Knight of Desire (20 page)

She closed her eyes and remembered that day, more than four years ago. Prince Harry had stopped overnight. Rayburn was leaving
with him the next day to fight the rebels. Since Rayburn might be gone for weeks, he came to her that night for another attempt.
He hurt her badly that time.

The next morning, she waited to go down to the hall until Rayburn and the other men were gone. She forgot about the young
knight Harry left behind to carry a message to the king. The moment she entered the hall, the young man rushed to her side.
When she refused to let him call anyone to help her, he carried her upstairs and took care of her injuries himself.

“He was very kind and courteous,” she said aloud.

She remembered how the young man’s face and even his ears turned red when he eased the hem of her gown up to wrap the linen
strips around her injured ankle. His fingers were unexpectedly gentle.

“He wrapped my ankle for me,” she murmured. “He told me he learned his skills from the monks at a monastery near his home.
He said he once hoped to join their order.”

William made an indecipherable sound. Still, she did not look at him.

“When he helped me to my bed, my sleeve fell back. He saw the bruises on my arm.”

After his careful treatment, she was startled when he held her wrist and pushed her sleeve up to her shoulder. She remembered
how the dark purple and blue of the new bruises stood out against the fading yellow ones. The young man’s eyes were full of
compassion when he looked into her face again.

“He saw that my injuries were not from a fall, as I had told him—and that this was not the first time,” she said. “He pressed
me to tell him who was hurting me and why.”

It was the memory of the young knight who took her riding before her wedding that led her to trust in the kindness in this
young man’s eyes. And that was what saved her.

“I told him everything. That there was no hope for me. That my husband could not get me with child and that he would not stop
hurting me until I conceived.”

The young man put his arms around her and made shushing noises into her hair. She remembered leaning into the comfort of his
embrace and weeping until she fell into an exhausted sleep. By the time she awoke, he had worked out a solution to her problem.

“He said that to save my life, I must let another man get me with child.” Her voice was so low that William leaned forward
to hear her. “He said letting Rayburn murder me would be a greater sin than adultery.”

Catherine let the silence stretch. Nothing could have made her look at William now. She could feel him next to her, fairly
vibrating with violent emotion.

Finally, she made herself say it: “I asked him to do that favor for me.”

“You what!”

“He refused at first,” she said. William was gripping her hand so hard now that it hurt. “He was offended that I might think
he carried me upstairs with the intent of seducing me.”

“That is precisely what he intended!”

“He did not,” she protested, looking up. “It was not like that.”

“Just how was it, Catherine?” William’s amber eyes were hard and narrowed, and she saw the warning in them.

“In sooth, it was not easy to persuade him.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But there was no one else to ask, no one else
I could trust.”

She felt herself blush, remembering how she pulled her gown off before she could lose her courage. The young man’s eyes traveled
slowly down her naked body. In a breathy voice, he asked, “Are you very, very sure?”

She knew then she had won.

“Do not tell me how you convinced him,” William spat out, as if reading her thoughts. “I thought you never enjoyed having
a man in your bed before me.”

“It was not like it is with us,” she said, surprised he might think so. “He did not hurt me, but it was nothing like what
happens between us.”

The memory came back to her slowly. With a gentleness she could not have imagined, the young man kissed her cheek, her forehead,
her throat. He caressed her with the softest touches, all the while murmuring soothing words to her. A great calmness settled
over her.

She sensed a power held back to protect her, and she was grateful. Weak, barely able to move, she gave herself over to him.
He seemed to understand she was hurt in spirit even more than in body and expected nothing from her.

The young knight gave her a glimpse that day of what her life could have been like with a different man, a kind man. It had
been almost more than she could bear.

A jagged knife ripped through William’s heart as he watched her thinking of her lover.

He always hated thinking of her with Rayburn, but the man had been her husband. It helped to know she had felt neither lust
nor affection for the man. But Catherine taking a lover was something altogether different.

A terrible coldness swept over him. He stood up. He had to get out of this room, to get away. He could not be here.

But there were things he had to know before he could allow himself to escape.

“This knight is Jamie’s father?”

She nodded.

“How long was he your lover?”

When Catherine’s answer was too slow, he demanded, “Is he your lover still?”

Her eyes went wide. “He is not! He could not be! One time was all—I swear it.”

“One time?” His voice was heavy with skepticism. “Quite the miracle.”

She had the nerve to say, “I’ve always thought so.”

He ground his teeth, trying to control the rage pounding through him. “Where is your lover now?”

He would track the man down and kill him.

“I learned he died of a fever,” she said, and the sadness in her voice wrenched him. “It was not long after…”

She had the sense not to say after
what,
but the vision of her writhing under the man burned across his mind.

“I can see you think I was wrong to do it,” she said, standing up and clenching her fists. “But I cannot regret it. I cannot!
Rayburn would have killed me if I did not conceive. And you cannot ask me to wish Jamie had not been born.”

William had watched her face soften as she spoke of her lover. The man she had “persuaded” to take her to bed. He knew all
he needed to know; he could stand no more.

“What I regret, William FitzAlan, is that I was foolish enough to tell you!” She was shouting at him now, tears streaking
down her face. “I trusted that you would understand, that you would not think these hateful thoughts of me.”

He barely heard her.

The last thing he saw before he slammed the door was Catherine standing in the middle of the room with her hands over her
face, weeping. Weeping for her dead lover.

What a fool he had been to trust her.

Edmund and Stephen jumped back as William stormed past them down the steps of the keep. William was in such a fury that he
did not even seem to see them. But Stephen, who missed nothing, saw the slow smile on Edmund’s face. And he wondered why.

C
atherine was too upset after her disastrous conversation with William to venture from their rooms. An hour before supper,
Alys came to find her.

“M’lady,” Alys said, giving her a quick curtsy, “there is a group of minstrels at the gate. The guards want to know if they
may let them in. As Lord FitzAlan has gone hunting, I told them I would ask you.”

“Do we know these troubadours?”

“Aye, we do! We’ve enjoyed their music many a time.” Alys frowned and tilted her head. “I believe the last time was not long
before Lord FitzAlan came to us.”

Aye, Catherine knew them. One of them she knew very well, indeed.

“Do say yes, m’lady. It will help make up for not having musicians at your wedding feast.” With barely suppressed excitement,
Alys added, “And they always bring news, traveling as they do.”

“That they do,” Catherine agreed. “I shall tell the guards to open the gates myself.”

As she and Alys crossed the bailey toward the main gate, she heard Stephen call her name. She turned to see him running headlong
down the steps from the castle’s outer wall.

“There are traveling musicians at the gate!” he said as he fell into step beside her.

“I swear, Stephen, you hear news faster than anyone in Ross Castle,” she said, shaking her head. “No secret could be kept
from you for long.”

She looked at him sideways without slackening her pace. “How do you do it?”

She meant it as a rhetorical question, but Stephen answered.

“I make friends with the servants, fetch drinks for the guards.” He paused, then added, “And I listen.”

“Behind doors?”

Stephen would not lie to her, but he opened his eyes wide with feigned innocence.

“Have a care,” she scolded. “One day you may hear something you should not, and it could cost you dearly.”

When they reached the gate, she recognized the faces and colorful clothing of the band of troubadours. For longer than she
could remember, this troupe had come to Ross Castle and received warm welcome here. She recalled how her mother loved the
ballads, especially the “chansons d’amour.”

She signaled to the guards to raise the portcullis and stepped forward, calling, “Welcome! Welcome!” She greeted each man
with a smile as they bowed to her in turn.

Robert Fass kissed her hand and gave her a rakish grin. The devil looked as handsome as ever with his sea-green eyes and unfashionably
long blond hair.

Robert joined the troupe three years before. No one knew where he came from, nor would he say, but he could mimic any accent
and spoke French, English, and Welsh equally well. And he had a voice to make the angels cry.

The female angels, at least.

She’d seen serving women trip over sleeping dogs, because they could not take their eyes off him. She sighed and shook her
head. They would fight for his favors, and the hard feelings would cause her trouble for weeks to come.

From hints Robert gave, highborn ladies took him into their beds as often as the maids did. She suspected that was how he
got his best information.

She was anxious to have a private word with him. With Stephen’s sharp ears close by, it was not possible to talk now. She
would have to wait and seek him out later.

Catherine could feel William’s anger as he sat stiffly beside her at supper. He barely spoke, and not a word to her.

Fine. She was angry, too. Her disappointment in him dragged her spirits down as much as his hostility.

Thank heaven the musicians were here to provide a diversion. She sincerely regretted her decision to delay the surprise until
the end of supper.

She waited until the last course of stewed fruits, sugared nuts, tarts, and cakes was brought to the table. At her nod, two
servants posted at the entrance swung open the massive doors. The troubadours swept into the hall in a burst of song to the
music harp and flute.

The hall erupted in cheers and clapping.

As she hoped, the musicians provided the household a welcome respite from the tedium of waiting for the next major confrontation
with the rebels. Even William seemed to put aside his ill humor and enjoy the music for a time.