The Price of Freedom (4 page)

“Don't be foolish. You cannot undo what's been done. I will speak to your father.” He spun on his heel and stalked toward the keep.

She ran after him tugging his arm until he shook her hand off and stopped. “My father will not make me marry against my will, Rodney.”

“But—”

“If you tell him what we did, I will paint you as the worst sort of seducer of an innocent maid. I will not agree to marry you and you will have gained the animosity of the Earl of Homelea. Papa is old and in poor health, but his name still counts for something at Edward's court.”

Her last words got Rodney's attention—he valued his relationship with England's king above all else. “Are we to forget all that transpired between us, Kathryn? I care for you, though you seem to find that hard to believe.”

How she wanted to believe him.

“If you find yourself with child, send for me.”

She recoiled. “With child?”

“Yes, it isn't beyond possibility. I am not completely without honor, Kathryn. If there is a child I would want to do the right thing, despite our differences.”

He sounded so sincere, so . . . hopeful. But of course, he sounded hopeful—a babe would give him exactly what he wanted—a way to force her to his will. A way to claim her and Homelea.

His charming idea for a picnic suddenly looked far less innocent. “Our picnic today—'twas just a way to get me alone and charm me into ensuring there would be child, wasn't it?”

He did not deny it.

Devastated that she'd ever thought herself in love with a man who would use his own child to further his ambitions, she said, “Leave before I tell my father what a charming deceiver you are.”

“Very well, Kathryn. I will go quietly, this time. But rest assured I will return one day to claim Homelea.” He strode to the keep to retrieve his baggage.

To claim Homelea.
Not to claim Kathryn, but the title and the land.

With a heavy heart Kathryn returned to the stable to help her loyal friend, Fergus. A man who'd had nothing to gain by coming to her aid and might well have lost his eye for his trouble.

Year of Our Lord 1314

THE BELLS OF ST. MARY'S ABBEY rang
nones,
reminding Kathryn de Lindsay of the need to return home. How had the brisk spring day sped by so fast? She looked out the window of the visitors' chamber of the abbey and indeed, the light gave proof of the hour. Soon she must take Isobel back to the nursery the nuns had created in the safety of their quarters. Quarters where no man was allowed to enter.

Dreading yet another parting from her young daughter, Kathryn held the child in her arms and crooned a lullaby:

“Hushabye, hushabye, God will protect ye.
Hushabye, hushabye, the Black Knight shall not get ye.”

From across the room Mother Superior looked up from her needlework. “'Tis a soothing melody, but I can't say the same for the words, lass.”

Kathryn smiled ruefully. “The sentiment is what matters. I would protect my babe from all manner of evil, even the notorious Black Bryan, should he come raiding.” She stroked the sleeping child's tiny hand. “I must go, Mother Philberta. I wish it were not so.”

“It is still not safe to take her with you to Homelea?”

Kathryn shook her head. “Eventually I hope to raise her there. But not yet.”

“You are determined not to tell the child's father of her existence?”

“Aye. I'll not add to my transgression by placing Isobel in danger.”

“Surely Lord Carleton would not harm his own child.”

“Rodney would use whatever he can, including an innocent babe, to gain control of Homelea. Of me. He cannot be trusted, certainly not with something as precious as this child.”

Isobel awoke and began to fuss and Kathryn cooed to her. “She's hungry,” Kathryn said.

“Come, you can carry her to the wet nurse before you leave.”

Grateful that the older woman understood Kathryn's need to delay parting with Isobel as long as possible, she stood and followed Mother Philberta. They walked down the corridor to the room where Isobel lived with Nelda, the woman Kathryn had hired. Kathryn's eyes misted. “I don't know when I will visit again. Father's health is failing and I am needed at home.”

The elderly nun said, “I'm sorry to hear of the earl's illness. He has been most generous to us at the abbey.”

“As you have been generous to us.” The nuns had welcomed her in her time of need, accepting her repentance and providing a safe haven for her child. “It grieves Papa that he isn't able to come visit his granddaughter. And that soon he will be unable to protect either of us from Sir Rodney. Already I have received word that Rodney is coming to Homelea at King Edward's request. As if either father or I cares to receive him.”

“What brings him back?”

“I will become King Edward's ward when Papa dies and there will no longer be any obstacles in Rodney's path. Edward will force the marriage if I resist.”

“So, he will renew his suit with you. What will you do?”

Kathryn shook her head. “I can't risk displeasing Rodney or the king, so I will bite my tongue and pray for God's intercession.”

“I will add my prayers to yours. You know you are welcome to take refuge here, but perhaps our prayers will be answered and it won't come to that.”

They reached the chamber, and Kathryn kissed Isobel's cheek before handing her to the nurse. The woman took the child to a three-legged stool and sat down to suckle the child.

As she looked on the scene, Kathryn thought of the brief weeks when she'd nourished the child herself. Weeks of healing and heartache knowing she must leave Isobel at the abbey to keep them both safe from Rodney. What would it be like to love a man as God ordained, to bring forth life and nourish it in partnership with a man who loved her?

Because she'd failed to resist temptation, she might never know.

“I would like nothing better than to hide here, Mother. To stay here with Isobel. But he would only come looking for me, and I want him nowhere near St. Mary's or Isobel.”

“I will pray for you and your father, child.”

They walked back through the stone-lined corridor, past the visitor's chamber where she'd rocked little Isobel and to the front gate. Kathryn turned to the older woman, suddenly desperate for reassurance. She grabbed the nun's arm. “Promise me you will keep Isobel here if I am forced to marry Lord Rodney.”

“I am not young, Kathryn. I can only promise to see to her while I'm able. Perhaps you should have the papers prepared and give her to the Church.”

Kathryn bowed her head momentarily, recognizing the truth of what Mother Superior said. “Aye. I may have no choice.” Should she send Isobel away to become a nun in order to keep her safe? But how would Kathryn survive if she could not visit her each week? Not see her take her first steps or celebrate her birthdays?

Only God could hear her prayers and deliver Kathryn and Isobel.

TWO

T
HE LAST FORLORN NOTES OF THE BAGPIPE echoed off the nearby Lammermuir hills. A numbing mist shrouded the late May sun as Kathryn de Lindsay crumbled a handful of thin Scottish soil over the fresh grave of her father. Homelea's small cemetery now held all of her family except Kathryn herself and Isobel. Precious Isobel, nearly a year old now and the light of Kathryn's life.

Crossing herself, Kathryn stared at the weathered headstones on either side. Mother. Sister. Knowing they were free from earth's toils did little to comfort Kathryn at the moment. It had been bad enough to lose them, but the loss of her father changed everything. Through the years he had protected her and in the hours since his death she'd come to realize just how much.

Father had indulged her independent spirit, had treated her more like the son he'd never had. But she was not a son; she was an unwed woman with an illegitimate child and no husband. Her father's indulgence now threatened to be her undoing.

How am I to go on?

Raising her gaze from the ground, she saw Lord Rodney Carleton standing on the other side of the gravesite, and despair swept through her, cold as the day's wind. Her unwanted suitor had arrived just yesterday, only a few hours after her father breathed his last.

For that Kathryn was grateful; Papa had always despised Rodney for the way he had treated Kathryn and Fergus. Not once had her wonderful father suggested she marry Rodney, not even when his child grew within her. And Papa had supported her decision not to tell Rodney about Isobel.

Rodney now stared at her as if to remind her that without her father to stand between them, she was powerless against him. How much longer could Kathryn avoid marrying him?

Numbed by that thought as well as the unseasonable weather, Kathryn stood motionless, at a loss to know what she could do to protect herself. To protect Isobel from the man who had fathered her.

Fergus gently took Kathryn's arm. “Come, my lady, 'tis time to leave. 'Twill do ye no good to catch a chill.”

As the cold seeped under her woolen cloak, Kathryn hurried to do as Fergus asked. She did not want to risk another encounter between him and Rodney. “What am I going to do, Fergus?”

“Trust the Lord, lass. He will provide.”

If only it could be that simple. Though she knew with all her heart that God would not desert her in this terrible time of grief and uncertainty, she felt just as strongly that she couldn't trust Rodney. If God intended to provide a protector, it would have to be someone else.

Avoiding Rodney's watchful gaze, she returned with Fergus to the main hall where many of the mourners sought shelter from the heavy mist before departing for their homes. A fire roared in the great fireplace, yet Kathryn could not shake off the depression that had settled over her. She was now the Countess of Homelea, heiress to a modest fortune, and utterly alone in this room full of people.

But her title would not protect her from Rodney and King Edward. Not a one of her guests would defend her—they each owed their own titles and lands to the whim of the king. He could take them away as easily as he bestowed them. He could give Homelea to Rodney and turn her out of her home if she refused to marry him. She knew it was coming. Why else would Rodney be here now?

Many of her guests belonged to that element of the Scottish nobility whose loyalty blew with the wind—or the fortunes of war—like her father. And like her father, they held lands and titles in both Scotland and England and owed allegiance to both kings. But the time was fast approaching, Kathryn knew, when they— and she—would have to choose sides once and for all.

Rodney Carleton, on the other hand, had firmly allied himself with England from the start. His family, though noble, lived on the edge of genteel poverty as a result of mismanagement by Rodney's late father. Rodney had only recently inherited to find that he had to marry a rich woman if he hoped to restore his estates. To that end he had ingratiated himself with Edward II.

She'd heard that Edward and Rodney were the two most proficient swordsmen in England. She wondered if the two also shared Rodney's rapier-quick temper.

Was it coincidence that Rodney arrived so soon after Papa's death? Had he somehow learned about Isobel? Kathryn's weariness gave way to fear, fear she fought to master as she saw him making his way to her side. If only she could have her men at arms remove him from her home. But that would bring down the wrath of Edward of England on Homelea and its inhabitants.

Rodney stood before her, and where once she had accepted his attentions eagerly, now she reluctantly offered her hand in greeting. It had been nearly two years since he had last left Homelea. She had hoped it would be forever.

“Kathryn.” He held her hand to his lips, lingering overlong. “You are beautiful, as always.”

Careful not to show her aversion to him, she said, “My laird, you are kind, as always.” It made her stomach twist to be gracious to Rodney, but she dared not confront him. She had dared it once and Fergus had taken the brunt of Rodney's anger. God could not possibly intend for Rodney to be the answer to her fervent prayers for a protector. Not for her, and certainly not for Isobel.

“I'm sure his majesty, King Edward, would want me to extend his condolences along with my own, Lady Kathryn.” He stroked her cheek with his finger in a chilling gesture of intimacy.

Withdrawing from his presumptuous touch, she said, “Thank you. I understand King Edward has given you another title. Congratulations.”

“Yes, I am most fortunate. However, I still find myself in need of a wealthy wife. And you are still in need of a husband.” A beguiling smile graced his face. “We felt something for each other once, Kathryn. Do not deny it. Perhaps Edward can provide for both of us with one betrothal.”

Fresh shivers of dread chilled her deeper than the earlier frost in the graveyard. His charm had not diminished and she feared he would weave his spell around her again. Would she, in a moment of weakness, respond to him again? Kathryn withdrew from his touch, distancing herself from temptation. “You are presumptuous. Nothing has changed—I do not wish to be your wife. And I assure you I will not change my mind.”

He took her hand and kissed it, then looked at her with such longing that Kathryn found herself bending toward him in sympathy. “That is unfortunate, Kathryn. I had hoped you would be more willing, in light of our past friendship. It pains me to tell you that Edward has already decided—our betrothal will be announced within the month. And this time you will not be able to deny me.”

She paused a moment, struggling to maintain her composure. “You are the serpent himself, aren't you?”

“Ah, still so spirited. I shall enjoy taming you, my dear.”

Reminding herself not say or do anything that would give Rodney an excuse to lose his temper, she forced her hands to let go of her skirt and clasped them together at her waist.