Gayle Callen (5 page)

Brother Reynold must have been speaking to her, because now he touched her arm and Katherine drew it away quickly, more out of habit than fright.

“Forgive me. What did you say?” she asked, trying to keep the quiver from her voice.

“I asked why you felt so fortunate that a man could fall in love with you.”

“Such a personal question, Brother Reynold,” Katherine said, reaching for a blanket and spreading it on the ground.

“You were the one who said it, Lady Katherine.”

She lay down on her stomach and turned her head away from him. “I simply meant that because of my arm, which I am sure you have noticed by now, not many men would be willing to take me to wife.”

“It sounds as if you were grateful, not in love.”

“Of course I was grateful,” she snapped back at him. “He was handsome and wealthy, and treated me courteously. What more could I want?”

She heard Brother Reynold roll over on the ground a few feet from her. “And you think only I settled for less because of my family.”

Katherine was sure she was angry enough to debate this foolish monk for the rest of the night, but her eyelids were heavy, and the ground actually seemed soft. Just as she was about to drift into sleep, she heard Brother Reynold’s voice, as if from far away.

“Do you not wish to bathe?”

She blinked slowly and rolled onto her back. The monk was seated beside her. “What did you say?”

“The water is refreshing. Did you not wish to bathe?”

Katherine shivered. The moon had slipped away behind the trees. The branches swayed above her,
crowding out huge chunks of starry sky. Bathe out here, in the open?

“Perhaps another time,” she said.

“You do not have to worry about the kidnapper. He is securely tied.”

She sighed. “I had almost forgotten him.”

“I will protect you.”

His deep, gravelly voice hung in the air all around her. He seemed a giant against the night sky, a dark stranger who had rescued her for no apparent reason. And he expected her to trust him while she bathed?

Katherine shook her head and rolled away from him.

“I will stand near the trees with my back to you,” he continued. “Remove your gown and leave on the smock if you must.”

He got to his feet and walked away while Katherine gaped at him. He seemed to disappear into the night. Perhaps if she couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see her.

Katherine almost went to sleep just to spite him, but the soothing murmur of the water played with her senses. She was filthy from her days in captivity. She pushed up onto her knees. He had left the soft soap wrapped in a piece of cloth beside her blanket. Cautiously, Katherine removed the crude, sleeveless gown, then looked over her shoulder. The monk was nowhere to be seen and she felt a twinge of panic at the thought of being abandoned. But no, he had proven he wouldn’t leave.

Katherine stood up and slowly walked to the
bank of the stream, feeling for the slope of the ground with her feet. The water was a dark, welcoming gurgle. She touched the folds of her smock draping from her neckline. What would she sleep in if she bathed in it? Taking a deep breath and trying not to panic, she pulled the garment over her head and stepped into the water.

When he heard the sound of splashing, Reynold tried to take a deep breath and relax. He stood facing the forest like a sentry, every sense attuned not to his duty, but to the sounds of Katherine bathing. He groaned and closed his eyes. He should not be having such thoughts. He tried to concentrate on the manuscript he had begun to copy so recently. A splash sounded behind him, then a giggle. A bead of sweat began a slow trickle down the side of Reynold’s face. In his mind he saw water gliding down her bare arms as she lifted them to the starry sky. The water would be lapping at her breasts as she—

Reynold slammed his hand hard into the trunk of a tree. He could not allow himself to think this way. His old life was gone, forever dead to him. He was a monk now. He had taken his vows honestly, and he would not—could not—betray them.

Reynold suddenly remembered how he had felt when he heard Katherine scream but a few hours ago. He had forgotten the monastery, forgotten even the vows of knighthood he had sworn to the king on the battlefields of Scotland. No courtly knight would have burst forth from the water, feeling the need to crush bone and flesh for the sin of
touching a woman under his protection. No courtly knight would have caught up his knife and run through the trees, intent on murder.

Murder—isn’t that what he had done eight months ago? Besides his vows to God, hadn’t he vowed to never harm another soul again? Violence and battle prowess had been so much a part of him, and all they’d done was rip him from his family, make him an outcast.

Reynold felt bewildered by it all. Was Katherine a test he must pass, to prove to God and to his family that he could be a monk, that he could do this honorable thing?

He heard a splash, then a muffled oath.

“I am finished,” she called. “Just let me wipe the mud off my knee—I had a little fall.”

A smile tugged at his lips though Reynold fought against it. She was so different, so refreshingly innocent. God could not have chosen this test better.

“I’m dressed, Brother Reynold.”

He walked stiffly into the clearing and found her lying on her blanket in the darkness. Feeling that he couldn’t trust the hoarseness of his voice, he silently spread his blanket beside hers. He lay down and remained unnaturally still, listening to her gentle breathing.

“Are you cold?” he asked. “Shall I make a fire?”

But she was already asleep.

Katherine came awake slowly, involved in the most wonderful dream. James had come to visit
her again, instead of sending another message, or one of his occasional gifts. For once he had asked to see her alone, unchaperoned by her father. They stood on the battlements and looked out over the rolling countryside as the sunset bathed them in warmth. He put his arms around her and Katherine expected to feel revulsion, remembering that other man’s arms. Instead she sighed and leaned back against him, felt the warmth of his breath on her neck. If only he’d kiss her, show her that he wasn’t marrying her just for her dowry. And then he touched her, his hand sliding beneath her breast, and she moaned.

Katherine smiled, wishing it were all real. But parts of the dream didn’t dissolve away. She still felt the solid strength of a man behind her. It all came to her in a rush, Brother Reynold going to sleep near her late the previous night. It was his body curled against her back and thighs, his hand that loosely cupped her breast. She opened her mouth to scream, but he snored.

T
he elbow that slammed into Reynold’s gut nearly stole the breath from his lungs. He groaned and rolled onto his back, away from the soft warmth he’d been drawn to. The “soft warmth” gave a screech and jumped to her feet.

“Brother Reynold! Please keep to your own blanket!”

He rubbed his stomach with one hand and struggled not to laugh, squinting up at the lovely face framed in morning sunlight and golden curls.

“Good morning to you, too, my lady.”

“I am not your lady,” she said, angrily tugging at the peasant dress that hung crookedly on her body. “If my betrothed ever heard where you just put your hand, he would challenge you to—to joust!”

Reynold grinned as he stood up and folded his blanket. “You mean my hand wandered, and I do not remember? How cruel.”

“I certainly will not stay in the open tonight
since you cannot seem to control yourself.”

Reynold merely shook his head and gathered her blanket when she seemed disinclined to do so. He found her a green twig to clean her teeth. When their gazes met, Katherine blushed. She flounced off into the bushes for privacy, then a moment later reappeared and hurried to his side.

“That man,” she whispered. “The man who tried to—what will we do with him?”

Reynold sobered immediately, then walked towards their original camp with Katherine close behind. Her kidnapper was awake and struggling against his bonds. The man suddenly stilled and eyed him warily.

“Good morning,” Reynold said. He squatted and removed the gag. “Are you ready to talk with me today?”

The kidnapper worked his jaw for a moment, then spat towards Reynold’s feet.

“That was not very polite. Tell me who sent you to take the Lady Katherine.”

His tongue wagged insolently between the spaces of his missing teeth. Reynold glanced at Katherine who stood across the clearing, watching her captor almost fearfully. Was she worried the man would reveal her secrets? Clearly she knew or guessed who had ordered her imprisonment. Perhaps this wonderful fiance wasn’t so wonderful after all. He continued to study her until she lifted her gaze to his. She flushed and turned away. He wanted Katherine to tell him whatever truths needed to be told. He didn’t want her forced into
a confrontation she wasn’t ready for. He needed her trust.

Reynold delivered a quick blow to the man’s jaw.

Katherine gasped as he went limp. “Why did you do that?”

He unbound the man’s legs and returned to Katherine’s side. “I cannot just leave him to die.”

He hurried her back to the stream to collect their things, not allowing her to eat her dried apple and bread until they were well on their way.

By mid-morning, storm clouds gathered above and the air was oppressively hot. Katherine’s legs felt afire. As she took another two steps to Brother Reynold’s one and stumbled on her hem, she yanked on his arm.

“Please slow down!”

He caught his elbow to his side, imprisoning her hand. “I thought you were in a hurry, your ladyship. Have you not great wrongs to right?”

She blushed even more and tugged until he released her hand. Tucking a damp curl behind her ear, she attempted to walk before him and set the pace.

“Tell me, Lady Katherine, how did you injure your arm?”

Although she had been preparing herself for this, the question still shook her. Her inner vision slipped back five years, and she clutched the arm that always served to remind her of her folly.

“It might help to tell me,” he said softly, looking
down at her as they walked side by side.

Katherine narrowed her eyes. “Are you my confessor today, Brother?”

He stiffened abruptly, all emotion leaving his face. He was the well-trained knight again, dispassionate and remote. Katherine winced and suddenly longed to see the violet eyes alight with warmth when he smiled at her. Had that become so important?

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He glanced at her, then away, still stern, his brooding eyes deep beneath his brows.

“’Tis not a subject I discuss. People usually pity me, but they seldom ask what happened. I was simply running where I should not have been. I tripped and fell, catching myself with my arm. I can still feel the snap.” She did not mention what had caused her flight, although the thought was enough to make her shiver even in the heat.

His demeanor softened. “Could no one set it properly?”

“I imagine they tried, but ’tis all a blur to me. I only remember the pain.”

Brother Reynold continued to stare at her, until out of sheer discomfort she met his gaze. She saw deep compassion there and was lost in his vivid eyes. For a moment, she did not even realize they had stopped walking, and were facing one another uncertainly in the middle of the road.

“Let me see your arm,” he finally said.

“What? No!” she said furiously, trying to pull away from him. “I promise it will not slow us
down. I can keep up!” But his strong hands already gripped her arm at elbow and wrist.

“I know you can keep up. But allow me to see,” he insisted, his gaze earnest. “I, too, have been wounded many a time, and seen broken bones set when I thought ’twas hopeless. Perhaps it is not too late.”

She knew there was nothing he could do, that he only meant to sway her to his demands. She felt ridiculous tears well into her eyes. Brother Reynold’s grasp was firm but not painful. He merely waited patiently, while she struggled to suppress all the awkward pain of a girl who always felt different, worthless.

“Lady Katherine,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Surely many of your family have seen your arm.”

She shook her head, grateful that she was still holding back her tears. Her hair had fallen into her eyes like a curtain, and she held her breath as Brother Reynold gently tucked the curls behind her ears.

“An injury is nothing to be ashamed of. Are you going to hide it from your husband?”

He was right, she thought, wanting to moan with dread. She went still, allowing him to hold her arm, but not seeing him anymore, just remembering the pitying stares of her father and the castle servants, and the cold reproach in her mother’s eyes. James would hate her weakness, would pity her, maybe despise her.

Brother Reynold leaned towards her, almost
blocking out the sky. “Your face tells me how you feel, Lady Katherine, but you must not allow others’ reactions to rule your life. You survived something many could not. Your husband will be proud.”

She felt the tears spill down her cheeks as Brother Reynold gently pushed up the sleeves of her smock. He lifted her arm, turning it in the light, until she herself could see the horrible jagged scar on her upper arm where the bone had broken through the skin, the pale white slashes across her elbow where the physicians had bled her. Her stomach clenched tight with pain as she stared grimly at the reminders of her ruined youth, and what that other monk had done to her.

Brother Reynold began to trace the scars with his fingers, feeling the bone. Katherine barely held still. She wanted to hide, to sob.

“You were very brave,” he said, lowering her arm but not releasing her. “I have seldom seen worse, and many knights had the arm taken off instead. A husband would be proud of a woman who could withstand such pain and live. And anyone who thinks less of you is not worth your consideration.”

She stared almost in wonder at his harsh face, now gentled. The painful tightening in her chest eased away. Very slowly he lifted her arm again and bent forward, pressing his lips to the back of her hand. She was shocked into immobility, standing in an open road, allowing a man to touch her so intimately.

A moment later he dropped her hand and looked up at the darkening sky. “I hope this storm holds off until we find suitable shelter.”

Katherine came out of her trance and quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks. She cleared her throat, unable to look at the monk who had just given her a compassionate gift she’d forever cherish.

She squinted, barely able to make out a dark curling ribbon between sheep pastures and fields of barley. “Is that a river ahead?” she asked hoarsely.

He picked up his pace. “Perhaps there will be a place nearby where we can wait out the worst of the storm.”

As they neared the water, a small settlement came into view across the way, with its tiny cluster of houses around a village green, and a manor house farther away. An imposing mill straddled the river, with a foundation of stone beneath timber walls and thatched roof. Its wheel turned lazily through water that seemed unnaturally low.

“There will be a toll,” Brother Reynold said in a low voice, waving to a few villagers who stood by the mill. “I do not wish to waste the few shillings I have, so I shall carry you across.”

Katherine tried to pull away, but he thrust his sack and his boots into her arms, lifted her effortlessly, and pulled her close. His chest was warm and hard at her side, his fingers curled against her knees and the edge of her breast. A sudden image flashed into her mind, of Brother Reynold running
almost naked through the woods to her rescue. Her dry mouth and pounding heart she attributed to the anxiety of a sheltered girl with little experience dealing with men.

“Laugh,” he whispered, his breath warm on her cheek. “Do not arouse suspicion. Do you want them upset that we cannot pay their toll?”

He whirled her around in seeming abandon. Katherine’s head dropped back and the first splash of rain hit her face, cooling her skin. He made as if to drop her, and she gave a little shriek and clutched his shoulders. He grinned and she suddenly grinned back, relaxing in his arms, trusting him. He began wading into the river while Katherine merrily kicked her legs and reached down to touch the water. Brother Reynold staggered.

“Let us not make this too real,” he whispered.

Katherine splashed him.

The rain began to fall in soft waves and she laughed aloud, unlocking her arms from his wide shoulders and letting them dangle. Brother Reynold was so strong she had no fear he’d drop her—at least not by accident, she suddenly thought, as he dipped the back end of her dress in the river and grinned.

They staggered and laughed their way up onto the opposite shore, where Brother Reynold set her on the ground. He held her close for a moment, and the water from his legs dampened her gown. She thought she felt his lips touch her forehead, but she must have imagined it, because he waved
to the miller, pointed up at the rumbling sky, then to the nearest shed.

The man waved back and nodded.

Brother Reynold dragged her forward by the hand.

Katherine resisted, feeling her heartbeat speed up. “Surely this is not necessary.”

“Who knows how long this weather will last,” he called, pushing through the sagging door.

Katherine peered around his arm, but in the dim, hazy light, all she saw were piles of what looked like long grass, and a scythe propped up in the corner.

“What is it?” she asked suspiciously.

“Grass, probably from the mill pond,” Reynold replied, turning and falling backwards into the cuttings, arms outstretched.

Katherine saw more of his long, hairy thighs than she thought decent. “Brother Reynold!”

He suddenly grabbed a fistful of her skirt and pulled. Katherine shrieked as she fell.

Reynold stifled a groan and regretted his actions as she landed atop him. He could barely remember the last time a woman’s thighs had entwined with his. It could not have been this memorable. Katherine was all warmth and smooth skin and flushed indignation as she squirmed until she lay beside him. Guilt hovered at the edges of his consciousness, but when she tried to get up, he caught her arm.

“Stay here. I will not have you soaked in the rain.”

She removed his fingers from her arm with a huff, then sat up and showed him her stiff back.

“Brother Reynold, I don’t think this is appropriate.”

He almost begged her to stop using his title, but caught himself in time. For a tense moment, he stared at her slim back. Was that skin he saw between the laces of her dress? Gritting his teeth, he struggled to remember the holy vows that seemed to easily elude him. “Forgive my methods. I was caught up in our act.”

“You seem to have had much practice,” she said, still refusing to look at him. But the back of her neck had flushed red.

Reynold chuckled, crossed his ankles, and propped his arms behind his head. “I will only admit that the inside of a barn is hardly unfamiliar to me—although I shall not say if I was milking a cow or kissing a girl.”

The sweet curve of her cheek rounded in a smile and she turned to look at him. “You are the most unusual monk I have ever met.”

“Only because you never bothered to imagine that we all once had a life outside the monastery.”

“How long have you been a monk?”

“Eight months.”

“Oh, ’tis not so long.”

Reynold groaned and closed his eyes. “Not long? When you have been raised to jousting and sword-fighting and court manners, not to mention pretty girls, eight months is an eternity. But I do not regret my decision.”

She twisted to look at him, and Reynold’s gaze was drawn to the plumpness of her breast pressed against one arm.

“Have you met any of the royal family?” she asked, her voice suddenly hesitant.

“Which family?” he countered sarcastically, thinking of the royal upheavals of the last few years, when Richard, once Protector for his young nephew the king, had assumed the crown on the grounds of the boy’s supposed illegitimacy. Having grown up in the north, Reynold knew of Richard’s legendary courage and intelligence. The men of Yorkshire followed him willingly. Who was he to say that the new king was not telling the truth? And a fourteen-year-old boy-king could not control a country with a hundred years of rebellion and war behind it.

“You know what I mean!” Katherine said, leaning forward and bringing Reynold’s mind back to her lovely bosom. “Have you been to court?”

“Many times,” he said absently, wondering how far her oversized peasant dress could gape. He was beginning to feel overwarm.

She leaned forward to an alarming degree. “Do you think you could help me past the courtiers to see King Richard?”