By Grace Possessed (15 page)

“He was different from my stepfather and stepbrother, not so crude or loud or quick with his fists. He was a musician and a poet who sang of love and joy and spring. He teased and smiled instead of frowning, shouting or demanding his proper homage every instant of the day.”

“And you loved him,” Ross said again, his tone implacable.

“I…may have, in a way. Most young girls lose their hearts to unsuitable men at least once or twice. It meant nothing.”

“Unsuitable.”

“He was an agent for Louis XII, commanded to join Henry during his last weeks in exile so he might send
back private reports after Henry came to the throne. If Leon had lands or title, or even a surname, he never said so, though he had a gentleman’s knowledge of letters and writing.”

“You still look upon the knife he gave you as a treasure.”

She disregarded that comment as inspiration struck her. “If you see that’s so, then you must also see I would never let it out of my sight.”

“But you did.”

“I didn’t! At least not…not intentionally. I had it at the noon meal, but missed it some time later.”

“So it could have been taken from your chamber?”

“It isn’t always locked, there being little worth stealing.” She gave a quick shake of her head. “It’s possible I dropped it from its scabbard while kneeling in the chapel or walking in the cloister. All I know is that it was gone, until now.”

“A weak explanation.”

“What else can I say? I don’t know how the man who attacked you came to have it. I only know I am not your enemy.”

Ross snorted. “So we are back to Trilborn.”

Cate met his gaze, angry that she must defend herself, yet willing him to believe her. “Which is more likely? He did attack you with a knife before.”

Ross watched her while dark currents of conjecture shifted in the blue depths of his eyes. Then he pushed the poniard toward her.

Slowly, she put out her hand, wrapped her fingers around the hilt. He seemed relaxed, accepting. That did
not mean he was unguarded. Cate knew beyond doubt that his strength was merely held in restraint while he waited to see what she would do. The least gesture toward him with the blade would earn swift and painful retribution.

Not that she intended such a thing. Though it was both maddening and curiously painful to have him think her capable of such a deed.

“You believe me?” she asked, her throat tight.

“Mayhap.”

“And the wedding?”

“Ah, well,” he said as he watched her slide the poniard into the scabbard that dangled from her girdle, “nothing like a bit of danger to whet a man’s appetite for bed sport with his wife.”

T
he wedding was not the ordeal Ross expected. It took place at the chapel doors, a simple ceremony with Cate’s sister and a handful of her friends present, as well as a few men he had hunted with or sparred with in the tilt-yard. The king, with a courtier or two and several of his yeoman guard, put in a brief appearance to make certain all transpired as he had commanded. Henry’s frown of impatience no more encouraged an extended homily from the priest than did the blustery wind laden with a hint of snow that whipped cloaks and capes around them.

Cate huddled beside Ross with her hands thrust into the wide, flapping sleeves of her gown. He put an arm across her back, clasping her waist to steady her. The priest who stood before them wavered in the wind that lifted the graying fringe of hair around his tonsure and burrowed under his robes. The exhortations to godly and fruitful married life were as hurried as the vows he mumbled. The instant they were repeated, the good father blessed them and all who stood with them, and retreated into his sanctuary.

The wedding feast awaited them in the great hall. It
was a sumptuous repast as befitted a ward of the king, with oysters steamed in almond milk, roast venison and sanglier, or boar. Also partridges and turtledoves basted with honey and herbs, gilded calves’ heads, mutton in divers dishes, stewed cabbage, bread flavored with herbs, and tarts and custards, all washed down with spice-infused mulled wine and new-brewed ale.

No one was in a hurry to end it, for the evening had turned a forbidding gray and the wind shrieked and howled around the palace towers. The minstrels strolled and sang, acrobats leaped and tumbled, and dancers whirled. A fine bit of mummery was presented, after which a grizzled old bard gave them a legendary tale with many a lascivious twist and dramatic turn. The king made Ross and Cate a pleasant toast, afterward sending them choice pieces of meat from his own plate as a mark of favor. The ribald jests usually offered a newly married couple rained down upon them, but were no worse than might have been expected. The fires leaped and smoke hazed the air as wind gusts forced gray clouds of it into the great hall. Voices grew louder and ever more raucous as servants moved up and down the tables with their flagons, refilling tankards, beakers and the goblets of the high table.

Ross ate with hearty appetite, but the same could not be said for Cate. She sipped her matrimonial wine, but merely crumbled the bread he gave her, nibbled at the roast pork he offered, ate only a mouthful of the apple slice he put on her salver. Dark circles lay beneath her eyes, like stains on her pale face. Her mouth had little
color. If she heard the vulgar jokes at her expense, she gave no indication of it.

Even so, she was beautiful beyond telling in her dark green velvet, with her unbound hair lying upon it in unfair competition with its embroidery in golden thread. His gaze was drawn to the tender turn of her neck, the pale skin of her throat and the delicate hint of her breasts at the line of her bodice. The need to soothe her fears, warm her, protect her from all that fate might bring, warred inside him with the hot urge to have her naked and trembling beneath him. He knew she wanted nothing of him, that she dread what was soon to come, due to his temper. Knave that he was, he could not find it in himself to spare her.

She was the prize he was owed for being inveigled into this marriage, and he would not be denied it. That he had tasted it once already was a fine boon, but not enough, not nearly enough. He meant to take her by candlelight, without defenses, weapons or artifice. He intended to explore every inch of her delectable body, to imprint it upon his mind past forgetting. He wanted to make her press against him, moving, pleading to be taken.

He wanted her to want him. Whether he would have that much from her was more than he could guess. How could he, when he suspected she preferred a dead husband to a live one?

Henry appeared bored and restless, as if he would rather be elsewhere. Now and then Ross felt the cool royal gaze resting upon him. It was no great surprise when, two hours into the meal, he was summoned to Henry’s side.

“What is it?” Cate asked as she put a hand on his arm to detain him. “Have you any idea?”

“Not a one, but I suppose we shall see.”

“Yes,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

Uneasiness shadowed her eyes. She still expected some last minute end to their marriage, he realized with a taut feeling at the back of his neck. She might well be right.

Regardless, it behooved him to play the doting bridegroom for their audience. Lifting her chilled, almost bloodless fingers from his arm, he carried them to his lips. “Never fear,” he said. “Nothing will interfere with the wedding night before us.”

Anger brought color to the elegant planes of her face. “That is not my concern.”

“No,” he drawled with a curl to his lips, “but ’tis mine.”

“There are other things more important.”

“Mayhap, but they are not on my mind at the moment. If they are on yours, it will not be for long.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, not because he thought she wouldn’t have one but because he was sure she would. He was in no mood for more prophesies of doom.

Henry had pushed back from the table and angled his canopied throne chair, Ross saw as he approached. He moved closer at a gesture, going to one knee close enough for quiet converse.

It was nearer to the king than he had been in days. Though he had hunted with him, eaten with him, lounged with him in rough hunting manses, they had spoken so little Ross had begun to think it deliberate, a quiet threat.

“So you are wed and have lived to tell the tale,” Henry said in sardonic amusement.

“As you say, sire. At least to this point.”

The king’s lids lowered over his deep-set eyes, hiding his expression. “You do not wear the complete set of wedding garments that was our gift. Did the remainder not please you?”

“Verily, Your Majesty, how could they not? I am grateful for your generosity. Still, I am a Scotsman, and no manner of embroidered silk and fur trimming can disguise or change that.” He had donned the velvet doublet that was a mate for Cate’s gown, along with his shirt and his plaid, but that was all.

“You are stubborn, as with most of your kind.”

Ross merely inclined his head. There was no point in denying the obvious.

“Chance favors you, however, or so we are told. You escaped being knifed in your bath last evening.”

“As you say.”

“Fair fortune is often a better quality to possess than expertise in combat, though you must have that, as well, that you fended off this attack. So. You have vanquished the curse of the Graces to take the lady. We are pleased.”

“No more than I, Your Majesty.”

The ghost of a smile slid over Henry’s face, then was gone. He sat forward in the chair, resting his elbows on its arms as he lowered his voice. “We extend every wish for future happiness to you and Lady Catherine. Toward that end, we have made certain arrangements.”

“Sire?”

“As indicated when the marriage was broached, a siz
able estate known as Grimes Hall has been made over to you in token of our approval. It is our desire that you occupy this holding without delay. You will depart in the morning.”

Ross could not help the frown that settled upon his face at this arbitrary command. However, it seemed best to be clear about it before he protested. “Alone, sire?”

“By no means. Lady Catherine will travel with you in company with her sister and their serving woman, and with ample knights and men-at-arms to ensure your safe passage. You will proceed to Braesford with all haste. There you will present our compliments to your newly acquired brother-in-law and give him our order to man the pele tower of his manse until further notice, that we may not be surprised by invasion from the east. Afterward, you may journey to Grimes Hall at your leisure, there to make survey of its men, discovering their fitness for our need.”

In other words, Ross thought, he was to ride northward into the teeth of a snowstorm while surrounded by three females and their baggage, plus a sizable escort and the supply horses required to serve their needs. He was to become a good Englishman, inspecting his estates and seeing to it that Henry had access to whatever men and supplies he might demand from this demesne he had given away.

It was not how Ross had intended to spend the days following his wedding. Regardless, he had no fear of cold or snow, and at least the journey would be in the right direction, northward toward the border.

“As you command.”

“Excellent.” Henry allowed himself a smile. “And now I daresay you would be grateful if we took our queen and retired.”

No one was permitted to leave table or hall while the king remained, not even an eager bridegroom. “It would be a boon, sire,” Ross answered in wry acknowledgment.

“It shall be soon, when some small time has passed so it need not appear a result of our discussion.”

Ross inclined his head, suddenly glad he was no anointed king who must consider every word and action in light of how it might reflect upon all else. He was grateful he had not been required to marry for reasons of state, would not be seeking a marriage bed made chilly by duty and politics.

Or would he?

Cate had been amazingly responsive when she came to him in his chamber. Who would have guessed it when she appeared so cool on the surface, as if little affected by common passion?

Some men preferred their wives to be submissive and unmoved in the marriage bed, as if that lack of desire guaranteed purity and fidelity. He’d overheard a man marveling at his luck because his bride prayed all the while he enjoyed himself between her legs. Ross thought the idiot must have married either a poor, affrighted female or else a clever lady who intended to rule the braggart with her more tender parts.

Cate was not like that. Never had he been so beguiled by a woman’s kisses, her touch, the generous way she opened herself to him. It was almost worth the risk of death to have known it. Yet would it ever be that way
again? Could it be, when a question of attempted murder lay between them?

He didn’t care if she did try to kill him in his sleep. He wanted her, had dreamed of little else while sleeping rough among men who smelled as rank as the stags they hunted. Nothing under God’s heaven would prevent him from having her this night.

Cracked nuts and pears stewed in wine and spices were still on the trestles when Henry finally rose and gave his hand to his queen. The two of them made their good-nights, and then turned away toward the solar that opened from the dais. The company saw them out. They then remained on their feet as Ross immediately took Lady Catherine’s hand and led her from the hall. Laughter, ribald suggestions and shouted encouragement followed after them.

“What are you doing?” Cate demanded in a whisper. “I should have been taken away and prepared for bed, then left to wait for you.”

He gave her a dry look. “And who was to prepare you?”

“Marguerite, of course, as she is my only family present, though naturally Gwynne will be waiting to serve me.”

“Your sister seemed little inclined. All she has done these hours past is scowl at me while chewing on her veil, as if she expected me to keel over in front of her.”

“I’m sure you’re wrong.”

“And I’m convinced she thought all along her services would be unnecessary. As, in all truth, they are,” Ross said, leaning close, inhaling his lady wife’s intoxicating
scent—of roses and warm female—as he spoke against her ear. “If you are to be placed naked in my bed, I prefer to attend to it myself.”

She gave him a glance of dawning comprehension. “You have no friends or family to escort you to the chamber when the time comes.”

“A number of men offered. I discouraged it.”

“You did?”

“It was unnecessary. Also unwanted.”

Her lashes swept down to conceal her expression. “You would have no public disrobing, no one to see us closed inside the bed curtains.”

“No.”

Her chest lifted in a deep breath that she released in the softest of sighs. “I’m glad. It’s heaven’s sweet mercy, for which I must say a prayer of thankfulness.”

Ross rather thought she should thank him, as he had seen to it. Though he’d assumed she would prefer to avoid the ordeal, the arrangement had been made for his own satisfaction. Common though it might be to have a dozen witnesses trooping along with him to his marriage chamber, seeing to it he and his bride were left together in the same state as Adam and Eve, he had no wish to share the sight of Cate’s tender white body with his hunting companions. Nakedness was no particular mystery, but he preferred to reserve her sweet secrets for his eyes alone.

And if she drew her knife against him, he wanted no witnesses who might drag her away for summary justice. That, too, was something he meant to keep for himself.

Gwynne waited in the chamber they were to share,
just as Cate had said. It was a fair-size room that had been extended to him on his return from the hunt. He’d had scant opportunity to make use of its fireplace and glazed window, the large carved bed and heavy chest that sat at its foot, the carpet in Turkey red and the table with matching benches. It appeared he would have even less now, if they were to leave with the dawn. As there was little time to waste, Ross merely stood at the door, holding it while Cate walked into the chamber. He gave the serving woman a straight glance and tilted his head toward the hall outside.

Gwynne curtsied with bowed head, though she darted a look to her mistress. Cate nodded in dismissal. The woman did not tarry, but went quickly from the room. Ross closed the door behind her, then turned to face his wife.

He might have been somewhat hasty, he thought, as he ran his gaze down her comely shape, noting the intricate fastening of the golden girdle that draped her hips. It looked to be fiendishly complicated to remove. No matter. He would manage.

Deliberately, he secured the latch and then leaned against the door. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

Cate swallowed, a swift movement in the smooth line of her throat, while watching him as a sparrow watches a hawk. Long seconds passed while the fire on the hearth danced, throwing shadows on the walls, and the candle flames trembled on their wicks. Then she placed her own hands to the catch of the girdle and slowly released it. She set it on the table, piling the chains and other ac
coutrements it carried next to it, including her poniard. She turned to him then with a dazed look on her face and tears rimming her eyelids.