Knight of Desire (17 page)

“What is it, Thomas?”

“M’lady, there are men at the gate. They’ve come from the North to see Lord FitzAlan.” He hesitated, then added, “One of them
is FitzAlan’s brother.”

“His brother?” She must have misheard Thomas. William just told her this morning that his brother was dead.

“He is only a youth, m’lady. A boy.”

“But we were not expecting anyone,” she said, unable to hide her surprise.

“I happened to be near the gate when they arrived.” Thomas cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “One of the men escorting
him recognized me and told me the boy’s mother sent him.”

She thought she heard Thomas say under his breath, “Saints preserve us.”

“Thank you, Thomas. I will come at once.” Trying to sound pleased, she said, “Come, Jamie, we have guests!”

She felt uneasy. ’Twas odd that they received no prior word of this visit. And why had William not seen fit to mention this
younger—
living
—brother to her?

She hurried across the bailey with Thomas and Jamie in tow. On the way, she stopped a passing servant to give instructions.

“Jane, tell Cook we have guests and need refreshments brought to the hall at once. Tell Alys to have rooms prepared.”

She did not recognize the livery of the dozen men waiting on the other side of the portcullis, but they had the look of Northerners.
Perhaps it was all the ginger hair and beards, or the way they stood as though they owned the world and were almost hoping
for a fight.

She signaled for the guards to open the gate and waited as the men rode in. A well-dressed youth of perhaps twelve or thirteen
dismounted and stepped forward, fidgeting with his hat. He was a good-looking boy with auburn hair, warm brown eyes, and a
smattering of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He looked not one whit like William.

The lad looked over her shoulder, as though expecting someone else. Realizing his rudeness, he colored.

Catherine had to stifle a smile as he gave her a beautiful, if rather dramatic, bow.

“I am Stephen Neville Carleton.” His voice broke with nervousness as he said it. “I thought to find my brother, Lord William
Neville FitzAlan, here. If you would kindly tell him I am here, m’lady, I would be most grateful.”

“I’m afraid Lord FitzAlan has been called away,” she told him. “I do not know if you received news of your brother’s marriage,
but I am Lady Catherine, your new sister-in-law.”

She gave him a warm smile. Though she did not know it, from that moment, young Stephen was hers.

“Welcome to Ross Castle,” she said to the men who accompanied Stephen. “I am sure Lord FitzAlan will be as grateful to you
as I am for bringing his brother to us safely.”

The men took turns bowing and introducing themselves.

“The servants will take care of your horses,” she said, bidding them to follow her. “We have refreshments for you in the hall.”

She took Stephen’s arm and walked with him toward the keep. They were of a height so that her face was close to his as she
asked him about his journey. He had an appealing, almost pretty face, with large dark eyes, a straight nose, and full rosy
lips. As he got older and his looks turned more masculine, he would have the ladies sighing.

As they passed through the second gate to the inner bailey, Edmund came running down the steps of the keep two at a time.
He shouted greetings at a couple of the Northerners who came with Stephen.

“So this is young Stephen,” Edmund said, thumping him on the back. “I would not have known you. You were crawling on all fours
and smelling of piss when last I saw you.”

Stephen scrunched his shoulders and made a face, but Edmund did not appear to notice.

“This will be quite a surprise for William,” Edmund said.

It sounded like a warning; from the wary look on Stephen’s face, the lad took it as such.

As soon as she had the visitors settled at table with wine and ale, Edmund appeared at her side.

“Pardon us a moment,” he said to the others. His smile was polite, but his grip on her arm was unyielding. “The lady and I
have an urgent matter to discuss.”

He marched her into the corridor outside the hall.

“Why was I not called?” he demanded. “William made me responsible for the safety of this castle. You should not have ordered
the gate open without my permission!”

“I do not need your permission to admit guests here,” she said between clenched teeth. “I admitted no dangerous men, only
my lord’s young brother and his escort.”

“God’s beard, how could you be sure it was his brother? And a man’s brother may also be his enemy. William can tell you that,
if you do not know it.”

“But you know these men,” she argued, “and that boy is surely no threat.”

“My God, woman, we are in the midst of rebellion,” he said, raising his hands in the air. “You shall not act so foolishly
again while I am in charge.”

Catherine was too angry to concede anything. “You hear me well, Edmund Forrester,” she said, shaking a finger in his face.
“I have been the mistress of this castle since I was twelve years old. You may order the men about, but you shall not give
orders to me.”

She jerked her arm from his hold and left him there, wishing she had a door to slam.

Thomas watched Edmund take Lady Catherine from the hall. He did not like it. Not at all. Hearing their raised voices, he grew
more concerned. He drummed his fingers as he thought of an excuse to interrupt them.

The door was flung open, and Lady Catherine entered, eyes blazing and silk skirts flowing out behind her. The men in the hall
stopped, their cups midair, to watch her.

She looked for all the world like a beautiful avenging angel. Thomas shook his head in wonder. Surely, God had found the perfect
woman for William. A woman strong enough to break through his barriers, to demand his heart, to heal his wounds.

W
illiam ended his business in Hereford early and set a fast pace for home. Home. It struck him that Ross Castle was the first
place he had ever thought of as his home.

His mother’s house was never that. His very existence had been a source of strain. As soon as his mother could convince Northumberland
to take him into his household, she sent him. William’s status on Northumberland’s vast estates was complex and uncertain.
No one knew whether to treat him as a poor relation of Northumberland’s first wife, which he was, or as the great man’s son.

William’s true relationship to Northumberland was an open secret. God’s truth, it would have been difficult to deny he was
a Percy. He looked like a younger version of Hotspur.

Although Northumberland never claimed him, he assumed William’s fealty. Likely he thought William should be grateful just
for being brought into his service to train for knighthood.

In time, Northumberland let him lead a few men in the frequent skirmishes along the Scottish border. William proved able and
rose in the ranks. After a few years, Northumberland gave him command of a portion of his army. Remnants of that force still
served under William.

This past spring, Northumberland sent him to fight against the Welsh rebels. The great man saw no need to tell William he
was sent as a diversion, a false show of Percy loyalty. While William fought with the king, his father was in York hatching
another conspiracy.

When Northumberland made his move against the king, he ordered William to return to the North with all possible speed. William
ignored the call. He’d sworn his oath to King Henry. All he had of value was his honor—and his fighting skills. While his
father took up arms against the king in the North, William fought rebels in Wales.

William pushed aside his memories of that difficult time. At the next rise in the road, Ross Castle appeared on the horizon,
and his thoughts returned to Catherine. She was the reason he left Hereford in such a hurry.

But Edmund’s words of warning came back to him.

“What man would not want such a woman in his bed? But for God’s sake, do not trust her,” Edmund harped at him. “Have a care,
or one day you’ll find she’s opened the gates to rebels—or made false accusations about you to the prince.”

Trust came hard to a man who grew up having uncertain ties and no true place in the world. While William did not truly believe
Catherine would betray him, he kept his guard up.

He tried to, anyway. His resolve was slipping day by day.

His anticipation grew as he approached the gate. He looked up at the ramparts, half expecting to see her there watching for
him. ’Twas foolish to be disappointed. She did not expect him for another day.

Who would have thought three days could seem so long? All he wanted was to get her alone in their bedchamber, to feel her
naked against his skin.

He threw his reins to a stable boy and left his men without a word. Ignoring their ribald remarks, he ran ahead to the keep.
He looked up at the sun. Almost noon. He would find her with the rest of the household at dinner in the hall.

He burst through the doors, and she was there, just where he expected to find her. She stood and called his name, pleasure
radiating from her face. His heart leapt in his chest as he strode across the room to her, intent on sweeping her into his
arms and kissing her senseless.

He did hold her tantalizingly close before she put a firm hand against his chest and offered her cheek.

“William, we have guests,” she whispered in his ear.

Damn, damn, damn
. Grudgingly, he released her and turned to see what fool had the poor sense to visit today.

He looked around the table, taking in each man. With a sinking feeling, he recognized the livery of Carleton, his mother’s
latest husband. He supposed he should stop thinking of Carleton as her “latest,” since she’d been married to him for a dozen
years or more.

It never ceased to amaze him how his conniving mother managed to end up with men who had a knack for choosing the losing side
of every major political intrigue. Carleton had sided with Northumberland in this latest debacle. The man lost most of his
lands—but was lucky to keep his head.

William nodded at the men he recognized as his gaze moved from man to man along the table. When he came to the boy sitting
next to Catherine, he started. The resemblance to his mother was striking. This boy had to be Eleanor’s youngest son.

The boy stood and gave him a bow. Looking at William with their mother’s bold brown eyes, he said, “Greetings, sir. I am Stephen
Neville Carleton.”

“Aye, I can see that is who you are.” William neither smiled nor moved to greet the boy. “How is it that you find yourself
here at Ross Castle?”

“William!” He heard Catherine’s whispered reproach but ignored it.

The boy blushed, but he held William’s gaze. “Our mother insisted on sending me.”

“There is no thwarting her,” William said, shaking his head. “Sit down, Stephen.”

He could hardly send the boy away in the middle of his dinner. While William washed his hands in the basin a servant brought
to him, Catherine filled his trencher. It had been hours since he rode out of Hereford, and he was ravenous.

“Where is Jamie?” he asked Catherine as he stabbed a hunk of roasted pork.

“He was worn out from trying to keep up with Stephen. His nursemaid took him up for a rest as soon as he finished eating.”

After William ate enough to take the edge off his hunger, he leaned forward to address Stephen, who sat on the other side
of Catherine.

“So, how old are you, Stephen Carleton?”

“Twelve, sir.”

“Tell me, what is Lady Eleanor’s intent in sending you here?” He pointed his eating knife at the boy. “I want to hear both
what she told you and what you believe is her true purpose.”

The boy raised his eyebrows in a manner so reminiscent of their mother that William could not keep the sarcastic edge from
his voice. “You cannot have lived with her for twelve years and not know the two are different.”

Stephen paused as if considering his answer, then said, “Mother said it was past time we knew each other.” After a quick sideways
glance at Catherine, he added, “And she wants me to tell her of your new wife.”

Catherine gave the boy a reassuring smile and patted his arm.

“I believe she spoke the truth,” Stephen said. “But those were not her only reasons.”

“What else does she want?” William asked.

“Although she said this was a visit, I believe she intends for you to take me into your household.” Stephen shrugged his shoulder.
“You are the only one of us in the king’s good graces.”

That rang true. But William sensed the boy was holding something back. “Tell me. Out with it now.”

“ ’Tis possible she wants you to arrange a marriage for me,” the boy said, blushing furiously. “Not that she would wish me
to marry now, but she wants a betrothal.”

Stephen looked pained. “She gave me a letter for you. I expect she instructs—ah, asks—you to use your influence to get me
betrothed to a wealthy heiress.”