Knight of Desire (5 page)

“I cannot give you more time,” William said, looking at her pale face and feeling guilty. “The wedding must take place today.”

She gave him no response but merely turned those startlingly blue eyes on him.

“I am known as a strong fighter and commander. Once you have the protection of my name, you will be safe,” he explained. “Even
the king will not threaten you as he does now.”

He fixed her with unwavering eyes. “And no one will dare touch you once you carry my child,” he said, the words coming out
hard, fierce, “for they know I would follow them to hell and back to take my vengeance.”

Catherine felt clearheaded as she sat in the steaming tub of water, sipping another cup of the hot broth Mary forced upon
her. Remarkably, she’d fallen into a deep sleep after FitzAlan had left her. She felt much better for it.

She carefully reviewed her meeting with FitzAlan. His short bronze hair had been damp, and he looked freshly shaved. Without
the blood and grime, he was a handsome man. He had a strong face, with broad cheekbones, a wide mouth, and hard amber eyes.
He was tall and well built, with a commanding presence that made him seem much older than he probably was.

Aye, he was a handsome man. A very handsome man, indeed.

He wore a tunic of rich forest green that reached to his knees, with a dark gold cotehardie underneath. A jeweled belt rode
low on his hips. The fine clothing did not disguise the warrior beneath. As he said, he was a soldier and commander other
men feared.

Her mind went to his bald statement that she would be safe once she was known to carry his child. She quickly pushed aside
the thought. She would marry this stranger to protect her son, but she could not think now about sharing his bed.

She recalled how he looked looming above her on the drawbridge. Despite the warmth of the water that enveloped her, she shuddered.
In dealing with him, she would do well to remember the raging lion splattered with blood.

Alys burst into the room, bringing a rush of cold air with her.

“Are ye not dressed yet?” Alys said, wide-eyed. “Mary, what is wrong with you? FitzAlan’s pacing the hall like a caged bear.”

“Two hours to prepare for a wedding,” Mary grumbled as she held Catherine’s robe out for her.

Two hours to prepare for a marriage
. Water streamed down Catherine’s legs as she stepped out of the tub.

“I laid out your best gowns on the bed,” Mary said as she wrung water from Catherine’s hair.

“This one is still your finest,” Alys said, wistfully running her hand over the finely stitched beading of the gown Catherine
had worn to her first wedding.

“There’s no time to alter it,” Catherine said. While she was still slender, she had been slight to the point of frailty at
sixteen. “The blue will do.”

“Ah, this one is lovely on you,” Mary said, picking up the gown and matching headdress made of intense blue silk with gold
trim. “Your eyes look bright as bluebells in it.”

The two women worked fast, braiding, pinning, lacing, and prodding. When they finished, they cooed over the gown. It fit snuggly
from the bodice to the decorative belt low on her hips, then fell in soft folds to the floor.

Her hair was still damp and itched under the heavy headdress. When she looked in the polished steel mirror Mary held for her,
she was glad she wore the sapphire earrings and necklace. They had been her mother’s favorites.

The rumble of men’s voices rose to meet her as she descended the stairs. Catherine touched the necklace at her throat. She
could do this. She must.

As she entered the hall, FitzAlan’s men seemed to turn to her as one. The cavernous room grew quiet.

From across the room, FitzAlan’s amber eyes fixed on her, freezing her in place. Her heart thundered as he strode toward her,
his expression intense, determined. She felt a surge of sympathy for the men who faced him in battle. If she could have moved,
she would have fled back up the stairs.

She tried to get her breath back as he bowed and took her arm.

Before she knew it, they had signed the marriage contract, said their vows, and followed the bishop across the bailey to the
chapel in the East Tower. The bishop must have said the blessing and the Mass, though she heard not a word of either.

Numbly, she placed her fingers on her new husband’s arm and stepped out of the chapel. She shivered at the unexpected coolness
and looked up to see that the sun had sunk below the line of the castle walls.

It was done. In a single day, she’d gone from being wife to widow to wife again. Her heart seized as she realized she had
not even told her son.

She was unsure what would happen next. She stole a glance at FitzAlan but could read nothing from his stern expression.

As they reentered the hall, Alys appeared at her side. “The wedding feast is ready to be served.” With a roll of her eyes,
she added, “Such as it is.”

“And Jamie?” Catherine whispered, her throat tight.

“Don’t you fret about him, m’lady. His nursemaid’s taken him off to an early bed.”

Thank God for that. Jamie had grown used to having free rein of the castle in Rayburn’s absences. It would not be easy to
keep him out of FitzAlan’s way.

Catherine mustered a smile for Alys and let FitzAlan lead her to the table. Cook and the other kitchen servants had worked
a minor miracle to provide them with an impromptu wedding feast. She knew they did it for her. She appreciated their kindness,
but she was far too tense to eat a bite.

She took a piece of bread and looked down at the table, barren of adornment. She could not help thinking of her wedding at
Monmouth Castle. Despite the servants’ efforts, this one could not be more different from the first.

Monmouth was where her friend Harry—
Prince
Harry now—had spent most of his childhood, so she’d been there many times before her wedding. Still, she had never seen it
so crowded with guests, all dressed in expensive silks and velvets. The Mass was long, the wedding feast elaborate, the entertainment
endless.

She had been so anxious to perform her part with dignity, she scarcely gave a thought to what awaited her in the bedchamber.
Perhaps it would have been different if she’d had a mother to warn her.

She thought fleetingly of the wild midnight ride she took the night before her marriage. If she had known what her life with
Rayburn would be like, would she have kept riding?

She thought of the young man who accompanied her that night. ’Twas a shame she had no face to go with the memory of him. When
he knocked her to the ground, she was so terrified she noticed nothing beyond the sheer size of him. Later, she saw the outline
of his shoulder-length hair, but his features above the full beard were always in shadow.

In sooth, he’d seemed all hair and beard to her.

Her thoughts were so tumultuous that night, and they had been followed by her first harrowing night with Rayburn. It was surprising
her recollection of the young man had not been lost altogether beneath the layers of terrible memories since.

But she did remember him. The warmth of his large hand holding hers as they sat watching the river. The tickle of his beard
against her skin in that brief kiss. The unexpected comfort of his arms when he held her at the end.

What she remembered most clearly and held to her heart, though, was the young man’s kindness and gallantry. When her life
was at its lowest ebb, it was this memory that saved her.

William stole glances at his new wife as they ate, though she was so lovely it made him ache to look at her. When she entered
the hall, he thought his heart would stop. The gown she wore hugged and flowed, showing every feminine curve and line. And
how could eyes be that blue? He had no notion how long he stood gaping before he went to greet her.

She was tearing her bread to bits now. It wounded his pride to see how wretched and tense the woman was. God knew, she was
not a virgin bride, with reason to fear the unknown. She had shared a man’s bed for years and borne him a child. Admittedly,
he was a stranger to her. He would expect her to feel some unease. Yet, her reaction was so extreme he could not help feeling
it as a personal slight.

What did the woman think? That he would throw her on the floor and force himself upon her the moment the bedchamber door closed?

Lord above, he did want her enough to take her like that. He could think of little else except having her naked beneath him.
Still, it was disturbing that what he looked forward to with such lust, she so obviously dreaded. Once he had her alone, he
was confident he could change that. When a man has no wealth of his own and no real status, he knows why women come to his
bed. And why they return.

It was not good for a man to want his wife this much. Surely, once he bedded her a few times, he would be over his obsession.
Perhaps it would take a few dozen times. His palms were sweaty and his breath came fast just thinking of it.

He was a fool to be disappointed she did not recognize him from that night long ago. True, he had filled out since then, and
he no longer wore a beard. He should thank his lucky stars she did not know him as the bedazzled young man who lost his judgment
and gave in to her whims.

He turned to look at her again. She was gazing off at nothing, her lips curved up in a slight smile. A wave of longing came
over him. God help him, but he hoped a time would come when she would think of him and smile that same dreamy smile. Aye,
she already had too much power over him without reminding her of that night.

He would make sure, however, she did not forget their wedding night.

He touched her arm.

She jolted upright and turned wide eyes on him.

“Everyone is waiting,” he said in a low voice. “ ’Tis time for us to go up to the bedchamber.”

From the look of horror on her face, he might have said he was going to take her there on the table, with all the guests watching.
He took her arm and helped her to her feet. The castle household clapped and shouted as they followed them across the hall
toward the stairs.

God’s beard, the lady was shaking! Where was the bold woman who met him at the gate a few hours ago?

They had made short shrift of many of the usual traditions with this hasty marriage, so he felt no compunction about turning
the crowd back before they reached the bridal bedchamber. After barring the solar door behind them, he turned to face his
bride.

She looked like a goddess, with her head held high and her chin out. But her eyes gave her away. He would have done anything
to wipe away the fear he saw there.

He was at a loss as to how he should approach her. Glancing about, he was relieved to see that someone had had the foresight
to leave them wine and bread and cheese. Though the refreshments were meant to revive the newlyweds after their efforts in
the bedchamber, he could use the diversion now.

“Come sit with me and share some wine,” he said, gesturing to the small table.

Catherine’s shoulders seemed to relax just a bit. “Thank you, Lord FitzAlan.”

“Now that we are husband and wife, you must call me William,” he said as he watched her slide gracefully into one of the two
chairs at the table. “And I shall call you Catherine.”

He remained standing behind her, wanting to put his hands on her shoulders and run his thumb along the curve of her neck.
He had been longing to do it all evening. She gave him a furtive look over her shoulder, uncomfortable having him where she
could not keep watch on his movements.

“Why don’t you pour?” he suggested.

She did as he asked, then took a long drink.

“Let me help you take off your headdress.” He leaned down and whispered, “I want to see your hair, Catherine.”

“My maid can do that.” She reached up quickly, as though to prevent him from touching it. “I will call her.”

“Don’t.”

She began to unfasten the headdress, but her hands were shaking so violently that William took over the task. When all the
pins were out, he lifted the headdress off and set it on a nearby stool. He uncoiled the thick braid from around her head
then loosened it with his fingers.