by Sherry Ewing
Douglas pulled her close. “A kiss should be freely given, Yer Grace, for I have but only one heart tae lose tae the lady,” he declared, staring into those incredible, hazel eyes. “I cannae take something from her that is hers alone to give.”
A collective sigh sounded from among the duchess’s ladies-in-waiting. The duchess raised her hand. “’Tis a fair enough request, and again I commend you, Lord Douglas. What does Lady Catherine have to say on the matter? Will you reward our champion with a kiss? He will be your husband on the morrow,” Eleanor reminded her and everyone else present.
Catherine stepped closer to Douglas while he held his breath, awaiting her answer. She appeared somewhat nervous that they were on display for everyone. But the smile that crept into the corners of her lips had Douglas’s pulse racing.
She gave his hand a squeeze before rising up on her toes to place a kiss on his mouth. Douglas forgot all about those who watched when his arm snaked around her waist, practically lifting her off her feet when he crushed her to him in a tight embrace. Deepening their kiss he had been starving for, the crowd cheered.
The duke cleared his throat, and Douglas abruptly tore his lips from Catherine’s.
Henry came to the edge of the platform and called out to his people. “Tonight we celebrate the end of the tournament, and on the morrow, the wedding of Lord Douglas of Berwyck and Lady Catherine de Wolfe.”
Douglas continued staring at Catherine, hardly believing she would belong to him soon. Her chest rose and fell as though she was having a hard time catching her breath. Douglas brought her a step closer but the duke interrupted them.
“See to your knight, Lady Catherine,” the duke urged, dismissing them.
Douglas escorted her from the platform, and Catherine’s maid followed. He felt Catherine shiver and wondered at the cause.
“Are ye well?” he whispered.
“Aye,” she replied in a hushed tone.
“Scared?”
Her eyes widened. “That, too, or mayhap apprehensive of what awaits our future together.”
“There is no reason tae be afraid,” Douglas said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips as they continued to stroll through the camp.
“I have never been one to be frightened of most things, but somehow the unknown of fitting in among your people has me concerned.”
“I dinnae understand why. I have seen ye converse with those here and ye seemingly do so easily.”
“Most of them are my countrymen. Of course, I would be comfortable among them.”
Douglas’s steps faltered for an instant, unsure for the first time of what bringing an Englishwoman to Berwyck as his wife would mean. “Ye willnae have anything tae fear with my clan. They will accept ye as my wife.”
She raised troubled eyes to silently question him. “Are you certain you can make such a promise?”
“Ye will let me handle the MacLarens. I am their laird, after all, and they will obey my commands.”
“I must take your word for it,” she answered. “Why are you limping? Did you get injured today?”
“Nay, several days ago. ’Tis nothing but a scratch.” They had reached his tent but he was reluctant to allow her to leave. This was the first time they had a chance to speak for several days.
Her brows creased at his words. “Let me be the judge of that. Is this your tent?”
“Aye, but ’tis hardly fitting ye should attend me. We are not wed…as yet. I am certain Killian shall arrive momentarily.”
She ignored his words, snapped open the tent entrance, and went inside with Douglas reluctantly following. Catherine’s maid stood by the entryway, her back to them but still within hearing distance.
Douglas enjoyed watching Catherine move about the tent and inspecting everything as though she had been living there. She went to a nearby table and found several herbs Killian had left to heal any injuries Douglas may have received during the fighting. Picking up a mortar and pestle, she tossed several of the herbs inside the bowl and began grinding them before adding water to make a paste. Clean linen was also at hand, and she took hold of them before turning back to him. She placed everything she needed next to a stool.
“You may as well take off your chainmail. I cannot tend your wounds otherwise,” she ordered before turning around and making her way back to the table.
Taking up a pitcher, she poured the water into a pot she then placed on the fire. She added more kindling, blowing on the embers to ignite a flame. Douglas watched the thin trail of smoke as it made its way upward and out through the opening in the canvas overhead.
Douglas muttered beneath his breath. She was a bossy one, but he would offer no complaints since she appeared determined to see to his injuries. “Ye act as though ye have done this a time or two,” he said, envious of any other man whom she may have attended in her past.
She peered at him over her shoulder, returning her attention back to the fire. “There were times I was needed to step in when our healer was too busy to see to the injuries of those at Wolverhampton. Padraig’s wife, Nicola, has done the same. The castle has been known to have a battle or two at its gates from knights attempting to make a name for themselves by daring to take what belongs to my brother. Surely, the same can be said for Berwyck, given its location.”
“Aye, although I wish I could deny such a claim. Berwyck has known peace for many a year, and I would like tae keep it that way. I have never let my sister attend the men, however. My mother has seen tae the garrison knights’ injuries when our own healer is otherwise overwhelmed.” He began wondering if these warriors had been naked while she had been tending their wounds.
“I was never allowed to assist with the bathing of the nobility who came as guests, if that is what you are thinking. My brother may be lenient in some matters but not in taking a chance in allowing his unwed sister to become compromised.”
“And, yet, ye are here,” Douglas remarked dryly, still overcome with the desire of finally making this woman his own.
“And my maid is also present to ensure you behave yourself,” she answered with a small laugh, her expression turning serious when he took hold of his surcote to pull it over his head. He did not miss the blush that crept up her cheeks when she turned away once more.
Douglas began taking off his chainmail til he stood there in his linen tunic and hose. He sat down on a stool and untied the drawstring on his leg, pulling up the cloth til it revealed the wrapping from the other day. Catherine carefully brought the steaming water. Kneeling down, she began to take off the makeshift bandage.
Her nimble fingers worked slowly, yet efficiently, and she was soon cleaning the wound. “’Tis not serious,” she crooned, her warm fingers causing his flesh to tingle. She then applied the healing paste.
“As I said, ’tis nothing tae worry over.” Douglas made every attempt to remain level-headed, but Catherine’s close proximity was making it difficult. He grimaced when she firmly tied a knot over the bandage.
He took her chin between his fingers, raising her head so he could peer at her face. He would give her credit, for she stared at him without giving quarter. “Ye do not fear me,” he murmured huskily.
“Is there a reason I should?” she retorted, sitting back on her heels.
“Nay, there is not, but we are still strangers thrust into a situation where we wed barely knowing one another.”
“Most marriages start out with much less, my lord.”
“Ye have been avoiding me,” he accused as he watched her rise to put everything away.
“I came to the games with my brother to pay homage to the duke’s new duchess. I did not plan on having him decree on a whim that I should wed. I have been busy making a dress for the occasion.”
Douglas stood and came to stand beside her. “And are ye willing to say yer vows and take yer place by my side at Berwyck?”
“Aye, I will but know this. Treat me fairly and I shall do the same. I will not be some meek little mouse for you to co
mmand.” Her eyes blazed with determination.
“Ye have my word, my lady. As I told the duchess, I hold ye in the highest regard.”
“Then I will gladly take you as my husband.” She made her way to the tent entrance.
“Catherine.”
“Aye, Douglas?”
“No kiss goodbye?” He grinned.
Her smile brightened his day. “I think I will save the rest of my kisses for tomorrow.”
She left quickly, and Douglas could only surmise his lady would constantly keep him wondering what she would do next. ’Twas not a bad way to spend the rest of his life.
Chapter Thirteen
Catherine sat in the front row of the chapel while the priest droned on with his afternoon sermon. After the festivities last eve, the duchess had insisted Catherine be given one of the rooms on the same floor where Henry and Eleanor resided stating no bride should begin her wedding day sleeping in a tent. Catherine had no complaints, especially given the downpour that was falling from the sky since this morn. Hopefully, ’twas not some bad omen of what awaited her once she crossed Scotland’s border.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Just thinking of what tonight held caused her stomach to flip. There was no way she could deny the desire coursing through her for her soon-to-be husband who sat calmly next to her. Her heart skipped a beat when she stole another look at him. He tossed her a small smile.
She tore her gaze from his and returned her attention to the priest. Brief flashes of when she first met Douglas filled her mind. He had been magnificent yesterday, not only on the tourney field but also while she tended his wounds. Somehow, she had found the inner strength to carry on with her duties even though the heat of him so close at hand had rattled her nerves.
She had done all within her power to keep from voicing her admiration for his strong body aloud. Nay…’twould not do! Douglas was already arrogant, and Catherine would in no way boost his ego by telling him how handsome she thought he was. There was a time for everything, or so her mother used to tell her.
She continued thinking about how her heart had raced last eve while she danced with him. She had probably drunk far more wine than she should have, but they had been celebrating, after all. The Duke of Normandy had declared Lord Douglas the champion of his games. And though many of the English knights were resentful they had not been the victor, many still offered their congratulations and raised their cups in Douglas’s honor. ’Twas a true testament of his skill upon the field, especially since many of the noblemen present did not consider Douglas one of their own.
Still, Catherine had been proud to be the lady on his arm. By this eve, she would be his wife in every sense of the word. She did not know if she should be elated or scared to death of consummating her marriage with a man who sometimes appeared larger than life itself.
He suddenly reached over and took her hand, running his calloused fingers over hers in a gentle caress. She wrenched her gaze from the priest. How could she not find her betrothed handsome?
His dark blue tunic hugged his muscular chest and brought out the color of his eyes. His hose showed off his well-formed legs, one of which she had already examined closely enough to know that no padding had been added to assist in his outside appearance. A plaid sash hung from one broad shoulder, attached by a golden brooch.
He leaned toward her, close enough that their shoulders touched. “Ye must ease yer mind and pay attention tae Mass, my lady, elsewise we may be here all day,” Douglas whispered, causing her body to tremble in anticipation of his touch. “Even my own priest at Berwyck demands his congregation tae give him their undivided attention.”
Catherine smoothed the fabric of her blue gown. She had been pleasantly surprised when Douglas’s sister had asked the color Catherine was to wear at their wedding. Obviously, Douglas had dressed in colors to match her own, and she was pleased with the results. They made a striking couple, as least in Catherine’s mind.
“I have no idea what he is droning on about,” she said in a hushed tone.
“Something about the weakness of the flesh.” He chuckled.
She quickly choked down a bubble of laughter. “Surely, you jest?” She realized he, too, had been lost in thought.
“I would never jest on such a serious subject, Catherine.”
His voice was a low purr, and when he said her name, it caused her to think of what the night would bring once they retired to the bridal chamber. The priest cleared his throat and peered down at them with a serious expression, causing Catherine to close her mouth. ’Twas apparent the priest was waiting for them to be quiet before he continued speaking.
“Continue, Father,” Douglas urged.
The priest began again, and Catherine heard Douglas groan. “We are doomed.” He shook his head.
She tried not to laugh. “How so?”
He gave her a quick look. “He has started over from whence he began at least five minutes ago.”
Catherine made no reply but placed her hands in her lap and made an attempt to appear contrite. She could in no way concentrate on the words of wisdom the priest began preaching. Her thoughts were only on Douglas, who’s hand inched its way to her own, til he took hold of it once more.
Before long, a scribe was called and the young man came to the front of the chapel. Taking out quill and parchment, he began writing while Douglas declared what he brought to their union. She should not have been surprised at the number of acres of land he owned, nor the riches belonging to him. He could marry anyone of his choosing, and clearly was not marrying Catherine for her wealth. Padraig had been correct. Their marriage would benefit them both, including England. ’Twas clear Henry was looking ahead to having an ally at his northern borders once he was crowned king.
Her brother, in turn, stepped forward and began an accounting of the monies Catherine brought with her to fill the lord of Berwyck’s coffers. ’Twas enough to see that their children’s children, and generations to come, would want for nothing. Names of estates near London and in France became a blur til even Catherine felt unnerved that in the eyes of many she was an extremely wealthy woman.
Being the descendent of the legendary de Wolfes who came before her, had allowed her many advantages. ’Twould explain why she had always found the men who sought her hand lacking…til now. Catherine may not have known Douglas for very long, but he seemed as though he would not treat her as if she were his property. Time would tell. She prayed his true nature was what she had come to like.
Catherine and Douglas’s marriage ceremony continued til the priest pronounced them husband and wife and they came forth to sign the marriage contract.
The chapel began to empty as everyone headed to the hall to continue the celebration. Her steps faltered when she thought about bedding her husband. Douglas would be gentle with her. She would become a woman and forever leave the girl she had always been behind.
Chapter Fourteen
Douglas’s gaze wandered across the hall when Nicola, Freya, and Duchess Eleanor finally escorted his lady up the stairs to the chamber they would share that eve. He took another gulp of wine, anything to ease the ache in his loins from waiting to at last be alone with Catherine. It seemed as though it had been days since he had tasted her lips or wrapped his arms around her instead of just yesterday. He felt as though he were starving and only Catherine could satisfy the beast howling inside him.
He was surprised when de Grey sidled up beside him on the bench to watch Catherine leave the hall. They sat in silence til he peered at Douglas as if accessing his worth.
The knight cleared his throat before placing his empty cup on the table. “I have only ever wanted her happiness,” he declared in a low, if not warning, tone.
Douglas reached across the table to grab a pitcher of wine, refilling both their cups. “What makes ye think I cannae make her happy?”
“She never looked upon me the way she looks at you,” he said with a bit of sadness in his voice. ’T
was more of a statement than answering Douglas’s question but he let the man continue. “For that reason alone, I concede I would never win her heart, not that I did not try.”
The pain in Charles’s eyes told Douglas much. So… this is what it felt like to be in love and not have it returned. Considering Douglas had never let such a fate consume him, he was unaware of the despair a person could feel at such a loss. Understanding swept through Douglas for what this man was going through.
“I will endeavor tae make her happy, Charles,” Douglas finally said, dropping any formality between them. This man had been an important part of Catherine’s life and probably her friend. Douglas would hope they could part with no bad feelings between them.
“But you do not love her.”
“Love takes time to grow,” Douglas answered. “I would expect, as the years pass us by, that Catherine and I will come tae at least find a common accord, if not find love to fill our hearts.”
Charles nodded before drinking more of his wine. Douglas gave him a pat on his shoulder and then stood. He had waited long enough for Catherine to prepare herself, and he took the stairs two at a time even while the hall rang with echoes of encouragement from the revelers below.
When he reached the door to their chamber, he took a deep breath before knocking. Freya opened it, and Douglas bowed as the duchess and Nicola left. Freya pulled on his tunic, giving his cheek a light kiss on the way out. He stepped into the room, shut and bolted the door, then stood staring at the woman across the room as though he had been turned to stone.
He swallowed hard at the vision standing before the hearth. She must not have been aware that every inch of her perfect body was outlined in shadow caused by the flames behind her. Her hair was unbraided and flowed down her back in a wave of riotous curls, leaving Douglas grieving he had not performed the unraveling of her tresses himself.
She held a cup, and he noticed her shaking hand when she lifted it to her lips before holding the cup out to him. “Wine?”
