Knight of Desire (22 page)

Before she knew it, Stephen was between them.

“You shall not say such vile things to her!” Stephen shouted.

William’s harsh words hurt and humiliated her, but it was Stephen’s futile gallantry that pushed her to the edge of tears.

“Stephen, I am sending your escort home today,” William said in a cold voice. “Go or stay, as you will.”

With that, he turned and stomped out of the room.

Stephen’s fair skin had gone blotchy, and his deep brown eyes showed confusion and hurt.

“William does want you here,” Catherine said, touching his arm. “He is just angry now.”

Stephen shrugged and hung his head.

She took his face in her hands and looked him in the eyes. “You have a home at Ross Castle as long as I am here,” she said.
“I want you here, and so does Jamie.”

“I would rather face William’s wrath than my mother’s disappointment,” Stephen said, attempting a smile. “She is not a woman
to cross.”

Catherine smiled back. “Whatever the reason, I am glad you will stay.”

“Edmund told me why William is so vexed with you,” he said, looking away and blushing faintly. “My brother is a fool, and
I shall tell him so.”

It should not surprise her that Stephen knew more than he should.

“So you would slay dragons for me, Sir Stephen?” she said, touched by the boy’s blind faith in her. “You are good to offer,
but I don’t think you can help me with your brother.”

“Surely there is something I can do for you? I would do anything you asked.”

She narrowed her eyes, considering.

“Aye, Stephen, there is something.”

An hour later, the men of Stephen’s escort rode out of the castle, headed for the North. Unbeknownst to William, they carried
a message from Catherine to the prince. When Prince Harry brought it to the king, the king snatched the parchment from his
hands and tore it to bits in his face.

“You expect me to move my armies across the length of England,” he fumed, “based on a woman’s gossip?”

Within days, the king would sorely regret that he had not.

C
atherine did not show her face at table for three days. William knew their rift was the talk of the castle. From the looks
the servants gave him when they thought he was not looking, it was evident they thought him the vilest of criminals. His men,
on the other hand, were embarrassed for him. Even Edmund would not meet his eyes.

Stephen was firmly in the servants’ camp and vocal in his recriminations. How could William fault the lad for being a fool
for Catherine? Even after discovering her cavorting in the dark with the troubadour, William’s desire for her was unabated.
He lay awake at night, wanting her past bearing. He swore he could almost hear her breathing.

Even in the daytime, he caught himself imagining her trailing kisses down his body or remembering how her breath caught when
he entered her. He would soon go mad with frustration.

He told himself he would be justified in taking her to bed again. She was his wife. He had a right. A duty. A man needed an
heir. And a godly man must avoid the sin of adultery. Unless he wanted a life of celibacy, he must bed his wife.

If he was honest with himself, it was not only bedding her that he missed. He felt her absence beside him at table and longed
to hear her laugh at Jamie’s antics or Stephen’s jokes. Sadness settled over him when he thought of the long rides they used
to take.

He missed it all.

In the end, it was pure desire that drove him to stand beside her bed in the middle of the night. Though she lay perfectly
still, he knew damned well she was awake.

“You can refuse me,” he said, his voice hard and clear in the darkness. The tension hummed through his naked body, every muscle
drawn taut, as he waited for her response. Her silence was answer enough for him.

When he lifted the bedclothes to crawl in beside her, she did not cry out in protest. He felt her move on the bed, then heard
the soft swoosh of her tunic hitting the floor. He turned toward her and, at long last, felt her naked body next to his.

In an instant, he had her in his arms, every part of her pressed against him. His hands moved over her as he kissed her hair,
her face, her throat. Rolling her onto her back, he buried his face between her breasts and breathed in her scent. He sucked
her breasts, first one and then the other, until her breath came in sharp gasps.

He tried to fill the yawning emptiness inside him with his passion, the feel of her smooth skin, the smell of her hair, the
sensation of her body responding to his. Driven to possess her in every way, he lowered himself until his head was between
her legs.

If this was sin, he was long past caring. He tasted her as he wanted to. As he’d wanted to from the first time. When she gasped
in surprise, he tightened his hold around her thighs. She would have to make her protest loud and certain if she wanted him
to stop. No other woman tasted like this, smelled like this. He licked and sucked and slid his finger inside her.

She writhed and moaned, but he would not be satisfied until he made her cry out. When she did, he surged up on his knees and
pulled her hips against him, thrusting, fast and hard, fast and hard, until they cried out together.

He collapsed forward, panting, his weight on his outstretched arms, his forehead resting on her chest.

Neither had spoken a single word.

He lifted himself up and dropped beside her, spent.

Surely that frenzied coupling had satisfied the aching hunger inside him. But when her fingers brushed his cheek, he knew
it had not. He wanted far more from her than he could trust her to give.

He lay on his back, staring into the darkness. Her fear in the first days of their marriage had been real. He was almost sure
of that. But had she feigned the tenderness in the weeks that followed? Had she?

He was about to get up to return to his own bed when she moved beside him. The breath went out of him as her hand came to
rest on the flat of his stomach. Then she leaned over him, her hair sliding over his skin.

And he was lost again.

She did not come to his bed as she used to. But each night he went to hers, and they made love. Silent, frantic, all need
and want and anger. Afterward, he would leave her, unable to bear the intimacy of sleeping with her.

Though she let him into her bed each night, she avoided him during the daylight hours. Against his will, he watched for her
all day. He caught only glimpses of her—leaving a room, walking on the ramparts with Stephen, running across the bailey yard
with Jamie.

He knew it could not go on like this.

When she once again did not come to the hall to take her breakfast, he decided enough was enough. He took the stairs two at
a time and entered the solar.

He stood outside the closed door to her bedchamber, asking himself why he was there. He did not know whether he could trust
her. Whether her feelings were true. The hard truth was, none of that changed what he wanted. He wanted their relationship
to be as it had been before.

Through the door, he heard her retching. He pushed the door open to find her vomiting into a basin. As she wiped her mouth
on a cloth, she looked up. The apprehension that came into her eyes when she saw him took him aback.

“Are you ill?” he asked from the doorway.

“ ’Tis nothing. Just an uneasy stomach.”

His anger drained out of him. She looked so frail and vulnerable in her night shift, with her slim ankles and delicate feet
showing below. Despite everything, a feeling of tenderness swept over him.

He took the basin and towel from her and set them aside. Taking her hand, he said, “Catherine, I want us—”

Before he could say more, there was a loud banging at the solar door.
Damnation.

“What is it?” he shouted as he stomped into the solar.

To his surprise, it was not a servant waiting outside the door but one of his men.

“Lord FitzAlan,” the man said, “we have reports the French have landed a force.” He was breathless from running.

“What else do you know? Where are they?”

“They landed at Milford Haven,” the man said. “ ’Tis a disaster, m’lord. The castles at Haverfordwest, Cardigan, Tenby, and
Carmarthen have all been taken. The French are now sweeping across the south of Wales to Cardiff.”

“God in heaven,” William swore, “the king and his army are in the North.”

“I was told messengers are on their way to both London and the king.”

“We must make haste to be ready when the king calls.”

William followed the man out. What he had to say to Catherine would have to wait.

The castle bustled with activity as the men prepared to leave for war. There would be a major battle when the two armies met,
so William would take most of the men with him. Luckily, Ross Castle could be defended with a small number of men. The most
serious threat was siege. William had worked hard, however, to ensure the castle’s stores were adequate.

As soon as the news reached the king, he would race his army south. He would send word to the Marcher lords, telling them
where to join him for the confrontation.

The call would come soon. As soon as tomorrow.

At supper, he asked Catherine to wait up for him. He did not know if a full reconciliation was possible, but he wanted to
come to some understanding with her before he left. He still had much to do, so it was late before he finally made his way
up to their rooms.

He found her asleep on the window seat in the solar. The candle on the table was nearly gone. He pulled up a stool, glad for
the opportunity to watch her unobserved.

Starting with her shining hair and the delicate features of her face, he let his gaze travel over her. His throat tightened
as he took in the curves of her breasts, her waist, her hips, and then the long line of her legs. When he reached her feet,
so small and graceful, he felt an unexpected sting at the back of his eyes.

What was he to do with her? He could not say, but he did not want to leave things as they were. He picked up her hand and
rubbed his thumb over it. Its very smallness made him feel protective.

Her eyes fluttered open.

“You were smiling in your sleep,” he said. “What were you dreaming?”

Still only half awake, she said, “A dream I often have about something that happened long ago.”

“Tell me about it.”

She sat up and ran her fingers through her hair. Awake now, she gave him a wary look and shook her head. “It will only make
you angry.”

“Please, I want to hear.”

After more prodding and assurances, she gave in.

His heart turned in his chest as she began to tell of the ride they took the night before her wedding to Rayburn.

“A young man was sleeping in the stable, and he went with me.” She cast a nervous glance at William and added, “He was an
honorable young man who wished to protect me.”

William nodded, which seemed to reassure her. He kept quiet and let her tell the tale.

At the end, she said in a wistful voice, “That night I felt safe and happy and free all at once.”