Gayle Callen (27 page)

While Owen was gone, Katherine remained in her chair, her gaze fixed on the dead man. For so many weeks he had been the source of her terror, and now he was gone. She longed to bathe the
stains of his death from her body. But not now, not until he was removed.

Owen opened the door and ushered the innkeeper in. The man was blustery and jovial, clearly a source of amusement in his public rooms. He grinned obligingly at her, and then his face slowly paled.

“Girl, your dress—” He saw the body. “God’s blood,” he whispered. “What ’appened?”

Katherine rose to her feet. “I am Lady Katharine Berkeley, daughter of the Earl of Durham, who purchased these rooms. That man—” she pointed to the body, “climbed in through the window and attacked me.”

“Are ye badly injured?” he asked, gaping at her chest.

Katherine blushed at the scrutiny. “This is his blood. I had to stab him as he came down…atop me,” She choked out the last words, then clasped her shaking hands together.

The innkeeper gazed around himself at the disheveled bed and the broken dishware. “Ye say ye’re Lady Katherine?”

She lifted her chin. “I am.”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, little lady, but ye might just be apin’ your betters. ’Tis not for me to decide. I’ll send for the sheriff. Ye could be a whore who killed for a purse.”

“Why would I call you then?”

But the innkeeper wouldn’t listen to her protests. He turned and left the room, looking back once at the body with a shake of his head.

Katherine and Owen gazed at one another grimly.

“Surely he doesn’t think that I would deliberately…” Katherine’s voice trailed off.

“I will saddle my horse in case we must flee, my lady. Unless you wish to visit the gaol?”

She shuddered.

“Where shall we go?” Owen asked.

“To my father, of course.” And Reynold, she added silently.

Owen bowed and edged toward the door, only leaving when Katherine insisted. Once again she sat alone with the corpse, waiting for a man to pronounce judgment upon her. As the minutes sped by, she began to doze, her head dropping to her chest. It had been many nights since she’d slept in peace. She was startled awake by the innkeeper’s voice.

“There she sleeps like a innocent, my lord sheriff, like a man’s death don’t weigh ’eavy on her soul.”

Katherine rose slowly to her feet, trying to recapture the dignity her garments did not inspire. She allowed the sheriff, a thin, sallow man, to gaze at her critically, while trying not to show how her heart pounded.

She finally turned to the innkeeper. “Sir, if I were guilty, would I not have fled by now?”

The sheriff scratched his bristled chin. “She talks like an earl’s daughter.”

“Gentlemen, forgive my state of dress. I was kidnapped from my home by that man, and was only
recently reunited with my father. I have not had time to send for my own garments.”

The sheriff reluctantly removed his doth cap. “Ye may be who ye say ye are, milady, but I must wait for the earl to tell the truth of yer story. Come With me, if ye will.”

Katherine didn’t move. “I wish to remain here until my father returns.”

“I can’t allow that, miss.”

“Lady Katherine,” she said.

“If that be yer name, then ye ’ave nothin’ to fear, do ye, milady? Come along now.”

Katherine avoided his arm and descended the stairs into the common room unassisted. The friendly voices grew quiet and all movement ceased as straining eyes took in her blood-stained gown and her escort. She felt very far away, nothing at all like herself. They were about to imprison her. Once more she would be put into a dark pit, this time without Reynold’s comfort. She would survive it—she must. When her father and Reynold returned, if they returned—

Katherine found it suddenly hard to breathe past the lump in her throat. They could be dying only miles away. She lifted her chin and looked with disdain at all the healthy men who ogled her.

“Your king fights for his life nearby!” she cried out, her voice piercing the heavy silence. “Why do you men yet remain?”

Heads lowered, shoulders hunched forward, and every gaze dropped from hers. She saw the shrugs, heard the muttering.

“You should be ashamed,” she said in her most withering voice.

The sheriff gave her a gentle push from behind and she stumbled through the door. Thank goodness the sheriff had allowed her to leave first, for there was Owen, ablaze in her father’s colors, as he kicked the horse’s flanks and shot forward. With a gasp, she caught his hand and managed to find the stirrup as he lifted her off the ground. The peasant skirt wouldn’t give enough for her to ride astride, so she perched on the horse’s rump and clutched Owen’s waist.

The sheriff shouted from behind her, but she put him from her mind. She was free, with the wind in her hair, and a horse carrying her away from Leicester. The distance grew ever smaller between her and Reynold. She would tell him of her love, and together they would deal with James.

T
he scurriers, Lord Durham’s advance men, brought the news to the earl’s army. While their mounts steamed and trembled below them, the men gasped that King Richard was dead.

The pain in Reynold’s chest had little to do with the king who had ruled so briefly. The kingdom would go on as always—but would Katherine? He dreaded having to inform her that her mission had failed. And still doubts whispered inside his head, that the earl’s army had almost reached the king—but not quite. Was that deliberate? Reynold looked up as Lord Durham spoke to his soldiers.

“You’re sure as to the events you witnessed, Crosby?”

The man bobbed his head as he gulped down water. “I saw with my own eyes how His Majesty the king and a few retainers charged that traitor’s line. Why, the king took down many a man before he was overwhelmed. My lord, he wore his crown plain for all to see. I saw the sun flashing off it from hundreds of yards back.”

Katharine’s father nodded his head almost absently. “Yes, he would never hide his identity, nor shield himself behind his men.”

“Aye, my lord. Only such a one as Henry Tudor could do that, no fighter he.”

Reynold watched the small army as the news was passed outward. Wave upon wave of soldiers stood with their heads bowed.

“My lord,” the scurrier continued, “the new king is headed this way, for Leicester is my guess. They’re but a few miles behind me.”

The earl sighed. “We shall not meet them on the road, lest in their bloodlust they attack unwisely. We shall await them in Leicester.”

When a few men grumbled nearby, Lord Durham’s temper finally snapped.

“Do you wish to have homes to return to?” he shouted. “Do you wish your wives and daughters flung from their houses by men to whom you did not even raise swords? The battle is over! We have lost. All we can do is go on with our lives.”

Reynold had never heard an army move forward so silently. But once again, dark thoughts overtook his mind. It seemed too easy that the king was dead, without the Earl of Durham shedding one drop of blood.

The farther they rode, the more Katherine felt dread winding around her heart like rotting ivy. Something was wrong. The air hung still and oppressive, the countryside was motionless. Her father’s army had recently passed this way, yet
something deep inside told Katherine that much more was going on. Was the battle joined? Would she find Reynold fighting for his life? She shuddered and huddled closer to Owen’s back. The squire sat straight so that she could lean against him.

“Are you tired, my lady?” he asked over his shoulder. “It won’t be much farther now. In fact, do you see that dust cloud over the edge of the hill? It must be your father’s army. They have yet to reach the field of battle.”

“We hope,” Katherine added darkly.

Owen’s prediction proved true. As they topped the hill, the Durham army sprawled before them, curling in a long line down the winding dirt road.

“Owen, shouldn’t they be heading away from us?”

The boy didn’t answer, but his hands clutched hers at his waist. After a moment, he kicked his heels into the horse and they galloped down the green hillside directly for the army. Shouts of recognition reached her ears, and Katherine waved. But her eyes were busily searching the men.

The soldiers looked no worse for wear, besides being drenched in sweat and dusty from the road; Perhaps Henry Tudor had veered in another direction, and there would be no battle this day. She saw her father’s banner at the rear of the army, and nearby Reynold’s dark head. Her relief was so overwhelming she felt light-headed. Now she could tell him what was in her heart. She waved and Reynold lifted a hand.

Owen guided the horse midst the midst of the knights, who called good-natured jests that Katherine barely heard. She and Owen rode up between the warhorses of her father and Reynold. She smiled at Reynold, almost bursting with the need to tell him of her love, to ask his forgiveness. He attempted to frown at her, but his lips wouldn’t quite obey him.

Her fattier had no such problems. He swept the helmet from his head and glowered at her. “Katherine, you have disobeyed me! Whyever would you put your life at such risk?”

“Her kidnapper attacked us,” Owen said.

Katherine felt the stiffness that held his back rigid, and she silently blessed his attempt to help her.

Reynold’s horse danced a step as he fought to bring the beast even closer. His face had gone pale and hard with anger. “I knew this was going to happen. Are you hurt?”

Katherine longed to take his hand as he reached for her, then thought better of it. His gaze suddenly dropped and his eyes went wide at her bandaged hand and stained gown.

“Is that blood?”

She opened her mourn, but her father’s stern, “Katherine!” brought her gaze to him.

Owen said, “My lady but defended herself, and killed the villain as he attacked her.”

Her father’s mouth sagged open. “You killed the man, Katherine?”

She tried to remain dignified as she nodded.
Turning to Reynold, she saw his worried eyes, then the slow, proud smile he bestowed on her. She sighed with happiness. He was all she ever wanted, her dark knight, her love. But she could not leave her wits in the clouds.

“We cannot relax our vigilance, Father. The man seemed most desperate to punish me for eluding him again and again. Perhaps his master feels the same.”

When her father gave a heavy sigh, Katherine’s happiness began to dissolve away. He looked tired. She could not stop herself from thinking that he was too old for this.

“My child, perhaps you are no longer in danger.”

A chill went through Katherine. What could he mean? She opened her mouth to protest, then subsided and looked about her once more. She had forgotten that the army was headed for Leicester, no battle having been fought. Reynold’s dark brows were lowered in a frown, and he looked at her in great sympathy.

“What has gone wrong?” she asked.

“We were too late, Katherine,” Reynold said. He reached for her hand and she took it, squeezing tightly. “King Richard died on the battlefield ere we reached him. I am sorry.”

Katherine felt as if the horse reared under her, as if the whole world had turned upside down. While she had frolicked with Reynold, or laid abed an extra hour, the king had died. Her throat seemed to close until even a sob would surely
burst her chest. A man had died because knowledge she possessed hadn’t reached him in time.

“Katherine, we are not sure what happened,” Reynold said, as if reading her mind. “Do not blame yourself. The king foolishly trusted the wrong people.”

The dam seemed to burst and she found herself sobbing against Owen’s back. Her heart ached for the men she might have been able to save. Suddenly she found herself plucked from the horse’s back and into strong arms encased in metal. She pressed her face into Reynold’s hard chest and cried for all that she should have accomplished.

“Thank you, Owen,” the earl said quietly. “I will tell your father of your bravery. Take your place with the other squires.”

Katherine’s sobs soon melted into shudders. She knew she should sit up and stop betraying her feelings for Reynold. She was beyond caring, it seemed. She only wanted his arms around her, to smell him and taste him, and never let him go.

“I love you,” she whispered.

He stiffened, and responded in a hoarse, quiet voice. “What did you say?”

“None of this was your fault,” she went on, hiccupping on a sob. “You were valiant in my defense.”

“No, the first part. Repeat it.”

Katherine nestled closer, and raised her head until her lips could touch the skin above his gorget. “I love you.”

He squeezed her tightly, then seemed to shud
der. “I thought you would never—admit—” He paused and cleared his throat, “—especially with the king—”

“I know,” she interrupted, swaying with the motion of his body on the horse. “I feel horrible that I did not succeed with my message. But Reynold,” she looked up into his beautiful eyes, “I would have felt worse if I’d done nothing at all, or if you had not kept me going when I would have given up.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, then Katherine’s gaze dropped to his lips.

Reynold whispered, “I want to kiss you.”

“Please.”

He arched one eyebrow. “Do you care nothing for your father’s reaction?”

She sighed. “You are right. I must respect his wishes.”

“And marry James?”

“I have a small influence with Father. Persuasion will be necessary to change his mind.” Her smile vanished and she gazed deeply into his eyes. “Do you really want me, Reynold? I might not bring anything to our marriage.”

“Just yourself, my love. It is enough.”

His voice was a low rumble in his chest, soothing and comforting. Yet she could not allow herself to be so relaxed. She must still confront her father.

Sighing, Katherine turned her face away from the sun and allowed the slow rhythm of the horse to lull her towards sleep. Relaxed as she could only be in Reynold’s arms, she blinked her heavy eye-
lids once, twice, then caught sight of her father’s rigid profile. Sleep deserted her.

“Is something wrong, my sweet?” Reynold asked, his lips grazing her ear.

Though she shook her head, she could not stop staring at her father. He did not insist on carrying her himself, nor was he blind. Why did he keep quiet? The earl always held strong opinions, and seldom kept them to himself.

“Father?”

He did not answer, and she waited a moment before calling to him again. He finally turned his head and she saw his expressionless face.

“I need to talk to you about James,” she said, ignoring the way Reynold’s arms tightened.

“We will not discuss him now.” The earl turned back to gaze over his army.

“But, Father—”

“Katherine, do you not see what is about to happen when the new king reaches Leicester? He is but a few miles behind us.”

“I did not know,” she said.

“After I see King Henry, and discover if I may keep me lands that have been in our family for centuries—”

His voice thickened and she could not stop the tear that fell to her cheek.

“Then we will discuss your future, Katherine.”

“Yes, Father.” She turned her head away and gripped Reynold’s hand.

As they approached the walls of Leicester and the stone bridge into the city, Katherine could hear the church bells peeling. News of King Henry had already gone before them.

She sighed and let Reynold’s arms comfort her. Everyone was battle weary. The crown had changed hands so many times in recent memory that the power of loyalty was dulled. And perhaps her father would suffer for his.

The earl called his knights around him, and Katherine and Reynold remained dose enough to hear his words.

“I shall send my sergeant-at-arms to guide our soldiers around to the northern side of the city, where they will camp outside the walls. We must all swear our fealty to the new king. If things do not go well, I will send a message to the soldiers to leave for home, where perhaps a new earl will soon reside.”

The squires and knights fell in behind the earl, who raised an arm in salute as his foot soldiers filed past. Katherine had never been so proud of her fattier, as he tried his best to protect his people.

A half hour later, as the last of the villagers went by, Katherine slumped back against Reynold in exhaustion. She had never before realized how difficult it was to remain dignified and proud when all she wanted to do was cry. Would her father be punished for his loyalty to the last king?

When the earl, Katherine, Reynold, and the band of knights crossed the stone bridge and entered the city, milling crowds surged towards the road, then
fell back when they recognized the earl’s banner. People were obviously awaiting the new king. Her father’s knights drew up in front of the inn, where the innkeeper gaped up at Katherine.

“Will you please fetch the sheriff, sir?” she called down, then smiled when the man pushed a poor lad to obey. She looked up at Reynold. “They probably think you captured me, foul murderer that I am.”

At her father’s questioning stare, her smile died. “Did I not mention that I had to escape the sheriff?”

Lord Durham rolled his eyes, and Reynold’s body shook with mirth. He dismounted and helped Katherine to the ground. His hands lingered at her waist.

“I hate to let you go,” Reynold murmured into her ear. “I am afraid my good fortune cannot last and you will be taken from me.”

“Only by force, my love,” she whispered, leaning against him briefly. “Only by force.”

After explanations were made to the sheriff, Katherine preceded her father and Reynold up to their room on the second floor. Thankfully, the corpse was gone. Shattered goblets and dishes still littered the floor. Reynold stepped over the mess and frowned at the bloodstain by the bed.

Katherine said, “We can’t wait for Owen to return from stabling the horses, Fattier. I’ll send for a maidservant”

Owen returned soon after the carpet was replaced and the room straightened. Katherine
gladly offered to help the squire remove the men’s armor. She pushed Owen towards Reynold and saw to her father.

He harrumphed, then remained silent beneath her quick fingers. After a few minutes, when she had loosened his breast and back plates, he glanced down at her.

“Where have you learned so much, child?”

“I have always watched Owen or the other squires aid you, Father.”

“I am not speaking of my armor.” He nodded to Owen, who left the room.

Katherine pursed her lips and pretended to concentrate on her task. How to answer such a question from one’s own father? Should she just confess that she had fallen in love with a man who had taught her she could rely on herself, that she could trust her own judgment?

But doing so would admit that her father had not taught her these things, that somehow he had failed her. No, she thought, it was much more complicated than that. Her life might have turned out fine if not for that evil monk, her mother’s disbelief, and so many other things which she had allowed to influence her life. But no more.