Carolyne Cathey (30 page)

Her body trembled
in response as her heart pounded against her ribs demanding her surrender.  She
should look away and break the visual tether, but she remained within his grasp
like a falcon caught by a loving master.  She reminded herself he lusted, not
loved, but her eyes reveled in the glory of his handsomeness, of the way his
strands shimmered in the sun's rays when lifted by the breeze.  She admired the
fan of his lashes, the strength of his jaw, the scar across the bend of his
nose that denoted his bravery, his lips, soft and sensual.  She longed to taste
his mouth, to slip her tongue in next to his and send him to fevered urgency
until he, in turn, proclaimed his mastery.  Her mind scolded her and commanded
she pull away.  Her heart beat out for more and pushed her toward him.

Kyle drew in a
ragged sigh.  "Earlier you intimated there are those who share a great
love but who cannot join in wedlock because of tradition.  Of whom did you
speak?  Peter and Nurse?  Or the two of us?"

She
had
verbalized her thought.  Eleanor tore her gaze away from his sensuality and
studied the roses that were almost lost among the wild growth, much like her
intentions that were almost lost among her wild emotions.  "I spoke of
your long-time servants.  Only one of us loves, my lord.  You merely honor a
vow and loathe an empty bed."

She heard the
intake of his breath, the sigh of the wind, the rattle of leaves that scuttled
across the stones.  But no denial.  The ache in her chest swelled into pain
and, suddenly, she longed to be anywhere but there.

"Eleanor, I
am a warrior unused to soft words and the quest of romance.  Even so, I have
exposed my soul to you, and you rejected me.  I have confessed feelings I have
never experienced for another." 

His raspy whisper
tugged her gaze up to his, and she saw his distress, his uncertainty.

"Your
admissions are treasures in my memory, Sire, precious jewels to pull out one by
one when I am alone, to admire their beauty and to relive the moments.  But
even you must admit, if not for the impulsive wager, you would never consider
asking me to plight troth with you."

"But 'tis
not--" He fell silent and a muscle bulged along his jawline. 

"Not
acceptable?"  She forced a nod, hoping she hid the disappointment his
answer caused.  "Your response proves my point.  Aye, you feel affection
for me, but if we search out what is of such great import that you risk your
life, then we must answer in truth.  'Tis your honor."

Kyle closed his
eyes and swallowed.  He shoved to his feet, his hands fisted at his sides as if
to refrain from touching her, holding her.  "Honor has always been the
thrust of my purpose, my reason for existence, my basis for measurement." 

He turned and
pierced her with a gaze so intense that he surely saw through to her soul. 
"Honor drives you as well."  He must have caught her look of surprise
because he shook his head as he spread wide his hands, then shrugged. 
"Your mission, your moral code are both based on the same.  And are honor
and love so very different?  Both call for sacrifice, for putting others needs
above your own."

"Aye.  But
honor is driven by duty.  Love is guided by the heart.  I only attempt to put
this rashness in perspective, my lord.  You made a hasty wager merely for
lust.  You risk too much for a mere bedmate."

"Is that
what you believe?  That you mean no more to me than a vessel in which to slake
my lust?"  Kyle drew up to his full height and glanced up to the keep,
then swept the garden with his gaze and turned to view the land beyond the
hills.  His demeanor seemed changed as if he saw the land anew.  Then his
attention shifted to her, steady, penetrating, determined, and she shivered as
if he touched her with unseen hands, his thoughts whirling in silence behind
his eyes that seemed as pieces of the sky, blue and clear.

Fighting not to
lean into his arms, Eleanor scooted from the bench and knelt on the ground. 
She gathered the spilled herbs into her basket that had tumbled during her fit
of laughter, willing her fingers to cease their quaver, breathing deep the
aroma of rosemary and sage to slow her pulse.  Then she saw the hem of his
bittersweet cote and the movement of his boots as Kyle moved away from her. 
With her hand poised above a bunch of rosemary, she raised her gaze.

He stood before
the weed-tangled rose garden that appeared more a bramble patch than a
decorative bed.  He drew his dagger from his belt and leaned over, pushing
aside the thorny vines as if in search of something, then the dagger sliced.

Afraid he would
see the hungry longing in her eyes, she looked to the task at hand and scooped
the remaining herbs into the basket.

Kyle stopped in
front of her.

She focused on
the toes of his boots and the bittersweet folds of his cote.  Then the wool
pooled on the leafy stones as he knelt.  A red rose appeared within her vision
as he offered the bloom to her with his massive hand. 

"Eleanor, you
are the rose among the thorns in my life.  You are the sweet among the bitter. 
Because of you, I care about Trystonwood as more than status and position, as
more than duty because of my parent's deaths."  He paused and she held her
breath.  "Because of you, Eleanor, I care about life.  Aye, honor is of
import.  But you are more so.  And no mere king will keep me from you.
"The velvety bloom trembled from the intensity of his grasp.  "Wed
me, Eleanor.  Now.  Before King Edward arrives."

Stunned by his request,
by his gift, Eleanor caressed the petals' softness.  He had even cut off the
thorns.  Touched more deeply than she would have ever imagined, she accepted
the offering, inhaling the sweet fragrance as she held the precious rose to her
breast.  Such wrenching words of beauty from her handsome warrior who confessed
such romanticism too difficult.  Even so, even if he confessed his love,
nothing changed by his admissions.  She still endangered his life if she
accepted.  Eleanor lifted her gaze and saw his anxious expression, his
determination.  "Lord Kyle--"

He stood, then
pulled her to her feet, holding her shoulders as he studied her face. 
"Ah, love.  I would rather have you for a brief moment in time than never
in all eternity."

A knot of regret pressed
against her breastbone.  She shook her head.  "Nay.  If you care for me,
then heed my plea.  Don't ask the king to honor the wager."

Pain shot through
his eyes.  "I won't relent.  I feel my life slipping into nothingness with
as much ease as water through my fingers.  And the tighter I clutch, the more
rapid the loss.  At least give me something to hold onto.  Give me you."

Eleanor's lungs
refused to function.  She struggled for a breath as she struggled to remember
her purpose.  And she realized she would never dissuade him, so she must
delay.  "Tis only a fortnight until King Edward--"

Curse you,
Eleanor!  Curse you!  What do you want from me?  What can I say to change your
mind?"  Frustrated, Kyle turned his back and ran his fingers through his
hair. 

"I am not
worth the risk, my lord."

He spun to face
her.  "You are worth any danger.  I will have you as wife before the
king's visit.  I will court you and woo you until you surrender, for once the
king arrives and learns of my decision, my life will most likely dwindle to
mere hours."

"If he is as
cunning as you describe, then he'll not be bested by such a ploy, my lord. 
He'll most likely annul the vows.  And when he sees me--"

"Nay!" 
Color drained from Kyle's face as he clutched at her arms.  "You must not
let the king see you.  Do you understand?  But I will have you as wife while I
can.  Don't deny me what little happiness I can grasp.  Wed me, Eleanor.  This
night."

M
ovement caught Kyle's
attention.  He glanced over to see Brigham standing beside the rose garden,
arms crossed, a smirk on his face.

"Trouble in
paradise, Kyle?"

Instinctively,
Kyle placed himself between Brigham and Eleanor, hating that his brother had
witnessed their personal discussion.  If Brigham had overheard about Kyle's
plans to wed Eleanor before the king's visit, and about his concern to keep
Eleanor out of sight when King Edward arrived, then Brigham very well might use
the information to try to destroy them both. 

Kyle glanced over
his shoulder to make certain of Eleanor's safety.  Relief eased his chest to
see her hurrying toward the keep, her basket over one arm, the rose clutched in
her other hand as if she would never let go.  He watched as Jane stopped her,
asked her a question, then hastened with Eleanor around the corner.  Pride and
tenderness swelled within him over Eleanor's dazed response to the rose.  Her
reaction increased his determination.  She might not agree to wed him that
night, but he would overwhelm her with tokens and sweet words until she
relented.  She would be his wife before the king's arrival.

"My
lord
?"

Kyle focused on
Brigham and saw his condescension, heard the insolence in his tone.  The image
of the viper coiled again within the suspicions of Kyle's mind. 

"You
summoned, my lord?"  Sunlight glinted from the several rings on Brigham's
fingers and from the ruby that hung from a chain around his neck as he
swaggered to a stop in front of Kyle.  "Peter said you wished to see
me."

"I would
have a word with you."  Dreading the coming confrontation, Kyle motioned
to his brother to follow him into the privacy of the solar.  He stepped into
the dark coolness of the chamber and moved to stand beside the large hearth.

Brigham halted
several paces away.  "What is your wish, my lord?"

Kyle sighed,
disgusted with Brigham's attitude.  He stiffened in preparation for his certain
response.  "I wish to see the account books."

Both hatred and
fear flickered beneath Brigham’s hooded gaze.  "After all these years, you
doubt me?"

"As lord of
the keep ‘tis my responsibility to oversee all that pertains to the estate.  I
ask for naught that isn’t my due."

"You’ve
never seemed interested before now."

"True.  An
imperfection of mine I intend to correct.  Where are the records?"

Brigham
hesitated, but Kyle could sense the myriad thoughts that whirled behind his
eyes.  "I’m insulted by your sudden concern, Kyle.  Me thinks a sorceress
whispers in your ear at night to stir your suspicions.  You never cared about
the details of what happened at Trystonwood until that . . . that woman came. 
She interferes too much.  She comes between us."

"I won’t
play this game of delay, Brigham.  I want to know why Trystonwood is so poor. 
Much is in disrepair, the food mediocre, yet you drape yourself in the finest
of cloths, jewelry sparkles from your person as if you claimed royalty.  I
demand an accounting of revenues."

"I won’t
tolerate your attitude, Kyle.  You accuse me of theft?  You begrudge me what
little I have?  You are lord of this keep, yet ‘tis not enough.  You want me
stripped naked of my clothes as well as my dignity.  I protest."

"You won’t dissuade
me, Brigham.  All I ask is to see your figures.  ‘Tis my right.  Where are the
books?"  Kyle fought to control his anger.

Brigham shifted
from one foot to the other, his too-familiar response when agitated or caught
in a ruse.  "They aren’t here.  I’ll have to go for them."

Brigham’s answer
caught Kyle off-guard.  "Not here?  And where, pray tell, are they?  What
possible location might be more appropriate than here?  Whose eyes study that
which is none of their affair?"

Brigham turned
his back and took a step toward the doorway.

Kyle lunged after
him and grabbed his shoulder.  "I want an answer, now."

Brigham jerked
from Kyle’s grasp.  "I go for the accounts.  Leave me be."

"Where are
the books, Brigham?  I demand an answer."

Brigham met him,
glare for glare.  "If you want to see the records, then let me go."

"I never
took you for a fool, Brigham.  Did you think I would never ask?  That I’d never
become suspicious?  Do you think that because you kick leaves over the dung,
the filth will go unnoticed?  Nay, the stench permeates the air and betrays its
foul presence.  ‘Tis dung I smell, Brigham."

Brigham shoved at
Kyle, the intensity of his hatred aflame in his pewter eyes.  "Even though
I’m the eldest, I’ve served beneath you all my life.  You have what I never
shall.  And now you grind me beneath your boot as if I’m naught but an insect. 
You have no conception what hell I’ve suffered because I’m a bastard. 
None."

Kyle clenched his
fists as well as his jaw.  "Until these latest scenes, I’ve treated you
with naught but kindness.  I’ve done my utmost to behave toward you as my
brother, but you are so filled with self-pity and rage that you dare me to be
considerate.  Ever since my first memories you have showed me naught but
contempt.  ‘Tis not my fault that your mother was not a lady.  ‘Tis not yours
either.  But must we go through all our days with this bitterness between us? 
Cleanse yourself of this revenge, Brigham.  Let us be as the brothers we might
have been."

"Brothers? 
As we might have been?"  He threw out a hateful laugh.  "Then make me
lord of Trystonwood while you grovel as my steward.  That’s what might have
been."  Brigham spun on his heel and stormed from the solar.

Kyle sank onto
the settle.  Because of memories of Lady Cathryn, Kyle had spent the last four
years away from Trystonwood, trusting Brigham to handle the affairs.  And now
guilt taunted Kyle over his unwise decision, for Brigham had behaved with
cruelty and greed.  But no longer.  Kyle again took responsibility for the land
that rooted deep within his soul, the land that had always ranked above all
else in importance, except honor.  With one difference.  He suddenly needed
more.  In the garden, realization had struck him how fragile his hold on
Eleanor, and like the land, if he didn't claim her now, he might lose her for
eternity.  Without her, the span of his existence loomed bleak and cold.  For
Eleanor had shown him more than responsibility and war and death.  She had
blessed him with love. 

Kyle pushed to
his feet.  He missed her presence.  He needed the feel of her in his arms.

A woman
screamed.  Eleanor?

Kyle rushed
through the doorway into the garden.  Panic rammed a fist into his chest.

Eleanor clutched
the rose against her breast as she cowered against the curtain-wall, entrapped
by Brigham who sat astride his gray gelding.  Even from the doorway Kyle saw
the terror in her eyes. 

The horse reared.

Dear God. 
Brigham meant to strike her down! 

Kyle bolted
across the garden, fearful he would be too late.  "Brigham!"

The rose fell to
the ground as Eleanor attempted an escape to one side, then the other, but
Brigham held her hostage.  The horse reared again.  Hooves sliced the air. 
Eleanor screamed.

Rage exploded in
Kyle with as much power as his rampant pulse.  He grabbed the reins and
jerked.  "Curse you, Brigham!  I'll kill you!" 

The gray gelding
spun sideways, yanking against Kyle's hold.  Sunlight flashed along Brigham's
drawn sword, but Kyle grabbed Brigham's arm and jerked him from his horse.  The
sword clattered to the ground.  Brigham floundered as he hit the earth, then pushed
to his feet. 

Kyle slammed his
fist into Brigham's jaw; pain shot up Kyle's arm and lodged in his wounded
shoulder, a reminder of Brigham's previous betrayal.  Brigham flew backwards against
his mount, stumbled, scrambling for his sword. 

Kyle drew his own
sword and lunged, but Brigham spun as he straightened and slashed out with his
weapon.  Metal clanged as Kyle deflected the blow.  "How dare you attempt
her murder, Brigham."

"How dare
you choose that slut over your own kin."  Hatred blazed in Brigham's eyes.

"Because of
your treachery, Brigham, all promises to our father to care for you are
dissolved.  Consider yourself under arrest.  Guards!"

Eleanor moaned
behind him.

Against all
instincts, Kyle shifted his attention to where she lay, and his heart lurched. 
Blood trickled down her temple.  He fought the urge to kneel at her side, but
Brigham . . . Kyle heard a clank and the scuffle of footsteps.  He turned as
Brigham swung up onto his mount.

"Nay,
Brigham!  You'll pay for this."  Kyle reached for him.

Brigham turned
his horse out of range and nodded to indicate something on the ground. 
"Look, Kyle, I've crushed your rose." 

Kyle didn't know
if he meant the flower or Eleanor, but determined that Brigham not escape, Kyle
grabbed out for the reins.

Brigham laughed
as he spurred his horse to a gallop through the gate, scattering dogs and
children in his path. 

Kyle gestured
toward the confused guards.  "Saddle Valiant and find Sir Jerrod."

Kyle knew he
should go after Brigham, but first. . . Kyle spun and scooped Eleanor up in his
arms.  The red petals lay shredded in the dirt beside where she had lain. 
Satan's curse, if anything happened to her . . . Kyle caught at a sob and
shoved his fear back down his throat.

She stirred, then
whimpered.  "'Tis fine, my lord.  I'm unharmed."  Then as if frantic,
she attempted to lift her head.  "My rose.  Where is my rose?"

He glanced into
her pained eyes that sought to draw him into their emerald depths.  "Nay,
don't worry about the bloom, love.  I'll give you a thousand roses."

"But 'twas a
gift from you."  Then her eyes closed and she sank against his chest.  He
ran with her across the bailey toward the solar.

John stopped at
the doorway, out of breath.  "I saw what happened, milord, but I couldn't
get there fast enough."

"'Tis all
right, John.  She's safe now.  Go to the parapet.  See which direction Brigham
rides."

"Aye,
milord."

As Kyle entered
the solar he heard John's footsteps on the stairs to the wall-walk.  At least
one soul at Trystonwood hastened to do his bidding.

Eleanor stirred
within his arms.  "I thank you for being my savior, Kyle, but I can
walk."

"Hush
love." 
Flames of hell
.  She called him her savior, yet she had
almost lost her life because of him.  He spied a concerned Peter as Kyle
carried Eleanor through the solar.

"Fetch
Nurse, Peter.  Bring her to my chamber."

"Aye,
milord.'

Kyle hurried up
the steps, not stopping until he laid Eleanor on his bed. 

"Kyle,
truly--"

He brushed back
strayed tresses of her hair that had entangled in her silken lashes. 
"When I saw what Brigham intended, my heart near leapt from my
body."  He fought to steady his fingers as he caressed her pale face,
reassuring himself she still lived.  "Curse that Brigham!  He will not go
unpunished."  Torn between urgency for Eleanor injuries and urgency to
stop Brigham, he moved back, but Eleanor clutched at his hand, her fingers cold
and trembling upon his own.

"Leave him
be, Lord Kyle.  Your forces are scattered and you only have Sir Jerrod to ride
at your side, whereas Brigham has mercenaries to fight his cause."

"I'm a
knight, Eleanor, a warrior.  I'm skilled at my craft."

"But last
time--"

"No man is
untouchable."

"You only
reaffirm my reasoning."

"You delay
me too long, Eleanor.  Brigham will be halfway to Hanley's by now."

"I beg you,
Lord Kyle.  At least wait for Nurse to arrive before you leave me."

Kyle touched his
lips atop hers in a gentle kiss.  "I know what you attempt, love, but 'tis
time he pays for his sins.  He'll never harm you again."  Kyle slipped
from her hold, anxious to leave the chamber before she saw the moisture in his
eyes.  The sight of Eleanor in a heap beside those flashing hooves had shaken
him to the core.

As he hurried
down the stairs, he bumped into John.

"Sir
Brigham, milord.  He rode north."

He patted John
atop his head.  "Well done, lad.  Have you seen Sir Jerrod?"

"He awaits
by the gate with yer steed, milord."

Kyle ran out into
the bailey where he saw Jerrod already mounted, visiting with one of the stable
lads.

Jerrod looked up
and Kyle winced with contrition at the sight of his friend's blackened eye. 

"Too bad
about that nastiness with Brigham.  What is astir, friend?"

"War." 
Kyle placed his foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle, then whipped the
gauntlets from their holder and pulled them onto his hands.  "Brigham rode
north." 

"To
Hanley’s'?"  Jerrod shook his head.  "We'll never catch him."

"That's all
that will save his life, Jerrod."  Kyle spun his destrier and spurred him
to a gallop before they had cleared the bailey.  Valiant's hooves thundered
like the rage that thundered in Kyle's veins.  Peasants and dogs scurried from
the road as he and Jerrod urged their mounts through the village, then through
the open country beyond--toward Hanley's.

After riding
hard, breathing and tasting the dust-tinged air that signaled Brigham's hurried
escape, Kyle urged Valiant through the shallow creek that denoted they neared
Hanley's border.  Bitter truth soured in his stomach; Kyle had delayed too long
before he gave chase.  They passed a bend in the road, then he spied Brigham
about to round the far curve.  Kyle's pulse throbbed in his fingers and raced
in his ears as he urged Valiant to a heart-breaking race.