Sharon Schulze (23 page)

“Are you sure?”

She met Ian’s gaze. “Oh, yes, I’m very sure. If a knife through the heart didn’t kill him, the fire certainly did.”

“That’s not what I meant, Catrin. Are you sure ’twas he who raped you?”

“How dare you doubt me?” Anger burned through Catrin’s veins, cleansing away the fear she’d felt about confessing to Ian—and Nicholas.

Now she’d truly like to smack her witless brother in the head!

“Don’t tell me you were misled by his charming ways, as well,” she said sweetly, then allowed her rage to show through. “Do you believe I’m stupid? Of course I know who raped me. I’m hardly likely to make a mistake about it. He held me captive for nigh a week.”

Nicholas’s arms closed about her, pulling her back against his chest. She burrowed into his embrace, but his solace didn’t soften her toward her brother. “Shall I tell you how many different ways there are to take a woman? How many ways to bend her to your will? I know you’ve been to war, Ian. You’ve seen the horrors men can do. But I very much doubt—” Her voice broke. Dashing away tears, she cleared her throat. “I truly don’t imagine you have any idea the evil some people are capable of.”

Ian knelt before her and took her hand, his eyes moist. “I’m sorry. I wish he were still alive so I might kill him myself,” he fumed, clasping her hand in both of his and raising it to his lips.

She felt a tremor run through Nicholas. “You’d need to wait your turn,” he said, his voice deadly.

A surprising thread of humor wove its way through her
mind as she listened to Ian and Nicholas. What did they think to accomplish by this?

“I’m flattered to have two such notable champions, but the man is already dead. Be glad he is, for he’d surely have killed me once he tired of me. I used to wish I could kill him over and over, for everything he did to me, but such wishes are futile. I cannot change the past. But that does not matter anymore, because now I have a future.”

She squeezed Ian’s hand and slipped hers free. “I am a woman grown, Ian. I know I haven’t always behaved that way, but ’tis the truth. Nicholas and I have harmed no one, so I’ll thank you to mind your own business.”

Although she didn’t quite trust the look in Ian’s eyes when they rested on Nicholas, there was little she could do beyond warning him off.

She turned toward Nicholas. “Did he knock before he barged in?” She wondered why Ian had come to her chamber.

“If he did, I didn’t hear it. I was asleep.”

“Did you come here for a reason, or were you spying on me?” It wouldn’t be the first time her brother had snooped in her room—or her business, she thought, frowning.

“You may acquit me of that,” Ian said, rising to his feet. “Before I got distracted by Talbot, I’d come to tell you I’ve news about the men who attacked you. I’m going to Chester to see what I can discover. And before you ask, Talbot—no, I don’t need your help. Besides, I believe there’s a messenger downstairs looking for you—from your king,” he added with a grin.

He headed for the door, pausing with his hand on the latch. “At any rate, ’tis just as well you cannot come with me. I still don’t like the idea of you sleeping with my sister. It’s better you’re not around to tempt me,” he said,
his hand going to the hilt of his sword. Catrin squirmed in Nicholas’s clasp as Ian opened the door.

How dare he continue thus!

But she restrained herself when she saw Rannulf standing in the doorway, hair mussed and half-dressed, a sword in his hand. “One of the maids said there was rape and murder going on,” he said, gasping for breath. He lowered the sword. “I’m relieved to see she was mistaken.”

Nicholas moved his arms from around Catrin and stood. “’Tis a good thing she was,” he said with a grin. “It took you so long to come to our rescue, we could have all been dead by the time you got here.”

“Evidently Emma refused to wake me—an error she won’t repeat, I assure you. And not only did the maid demand my presence, but a messenger from the king has, as well.” He looked about the room. “I believe it’s safe to leave. I’ve kept the man waiting long enough.”

Hand on the door, Rannulf paused. “He wants to see you, too, Nicholas, and he sounds impatient. Perhaps you should come with me now.”

Nicholas picked his shirt up off the floor and put it on. Catrin tried to smile when he looked up and sent her a steaming look, but she felt exhausted, drained by the past few days.

He was beside her in a moment, his hands cradling her face. “Go back to bed, love. We’ll talk later. I won’t be gone long.”

He kissed her gently, then followed Ian and Rannulf out, closing the door firmly behind him. The warmth of his mouth lingering on her lips, Catrin slept

N
icholas sat on the edge of Catrin’s bed and watched her sleep. Her delicate beauty touched him, made him yearn for a life with her. He could face anything if he knew she’d be waiting for him, ready to flay him with her tongue. He smiled at the imagery that phrase called to mind.

She could flay him—in word or deed—anytime.

He hated to wake her, but he couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. His duties for the king had been of little importance of late, but he could ignore them no longer. Damn the king, sending him to Llywelyn with “urgent business.”

It seemed the messenger had left court with further information for him within days of his departure for Wales. More likely King John hoped to catch him in some misdeed. Who could fathom John’s thoughts?

Any fool could have performed this chore. Indeed, he knew of no reason why the messenger couldn’t simply climb back on his horse and continue on to Llywelyn’s keep himself. Yet it was clear that King John derived great pleasure from dispatching Lord Nicholas Talbot to do it Perhaps it gave the king a secret thrill to entrust these
ridiculous diplomatic chores to a man of his background. Mayhap he believed Nicholas might throw in his lot with the mighty Welsh prince and leave his English possessions open to forfeiture to the Crown.

But though he didn’t know his liege lord’s reasoning, he wasn’t fool enough to ignore a royal command.

The sooner he left, the quicker he could return to Catrin.

He smoothed the sleep-tangled curls away from her brow, his body quickening as he breathed in her scent. So sweet, yet seductive, a perfect complement to her tart tongue. He stretched out beside her on the mattress and kissed her brow.

“Time to awaken, my beauty,” he whispered into her ear.

“Nicholas?” Eyes still closed, she cuddled against him through the blankets.

“Wake up, love. I need to speak with you before I go.”

Her eyes snapped open and she lifted herself up, leaning her hand on his chest. “Go? Is something wrong?”

“I have to leave now, for Llywelyn’s keep. I’ve put it off as it is, and now there are more messages for the prince—important business only I can impart, no doubt,” he said sarcastically. “Evidently the man set out after me shortly after I left court. The weather held him up, and he’s only now made it this far. ’Tis likely all an excuse to spy on me. The king’s been hounding me, one way or another, ever since I failed to secure l’Eau Clair for him last year.”

“I could go with you, if you’d like,” Catrin suggested, toying with the ties of his shirt “Llywelyn is my kinsman. I know him well.”

He knew she’d offer, but as much as he’d like to accept, he didn’t dare. “It’s not safe,” he said, seizing her fingers
when she tugged at the curls of hair at the base of his throat. “Until we discover who attacked you, you shouldn’t travel.”

“I thought Ian had found the men.” Since he continued to hold her fingers captive, she began nibbling at his chin.

“Catrin, enough! I haven’t much time. As much as I’d love to strip off my clothes and climb into bed with you, I cannot.” Lifting her and setting her beside him, Nicholas sat up. “Stop trying to tempt me. It’s working all too well.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. Rannulf is going with me—”

“But Gillian just gave birth,” she protested, placing a hand on his arm. “Surely he doesn’t wish to go.”

“He has no choice, ’tis by the king’s command. I swear John has become suspicious of everyone. He tests us constantly. And ever since Rannulf married Gillian, the king has delighted in testing both Rannulf and me.”

“I’ll take care of Gillian and the babe as well as I can.” Catrin wrapped a sheet loosely about her and stood.

Nicholas took her in his arms. “I know you will. Don’t forget to take care of yourself. We’ll be back before you’ve had the chance to miss us,” he murmured. He took her mouth in a passionate kiss, then strode from the room before he changed his mind and stayed.

The king’s command be damned!

Catrin pressed her fingers against her lips and watched him leave. Damn his king, and her cousin Llywelyn, too! Why couldn’t they play their petty games themselves, instead of sending others to do it for them? Gillian and the child needed Rannulf here with them.

And she needed Nicholas. So much lay unresolved between them. It seemed every time they came close to
speaking of all the things in their hearts, something or someone interrupted them.

Fearing she’d grow maudlin if she stayed alone, Catrin dressed in some of Gillian’s cast-off clothing and tied back her hair. No doubt Gillian would be glad of company now, and Catrin wanted to examine her and the baby.

Her life had been a constant whirl since she set out from Gwal Draig. It would be a relief to rest awhile and gather her scattered thoughts and emotions. What better way to pass the time until Nicholas returned?

Ian left his horse—and his troop—in the woods outside Chester and motioned for Dai to accompany him. They set off down the winding track, heading toward an alehouse on the outskirts of town where he’d heard they’d find the men he sought A dove cooed in the growing twilight, lending an air of peace to the evening that Ian hadn’t experienced in far too long.

Doubtless it wouldn’t last. Peace never did; it was as fleeting as a morning mist.

If he found the knaves who had attacked Catrin and Nicholas—and killed his men—peace would be the farthest thing from his mind. Once he got his hands on the bloody bastards he’d make them wish they’d never been born.

The tavern was a shabby place, surrounded by others in similar disrepair. When they ducked through the low doorway, they were assaulted by the sour smell of spilled ale mixed with smoke and the stench of unwashed bodies—the customary alehouse perfume.

A slatternly wench sidled up to them, her homely face lit by a smile. “Wot’s yer pleasure, milords?” she asked, leaning her impressive bosom against Dai’s arm when Ian glared at her.

She turned her attention back to him when he held a coin over her gaping bodice. “Do you know a man who’s missing half his fingers? I’ve heard I might find him here.”

“Ye mean Ralph? He’s sittin’ over there, by the back door.” She pointed to a shadowy corner of the room.

He dropped the money into her gown and headed for the table.

Four men sat around a table, all drunk from the look of them. One man balanced a wench on his knee, one hand thrust down her bodice, the other under her skirts.

When Ian halted beside the table, the man dumped her off his lap onto the filth-strewn dirt floor, earning him a glare from her and a roar of laughter from his companions. “Ralph, what did ye do that for?” one whined. “Ye get yerself a woman and then toss her away…”

“I’d like ta toss her—” another cut in.

“Don’t make sense to me,” the first continued. “First there’s that feisty wench with the sword—remember how Ned wanted her, even when she were dead?”

“Shut up, Will,” Ralph snarled, swatting Will on the side of the head. “Can’t ya see we got company?”

Ian tightened his fingers around the hilt of his sword, barely resisting the temptation to use it. But he permitted none of his frustration to show in his face. “I’ve been looking for you, Ralph. I’ve some work for you.”

Ralph gazed at the two men measuringly. Evidently they passed muster, for he kicked a stool forward. “Have a seat, yer lordship, and we’ll talk.”

Ian sat down, Dai standing behind him, and accepted the tankard of ale someone pushed across the table. “I’ve heard you’re not averse to a bit of robbery—or murder, if the price is right.”

“That depends,” Ralph said, his maimed hand toying
with an elegant dagger. “What do ya have in mind, milord, and how much are ya willing to pay?”

“There’s a woman I’d like to be rid of,” Ian said. “You’d have to wait for her in the forest and set upon her party where no one will find them.”

Will groaned. “Not that again. Christ, Ralph. Last time we lost some good men. And that Welsh bastard never did pay us, did he?”

“Cease yer prattle! His lordship and I got business. He don’t want to listen to you flap yer jaws.”

Ian and Ralph settled into negotiations, swiftly coming to an agreement. Listening to the lawless band, Ian found their complete disregard for life and law fascinating. At the same time, he wished he could cleave them all into tiny bits for what they’d done to Catrin and his men.

But they were simply tools. That much was clear. And once he lured them into his domain, he intended to discover who’d hired them, although he’d heard enough tidbits to confirm his suspicions.

Ralph and his men followed Ian and Dai out of the tavern and into the woods with a total lack of concern for their own safety, the fools.

Ian’s men drifted out of the trees and surrounded them before they had a chance to draw their weapons.

“What’s goin’ on here?” Ralph demanded, struggling briefly against his captor’s hold.

Ian ignored his question, instead watching as Dai disarmed each man and placed their knives and swords in a pile. ’Twas an impressive collection, ranging from a crude dirk to the elegant dagger Ralph had toyed with in the tavern.

Ian picked the dagger from the pile and looked it over, tossing it in the air to test its balance. “A fine piece for an outlaw,” he commented, flipping it to land, quivering,
in the ground between Ralph’s feet. “Where did you get it?”

“I don’t recall, milord,” Ralph said, his eyes fixed on the bejeweled hilt.

“I wonder what it would take to restore your memory?” He searched through the pile for another knife, then flung it after the first. It sliced through the leather of Ralph’s shoe, pinning his foot to the ground.

“Would you like your feet to match your hands, Ralph? ’Twould be simple enough. I could do it without getting any closer to your stinking carcass than this.”

Ralph stared at his foot, seemingly amazed to discover that only his shoe had been cut—so far. He wriggled his arms, held behind him by one of Ian’s men, but his captor didn’t release him.

“He’ll hold you till I carve you to ribbons, if I wish it.” Ian chose another knife, tossing it from hand to hand.

Ralph stood enthralled, his eyes following the blade’s sweeping arc. Finally he wrenched his gaze away. “What do ya want to know?” he asked, his voice resigned.

“Don’t tell him nothin’, Ralph,” Will cried out.

“I always knew you for a fool, Will,” Ralph muttered. He straightened and looked Ian in the eye. “’Twas from a knight we robbed in the marches. He was alone, easy pickin’ for the lot of us.”

A third knife thudded into the soil at Ralph’s feet, this time slashing the threadbare fabric of his breeches on its way to the ground. “Fine, I’ll tell you,” he yelped. “Have ya ever heard of Lord Steffan? He’s lord of Bryn Du, in Wales.”

“You’re holding my interest so far,” Ian said, his fingers caressing the sword hilt at his waist.

“He wanted to be rid of his cousin. Told us we could keep the horses and such, so long as we brought her to
him. But she died, so he wouldn’t pay us. There really was a knight—a Norman, from the looks of him. We took his gear, as well.”

Ian laughed. “You made a serious mistake, Ralph. Neither of them were dead, you see. And they lived to tell their tale. Unfortunately for you—” his gaze encompassed them all “—the lady is my sister, and the knight is a powerful Norman lord.”

All of the men had lost their insolent looks, especially Ralph. “Tie them up,” he ordered. “We need them alive for now. I can scarcely wait to see Steffan’s face when I present you to him.”

Catrin crooned softly to the child in her arms, holding her close to her bosom. “Where is your papa, Katherine?” Once again she felt the thrill of knowing the child was named after her.

Gillian finished weaving her coppery tresses into a braid and covered her hair with a veil. “It’s only been a sennight, Catrin. You cannot expect them to rush in, hand Llywelyn a message and then ride away, all in an hour’s time. Unfortunately, diplomacy is tedious and slow,” she added, settling an etched copper circlet atop the veil.

“And it’s been little more than a sennight since you were delivered of this child.” Catrin placed a kiss on the babe’s soft cheek. “I still don’t think you should be up and tending to your household so soon.”

“I couldn’t stay in bed any longer. I’d have gone mad from boredom. If Rannulf were here, ’twould be a different story.” Gillian’s lips tilted in a saucy grin.

“’Tis much too soon to be thinking of that,” Catrin warned, her face warm. Although she and Gillian had had some straightforward conversations about men in general—and
their men in particular—she wasn’t comfortable speaking so freely about lovemaking.

“I wish you could see your face.” Gillian giggled and tapped Catrin on the cheek. “You never used to be so easily embarrassed.”

“That’s because I was never personally involved in any of the spicier gossip. It’s not the same thing at all when you’re a part of it.”

Emma entered the room and held her arms out for the baby. Catrin handed her over reluctantly. Ever since the child’s birth, she’d had a strong hunger for a babe of her own. Perhaps she already carried Nicholas’s child in her womb, she thought, surreptitiously pressing her hand against her flat stomach. She found that the notion brightened her day.

Catrin picked up Gillian’s polished steel mirror and gazed critically at herself while Gillian spoke with Emma. Plenty of food and rest this past week had put a bloom of health on her cheeks. Her back was healing nicely and the fever had gone.

All she needed to make her life complete was for Nicholas to return.

She missed him so! Would he like the improvement in her appearance? How could he not, she thought with a rueful chuckle. Thank goodness Ian had thought to have some of her things sent from Gwal Draig. At least now she was clean and well-groomed, with her own clothing to wear.

And no binder about her breasts. She couldn’t bear the thought of trussing herself up in that contraption of torture, not when she considered how Nicholas’s eyes darkened to that lovely shade of violet when he gazed at her curves. Simply remembering sent a stream of fire burning through her body.