She hesitated, the enormity of her thoughts terrifying. “Before this day, I believed her intent was to destroy the remainder of the royal family within our realm, to ensure she has no opposition when she claims the crown. But her attempt to kill you proves if that was indeed her original intent, she now wants more.”
“More?”
Catarine drew a deep breath. “If my aunt exposes my feelings for you to Prince Zacheus, it might infuriate him to the point where the war our marriage is supposed to avoid becomes real. And, in her twisted way, in a show of supposed concern, she can offer herself in my stead to bring peace between our kingdoms.”
Infuriated understanding smothered the confusion in his eyes. “And in the end,” Trálin said, his voice cold, “she would lay claim to not just one kingdom, but two.”
Shaken, Catarine nodded. “I must inform my father.” A meeting she dreaded. He would be far from pleased to learn she’d fallen in love with Trálin, but to save her realm a truth she would admit. Nor would it change her father’s expectations that she wed Prince Zacheus.
Her destiny remained sealed.
“Now what do we do?” Trálin asked.
“Thankfully, with her men about, ’twould seem she has nae left for the Otherworld. We must stop her before she does.” Responsibility weighed atop her guilt. “I pray my warriors have reached my father by now. Still, I need to send another of my warriors to update him of this latest threat.”
Trálin slowly crossed his arms. “Do you nae think it should be you who explains?”
“I do, but the luxury of time for me to reach him does nae exist.”
“You could go,” Trálin pressed. “I will continue on with your warriors in search of Princess Elspeth.”
Anger flared as she understood. “You want me safe, protected, but I am nae leaving.”
“You are being stubborn.”
“Nay,” she replied, “if indeed she is still here, ’tis possible that she will speak with only me.”
His mouth settled into a grim line. “And if you are wrong and she has already returned to the Otherworld?”
Fear cut through her. “Then God help us all.”
“Then I will pray we find her here.”
As would she. “I do have a concern.”
“What is that?”
“Though we have a map, it ends in England without indicating a specific location of anything of significance. With my aunt’s immense power, I fear if she doesna wish to be seen, we willna see her.”
Expression hard, he unfurled his arms, dropped them to his sides. “Blast it, she has to have a weakness.”
“If so,” Catarine replied, “’tis none that I am aware of.”
With a frustrated sigh, Lord Grey withdrew the map and tapped the location where the line ended. “For the most, the land holds naught of importance. But, we shall search here. For the sake of your family and realm, let us pray that she still remains in England.”
“I must talk with Sionn. He is the best choice to send to explain everything to my father.”
Trálin nodded.
Angst swirling inside her, Catarine headed across the stable.
At her approach, Sionn shot her a questioning look. “Is there a problem?”
“I must speak with you all in private.”
His hard gaze glanced toward Trálin, then back to her. “This involves Lord Grey?”
“Aye.” Rocks crunched beneath their feet as she headed toward a break in the castle walls, the rush of wind through the opening perfect to conceal their discussion from the others. Near the heap of scattered stones, she faced her friend. “I need you to return to the Otherworld and find my father.”
Lines of confusion wedged in his brow. “You have already sent warriors to inform the king of your aunt’s treachery.”
“I have, but now there is another issue of great importance.” In brief she explained her concerns about her aunt learning of her feelings for Trálin, her possible intent to use them to marry the prince and gain more power.
Sionn’s mouth tightened. “The king will be furious.”
“My father will be,” she agreed. “’Twould be best if I spoke with him, but if we find Princess Elspeth, ’tis I who needs to confront her as I doubt she will speak to anyone but royalty.”
“’Twill leave you with but Drax and Kuircc,” Sionn said, his voice grim.
Apprehension slid through her. “I know.”
“Blast it.” Her friend rubbed the back of his neck, shot her a cool look. “I will do as you bid, but I do nae like it.”
“My thanks.”
“Do nae thank me,” Sionn said. “When you eventually meet with your father, ’twill be far from pleasant.”
An understatement. Her father would be outraged.
Large flakes of snow whipped past as Trálin followed the rider they’d come across earlier in the day after they’d crossed into England. After catching several glints of the rider’s gemstone around his neck, he was sure the man he now trailed was under the control of Catarine’s aunt.
As he topped the ridge and rode deeper on English soil, his concern grew. At least she and the others were safe, hidden in the shield of trees a distance behind. She’d nae liked his following the horseman, but could nae argue that ’twas easier for one person to follow the man to avoid being seen.
A horse snorted in the distance.
Reining his steed to a halt, Trálin dismounted and tethered him in a copse of trees. With care he worked his way through the thick swath of pines. Near a break, he lay on his stomach, inched forward, and peered through the brush.
A distance below, the lone rider cantered along a heavily used path toward two large buildings. At his approach, another man walked into view. The rider dismounted, handed his steed over to the man, then strode toward the larger building of the two.
An inn? Was the rider en route to meet with others before they departed for the Otherworld? There was only one way to find out.
Scrambling to his mount, Trálin rode to where Catarine and the others rested.
A short while later, he approached, and Catarine hurried to meet him.
“Where did the rider go?” she asked.
“To what looks to be an inn,” Trálin replied.
Concern darkened her gaze. “Did you see other English knights there?”
“Nay, but I believe he is meeting someone there, which is why I returned.” He laid the reins in his palm. “Remain here with our men at camp. Once night has fallen, I will enter disguised as a traveler and see what information I can learn.”
Anger reddened her cheeks. “I am going with you.”
Blast it. “I will nae risk you going in. ’Tis too—”
“Dangerous?” she interrupted.
His arguments fell away. She’d overcome a blizzard, fought the English knights at the broken-down castle, and had held her own in both. “I do nae like the thought of your putting your life at risk.”
Her face grew tender. “I know.”
Hours later blackness coated the earth as Trálin rode toward the two buildings, keeping his steed’s gait easy. Catarine’s soft breath on his neck as she sat behind him far from put him at ease. Aye, she had a right to be here, but how could he nae worry for her safety?
A break in the clouds sent moonbeams spilling to the earth, illuminating the clearing between him and the buildings.
She leaned close to his ear. “’Tis the inn.”
“There is still time for you to dismount, and for me to go in alone.”
“Trálin, well I know the dangers we face, but I appreciate your concern.”
Concern? What the lass made him feel far exceeded the paltry word. Never had he met a woman who challenged him on every level, nor made him feel the depth of emotions she did. The thought of her leaving after this was over seemed impossible. As if he had a blasted choice?
From the shadows, a tall man, sword raised, stepped from the stable. “Halt, who goes there?”
“Here we go,” Trálin whispered back to Catarine, and drew his mount to a halt.
Chapter Eighteen
Dropping his shoulders and allowing his body to slump, Trálin nodded to the tall man standing before the stable who held his sword raised. “We have traveled far and are weary. We seek naught but a room to rest this night.”
Cast in torchlight, the lines on the Englishman’s face narrowed in suspicion. “You are Scottish.”
“Aye.”
Catherine prayed he convince the man they were no threat or their entire plan to eavesdrop on the English knights working for her aunt would fail.
“We traveled south from the border,” Trálin explained. “My wife has been ill, and we are on our way to procure herbs to help her.”
His wife!
The man’s eyes narrowed on Catarine, and he stepped back. “Is she contagious?”
“With child.” Trálin replied without glancing toward her.
To her chagrin, after a long look at Catarine, the Englishman lowered his sword.
“There are several rooms available,” the mans said, “but ’twill cost you.”
After the man quoted a figure, Trálin dismounted and handed over the requested coin.
The Englishman lifted the fare to the light. With a satisfied grunt, he shoved the money within a hidden pocket. “Tell Godefray you have a room on the second floor for the night,” the man said. “And a hot meal.”
Relief swept Trálin. “My thanks.”
“If you are ready to go in,” the man said, “I will be stabling your horse.”
“We are.” Lord Grey turned and lifted Catarine to the ground. An arched brow in her direction assured her he knew that she was far from pleased with the story he’d concocted. “Are you well enough to walk?”
“Indeed,” she said, her voice crisp.
Trálin handed the reins to the Englishman, took her elbow, and escorted her to the inn.
Hooves upon the bare ground echoed in their wake as their horse was led to the stable.
Once out of earshot, Catarine sent Trálin a withering look. “Pregnant?” she whispered.
Against the flicker of flames as they approached the weathered building, he had the grace to blush. “With the guard picking up my burr, I needed a topic that would throw him off guard and nae encourage questions.”
“Off guard?” she asked exasperated. “There were many reasons you might have given him.”
“And one would be?”
“That I was headed for a convent,” she blustered out.
Frozen grass crunched beneath their feet. “Headed for a convent? And what reason could I give him of why I, a Scot, was in deep in the southeastern part of England?”
“To fetch me.”
His brow arched as if far from convinced. “And you think he would be believing that?”
“Why would he nae?” she asked as he led her beneath a sturdy oak. “’Tis a good a reason as you gave. Nay, ’tis better.”
A smile tugged at his mouth as he stopped and looked at her. “Do you think the man would be giving me a room with a lass who is about to swear her vows to God?”
Heat touched her cheeks. “He might have,” she replied without conviction. So caught up in her shock at his claiming she was his wife, her wits had abandoned her.
He stroked his thumb across her lips. “With your bonny looks, I doubt he would trust me in a room alone with you for the night.” Before she could reply, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her into a soft kiss.
A gust of wind kicked up, and bony branches scraped overhead. Catarine ignored the sound and sank into his kiss, wishing indeed they were wed. If so, this night, locked in their chamber, images of how he would touch her flickered through her mind, and her body grew hot.
He broke away, his breathing unsteady, and pushed back a loose lock of her hair behind her ear. “I have vowed to nae touch you again.”
“You have.” Her heart aching, she ran her fingers over his strong jaw rough with new growth, lingered on the firm line of his mouth.
“Lass, ’tis dangerous ground we tread.”
She gave a slow exhale. “I know, but I can nae help how you make me feel.”
On a groan, he leaned in, gave her another long kiss, and then broke free. “As if your answer makes anything blasted easier?” He took her hand. “Let us go inside before we both freeze to death.
“I am nae cold.”
He grunted, tugged her forward.
Satisfaction filled her as she walked by his side, then she grew somber. Before, being innocent of a man’s touch, she’d accepted the sensations he’d inspired with newfound awe, cherished each one, aware that they must last her a lifetime. Except now, understanding what he could make her feel, she found herself wondering what sensations their joining would bring. And what of him? Regardless of what he’d said that night in Loch Leven Castle, how could he have found pleasure merely watching or touching her? However wrong, she found herself convinced that if they spent the hours alone, ’twould take little to encourage him to make love to her in every way, regardless the cost.
Foolish thoughts indeed. Their time here was but a guise to eavesdrop on the English knight in league with her aunt.
The scrape of wood had her glancing up.
The hewn entry shoved open. In the spill of lantern light, a rough-looking man with unkempt hair straggling over his shoulders stepped out. Surprise widened his eyes as he glanced at her.
Trálin moved before her as Catarine’s hand curled around her hidden dagger.
With a grunt, the stranger stumbled toward the stable.
Thankful, Catarine released her blade.
Trálin turned. “Are you okay?”
“Naught happened except we surprised a man who drank a wee bit too much.”
“With the travelers within and their minds skewed by ale,” Trálin cautioned, “with your beauty, ’twill be more than one man eyeing you with dark thoughts.”
At the seriousness of his voice she sighed. “Trálin, well I know how to handle myself.”
“Mayhap, but while you are with me, I will protect you.”
His words moved her. Though her fey warriors kept her safe and were like brothers to her, Trálin’s vow was driven by caring, that of a man who desired and respected a woman. A man whom, if circumstance allowed, would become more.
He stepped to the door. “Normally, I would hold the door for you to enter first. As we do nae know what awaits us inside, I will go first.”
She nodded.
With a quick glance around them, her potent taste still on his mouth, Trálin opened the door to the inn, then stepped inside. The stench of unwashed bodies collided with rancid ale. The men gathered at the rough-hewn tables wore tattered garb. Several looked familiar, none for good reasons. Bedamned, this was the last place he would ever want Catarine. ’Twas nae fit for a pig, and he held doubts he’d bring the wee animal inside as well.
A shimmer of light glinted from the neck of a man seated near the back.
The man he’d followed earlier.
“What do you see?” Catarine whispered from behind.
“The man we seek. Do nae look at him or any of the others as we enter, but follow me,” he whispered. “I assure you, the crowd within is an untrustworthy lot. It may be different in your world, but here, for our safety, let me speak.”
She nodded. “I will.”
Near the back of the large smoke-filled chamber, two tables away from where the man he’d followed here, sat two battered chairs and an empty table that look as if it’d seen many a fight. Good. They could feign eating while they kept watch of the man and mayhap catch a glimpse of who he’d come to meet. Trálin took Catarine’s hand and led her inside.
A woman dressed in serviceable garb approached them, her eyes suspicious, her face weathered with age. She shot Catarine a dismissive glance, and her smile warmed as it settled on him.
“Would you be wanting to eat or,” the woman purred with a saucy wink, “do you desire other services to satisfy your appetite, my lord?”
He ignored her crude advance. Too many times he’d dealt with women like her, women who believed him a man of worth, a man whom they could glean coin or other items of wealth or status. Nor would he ask her how she knew he was nobility. With the slovenly lot within, ’twould nae be hard to discern he was at the very least, a man of authority.
“I am seeking a man named Godefray,” Lord Grey stated.
Disappointment flashed on her face, and she gestured to a red-haired man talking with another man at the other side of the room.
“My thanks.” Trálin pointed to the empty table near the back. “Once I am finished talking with him, we will be seated there. We paid the stable hand for a meal. Bring it there.”
The woman’s mouth tightened into a hard frown. “Very well, my lord.”
He ignored her dry tone. “Come.” Catarine’s hand tightened in his, but he caught the flash of anger in her eyes. Keeping her close to his side, he walked toward the man the woman had indicated. As they neared, the red-haired man continued talking to the man seated nearby, but by the way his shoulders tensed, he’d seen them.
“And that is the way it ended,” the red-haired man spat. “Serves ’em right for going against the king. Bloody dead as they should be.”
Although nae directed at him, Trálin heard the man’s underlying warning that he would nae tolerate any interference. If Catarine was nae with him, the man would learn that threats, however subtly cast, could end with his death. This time, the man was fortunate.
The red-haired man lifted his mug of ale, took a long drink, then set it on the table with a heavy thud. “You are Godefray?” Trálin asked.
The rough-looking man glanced toward him, then shifted to Catarine. His eyes darkened with desire.
The bastard. “This is my wife,” Trálin said in cold warning.
Godefray’s hard gaze met his. “And what would the two of you be wanting?”
“We paid the man at the stable for a room this night,” Trálin replied, his voice ice, “and a hot meal. He said when we came in, to ask for you.”
With a grunt, the red-haired man glanced toward the woman Trálin had spoken with moments before. “I saw you talked with Mildryth when you entered.”
“Aye,” Lord Grey replied. “To order our meal.”
“Once you finish your fare,” the red-haired man stated, “Mildryth will tell you which room above is yours.”
With a curt nod, Trálin led Catarine toward the empty table in the back.
Curious gazes eyed them as they passed, most resting on Catarine with undisguised interest.
Trálin glared at each man who dared eye Catarine until they looked away. Thank God. With the caliber of men crowded within this chamber, any show of weakness could invite a lethal confrontation.
A sticky substance squished beneath his boot as he stepped past a battered table. He glanced down. The meager torchlight aided him naught in deducting what smeared the aged wooden floor. With the dangerous lot that frequented this hovel, little telling what had spilled, ale, or blood. As if he expected different? For a secret meeting, ’twould be a fine setting.
At the table, Trálin shifted the chairs so the back of both his and Catarine’s were against the wall.
She raised her brow.
“To ensure no one can sneak up on us from behind.”
Her face paled a degree as she took a seat. “Wise. I pray the food will be more appealing than the inhabitants.”
“We will soon find out,” he replied as he settled in the chair beside her.
A while later, the woman the red-haired man had called Mildryth ambled toward their table. A loaf of bread sat on a trencher, and she carried two bowls of soup in the crook of her arm. Her lips pinched, she shoved the fare upon the rough wood with a clatter. Soup sloshed in the bowls, and several drops spilled over the edge. Shooting him a cool look, Mildryth whirled and strode off.
“How did she know you were a noble?” Catarine asked.
“A woman used to seeing scum, I doubt she has any problem deducting a man of higher stature.” He leaned closer. “My only concern is that if she so easily figured out that I am a noble, how many others have noted the same?”
She stiffened, gave a covert glance around.
Bedamned, he’d nae meant to worry her. As if being in this blasted place invited calm? “’Tis too late to worry about it now. Once we learn what we can from whomever the English knight is meeting,” he said in a low voice, “we will head to our chamber. Once we are out of sight, we will slip away.”
Part of him regretted that they could nae delay their departure. As if that was wise? With him wanting her with his every breath, knowing she wanted him as well, naught good would come from their being alone in a chamber this night.
Naught good? Understatement. With a few uninterrupted hours alone, with the feelings she inspired, she would nae leave an innocent.
Catarine took a taste of her bread soaked with broth on the trencher, and her face twisted with revulsion. She returned it. “’Tis awful.”
At her words, he pulled himself from his erotic thoughts. Trálin tore off a piece of bread, dipped it in the broth, and tasted. With a grimace, he swallowed. “Nor have we seen our chamber.” He covertly scanned the aged interior, noted the cobwebs thick upon the ceiling, and the caked dirt on the floor. “From what we have seen so far, I doubt our room would be noteworthy.” He cast a subtle glance to his side. “See that man sitting two tables away?” he whispered to Catarine as he made a show of dipping his bread in his soup.
“Aye,” she whispered, keeping her eyes on her food as she hesitantly picked up her chunk of bread.
“’Tis the man I followed here. This close, I am hoping we can catch at least a wee bit of his conversation with whomever he came to meet.”
She nodded as she tore off a small bit of bread, chewed, and swallowed it.
“After a few moments, look again. When you do, he is wearing a pendant, the same as the other English knights wore that you tossed over the castle wall.”
Catarine took a sip of her wine, winced with disgust, then reached for another piece of bread. As she picked up her goblet, she slid a glance toward the Englishman, then away. “He tries to pretend he is nae waiting for someone, but he keeps peering toward the entry.”