Knight of Desire (23 page)

He swallowed hard, regretting that he’d never made her feel that way again.

“I’ve dreamed of that night often,” she said, looking off into the distance. “The dream seems to come to me when I am worried
or unhappy.”

He felt worse, knowing he was the cause of her unhappiness tonight.

“Is your dream always the same?” he asked. “Do you dream it just as it happened that night?”

She looked down at her hands and took her time in answering. “It has always been so, until tonight. This time, the young man
became you in the dream.”

William felt as if a fist gripped his heart. Taking both her hands, he asked, “Do you remember in whose service this young
knight was?”

She jerked her hands away. “You are not going to chase him down and threaten his life, are you?”

“I swear, I will not.”

She seemed to take him at his word, for she put her hand to her chin and paused to think. “I am certain he did tell me.… He
was on an errand for someone important.…”

Her eyes widened. “It was Northumberland.”

“Aye, it was.”

She stared at him a long while, a question forming in her eyes.

“My hair was long then, and I wore a beard,” he said in a quiet voice. “At that age, my pride at being able to grow one was
greater than my annoyance at how much it made me look like Hotspur.”

Her jaw dropped.

“It was you?”

He nodded.

She scrutinized him through narrowed eyes. “ ’Tis true, between the beard and the darkness I could see little of the man’s
face,” she said slowly. “But the difference is in more than your appearance.”

“I am changed?” he asked, though he was not sure he wanted to hear.

“You are used to command now, and it shows,” she said in a tentative voice. “Back then, you were… you were… more trusting.”

“What do you mean?”

She bit her lip, hesitant.

“You can tell me,” he pressed.

“You did not know me, yet you took every word I said on faith.”

He saw the hurt in her eyes. And the accusation.

“I thought you had forgotten that night,” he said, his heart in his hand. “I dream of it as well. But in my dreams, I always
rescue you.” It made him feel vulnerable to tell her, but he made himself continue. “I chastised myself for not finding a
way to help you that night. I think that is one reason the dreams would not leave me.”

“You could not know how Rayburn would mistreat me,” she said without a hint of hesitation. “And there was nothing you could
do. Rayburn was the king’s choice.”

He shrugged. Practical considerations did not release a man from what honor required.

“How long have you known I was that girl?” she asked, an edge to her voice now. “Did you know even before you came to take
Ross Castle?”

“I did not know until I saw you on the drawbridge.” He closed his eyes as he recalled how he had ridden his horse up to her
in a fit of rage. “It was when you fainted.”

They were silent for a time, each lost in their own thoughts.

“Guilt was not the only reason I dreamed of you.” He wanted to tell her all of it now, before he left for battle. “There have
been other women. But from the night I rode with you in the moonlight, it was always you I wanted.”

The confession was hard to make. He expected it to please her. Instead, her expression grew melancholy.

“At times in these last weeks, I believed you cared for me.” She sighed and shook her head. “But it was never me you cared
for. You were in love with a girl in a dream.”

He came to her tonight hoping to bridge the rift between them. Even though he had doubts about her, still he came. He confessed
he had wanted her—
dreamed
of her—for years.

And yet, she dismissed all this as nothing.

“You have hurt me more than Rayburn ever did,” she said.

There was nothing she could have said that would have surprised or offended him more.

“I’ve never taken my hand to you,” he snapped.

“Rayburn battered my body, but he could not touch my heart. He was predictably cruel, never once to be trusted.” She looked
hard at him as she spoke, her eyes revealing both hurt and anger. “But you, William, you are so kind to me that I trust you—and
then you rage at me.

“You made me ache with your tenderness,” she continued, her voice beginning to quaver. “And then you come to me in lust only,
taking me and then leaving me more alone than I have ever been before.”

“You could have refused me,” he said in a choked whisper. “I told you that you could.” It was his only defense.

“I missed your touch,” she said, her smile bittersweet. “Each time, I hoped what we did would bring you close to me again.
That it would be as it was before between us.”

William covered his face with his hands, overwhelmed with emotion. When he heard her rise, he dropped them and looked up at
her.

“It is you I need rescuing from now, William, for you are breaking my heart,” she said, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “You
bring me misery of a kind Rayburn never could.”

He grabbed her wrist to stop her from leaving.

“I am sorry with all my heart for hurting you,” he said, pleading. “I am sorry for it all.”

“You did not even believe me when I tried to warn you of the French landing,” she flung at him, her voice bitter.

He did not care if she chastised him so long as she stayed.

“I should have listened to you.” The fact that the troubadour brought her news of war did not mean the man was not also trying
to seduce her, but William did not say that.

“Please, Catherine, I do not want to leave with this unhappiness between us.”

She knew the risk that he might not return from battle without him having to say it. It was unfair to play on her sympathy
in this way, but he was too desperate to care.

All he wanted was to have that closeness between them again. The joy. She was not like other women, not like his mother. If
he could make Catherine happy, she would not leave him.

He pressed her open hand against his cheek. “I know I cannot mend it all tonight,” he said, looking up at her. “But could
you pretend to forgive me for this one night? We cannot know when we will have another.”

When he kissed her palm, she closed her eyes as if bracing herself. He put his arms around her waist and rested his head against
her.

“I promise I will be a better husband to you when I return.” He meant it with all his heart.

She ran her fingers through his hair, then kissed the top of his head. The miracle of her kindness washed over him.

He knew he must not fail her again.

He rose to his feet and lifted her in his arms. He looked into her face, waiting for her answer. After a long, long moment,
she nodded. He carried her to his bedchamber before she could change her mind.

Tonight he would take her with a tenderness he hoped might begin to heal her heart.

He set her on the edge of the bed and lit a single candle. When he came to sit beside her, she moved away so that they did
not touch. He had a long way to go to earn her trust back.

He turned her away from him and began massaging her neck and shoulders. Her muscles were tense under his hands; he worked
them until he felt her relax.

He kissed her along the curve of her neck. When he reached her ear, he whispered, “Lie down for me, Kate.”

She let him ease her down onto her belly.

He undid her braid and ran his fingers through the long, silky strands. As always, he was mesmerized by the hundred shades
of gold reflected in the candlelight. Sweeping her hair to one side, he leaned over and pressed his lips to her cheek.

He rubbed her scalp and temples with his fingertips until she closed her eyes. Then he moved down to her shoulders and back,
massaging through the thin night shift. By the time he worked his way to her fingers, her hands were limp.

“Are you cold?” he asked, and smiled at her muffled grunt in response.

He turned his attention to her feet, rubbing first the soles and then each toe in turn. The curve of her lips told him she
was enjoying his ministrations. He bent her leg so that her foot rested against his chest while he massaged her calf. He stopped
to kiss her foot, her toes, to run his tongue along the sole of her foot.

He laid her foot on the bed and kissed the back of her knee. As he kissed it, he eased her night shift up her thighs.

The room was warm.

Sweat broke out on his forehead as he massaged her thighs. Slowly but steadily, he worked his way upward. When he got to the
juncture between leg and buttock, he traced the delectable curve with his tongue. When she shivered in response, he gently
bit her with his teeth. Once, twice, three times.

He lifted his head and gave it a shake, reminding himself that this was for her. He tried to slow his breathing.

He returned to his work with renewed resolve. As he pulled her shift up, she lifted her hips and then her chest and head.
He had her naked at last.

God have mercy, his wife was beautiful.

His wife
.

He straddled her to rub her back. With slow deliberation, he worked his way over every inch. Then he ran his fingers in light
circles over her back. He felt himself grow harder and harder with anticipation as he swept his hands closer and closer, until
at last his fingers touched the soft, full curve of the sides of her breasts.

Feeling her stir at the touch, he clenched his jaw until it ached. He wanted to feel her breasts in his hands, her nipples
hard beneath his palms.

He took a deep breath.

Hoping he could keep himself in check, he leaned on his forearms to kiss her neck. His chest brushed against her back, sending
a jolt of hot lust through him. He squeezed his eyes shut against the urge to rub his throbbing cock against her backside.
If he did, he would never last.

For a long moment, he remained poised over her, his breath coming hard and fast. All he could think of was lifting her hips
and entering her from behind.

He opened his eyes as she rolled over to face him. Her amused smile told him she knew exactly what he’d been thinking. Eyes
twinkling, she shook her head at him. He was pleased to see a hint of the playfulness she used to show him in bed.

“Aye, ’tis much too soon,” he agreed. Sighing dramatically, he fell beside her and took her in his arms.

“It is good to be here with you like this,” he said, and kissed the tip of her nose.

“Mmmm,” she murmured, squeezing closer.

She gave him an openmouthed kiss that made him forget his name. As they kissed, he slid his hands between her legs. It took
the breath out of him when he felt how hot and wet she was. She would kill him for certain. She pressed against him as if
wanting to melt into him.

Keeping his hand on her, he eased himself down on the bed until he could take her breast in his mouth. When he did, he heard
her sharp intake of breath. He loved to hear the sounds she made. He slowly slid his finger in and out of her as he flicked
his tongue over her nipple, listening to the change in her breathing.

His heart pounded in his ears as he sucked harder, and she moaned and moved against his hand. At first, he ignored her insistent
pull on his shoulders. He was set on bringing her to release the first time before he entered her. But when she persisted,
he obeyed.

Hovering over her, he gave her a long wet kiss. When she wrapped her legs around him, the battle was lost. He slid deep inside
her in one forceful stroke.

Good God! The rush that went through him blinded him and left him shuddering. It was all he could do to stop himself from
spilling his seed at once. He found her mouth. Their tongues slid together as he moved back and forth against her as slowly
as he could bear.

When she increased the rhythm, he could not find his voice to tell her she must stop. She was relentless and he loved it.
She arched her back, letting her head fall over the side of the bed. Her breath came in short gasps as he felt her tighten
around his shaft.

And then she called his name. She was his. She was his.

With her cries ringing in his ears, urging him on, he pounded into her, again and again, until sight and sound were obliterated
in an explosion that was near death.

He could barely keep from collapsing with his full weight on top of her. Breathing hard and dripping with sweat, he let his
forehead rest on the bed beside her head.

“God in heaven, what have you done to me, Catherine?”

When he heard her low chuckle, a wave of tenderness swept over him. How long since he had made her laugh? He pulled her into
his arms as he sank down beside her.

He lay with his face buried in her hair.

“I wish I did not have to leave you so soon,” he whispered.

He needed more time. Time to heal her, to heal himself, to be with her like this. With a sense of desperation, he turned to
her again and again in the night. In the heat of passion, Catherine told him she loved him.

But William—though he tried to show her with his every touch—could not yet confess his love aloud.

T
he men of Ross Castle were gathered near the gate, their armor shining bright in the August sun. Shielding her eyes with her
hand, Catherine took in each man and prayed for his safe return.

The news came an hour ago. The French-Welsh army was nearing the English border, marching toward Worcester. Glyndwr’s move
was both unexpected and brilliant. Taking an English town for even a short time would be a devastating blow to English pride.
A blow that King Henry, already hanging on to the throne by his fingernails, could ill afford.

Caught by surprise, the king was racing his army headlong across the length of England to save Worcester. William and the
other Marcher lords were commanded to await him there with their men-at-arms. If Henry could reach Worcester in time, the
major battle between the two armies would be there.

Catherine swallowed hard to keep back the tears. One night was not enough to recover the closeness they had before. She could
not forget so soon how much he’d hurt her. Nor did she believe he’d overcome his mistrust of her. Still, it was a magical
night, and she was hopeful. Very hopeful.