Mary Reed McCall (10 page)

Then her husband walked through the portal, and her hopes withered. He looked like a thundercloud ready to burst.
Lord of the Storm, they call him
…William de Bergh’s comment echoed its warning in Catherine’s mind as she stood and forced her legs to carry her toward the men. For once she was glad of the many eyes that watched her as lady of Ravenslock; several servants fell into step behind her, awaiting her command for attention to the king.

But her husband spoke first. He motioned for his steward to lead Henry to the large bedchamber. For this night at least, he and Catherine would move to a room down the hall. Henry said something about a rest before the feast, then swung his arm in command of his own servants, before following the steward to the door.

Catherine’s fingers twisted in her skirts as she caught Gray’s intense expression.

“Is something amiss, my lord?” she murmured, trying without success to pull her gaze from the mesmerizing force of his stare.

“Aye, lady. Much is amiss.”

She felt as if she were going to be sick. She looked desperately to Eduard, sure, now, that something dangerous had been said in chambers with the king. But he failed to notice her, having moved stiffly to the table to gulp down a cup of ale even as he gestured for another.

Gray’s next comment dragged her attention back.

“King Henry leaves on the morrow for a journey to London, to preside over an ordeal by battle. I was to be his champion in the fight against the traitor who’s been charged.” A muscle in Gray’s jaw twitched. “But the king has elected to use another instead, due to the severity of my wounds.”

Clenching his fists, he shifted to give the man responsible for his injuries a look that was half scowl, half wolfish glare. A shudder slipped down Catherine’s back as she felt the leashed power in every muscled inch of Gray’s warrior-hard body. Even wounded, he was a force to be reckoned with, and it vividly reminded her of the violence that her husband was capable of committing. Of his unsurpassed ability to kill, and how it had earned him his title as the king’s High Champion.

“’Tis most unwelcome news,” he said, sliding his gaze to her again. “Yet I cannot but choose to obey.” She thought that he might say more, but then he simply nodded brusquely and stalked from the hall.

Where he was going, Catherine couldn’t tell. He needed time to cool his temper, no doubt. Her guess was that he’d saddle his huge silver stallion and ride. Such jarring would pain his injuries, she knew, but somehow mere physical discomfort suddenly
seemed unlikely to affect this man who had transformed before her eyes from flesh and blood to hardened steel.

Alban stepped up from behind her. “Fear not, lady. Your husband will take care not to pull his stitches or strain his wounds overhard. But he’ll not be fit for the feast this night until he’s burned away some of the demons that sting him.”

She turned to face her husband’s friend. “Is it that keen of a disappointment to him, then, to be kept from a court battle?”

“Aye, though ’tis not just that. The king also fined him for hosting this day’s
mélée
and issued new sanctions against both him and Eduard for their fighting. He declared that if they ever disobey him in this—if they ever come to blows again—’twill be at risk of all that they have, including their rank as his personal champions.”

“I’d have thought that being denied the privilege to engage in constant battle would be a relief, not a punishment.”

Alban shook his head. “I cannot speak for your brother, but I know Gray. His purpose in life is to fight and fight well. For King Henry especially, but whenever and wherever he finds opportunity and cause. The king’s decision to leave him behind tomorrow is bound to be a sore distress to him.”

“But why? It seems so reckless for a man of his wealth and status. ’Tis why there are knights, hundreds of them, to serve in place of a great lord such as he!” Catherine struggled to quell the shrill quality of her voice. If she wasn’t careful, she’d lose all
composure and go hysterical on him. After the events of the day, her nerves felt tight enough to play like a harp. Mastering her overwrought emotions, she added quietly, “Why does he continue to risk himself time and again if not for the petty sake of more acclaim, more glory?”

Alban seemed to consider how to answer. He gazed long into her eyes, as if reading her ability to hear the truth. Finally he glanced away. “The reasons are deep that drive him, lady, and ’tis for him to tell you the full of it. But know that he burns to see justice done. ’Tis why he craves the position as Sheriff of Cheltenham. ’Tis what keeps him breathing.”

With that, Alban nodded his leave and followed Gray’s route from the hall. She was left to stand bewildered, trying to make sense out of that which seemed to have neither rhyme nor reason.

None, at least, worthy to explain the commanding, formidable enigma embodied in the man who was her lord husband.

T
he feasting was well under way that evening by the time Catherine received a call to the kitchens. A waifish page had darted up to her at table, begging her aid to test the roasted duckling sauce she’d ordered specially prepared, according to her recipe. The cook had fallen ill just the day before, unable to rise from his bed, and his assistant was a young lad, terrified to make a mistake lest he disappoint not only the master and mistress, but also His Royal Highness, the King of England.

Gray had given his consent, and she’d been glad to rise from the formality of the feasting table to attend the duty. Never had she faced an occasion such as this. Her very breath came shallow from the anxiety. Yet Gray’s ride of the afternoon seemed to have done him some good, even if his stiff movements
belied that he’d strained his injuries. She’d insisted on checking his shoulder and rib dressings before the feasting began, and he’d reluctantly complied. She’d been relieved to see that the stitching and bandages had held.

But with the physical examination had flooded back heated memories of how she’d tended to him right after the
mélée
and of how he’d encouraged her touch in a much more intimate way. Her cheeks still burned with the thought. Yet she knew that the strange warmth of her feelings for this man she’d married, the man she’d pledged to help destroy, were far too dangerous to indulge.

Now she sighed as she made her way back to the hall. The sauce had needed nothing more than a few more sprinkles of ginger to make it perfect. Catherine smiled as she remembered the look of gratitude that her praise had brought to the boy’s face. He’d probably sweated full as much as the casks of chilled sweet wine she’d seen the brewers carry in from the cold cellar. Ravenslock was truly a castle of wonders, she thought, with the most current amenities, including a cooling chamber. She’d never imagined such luxury would exist in all of her life.

Catherine reached the empty, narrow hallway that would lead to the grand opening into the great hall, but a hissing sound drew her back. Eduard stepped into the light of the anteroom, his ruddy, bruised face sharp with contempt. He moved forward like an evil tide, forcing her back until the hard surface of wall stopped her retreat. Then he
stroked his finger down the curve of her cheekbone in silent mockery.

“My dear Catherine,” he muttered. “’Tis near impossible to find you alone these past hours.”

Catherine tried to stand tall, struggled not to cower before him as every inch of her flesh longed to do. She’d faced Eduard’s abuse so often in the past months that it seemed second nature to tremble as she awaited the punishing blow that should come next. But she reminded herself that she needn’t fear that kind of danger from him any longer…only the greater threat of his harming her children if she failed to do his will.

“I believed you to be abed already,” she managed to say. “You’re usually full into your cups by this time of feasting.”

“I cannot drink overmuch this night, thanks to King Henry.”

“Why? Does he disapprove of foul-mouthed drunkards?”

Eduard’s face tightened, and his hand clenched to a fist. “Your tongue is getting rather sharp these days, Catherine. Would that I could quiet it into pleas of mercy as I have in the past.” He glared at her a moment more before adding, “Yet you’re still as ignorant as ever. I cannot imbibe too heartily because I leave with the Royal Caravan at sunrise. The king has commanded that I join him on his expedition to observe the ordeal by battle in London. He hopes that separating his two best champions will cool the animosity between us.”

“You’re leaving?” Catherine echoed quietly.

“Aye.” Eduard placed his palm on the wall beside her head, making her cringe. He leaned his weight into it, pressing closer, his sheer size and sour stench intimidating her as it always had. “’Tis an unforeseen event. I’ll not be here to guide you in the next weeks of your task with Camville. The king may decide to keep me for a month or more, but I expect you to continue our course. Work your way into your husband’s trust. Into the deepest chambers of his heart.” A wolfish smile creased his cheeks. “Prepare him well for the kill, sweeting.”

She felt herself blanch, and he laughed, his breath riffling the hair at her temple. Hot pricking jabbed behind her eyes. The bastard was devoid of feeling. Of even the most basic human emotion. But as she stared at his chest, gazing at the immovable slab of muscle and bone that protected his heart of stone, she couldn’t stop herself from uttering what she’d vowed never to let him hear again.

“I beg of you, Eduard, by all that’s holy, release me from this nightmare. I will give you whatever I have, I will humiliate myself in any way that you wish, but please don’t ask me to help you kill this man. ’Tis cold-blooded murder. An abomination to God and mankind and…”

Her words faded to silence as he touched her again, sliding his finger along her bodice to stroke a path up her neck, so gently that it seemed a profane reminder of the pain he’d so often inflicted on her. His finger ceased its journey below her chin, dig
ging into the tender flesh there. He jerked hard to make her meet his gaze.

“Did I neglect to mention that I’ve had your children brought home from fostering at Denton?”

Catherine arched back, feeling as if he’d buried a dagger in her belly. “Oh God, why? You promised not to harm them!”

He grinned wider, the look mocking the Arch-fiend himself. “They were none too pleased, I’m afraid, to see their dear Uncle Eduard. Little Isabel even wept a bit.” The corner of his lip curled. “Rather reminded me of you.”

Tears flooded her eyes and she began to struggle against him. “You bastard! What have you done to them?”

“Calm yourself, Catherine.” He looked down at her, gripping her wrists to prevent her from striking him. “The twins are safe enough in their old chambers at Faegerliegh Keep for now. But ’tis right that you remember what will happen to them if you thwart me in any way. Several of my people lie in wait here for the sole purpose of watching you in my absence. I’ll be kept informed if you’re stupid enough to try anything.”

She gazed at him uncomprehending for a moment. When realization began to dawn, Eduard smiled and nodded. “Aye, Catherine, sweet. Spies. Neither you nor anyone at Ravenslock knows who they are. It might be the baker’s apprentice, or the lady’s maid who draws your bath. Mayhap even the squire that serves you at table. This is a huge and prosperous estate. My spies are many, and they are
everywhere. Falter in any way, Catherine, attempt to tell Camville of our plans, and I’ll learn about it swiftly. And then, my dear, your children will suffer the consequences.” He stopped talking and drew his finger quickly across his throat with a slicing sound.

Suffocation squeezed her and welling tears spilled hot onto her cheeks. “How can you do this? You’re their uncle, for God’s sake. Their blood…”

Eduard’s expression hardened, and he leaned closer. “No one is sacred, Catherine, remember that. It doesn’t take much to snuff the life from children. Their necks are delicate, like baby birds fallen from their mother’s nest. All it takes is a flick of the wrist—”

Gasping, she shoved against his chest with all of her strength. He barely budged. Instead he chuckled softly at her renewed struggles, the sound magnified in her ears like the howling of the damned. She pushed against his powerful weight in earnest, trying to raise her fists to beat against him. It had no effect except to make him laugh harder.

A split second later, however, he went utterly still against her, and his smile faded.

“Get your hands off of her Montford, or I swear you won’t live to regret it.”

Slowly, Eduard turned to face the owner of that inexorable voice—and the deadly tip of his sword. Catherine had thought Gray looked menacing on the field earlier, but it was nothing compared to the expression in his eyes now. His gaze had sharpened
to cold, green ice. Eduard backed up, Gray’s blade pointed at his chest, until he was pressed against the wall.

“A wise choice,” Gray said. Catherine stood a few paces away. She dashed the tears from her cheeks as she gazed back and forth between the two men, feeling the almost tangible hatred rippling tense and hot around them. Eduard looked coiled and ready to spring at Gray, who seemed in turn to be waiting for even the slightest reason to rip Eduard open, belly to chaps.

She clenched her fingers tight to still their trembling. Though Gray stood a little taller, the men were dangerously similar in build and strength. Seeing them in this adversarial pose, wounded as both were, made it easy to understand how they’d risen to the status of the king’s champions. They looked like gods of war, their bodies hardened and trained into weapons of destruction.

She shuddered anew, thinking how fortunate it was that they’d not managed to kill each other on the field. Surely ’twas only an act of the Almighty that had prevented what would have in turn brought death to her children.

“Care to explain what you were doing to my wife?” Gray’s voice sounded deceptively quiet. Unmistakably lethal.

Eduard’s expression shifted, suddenly, and he shrugged. “I was giving my sister a bit of brotherly advice on conducting herself as your lady. That and wishing her farewell in private before my journey of
tomorrow.” He smiled, though she saw that the look didn’t reach his eyes. “’Twas nothing sinister, I assure you.”

It was clear that he wanted to strike Gray away from him; he was barely restraining himself, and it gave Catherine a burst of satisfaction to know that for once Eduard was being forced to rein in his brutal temper.

“My lady,” Gray murmured, calling her attention back to him, though he kept his gaze and his blade squarely pointed at Eduard. “What say you to this? I would feign believe otherwise, but tell me he speaks true, and for your sake I’ll forswear.”

Eduard tried to twist his head to look at her, no doubt to glare her into submission, but Gray immediately shifted his stance to prevent the contact. She was left as so oft of late to make her own decision in the matter. The power of independent thought frightened her. She felt unsuited to the task, having rarely been allowed to indulge in decision-making before coming to Ravenslock.

“I—I don’t know what to say, my lord.”

“Just tell me the truth.”

Catherine clenched her fingers tighter together. What could she say? Oh, but she would love to see Eduard suffer for his sins against her. For his threats against her children. But the twins were the very reason she needed to protect him from Gray’s retribution. Sighing, she unclenched her hands and pressed her palms flat to her skirt. “’Tis true that Eduard was giving me parting advice in private, for
fear he’d have no other opportunity before his departure on the morrow.”

“’Twas no more than that?”

She paused briefly. “His ways are not yours, my lord, but that is all that happened.”

Gray paused, obviously wavering. Finally he murmured, “Then I am forced to abide by your avowal.” He slid his sword back into its sheath and stepped away from his rival, though he continued to position himself as a buffer for her. He indicated the portal to the great hall. “Go, now, Montford, before I change my mind.”

Eduard looked ready to explode. He flashed a hate-filled glare at Gray, his gaze flicking over to slice Catherine as well. Then, with a growl, he gritted his teeth and stamped down the corridor. The door to the great hall swung open and slammed shut behind him.

Gray faced Catherine once more and warmth flooded her. She felt shock tingle up her spine, not unlike the sensation she’d had the first time she looked into his startling, beautiful eyes at their wedding. But when he spoke that sensation faded under a wave of regret.

“I had hoped that you would expose Eduard for the brutal wretch he is, my lady,” he said softly. He gazed into her eyes, reaching to her very soul, it seemed. The way he looked at her was making her breathless, and she struggled to find some answer for him. Something that wouldn’t sound as awful and insincere as she felt. But before she could
muster a sound, he looked away. “I’ll expect your return to the feast shortly.” Then he walked away down the corridor, disappearing into the great hall as Eduard had done a few moments earlier.

She sagged against the wall after he left, bitter emptiness engulfing her. Her chest tightened as she remembered what he’d asked of her during the confrontation.
Just tell me the truth.
By the Saints of heaven, she knew the value of that practice, now more than ever. If only she could follow through with it. She’d prided herself on her honesty all of her life. She’d taught her children to revere it as one of the best Christian virtues. But that had been before Eduard had trampled over her and threatened everything she held dearest with destruction.

Nay, there was no help for her deceptions. Not now at least. Though it galled her to her soul, though it went against every fiber of her nature to continue it, she’d have to maintain this enormous lie that had become her life. Two other far more precious lives depended on it.

She shook her head and turned to begin walking back to the great hall herself, but a tingling up her spine made her pause in her steps. Someone was watching her.

Slowing, she reached out to the wall to steady herself and hazarded a glance over her shoulder. The tingling intensified to a rush of fear. A shadowy figure lurked in the doorway at the opposite end of the hall, back toward the kitchens. The person crouched in the portal to the castle spice chamber, not moving in muscle or breath, it seemed. Only watching.

It was a man, or at least she thought it was. Her heart pounded, and her hands felt icy. ’Twas difficult to tell, he was stooped so low and swathed in so much dark fabric. He looked to be lame, perhaps. Or afflicted with a humped back. Only his eyes showed, glittering dark and intense through the space in his head covering. Her heart leapt into her throat again.

Merciful heavens, he was staring right at her…

Gasping, Catherine turned and fled the rest of the way to the great hall. Gripping the heavy door, she pulled it open and then shut it firmly behind her, leaning against it for a moment to regain her composure before forcing herself to reenter the din of feasting still underway in the hall.