Gayle Callen (26 page)

Reynold leaned down from the horse to caress her arm. “Good-bye, my sweet Katherine,” he whispered.

She stepped back, shielding her eyes to see him against the bright sky. “Oh, Reynold, I have no
token to give you!” She knew it was a foolish thought, a faraway memory from the tournaments of her youth.

“I carry you in my heart.” He kicked at the horse’s sides and trotted away from her.

Had she imagined those soft words? She ran a few steps after him, then slowed to a stop as he joined the other mounted knights. Her heart hung in her chest like a heavy weight, threatening to choke her. She put a hand to her eyes to stop the tears, but there was no time to mourn. The townspeople caught her up in a wave of humanity that surged towards the streets as they cheered and waved good-bye.

“My lady!” came a distant voice from behind her. She didn’t want to listen. She wanted to follow the army’s departure until the last glint of armor disappeared over the West Bridge.

“Lady Katherine,” the voice insisted, and she finally recognized Owen Fielding.

With a sigh, she turned and went against the mob, shoving friendly hands away. Before the inn, they met in the last remnants of the crowd.

Wearing a thundering frown which distorted the fine lines of his face, Owen gripped her elbow without his usual courtesy. “I’m to watch you,” he said sullenly, pulling her towards the entrance. “Tisn’t safe for you out here.”

Katherine dragged her heels. “Owen, I wish you didn’t have to stay. Who will guard my father’s back?”

“He’s got that monk now, doesn’t he,” the boy said with barely disguised jealousy. “And from what his lordship told me, he’s got a thing or two to say to that man.”

T
he torturous sun neared its zenith, and Reynold thought he would faint. For three hours he had been roasting in padded armor, feeling as cooked as a Christmas goose. He told himself it was only a few miles to the king’s camp at Sutton Cheney, but that did not guarantee respite. For all he knew, the battle could be joined, and he would have to fight instead of rest and quench his thirst.

Eight months in a monastery had made him forget the weight of armor and the stifling heat of combat If only he were wearing his own suit, which bent where he bent, and moved soundlessly with each adjustment of muscle and bone. Once again he put a finger in the gorget at his neck and wished his strength were enough to bend metal. The armor had chafed a raw spot in his neck, and who knew how many other places.

Suddenly Reynold tensed and squinted down the long column of walking and mounted men. The horse beneath him snorted and tossed its head
at Reynold’s abrupt change of mood. Was that Katherine’s father, leaving the front of his army and riding toward the rear? Perhaps the man was merely inspecting his men, or coming to confer with his knights on battle strategy. But with a resigned feeling of dread, Reynold knew the earl was coming for him. He couldn’t shake a feeling of foreboding, that all his plans to protect Katherine were for naught. And when he had seen, too late, that Durham had left only one boy to protect Katherine, as if there were no threat, no kidnapper, he could only think the worst about the earl. For now, he had no choice but to follow him carefully into battle, and see where his loyalties lay.

He sighed and wished it were all over, his confrontation with Durham, the anger, the man’s insistence that he never see Katherine again. He did not wish to disobey her father, yet he could not imagine Katherine’s bright smile banished from his life. Reynold still felt confident mat he could convince Katherine they belonged together. He knew he was being selfish, but for once he refused to back down before his family’s wishes.

He met the steady gaze of the old earl as the man swung his horse to trot alongside his. “My lord,” Reynold said, nodding warily. “’Tis a fine army you have mustered.”

“Good people all,” Lord Durham answered.

For a few minutes, Reynold listened to the steady clop of the horses’ hooves, and the occasional boisterous laughs of the surrounding knights. The gorget cut into his throat until he
couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow, could only wait in dread. What did the earl suspect? Was he waiting for Reynold to confess all? He would wait forever if he expected Reynold to implicate Katherine in anything unholy.

“Brother Reynold—”

“My lord,” Reynold interrupted. “In the haste of these times, you may have forgotten that I said I am no longer one of the brethren. If you do not wish to use my Christian name, you may use Viscount Welles.”

Reynold held his breath, watching the earl’s face. He thought perhaps the old man respected strength more than anything. He breathed a silent sigh of relief when the earl cocked a bushy eyebrow and gave him a thin smile.

“I had forgotten you and your brother had different sires. Yet you gave it all up for the monastery?”

Reynold hesitated. “Eight months ago, I thought it for the best. My younger brother died because of an accident while training with me. In my guilt, I took his place at the monastery.”

“What made you regret your decision?”

How he longed to say “your daughter,” but that would have been foolish. “I have come to believe that my brother, Edmund, would not have wanted me in the church out of guilt. I can do more good with my life by overseeing my land and being of service to the king.”

The earl was silent, his piercing eyes squinting
towards the head of his army. “What land do you possess, Welles?”

“I have eight manors scattered throughout Lancashire, and a small castle which was my father’s home.”

“Who has controlled them these last eight months?”

“Officially, James, but Margery has done most of the work.” Reynold hesitated, scratching beneath the armor at his healing thigh. “My lord, I do feel a great debt to my sister. Though she might have had all of my wealth had I remained in the monastery, she still did not wish that life for me. I am going to offer her two of my manors and their lands to add to her dowry.”

The earl nodded. “Is she betrothed?”

Reynold grinned. “She and James cannot come to agreement just yet.”

“She is well into marriageable age.”

“I think James is loathe to force our sister, my lord, seeing as how he himself has still avoided marriage.”

The earl glanced at him sharply, and Reynold regretted his foolish tongue.

“Do you think your brother was forced?” the earl asked dryly.

“No, my lord. Yet I think James does not understand the good life he could have.”

“And you, the younger brother, are gifted with such wisdom?”

“Eight months can seem a lifetime, my lord, and now I think I see more clearly than James does.”

The earl leaned toward Reynold and narrowed his eyes. “And what does your dear vision see about my daughter that Lord Bolton does not?”

Reynold inclined his head. “Your scurrier comes at a gallop, my lord. Perhaps there is news from King Richard.”

A corner of Lord Durham’s mouth turned up, but he spared Reynold further conversation. Reynold closed his eyes in relief when the earl turned away. But what the boy had to say shook all selfish thoughts from his mind.

Katharine stood at the window, looking down into the inn’s expansive garden. She felt dead to the world, all purpose in her life gone. There was nothing left for her to do but submit to James. She chafed under such restrictions, and her mind fought for different solutions, but there were none.

Two bowls suddenly clattered together behind her. Owen attacked the dinner dishes as if they fought against him. He was silent, not his usual pleasant self since her father ordered him to remain behind.

Katherine sighed. “Owen, perhaps the servants could prepare me a bath—if it wouldn’t be much trouble.”

“Of course, my lady, anything you wish.”

Over her shoulder, she watched as the red-faced squire struggled to balance a tray and avoid her eyes at the same time.

“Do you blame me for your assignment, Owen?”

His head lifted with a start. “No, my lady. I—merely regret I was chosen to assist you.”

“Am I that difficult?” she teased.

His lips quirked reluctantly. “Never, Lady Katherine. I’ll return in a—”

He gasped and the tray crashed to the floor, spilling soup and dishes everywhere. Katherine whirled around and saw the loathsome face of her kidnapper as he rose into the windowsill.

She started to scream, but he lunged at her and she scrambled backward. The man tumbled into the room and lurched to his feet. Katherine knew she’d never make it to the door. Frantically she searched about her for a weapon. She was suddenly shoved hard to one side by Owen, who faced the much larger man with merely his eating knife.

“Go, my lady,” Owen said in a strained voice as he and the kidnapper crouched and faced one another.

But the man’s black eyes focused on her intently, and Katherine knew he would kill Owen to follow her. His smile revealed a gaping hole through which his tongue protruded. She remained trapped in her corner of the room, the bed between her and the fight.

The kidnapper laughed and feinted forward with his fist. Owen jerked backwards, his face reddening.

“Boy, move or I’ll hurt ye.”

Owen raised his knife. “Stand back! Leave Lady
Katherine be! Take me for ransom if you must. My father—”

“Owen!” Katherine cried. “’Tis too dangerous.”

The man chortled, then knocked aside Owen’s knife. Katherine watched it skitter beneath the bed, then raised her gaze in horror as the kidnapper advanced. Owen retreated as slowly as possible, retrieving a dirty dish from the table and tossing it. The man ducked, then lunged forward and up, grabbing Owen by the neck like an unwanted puppy. With a vicious shake, he tossed Owen against me wall. The boy crumpled to the floor and remained still.

“Now, my lady,” he mocked, “ye’ve got no monk, notion’ but a boy. I was a patient man—followed ye, I did. I did me best to keep ye safe, but what did it get me? Ye’re still free. People are laughin’ at me, they are. Can’t ’ave mat. Ye need to be taught a lesson before we see my master.”

“You won’t tell me the coward’s name?” she demanded, hearing a high-pitched crack in her voice.

“Plenty o’ time,” he crooned, taking a step forward. “No monk, no father, just you and—”

Katherine turned towards the door, and when the kidnapper stepped that way, she rolled across the bed. She landed hard on her stomach on the floor, then stuck her arm beneath the bed, searching for Owen’s knife. A quick painful slice across her finger told her she’d found it. Just as she rolled onto her back with the weapon, the kidnapper, with a triumphant cry, dropped on top of her, and the knife sank deep into his chest.

Katherine gasped in agony from the hilt of the knife bruising her ribs, and the weight of his body. Frantically she shoved and squirmed, tears running down her face. The man’s head bobbed lifelessly next to her own, his sweat smearing her cheek, his blood soaking into her gown. She gasped in one more lungful of foul air, then heaved with all her might. His body sagged to one side, away from the bed.

Trapped by the furniture, Katherine dug her heels into the floor and pushed herself upward, out from under his body. His shoulder and arm dug painfully into her chest, but at last she was free of him. The blood smell rose from her own doming. She crawled a few feet away and retched on the carpet.

Katherine sat back on her heels, swaying with the pounding in her head and the nausea. She looked over her shoulder at the body and shuddered. He had to be dead. There was too much blood soaking her to the skin.

Her heart grew deathly cold. It could easily be her blood, her death. And she had never told Reynold she loved him. The pressure in Katherine’s chest erupted in a harsh sob, and she covered her mouth. He could be dying right now, the man who had taught her about courage and strength. He had believed in her, no matter her weak arm or her foolish ignorance. He had made her feel protected and cherished, but never less man an equal. He had loved her. And what had she done for him?

Katherine had let Reynold dunk he wasn’t good enough for her. Tears burned a path down her cheeks. She could have spoken to her father, explained about her love for Reynold. Instead she had worried about her honor and pride, and let a good man possibly ride to his death thinking himself unworthy of her love.

Each sob was ripped from Katharine’s lungs like torture, but she welcomed the pain. She deserved it. The only way to atone for what she had done was to go to Reynold, to beg his forgiveness and confess her love. If it wasn’t too late. She sniffed back her last tears, trying to rediscover the determination Reynold had shown her she possessed. She would let nothing stand in her way. Her future was with Reynold. Wonderful nights in his arms stretched before her endlessly—all she had to do was make it happen.

She crawled to Owen, and gently turned him over. He groaned and his forehead wrinkled in pain. His swollen brow oozed a trickle of blood.

“Owen?” She patted his face. “Can you hear me?”

He blinked, then squinted up at her. “Katherine, what—”

Before she could reassure him, he shoved hard against her arms and tried to get up.

“That man—”

“He’s dead,” she said, fighting back another wave of nausea.

Owen stiffened in her arms, then slowly allowed himself to sag back against her. “Dead?”

“I killed him.”

Owen’s eyes opened wide. “You, my lady?” Then his gaze took in the scarlet stain across her chest. “You’re hurt!” he cried, flinging himself from her arms to hover over her. “Shall I fetch—but no, you could bleed to death. Perhaps if I see the wound—” His face reddened. “I mean—oh, my lady, tell me what to do.”

She took his fluttering hand. “’Tis his blood, Owen. Please help me to my feet.”

When he grasped her other hand, Katherine instantly remembered the wound she had received in her mad search for the knife. “Perhaps I will need your services after all.”

Katherine sat in her chair while Owen cleaned and bandaged the shallow cut across her fingers. She couldn’t help but watch the corpse, as if the man might still begin to move. He was not the only one searching for her. What of the kidnapper’s master? Would he come himself, or send a new man, one whose face she wouldn’t recognize, one who could openly approach her on the street, and she wouldn’t know to run. She must warn Reynold in case he became the next target.

She looked down at her wool gown in distaste. “I can’t wear this, Owen. And I have no other garments.”

He frowned. “Your father left me coins, but to use them all on clothing would be foolhardy. Perhaps we could ask one of the maids—”

“We can stay here and pretend to be respectable, but they won’t believe us.”

“You’re the earl’s daughter!”

“You and I know that, but do I look it? For all they know, I am a woman you—”

“My lady!” Owen cried, blushing to the roots of his hair. “You should not know of such things.”

“I have seen too much,” she said, her shoulders bowing. “I wish I could say that I am the same, but I’m not.”

“You have changed, my lady,” Owen murmured, patting her wounded hand as he released it. “Your arm seems to pain you no more.”

Katherine smiled. “Reynold taught me not to think about it, and sometimes I actually forget it was broken.”

They looked. at each other for a moment, and Katherine wondered what she was supposed to do. What would Reynold do? A wave of longing rushed through her, and she closed her eyes. What was he doing now? Riding to fight Henry Tudor, or perhaps engaged in battle already. She shivered. Please, God, let her not be too late.

“Call up the innkeeper, Owen. We must explain this death.”

“But Lady Katherine, you just said they will not believe the truth.”

“Yet we must attempt the telling. I will not run away in secret. Go ahead.”