Mary Reed McCall (15 page)

Alban grinned. “Or a lesson in how quickly the tables can turn when you think you’re in control.”

The young knights tightened their position around Gray and Alban, jostling each other for a better view. Humming excitement swelled in the yard, and Gray felt the familiar pulse of it in his blood, heightened by the knowledge that this fighting would be less in earnest and more in fun. He and Alban circled each other; he swung his blade in two half-arcs, laughing when Alban swirled his blade over his head in kind, nodding in mock court fashion.

They stopped, and all went still for a single, energy-charged instant; then with a roar, they leapt at each other. Metal clanged on metal as they came together, falling into a pattern of sparring that by now seemed as familiar as breathing, thanks to so many years of training with each other.

They fought hard, and Gray pressed forward, using his height to full advantage. Alban only stood a few inches shorter, but it was enough to make a
difference in the angle of his thrusts. Gray slashed and met each of Alban’s strokes, throwing his weight into the blows he dealt with his blade.

But Alban moved quickly, his smaller build allowing him freer movement through the series of strokes. He charged Gray several times, trying to knock him off balance with the leverage of surprise. If it wasn’t for the extreme concentration required in displaying skills like this, Gray felt sure that at least one of Alban’s efforts would have resulted in success.

After a few minutes, the sword began to feel heavy in Gray’s grip. Still he swung and dodged, and Alban did the same. Neither gave ground as each worked his advantage; the area was silent except for the harsh rasp of breathing and the grating, metallic sounds of their blades.

“Care you to give, old man?” Alban called to Gray, feinting to the left to avoid a powerful blow that might have cut his shield in half had he stood still.

“Nay!” Gray laughed, swinging and ducking himself to avoid Alban’s parry. “Not until one of us falls down or bleeds.”

“A show of blood, eh? I’ll try to arrange it!”

Grinning, Gray doubled his efforts, allowing the white heat of battle to take over, masking the pain weighing down his sword arm and dulling the ache in his shoulders, back and legs. He drove forward, his press finally successful in forcing Alban back a step. Then three more.

A few more paces and he’d be pushed out of the
circle, which would be as good as a victory. Just two steps, now…

A flash of scarlet moved at the edge of Gray’s vision, up on the ramparts of the castle. At the same time, a gust of wind whipped through the yard, causing a billowing curtain of golden-brown hair to float above the scarlet figure. Gray’s heart skipped a beat. ’Twas Elise, leaning on the stonework as she watched their sparring. She looked concerned, and warmth filled his breast to know that she was worried about—

Pain sliced Gray’s arm, just above his elbow, and his breath hissed in with the flow of anger that followed it. His gaze snapped back to Alban. His friend’s eyes were wide with amazement, his sword held frozen in position. All was silent.

“Blood!” Alban suddenly called, a mischievous twinkle replacing the shock that had initially filled his gaze. He danced around in a little circle, strutting and hooting, much to the laughter of the knights in training.

“Bloody hell,” Gray growled, examining the cut to his arm. But Alban’s capers soon drew a grin from him as well. “Gloat all you want, friend,” Gray said. “’Tis but a scratch. Less deadly than what I might earn from a fishwife’s nails.”

“Still so cocky?” Alban reached for his water skin as he handed his blade to his squire. “See you, lads,” he called loudly, gesturing around them, “Distractions can prove deadly on the field. Particularly those of the feminine kind.”

Alban’s gaze lifted to the ramparts, and two score
eyes followed the path of his vision until all of the young knights were staring up at Elise, still perched at the crenellation, watching them. When Gray met her gaze, a bewitching blush covered her cheeks, visible even at this distance. He smiled and gave her a flourishing bow before her lashes fluttered down, and she scooted out of sight.

“Women make men’s legs weak, lads. Remember that at your next tournament.”

Alban’s statement dragged Gray’s attention back to the yard, and he walked up to his friend, slapping him on the back hard enough to make him cough. “Aye, you’re right, Alban. Distractions may be deadly—but pray don’t forget that without a distraction this day, you wouldn’t have had a prayer at defeating me.”

The boys all laughed again, spreading to gather up their equipment, before they all headed back to the castle for a change of clothing and the noon meal.

But Gray’s mind really wasn’t on their friendly banter. It kept drifting to more country matters, thoughts awash with scarlet linen and billowing silken tresses—and he found himself glancing often up to the ramparts as they went, hoping for another glimpse of the tempting angel who was his wife.

G
ray didn’t appear at the noon meal. Catherine picked at her food, waiting for his arrival, but eventually she was forced to accept that he wasn’t coming. None of the men she’d seen in the yard were in attendance either, so she knew she shouldn’t feel concerned. Still, she hadn’t been able to keep her focus on anything else. With or without her eyes closed, all she could see was that terrible moment when Gray had been cut—and then the wicked, sensual promise in his eyes when he’d looked up at her and bowed afterward.

She didn’t know whether to feel anxious or shameful. ’Twas most upsetting.

But there was no more time for thought now. The hour of their journey to the fair approached, and it was time to get to the yard to mount up with the
others. She picked up the bunch of autumn wild-flowers that had mysteriously appeared at her place on the table this noon—no one seemed to know who had brought them, though they were the third such bouquet in as many weeks—and put them in water before heading for the courtyard. Her excitement swelled with each step toward the portal. Soon she’d see Gray again. She would ride with him to the village fair and spend a whole, carefree afternoon basking in his company and his smile.

Just before she reached the yard, a wild impulse took hold of her. She ducked into the shadows of the portal and peered around guiltily before pinching her cheeks. Then, laughing at her own misplaced vanity, she strode out into the sunlight and the company of the others who would attend the fair.

As always, the inner yard teemed with people. But in addition to the peasants and laborers who milled about, performing their tasks, a score of men and women mingled on foot near horses that waited, saddled and impatient, for the journey to begin. Alban was among the group, as were several of the young knights from the morning’s sparring, she noticed, but Gray was nowhere to be seen.

Catherine’s smile dimmed, as disappointment crowded her. Nodding, she took the reins handed her by a stable boy and mounted.

“Good afternoon, my lady!” Alban said, smiling as his stallion sidled up to her. “With your arrival, we’re ready to depart.” But before she could ask him about Gray’s whereabouts, he urged his mount to a gallop and called out to the others to begin the ride.

Her horse cantered into an easy rhythm as they passed through the outer wall and gate; she tried not to think about her husband, concentrating instead on the colorful autumn sights during the ride. Soon they approached the edge of the village, and she saw telltale signs of the fair in the increase of blustering activity.

The harvest had yielded much bounty this year if the caravans were any indication. Wagons creaked as they rolled by, piled high with pumpkins and gourds. Meat-sellers prepared their wares, displaying plump geese, legs of lamb, or whole pigs for roasting. And just inside the Village Square, Catherine spotted several women setting up tables to display fine woven fabrics and woolens. It showed the makings of a fine festival, with goods from far and wide.

She slowed with the others, preparing to ride closer to Alban as they entered the main portion of the marketplace, but a sudden movement off to the side made her pull her mount to a halt. Her heart bounded with happiness when she saw Gray emerge from the crowd to canter up to them. He looked exhilarated, and his eyes sparkled as he nodded to her and rode past to intercept Alban near the front of the riders.

She didn’t have to wait long to discover what had delayed him. After exchanging a few words with Alban, Gray wheeled his horse around and cantered back to her, indicating that she should follow him away from the rest of the group and outside the village gates.

“I trust you are well, my lady,” he said, when they stopped, smiling at her again as if he savored a pleasant secret. As always, she lost her breath when he looked at her like that. He seemed to see only her, and when he grinned in that charming, boyish way, with one side of his mouth tilted up, ’twas difficult to think of anything logical.

“I am, my lord. But why are we leaving the others behind?”

“I have something that I’d like to show you. We can rejoin the group later if you will accompany me now.”

“Of course. What is it that I am to see?”

“You’ll know soon enough.”

With another grin, he guided his steed toward the wide, leafy fringe of the forest. They left the clearing, ducking into the cool recesses of the wooded path. She gazed around her as they traveled, feeling as if she’d entered a magical land.

The season was full upon them, and sun peeked through the intertwined branches and leaves overhead, painting the thick canopy with strokes of brilliant orange, red and gold. Pockets of warmth lit her head, and the branches dipped and swayed in the breeze, making the air smell fertile and ripe.

She breathed in the fragrant, almost smoky scent, savoring the crackling of the leaves under their mounts’ hooves. Though the day was sunny, the air was crisp, reminding them that winter’s breath would soon frost everything in glistening layers of white.

After several minutes of riding, Gray pulled his
steed up short and twisted to look at her. “We leave the path here. Do you need to rest before we go on?”

“Nay, I feel fine,” she answered, realizing that her training had done more than just help her to wield a sword. Only weeks ago such a jaunt might have tired her, making her long for the comfort of her chamber, but now she felt exhilarated and ready to ride all day. She patted her mare’s neck to make sure she fared as well. “Bella feels warm, but she’s not sweated yet. She’ll need to take water and rest soon, but I think ’tis safe to go farther for now.”

Gray nodded and pushed off the path into the woodland, picking his way through the brush and holding back large branches so that Catherine and her mount could pass by unhindered. Their travel slowed here without the trail. The horses stepped carefully to avoid tripping on uneven ground or stumbling on a rock. But Catherine enjoyed their leisurely pace, as it gave her more opportunity to study her husband without his knowing it.

She watched him riding in front of her, forging the way for them with his own body and the movement of his steed. The sun winked through the trees, burnishing his hair to blue-black and dancing over the broad, well-muscled expanse of his back and shoulders. Every now and then she heard him murmur something to his steed, talking him around a treacherous root, or guiding him under a low-hanging branch with soothing tones.

’Twas his way, she realized, feeling a ribbon of warmth unfurl through her. Gray took others into
his care and tried to calm and settle them. It seemed as natural to him as breathing.

She’d seen him do it countless times during the weeks she’d lived at Ravenslock—with the children who played round the castle like happy ants, with his men, who respected his command and authority as if he were a brother rather than their lord…and especially with her. He’d worked with her every day, helping to make her stronger, to make her feel worthy.

To make her feel safe.

And many nights he’d come to their bed and simply held her close, telling her with his actions far more eloquently than words ever could that she mattered. That her feelings and needs meant full as much as his.

“We’re here,” he called to her, interrupting her thoughts as he reined in his horse. He turned in his saddle, his eyes alight with pleasure. Whatever he wished her to see was making him as excited as a little boy.

Was it ground for a new castle, perhaps? Or the site of an existing ruin that he wished to show her? Regardless, she realized that his desire to share his excitement with her pleased her well.

Dismounting, she tied her mare and approached where he stood waiting for her. Gray took her hand and led her the last few paces through the wood to the edge of what seemed to be a clearing.

“Come, lady. I discovered the spot this morn, during my ride.”

Pushing aside a thick bough that blocked her view, Catherine stepped into the clearing and gasped. A broad, green field sprouting with thousands of slender willows stretched before her. Swelling hills rose on three sides of the flats, providing the wetland with the protection and water needed to nurture the growth.

Speechless with pleasure, she stepped forward into the clearing. Her foot promptly squelched into the soft earth, and she jumped back with a shriek.

“Careful,” Gray said, laughing as he reached to balance her.

She stilled, suddenly aware of the way his palm cushioned the small of her back, supporting her. Warmth radiated through her clothing and sent a heated shiver up her spine. He was so good to her. His eagerness all during the ride hadn’t been over something he’d found for himself, but for a gift that he wanted to give her.

Tears stung her eyes, but she smiled through them. “This field is large enough to supply the castle for an entire year’s weaving.” Swinging her gaze to meet his, she was surprised to see an answering tenderness that made quivery feelings settle in her belly. “Thank you for this,” she whispered. “Thank you for
everything
you’re doing—everything you’ve already done for me.”

He was silent as he gazed down at her, his eyes soft with some nameless emotion. “’Tis nothing, lady. I’m happy to have pleased you.” He cleared his throat and stepped away, breaking their physical
contact. “But tell me, how do you judge these withies for their quality and readiness for culling?”

A sudden sense of loss overwhelmed her excitement for a moment. Yet it bubbled up again when she envisioned all of the beautiful pieces she would be able to weave from the harvest of this field—chairs and tables, baskets, platters, bowls. ’Twas a dream come true. More carefully, she took a step onto the field, motioning for him to follow as she picked around the lesser of the soggy spots.

“Here,” she said, reaching for a supple strand. She bent it in toward them, pulling and testing its strength so that Gray could see it as well. “See the texture?” she asked, holding it for him to touch. “’Tis nearly ripe, and yet it must grow longer before ’tis ready for cutting. Then, once the strands are harvested, they must be boiled and peeled, which leaves them a deep golden color as they dry.” She let the rod go, and it swung back to dance gracefully with the others in the breeze.

“How much longer?” Gray murmured. “Until they can be cut, I mean.”

“Another week or two, when they reach above our heads. Willow ripens last of all, so that when the farmers are sitting back and surveying the wealth they’ve worked from the land, weavers are just beginning their harvest. ’Tis difficult, oftentimes cold work, with winter nipping at your fingers.”

“And yet you seem to relish the thought of doing it.”

“Aye,” she smiled as they walked further along the edge of the field. “Though ’tis not the harvest it
self that I take pleasure in, but the fruits of that labor. I can spend the winter months creating beautiful things, thanks to it.”

“You’re quite skilled, from what I’ve seen of your work at the castle,” he said, stepping closer to inspect another frond.

“I love to weave. I’ve been practicing since I was a child.”

“Ah. No wonder you seemed so amused, then, when I asked if you possessed skill enough to repair my basket that first day I took you to train.”

Heat rushed to Catherine’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean to be so obvious. I hope you don’t think I was making light of your request. In truth I was pleased that you asked me to help you.”

“’Twas not your fault,” Gray said, smiling and shaking his head. “You masked your reaction well. I, unfortunately, have the galling habit of watching people too closely. I seem to do it without even trying, most of the time.”

Catherine nodded, glad that his perceptiveness hadn’t revealed some of her other secrets to him. Not yet, anyway. He would learn about her sins against him all too soon, she thought—as soon as she could muster enough courage to tell him. They were alone here, after all. No servants, no knights or ladies…no spies. ’T was the perfect opportunity to tell him the truth. But a part of her held back, craving just a few more moments of happiness with him.

At his suggestion, they began to make their way back to where they’d left their horses tied. Anxiety
tightened her belly. ’Twas almost time, then; she’d have to make her confession before they rode away from this solitude and back into the danger-filled community of the castle. They’d reached within several paces of their mounts, when a flutter of red-tipped wings startled them.

“Look!” Gray called, pointing to follow the silk-tail’s path. It flew into a tree just past the field’s edge. Nestled in a deep crook there, the bird had built a shelter of twigs and leaves. It was unusually late in the season for chicks, but peeping over the top of the nest, Catherine could see two shiny heads; the nearly grown birds were so plump that they filled their modest home to bursting. At their mother’s approach, they still craned their necks up greedily, their beaks gaping open for food.

“Oh, look at them,” she said, trying to creep nearer for a better look. She walked slowly, keeping her gaze trained on the birds to avoid startling them with her movements. As she stepped on the edge of the swampy field, her foot slipped and she began to pitch headlong into the muck.

Her eyes shut instinctively, her arms flailing as she fell, when she suddenly felt a strong grip on her elbow, swinging her around. She slammed into Gray’s chest, and the force of her momentum toppled them to the ground.

When she opened her eyes, she realized that she lay atop him, her face hovering inches above his. It was the reverse of how they’d fallen on the bank of the river during her fishing lesson, but the effect of
his body pressed to hers was the same. He gazed up at her, his eyes beautiful, clear green and fringed in those impossible lashes. Their breath mingled in the chill air, and his chest rose in opposite rhythm with hers, making her breasts push against him with each inhalation.

She blinked, and a slow smile lifted Gray’s mouth, sending a stab of longing through her.

“We seem to be making a habit of this, wife. I trust that I make a useful cushion.”