Knight of Desire (33 page)

William was not sure what she had done, or if she had done anything at all. But he wanted her to know she did not need to
lie to him. Not about this or anything, ever.

“I want honesty between us now,” he said, resting his hand on her knee. “You told me I hurt you even more than Rayburn had.
So perhaps you wanted to leave, to get away from me, and later changed your mind. If that is how it was, I would understand.
Nay, I would be grateful you changed your mind.”

He took one look at the shock and fury on her face and started backtracking as fast as he could. “I am not saying that is
what happened,” he said, holding up his hands. “What I mean to say is that I do not care how it happened or what you did,
so long as you will stay with me now. Nothing else matters.”

Catherine threw the full cup of mead in his face and jumped to her feet. “That is
not
all that matters!” Her eyes were narrowed to slits, and her voice was low and threatening.

He had seen her angry before, but never like this. Fleetingly he thought of the blade she usually carried and hoped her Welsh
captors had disarmed her.

“Honesty! You ask for honesty between us?” Her voice was seething. “You bed me for two days, all the while thinking I arranged
my own kidnapping? What, did you think I went willingly, and only came to regret it when Glyndwr threatened to marry me off
to the Fierce One?”

“He did what?” William said, rising to his feet.

He would have been impressed by the string of oaths Catherine rained on him if he was not quite so intent on getting an answer
to his question. When she turned on her heel and stomped off, he ran after her and caught her arm.

“Who is this man you call ‘The Fierce One’?”

She turned and shoved his chest hard with both her hands. “You insult me with these horrid accusations, and all you can say
to me is, ‘Who is the Fierce One?’ ”

Belatedly, he realized that if she had played no part in her kidnapping, he had committed a very grave error by asking if
she had. Why could he never think clearly when it came to this woman? He would never have committed such a blunder with anyone
else.

“I am so very, very sorry, Catherine,” he stumbled. “I… I just could not find another explanation. And I wanted you to know
that I love you, no matter what.”

“I don’t want you to love me
in spite of
who I am and what I’ve done,” she ranted at him. “I want you to love me
because
of it. If you think I am someone who commits treason and breaks promises to those I care about—or, worst of all, abandons
her child—then you do not know me at all.

“I do not know who you think you are in love with, William FitzAlan,” she finished, “but it surely is not me.”

Beneath her anger, Catherine’s heart was breaking with hurt and bitter, bitter disappointment. While she had pined for William
over those long months apart, he was thinking unspeakably low thoughts of her.

She marched over to the man holding her horse and grabbed the reins from him. Waving off his attempt to help her up, she mounted
and set off down the road at a gallop.

Let them catch up to her if they could. She had dallied long enough. Her son was waiting for her.

W
illiam was beside her almost before she reached the road. Soon after, she heard the other horses following at a safe distance
behind. William’s men were brave soldiers, but they would let him face this kind of trouble alone.

He tried to speak to her, but she fixed her eyes on the road before her and ignored him. Eventually, he ceased to try.

At some point during the long ride, she resolved not to let her anger and resentment toward William spoil her homecoming.
She had waited too long for this. When Ross Castle came into sight at long last, she thought her heart would burst. She leaned
forward and spurred her horse into a full gallop.

“Is it wise to ride so hard in your condition?” William called out as he raced beside her.

She did not spare him a glance. She would be damned if she would walk her horse the last mile home. A figure on the wall next
to the gatehouse jumped up and down, waving. It had to be Stephen. She waved back.

A surge of emotion had her weeping as she rode through the open gate. All the household was running across the bailey to meet
her. Stephen flew down the stairs from the wall and reached her first.

She pulled her horse up and almost fell into his arms.

“I missed you so much!” She stepped back to look at him. “Why, you’ve grown half a foot! And you are even more handsome than
before.”

Stephen’s face turned crimson in embarrassed pleasure.

“Where is Jamie—”

“Mother!”

She turned to see Jamie running toward her and dropped to one knee to catch him in her arms. The force of his greeting nearly
toppled her. When he buried his face in her neck and clung to her, she knew Marged was right. Her son had not forgotten her.

All evening, they fussed over her. Alys insisted she sit close to the hearth and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Thomas
put a stool under her feet. Others brought her cakes and hot spiced wine. Tears stung Catherine’s eyes; she was so grateful
to be home and among her own household.

While the servants ministered to her, William stood close by, silent and watchful. After a time, he signaled for them to leave,
saying, “Lady Catherine is tired from her journey.”

At his words, she felt the weight of her exhaustion. She held her arms out to Jamie. He crawled into her lap and soon was
fast asleep against her chest.

He felt so good against her. As she watched his sweet face, slack with sleep, she saw it had lost some of its plumpness in
her absence. His hair was longer and darker, too. She brushed it back and sighed for all she had missed.

Still, she had her son in her arms now. She was home.

She must have dozed, for she awoke with a start when William touched her arm.

“The two of you should be in bed,” he said, lifting the sleeping boy from her lap.

A rush of cool air replaced the warm weight, and she felt the loss acutely. Looking up, she saw that William had Jamie on
one shoulder. He was holding his other hand out to her. She took it and let him help her up.

As they climbed the stairs, he squeezed her hand and said, “When you were gone, I would carry Jamie up to bed and imagine
you were with us, just like this.”

He was trying to make up to her, but she was not yet ready. They continued up the stairs in silence, past their own rooms,
to Jamie’s. After William laid Jamie on his bed, she pulled the bedclothes up and kissed her son good night.

“Father,” Jamie called in a sleepy voice as he stretched out his arms to William.

William embraced the boy and kissed his cheek. Jamie was asleep before they slipped outside his chamber door.

“Jamie started calling me that some weeks ago,” William said, sounding defensive. “I saw no reason he should not.”

“I would never criticize you for that.”

In truth, the warm bond between Jamie and William made her wish she could forgive William his other transgressions. Her anger
had dulled, but she was a long way from forgetting. The disappointment of learning he thought so little of her left her with
an ache in her chest.

“I’ll sleep here with Jamie tonight,” she said.

She would not meet his eyes. She did not want to see the hurt she knew was there. What he offered her was good. It just was
not all she hoped for. She understood she needed to accept it and be grateful. But she was not ready to make that compromise
tonight, not when the hurt was so fresh.

He did not argue but leaned down to kiss her cheek. When she felt the warmth of his breath and smelled the wood smoke in his
hair, she was tempted to lean into him. But her heart was too bruised to give in. In time, she would be strong enough to be
with him and still protect that true part of herself she valued most. The part he could not see.

But not tonight.

When Jamie’s nursemaid appeared, Catherine asked her to help her undress and then sent her away for the night.

She crawled into bed next to her son and breathed in his scent: damp earth, dogs, and the barest hint of his baby smell. For
the hundredth time that day, she prayed her thanks to God for bringing her home and keeping her son safe.

She lay awake thinking of the changes in her household. Not only was the bond between William and Jamie stronger, but there
was also an easy closeness between him and Stephen that was not there before.

The servants’ attitude toward William had changed as well. Alys, in particular, seemed to have developed a strong affection
for him. She complained repeatedly how he had lost weight.

The problem was not that Catherine did not recognize and appreciate her husband’s many good qualities—but that he did not
recognize hers. She sighed and rested her cheek against Jamie’s hair. Unbidden, the abbess’s words from last summer came back
to her. She should be grateful her husband was an honorable man who treated her son well. That should be enough. It must.

Hours later, she felt William slide into bed behind her, fully clothed. She was too drowsy to complain. Instead, she let herself
sink into the comfort of her cocoon. With her husband’s arms wrapped around her and her own wrapped around Jamie, she fell
into deep sleep.

When she awoke in the morning, William was gone. She rubbed her hand over the indentation where he had slept, but there was
no trace of his warmth. With a sigh, she dropped a kiss on her sleeping son’s head and then climbed out of bed.

She slipped her robe over her shift and headed down the stairs to dress for the day.

She was one step from the landing before she saw Edmund outside the solar door. Instinctively, she put one foot back on the
step behind her, ready to retreat. But Edmund had already seen her.

She meant to ask about his health, to tell him she was sorry for his injuries. But his gaze moved down her body with deliberate
rudeness, making her conscious that her hair was loose and her robe hung open. She jerked the robe around her and glared at
him.

She noticed his limp as Edmund walked toward her. He did not stop until his feet touched the step on which she stood. She
did not back away, though he was so close she could smell him and feel his breath on her face.

“It is curious,” he said, his eyes level with hers, “that after such a long time apart, you do not sleep with your husband.”

“Get out of my way.”

“Is it because you carry another man’s child that William will not have you?” he asked in a harsh whisper. “Or is it you who
turns your husband away? Perhaps you cannot appreciate a good man after whoring with Welshmen.”

He caught her arm as she swung to slap him. They stood glaring at each other, neither one backing down.

“Which is it, Edmund? One time you say I must be as cold as ice, another you call me whore.” She narrowed her eyes at him
and hissed, “But we both know the true reason you resent me.”

“And what, pray tell, is that?”

“ ’Tis because you will never have me,” she said. “Do you suppose I don’t know you’ve lusted after me from the first?”

From the way Edmund’s eyelids twitched, she knew she hit her mark dead-on. She let the satisfaction show in her eyes.

“If my husband knew how you look at me, he would rip your eyes out.” Thrusting her shoulder against his chest, she shoved
past him.

“Then why do you not tell him?” Edmund called out behind her. “He would not believe you, would he?”

Yesterday, before the ride home, she would have told William. But now? William believed she deceived him in things more important
than this.

The solar door opened. Her husband’s dark amber eyes swept over her, taking in her crimson face, loose hair, nightclothes,
and bare feet. Then they shifted past her to Edmund.

“You have embarrassed my wife, catching her before she is dressed for the day,” William said. “Next time, wait for me in the
hall.”

William gave her a nod and headed down the stairs. Before Edmund followed, he ran his eyes up and down her. She wanted to
throw something after him. Slamming the solar door was not nearly enough to satisfy her.

Pulsing with anger, she paced the room. She could no longer pretend Edmund was merely an annoyance. Though she was not certain
he was truly dangerous, he was her enemy. One way or another, she intended to get him out of her home.