Gayle Callen (6 page)

Reynold forgot about her breasts. “King Richard? Is that what this is all about? Do you have some silly notion he might attend your wedding?”

Katherine withdrew, her dark blue eyes turning to ice. “Do you think I would risk your life as well as my own on something so frivolous? You do not
have a very high opinion of my intelligence, Brother Reynold.”

He sat up. “What am I supposed to think? You will not tell me why we are going to Nottingham.” He leaned on one arm, closer to her. “Why all the secrecy, Katherine? Why did those men imprison you? You must tell me.”

Katherine almost forgot everything when his large hand, warm and callused with work, cupped her cheek. He turned her gently until their gazes met, and she could only stare. His strange-colored eyes were full of concern. The once-forbidding heaviness of his brow now made him look strong and secure, someone to depend upon—someone to trust.

But she could not risk trusting him, could not divulge her secret to anyone but King Richard. Some of his most favorite courtiers had plotted their treason while attending her father’s hunt. Eleanor, her father’s mistress, had overheard them, and trusted her with the information. She could not betray the only woman who had ever treated her like a daughter. And she would not listen to suggestions that her father might be guilty. No man would treat his own daughter the way she had been treated.

Katherine looked into Brother Reynold’s eyes, so filled with concern. She wanted to speak, but words failed her. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she felt a sudden, startling tightening in the depths of her body, a slow warmth that radiated outwards. Never had she felt such languorous
heat. All these new sensations just from a man’s eyes and hands—but this wasn’t the man she would be marrying. This was a monk.

Katherine turned her back on him and fought to master her breathing. What was wrong with her? She barely knew this man—this monk. Why did she have to keep reminding herself what he was?

“I am sorry, Brother,” she whispered hoarsely. “I cannot tell you anything. I have people I must protect. Please understand this and stop asking for answers I cannot give.”

She heard him sigh as he lay back in the grass. Katherine sat stiffly, looking at the rough wood wall.

“Lie back, Lady Katherine,” he murmured. “Rest.”

Katherine slept deeply, unmoving, obviously exhausted from her unusual exertions. Reynold propped his head on his arm and watched her, studying her eyes with their flickering golden-brown lashes, the rise and fall of ample breasts which could not be hidden by an ill-fitting peasant dress. Reynold inhaled deeply, struggling for control over emotions which ranged from protectiveness to outright lust. And God help him, he did lust after her, this fragile girl with a heart so big she had to take on a man’s cause, no matter what the peril. Every other woman he had ever met or wooed would have run straight to the man in her life, be he father or suitor. He had never had much use for women, except for baser needs. Sometimes
he felt pity for his older brother, who had to marry and produce heirs. Yet, had he met a woman like Katherine in his youth, perhaps his life would have turned out differently.

Reynold sighed. It was difficult to think rationally when her legs twisted in sleep, exposing the fair skin of her calves, when her lips pouted, then parted. He could only think of kissing her, of cupping one of those magnificent breasts in his shaking hand.

Stop this!
he told himself angrily, rolling onto his back and covering his eyes with one arm. He tried to remember the monastery, the book he had been transcribing, but everything except the girl was a blur. Why was he allowing himself fantasies of making love to her? He knew it was impossible—not only was she engaged to some fool, but the monastery was where he belonged now. All he could cling to were the shreds of his honor. He remembered his older brother’s contempt and disgust, his sister’s sobs. Because of him, his youngest brother was dead. He had brought himself to this wretched life, but it did not mean he couldn’t appreciate a beautiful woman.

He turned and looked once more at Katherine, at the curve of her cheek and those full lips, beckoning to him. She was a test to his honor and penance. He refused to fail.

The dream had not come to Katherine in many years. The old monk had been the only man to show her any kindness, besides her father’s occa
sional remembrance that she was there. He wanted to know what she was studying, even what she was thinking. And he always hugged her, something her own father or mother seldom did. But once when they were alone, his hugs had turned to intimate touches. When she had finally realized that something was horribly wrong, she cried out in sudden shock and terror. He ignored her, his hands no longer gentle, but sweaty and hurtful.

Katherine’s hoarse scream brought Reynold bolt upright out of a pleasant doze. Her contorted face was shiny with perspiration, and she lay unnaturally stiff, her limbs stretched outwards.

“Katherine,” he called, reaching out to touch her shoulder. “’Tis but a dream. Wake up!”

She screamed again, and the sound was so agonized that Reynold felt gooseflesh rise on his skin. He rolled up to his knees and shook both of her shoulders. She suddenly went limp and began to weep, huge sobs torn from her chest. He gathered her into his arms and she didn’t protest. She simply clung to him, and he rocked her like a child, his hands combing through her tangled hair.

“Tell me your dream, my sweet,” he whispered.

Katherine shook her head and sobbed harder, clutching his shoulders.

“Do you have this often?”

She began to quiet in his arms, and gave a shivery sigh. “No,” she whispered. “’Tis n-nothing. I’m sorry.”

Reynold nodded, resigned to her silences. He re
solved to himself that he would discover her secrets—all of them. He would help her heal, because he had never bothered to help his brother.

“Do you wish to go back to sleep?” he asked.

She shook her head, then suddenly seemed to realize where she was and how he held her. Instead of bolting from his arms, she studied him, her blue eyes dark as the stormy skies outside.

“Brother Reynold?”

“Yes?”

“Why do you care about me? Why do you risk your life for me? I tell you nothing, as if you are untrustworthy.”

He hesitated a moment, feeling the weight of her head in the crook of his arm, her body across his thighs. “You are frightened, but you will tell me why eventually.”

“You are so sure of yourself, then?” she said, arching one eyebrow and showing more spirit.

“Sure of my power over women.”

He winked, spoiling her outrage before it started.

J
ust before dusk they approached a castle, nestled in a valley along the banks of a river, with lush farm fields as far as the eye could see. Earlier they had passed through one of the outlying villages, and Reynold had inquired if the castle housed travelers.

“Is this not dangerous?” Katherine asked, pulling her hair back with a thin strip of leather. “What if someone is curious about us?”

“Better to answer simple questions, than to be attacked again.”

She shivered and glanced over her shoulder. “Do you think we have been followed?”

“I will not take chances. That man seems determined to recapture you. Perhaps you would care to enlighten me as to his motives?” Reynold asked with a quirk of his brow.

Katherine rolled her eyes and sighed. She would tell him everything, if only her father weren’t at risk.

The uneven ground sloped downward, and Katherine caught Reynold’s arm to keep from tripping in a muddy hole.

He patted her hand. “Do not worry. I am a convincing actor.”

“I’ve no doubt,” she said dryly.

They walked along in silence, arm in arm, and for once Katherine didn’t pull away. Her hand was caught in his elbow, where hard muscles bulged against one another. He felt solid and strong, like a man should feel. Did James feel this way? It had been three years since she’d seen her betrothed, three years of rare gifts and letters, but no wedding date. She remembered him as handsome and strong, but not so large as Brother Reynold. He’d never touched her, except to kiss her hand. Was not even her dowry an inducement for James to complete their vows? Had he forgotten her? Or perhaps he remembered only her physical flaws.

They approached the castle just before the gates closed for the night. The walls on each side of the gatehouse sloped outward towards the ground, but reared up to two towers which blocked out much of the sky. Brother Reynold smiled down at her and tightened his grip. Just in front of them, a man pulled a cart overflowing with children. A little girl with a thin face and a head of brown curls waved at them and giggled.

Somehow Katherine expected her knight-turned-monk would frown uneasily. Instead he grinned, wiggled his fingers in return, and crossed
his eyes at her. The child shrieked with delight until the man told her to hush.

Katherine eyed the monk dubiously and he leaned down until his mouth was close to her ear.

“I love children,” he whispered.

The words faded away as his lips brushed her ear and a shiver swept through her. His breath was warm against her neck and he seemed to linger there a moment, the stubble of his beard scraping her. Katherine remained immobile, caught up in the spell of his nearness.

“Don’t you like children?” he murmured. “Or have your brothers and sisters soured you on them?”

“I am the only child,” she replied uneasily, wishing he’d move away. She couldn’t think straight.

“Ah, what a shame. No one to play with as a youth, no one to train with as you grew older.” But his voice trailed off and he frowned.

She couldn’t let such an opportunity go. “Why Brother Reynold, didn’t you play with all the village girls?” She wanted to know everything about him, but didn’t know how to begin. She expected him to laugh, but the anguish in his face only deepened before he could hide it.

“I was too big,” he answered at last.

“Too big? What does that mean?”

“They were afraid of me.” His deepset eyes were remote, almost wistful. “Sometimes I could not control my strength.”

Her own smile died and her throat tightened in
sympathy, as she imagined a little boy, awkward in a too-large body, playing by himself. She wanted to kiss that little boy’s brow, soothe his ruffled hair.

Katherine found herself sliding her hand into his much larger one. She saw the surprise on his face as he lifted their clasped fingers. With wide eyes, they stared at one another, then broke apart and looked away. Her skin suddenly felt too hot for her body, and the crowds seemed to press too close.

Katherine was grateful when the cart in front of them moved on. The guards who looked them over were not as tall as her monk, but big and broad, wearing plated brigandine instead of heavy armor. Each held a pike in one dirty hand. She had entered many gatehouses, but always in a litter, and the guards had bowed respectfully, afraid to look her in the face. Now they searched Brother Reynold and his sack, then actually patted her waist with their clumsy, rough hands. Katherine stiffened when the guard’s arm brushed her breast. She heard a low wheeze of laughter. When he touched her again, she drew back a hand to slap him, only to have Brother Reynold grab it and tuck it safely into his elbow.

“Can my wife and I enter now?” he asked pointedly.

Katherine barely felt the last pat, or heard the onion-laced laugh the guard sent in her direction. Wife?

Brother Reynold led her beneath the portcullis, which was raised into the ceiling of the gatehouse.
Menacing, iron-tipped points hung above her head like teeth in a gaping maw. The darkness beneath the tower would have been absolute but for the open doors at each end. She saw the vaguest shadow of closed holes in the ceiling and arrow loops in the walls. She didn’t need to be reminded to hurry. They passed two massive wooden doors propped open, and came into the outer ward, a bare yard between two sets of castle walls.

Following the cart of laughing children, they passed through a smaller gatehouse to the inner ward, which seemed to crawl with people. In the far corner the immense towers of the great stone hall rose high over the wooden buildings lining all sides of the inner ward. A pack of dogs went barking past and Katherine jumped back. Reynold pointed to her and shrugged, making the children laugh.

She gave him an ominous frown. Husband, was he? She longed to pull him aside and tell him what she really thought of his idea. But as it was, a man and woman traveling alone together would attract the least suspicion by being married. But that didn’t mean she had to like it.

There had been no rain for days, and the dust hung heavy in the air, mixed with the smells of horses and overexerted men. She sighed her impatience when Brother Reynold insisted on waiting as all the children scrambled from the cart. She grimly hung on to him with her good arm and allowed herself to be swept along with the crowd and into the castle residence. Although she had
thought the day was hot, the interior of the great hall engulfed her with smoky heat and her breathing felt constricted. Rare windows had been cut high into two walls, but their cloudy glass did not let in much light at the end of the day. Instead fireplaces at opposite ends of the room blazed as high as a man, and candles and oil lamps hung in brackets along the walls.

Trestle tables and benches cluttered the hall. A servant impatiently directed them to a table close to the main entrance, far from the raised dais. Katherine suffered a sudden wave of homesickness as the noble family came out of their private rooms and took their places for the chaplain’s prayer. The five children spanned the years from infancy to adulthood. The oldest, a young man, lounged in his chair as if bored. The women were as colorful as flowers, and glittered in the torchlight. Butterfly veils on wire frames hid their hair, leaving just the maidens bareheaded.

Although Katherine had always been curious about her father’s people below the salt, she had never been allowed to sit with them. Now that she was crowded onto a bench, pressed hip to hip with Brother Reynold and a broad woman whose wimple hung askew, she would have given anything to be seated with the marquess’s family on comfortable chairs, waited on individually by deferent servants.

Brother Reynold gave her a compassionate smile and she felt hot tears gather behind her eyelids. When he patted her thigh, she stiffened and
pushed his hand away. With a grin, he dug into his magic sack and handed her a knife and spoon. The room quieted as the chaplain prayed and thanked God and the marquess for supplying the evening meal. Katherine felt a quick pang of remorse, remembering that she was only eating due to the marquess’s kindness.

She and Brother Reynold shared a thick bread trencher. A serving maid splashed in a generous amount of soup, and suddenly Katherine forgot her homesickness. Steam rose from the thick broth, and chunks of vegetables floated enticingly. She leaned forward to inhale at the same moment as Brother Reynold. Hot food. They looked at each other, nose to nose, and grinned.

The monk waited for the wooden trays of roast venison, but Katherine began to eat immediately. She paused only to allow him to set a piece of meat on top of the soup-soaked bread and cut himself a slice, before she attacked that as well, washing everything down with a tankard of ale. She knew Reynold watched her with amusement, but she ignored him, only clinking spoons occasionally as they tried to capture the same carrot.

When her stomach was full, she swayed in blissful complacency. Brother Reynold put a strong arm around her and she lazily allowed it, gazing at their tablemates in contentment. Children sleepily lowered their heads to their pillowing arms. Men and women leaned together much as she and Reynold were doing, talking in low voices.

Through half-closed eyes, Katherine looked
about the hall. Her gaze passed over the marquess’s family, then swiftly back again. The eldest son was staring at her.

Straightening her back, she glanced up at Reynold, but he was paying scant attention. He and the little children were making faces at one another. Hesitantly, Katherine looked up and was once again pierced by the son’s insolent gaze. She glanced side to side and over her shoulder, but there was no one else paying the young lord any attention. Blushing, she couldn’t help but look once more. He grinned at her.

Katherine dropped her gaze and did not look at him again. Her stomach tightened with nervousness, and she could no longer relax.

Something cold and wet touched her hand. She started, then quickly realized it was one of the castle dogs, gazing at her soulfully, its tongue hanging out in the heat. She was about to hand him the last of the sopping trencher when the monk stayed her hand.

“The almoner approaches. Save it for him.”

She watched as a hunched little man in threadbare robes gathered uneaten food for the poor.

“Why don’t they come in to eat like we did?” she asked softly.

“The guards knew we were travelers. They do not appreciate the same faces day after day, eating their lord’s food.”

Someone pounded twice on a table across the hall. Benches were suddenly pushed back, and the tables folded up against the walls. Brother Reynold
wiped their spoons and knives as best he could before replacing them in his sack. People broke into little groups, talking and laughing, while the marquess’s family seated themselves before one giant hearth. Colorful tapestries decorated the whitewashed walls over their heads. Katherine thought once or twice she felt the arrogant stare of the nobleman’s son, but she firmly ignored him.

When she heard the first pluckings of lute strings and realized there would be entertainment, she banished her foolish nervousness. Excitement caught her up and she began to hum. Her mother had always made her retire after the meal, and she used to lie in bed forlornly and listen to the merrymaking. Once she had snuck in to watch people whirl and laugh and drink too much. Now she had a chance to be one of them.

She turned to ask Brother Reynold to dance with her, and found him on his hands and knees in the rushes, playing with the children he had befriended. She watched in bemusement as they tried to climb aboard his back. He growled and sent them tumbling. They were not afraid of his dark face with its heavy brows. In fact, Katherine thought as she looked around the room, the monk seemed to draw a lot of attention, and it wasn’t only from the children. Women watched him speculatively, many sidling closer. Katherine fumed in silence. Could they not see he had a wife?

When she realized what she was thinking, Katherine almost gasped aloud. Was she actually jealous over a monk? The musician began a merry
tune, and Brother Reynold grabbed her by the waist to dance. He kicked aside rushes, whirling her around until Katherine was forced to clasp his arms and trust his embrace. He was good, effortlessly teaching her the steps while grinning down into her face from his immense height. Always he seemed to show deference to her weak arm.

She told herself she was dizzy from spinning, not from the warmth of his violet eyes shining out of his face, or his hard arms encircling her.

Brother Reynold knew every step of the dance. Katherine leaned back in his embrace giddily as the room spun. The music ended and he stopped so quickly that she came up hard against his body and he held her close.

In that one moment, she could feel the muscles of his thighs entwined with hers, the expansion of his rib cage as he inhaled deeply, the press of his hips against her stomach. His face suddenly turned brooding, his eyes narrowed, and his lips compressed into a thin, hard line.

Katherine would have thought he was angry had she not sensed the yearning in him. Eight months in a monastery must have been difficult for a man who seemed to enjoy people as he did—especially women. Giving her a last tight squeeze, he pulled her to a bench and sat down stiffly beside her. She watched his cold profile as he stared unseeing at the dancers. Katherine felt a twinge of sympathy. Why should she care if he were in pain—but she did.

“You dance quite well.” She glanced at him sideways.

He shrugged. “My fostering included practice with the earl’s daughters.”

“Practice?”

He met her gaze. “Dancing.”

“Oh,” Katherine said, feeling her face flame with embarrassment. How foolish she was behaving. She had a serious mission to reach the king, and she could have easily forgotten all about it and danced with Brother Reynold through the night. Instead she watched people whirling about by flickering torchlight, and thought only of the man beside her, and if he would ask her to dance again. And those women still stared at him!

Katherine shook her head, feeling hot and light-headed from the smoke. “If you will excuse me, I need a moment of privacy.”