Knight of Desire (37 page)

She fluttered her eyelashes and tilted her head to the side. “And you will most definitely have to take your time.”

Praise God, he was even drunker than she thought! Judging from the way his mouth gaped like a fish out of water, he believed
her act. Or he wanted badly to pretend he did.

“You did say we have until dawn, did you not?” she asked, drawing out each word. “That is a long, long time.”

Edmund dropped his boots to the floor and stood up. Without a word, he methodically removed every article of his clothing.
Apparently, he had not listened to the part about taking his time.

She tried to tell herself this was going well, but he was standing naked before her, fully aroused. Fortunately, he was a
vain man and misinterpreted the cause of her flushed cheeks.

As he came toward her, she dropped her gaze so he would not see her rising panic. When he ran his hands down her arms and
kissed her neck, she thought for sure he would notice she was trembling and clammy with fear.

She need not have worried.

He turned her around and pressed himself against her. She felt the hardness of his erection through the layers of her clothing
as he moved against her, groaning.

“I thought your growing belly would decrease my desire for you,” he said, breathing hard against her ear. “But I want you
more than ever.”

This was going much too fast! She needed time, more time.

He kissed her neck as he undid the tiny buttons down the back of her gown.

“Please, I’m cold,” she said, clutching her arms across her chest to keep the gown from falling.

“Then I shall keep you warm, for I am hot as fire.”

In one quick movement, he pried her hands loose and jerked the gown down. It hung for a moment on her swollen belly and hips,
then slid to her feet. She was left standing in only the thin tunic she wore underneath.

He lifted her in his arms and looked down at her.

“I promise you, Catherine, we shall make the most of our time together.”

E
dmund laid Catherine down on the bed with unexpected gentleness. Taking care not to put his weight on her belly, he lay naked
against her side. He threw one leg over hers, pinning her down. She felt trapped, surrounded by his smell, his heat, his male
body.

No matter what he did, she told herself, she had suffered worse at Rayburn’s hands when she was just a girl of sixteen. She
was a more formidable opponent now.

Edmund brought a fistful of her hair to his face and breathed in deeply. “From the moment I saw you on the drawbridge that
first day, I knew you were not like any other woman.”

He rubbed his cheek against the hair he clutched and closed his eyes. Her muscles tensed in readiness. But she held back.
It was too soon. She would have but one chance.

“I desired you from the start,” he murmured as he kissed the side of her face. “But when I saw you on the castle wall that
day with your hair blowing all about you, I knew I would take you under William’s very nose if we both remained in the castle.”

He rose up on one elbow and ran his finger down the side of her face and along her throat. As his eyes followed the line his
finger traveled to the neck of her tunic, his breathing quickened, and she sensed his mood change. He leaned down and kissed
her where his finger stopped, at the lowest point of the neckline of her tunic.

And still, she waited.

She drew in a sharp breath when he cupped her breast. Misunderstanding her reaction, he groaned with pleasure. He ran kisses
along her collarbone, his breath hot and damp against her skin.

This was nothing like with Rayburn. It was a shock to realize Edmund wanted to make love to her, to give her pleasure. She
felt violated nonetheless. Clenching her fists, she closed her eyes and counted.

The next thing she knew, Edmund was on his hands and knees above her, and his tongue was in her ear. Panic nearly overtook
her reason; it took all her resolve not to scream and beat her fists against his chest.

He moved down her body, murmuring her name. When she felt the wet of his tongue touch her nipple through the thin fabric,
she fought the urge to grab him by the hair and jerk his head away. That would not save her.

Slowly, she reached her arms up behind her head and under her pillow until she felt her dagger. The movement made her back
arch slightly.

“Aye, aye,” he moaned, and clamped his mouth painfully over her breast. He was moving against her now, pressing his erection
against her hip and suckling her breast.

Holding the sheath of her knife with one hand, she pulled on the hilt with the other. She had the blade free. She was ready.

William and the other men followed Stephen through the brush and tall grass along the river side of the castle wall. The mud
sucked at his boot as he stepped in a hole of icy water.

“Old Jacob told me about the tunnel,” Stephen said in a low voice over his shoulder. “It’s been here since the castle was
built.”

William would never criticize his brother for prying secrets from anyone again.

“No one knows about it but him and Catherine,” Stephen said. “And Robert.”

Of course.

“The tunnel comes up in a storeroom near the kitchen,” Stephen said. “We’re close to the opening now.”

William felt along the wall. Behind a sprawling bush, he found the break low on the wall.

“Follow me,” he called. “Silence in the tunnel and have your swords ready. Stephen, I want you last.”

The tunnel was dank and pitch-black. The entrance was no more than two feet high, but once he crawled through it, the tunnel
was large enough for him to walk upright. Animals scurried away as he felt his way along in the dark. After several yards,
he came to the end of the tunnel and felt above his head. Wood, not stone. The trapdoor. He put his dagger between his teeth
and pushed it up.

There was a crack of light coming from under the door to the room. He could see pots and sacks of grain. He climbed out and
helped the next man, then went to listen at the door. When half a dozen of his men were crowded in the small room, he eased
the door open. The thrush lamp in the sconce was lit, but no one was in sight.

He moved quickly down the corridor, sword in hand. As he passed the kitchen, he heard muffled sounds. Somehow he knew Edmund
would not lock Catherine in the kitchen with the servants.

“Get the door open,” he whispered to the man behind him. “But tell them to stay put and keep quiet until we come back for
them.”

He heard men’s voices in the hall above as he took the stairs two at a time. He hit the room at a run, his sword in one hand
and his dagger in the other. The drunken fools were falling over each other trying to get to their weapons. His men would
make short work of these. He had no time to stop and help.

Catherine was not here. And neither was Edmund.

He ran for the stairs. He sliced through one man who tried to stop him and tossed another over his shoulder without breaking
his stride.

Once, when they were children, Harry showed her where to slide a blade into a man to reach his heart. She hesitated, trying
to remember. Perhaps it was enough to injure him.

Suddenly, Edmund was pulling feverishly at her tunic. She could wait no longer. Swinging her arm down with all her strength,
she sank the sharp blade deep into his shoulder. Somehow she managed to wrench it free before he flung his arms out and arched
back, howling in pain.

Seeing the murderous rage distorting his face, she knew she had made a grave mistake. She should have killed him.

He rose up on his knees and reached his arm across his chest to feel the stab wound in his shoulder. When he brought his hand
back, it was covered with blood. He stared at his bloody hand and then at her with bulging eyes. Then he drew his arm back
and slapped her so hard she saw stars.

Before her vision cleared, he grabbed the front of her tunic and wrenched it in two. The effort cost him, and he bent forward,
clutching his arms high across his chest. She would never know whether he failed to see she still held the knife or whether
he believed he had incapacitated her with the blow.

This time, she did not hesitate. Gripping the hilt with both hands, she plunged the blade straight up under his breastbone.
The room reverberated with his single scream.

For one long and terrifying moment, he hung suspended above her, an expression of surprise on his face. Blood seeped in a
thin line from between his lips. It gushed down her arms from where her knife was planted below his chest.

He fell forward on top of her, his chest on her face. The hilt of her blade pressed painfully into her shoulder, and she could
not breathe. Frantically, she pushed against him with the strength of a madwoman to get his weight off her belly.

Grunting with the effort, she rolled him off her, only to find him lying face-to-face beside her. His cold dead eyes stared
into hers. Screaming and weeping, she shoved at him with both her arms and legs until she sent his body over the edge of the
bed. She heard the hard thud as it hit the floor.

Drawing her knees up, she curled her body into a protective circle around her baby. Only then did she let the darkness take
her.

H
is heart racing with terror, William ran up the stairs to the family’s private rooms.
Please, God, let me not be too late!
As he climbed, he heard the shouts and clatter of swords of the men fighting below. He hit the solar door running and slammed
against it. It would not open. Howling with frustration, he rammed his shoulder against it again and again.

He was pounding it with his fists and calling her name when Stephen shouted, “William, move aside!”

He turned to see Stephen and three other men with a log from the hearth to use as a battering ram. He stepped back.

On their third run at the door, the hinges gave way and the heavy wooden door scraped against the floor. William was through
the gap before they set the log down. He stood in the center of the solar, frantically looking back and forth in the near
blackness.
Where is she? Where is she?

Stephen pushed past him and lit the lamp on the table. William swept his eyes over the empty room, searching for clues. An
empty flask on its side on the table. Catherine’s embroidery frame on the floor.
Please, God, no
. His eyes went to the open door to her bedchamber.

She was in there; he knew it.

And he could smell blood.

He never felt fear in battle. When he fought, a cold determination settled over him, and his mind was sharp and clear. But
he felt fear now. In every fiber of his body and deep in his bones. It took more courage than anything he’d ever done to walk
toward the darkness beyond that open door.

He took the candle Stephen thrust into his hand and waved his brother back. Ignoring the signal, Stephen followed hard on
his heels with the lamp. As soon as he entered Catherine’s bedchamber, he saw Edmund’s body sprawled across the floor in a
dark pool of blood.

Stephen knelt beside the corpse, but Edmund was of no concern to William now. He couldn’t kill a dead man.

His eyes traveled slowly from the inert body to the blood-smeared sheet that hung down the side of the bed. He followed the
sheet up to the high bed, where the light from Stephen’s lamp did not reach.

He caught the glint of a single strand of golden hair curling over the side of the bed. Unable to move, he strained to see
into the shadows of the rumpled bedclothes. There was a form on the bed. A form that was much, much too still.

Oh God, oh God, oh God
. The candle fell from his hand as he cried out her name. In another moment, he was holding her lifeless body against his
chest and keening over her.

She was dead. Catherine was dead.