Mary Reed McCall (28 page)

Cursing aloud, Gray leaned back and kicked again and again at the old door. It cracked, finally, under his assault. He burst through the splinters, shoving aside the barrel blocking his way as he fell into the room, his frantic gaze searching for Catherine.

She stood at the other end of the chamber. Somehow, she’d managed to get one of the buttery’s worktables between herself and Eduard. But he was in the process of drawing his sword, readying to slash at her with it.

Flashing a dark grin at his rival, Eduard gloated,
“You’re too far away, Camville. You’ll never reach her in time to stop me. But do come and try anyway. Then I’ll have the pleasure of killing you as well!”

Gray knew in that sickening moment that Eduard was right. He couldn’t get to Catherine in time. But an idea began to form as he shifted to look at the woman he loved more than his life, and her frightened gaze locked with his. Gripping the hilt of his sword, Gray nodded slightly, praying that she understood his unspoken signal.

In the next instant everything slowed as if in a dream. Eduard roared with fury, tossing the table aside, even as Gray drew his own sword hissing from its sheath and hurled it toward Catherine in flashing, rotating arcs.

Instinct surged in her, blending with skill borne of their hours of practice; she reached up and caught Gray’s sword by the hilt, in the same motion twisting and lunging to point it at Eduard as he charged her. His momentum slammed them both against the wall—and then he stiffened, his weight still pressed into her, his eyes widening in shock just inches from her own. Past the sound of her gasping breath, she heard his weapon clatter to the floor.

He tried to pull back, looking down awkwardly at the blade imbedded in his chest to the widening blossom of blood around it, before finally lifting his gaze to meet Catherine’s again.

“You bitch,” he rasped in disbelief. “You unnatural murderous bitch…”

Rage flooded her anew. Even here, at the point of
death, Eduard couldn’t resist spitting his venom at her. Gritting her teeth, she fixed her gaze on him, this man who had caused her so much pain, so much torment in her life, and muttered, “Now ’tis your turn to feel what hell is like, Eduard.”

Yanking her blade free, she pushed him away; with a choked gurgle he slumped to the floor and lay still, blood soaking the front of his tunic and trickling from his mouth. His eyes remained open, but they gazed at her now without sight. Flat and empty.

She stood frozen for a long moment, just staring at him.
He was dead
. God help her, he was finally dead, and it was she who had defeated him.

Her mind throbbed so that she hardly noticed Gray’s approach. She staggered back to lean against the wall again as he crossed the room in several strides, quickly checking Eduard’s body before turning to her. Then he cupped her cheeks in his palms, lifting up gently to make her meet his gaze.

“Are you all right, Catherine? Did he wound you before I got back inside?”

“Nay,” she managed to whisper, shaking her head.

“Thank God,” he said hoarsely, enfolding her in his embrace. Her breath came shallow, and she held herself stiff for a moment, still staring at Eduard’s body. Then with a cry she dropped Gray’s sword and buried her face in his chest, holding him tight.

Ian and Isabel had crept out of the tunnel once everything went quiet, and now they rushed forward, tucking themselves against her and Gray.

“Oh Mummy, I’m sorry,” Isabel sobbed. “I’m so sorry I went back to get Lily!”

“Hush, sweetheart,” Catherine murmured, stroking her daughter’s hair. “’Tis over now, and we’re all safe. That’s all that matters. We’re all safe.”

“Aye, praise God,” Gray added.

“Stand down in the name of the king!”

The shout rang from the corridor, making Catherine stiffen. Gray released her and the children to scoop up his sword and face the door, sheltering them behind him.

A half dozen soldiers wearing the orange tunics of the king’s forces burst into the chamber, weapons drawn. The leader of the group skidded to a halt when he saw Eduard’s body. Then his gaze flicked to Gray and the bloodied sword, and he held up his hand to bring the others up short behind him. His expression tightened, but he nevertheless jerked his head in recognition of England’s High Champion.

“Lord Camville,” he said.

Gray nodded back cautiously, still keeping Catherine and the twins tucked safely behind him.

The captain straightened before calling out in an official voice, “I am under orders to take you and Lord Montford into my custody and escort you both to London, to face charges of seditious action and disobedience against His Most Royal Highness, King Henry.” He paused, glancing again at Eduard’s body. “However, it seems that Lord Montford’s fate has already been sealed, and that the
charge of murder must needs be added to those tallied against you.”

Gray clenched his jaw, maintaining silence in the face of the false allegation. Nausea flooded Catherine when she realized what he intended to do.

With a cry, she stepped away from him, avoiding his attempts to keep her back as she stumbled a few paces closer to the soldiers.

“Sir, why have you charged Lord Camville with the slaying? He is no murderer! He—”

“Catherine, be still,” Gray muttered, grasping her hand and trying to pull her back. “The children need you. ’Tis for the best.”

“Nay!” Catherine said, shaking herself free. “Eduard is dead, and I will lie no more.”

“What are you saying, lady?” The captain scowled.

“I am saying that Lord Camville did not kill Lord Montford. He is innocent of the charge.”

Gray cursed softly, but the soldier just stared at her as if she’d gone mad. He glanced around the chamber again to see if he’d missed the presence of another person capable of killing one of the king’s best champions. Seeing no one, he spoke to her as if she were a child, in need of gentle care and handling.

“Lady, what you say makes no sense. Lord Camville was the only man here, the only one anywhere, many might say, accomplished enough even to commit the deed. If he did not, then who, pray tell, killed Lord Montford?”

“That is what I have been trying to tell you, Cap
tain,” Catherine said, pulling herself up to her full height and staring in turn at each of the soldiers before finally settling her gaze on their leader again.

“I did.”

London
The Royal Palace of Westminster

G
ray stood surrounded by guards in the great chamber of King Henry’s Court, forcing himself to remain still as he waited for Catherine to be brought in. The hours had been endless, every minute torture since he’d last seen her on the day of his arrest nearly two weeks ago.

Disbelieving as they were, the soldiers had finally placed her into custody along with him for Eduard’s murder; they’d had no choice after she’d stood like an avenging warrior queen over Montford’s body and made her bold statement to the captain. And so they’d brought her to London too, to let the royal inquiry sort out the mess of their sworn confessions.

Since then, Gray had been consumed with worry over her, driven by a fierce desire to see her and know that she was all right. But his inquisitors hadn’t allowed it. Instead, he’d faced their questions. Days of endless interrogation, sometimes for many hours, without food, drink or sleep. It could have been worse, he knew; they could have used some of their more infamous means of torture on him in their quest for the truth. He was grateful that they hadn’t and prayed that it meant Catherine had been spared as well.

Through it all, he’d done his best to convince them of his guilt, of his action alone in the murder of his hated rival. ’Twas the only possible conclusion, he’d told them, and they’d listened carefully to his explanations, sometimes scribbling notes, other times just observing him. Day after day, he’d stayed true to his story, relentless in his will to convince them.

Today he would learn if he’d succeeded.

At last the door at the back of the massive chamber creaked open. All of the more than three score guards, knights, nobles and ladies filling the room craned their necks to see the second prisoner brought forth.

Catherine walked steadily between her guards, head held high. Gray felt a stab of relief; she looked unharmed. Even the bruises from Eduard’s abuse had mostly faded. Her steps only faltered once, and that was at the moment she met his gaze. In that instant, her emotions shone on her face; intense longing and a love for him so powerful that it seemed almost otherworldly spilled from her,
lighting her with that angelic radiance that took his breath away.

Vaguely, Gray heard the murmurs of the people in court who saw it as well. But his entire focus stayed on Catherine. All he wanted was to touch her, to hold her, to love her, and it took every ounce of his strength not to leap over the benches and people separating them to carry her from this place and never let go.

Before he could act on his impulse, he saw her breathe deep and direct her gaze firmly ahead. Then she took her place in court, standing with her guards only twenty paces away from him.

Following the line of her vision, Gray started. King Henry had entered the chamber previously; now he sat motionless on his dais, his stare hard and penetrating as he looked at them both. But the row of royal councilors sitting at long tables to either side of him leaned into each other, whispering behind their hands as they glared at Catherine.

Only at Catherine.

The hair prickled on the back of Gray’s scalp. Their expressions were filled with hatred, their mumbled comments malicious.

“Man-killer,”
he heard one of them mutter.

“Liar,”
murmured another, shaking his head.

A third scowled and formed a soundless, damning curse into the ear of the man next to him.
“Witch.”

Sweet God in heaven…

Bile rose in Gray’s throat as he gazed from the councilors to the woman he loved and then back
again. He felt their malice rippling toward her in an evil, oppressive tide.

Nay
…

Oh, God, he’d failed to convince them. He’d failed
her
. They’d already tried and convicted her in their minds; he could hear their verdict as plainly as if it had been proclaimed aloud in the chamber.

Because she is a woman
, a shadowy voice hissed from deep in his brain. Aye, he wanted to shout. A beautiful, strong, courageous woman who had fought back and killed the wretch who was abusing her.

But Catherine’s words to him on that day he’d first suggested training her to fight returned in the shadow voice to haunt him now and forced him to silence.

“Under English law a woman cannot take arms against a man.”

“In the act of protecting oneself, ’tis allowed,”
he’d replied blithely.

“And yet many women have been punished for daring to do just that, especially to men bearing title…”

Oh God…

Catherine seemed unaware of the darkness, the slithering contempt these men harbored against her. She stood there unsuspecting of the danger, the death waiting for her if she continued to claim guilt in Eduard’s murder.

Almost against his will, Gray’s gaze flew to the grim-faced Court official shuffling a pile of parchments to the left of the king. ’Twas Lord Webster, the sour old man who’d come to his cell daily to ob
serve the interrogations. Once he found the document he was seeking, the man would be called to speak. There was no doubt that he would bring forth the Council’s judgement against Catherine in front of everyone assembled here.

And then it would be too late.

At that moment Gray knew that he had to stop this in any way he could. He had to stop these men, before they brought down their wrath on Catherine’s innocent head.

“Your Highness!” he called, throwing himself forward. More than a dozen soldiers in orange tunics lowered their spears at him, while his guards grabbed frantically at his arms to hold him back.

He struggled to shake them off, yelling, “Your Highness, I cast myself on your mercy and publicly claim open and clear disobedience to you, as well as full responsibility in the murder of my sworn rival, Eduard de Montford!”

The Court erupted into chaos, but Gray shouted over it, forcing himself to avoid Catherine’s stricken stare. “I surrender myself to your judgement and penalty, great king, and ask only that you release this woman, who is innocent of any wrongdoing in—”

“Nay! ’Tis not true!” Catherine cried. Spectators lurched to their feet, engrossed in the drama, and the clamor of voices rose.

“He bears no fault in this!” Catherine called above the din. “’Tis I who killed Lord Montford! I alone who bear guilt in—”

“Enough!” the king roared. His command cut through the furor, bringing everyone to a reluctant
hush. He stood and glared at the assembly. Dark anticipation seethed through the chamber, curling about everyone’s ankles, alive and snakelike.

“In all of Our years as sovereign,” Henry grated, his face stiff with fury, “We have never been subjected to the kind of frenzy engendered this day by the two of you, each stubbornly clinging to a confession of guilt in the same villainous crime. We are almost tempted to order both of your foolish heads struck off for it!”

Renewed gasps and murmurs echoed through the chamber, but the king continued, undaunted in his anger. Placing both of his hands on the table in front of him, he leaned forward to speak deliberately, succinctly. “However, as England is a civilized nation, We prefer not to execute the innocent alongside the guilty.”

Gray made a move to speak again, but Henry held up his hand, his fingers so rigid that they appeared made of stone. Stepping back, Gray clenched his jaw and waited, deciding that it would be in Catherine’s best interest for him to obey for now.

“Lord Montford was one of Our most powerful nobles,” the king said fiercely. “A seasoned warrior and champion. And regardless of what part he may have played in this affair—a part that he is forever deprived from defending himself against, We remind you—We do not take his murder or his loss to the Crown lightly.”

Gray gritted his teeth, but the king continued, glaring at him. “Nor do We accept the constant and blatant disobedience of you, Lord Camville, Our
equally powerful and hitherto most favored High Champion. Your repeated defiance of Our sanctions speaks ill of your allegiance to Our authority.”

More whispers arose, increasing to a low buzz as the king next directed his harsh stare at Catherine. “And as for the deceits that it appears you have perpetrated, lady, We find that We have no words to express Our feelings of shock and dismay.”

She flushed and dropped her gaze. Henry’s expression softened a little, though he didn’t say more to her, directing his next words instead to the gathered assembly. “It is time to resolve this matter once and for all.”

He sat in a flourish of jeweled robes, making an irritated gesture with his hand toward Lord Webster at his left. “The Court Official will now present the Council’s findings to the assembly.”

Gray scowled at Lord Webster, trying to catch his gaze, but the man ignored him to stand and look round the chamber, obviously relishing his important role in these proceedings.

“We, the High Council,” he began in a nasal drone, “have come to several conclusions regarding the murder of Eduard de Montford and the events leading up to it.”

Gray saw at least five of the dozen men on either side of the king avert their gazes or look down. His chest tightened, and he strained at the guards holding him, wanting to stop this, to make them all see reason before it was too late.

“First, in response to the charge by Lord Camville that Lord Montford exercised abuses on
Catherine de Montford in excess of that allowed by law as her guardian—no
legal
husband being present,” he directed a pointed glare at Gray, “we, the Council, find it to be unsubstantiated. In addition, we find that—”

“Unsubstantiated?” Gray growled in disbelief. Rage slammed through him, and he lurched forward, blind to all else but the need to make this wretch admit the truth. “You arrogant bastard,” he shouted. “Did you see her when she arrived here? Jesu, he’d beaten her near to death! What kind of proof do you need?”

Out of the chaos of the court chamber, four additional soldiers were forced to scramble to aid Gray’s guards in restraining him. He was fighting like a madman to get to the now pale-faced and gaping Lord Webster, itching to do to the man what Montford had done to Catherine, to see then if he thought her injuries unsubstantiated.

Suddenly, something smashed into the back of his skull, and with a grunt he went down to his knees. Through the numbness that threatened to overtake him, he felt irons being clapped over his wrists, binding his hands together with thick chain.

“Lord Camville, you will govern yourself,” King Henry called over the noise in the court chamber.

Shaking the remaining stars from his vision, Gray pushed himself back to his feet, first glaring at the guard who’d dealt him the blow, then looking to the king. Fury still clouded his mind, pulsing through him in heated waves, but even through it, he perceived a subtle change in his monarch. He saw for
the first time a glint of something, perhaps a kind of understanding, buried in Henry’s steely gaze.

When Gray turned to Catherine, however, what remained of his anger curdled in his gut. She faced him, gazing at him with those solemn, sad eyes. Like a tangible force, he felt the strength of her love wash over him. It flowed to him in waves, mingled with the pain of watching him struggle. Finally, she just breathed in and shook her head, her sapphire eyes brimming as she pleaded silently with him to be still, to let this day take its course.

Never
! he wanted to shout.
I will never allow them to blame you for killing Montford!
He felt consumed by panic, wanting to destroy everything, anyone that might harm her. But before he could act, King Henry stood. He waved Lord Webster back into his seat, and the man sank down gratefully, his sweat-beaded face ashen, his eyes sunken as he fixed them on Gray.

The king spoke, his voice firm. “We did not wish to involve others in our quest for the truth this day, but it seems that We are left with no choice.”

He looked to the sentries at the rear doors of the chamber. “Bring forth the two remaining witnesses!”

Gray’s stomach lurched when he realized whom the king meant. He glanced again at Catherine, who’d blanched even milkier than she’d been a few moments ago. She gazed at him, eyes vulnerable, wounded by this latest blow. She seemed ready to topple over, and he tried to go to her, only to be yanked back none too gently by his guards, who pressed a blade to his back to keep him still.

When the doors opened, she tore her gaze from
his to look there, pressing her palm to her heart and making a sound that was half joyful sob, half moan.

Isabel and Ian walked carefully into the chamber between the sentries, clutching each other’s hands, their eyes wide and faces serious. When they caught sight of their mother, they broke into smiles and went running to her, much to the chagrin of their guards, who began to chase after them, stopping only when the king waved his hand against it. Gray’s own eyes stung as Catherine embraced her children, and the court fell silent for the first time that afternoon, the only sound her muffled crying as she held them tight.

After a moment King Henry cleared his throat. “Lady Catherine,” he called. She looked up, her expression stiffening as she straightened. At his nod, she turned the twins to face him and nudged them forward. “Pay your respects to King Henry, children,” she murmured, and they shuffled closer, Isabel dropping into an awkward curtsey and Ian offering a wobbly bow.

The king nodded as if the gestures were executed to perfection, though several of the unpopular foreign advisors with whom he insisted on surrounding himself had the daring to snicker. Casting a sharp look at them, Henry stepped down from the dais. He looked to one of the court scribes to learn the twins’ names before walking to place himself in front of the children.

“Ian, Isabel,” he said, as gently as Gray had ever heard him speak, “do you know why you have been brought before this Council and your king?”

Ian took a deep breath, wearing an expression of
awe as he took in the impressive sight of King Henry, from his masterful height, to his heavy golden crown and jewel-encrusted cape. Clamping his lips tight, the little boy shook his head. Isabel swallowed and darted a glance at her mother, before attempting to answer the sovereign.