Samantha James (10 page)

Guy was stunned at her audacity. This chit would have used all her considerable charms to influence her husband and incite open rebellion. And she might well have succeeded!

But the next second, his jaw hardened. It was just as he'd suspected. Kathryn was trouble. He no longer doubted that she hated her uncle. Indeed, he was surprised she hadn't murdered him in his bed! Nor was there any doubt that her uncle's blood flowed swift and strong in her veins, for she was as shrewd and cunning as he.

He set aside his wine and walked slowly around her, hands on his hips.

"I am curious, Kathryn." The pitch of his voice was very low. It drifted over her like the whisper of silk. "You say you would do anything for Ashbury." He paused, directly behind her. "Just how far would you go?"

Kathryn froze, suddenly afraid to even breathe. Her heart lurched. She had the terrifying sensation that if she moved, he would snatch her to him and she would never be free.

She spoke unthinkingly, with the fervency of a prayer. "I would do anything to gain Ashbury, milord, anything. But I have nothing. I have naught to offer you—" Her voice caught breathlessly. "—save myself."

All at once his hand was upon her nape, shocking in its warmth, startling in the way his touch suddenly filled her with slow melting heat.

His fingers stroked her nape, sending fiery sensations coursing through her veins. "I would understand you, Kathryn. You seek to ease my lonely nights while I am here? You would give yourself to me—without question—if I relinquish my possession of this humble keep?"

Kathryn closed her eyes. "Yes," she whispered, and knew it for the truth. She would sacrifice the only thing left to her—her virtue—if only Ashbury could be hers once more, hers and Elizabeth's. It was the one true dream she had yet to shed—that they could live their lives as they chose, free from the tyranny of men.

Guy felt her tense and wondered idly at the cause. The air of innocence which clung to her puzzled him, for he already knew that she was as wild as the wind which blew from the sea. And it was no gentle lover's play he'd caught her in last night with her lover. Was this naught but a game to her?

Slowly he turned her around. His fingers fell away from her nape and slid to her shoulders. God, she was lovely! Her features were dainty and fine, her lips the color of crushed roses. Wide green eyes the color of spring leaves gazed back at him, framed by thick sooty lashes. Desire cut through him, a swift stab of fire.

There had been other women since he'd learned of Elaine's death. Nameless, faceless women who expected nothing of him. Yet he knew instinctively that if he were to take Kathryn, he would not soon forget her. Her exquisite face would be burned into his memory for a long time to come. Nay, there had been no one like this...

Not since Elaine.

Pain ripped through him, like fire in his soul. He did not understand this gut-twisting desire, for Kathryn was willful and proud where Elaine had been sweet and loving. Kathryn was aloof and stubborn where Elaine was warm and eager to please. And her hair was like the wings of a raven where Elaine had been as fair as a gossamer moonbeam...

Savagely he wrenched his mind from thoughts of his beloved wife. He was here to avenge her death. Yet here was this scheming temptress who sought to seduce him!

But that was not right. Kathryn was here, yes, but in truth she wanted no part of him. No, it was neither passion nor desire which brought her to him this night.

It was selfishness and greed, pure and simple. She would give of herself. . . thinking only of herself.

But she possessed a dark bewitching beauty, a beauty that lured and enticed him to her.

And he almost hated her for it.

Still he wanted her.

But he'd be damned if he'd dance to her tune. Yet he knew that he would have her, when the time was right, when the time was of his own choosing.

Kathryn was suddenly trembling. His eyes were like glittering torches of silver, burning through her, inside her. Shaken to the core, she tried to step back but the hand on her shoulder tightened just enough to remind her she wasn't free. Her lashes fell to shut away the sight but hard fingers captured her chin and brought her gaze to his once more.

His lips twisted. Did he smile? Or did he leer?

She stared at him with eyes both pleading and accusing. The air around them was suddenly seething with an unbearable tension.

He was so close. Far too close. She felt his size with all that she possessed. She could feel the heat of his body, the warm rush of his breath on her cheek. He frightened her, not as he had last eve, but in a way that was terrifying and alien to her.

His voice was strangely thick. "You say you would do anything for Ashbury. I find I am most anxious, Kathryn, to test the truth of your claim."

He caught her against him. His head swooped down. His mouth claimed hers with a suddenness that tore the breath from her. Snatching the gauzy wimple from her head he tossed it aside. Lean fingers plunged into the silk of her hair, bringing it tumbling down over his hands. His kiss was raw and hungry and greedy, filled with the thunder of emotions gone wild and rampant.

He pulled her full and tight against him, imprinting the feel of his body against the softness of hers. In some dark and distant corner of his mind, he registered the sweetness of her lips, the slender suppleness of her body.

But Guy was driven by the sudden fury that still claimed him. He wanted her to remember him, to know that he was not a man she could bend and twist to her whim and will. He touched her as if he owned her, acquainting himself with the ripeness of her breast, the slim fullness of her hips.

At last he pushed her away. She trembled still, her lips were damp and swollen. For just an instant, Guy thought he glimpsed a hint of hurt vulnerability in the wide depths of her eyes. . .

Yet he knew it could not be so, and the thought served to harden his heart. He turned his back on her and moved to the table, reaching once more for his goblet, willing away the pulse of desire which beat at him still.

"I fear I shall have to refuse your kind offer." He smiled tightly, picturing her anger. "You see, I crave no martyr in my bed, but a woman true, warm and willing. You, dear Kathryn, are naught but a cold heartless bitch with ice in her veins."

Kathryn stared at him. Heartless, was she! A reckless anger consumed her, as hot as the flames which blazed in the hearth. She snatched her dagger from its berth and struck out blindly.

Guy turned just in time. The light from the fire caught the glint of shiny metal. He flung up his arm instinctively, deflecting the blow which would have torn through his flesh. His goblet clattered to the floor; his hands closed in a merciless grip about her wrists, forcing her to drop the dagger. It spun and whirled across the chamber, coming to rest in the corner.

Still she fought him, trying desperately to pummel his chest. Guy dragged her close and stared into her outraged face. Her eyes were scorching, her hatred fired as deeply as his own. He had no doubt that she would have gladly robbed him of his life.

He had been right to begin with, he thought furiously. Kathryn was no angel spun in heaven. She carried the same blood as her uncle.

"So," he said coldly. 'The truth comes out. You came here to kill me."

"What does it matter?" she cried out in impotent fury. "You are alive and I have failed."

"And Ashbury is still mine, and will remain so." He took immense delight in reminding her. He thrust her back from him. "My patience wears thin. Begone before I throw you in the dungeon where you belong. But be warned, girl, I'll not turn my back on you again."

He watched as she backed from him slowly, then spun for the door. But before she could reach it, his voice rang out.

"Kathryn!"

She stopped, but did not turn to face him.

"I sent a message earlier today to King Henry, requesting guardianship of you and your sister." His voice was mild, his smile pleasant as she whirled, white-faced and stunned.

"I think your wedding to Sir Roderick shall not take place after all. But do not fear you are doomed to maidenhood. If you behave yourself, mayhap I'll marry you off to some wealthy merchant."

Kathryn yanked the door open and stumbled out. She didn't stop running until she'd reached the sanctuary of her chamber. Even there, she couldn't shut out the sound of his mocking voice.

She pressed cool hands upon her burning cheeks, willing her hands not to shake. God, but she hated him! He had humiliated her, shamed and degraded her. She would never forget the ruthless skill with which he had touched her—the blatant intimacy of his tongue in her mouth, the shocking feel of his hand plundering her breast. She drew a deep shuddering breath. Even now, she could still feel the ridged hardness of battle-toughened thighs forged against hers.

And it was all for naught.. . all for naught.

With a little cry she flung herself upon the bed. If the earl had his way, he would send her from here. She would never see Elizabeth again. Never see Ashbury again.

Ashbury was lost to her. She knew it as surely as night followed day.

Bitterness choked her. Her heart was empty and cold and hollow. She would never learn, it seemed. She must ever bow to a will greater than her own, for this was the chessboard of England.

And as always, as always, she was naught but a pawn.

Chapter 4

Kathryn woke slowly the next morning, feeling peculiarly lethargic. Curled on her side beneath her furs, she closed her eyes, oddly content to keep the fringes of her tardy mind from struggling to awareness, sensing that to wake fully was to remember something awful, something she would rather forget.

It was early. Through the wooden shutters, the first faint fingers of dawn began to creep into the room. Belowstairs, the household was rumbling to life. She heard the faint sounds as if from a great distance away.

Down the hall came was a scream so shrill it could wake the dead.

Kathryn bolted upright. Mother of God! What on earth? The piercing scream came again, just as she pushed her legs from beneath the furs. Her heart pounding, she threw on her clothes and thrust her feet into her slippers.

She raced down the passage, her heart pounding apace with her feet. The door to her uncle's room had been thrown open. She started to rush inside, only to stop short with a gasp.

Helga sat in the corner, openly weeping. Richard's bed was surrounded by a crush of men, among them Sir Hugh. Kathryn jumped when someone brushed her elbow.

It was Elizabeth. Her skin was ashen, her eyes huge in her pale face. "What is it?" she cried. "What is happening?"

Just then one of the men stepped aside. Kathryn had an unobstructed view of her uncle's bed. His body lay open to her gaze; a sticky pool of crimson flowed across his pillow.

His throat had been slit.

An icy jolt of shock ripped through her; her head swam giddily. For an instant Kathryn feared she would be sick.

"My God," she said faintly. "He's been murdered... Uncle's been murdered!"

Kathryn saw nothing of the earl that morning. She was informed by one of the servants that he'd left the keep shortly after dawn.

Pray God that he never returned.

But alas, he did, just after the noonday meal. She saw him with Sir Hugh in the bailey, deep in conversation. Kathryn stood in the window of her chamber and watched them. She saw Sir Hugh spread his hands wide and shake his head; no doubt they were discussing Richard's murder. But Kathryn was under no illusions. No doubt the earl knew all there was to know about that foul deed.

Richard was buried that afternoon. The day was a fitting one for a funeral. Storm clouds hung perilously low and ominous. Though the hour was still early, a misty fog had begun to roll in from the sea. Father Bernard from the village church presided over the gravesite. Richard had refused to have a priest in residence at the keep. Beside her,

softhearted Elizabeth dabbed at an occasional tear, while Kathryn stood still as stone. It was odd, she thought vaguely. She felt nothing, not relief that Richard was dead and could no longer interfere in their lives, nor even hate that he once had.

It was a solemn procession that wound its way back inside the walls of the keep.

Inside the bower, Kathryn tore off her cloak and dropped it on a stool. Elizabeth stood in the center of the room, hugging herself as if for warmth.

" 'Tis hard to believe that Uncle is dead." She shivered. "Who do you think killed him, Kathryn?"

Kathryn's mind sped straight to one man. The earl had come to Ashbury to seek revenge for his wife's death. He had come to kill Richard—

And he had.

Her laugh was without mirth. "Who do you think? The earl came here for one purpose only. And today he has seen the deed done!"

Elizabeth said nothing, merely hugged herself more tightly.

Kathryn would have said more but some slight sound behind her alerted her. She whirled around.

The earl stood there. Tall. Dark. His presence as commanding as ever.

His gaze flickered to Elizabeth. "Lady Elizabeth—" His voice was pleasant. "—would you mind leaving us alone for a moment?"