Vow of Seduction (2 page)

Westminster Palace, nine years later
In the year of our Lord 1276
Fourth year in the reign of King Edward I

Today was her wedding day. Kat stumbled on the flagstone floor. She clutched her cousin Sir Rand Montague’s arm tighter, quickly recovering her step. Afraid she would lose her composure should she look upon the capricious faces of the courtiers gathered in the chapel, her gaze sought her groom. Sir Luc de Joinville stood near the priest before the gilded rood screen. His smile eager and blond hair burnished bronze beneath the candlelit coronas hanging from the vaulted ceiling, Luc was handsome beyond belief.

He wore a dark green surcoate or over-tunic embroidered with gold leaves around the neck and calf-length hem. It was cinched in at the waist with a jeweled belt that emphasized his narrow hips and broad shoulders.

Hot and intimate, his gaze slid down her body and back up, meeting her eyes once more. Awe, pride, and masculine appreciation glowed in his golden eyes, the green flecks brilliant in the light. Then he flashed a smile at her, his teeth straight and white.

She raised her chin a notch higher and continued walking down the nave of the smaller, more intimate palace chapel of St. John. Breaking protocol, Luc strode forward, taking the few remaining steps between them, and commandeered her gloved hand. Without causing a tug of war, Rand could do naught but release her. Sir Luc led her back before the scowling priest, his strong clasp warm through her calfskin glove.

Shocked gasps and smothered giggles of the court were drowned out by King Edward’s booming laughter. “Father, I believe the groom is most anxious to see the ceremony completed so he might enjoy his lovely new bride. Let us proceed with alacrity, not unseemly but succinct. Shall we?”

Posed as a question, it was a command nevertheless. The disgruntled priest nodded, cleared his throat, and began the rite with the blessings of the ring.

At Edward’s ribald comment, a flush crept up Kat’s neck. She was unsure what the night would bring. Although Sir Luc’s kisses had been pleasant, they lacked the fire and excitement her body craved. But it was unfair to condemn Luc for her inadequacies. He loved her and that was more important than any temporary sexual gratification she might achieve. Lust was fleeting, as her first husband, Alex, had so readily proved.

“If anything is contrary to the law of God why this couple may not marry, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”

Kat held her breath in the pause and even Sir Luc tensed beside her.

With her marriage to Sir Luc, she was one step closer to achieving her dream of having a child. Ever since her mother died giving birth to a precious male heir when Kat was five years old, she had longed to be loved for who she was. She believed having a child of her own to love and cherish would replace the emptiness she felt inside and give her life meaning. But, deep down, she feared someone or something might shatter the peace and happiness she sensed was so near.

When no one voiced dissent, Kat willed her racing heartbeat to slow. The priest continued with the ceremony.

The churchman turned to Sir Luc and asked him, “Sir Luc de Joinville, do you want this woman?”

Sir Luc, his gaze boldly holding hers, replied in a deep, clear voice, “Aye.”

“Do you wish to serve her in faith of God as your own, in health and infirmity, as a Christian man should serve his wife?”

“Aye.”

The priest turned to Kat. The heat and musky smell of incense was overpowering as perspiration trickled down her cleavage. “Lady Katherine de Beaumont, do you want this man?”

Kat did not hesitate. “Aye,” she replied to both questions. She had no qualms about her decision to marry Sir Luc. Indeed, Luc’s devotion to her and no other, along with his desire to have children, would assure their lasting happiness. He would never abandon her, as had every other person she had ever cared about.

Next, the priest inquired, “Who giveth this woman in Holy Matrimony to this man?”

Rand stepped forward and took her right hand—her palm was damp inside her glove. “I do, Sir Rand Montague.” Giving her hand an encouraging squeeze, he placed it in the priest’s hands.

The doors at the back of the chapel crashed open, shattering the reverent silence. Kat cried out and spun around, even as the whole court turned to gape at the madman who charged inside.

Wearing a dirty, tattered hooded cloak, the intruder paused just beyond the threshold. Though the voluminous hood concealed the man’s face except for the untamed black beard he sported, Kat sensed his penetrating stare upon her. A curl of fear rose up her spine. Feeling trapped, hunted, she did not move or even breathe. Then the man surged forward.

“Guards, seize him,” Edward shouted.

The frozen guards posted at the door belatedly charged forward and grabbed the cloaked intruder by the arms.

He struggled in their grip, hauling the men forward with the strength of his fury. Men and women tripped over each other as they scrambled to get away from the resulting scuffle. Beside Kat, Luc wrapped a strong arm around her and drew her close. Rand charged down the nave to aid the guards.

“Release me,” roared a deep, vibrating voice. “I demand to see King Edward.”

A shiver of awareness raised the hairs on her arms; the voice was strangely familiar. Before she could place to whom it belonged, Rand approached the stranger, who immediately stopped struggling. The air laden with a hushed expectancy, a brief exchange of words ensued between Rand and the intruder. Then suddenly, the two men embraced, slapping each other on the back and laughing as the confused and muttering crowd watched on.

Kat, meanwhile, felt a murmur of unease—an instinctual response she had learned to heed after the debacle of her first marriage.

The king, his face livid, brushed past her and Sir Luc and strode down the nave towards Rand. “What is the meaning of this? Who dares to invade the sanctity of the Lord’s house and disrupt these proceedings? I could have you brought up on charges of treason,” he thundered.

Kat wanted to know the answer to that question, too. But Queen Eleanor and her ladies-in-waiting—Kat’s sister-in-law, Rose, among them—crowded past and blocked her view of the king. Luc’s arm tightened around her shoulders and she looked up. His smile gone, unease dimmed his eyes to tarnished gold.

He quickly composed his features. With a brief, reassuring smile, he held his arm out to her. “Shall we join the king and see who this knave is who interrupted our wedding? He has caused quite an uproar and I would see our marriage concluded forthwith.”

A growing sense of dread rippled through Kat. To Luc, she nodded and threaded her arm through his. “We are in agreement. Knave, indeed.”

He laughed, his gaze once more bright with anticipation, and led her towards those gathered around King Edward. When they drew near several courtiers looked back at them. Their expressions were very disturbing—stunned and maliciously gleeful at the same time. Then the crowd parted before them like a herd of titillated sheep. Kat faltered, full-blown trepidation dogging her steps.

Standing beside King Edward, the cloaked stranger turned as Kat approached on Luc’s arm. Almost as tall as the king, the man removed the hood of his dirt-begrimed cloak. The first thing she noticed was his long, shaggy black hair and beard. He should have looked completely out of place among the richly garbed court. But his bearing was as proud, arrogant, and unapologetic as that of the noblest noble. Then his penetrating gaze locked on hers.

Kat froze in disbelief, while her blood slowed and thickened as though time reversed. Her gaze was snared by the blue, blue eyes of a dead man. But a fierce inner light glowing within them belied his state. Blazing heat speared her core.

“Alex,” she breathed. She would recognize his distinctive eyes anywhere, no matter how different he looked, for she had dreamed of those eyes for six long years. Suddenly, her heart jolted with joy—Alex was alive! He had not died in the attack four years ago while on Crusade.

Vaguely, she realized Luc went rigid beside her. Alex shifted his gaze to Luc, glowering at his arm around her shoulders. Alex took a threatening step forward, his voice chill. “Unhand my wife, Sir Luc. Now.”

Kat stiffened at Alex’s command, the full implications of his return registering at last. Alex was
alive
. She was no longer a widow, apparently had never been one, and she could not marry Sir Luc. Her euphoria plummeted as quickly as it came upon her.

Nay, I am dreaming, this cannot be true.
Her vision blurred. Everything was happening too fast, her thoughts were a jumble. She could not think or move or feel.

Then the king motioned to her, breaking the expectant silence. “Come, Cousin, your husband has returned to you after six years, four of which he spent in captivity when we all believed him dead. Will you not greet him like a good, dutiful wife?”

Someone nudged Kat from behind. Rose, she thought, Alex’s sister, and she stumbled forward. Frantic, she turned back to Luc. Her heart thundering, her eyes beseeched him. Luc reached out to her, as though he intended to pull her back, his face twisted with anguish and disbelief.

From behind her, a rough hand clutched hers and drew her around, not ungentle. Kat was surprised at the uncertainty flickering in Alex’s eyes, though his voice was sure and steady when he spoke. “Greetings, wife.” Alex pulled her to him and bussed her cheek, his beard scratching her tender skin, before he whispered into her ear so none but her could hear, “I have missed you, Kit-Kat.”

Kat flinched away. Finally, his combined touch and careless words woke her from her stupor. A flash of pure rage struck her like a bolt of lightning. She slapped him with all her strength, his head pivoting to the side from the impact.

His shoulders tensed. Then slowly, Alex turned his face back to her. The vulnerability she glimpsed earlier in his eyes was gone. Cold menace crystallized his blue depths, promising retribution. She shivered, but ire overrode caution.

“I give you good greeting, husband,” she said with biting mockery. “The likes of which you so richly deserve.”

Alex, his face rigid with anger, kept his back to Kat while the last of the guests filed out of the chapel. His temper was a fierce beast he fought to keep silent, lest it rage out of control. He was not fit company for civilized folk anymore. Prison strips a man of moral compunction, down to the basest of primal instincts; survival at all costs.

And Kat was his salvation, though he felt unworthy of such a prize.

Tasting the tang of blood, he pressed his tongue against the split skin where his teeth had cut his inner cheek when Kat slapped him.

With difficulty, he drew his gaze back to her. She was more beautiful than the day he married her—with her long slender nose, high cheekbones, almond-shaped gray eyes, and full ruby lips wet, as though she had recently licked them. She wore a barbette and fillet headdress—the barbette a linen band going under the chin and pinned on top of her head and the fillet a crown of stiffened linen. Beneath the headdress, her luxurious straight black hair hung down to her waist, glinting with blue streaks where candlelight struck.

He continued his perusal. Her dark blue gown fell in graceful folds over her girdle and to the floor. Underneath her light blue cloak, lined with the same dark silk as her gown, he noticed her body was fuller, curvier than he remembered, her breasts in particular. He wanted to test them, weigh and measure them with his calloused hands, then taste their soft fullness with his lips and tongue. But her eyes, the ever-changing silver orbs that fascinated him, no longer looked at him with adoration.

He touched his throbbing cheek, then spoke, his voice rough from disuse. “I grant I deserved that, but never show me such disrespect again.”

Her gaze incredulous, Kat pushed away from the column she was leaning against. She crossed her arms under her heaving chest and glared at him. “Is there any reason why I should respect you after what you did to me? A man who abandoned his wife like a heartless coward?” her voice rose sharply. “I deserved more than that pathetic note you left me.”

He could not deny her accusation.

Though he had resigned himself to his marriage all those years ago, in his heart he never accepted it. So when Edward, not yet king of England, announced his Crusade, Alex jumped at the chance to escape his marriage. Like a coward, he slunk away in the wee hours of the morning, his bride of less than a day sleeping blissfully unaware in their marriage bed.

But Alex was not the same man. He had suffered trials and torture such that ordinary men could never conceive of, and survived where others had not. The shrill screams and pitiful cries of the men who died in the bowels of the fortress still echoed in Alex’s dreams at night.

Too late, he had realized that Kat was like no other woman he had ever met. That he had thrown away something unique and precious: her love. But how was he going to convince his wife to give him a chance to prove he was a changed man?

Kat watched Alex throw back his shoulders. His chest muscles flexed like a sleek black leopard beneath his faded surcoate, then he approached with long determined strides. Feeling as though she had awakened a sleeping beast, apprehension fluttered in her chest.

Alex stopped a foot away and raised her chin with his knuckle. His blue gaze seared her as he proclaimed, “You’re still my wife. Surely you have not forgotten the night I claimed you. When my body became one with yours, my name upon your lips as you cried out in ecstasy. I assure you, I have not forgotten one blissful moment of it.” His voice ended on a husky whisper. His breath a warm caress on her lips.

She had not forgotten one blissful moment, either. Never forgot his touch, his taste, his musky scent. Nay, she would never forget. Memory was a powerful curse.

Kat gasped, appalled. “We’re in the Lord’s house, Alex. Have you no shame?”

He smiled without humor, his gaze bitter. “Nay, Kat. There is little shame left in a man who has experienced the humiliating debasement of slavery.” His voice was different, deeper and almost raw.