown hare she’d captured after Terric had steadfastly refused to train her. Cait had begged both her brothers, not caring which weapon they chose. The sword. Dagger. Bow. She’d just wanted to learn how to protect herself. While Rory had somewhat relented, Terric had refused. Said the training yard was no place for her and that it was the men’s job to protect the women.
And so Cait had found her new pet, Timmy. If her brother had been terrified of rabbits since he was a wee babe, that was not Cait’s concern. She made sure everyone knew she was enraptured with the wee thing, and insisted the rabbit accompany her everywhere. Timmy had also found himself accidentally locked inside Terric’s bedchamber on more than one occasion.
She’d told him a servant must have done it.
Only she, and Conrad, knew differently.
Perhaps vile and wretched were a mite too strong, but he was certainly not above using her secrets against her. If Conrad did not play fair, well . . . neither would she.
Turning on her heels, Cait made her way back to the tent before she could think too long on it. Knowing he would be along any moment, she tossed off her mantle, pretending for just one moment that she were Roysa. That she was bold enough to make the man she loved desire her.
When he pulled back the flap, she waited for him to come close. Then, before she could think on what she was doing, Cait opened her mouth ever so slightly and stared at his lips. It was easy to remember how he’d made her feel last eve, when his mouth had slammed against hers. How his tongue had guided her lips to open.
When she bit her bottom lip, it was unplanned. As was the shiver that ran through her when Conrad stared at her that way.
“It will not work.”
Cait did not believe him.
She took a step forward.
“We’ve much to yet”—another step closer—“discuss.”
Cait did not relent, even for a moment. She would not retreat to Licheford. Not now.
Not ever.
She’d retreated for entirely too long.
“Mmm. To discuss.” He watched her, rightfully leery.
“Aye,” she said, hardly listening. Instead, she stared at his chest, wondering what it looked like bare. What it would feel like pressed against her.
Cait was not ignorant of the ways of men and women, having been raised with two brothers. Neither did she know precisely what lovemaking was like. But she intended to learn.
With him.
“I am not going back,” she said, with all the authority she imagined an earl’s wife would muster. “I am staying with you, just as the other women are staying with their husbands.”
One final step closed the distance between them.
“’Tis true, you prepare for a fight. Perhaps the biggest of your life. But I am also preparing, and will not be waylaid.”
They were so close now Cait had to lift her chin to continue looking into his eyes.
“What,” he asked dryly, “are you preparing for, Cait?”
Last eve, she’d stopped short of saying all of what she’d intended to say. She would not make that same mistake again. This was her chance, finally, to fight for what she wanted. If she allowed it to pass her by, she might find herself back in the prison that was Bradon Moor, thinking of what might have been.
“I am preparing to become your wife.”
His eyes widened.
“To learn how to please you. To rediscover the man I once knew, and learn how he’s changed. But mostly, I am preparing—I am prepared—to love you. As I have from the start. By giving you all of me, Conrad. As I should have done years ago.”
Oddly, the words did not stick in her mouth. Nor did they make her feel exposed. Vulnerable. Although the feelings of unworthiness that had made her pull away from him still assailed her, she realized she had made a grave mistake by punishing herself, and in turn, punishing him.
“Let me love you, Conrad.”
At first, she thought he’d deny her. Send her back as crushed as he had likely been when she’d stopped responding to his letters. One moment, she looked up at him, waiting. The next, she was hauled against his chest so quickly Cait lost her breath.
His kiss was hard, maybe even punishing for the years they’d lost. Ones she had thrown away. But as he claimed her mouth, Cait could not regret that lost time because she was in his arms now.
“I will not go,” she whispered between fevered kisses.
He kissed her again.
She allowed it, but she’d let too many words stay unspoken, for too long. The time for silence had ended. “I will not, Conrad. Unless you say you do not want me. If I go, I return to Bradon Moor. Not Licheford.”
Cait held her breath. Although she hadn’t intended to make such a statement, she was surprised to realize she meant it. If he sent her away now, this was the end of their long journey together.
His jaw flexed, and Cait’s heart leapt in his moment of indecision. She didn’t regret the words, but every bit of her understood what his answer would mean to them both.
When he spoke, she resisted the urge to grip onto his shirt as if the ground would swallow her otherwise.
Chapter 16
He knew what she was asking.
And if Cait had not stopped writing, the answer would be an easy one. Indeed, if he’d had his choice, he would have married Cait long ago. He’d told this woman things he’d told none other, including his Broken Blade brothers.
He should have gone to her, gone to Bradon Moor. Conrad realized that now, but he’d been too stubborn, too proud, to make the journey without knowing why she’d stopped writing.
Let me love you, Conrad.
He wanted nothing more in this world than to do just that. They still had much to discuss, to overcome. But he could see the resolve in her expression.
Cait would not turn back, no matter how loud his protestations, unless he let her go. And he would be damned if he’d do that.
“Your brother will kill me,” he said once again, and meant it. Although Terric had brought Roysa with him, he’d done so reluctantly, and Conrad and Cait weren’t married.
She smiled, understanding what this meant. “When I tell you of his courtship with Roysa, you’ll feel much reassured.”
“You will not come inside the city.” On this, he would stand firm. “If we need to take it by force—”
“I understand.”
He wasn’t sure that she did.
“Cait . . .”
Conrad couldn’t find the words. He’d never struggled to do so before. Not with his men, his household, or even with her for those many years they had corresponded. But this version of Cait, so achingly familiar yet not, silenced him as if he were a green boy.
She reached up and cupped his face. The gesture was so simple, so powerful, and it struck Conrad that no one had touched him in such a way—comforting, loving—since his mother had died. His relations with Lady Threston and others like her had been purely sensual in nature.
“I do not want to go back to Bradon Moor. I do not want to marry Colin MacGregor. It took me many years to find the courage to come here, to tell you this. I want you and none other. And I will spend every day of this journey apologizing for the hurt I caused you—and us—by not saying as much sooner. Terric will understand. I will make him understand.”
Satisfied, more than satisfied, Conrad placed his hands over hers.
“We are in the midst of a rebellion.”
Cait blinked. “I know it well.”
Of course she did.
Cait had been at Dromsley during the attack. The thought of how close she’d come to danger . . .
“You asked me to let you love me,” he said, the words coming more easily now. The love in her eyes, her confidence in him, emboldened him to take a stand. “If I agree, you must allow me to do the same.”
It seemed such a simple thing, to allow another person to give you love. But if Cait’s hesitation were any indication, she understood the true meaning of his question.
She’d spent so many years hiding, from others, from herself, and berating herself for something that wasn’t her fault. For something that couldn’t be changed. Could she truly allow him back inside? Conrad had seen the way she interacted with the others. Knew, even back then, how difficult it was for her to share herself.
Conrad could not completely understand her reticence, but he would try to be patient with her. Would rely on the knowledge that she’d opened herself to him before, in the form of a letter.
“I will try,” she said finally.
Conrad supposed that was good enough, for now.
“Welcome to Lennox, my lord.”
The countess looked at Cait, likely attempting to ascertain her rank and role. She and Conrad had discussed their plan earlier, knowing they’d be met with this same question at each castle or manor they visited on the way to London.
It was unheard of for an unmarried woman to travel alone with all men. No chaperone. No reason to be present among so many knights and soldiers. Some would call her a camp follower, a prostitute, for that alone.
Conrad bowed like a man who had learned to do so in the cradle.
“My lady,” he replied. They stood before her in the great hall of Lennox Castle, rather small but well-appointed. It was important, Conrad had said, for them to secure the countess’s support. Her husband, who had signed the order’s letter to the king, had since died. Lady Lennox would decide whether or not to send her men to march with Conrad, a show of support that may tip the scales, for the late Lord Lennox had been one of King John’s longtime supporters . . . until he’d felt compelled to take a stand against him.
The Earl: Order of the Broken Blade: Book 4 Page 7
