Gayle Callen (18 page)

“Brother Reynold,” the countess said, “could you tell me where the family chapel is located? The hasty journey did not leave me much time for prayer.”

Heaven forbid she should worry about her daughter, Reynold thought darkly. He gave the woman directions and watched in amazement as her priest silently led her away. The earl seemed not to spare his wife another thought.

“Brother Reynold, do you know why Katherine was abducted?”

Reynold felt Katherine stiffen at his side, and his own unease made him hesitate. It was difficult to lie to a man who only wanted to help his daughter. But Reynold understood Katherine’s motives.

“No, my lord. Lady Katherine and I thought perhaps a ransom might be demanded of you or my brother.”

The gray-headed man nodded thoughtfully, but his trim body was still taut with tension. “Brother Reynold, why did you not bring my daughter home to me?”

“Father—”

The earl cut Katherine short with a shake of his head. “No, child, I wish to hear this from Brother Reynold.”

Reynold glanced at Katherine, who lowered her head and slowly brought up one arm to be cradled by the other. Loving father or no, the man didn’t respect his daughter.

“I wanted to bring her home, my lord, but she refused to give me her true name. She insisted the kidnapper would look for her there.”

“So you brought her here.”

“This is where she bade me go.”

“And your journey was safe and uneventful.”

This was harder than Reynold had expected, to lie to one who could easily be Reynold’s liege lord. But protecting Katherine was more important. He had already hurt her enough.

“The kidnapper pursued us, and once we were set upon by thieves,” Reynold said.

The earl’s keen eyes assessed him. “And you alone, a monk, defended Katherine.”

Reynold nodded. “I have only been a novice these past eight months, my lord.”

Lord Durham frowned. “But when your brother first talked about marriage years ago, wasn’t mere a younger brother destined for the monastery? I didn’t think it was you.”

“My bromer, Edmund, died eight months ago, and I took his place.”

The earl’s brows shot up. Before he could respond, they were distracted as another procession came through the gatehouse.

“Lord Durham,” Reynold said, “is this more of your retinue?”

“No, Brother. ’Tis a family member of yours, whom we met upon the road. Your sister, Lady Margery.”

As Reynold smiled and walked away, Katherine felt a surge of panic begin to overtake her. Surely her father must see the guilt and deception in her eyes. He did not deserve such a poor daughter.

She blinked back tears as his arm came around her shoulder. Together they watched brother and sister reunited. Reynold reached up to help his sis
ter dismount from her dappled mare, and she fell into his arms with a fierce hug. Holding hands, both dark-haired and tall, they spoke softly together for a moment, then walked towards Katherine’s family.

Katherine straightened, thankful at last for James’s gift of clothing. Reynold’s sister possessed an undeniable elegance in her cream-colored gown, laced at the bodice and draped in beribboned folds down the long lines of her body. A maiden still, she wore her dark curls uncovered, caught at the back of her neck with a ribbon. She gave a fluid curtsy as Reynold introduced her.

“Lady Katherine Berkeley, may I present my sister, Margery Welles.”

Holding her father’s arm, Katherine sank into a deep curtsy, then breathed a sigh of relief as Margery smiled at her.

“Lady Katherine, it is good to finally meet James’s betrothed. I have been waiting many years for him to marry.”

“As have I, my lady.”

“Let us not ‘my lady’ each other to death. I am simply Margery, so you must be Katherine.”

Katherine smiled and thought perhaps she had found a friend. But as her father spoke to Margery, self-doubt and despair gnawed at her heart. What if Margery knew what kind of a woman she was, how Katherine had pitted Margery’s brothers against one another?

And her surname, “Welles,” was that also Rey
nold’s name? My lord, she’d had—relations—with the man and didn’t even know his full name.

Katherine’s throat tightened and she felt unworthy of them all.

R
eynold escorted his sister inside, followed by the earl and Katherine. Margery sent him an occasional slanting glance but he ignored it, wondering what she must have heard from Lord Durham, as well as their brother.

“Would you care for wine, Margery?” he asked, leading her to a cushioned chair before the hearth.

“Ale, I think.” She grinned.

Reynold shrugged in amusement and brought her a tankard. “No dainty goblet for you, baby.”

“Now, now, Reynold, our childhood is long past.” She glanced at Katherine and Lord Durham speaking together a few feet away. “I understand you rescued the child from a harrowing experience.”

“The ‘child’ is two years your senior, and a betrothed woman.”

“Unlike myself?” Margery gave him an impish smile.

Reynold grinned and shook his head. “Had James sent you a message?”

“No. A few weeks past, he insisted I come for a long stay, while King Richard and Henry Tudor play their games across the countryside.”

“Hardly games.”

“Forgive my impertinence, Reynold, but I am nigh sick to death of this endless feuding.”

Reynold’s gaze shifted to Katherine, and he felt his tension ease just looking at her. “Then Katherine’s father told you everything?”

“I’m sure not quite everything. All I know is someone abducted her, imprisoned her at St. Anthony’s, then you helped her escape and brought her here.”

“You have the basic facts.”

“Ah, but there must be more.”

Margery studied him so intently that Reynold wondered what she could see in his face. He made a concerted effort to ignore Katherine.

“I still cannot adjust myself to the sight of you in those robes, Reynold. They would have suited Edmund, but you—”

Reynold tensed and drained his ale.

“I’m sorry,” Margery said softly. “I forget that some things wound even you. Is it so very difficult?”

He tried to smile at her. “I have adjusted to my new life. It is not as bad as I imagined it would be.”

She rolled her eyes. “But bad enough, I am certain. I’ll never understand why you did this. Edmund’s death wasn’t really your fault.”

Reynold sent her a sharp glance. “I can’t discuss this, Margery. Not now.”

She leaned forward and touched his arm. “Then tell me why our brother has finally accepted his wedding. Did he see Katherine and realize what a fool he’d been?”

Reynold nodded, watching Katherine against his better judgment. Her long golden hair tumbled down her back, and in his mind he could remember the shine of her curls by firelight, as they erotically hid her breasts from his hungry gaze.

“Reynold?”

He glanced quickly at his sister.

“Perhaps James’s motive was not so much love as finances.”

He shrugged and eyed her beneath lowered brows.

“Don’t give me that evil-eyed look,” she said playfully. “We both know how James lives his life.”

“You underestimate Katherine.”

Margery began to respond, then sank back in her chair and gazed thoughtfully at Katherine. Reynold wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Margery was a shrewd girl—too intelligent for her own good. And now she watched Katherine with great speculation.

Reynold sighed. He was tired of constantly guarding his words and thoughts. He knew he gazed at Katherine far too often. The anxiety of endlessly wondering who would notice his preoccupation proved to be too much. He felt a sud
den need to escape. Excusing himself to Margery, he avoided Katherine and her father and headed outdoors.

Although the cool, sunny day was refreshing, the inner ward itself did not give him peace. Everywhere people bowed to him, from serving girls down to the lowest scullery boy. No one smiled; good-natured conversations died away with one glimpse of his black robe. He was an outcast. He wondered how much James had told everyone about Edmund’s death.

More depressed than ever, Reynold veered towards the stables which formed the foundation for the barracks built above. Amidst the smell of hay and horses, he finally relaxed. He patted nuzzling equine noses, and brushed out glossy coats while the stableboys gave him wide berth.

A familiar whinny made him hesitate.

“Thunder?” he whispered.

There, in the last stall, was the final possession he had given up before entering the monastery—his stallion. Thunder’s nostrils flared and he tossed his black head as Reynold advanced.

Memories washed over him as Reynold buried his face in the horse’s neck. Days spent in the saddle, where only Thunder’s bravery and companionship kept Reynold going. Hours spent practicing the art of war until horse and master each dripped sweat, yet moved as one.

He stepped back and looked over the animal. He had never known if James had sold Thunder or not, and had asked no promises of his brother. But
obviously Thunder was well cared for. James knew value when he saw it, Reynold thought wryly.

As he began saddling his horse, one of the lurking stableboys called from the shadows, “Brother, not that ’orse. ’E throws all but the master.”

Reynold smiled. “I was his master for many a year, lad.”

He led the horse outside. Soldiers leaned out the barracks windows above him, laughing good-naturedly and pointing. Reynold hitched his habit a bit higher and mounted Thunder. The laughter died down behind him as he rode out of the inner ward, dodging people and carts and animals in a temporary bid for freedom.

For an hour, he concentrated on nothing but moving with the animal. Wild thoughts of escaping to tournaments or mercenary work in France flitted through Reynold’s mind. He knew it all for naught. He couldn’t desert Katherine. She may belong to his brother, but still he could not leave. Though she did not know it, her mission was not yet complete.

Ahead of a bank of dark clouds, Reynold returned to the castle, hot and tired, but content. He knew what had to be done.

In the tiltyard, he came upon the knights and their squires preparing for war. He reined in Thunder, watching the men riding with lances lowered to snare metal rings. He laughed aloud when the spinning quintain knocked a swordsman to the ground.

“I’m sure you could teach us all a thing or two,
Brother,” said a voice behind him. “But then, you don’t swordfight any more, do you.”

Reynold turned in the saddle and saw James, dusty, sweaty, and coldly triumphant atop his charger as a boar was dragged through the castle gates.

Reynold smiled stiffly, unable to forget he would soon be the loser in the most important battle with his brother. “A fine thing it is that I swore no vows, James. Who else would have kept your betrothed safe? But then, I am sure I have grown quite stiff in the last few months.”

“Not if your seat in that saddle is any indication,” he said, a reluctant smile turning up one corner of his mouth. “I saw you flying through the fields but a few minutes ago.” James shook his head ruefully. “God’s teeth! One of my men crossed himself. Thought it was death all in black headed for the castle.”

Reynold shrugged and turned back to watch the soldiers. “Your bride’s parents have arrived.”

James rode up beside him, but not too close. “I saw the earl’s banner.” He paused. “Brother, care to make a wager? Or is that against your vows?”

Reynold’s horse danced away from James. Maybe the beast was smarter than its master, he thought, not for the first time.

“I have no money, James.”

“Ah yes, gave it all to Margery, didn’t you.”

Reynold remained silent. He knew they had gained the attention of the knights and their men, who no longer even pretended to practice.

“Very well, then,” James continued, raising his voice. “Perhaps we shall merely wager our respective pride against the outcome. Let us practice together—for old time’s sake, of course, dear brother.”

The day grew colder, and Reynold’s heart with it. He remembered another day, raising his sword against another brother. Bile rose in his throat, and he knew his face went white. He almost shouted to the ward,
I killed my brother! Do you not understand?

But there was James, the smirk dying from his face, waiting to finish what he had begun with his fists eight months before. Would he only be happy when Reynold was dead, too?

Then he spied Katherine and her father, arm in arm, and he understood. Although James had promised to say nothing to Katherine about Edmund’s death, Reynold knew it would come soon, and he was powerless to stop it. And above all, lurked the newest, secret sin against his brother. If Reynold’s humiliation would help James, then Reynold owed him.

Reynold said with a distant voice, “I trust we shall use blunt swords.”

James actually laughed, his blue eyes flashing. “As if we would ever want to hurt each other. Would you care to change your habit? I’m sure the armorer has a spare tunic.”

When Reynold emerged from the armory in a sleeveless leather jerkin, he saw Katherine and her father standing with James. Katherine’s face red
dened, and she looked anywhere but at him.

The Earl of Durham, on the other hand, was obviously enjoying himself. He was tall and barrel-chested, no stranger to combat. “My future son claims you were the strongest knight in all England. Does he merely exaggerate, Brother Reynold?”

Reynold slanted a glance at his brother, not understanding the game. “My brother has a kind tongue, my lord, even when it runs away with him. James, shall we finish this quickly?”

James handed him a dulled sword. Together they moved into the center of the tiltyard. Dust swirled around them from the earth below as Reynold took up his stance opposite his brother. James wore a smile which Reynold couldn’t quite interpret. What did he hope to gain from this?

He felt the heaviness of the sword in his hand, and was amazed at how unfamiliar its grip was after only a few months. He never thought he’d hold one again—had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t. And here he was, facing off against his last brother. His heart pounded in his ears, blocking out the cheering crowd.

Then James’s sword flashed down in a ray of the sun, and Reynold tried to forget his years of training. He fought defensively, allowing James to play to the crowd. Sweat dripped from his brow, his stomach was in knots. All he could see was Edmund’s face across two swords, Edmund’s clumsy parries. He was trying so hard not to be sick that he wasn’t paying close enough attention to his
match with James. Almost without realizing it, his body remembered its training, became one with the rhythm of the deadly dance. It was only when James tried a particularly deft move, and seemed so surprised when Reynold easily deflected it, that Reynold saw what was happening.

He was unable to give less of himself in combat, was barely restraining himself from forcing James back, from disarming his own brother. And all it would take was one prick of his sword…

Reynold stumbled back in horror, his sword falling from his hands. The crowd gasped as James pressed his advantage, only inches from Reynold’s throat. And for one instant, Reynold almost wished James would kill him, because nothing would ever let him forget Edmund’s last moments of life. And then he heard Katherine scream.

He whirled towards her, saw her white, tear-drenched face, and couldn’t bear for her to know what kind of man he truly was.

Katherine, sick to her stomach, watched in shock as Reynold fled the tiltyard.

Her father patted her white-knuckled hand. “Katherine, do not worry yourself so. James is fine. They are merely grown boys playing. Ah, but Brother Reynold is wasted in the monastery. When a man can fight like that…”

Katherine was not reassured by his words. Even she could tell that James had not Reynold’s talent. She closed her eyes as every moment of the swordfight flashed through her mind. Reynold had been magnificent. Hands that had caressed her swung
the sword in a dance of flashing sunlight and deadly turns. The muscular body that had lain at her mercy moved with strength and agility. She had no doubt that had he chosen to, he could have killed his brother, even with a blunted sword.

But then something had happened. Reynold had given up, allowed his brother to best him. The look in his eyes sent panicked chills through her blood. What so haunted him, drove him into the monastery?

Katherine’s heart ached for him. His misery felt like a physical part of her. She had to force herself to remember the misery he had inflicted on her.

“Father,” she said. “I promised I’d spend time with Mother. Please excuse me.”

James waved as if to call her over, but she ignored him. He seemed to take too much pleasure in his brother’s misery. As she turned away, the skies finally released a light summer rain, cool and drenching. She knew she should go inside, but she found herself hesitating, searching the inner ward. And it wasn’t until she saw Reynold, disappearing towards the back of the castle, that she knew she had been looking for him. Her feet traced his path although she angrily told them not to. When she rounded the corner and couldn’t find him, she insisted to herself that she return to the castle.

But instead she went inside the overgrown lady’s garden. The rain fell softly, almost hissing as it splattered across leaves and flowers. Kather
ine followed the weedy path back towards the wall, where vines hung over trellises, forming a secluded walkway. Ducking her head, she entered the tunnel, and came face to face with Reynold.