Knight of Desire (32 page)

“Sweet Lamb of God, what took you so long?” Robert said. “I expected you hours ago.”

“We’ll tell you the story later,” William said, stepping in front of Robert, who was about to greet Catherine with a kiss.
“I must get her before a fire.”

He was grateful for all Robert had done, but the man did try his patience.

“You’ll take the horses, Robert?”

Without waiting for Robert’s answer, he took Catherine’s icy hand, grabbed a torch, and led her into the dark corridor that
connected the towers and gatehouse through the castle wall.

A
s soon as they reached his chamber, William sat her on a bench before the dwindling fire and began to add kindling to it.

Catherine was content to watch the firelight play across the planes of his face and spark gold in his hair as he built the
fire. How she had missed the sight of him! She smiled at him each time he glanced over his shoulder. She understood his need
to reassure himself she was truly here, for she felt the same.

Once the roaring blaze drove the dank chill from the room, she stood to remove her damp cloak. William looked up as she turned
and slipped it off. He stared openmouthed at her belly. Though she was not very big yet, anyone looking that closely could
see she was with child.

She saw searing pain distort his face before he masked it. It hit her like a blow. How could she have been so mistaken? She
had feared William might not be glad to see her. But the child? She never doubted for a moment he would be pleased about the
child.

He came to her and took her hands. “You must not worry for the child. I will claim him and raise him as my own,” he said in
a gentle voice. “I place no blame on you. You had every reason to fear I would never obtain your release.”

She was so shocked she could not speak.

“Did you love the man?” he asked in a choked voice. He swallowed, and then added, “Do you love him still?”

She did not know whether to slap him or weep.

“This child was conceived in summer, before I was taken,” she said in a voice as cold as ice.

“The child is mine?” William said, breaking into a grin.

“Of course the child is yours,” she snapped. “And I pray to God he does not become a horse’s ass like his father!”

“Then we must hope it is a girl,” he said, scooping her up off the bench. Holding her across his chest, he twirled in a circle,
laughing.

He stopped and covered her face with kisses. Gently then, he set her on her feet and took her hands.

“My happiness this day makes up for all the days of sadness since you were taken from me,” he said, his eyes shining. “God
punished me for my pigheadedness. But now I am doubly blessed.”

Unable to hang on to her anger in the face of his joy, she wrapped her arms around him. She would not let the mistake he made
in that moment of surprise ruin this reunion. After all, he had accepted her at her word as soon as she told him.

“I love you to the depths of my soul,” he said into her hair. “I do not know how I lived these months without you.”

She pulled his head down to press her lips to his. In an instant, his kiss turned hungry, demanding. His hands were all over
her, rubbing up and down her back, over her buttocks, pressing her against him.

Abruptly, he pulled away. “Are we hurting the babe?”

Feeling dazed from his kisses, she blinked at him for a moment before she understood.

“The babe is fine,” she said, smiling. “Marged tells me that if a woman is healthy, she can share her husband’s bed almost
until the child is born.”

She rose on her tiptoes and put her mouth to his ear. “I am exceedingly healthy, William.”

He needed no further encouragement. They were on the bed pulling each other’s clothes off without knowing how they got there.

Once he had her naked, he leaned back to run his eyes over her. In a ragged voice, he said, “You are even more beautiful than
I remembered.”

“With this belly?” she said, putting her hand on it as she smiled up at him.

“You are more rounded now, love. Not just your belly, but also”—he gave her a wicked smile—“your breasts.”

As if unable to resist, he leaned down and nuzzled his face between them.

“I hope you do not prefer me like this,” she protested, “for I will not always be with child.”

He lifted his head and said, “You are my Kate and beautiful to me in all ways.”

Her pulse quickened at the desire she saw in his eyes.

“How I have longed for you,” he murmured as he pressed his face into the curve of her neck. “Night after night, and day after
day.”

“I, too,” she whispered back as he trailed slow wet kisses up and down her throat.

“I lay awake nights thinking of doing this,” he said, then circled her nipple with his tongue with tantalizing slowness. “And
this,” he murmured, and took it into his mouth.

At last.
She closed her eyes.

After a time, he worked his way down to her belly. She watched as he pressed tender kisses over it.

With his eyes on hers, he ran his hand up the inside of her thigh. “Shall I show you the other things I longed to do?”

She swallowed and nodded.

He trailed kisses all the way down her leg to her toes. Then ever so slowly, he worked his way back up again. Her heart raced
and her breath came fast in anticipation. His hand moved ahead of his mouth, up the inside of her thigh. Finally, his fingers
reached the spot where she was aching for him to touch her.

Even as her body responded to the circling motion of his hand between her legs, she was aware of his lips and tongue inching
up the inside of her leg. She forgot to breathe as he moved closer and closer to her center.

When his mouth replaced his hand, new sensations rocked through her. It felt so good.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Had she said that aloud? Fleetingly, she hoped she would not be struck by lightning for her blasphemy. Then that thought,
along with all others, left her. All she knew was his tongue moving over her. And then he was sliding his finger in and out
of her and sucking.

As the tension grew inside her, she tossed her head from side to side. She wanted to tell him, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t
stop,” but she could not form the words. Every muscle was taut; every part of her was focused on his tongue, his mouth. The
tension grew and grew until she wanted to scream in frustration.

Then her body convulsed in waves of pleasure so intense she thought she might never recover. After, she lay limp, her limbs
boneless.

When he came to lie beside her, she rolled weakly to her side. He enveloped her in his arms from behind. She heard his harsh
breathing in her ear.

“I love you,” he said, and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

He ran his fingers lightly over her skin, sending tingles through her. He kissed her neck, her cheek, her hair. When he reached
around to cup her breast, she felt his erection against her bottom, and she moved closer. He pressed more insistently against
her, and she wanted to feel him inside her again.

His hand was between her legs, his breath hot in her ear.

“You are the only one, Kate. The only one I want. The only one I’ll ever want.”

When he entered her, she was engulfed in his warmth, his desire. She could no longer tell where he ended and she began. They
moved as one; they were one. When he cried out, his cry was her cry, too, and she was swept away with him.

She dozed with his arms wrapped around her, happy and at peace. He wanted her back. He loved her.

When she awoke, she turned in his arms to look at him. In the firelight, he was all sharp angles, golden skin, and long sinewy
muscles. How she missed seeing him like this. He was so beautiful he took her breath away.

He cupped her cheek with his hand. His dark honey eyes were intense, serious, as they gazed deep into hers.

“It almost killed me to lose you,” he whispered. “I could not bear it again.”

She put her arms around him and buried her head in his neck, wanting to comfort and reassure him.

Soon they were kissing. Warm, long, wet kisses. Melding, merging, deep, deep kisses. Then he was inside her again, and they
were moving together. This time, the intensity of emotion between them was almost overwhelming. Catherine let down every barrier.
She gave herself up to him utterly, absolutely, holding nothing back. She let his passion and love surround her, complete
her, and make her whole.

She awoke hours later to a gush of cold air. She stretched and sat up as William came through the door with a heaping platter
of food and a heavy pitcher. She smiled at him as she pulled the bedclothes up around her shoulders.

“The weather has turned bad,” he said, draping his wet cloak over a chair by the fire. “I was told Robert left yesterday to
beat the storm.”

The smell of warm bread and roasted meat set her stomach rumbling as she joined him at the small table. Judging by the way
he fell to his breakfast, William was as ravenous as she. They ate in silence for some minutes before he spoke again.

“I know you are anxious to be home and see Jamie,” he said, “but we shall have to wait another day for this storm to pass.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded.

“Will you be angry if I confess I am glad to have my wife to myself for another day?” He leaned across the table to give her
a slow, lingering kiss. “Tomorrow is soon enough for putting on clothes and traveling with the men.”

William had not wanted to ask questions—or hear answers—that might spoil the complete happiness between them while they were
ensconced in their bedchamber at Beaumaris. Lost in their passion, they spoke little there beyond love talk.

So it was not until they started on the long ride home to Ross Castle that they began to share details of their time apart.
William gave her the mundane news of Ross Castle first. Gradually, he turned the conversation to her weeks of captivity.

He asked first about her time with the Tudors, since he knew she had not suffered unduly there. For a time, she entertained
him with stories of the antics of little Owain. Then her face grew serious.

“If you had come a day later, I would be back at Harlech.” She clutched her cloak tightly about her as she rode and stared
off at the horizon. “It was a close thing.”

He asked about Glyndwr. From the way she spoke of him, it was clear she admired the rebel leader.

“Maredudd told me Glyndwr can always tell a falsehood, but I managed it.” She gave a light laugh, and he heard the pride in
her voice. “I got better each time. When I told him I was not with child, I looked straight into his eyes—and this man has
eyes that see right into your soul.

“Of course,” she said, her face turning grave again, “if I had returned to Harlech, he would have seen I am with child and
never believed me again.”

It was midday, so William called his men to halt so they could eat and let their horses drink in the nearby stream. He took
Catherine’s hand and drew her away from the others. They found a flat boulder to sit on in a sheltered spot at the stream’s
edge to have their meal. The sun was out, but it was still cold. Huddling close to him, she took the cup of mead he poured
for them to share.

“Glyndwr would have thought you carried the prince’s child?” he asked as he laid out dried meat, bread, and cheese on a cloth.
The question was an awkward one, so perhaps he should not have asked it.

“Glyndwr began to doubt what he’d been told about the prince and me,” she replied thoughtfully. “However, on the chance he
held the only child of the heir to the English throne, he would have kept me and the child under lock and key.”

If that had happened, William might not have gotten her back until this miserable rebellion was crushed.

“William, you are hurting my hand.”

Startled, he eased his grip. He kissed her fingers, saying, “Sorry, love.”

“Edmund was badly injured when they took you,” he said.

Her eyes went wide. “He was?”

“ ’Twas a long recovery,” he said. “But he has his strength back now, except in one leg.”

They sat in silence while William got up his courage to ask the question that had tormented him for months. He heard the rustle
and clatter of his men packing up their things, but he ignored their restlessness. He needed to ask this question face-to-face;
he could not wait and ask it as they rode.

“Edmund and Stephen both say that the Welshmen who took you that morning…” He paused, struggling to find a way to ask what
he wanted to know without sounding as though he were accusing or blaming her. “Well, they thought the men knew they would
find you riding to the abbey then.”

“ ’Tis true! I have given it much thought,” she said, putting her hand on his arm and leaning forward. “We must have a traitor
at Ross Castle—or in the village.”

Unbidden, the image came to him of his wife laughing as she told him how well she lied to Glyndwr.

“I asked Maredudd how they knew,” she said. “He said he did not meet our traitor but that Rhys Gethin did.”