by Sherry Ewing
“Your husband will not be pleased you left your chamber, my lady,” Winifred scolded while she hurried beside Catherine.
“He will understand.” Catherine hoped he would, even knowing she had broken her promise to remain in their chamber.
“If you say so, my lady, but I believe you will be wrong. I do not relish seeing your new husband angry with you. Heaven only knows how he shall react. He may beat you!”
Catherine halted and stared at her in disbelief. “Do not be ridiculous,” she huffed, worried her maid may be correct in some small measure. After all, she had not truly seen Douglas angry. How would he react?
She had planned to keep her vow, especially when she sank into the tub and its soothing, warm water rushed over her to ease the pain from their lovemaking. But her bath had continually been interrupted by the commotion going on outside of her door. Finally, Catherine rose from her bath and, with Winifred’s help, quickly dressed to see what aid she might give, only to realize she needed see to her own packing.
She entered her tent and grabbed a gown she had carelessly left lying on a stool. A small movement on her makeshift bed caught her attention. She moved the fur aside and discovered her nephew half asleep.
“Patrick!” she scolded as relief swept over her. She pulled the boy into her arms. “What are you doing here? Your mother has been searching for you and thought you might have been taken.” She held him at arm’s length to examine him, but ’twas obvious the boy had been in no danger.
Patrick rubbed his eyes. “I but wished to see you, Auntie. I have missed you, and they tell me you are going away now that you are wed.”
Catherine hugged the boy once more, and he buried his head into her shoulder. Smoothing his hair, she murmured what words of comfort she could offer, knowing she could not change the fact that she would no longer be living at Wolverhampton.
“’Tis not as though I shall never see you again, Patrick,” she said. “Why, I suppose the next time we meet, you will be as strong a knight as your father and live up to the name of de Wolfe.”
“Do you think so?”
“Aye, I do. Mayhap, if I am so blessed, I will one day have a son and name him after you. He will be a constant reminder of the love I have for my beloved nephew.”
Patrick put up his arm, flexing it. “Will he be as strong as me,” he asked, his hazel eyes twinkling in delight.
“Of course he will. He will be both a de Wolfe and a MacLaren, two houses of noble knights and their ladies combined as one for all time. But come… I will have Winifred see you back to your mother so she no longer worries.”
Catherine called for one of the knights to escort her maid and Patrick back to Nicola. She watched the boy go as if his words might be true. How long would it be before she saw Wolverhampton again? She had no more time to ponder the matter, and was just about to close the flap of the tent when her name was bellowed.
“Catherine MacLaren!”
She knew that voice and peered over the many heads to finally see her husband charging through the crowd. Heaven forbid the knight who would ever meet this warrior upon the field. He was an intimidating figure, and her breath caught when he came to stand before her.
“Ye left,” he seethed, backing her into the tent.
“I needed to see to packing my things.”
“I asked but one thing from ye, wife.” He took ahold of her arms and tugged her close.
He was too tempting, and she could only think of one thing she wanted from him at that moment.
A smile curved her lips, and Douglas appeared surprised when she sank into his arms, pulling at his tunic. “Make love to me.” She rubbed her hands down his chest.
“Are ye trying to distract me from being upset?” He nibbled at her neck.
“Aye. Scold me later but love me first,” she pleaded.
One moment, Catherine was standing on solid ground and the next, she was being swept up into his arms and arranged on the bed. It proved in some small measure that her husband cared for her.
“Ye will make me daft, woman, if ye continue tae persuade me with yer beautiful body!” Douglas said. Their coupling had been hurried but satisfying. Douglas had been so eager for her, he had not even bothered with undressing.
“Are you complaining?” she teased. She rubbed her leg against his as though she was ready for more.
“Nay, but ye have distracted me from my true purpose in finding ye so I may leave.” Douglas was lost in her hazel eyes that stared up at him with so much trust. He was not pleased with how their conversation would now turn.
Catherine gave him a bright smile as if she had forgotten about the duke. “Of course we are leaving, Douglas.” Her voice, soft and whispery, still held a hint of desire. “Everyone is leaving now. I look forward to you showing me Berwyck.”
Douglas left the bed, straightened his clothes, then went to a nearby table to pour a cup of wine. “Unfortunately, my dear, ye will need tae go tae Berwyck without me. Freya and my mother will show ye the castle in my absence.”
She came to him with a furious glint in her eyes so different from the look she gave him but a moment ago. “You would leave me? To go to a place where I do not know if I will even be welcomed?”
“’Tis not by choice. The duke demands I accompany him tae Aquitaine tae ensure his safety. ’Tis the reason I needed tae leave ye this morn.”
“Aquitaine?” she yelled before muttering a curse beneath her breath.
“Aye. He gave me little choice in the matter.” Douglas took a sip of wine. “I suppose in his mind, when we married, he now considers me his tae command. I would do anything tae keep ye and Berwyck safe.”
“I will go with you,” she said.
“Nay, ye will not. I willnae put ye in further danger.”
“Why not let me go to Wolverhampton? I would be safe there.”
“Because yer place is at Berwyck. As my wife, ye will go and see yerself settled til I return,” Douglas declared, going to his wife and pulling her into his arms.
“How long will you be gone?” She wrapped her arms around his waist, placing her head upon his chest.
“Longer than I would like.” Douglas kissed her senseless. He would have lingered longer, but Killian called him outside.
“You are leaving now?” Catherine asked.
“’Tis best we leave immediately in case others are lying in wait tae make another attempt on the duke’s life, or even worse his duchess. I will return tae Berwyck as soon as I am able.”
“Do I have your word, Douglas MacLaren?” she asked once more, searching his face.
“Last night I asked ye tae trust me. Now I ask ye tae believe I shall return tae ye, Catherine MacLaren.”
He crushed his mouth over hers, his tongue sweeping inside in deep, long strokes. Her moan caused a part of him to stir to life, and he wished they had more time together.
He tore his lips from hers and made his way outside the tent where Killian waited for him with his horse. Catherine followed close behind, and as he mounted his steed, she held onto the bridle as if afraid to let go.
He leaned from the saddle to skim a finger down her cheek. “Get yerself tae Berwyck and stay there, Catherine. Yer captain will be escorting ye,” Douglas said. As though he had conjured the man, Charles stepped forward. “See that my wife and sister arrive safely.”
“I shall see them safely inside Berwyck’s gates, my lord,” Charles said with a short bow.
A sour taste was left in his mouth with the thought of not accompanying his wife home. His eyes swept across her features, trying to assess her mood. “Believe in me, Catherine.”
Douglas took a last lingering look at his wife, then urged his horse forward. Leaving Catherine was one of the hardest things he had ever done.
Chapter Seventeen
Catherine was weary down to her very bones. The crossing of the channel was simple, but after that came the long journey north. For nearly a fortnight they had travelled toward Berwyck with
seemingly one catastrophe after another. Broken wagon wheels, bolting horses, even knights unable to travel from some sort of malady that had taken hold of half the camp. Her nerves were stretched to her very limits, and she had sworn the night before if they did not arrive at Berwyck soon, she might go mad. She wanted to sleep in a proper bed more than anything, along with a good long soak in a tub full of hot water.
Conversations between her and Charles had ended hours ago. Catherine did not have much left to give other than to somehow keep her seat in the saddle. She should not be complaining, not that she did much of that aloud. Nay, she was probably only feeling sorry for herself because she felt so alone without Douglas’s reassurance that all would be well once she reached Berwyck.
She had her doubts, her being an Englishwoman in a castle filled with apprehensive Scotsmen, or so she had deduced days ago. She could already sense their suspicions and doubts that she could fit in, let alone being a proper wife to their laird.
Freya rode up next to Night Star before she pointed in the distance. “Ye shall love it here, sister. I cannae wait tae show ye the keep and grounds.” Freya beamed, apparently excited to finally be home before turning her attention to Charles riding on Catherine’s other side. “Ye, on the other hand, can fend for yerself.” She kicked her horse into a gallop, and the majority of the knights followed closely behind, leaving Catherine and Charles to bring up the rear.
Catherine turned to her captain. “Dare I ask what that was all about?” She hated the thought of entering Berwyck with hard feelings between the pair. “I swear her mood turns sour whenever you are together.”
Charles watched the dust fly in Freya’s wake. “She’s displeased.”
“Displeased? I would call her behavior toward you hostile. What have you done?”
Charles shrugged. “I merely declined her offer to get to know her better. I am taking your husband’s words to heart and staying clear of your new sister-in-law.”
“She favors you…” she said, chuckling. Her words trailed off, for she had no idea what to say next as she attempted to hide her growing satisfaction at his situation.
“Aye! Go ahead and laugh at my expense but ’twas not humorous to find out every time I turned around Freya was following me! She even chased me into the forest when I went to take care of my business…not that I should be discussing such a matter with you.”
Catherine’s laughter echoed as she raised her hand to muffle her amusement at her captain being placed in such a predicament. But ’twas obviously too late to hide her glee, for Charles scowled. “I understand your plight, Charles, honestly I do.”
“Bah! You do not know the half of what that young woman has put me through.”
“Would it be so bad to favor her with some attention? Freya seems nice enough, at least in the little time I have come to know her.”
“Do you genuinely think your husband would take kindly to me courting his sister after he warned me to stay away? I think not, nor do I wish to challenge his authority on the matter. I have tested my sword against his at the tourney, and while I held my own, I would not like to fight him again.”
“Surely it would not come to that, Charles.”
“I will take no chances,” he reaffirmed with a low grunt of disapproval.
They flicked their reins, bringing their horses to a gallop as the castle drew closer. Once she had control over her horse again, Catherine sat stunned, looking up at the castle located on the edge of the cliff.
Charles whistled. “God’s bones! ’Tis an entire city located within the curtain walls. You did not tell me Berwyck was so large.”
Catherine had not realized she had been holding her breath til she felt the air rush out from her lungs. “I had no idea. Douglas did not leave me any details about the estate other than telling me his mother and sister would show me everything I would need to know.”
“’Tis an impressive sight, Catherine,” Charles murmured.
“Aye… I can barely think of the many responsibilities that will be required of me.”
“I have faith in you and your ability to adapt to every situation that crosses your path.”
Catherine raised a brow at him. “’Tis nice to know you still have faith in me, Charles.”
“Never doubt it, my lady. Shall we continue?”
They left the shoreline along the ocean and rode through the woods, following a river before they arrived at the village next to Berwyck. Catherine hardly noticed the condition of those who lived there, more concerned with the looming castle.
She squared her shoulders, knowing she must remain strong as the new mistress of such a place. The de Wolfe motto gave her confidence… Fortis in arduis, strength in times of trouble. She may not be facing any trouble as yet, but she would find the courage to meet whatever challenges arose.
As they made their way over the drawbridge high above a dry moat, Catherine tried not to think about how the clip clopping of their horses’ hooves over the wooden planks matched the rapid beat of her heart.
As she rode through the gates, it appeared as if every clan member and servant stopped what they were doing to stare at her. Aye, they immediately recognized her as English, and none of them seemed too quick to welcome her home.
Chapter Eighteen
Douglas’s frustration grew while he oversaw the lengthy business of breaking camp. ’Twas no small wonder the duke had demanded Douglas accompany him to Aquitaine. The voyage had been a tragedy from the beginning after they left Caen. First the duchess’s ladies-in-waiting complained about their cramped quarters on the river boats. Now after travelling more than a sennight since leaving the river, it took longer than it should to get everyone on the road each day. Douglas wasn’t comfortable standing in one place for long. At this hour of the morn, they should have already been on their way. Did no one bother to remind these people the duke’s life was in danger?
Douglas kept a close watch on the tree line for trouble. With the amount of noise being made from the group, all of France must know Henry was there.
Douglas waved Killian over on his return from scouting the area. “Is the way ahead all clear?”
“Aye, my laird, as far as I can tell. What I would give tae be back on Scottish soil again.”
Douglas slapped his friend on the back. “I have tae agree. I am tired of listening tae all this sniveling. These nobles have no sense of the danger they are in by accompanying the duke. We must make haste tae see they are secure at Aquitaine before we can leave for Berwyck.”
Killian rubbed the back of his neck. “Feels like we have been gone for a year or more.”
“I can only pray this test tae my fealty will someday keep Berwyck safe from the duke’s desire tae see the lands back under English control. Elsewise, this excursion will have been all for naught.”
Killian appeared surprised at his words. “Ye think Henry wishes tae take Berwyck? We have known peace for many a year.”
Douglas grunted. “Of course he does. Have ye forgotten Henry will be king soon?”
“I pray ’twill not be so,” Killian muttered.
“Time will tell. Let us see about rounding up the men and making sure Alec remains close tae us. I do not relish having the lad injured if things get ugly. I want this party moving before the sun sets. If we make haste, we should see the castle gates before nightfall.”
With a wagon procured for the women to ride in, several knights surrounded the conveyance, a protective shield against an attack. His Grace refused to be placed among them, and rode his own horse with Douglas and Killian in front of him. The rest of the knights followed behind Henry. Alec was close enough that Douglas could see him, and at last they were on their way.
Wary of who might be lurking behind every tree, Douglas kept his guard up. His hand rested near the hilt of his sword, itching as if he knew danger was but a heartbeat away.
The morn fled, and the afternoon swiftly passed. Douglas began to worry they might need to camp for the night when
he caught a glimpse of the castle through the trees. Henry must have seen it, too.
“Aquitaine…” he rejoiced. “We are home, Eleanor!”
Before anyone could stop him, the duke urged his horse to gallop past Douglas and Killian. Apparently, he wanted to be the first to get to the castle.
“Yer Grace!” Douglas shouted but to no avail.
The duke kept riding. As Douglas had feared, a group of men rushed from the trees to attack.
Douglas shouted orders as their knights moved to protect the women. Others rushed to protect the duke who suddenly slipped from his saddle. Douglas urged his horse forward, slicing through the men who stood in his way of reaching the duke. He saw that Henry was under attack but was thankfully holding his own. Douglas jumped from the saddle and slammed his fist into one man’s face before taking on another.
He closed the distance between him and the duke, quickly stepping between Henry and the attacker the duke was fighting. Douglas thrust his sword into the belly of his foe.
He pushed the duke behind him. “Your Grace, stay against this tree, but keep vigilant for those who mean tae kill ye.”
Douglas thrust his sword into the next man, twisting the blade for good measure. As he pulled the sword from the man’s flesh, blood splattered in every direction. Douglas shoved hard at his enemy and watched the man fall at his feet in a heap. Then he quickly wiped the blood from his face with the back of hand before turning to the next man charging him.
A head of tawny-colored hair caught Douglas’s attention, and he held his breath as he watched his squire join the battle. Damn! Douglas was torn between protecting the duke or rushing to the lad’s aid. Luckily, Killian saw the boy and rushed to his side.
The battle continued. Blood lust pushed Douglas onward, cutting down his enemies til the last one fell. His knights had defeated the bastards. They had lost men of their own, but such was the cost of battle.
Douglas returned to Henry who held a hand to his bleeding arm. Thankfully, he was otherwise unscathed. “Yer Grace, are ye all right?”
