The Fallen One (3 page)

The youngest daughter, who had managed to
calm down somewhat since her brush with violence, was now weeping and quivering
again as her eldest sister and father fussed over her. Mathias could see how
shaken they all were. It was, in fact, quite touching to see how much they all
cared about one another.
 
That kind of
devotion was rare.

Feeling rather as if he was viewing
something intensely private, he turned to leave but was halted by
Cathlina.
 
She called his name, stopping
him, and by the time he turned around, she was running at him.
 
Her soft hands grasped his arm and those big
brown eyes were shining up at him.

“Please,” she begged softly. “You cannot
leave before my father has had an opportunity to reward you.”

Mathias had been touched by many
women.
 
He had also touched women from
time to time, purely innocent gestures that meant nothing more than polite
attentiveness.
 
But he had never felt
such fire from a touch as he felt now.
 
Cathlina’s soft hands were searing his flesh like brands. He could feel
the heat all the way down to his toes.

“A reward is not necessary,” he assured
her. “It was my pleasure to assist.”

“Will you at least come to Kirklinton and
dine with us?” she pleaded softly. “Please allow us to show our thanks for your
bravery. Do not deny us an opportunity to show you how grateful we are.”

Gazing down into that sweet face, he knew
he shouldn’t agree.
 
It wasn’t a good
idea, on so many levels. As much as he wanted to accept her invitation if only
to bask in Cathlina’s beauty for the evening, it simply wasn’t wise. She was a
de Lara and he wanted to stay far away from anything de Lara. But as he stood
there with her, having her on his arm, he felt more like a man than he had in
over a year. Odd how such a gesture fortified him.
 
She
fortified him.
 
But he was forced to refuse.

“Your offer is very kind but I must
decline, my lady,” he said, trying not to sound cruel. “I can live the rest of
my life on the gratitude you have already shown me. Anything more would seem
greedy and excessive.
 
I wish you and
your family well.”

He would never forget the look on Cathlina’s
face as he turned to walk away from her.
 
It was a very difficult thing not to relent because he certainly didn’t
want to cause her such disappointment, but it couldn’t be helped. He had done
his good deed and would leave it at that.

He had work to do.

CHAPTER TWO

“Is the basket packed?” Cathlina asked.

“It is, my lady,” the red-faced cook
replied. “I just put the bread in. That should be all of it.”

In the small, cluttered kitchen of Kirklinton,
she was peering into a basket laden with goodies; pear and cinnamon compote in
an earthenware jar sealed with beeswax, cherries soaked in honey and wine,
pickled onions, two loaves of bread baked with cheese and garlic, and small
cakes that Cathlina had made herself – a little flour, lard, eggs, butter,
honey, walnuts, nutmeg and cloves made delicious little bread-like cakes.
 
Satisfied her basket was packed to her
specifications, Cathlina carefully covered it with an embroidered piece of
cloth.
 
It was her own kerchief with the
elaborate letters “
CLM”
, for Cathlina
Lavinia Mary, stitched in the shape of vines.

“Excellent,” she said, lifting the basket
off of the massive, scarred butcher table. “Thank you for your assistance”

The cook waved her off and returned to the
suckling pig she had just killed.
 
Hands
wrapped around the moderately heavy basket, Cathlina headed out of the kitchen
and into the yard beyond.

It was early morning in Kirklinton.
 
In late May, the weather was warmer and they
hadn’t had rain for several days, which meant the ground had dried up somewhat
and the mud wasn’t what it usually was.
 
In fact, it was rather dry and pleasant. Pleasant enough for a trip back
to Brampton.

    
That was her plan, in
any case. Dressed in a yellow linen surcoat with a matching linen cloak, the
surcoat had lacings in the front of the bodice that, when tightened, emphasized
her curvy figure to a fault.
 
It was her
favorite dress, given to her by her mother because the color had been so
striking against her pale skin and dark hair.
 
Cathlina’s mother, the Lady Rosalund, was rather partial to her middle
daughter.
 
She reminded her of a sister
she’d had in her youth, now long dead. Therefore, Cathlina usually had the pick
of the wardrobe.

    
Even with the
favoritism of her sometimes-flighty mother, she was still remarkably unselfish
or spoilt.
 
She was, however, quite
head-strong, knowing that she would not be punished for whatever she decided to
do because her parents could never bring themselves to discipline her. Cathlina
knew, therefore, that she would not be punished for her latest scheme. It was
simply something she had to do and her parents would have to understand that.

    
Kirklinton’s bailey
was relatively small, as the castle itself wasn’t particularly large.
 
 
A big,
square keep constructed of bumpy gray stone sat in the middle of the complex on
a slightly raised motte; there was an enclosed entry and then four rooms of
various sizes on the ground floor while the second floor had three sleeping
chambers and a smaller chamber used for bathing and other personal needs.
 
On the ground floor, a trap door in
 
a the largest room, which served as a smaller
great hall, led down into a dungeon-like basement for storage

    
The great hall was a
separate structure as was the kitchen, both of them built into the curtain wall
on the north side of the complex. Cathlina headed away from the kitchen and
towards the stables built against the east wall.
 
She could smell the hay and the smells of
animals, and hear the braying and bleating as the beasts were fed by the stable
workers.

Clutching her basket tightly, she kept
looking around to make sure no one noticed that she was dressed for travel.
 
She did not want to be stopped before she
could accomplish her mission. Fortunately, everyone seemed too busy to notice.

Cathlina’s horse, a lovely dapple gray mare
that was part Belgian warm blood and part Spanish Jennet, was tearing at her
hay when Cathlina entered the dark confines of the stables.
 
A litter of kittens nestled near the stash of
hay up against the rear of the stall and she had to take the time to pet each
tiny furry creature.
 
She set the basket
down so she could cuddle the babies. As she put the last kitten down and turned
for the horse, she caught sight of a figure standing next to her.

Startled, she gasped with fright until she
realized it was her older sister. The Lady Roxane Marietta Anna de Lara was
eighteen months older than her middle sister, a plain-looking girl with long
features and frizzy dark hair.
 
She was
rather silly and not particularly bright, and she had a dreamy manner about her.
 
With Roxane, other people’s concerns or
quarrels didn’t interest her in the least.
 
She was mostly focused on what made her
happy.
 
She was also quite jealous of
Cathlina and often followed her, which is how she ended up in the stable.

Cathlina knew the way her sister’s mind
worked; Roxane was very nosy. She was the one person who couldn’t know what she
was doing.
 
Cathlina’s heart began to
race with apprehension, wondering how she was going to prevent her sister from
running for their parents when she discovered her plan to leave
Kirklinton.
 
The best way to deal with
Roxane was to go on the offensive and hope to bully her into submission.

“What are you doing here?” Cathlina
demanded.

Roxane cocked a thin eyebrow. “I saw you
come from the kitchen,” she said. “What are you doing?”

 
“That
is none of your affair,” Cathlina hissed.
 
“Go back to the keep.”

Roxane’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me where you
are going.”

“Nay.”

“Tell me or I shall tell Mother.”

Cathlina’s expression twisted angrily. “If
you tell her anything at all, I shall tell her that you were the one who stole
her store of fine wine and used it to ply Beauson so that he would kiss you!”

“You would not dare!”

“If you do not leave me alone, I most certainly
will!”

“Oooh!”

“
Oooooh!”

They shrieked and pointed at each other,
furious and outraged.
 
The next step was
usually pulling hair but fortunately that didn’t occur. Still, there was
agitated posturing going on that eventually settled with Roxane backing down
first.
 
She was still making faces,
however.

“I will not tell her,” she finally
grumbled. “But tell me where you are going. What is in your basket?”

Cathlina settled down as well, though she
was still eyeing her sister with some anger. Roxane had a way of getting under
her skin.

“Breads and treats,” she finally said,
returning her attention to her mare as she began to saddle the animal. “I am
going to Brampton to bring them to the man who saved me and Abechail from the
attacker yesterday. It is the least I can do.”

Roxane followed her sister to the horse and
actually began helping her tack the animal. “The man?” she repeated, thinking
back to the day before and the events surrounding Abechail’s near abduction.
“The big man with the dark hair?”

Cathlina nodded as she strapped on the
saddle. “Aye,” she said. “He said he would not take a reward but I feel
strongly that I must do something for him. Had he not intervened, surely
Abechail would now be lost. He would not even come to dine with us so I thought
to bring him some manner of treats to show our gratitude.”

Roxane pulled the bridle off the nail on
the wall above the mare’s head, her manner thoughtful.
 
“What was his name again?”

“Mathias.”

“Mathias? What was his surname?”

“He did not say.”

Roxane fussed with the straps on the bridle,
her mind drifting to the very big, very handsome man who had saved her sisters
from tragedy.
 
He had delightful dark
hair and a sculpted face.
 

“Mathias,” she repeated, somewhat dreamily.
“He was quite handsome, don’t you think?”

Cathlina could hear the hopeful tone and
she was irritated by it. Her sister had an eye for men,
any
man, and she could already tell that Roxane’s easily-won
affections were about to shift to yesterday’s hero.

Cathlina had spent most of the evening
thinking about the dark-haired stranger, pondering his beauteous face and deep,
gentle voice.
 
The massive arms, the
unruly hair, the twinkle in the green eyes… she was smitten by the picture.
 
The mysterious Mathias was her private joy and
one else’s, and certainly not her fickle sister. She would not share a secret
fantasy that would surely never be fulfilled. It was but a dream, but it was
her
dream. She turned swiftly to Roxane,
a finger in her face

“You will not think of him,” she hissed.
“If anyone is to show affection towards him, it will be me, do you hear?
 
I was the one he saved, you little fool. You
have Beauson and Dunstan to occupy your affections.
 
Leave Mathias alone.”

Roxane looked rather surprised; her sister
never spoke of a man, so this was a rare occurrence.
 
It also made Roxane very jealous because as
the eldest, she felt it her birthright to have first right of refusal on any
man that crossed the sisters’ path.

“Beauson and Dunstan are merely father’s
knights,” she said. “They are not men I intend to marry.”

“Why not?”

Roxane shrugged her slender shoulders.
“Because they are mere knights,” she repeated. “I will marry a lord.”

“Then you will put Mathias from your mind
because he is not a lord. He is a smithy.”

Roxane’s brow furrowed, just as quickly
lifting in realization when she became aware that her sister was right. “You
are correct,” she declared. “He is not a lord.
 
We are de Laras and therefore must marry well.
  
Mayhap Father will convince Cousin Tate to
find us wealthy husbands; do you recall when we visited last Christmas and the
fine men that were gathered at Carlisle?”

“You mean when you first beheld Kenneth St.
Hèver?”