Gayle Callen (7 page)

“I shall escort you,” he said, taking her arm and standing up.

Katherine shook off his touch, unable to meet his gaze. “Please, I would rather go alone.”

“Lady Katherine, we do not know these people.”

“And I barely know you, do I?”

His lips tightened and Katherine winced, looking around to see if anyone had overheard.

“Forgive me—husband. I am simply tired and overheated. I will return in a moment.”

She slipped out of his hands and weaved her way between the dancers, dodging a man’s questing fingers. She murmured apologies until she
reached a dark corridor, where flickering torches formed pools of light at regular intervals. She turned a corner, trying to find the exterior wall of the castle, where the garderobe would be. The noise of the dance was swallowed up almost immediately by the thick stone walls.

Katherine was conscious of being alone. It suddenly occurred to her that she and Brother Reynold had gained entrance to the castle very easily. What if her kidnapper had done the same, then hidden until he could find her alone?

Katherine looked over her shoulder in apprehension, but there was no one, only the damp stone floor and the smoky, wavering light of the torches. She hurried on, looking into each room for the garderobe, turning corners until she was dizzy. She suddenly stopped and swayed, holding her arm close to her body. She couldn’t remember if she’d turned left or right at the last corner.

Covering her mouth so that she wouldn’t giggle hysterically, Katherine tried to remember the way back. The garderobe no longer seemed more important than just finding Brother Reynold. While she stood immobile, eyes closed in concentration, she heard the faintest echo of voices.

Turning towards the sound eagerly, she started to run, then tripped over the hem of her skirt and fell against the wall. Her weak arm took the brunt of it, then collapsed so quickly she smacked hard into the stone. Her head blazing with pain, she swayed against the wall and closed her eyes.

T
he voices had come closer, and down the corridor she saw the bobbing of candlelight. The sounds blended suddenly, and Katherine realized that just one person came towards her, a man. He was singing. She shrank back against the damp stone wall, caught in the darkness between pools of torchlight. If she moved now, he would see her. Was it her kidnapper? Had he been following her?

The candlelight bobbed unnaturally, swaying back and forth down the corridor. The toneless singing grew louder. The man hiccupped and laughed to himself. He was drunk, Katherine thought in dismay and some relief. If he were following her he wouldn’t have imbibed, would he? Perhaps it was a trick.

Breathing in quick, frightened gasps, Katherine remained pinned to the wall, hoping the darkness would conceal her. The singing man moved closer, reeling once or twice. The candle illuminated his face, and it was not her kidnapper’s. Katherine
sagged against the wall, feeling a rush of relief that lasted but a moment. It was the marquess’s son.

“Where are you, little blond angel?” the young man called, continuing to sway as he came to a standstill. He shoved the candle forward, waving it wildly in the air. Katherine had no choice but to jump away from the spitting wax.

“There you are, angel,” he said, coming closer to hold the candle near her face.

She forced herself to look serene and unafraid. His hand shook and his foul breath assaulted her face.

“What a sweet little miss you are,” he murmured. “Left the party just for me, did ye?”

“No, my lord.” She wanted to speak as little as possible, doubting he’d be rational with the amount of wine he must have consumed. His heavy-lidded gaze moved down her body, and she pressed back against the wall. Why had she so foolishly left the hall alone?

His face loomed near, youthful and soft. Katherine tried to edge away but he caught one arm and gripped her tightly. She struck his shoulder.

“Release me! My husband is waiting.”

“Now, now, he won’t mind sharing, angel. Come give me a kiss.”

Katherine pulled hard against his grip. When she smacked him in the face he dropped his candle to restrain her other arm. The flame went out, leaving them in the shadowy darkness between torches. She tried to scream, but the sound was cut
off by his hand over her mouth. She swung forward and hit him across the face.

His hands were no longer playful. He twisted her arms behind her back and Katherine cried out in pain. Her breasts were flattened against his chest, and his ragged, hot breathing struck her face.

“I’ll scream!” she said, squirming against his body.

The man laughed. “No, you won’t, unless you wish your husband to pay for your foolish error. After all, who will my father believe, you or me?”

Panic pounded through her veins, and pulsed through her wild thoughts. She twisted her face away. His wet lips touched her ear and cheek and finally the corner of her mouth. Katherine’s stomach heaved and she barely controlled her nausea.

“Let her go,” a deep voice said behind them.

She sagged in his grip as she recognized Reynold. But instead of defending himself or releasing her, the nobleman only laughed. He turned to face Reynold, pulling Katherine back against his chest. She stared up into Reynold’s angry face, then cried out when the man crudely grabbed her breast.

“Whatever can you do, peasant boy?” His voice was as nasty as his drunken laugh. His head bumped Katherine’s when he peered over her shoulder and pulled at the gown’s neckline. “Why keep such treasure to yourself?”

He tried to plunge his hand down the front of her gown, straining the seams.

“Please,” Katherine whispered, her body and
emotions bruised. Why did Reynold stand so still? In the shadowy torchlight, his face looked hard and angry, and his chest rose and fell rapidly. But still he did nothing.

The marquess’s son released her body to grip her arm. “Your man knows, if you do not. He must sleep alone tonight. Come to heaven with me, angel.”

He began to drag her down the corridor, and Katherine dug in her heels and tried to pull free. She stumbled forward, then flung herself back, her free hand stretched out to the monk.

Though she cried out, he did not look at her. As she was pulled relentlessly down the corridor, his dark form remained still, head bowed, fists clenched. She screamed again until her abductor covered her mouth, and dragged her around a corner. She could see Reynold no more.

The young man bent and flung her over his shoulder. He staggered to one side, and Katherine thought he’d bash her head into the wall. He steadied himself, and merely swayed as he took a torch down from the wall.

“We don’t have all night,” he complained, as if she were just as anxious to begin as he.

Katherine hung limply, barely able to breathe with his shoulder crushing her stomach. Reynold had abandoned her. She had only begun to trust him, and already he had betrayed her. She had thought he was different than any man she had ever known, his compassion and understanding changing her life.

Katherine was too despondent for tears. She hung there, feeling the blood rush to her head, hoping she would faint before she found herself beneath the nobleman.

She lost track of the corridors they wound through. Every staircase was an exercise in fear as the nobleman swayed on each step, threatening to tumble them backward. Finally he opened a door and threw her onto a musty bed, where dust flung into the air made her sneeze. Dazed, she watched him light candles with his torch, then toss it into the hearth.

What was she doing, lying here, waiting for the worst to happen? She sat up and he flung her back, then straddled her hips to pin them to the bed.

“Don’t fight, angel,” he whispered, slurring his words. “What’s another man when you’ve had that big oaf in your bed?”

“Let me go,” Katherine demanded, trying to push him off. He held her arms and kissed her until she twisted away. As he lifted his head to grin at her, the next moments became confused in her mind. She felt as if a shadow had detached itself from the wall, hovered above them, then struck swiftly. The young nobleman collapsed on top of Katherine, and she found herself staring into Reynold’s hard face.

“You didn’t leave me,” she said softly. Relief surrounded her like a warm blanket, and she felt dizzy with happiness.

Reynold dragged the limp man away, then
straightened and frowned at her. “You thought I had abandoned you?”

She nodded, but he gave her no encouraging smile or reassuring word. He looked at her as coldly as he had the nobleman. She realized she had injured his pride.

“I was foolish and scared,” she said quickly. “Forgive me for not thinking.”

He rolled his eyes, and proceeded to toss the man on the bed beside her. Katherine scrambled off, and watched in shock as he began to remove the nobleman’s clothes.

“Reynold, whatever are you doing?”

“The same thing I was doing when you thought I abandoned you—weaving a story he will believe.”

“But—”

“We do not want the entire household chasing us in the middle of the night, do we?”

“Of course not. Yet—” She covered her eyes as Reynold stripped the man of his hose.

“You can look now. He is beneath the bedclothes.”

The young man seemed to have fallen into a peaceful sleep. He snored heavily and rolled to his side.

Reynold picked up a pillow. “Hold still, Katherine.”

He wiped the pillow up and down her body, especially into her hair. She grimaced and finally pushed him away.

“Whyever—”

“Because it will smell like a woman.”

“Oh.” She was quite impressed by his cleverness, but she cried out as he plucked a few strands of hair from her head and placed them atop the pillow. The nobleman continued to snore.

Taking Katherine’s hand, Reynold pulled her from the room and led her down through empty castle corridors.

She caught up to walk beside him. “Can’t we just leave the castle rather than resort to this farce?”

“The guards will not open the gates at this time of night, Katherine. If we ask them to, they shall merely become suspicious. Which means we must stay until morning.”

“But when he awakens—”

“He will smell you and see the rumpled bed.”

Katherine blushed. “You think he’ll believe we were—together—even though he won’t remember it?”

“I saw how much he was drinking.” Reynold stopped and faced her. “I thought he was just a drunken boor. Then when I saw him follow you from the room—”

He broke off and stared deeply into her eyes. She shivered violently, remembering the man’s hands on her. Reynold swept her into his arms and held her tightly. She relished his comfort and support, quietly glad that he had not abandoned her.

Reynold closed his eyes and gave a silent prayer of thanks that she was safe. But still she shook and burrowed closer to him, her soft hair tickling his
chin. He took a deep breath and just held her, rubbing her back in what he hoped was a calming motion. She slowly quieted in his arms, and as his anger fled, the sensation of her body against his exploded in his brain. His vows and promises receded from memory, and all that was left was the crush of her rounded breasts against his chest, the soft indentation where her thighs met her hips.

He had a sudden mad desire to put his hands beneath her buttocks and lift her until their hips strained against one another. Instead he smoothed the tumble of curls from her cheek.

Katherine did not know what she had been expecting, but it wasn’t the gentle touch she felt along her cheekbone. His fingertips brushed her lip, tracing the lower curve, and she quivered violently, wracked by emotions she had never known before. A small, sane recess of her mind told her to pull away, to stop this mad assault on her senses. Instead she was held immobile by a stab of fierce longing. She wanted his touch, his gentleness. She needed to hold the man people were afraid of. When his hands cupped her face she closed her eyes and a soft moan escaped her.

The shock of his lips touching hers made Katherine’s knees weaken. She clung to him, her arms around his waist, pressed intimately against his body, so much harder and broader than hers. His mouth moved softly against her lips and she found herself imitating his movements, savoring the rasp of his chin against hers and the faintest taste of ale. His lips parted and she felt the gentle intrusion of
his tongue. Katherine came to her senses with a rapidity that almost disappointed her. She had never even kissed her betrothed, and here she was, wantonly allowing what another had just tried to take by force.

Katherine groaned and pushed away from him. “No,” she whispered, wiping a shaking hand over her mouth. “I can’t—I won’t—”

“Forgive my lack of manners, Lady Katherine,” Reynold said stiffly. His features were weary, shadowed by sadness, and he looked over her head as if he didn’t dare meet her eyes.

She could hardly slap his face and stalk away. He could not be blamed for kissing her when she threw herself against him. But as he silently led her back to the great hall, Katherine berated herself for her lack of control.

How could she allow a man she barely knew to kiss her like that? After her mother’s monk, she had stayed far away from men and any chance of touching one. But since meeting Brother Reynold, she had embraced him more times than she could count, kissed him, and even seen most of his body. What kind of conduct was this for a betrothed woman?

She tried to concentrate on the face of James, but it had been three years since she’d seen him. For the first time, she admitted to herself that even his features had grown hazy in her mind. Why was it so easy to forget the only man who had ever wanted to marry her?

Reynold came to a halt and silently pointed to
what Katherine assumed was the entrance to the garderobe. Her face flushed red as she left him standing in the corridor, waiting for her.

Back in the great hall, the fire had dimmed, the music had ended, and the rest of the marquess’s family had retired to their private quarters. Reynold led Katherine past benches where snoring men sprawled. Cloaks and blankets covered huddled lumps of people on the floor. He squinted into the shadows, trying to find a private place for Katherine to sleep. He retrieved his sack and settled for a spot near one hearth, between two other couples. No privacy, but at least the fire chased away the dampness of the castle.

He spread a blanket on the rushes, and bowed slightly to Katherine. She gave him an unreadable look and sat down stiffly. When he joined her, her eyes widened but she wisely held her tongue. He covered their legs with the remaining blanket.

With a heavy sigh, Reynold lay back, listening to the crackling of dry rushes beneath him. Katherine released her hair and it fell in waves down her back. He closed his eyes for a moment, but he could barely see his dead brother’s face. Words like “duty” and “honor” floated behind his eyelids, becoming a meaningless string of letters next to Katherine’s soft curls. All his vows, his promises of penance, meant little next a woman who actually wanted him, who kissed him with a passion he’d never experienced before. It made a mockery
of every sexual encounter he’d ever had. He finally knew all he had given up.

Katherine lay back, taking special care to keep from touching him. Reynold drew his own half of the covers up to his waist, watching her pull her half right up to her chin as if it were a shield. The firelight flickered across the tip of her nose and touched golden strands of her hair. He deliberately turned his face away and tried to sleep.

The rushes crackled with the movements of the other occupants, and an occasional giggle or whispered conversation reached his ears. Then, in a moment of quiet, a languorous sigh rose from the couple to his left. Reynold felt every muscle in his body tighten. The rushes shifted and the man groaned.

Reynold desperately tried to think of something—anything—else. He pictured himself at his carrel in the monastery, painstakingly transcribing line after line. Though it had happened but a few days ago, that part of his life seemed hazy and unreal. Instead vivid images rose to mind of the smooth lengths of a woman’s leg, the rounded edge of a breast slowly revealed as a bodice dropped away. Reynold’s breathing quickened and he longed to wipe the sweat from his forehead, but he couldn’t move. He used all his mental powers not to see the face of the woman in his dreams. A strand of golden hair curled at her throat, and before he could stop it, Katherine’s face appeared above it, her head thrown back, her face severe in ecstasy. Reynold barely controlled the
shudder that rippled through his body.