The Holding - Book 1 in The Medieval Knights Series (26 page)

He moved in silent assistance, dipping a shoulder here, bending his head there. He did not sigh when her hair brushed against his thigh. He did not groan when her hand skipped lightly over his buttocks. He was practicing patience, but he believed he deserved another holding for the battle he waged against his desire.

And so he was ready for his bath. Finally. Never had she thought it could take so long to strip a body of its garments. Yet, she supposed, with so large a body... And she made the mistake of looking up and seeing what she had so recently uncovered.

No man should look as he did. God, in His mercy, should have given him some flaw, some blemish, or mortal man would be tempted to worship William le Brouillard as divine, so perfect was his face and form.

And as she stared at him, he felt his manhood rise, though he had beaten back the traitor with every method he knew. There was no method strong enough for the look Cathryn was giving him now. Turning swiftly, he stepped into his bath; the cooling water calmed the traitor.

He must be bathed, she reasoned within herself. Yes, he must. There should be no terror in that thought, and there was not. There was not!

Picking up the soap, of such a lovely scent, she lathered her hands. It would be better not to face him; yes, there was sense in that. She began at his back, rubbing his shoulders with pretended efficiency and moving briskly down his back. But the briskness did not last, and what had begun as a soaping ending as a caressing.

Nay, nay, nay!
It was no caress but a thorough job of washing! That was all. What sort of wife was she to shirk a duty that all wives shared? Not such a wife as that!

The front must be done. She moved forward and put her lathered hands to muscle covered with soft, black hair. The feel of him intrigued her, the softness and the strength beneath; it was not unlike the nature of the man God had gifted her with. And so he must be cleansed of the blood that covered him—and cleansed well. The broad line of his shoulder received her care. The curve of his back, so wide for so small a tub, and so smooth when compared to the fur of his chest, needed her touch. And the angle of his jaw was particularly fine; was there not a spot of dirt there that resisted the power of the soap? So it must be, for she found her hand there again and yet again.

Her hand slowed to a stop and she stared at the beautiful symmetry of his face. His eyes were downcast, as if he were studying the pattern of the soap trails on the surface of the water. His eyes were downcast, but she could see a silvery gleam from beneath his long fringe of black lashes.

He could feel her awakening desire, and he dared do nothing. But he would rather have been scourged than face its struggling heat and remain as passive as a newborn babe. When she touched him, her fingers caressing the skin that sheathed his face, she robbed him of his control.

William le Brouillard looked up at her, his eyes as hot and shimmering as molten silver, and Cathryn jerked at the stark desire she saw mirrored there.

"He is a mighty boar, Lord William," Ulrich enthused as he burst, unannounced, into the room. "He will make good eating, if he is not too tough with age!" And he laughed at his own jest. He laughed alone.

Cathryn, desperate to escape, whirled to the door, glad for once that Ulrich was so impetuous in his comings and goings.

"The killing of that boar must have been very dirty work, my lord"—Ulrich laughed—"for I have never known even you to take such a great length of time with your bath."

"Your lord is cleansed and ready for robing," Cathryn said in cool tones to her husband's squire, darting from the room with unaccustomed haste.

He did not stop her. He was practicing patience with her and her smothered desire, was he not? But Ulrich was another matter and not so fragile a creature as his wife.

Turning cool gray eyes to his squire, William said dryly, "I must pay more attention to your training, boy, for you are much lacking in knightly courtesy."

"I?" Ulrich asked in exaggerated affront. "I? Lacking in courtesy? Nay, Lord William, it is my greatest wish to be a knight renowned for his gallantry, and I have spent much effort on—"

"On bursting through a door that had been firmly closed to ensure privacy and into your lord's chamber where he and his wife were alone and where you knew your lord to be undressed?"

"My lord, I... I ask your pardon," Ulrich stammered, red-faced.

William did not answer either to accept or reject his squire's apology. He merely grunted and rose from his cold bath. Ulrich could suffer the pangs of regret for his indiscretion a mite longer, as William was suffering the loss of Cathryn in his chamber.

* * *

When William entered the great hall, he stopped in the portal, amazed. Men and women were laying the cloth upon the board and hurrying with cutlery and goblet, yet they were folk he scarcely recognized. The men were strong of limb and straight of back, their hair glossy and well cut. The women were younger than he thought the women of Greneforde to be and more comely. And they all wore smiles of goodwill and vigor.

They definitely smelled better.

Father Godfrey approached, and William entered the room more fully to meet him.

"You see now why they were not quick to wash," Godfrey said in greeting.

William pondered that. The Greneforde folk he had met when first arriving had seemed a sickly lot, aged and weak and stinking of neglect. They now appeared as they were in fact: healthy and strong.

"This was her doing," he mused aloud, "to shield them."

"Yea," Godfrey agreed, "and it was effective, Lambert saw what you saw and did not give them a second look or thought." Godfrey looked at Cathryn as she stood in conversation with John the Steward. "She stood as a brightly polished shield between his people and hers. They will love her unto death for that."

"So they should," William said with so much emotion that it changed the texture of his voice.

He watched her, her yellow hair glimmering like rubbed gold as she went about her tasks. She had used the means available to her to spare the people in her care the awful weight of complete defeat. She had borne the weight of Lambert's hacking blows and been badly battered as a result. She was a wife about which songs could be written.

And then Ulrich crossed his line of vision, angling after some young maid of bounteous bosom. Whence came a woman of fewer years than his Cathryn? He in no way recognized this smiling wench as the same woman who had, with hunchbacked sobs, told him of Cathryn's rape. William chuckled.
Leave it to Ulrich to find a young and unmarried girl with which to slake his thirst for romance.

"Are there any more such as that one?" William asked Godfrey with the slightest indication of his head.

Godfrey looked at Marie and laughed. "Only Marie. She serves Cathryn."

William watched Ulrich's pursuit and shook his head in amusement.

"'Tis just as well there is only the one. Ulrich can but just manage her."

"Young Marie would argue the point with you, if she dared; she is much afeared of men." Godfrey informed.

"Perhaps someone should tell her Ulrich is fast becoming one."

Godfrey smiled. "For Ulrich, she would make an exception."

William saw that it was so, for Ulrich had captured the girl's hand and passionately kissed it. It was telling that no slap followed such gallant aggression. If only he were covering such ground— and as swiftly—with his wife.

And then he thought of a way.

He beckoned John with a gesture of his hand, calling him to his side, and when he came, instructed, "I would have you prepare a fresh bath for my lady. Collar Ulrich and have him fetch for you the bag with the rose design embroidered upon it. Add its contents to the water until the scent of summer assails your nostrils. Do you comprehend, John?"

"Yea, lord"—John smiled—"I comprehend. The bath will be hot when she seeks it, this I assure you."

"Thank you, John. 'Twill be on the heels of the mass."

As John returned to the supervision of the laying of the board, Godfrey turned to William and teased, "You have remembered that the mass will be read tonight?"

"Yea," William answered with a mock scowl, "and do not prick me about it, priest. I had to search my mind as thoroughly as a hound the marsh to find a plausible reason we might miss it without suffering penance."

Godfrey made no reply except to nod his head and swallow a grin, which William did not miss.

"She told you," he said with sudden surety.

"Yea," Godfrey admitted, "and I told her some things."

"About me."

"Yea, for she would know the man she married,"

Godfrey explained, sensing a change in William's mood.

"As I would know her, but the time for advisers and intermediaries is done. Whatever we learn now, we learn firsthand."

"That is wise," Godfrey conceded. "I will but offer one thing more: remember that this mass is for her brother and that he died in her defense."

"I am little likely to forget it."

"I but caution you to use tender care in your dealings with your wife tonight; her grief will be fresh."

"Father," William said, his voice deep within his chest, "your concern for my wife is misplaced, though sincere. Do you imagine that I am ever less than tender with her?"

"Nay, but—"

"Nay, say no more," William commanded. "Trust me as you know me. I believe that I know Cathryn better than you. What is more, I believe that God will use me to heal her."

Godfrey knew he had reached the end of William's patience, perhaps even trod one step beyond. He held his peace and did not question William's belief, but he could not help thinking that God, in the intricacy of His eternal plan and with magnificent efficiency, would also use Cathryn to banish the specters that haunted William.

Dinner had been laid upon the cloth. All was in readiness. Father Godfrey and William walked to the table, but William did not sit. He stood, as he had that first day, waiting for Cathryn to join him.

Again, as on that first occasion, Cathryn stood in hurried conversation with John, supervising the last details of the meal. Again she felt the intensity of William's eyes upon her. Would it ever be so? Would she always find herself rushing through her duties to attend him at his whim?

Would he never cease being able to touch her with his eyes?

Turning slowly, she walked to where he stood upon the dais. Though she walked of her own will, with calm dignity and grace, she could not disavow the sensation that he directed her steps, and that her steps would always lead to him. The hall quieted as she neared him; his cool eyes glinted with all the shine of sun reflecting on water.

Demurely she allowed him to seat her before he sat himself. With their sitting, the hubbub of the room rose again to its normal pitch.

"You need not wait on me," Cathryn said gently, her irritation well buried, though she did not look at him as she spoke the words.

"Lady," he said, watching her profile, "a well-trained man waits."

She smiled at John as he set the trencher between them and took a small sip of wine before speaking again.

"I commend you on chivalric lessons well learned, but I have duties and I would not have your stomach rumble on my account."

"I am in control of my body, not it in control of me," he stated. "I will wait."

Fie on the man for his chivalry!
She would be running through her whole life if he did not loose his hand upon the reins that held her.

"To know that makes me feel harried and anxious," Cathryn said bluntly, honestly, her own attempts at courtly banter exhausted. "I would not be rushed."

"Then do not be rushed," he assured her with a full smile. "I but wait upon your pleasure." And he brushed the knuckles of his hand against the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. "'Tis my wish that you take your pleasure ere I take mine."

Again, with this le Brouillard, this fog, Cathryn had the feeling that the topic under discussion had subtly shifted, as wind shifted the fog, but she was helpless to tell in which direction.

"Yet another point of honor for your race?" she asked with just the barest bite. "Verily, you have traveled very far in culture from your Viking roots."

William watched her as she drank deeply of her wine, watched the rhythmic movements of her throat as it pushed the drink down, watched the flutter of her dark lashes against the pale gold of her skin, watched the glistening of the jeweled gold band that marked her as his.

"Not so very far," he murmured throatily, his gray eyes glittering sharply.

Her stomach rolled against her ribs and the butterflies were set to new life, they that had so recently fallen lifeless. It was the wine, no doubt; she had consumed it too fast, or else it was a new cask that was stronger than the one before. It was not William who summoned such emotion from within the iron cage that sheathed her heart. No, it could not be.

The serenity and solemnity of icy control called to her familiarly, and she turned to it as to an old friend, yet something called her to reconsider her path. Something that had William's voice and William's eyes and William's touch; what he offered was not easy to turn away from, even though she could not put a name to it.