Here Braedon fell silent again, pausing for
so long that Catherine began to worry that he would say he loved
his cousin and would never care for any other woman. She told
herself she was being foolish; Braedon's feelings for his cousin
were no concern of hers.
“All Linette ever wanted was to enter a
convent,” Braedon said. “But my uncle decided his interests would
be best served by marrying both of his children into important
families. He was rich enough to achieve his goal, so when Linette
was fourteen, against her wishes, he arranged a marriage for
her.”
“That sounds like Lord Phelan,” Catherine
said. “He did the same thing to his daughter when she was young,
and then tried to marry her off for a second time as soon as she
was widowed. Noblemen as well as commoners sometimes use their
children as pawns.”
“Linette never married,” Braedon said in a
cold, hard voice. “Before the ceremony could take place she was
raped by Eustace of Sutton.”
“Dear heaven.” Catherine's hand was pressed
against her throat, and then against her left cheek as her own
violent memories of Eustace’s brutality flooded back. She swallowed
hard, knowing she could never tell Braedon – or her father, either
– what Eustace had done to her. Telling either man would only lead
to new violence and she did not want that.
“Oh, Braedon, that poor girl. How unspeakably
horrible.”
“The deed was made even more horrible because
men at my uncle's level of society cannot avenge the wrongs done to
their daughters by noblemen. Nor did her brother dare to challenge
Eustace.
“Linette was considered damaged goods after
that,” Braedon continued. “Until the day he died my uncle refused
even to speak to her, so enraged was he by the enforced termination
of his plan to marry her off for his own advantage.”
“Cruel father!” Catherine exclaimed. “How can
a man abandon his child for something that was not her fault?
Braedon, where is Linette now? If she is in need of shelter, I will
take her in and make her welcome here.”
“You would do that? You have a generous
heart, Lady Catherine. But there is no need.
One good did come out of the unforgivable
damage done to an innocent soul. When I learned what had happened
to Linette, I applied directly to my father for justice. He
provided a dowry for her, and interceded with an important abbess,
who agreed to take Linette into the convent she heads. As soon as
Linette recovered from her bodily injuries I personally escorted
her to the convent, where the abbess received her with great
kindness. As far as I can tell on the infrequent occasions when my
duties allow me to visit her, Linette is at peace. But she ought
not to have suffered as she did. I will never forgive Eustace for
his evil deed, and I will gladly kill him when the opportunity
arises – as I am sure it will arise, given his vile character.”
“Was it you who challenged Eustace just now?”
Catherine asked. “Or he who challenged you?”
“It was Eustace, drunk and boasting as usual,
who began the fight,” Braedon answered. “I was sorely tempted to
kill him. But I am Royce's guest, and there are other reasons to
wait.”
“What reasons?” Catherine asked.
“Well, for one, he was drunk. I don't want to
be accused of slaying a man who is too far gone in his cups to
defend himself properly. For my own honor's sake, I would much
prefer to meet him during the melee when, presumably, he will be
alert and sober.”
“That's a wise decision on your part,”
Catherine said. “But do take care when you meet him. Drunk or
sober, Eustace is not above trickery.”
“I will be careful. I thank you for the
warning.” Braedon's fingers brushed lightly across Catherine's
cheek. “And I thank you, too, for your kind offer to take in
Linette.”
“I know Eustace well enough to be certain
that what happened was not in any way her fault,” Catherine said,
silently renewing her vow never to reveal the truth about her scar
. “My heart aches for the pain Linette must have suffered, and for
your grief at her pain.” To emphasize her point, Catherine laid a
hand on Braedon's chest. His fingers quickly covered hers, holding
her hand there, pressing it against the solid muscle until she felt
the steady throbbing of his heart.
She looked into Braedon's night-dark eyes and
what she saw there warmed her very soul. She did not doubt a word
that he had said, nor did she question his gratitude at her
response to Linette's sad tale.
She made no protest at all when Braedon's
warm lips skimmed over hers. It seemed an action entirely
appropriate to her sudden new knowledge about his past. Knowing
about his affection for his cousin and his determination to avenge
Linette's lost honor created an intimacy between them. She felt
Braedon's arms come around her, drawing her nearer. Her hands crept
upward to encircle his neck. Catherine nestled against him and
opened her mouth on a sigh.
Braedon's lips grew more insistent. Catherine
did not complain. Her blood began to sing, her heart was racing,
and when his hand covered her breast she murmured softly and
pressed her mouth more firmly against his. The circumstances of his
birth did not matter to her. Braedon was an honorable man, a hero
willing to defend his ruined cousin. He was vibrantly alive,
thrillingly masculine, and she reveled in his closeness.
“Catherine.” Slowly, with unconcealed
reluctance, Braedon separated himself from her. “We must end this
now. Surely, you know that.”
“I do know it.” She let her fingertips trail
along the edge of his mouth before she stepped back from him. “I
don't want to end it, but you are right.”
He took her hand and bestowed a lingering
kiss on the palm of it. Then he departed, closing the stillroom
door softly behind him, while Catherine remained gazing after him
as if she was moonstruck.
It was some minutes before questions began to
throng her mind. The first question was, who was Braedon's father,
that he could provide a suitable dowry to Linette on short notice,
and influence an abbess to admit the girl into her convent? It
seemed likely that he was the same person who had seen to Braedon's
education and to his training as a knight.
Romantic liaisons between noblemen and
commoners were not unknown. Sometimes, the families of the women
involved found the connection so profitable that they raised no
objections. Braedon's remark that his uncle had been well paid to
care for him further suggested that his mother's lover was a
wealthy and powerful noble. It occurred to Catherine that perhaps
her father could tell her who Braedon's male parent was.
Only after reaching this point in her mental
review of the interlude with Braedon did Catherine realize that
once again she had been distracted from her primary purpose. She
had become so caught up in Braedon's story about his cousin's ruin
at the hands of Eustace, so concerned about Linette's fate, and so
deeply moved by her own emotions toward Braedon that she had failed
to insist on answers to her original questions.
“Did he do it deliberately, or was he as
disturbed as I was?” Catherine asked the empty room. “One thing is
certain: I would make a wretched spy, for I cannot keep my mind on
the main subject.”
Braedon ran down the steps from the tower
keep to the inner bailey with his thoughts in turmoil. He did not
make a habit of unburdening himself to others. Mere words could not
change the fact that he was illegitimate, nor did words have the
power to alter what had been done to Linette. Yet he recognized
that a large portion of his enduring fury over his cousin's fate
was dispelled after telling Catherine about it.
His original intention had been to deflect
Catherine's dangerous curiosity by recounting e story, and he told
himself he ought to feel guilty for having so shamelessly used
Linette's history for his own selfish purposes. It was not shame he
felt, but an odd peace, as if soothing balm had been poured upon
old wounds that had festered too long. How remarkable it was to
find that Catherine accepted him as an honest man regardless of his
illicit parentage – and what exquisite joy to hear her open-hearted
offer to give Linette a home.
Despite his qualms about the nature of his
mission to Wortham, and his lingering concern that he had said too
much to Catherine, by the time Braedon reached the bottom step and
struck out across the bailey, he was whistling a cheerful tune.
The next day was the Sabbath, a day of rest
and a time when only the most urgent travel was undertaken, so no
new guests were expected to arrive. With Wortham already full
almost to overflowing, Father Aymon, the castle chaplain, said
three separate Masses in order to accommodate everyone who wanted
to attend. Catherine rose early and went to the first Mass, then
proceeded to the kitchen to discuss the day's meals with the cook.
A barrel of salted fish had arrived from the seacoast on Saturday
afternoon, and the larder was bulging with stores of food.
“There is to be a hunting party tomorrow,”
Catherine reminded the cook, “which I expect will provide even more
meat.”
“Aye,” said the cook, “but there are still
the outdoor feasts on all three days of the tournament. Everyone
for miles around will take advantage of the free food. The kitchen
servants and I will be working from morn till night to prepare all
of it, as well as having to provide daily banquets for the
nobles.”
“I have every confidence in you and your
staff,” Catherine said with an encouraging smile.
Leaving the cook, she began to walk from the
kitchen through the screens passage on her way to the great hall.
When she heard an unmistakable voice she paused at a spot where she
was still sheltered from view by the carved wooden screen that hid
the entrance to the kitchen. Positioned as she was, Catherine was
able to hear every word that Eustace spoke.
“I cannot wait to meet that bastard, Braedon,
in combat,” Eustace said in a sneering tone. “First, I'll skewer
him, then I'll dismember him.”
“I seriously doubt that Lord Royce will
permit desecration of a fallen knight's body,” said a smooth, quiet
voice which Catherine recognized as belonging to Achard. “Have a
care, Eustace, lest you ruin what remains of your good name.”
“What of your good name?” Eustace demanded,
still sneering. “You cannot be seriously bent on marrying that
unpleasant, interfering wench, Catherine?”
“It's an alliance that any man of sense would
consider advantageous,” Achard replied. He made no objection to
Eustace's slighting reference to the nature of the woman he aspired
to wed.
At that point in the discussion Catherine
noticed she could see Achard through one of the openings carved in
the decorative screen. Even as she stared, Achard turned his head
and his eyes met hers. At once Catherine stepped out from behind
the screen to face the two men. Her cheeks felt hot; she hoped she
was not blushing with embarrassment at being caught listening to a
private conversation. Then, irritated at the way they were talking
about her, she decided to do to them what men had been doing to her
for days. She would deflect their attention and offer no direct
response to any questions they put to her.
“Good morning, Eustace,” she said. “I am
surprised to see you out of bed so early. After last night, I'd
think you would have trouble rousing yourself.”
“If your servants were more accommodating, I
wouldn't have to rouse
myself,”
Eustace said in his most
insinuating manner. “I'd have a pretty female to rouse me. The only
servants who enter my room are middle-aged men. Why were you behind
that screen?”
“We do have a large company of guests for the
servants to attend to,” Catherine responded sweetly. “I can hardly
send male servants to wait on a lady, can I?”
“From what I've seen of your lady guests, it
might do them good,” Eustace grumbled. “Now, what did you hear
while you were hiding?”
“Hear?” Catherine shook her head, doing her
best to appear puzzled. “I have been considering the menu for
tomorrow. Is there some dish you particularly favor? If so, I will
be happy to add it to the midday meal.”
“I don't want anything to eat.” Eustace
scowled at her.
“I fear that Sir Eustace is unwell this
morning,” Achard explained smoothly. “He has been complaining of an
unsettled stomach.”
“Really?” Catherine eyed Eustace while she
considered the wisdom of making the obvious comment that his
stomach would not be unsettled if only he would drink less wine.
She thought better of it and asked instead, “Shall I prepare an
herbal remedy for you?”
“You cannot imagine I would ever accept any
potion from your hands,” Eustace said rudely.
“I was only trying to help.” To her relief
Catherine spotted Royce coming in from the bailey with Braedon.
Seizing the opportunity to get away from the surly Eustace, she
said, “If you will excuse me, good sirs, I must speak with my
father.”
Not waiting for their assent, Catherine sped
across the hall. Neither Royce nor Braedon noticed her. Their heads
were close together, and what Catherine heard as she approached
them brought her to a sudden halt.
“Achard intends to marry Catherine,” Royce
said. “He believes it is an alliance that will place him in a
perfect position to continue his—”
“Don't stop on my account,” Catherine snapped
when Royce saw her and broke off what he was going to say. “Do
continue, please. My future is apparently the chief subject of
discussion this morning. First Achard and Eustace, now you and Sir
Braedon. But no one speaks directly to me about it. It's enough to
make me refuse all suitors!”
“My lady, have you brought a bowl to fling at
us?” Braedon asked with a perfectly straight face.