Gayle Callen (13 page)

Katherine knew she should hit him, scream, do something, but she remained immobile, shivering uncontrollably, held in place by the gentle pressure of his hand on her backside. She felt him touch her bare knee with the other hand and begin a torturous slide upward. His fingers brushed the curls between her thighs and she convulsed in his grip.

“Open for me,” he whispered.

Still kneeling beside him, clutching the stone base of the arrow loop for support, Katherine allowed her shaking knees to part the smallest bit. She smothered a groan against her arm as his fingers slid between her thighs until they found the hottest center of her and began to stroke. Katherine’s head fell back as a mild convulsion rippled out to her breasts and thighs. She remembered every moment of last night—remembered and relived and prayed for that stunning release she had not believed really existed.

Katherine’s belt fell to the pallet. Reynold’s hand descended the back of her thigh and slipped beneath her gown. She cried out softly as his rough hands cupped her naked hips, front and back. She shivered and would have fallen had she not held the stone window ledge with a death grip. She wanted him now. She wanted to feel the release, the drawing away, the end to this insatiable, painful, pleasurable desire for him.

R
eynold’s palms came together and flattened over her smooth, soft stomach. He shook with the effort of holding himself back from taking everything from her this moment. Instead he pressed his face into her wool skirt where it gathered at her waist. He allowed himself the touch of her, memorizing the way her bones sculpted the flesh of her hips. He allowed his hands to roam higher until his fingers teased the undersides of her breasts. Her soft gasp sent the blood pounding through his veins, making his erection so hard it was painful. Still, he teased her breasts, just touching the hard nipples and retreating. He froze at the sound of her voice.

“Please, Reynold, I can’t take much more.”

He knew how much it cost her to admit her desire. His own seemed to rage out of control as his arms went around her hips and pulled her body against his. With one hand he roughly yanked his tunic and braies aside. He guided her body over
his, poised above him. He wanted to mindlessly sheath himself in her, to be released from this agony, but he felt her trembling and he soothed her with his hands.

“Touch me, Katherine. Guide me inside you.”

She shuddered and clutched his shoulders. “I—I—”

“Are you afraid to touch me as I have touched you?”

She seemed to hesitate as she knelt above him, her knees on either side of his hips. At the first tentative brush of her fingers on his stomach, Reynold shuddered with a near loss of control.

“Do you know what you do to me?” His breathless voice sounded unrecognizable. Her fingers slid lower and he grew deathly still, until she touched him and the world seemed to explode.

“Did I harm you?” she cried, withdrawing her hand.

The effort of chuckling hurt his chest. “Do not stop! Do not ever stop, my sweet.”

Her fingers encircled his penis, lifting it up towards her body. “How—what do I—”

“Inside you, Katherine,” he said with a groan. When he felt the wet, warm, opening between her thighs, he grasped her hips in both hands and brought her down hard, sheathing himself deep inside her. Katherine gasped, and Reynold lifted her gown and smock up over her head. His tunic quickly followed. When free of the dress, her hair fell down about them like a silken waterfall.

He pressed kisses across her breasts, teasing her
nipples to hard peaks. He felt her arms about his shoulders, her fingers in his hair. She tugged gently until he lifted his face. She lowered her open mouth to his and Reynold drew in her tongue. He lifted her hips and lowered her again, feeling her erratic breaths mingle with his.

They moved as one, lifting and releasing, soft breast sliding against hard chest. The pallet swayed and creaked beneath them, but Reynold gave no thought to falling. His world was the heat of her body surrounding him, the softness of her lips, the clutch of her hands. As she shuddered her release against him, he gave one final thrust, exploding inside her, moving slowly, revelling in each lingering ripple of pleasure that shook him to the core. Never, never, had he felt the sexual act more deeply, more poignantly. Katherine would never give of herself to him again. His cursed brother would come to take her away.

Reynold kissed her once more, then buried his face in her neck, crushing her body against his. All his self-hatred mattered naught when she touched him. His vows and despair disappeared beneath the rush of feelings aroused by the smell of her skin.

Katherine’s ribs ached from the strength of Reynold’s embrace, but she didn’t move from his lap. She kissed his hair and caressed his shoulders and tried not to think about where she was or who she would soon have to face. She wanted their bodies to remain joined together for as long as possible. Her breathing eased and she rested her head on
his shoulder. A sudden draft of air blew across her bare back and she shivered.

“Katherine, your clothes.”

His voice was so gentle, so resigned, she had to will herself not to cry. He handed her a bundle of wool garments, then helped her climb off him onto the pallet. Katherine clutched her knees together and bowed her head in grief. She’d never felt more empty and alone. Was this how her whole life would be? Would she ever again know the joy she felt in Reynold’s arms?

In a daze she donned her linen smock, then the peasant gown. Where was her belt? As she searched for it, her fingers touched Reynold’s bare thigh. His hand covered hers for a brief moment.

“Sleep in my arms, my lady,” he murmured. “This pallet is not fit for you.”

She hesitated only a moment, listening as he donned his tunic. Crawling into his lap, she allowed him to cradle her against his chest. She fell asleep listening to the reassuring beat of his heart.

Reynold could not sleep so easily. Instead he thought of the reasons why a man would support Henry Tudor against an unpopular king. Uneasiness stirred in his stomach. He had always found it suspicious that the kidnapper had done his best not to hurt Katherine—almost as if someone had ordered him, someone who didn’t want her harmed. A stranger wouldn’t care. A relative—her father?—would. Treason did strange things to a man’s mind. But Reynold could not rule out the traitors themselves, men who might eventually
want the Earl of Durham’s support, and wouldn’t risk hurting his daughter.

The sun had barely topped the trees when James Markham, fourth Earl of Bolton, threw open the doors to the great hall and strode inside. Two of his knights kept pace behind him. He ignored the dutiful nods of his servants and the villagers who came to do business with the estate. He halted in the center of the hall, doffed his felt hat, and tried to imagine what he could possibly sell next.

And then it came to him. It was time to send for the girl. James shuddered at the mere thought of the skinny, plain, crippled thing he would wed. He’d tried to avoid it as many years as he possibly could, but living a life of nobility grew expensive. One more bad harvest and he’d be no better than his serfs. It was time to be married, time to collect the dowry.

The castle steward tentatively approached, bowing and bobbing his bald little head, already listing the things that needed James’s attention. But he wasn’t in the mood to listen, and gave thanks when his sergeant-at-arms approached and stood stiffly at his elbow.

James turned his back on the steward and nodded to Galway.

“Milord, we surprised thieves in yer bedchamber last night.”

James grimaced and almost wondered aloud what they could possibly find to steal. “I’m sure
you handled the matter. Why bring it to my attention?”

The blond giant grinned and shrugged beneath his tunic. “It were two men and a girl. This girl…well, she says she’s Lady Katherine Berkeley.”

James’s brows shot up. But he very well knew she could not be who she said she was.

“Yer betrothed.”

“I know the name,” he said dryly.

“The girl is lyin’,” Galway continued, “but I thought ye’d want to know before I punished ’er.”

“What does she look like?” James asked, beginning to grin.

“’Ard to tell beneath all the dirt, milord.”

James shuddered with distaste. “An amusing story just the same. I trust she’s being confined.”

“In the dungeon, milord, although I thought we’d never get ’er down there.”

James chuckled. “Didn’t like the smell, did she?”

“She took that fine. ’Twas the rope. She ’as a bad arm and I didn’t think she’d—”

“What did you say?” James interrupted, feeling a sudden cold sweat break out on his brow.

Galway blinked. “I wasn’t sure we’d—”

“No, you fool, her arm! How badly crippled?”

“Nothing I could see.”

“Damn!” James swore as he dropped his leather gloves on a bench by the hearth. It couldn’t be. “I’d better see the girl.”

Galway nodded, his eyes wide with surprise. James ignored the look and followed the sergeant
to the tower reserved for prisoners. He seethed with anger and hoped for the girl’s sake she was not who she claimed to be.

Katherine came awake slowly, feeling soft lips against her forehead. She blinked, sighed, and snuggled closer to his warmth. Then she realized the dungeon was no longer dark. She sat up on Reynold’s thighs, looking at the shaft of light that poured in the arrow loop. Their prison had roughly carved walls, wet in places, barren of everything but straw and a pallet.

“A good morning,” Reynold said.

Katherine looked into his face and wished she hadn’t. His smile was tight with pain.

“Reynold—”

He shook his head, then handed over her belt. “Up, Katherine. Perhaps they shall drop us food.”

“Do you think we’ll be released today?”

“They are waiting for Bolton.”

Katherine winced. “They didn’t sound like they knew when to expect him.”

Reynold lifted her to her feet and stood up. “I shall give a shout.”

Just as he reached the center of the pit, the trap door opened, sending a shower of dirt down on his upturned face. He staggered to one side, rubbing his hands across his eyes.

Katherine stepped forward to help, then froze as she heard the voice which had lived in her daydreams for five years.

“Girl, tell me your name.”

She gasped and ran beneath the trap door. “My lord Bolton? It is I, Katherine.”

She saw Reynold turn away, and though a part of her died in misery, she had to fight her weakness for him. She needed to do everything in her power to convince James to help her warn King Richard, and to keep Reynold and his identity a secret. She didn’t know James well enough to trust he would not harm the man who’d helped her.

She heard the sound of male voices in the tower above, but no one spoke to her. “My lord?” she called again.

The rope slithered down and Katherine put her foot in the loop, holding on tightly with her good arm. She looked over her shoulder at Reynold, who stood impassive as a statue.

“Trust me!” she whispered, then held on for dear life as she swung into the air. The bright light of the tower blinded her, as hands grasped her beneath the shoulders and dragged her out of the pit. She staggered when set on her feet, then lifted her chin in a fake show of strength.

Katherine saw James immediately, his face so full of contempt and distaste that she inwardly cringed. She was dirty and disheveled, but her betrothed was dressed in the height of fashion. He wore a deep blue doublet cut low to emphasize the brilliant white of his shirt. His black hose molded tightly to his thighs, while a black cloak, lined with spotted lynx fur was thrown back over his broad shoulders. Katherine knew she was star
ing, but she couldn’t help it. Truly, he must be too wealthy to need her dowry.

James turned away. “Punish her as you see fit.”

“My lord!” She darted forward to grab his sleeve.

He pulled away.

“Forgive this unannounced arrival, but I must speak with you.”

He continued out the tower door into the inner ward.

“I was kidnapped!” she cried after him.

He halted and slowly turned to face her. “What did you say?”

“I was kidnapped a week ago from my father’s home. I need your help.”

James hesitated.

“What can I do to make you believe me?” she asked desperately.

“Bathe.”

Katherine gave him a grateful smile. “I would love to.”

James nodded to his sergeant. “She’ll come with me.”

Reynold remained flat against the dungeon wall, listening to their conversation. He wished he would have told Katherine not to mention him by name. If she called attention to him, his brother would discover his identity, and probably inform Katherine. But she didn’t even seem to remember him as she went off with James. Reynold bitterly kicked back against the wall. The pain knifed
through him, startling him with its intensity. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

The trap door suddenly swung shut and the end of the rope dropped to his feet. They’d forgotten all about him. Reynold cursed as he hadn’t done in months.

This was as it should be, he kept telling himself. He had to protect Katherine from the knowledge of his identity. He didn’t want to hurt her any more than he already had. Clinging to that thought, he slowly began to climb up the rope, using the muscles of his arms. When he reached the top, he twisted the rope around one leg to give himself leverage, then pressed one palm to the trap door. It lifted barely an inch.

Reynold groaned and maneuvered himself higher, his head and shoulders bowed against the wood. He slid the fingers of one hand between the trap door and the frame, braced his weight there, then shoved hard against the door. It fell open with a loud thump. He boosted himself out, and crouched back against the wall. He was alone. Quietly, he shut the trap door.

Katherine stood alone in one of the bare rooms she had searched through just the past night. The walls were whitewashed, but empty. A bed and a chest occupied one corner. She sighed and thought about her betrothed. James couldn’t seem to get rid of her soon enough. He’d left a guard outside her door. He doubted her story, but was willing to be absolutely sure. For that she was grateful.

The door opened a minute later and two kitchen boys carried in a wooden tub between them. They leered at her and Katherine returned the most frigid glare she could. She was the daughter of an earl, their future mistress, not some conquest of their master. She regarded them in icy silence as they started a small fire in the hearth.

Four more buckets of tepid water were soon added, which barely filled the tub halfway. A silent maid brought in a towel and a clean dress which had obviously been borrowed from a servant. When Katherine was finally alone, she stripped off the wool gown, washed her hair, then scrubbed herself raw with coarse soap. It felt good to be clean.

And then she remembered Reynold. She stood frozen in the drafty room, the towel clutched to her wet skin. Did Reynold think she had abandoned him? She had to convince James to let him go, without exposing Reynold to danger. Would her betrothed feel the need to avenge himself on the man who’d been alone with her for days? Tears stung her eyes and she put a hand over her trembling mouth. Reynold deserved all the protection she could give him. What would she say to James when he asked how she got here?