Catriona’s Secret

by Madeline Martin

  She shook her head.

  “Aye.” He ran his fingertips over her ragged nails. “Regardless of what you are up against, I’ll be there at your side. I’ll protect you, no matter the cost.”

  She stared down at her lap as he made his earnest vow. One he meant to uphold always.

  “Mayhap you can allow me to accompany you to London then,” she said.

  “London?” He tried to keep the hope from showing in his voice. “You are going to London as well?”

  She nodded, but still did not look up.

  How ideal to have them travel together to London. There would be no one else he’d rather have at his side for the feast than Cat. They would have the entire journey to Westminster Palace to regale each other with what had been missed the prior four years. She would have a maid, of course, and he would do nothing untoward to compromise her reputation.

  But once they were married and settled in a house of their own, he would spend hours worshipping her body in every way he’d ever dreamed of. His breath caught.

  At last, Cat looked up, but her gaze did not share the anticipation of his own. Nay, there was a deep sadness there that left her bottom lip tucked in her mouth.

  “May I inquire about your venture to London?” he asked. “Especially on the heels of having recently returned.”

  When she did not answer, he tried again, “Cat, why are you going to London?”

  This was all so much more difficult than Cat had thought it would be. And already, she’d imagined it to be the most painful thing she’d ever done.

  “To go to court…” Cat drew in a deep breath to steady the tremor in her voice.

  Geordie touched her face again, as tender as before, his fingertips grazing over her skin. “You can tell me anything.” His stare touched her in a deep, intimate place he’d always been able to find within her heart.

  She closed her eyes to break that fragile connection, unable to bear what he might see. How she wished she could yield to the emotions churning hot, lustful thoughts in her mind. If she had never met Sir Gawain, if she had never kissed him, never accompanied him into the alcove of the gardens at Westminster, everything would be so very different.

  Geordie.

  She had been such a fool with Sir Gawain, falling for his smooth words, not giving protest until it was far too late to stop. If she had waited only a mere several months longer, Geordie could have been her prize, with the sweetness in his pain-filled eyes, with the gentle care he’d always given her.

  It had always been Geordie in her heart and now it could never be again.

  All because of one terrible night.

  Geordie’s breath brushed her chin and the spiciness of his breath made her instinctively lift her mouth toward his. She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. She ought to stop. She needed to.

  For him.

  His lips closed over hers. Warm. Soft. So, so soft. Divine. He tilted her chin up higher and kissed her again, the silence of the room making the sound of their lips touching, parting, and touching again all the more apparent.

  She wanted to fall into his strong arms, and yield to the pleasure of his closeness.

  I’ll protect you, no matter what the cost.

  His words echoed in her mind. The cost of her protection would be high, indeed.

  “Nay,” she whispered.

  He immediately straightened and his warmth drew away from her. She opened her eyes and found him watching her with a worried expression. His affection for her was there in the intensity of that concerned gaze, open and given willingly.

  Even if she didn’t tell him the father of her babe was Sir Gawain, Geordie need only ask several people at court to learn the truth of it. Knights did not kill their own brethren, but Cat feared he would choose her over his sword oath.

  “I am going to the Palace of Westminster…” Cat steeled herself against the clench of pain in her chest. “Because Lord Loughton’s son wishes to meet me.”

  Geordie blinked. “Lord Loughton.”

  “He is a baron.” Cat twisted her fingers in her lap. “Marriage to a baron’s son is a far better match than a fourth daughter could ever hope to have.” She nearly choked on the words, knowing how Geordie would perceive it, being a knight and not a baron.

  Or rather, once having been a baron’s son…

  “It appears his father thought I might be a good match for him after having seen me at court.” Her cheeks went red and her gaze slid away from the press of his stare.

  “I see.” Geordie removed himself from the bench at her side and rose to lean against the wall once more.

  Only then, in the absence of his close proximity, was she able to take a full breath. Restored, or as much as one could be in such a situation, she glanced up. He folded his arms over his chest. His very broad chest. The muscles of his arms strained against the soft wool of his doublet.

  There was something about him that seemed to draw the air from her lungs. The width of his shoulders, perhaps, the angry hurt simmering in the depths of his eyes just beyond the ever-present pain.

  “It would be a marriage made without love,” he said abruptly.

  Cat chewed at her lower lip, unsure what to say. In truth, she had no plans to even meet Lord Loughton’s son, only to use him as an excuse to get to court so she could confront Sir Gawain. After that, she had not yet worked out what she would do. So much of the future hinged on what Sir Gawain was willing to do in the way of aiding her.

  “I will get to know him,” she said in a faint voice that didn’t even convince herself. “How could I not love the man I will be with?”

  “And what if you fall in love before you meet him?”

  “Geordie…” She got to her feet and reached for him. He pulled away from her, his expression a blank mask to his feelings in every way, but in his eyes where the wounded hurt practically glowed from the brown depths.

  “What if you fall in love first?” he demanded.

  Instinctively she curled her hands over her stomach, a reminder to herself. “I cannot,” she answered honestly.

  He looked away. “And I was the fool kissing you when you had your intentions set on a lofty marriage.” The bitterness in his voice sliced deep into her. “Do you think he’ll make you happy, Cat? That he’ll fix whatever is dimming the light in your eyes and making you chew your nails from fretting?”

  She paused at his assessment. He had noticed her anxiousness despite her attempts to mask it. Of course, he had. He knew more about her than anyone else. He would notice the slight change in her and the poignancy of her unhappiness.

  For the first time since Leila had suggested it, Cat thought of the tea. It would indeed solve all of her problems. To allow her to remove the child in her womb, to be free to accept Geordie’s affections and return them in kind.

  But the babe was innocent in its predicament, as innocent as Geordie in all of it, and hurting one of them was already bad enough.

  “You let me kiss you.” He didn’t say it as an accusation, though he ought to have.

  She had let him kiss her. And she’d liked it, far more than the forceful probing of Sir Gawain’s tongue.

  “Forgive me,” she whispered. “I did not know how to tell you to stop.”

  “And now you have.” Geordie’s chest rose and fell with his pained breath, one mirrored in searing her own heart. “It will not happen again.”

  “Will you allow me to travel to London with you?” she pressed.

  His jaw clenched and he pushed off the wall. “Ask your father. If he agrees, I will.” He strode toward the door with purposeful strides.

  “Geordie.” She ran several steps after him, not stopping until he finally spun around. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He met her gaze, emotion blazing in his eyes. “I am too.”

  7

  Geordie rode across the expanse of Werrick Castle’s land as though the devil were at his back. Mayhap if that were the case, he would be less filled with rage. At least he co
uld turn his horse about and slay the bastard.

  Cat wanted to wed a baron’s son. A baron!

  When had she ever cared for status?

  No doubt the idea had come from her visit to court. Someone sweet and extraordinary like Cat would have been pursued by the men and mocked by the women—all for the same reasons. It was impossible for most to be subjected to its wicked grasp and not be changed.

  But Cat…his Cat… He had never anticipated she, of all people, would fall prey to the lure of a higher station.

  Geordie had ridden hard through the countryside, even skirting the edge of the border in anticipation of a fight. None had followed. In fact, he’d never seen the border so damn absent of reivers.

  Unspent energy flared through his body and left his muscles tense with a need to fight, even as he rode into Werrick Castle’s bailey. Peter, the Master of the Horse, met him and took his horse. The man was incredibly handsome, and it rankled at Geordie’s jangled nerves. Was that it? Did Cat want a man far more handsome than he?

  If so, there were many women who considered Geordie handsome. They’d thrown themselves at him on campaign, promising him pleasure as they pawed appreciatively at him.

  But he knew the truth of it deep down. Looks did not make a man. Wealth did. Power, too. A baron’s son would someday be a baron; a man with fortune enough to purchase his own knights. To own men like Geordie.

  All of his hard work to become a knight, to have a bit of land and a home, and it had not been enough to win Catriona. It would never be enough.

  He would never be enough.

  Drake appeared beside him. “I know that look, lad.”

  Geordie slid him a hard glare.

  “Aye, I know that one too.” Drake lifted a sheathed sword and shoved it against Geordie’s chest. “Just ensure it’s the practice blade, aye?”

  Geordie ripped the sheath from the dulled weapon as Drake went to stand in front of him and lifted his own blade.

  “Are you certain?” Geordie growled.

  Drake’s eyes sparked with the challenge. “I’ve been waiting for a solid fight like this for a long time.”

  Without another word, Geordie lunged at his mentor, striking right, left, right, left, across the chest, followed by a downward blow toward the neck. Drake blocked every one, his grunt indicative of the power of each of Geordie’s strikes.

  Geordie didn’t require any time to recover from the blows, after four years of rigorous training, and slammed his blade down with every ounce of his strength. Drake brought his own weapon up with a powerful cry.

  Geordie had always appreciated Drake’s tutelage, as much as he’d admired the man’s morality: a man who lived by the code of the knight without the real possibility of ever becoming one.

  “Dare I ask what has yer mind?” Drake feinted right and took a jab at Geordie, which he quickly deflected.

  Initially, Geordie hadn’t intended to answer. But as the silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the clang of swords striking, Geordie finally replied with one simple word, “Women.”

  Drake tilted his head thoughtfully before arcing his sword in Geordie’s direction.

  Geordie ducked low to avoid it and jammed his blade upward, only to have his own hit evaded.

  “I imagine one in particular,” Drake supplied before delivering yet another blow.

  Geordie grunted and threw an empty punch at Drake.

  Drake knocked his arm aside. “Ye’re distracted, lad.”

  Geordie stopped to let his racing heart calm to a gallop. “If the woman you love wanted an escort to another place with the intention of marrying another, would you go?”

  Drake lifted his brows with purpose. “Do ye jest?”

  Geordie shrugged, not sure what Drake was referring to.

  Drake smirked. “I did do it. And I would do it again.”

  “And you were fine with letting her go?” Geordie lowered his weapon to give his full attention to their conversation.

  Drake followed suit. “She was above my station.”

  Such a simple answer rankled Geordie. “What of you?”

  “She was happy,” Drake replied. “I dinna know if I would have made her so. I know I would have tried, but it doesna mean it would work.”

  “Do you regret losing her?” Geordie asked.

  A muscle worked in Drake’s jaw. “She’s happy,” he repeated.

  Geordie looked up to find the Earl of Werrick making his way over to them. The two warriors sheathed their blades.

  Drake leveled his gaze at Geordie. “Ye’re a knight, sworn to protect women and do what is just. That said, ye need to keep one thing forefront in yer mind.” He straightened his back as the earl approached and glanced at Geordie out of the corner of his eye. “Do what is best for the lady. Even if it means putting her from yer heart.”

  Lord Werrick smiled at both as he approached. “Do you mind if I take Geordie away for a moment?”

  “I believe Sir Geordie got what he needed.” Drake gave a respectful incline of his head before he departed.

  Lord Werrick put a hand on Geordie’s shoulder. “Cat approached me today to ask if she can return to court. Apparently, she feels there may be the opportunity of marriage to Lord Loughton’s son.” The skin around the earl’s eyes went tight and his gaze became searching. “What say you of this?”

  The question put Geordie momentarily off guard. Was this an attempt to lure Geordie into confessing his affection for Cat? His reply of his true intention teetered on the edge of his tongue.

  In the end, he fell back on the code of chivalry, being courteous and honorable. Wishing to wed an earl’s daughter with no means of supporting her was not what a chivalrous knight would do.

  “If it pleases her to do so.” Geordie’s diplomatic reply pulled the earl’s expression downward. His brows lowered and his mouth fell into a thoughtful frown.

  “I see.” Lord Werrick withdrew his hand from Geordie’s shoulder. “Will you see her safely to court and look after her while she is there? She’ll have a maid, of course, but I would feel better knowing she was going with a friend at her side.”

  “It would be my honor to so,” Geordie answered earnestly. It would indeed be his honor. And also, his temptation.

  For if Cat truly wanted to marry the baron’s son, Geordie would step aside and allow her to do as she wished. But he knew Cat. Surely, the person she was within her heart would not change so completely in only four years. She had never been one to covet wealth and power. And he would have just over a fortnight to find out for certain.

  Cat paced the expanse of her room with restless agitation. As bad as she’d thought telling Geordie about Lord Loughton’s son would be, it had been far worse. But it had been necessary. First to get her to court where she could confront Sir Gawain, where she may be able to convince him to keep the babe, or even help her find a new home for it. Also to keep Geordie from ever learning the truth.

  It had been a painful, crucial lie.

  After he’d left, she’d swallowed down her hurt and approached her father for permission to accompany Geordie to court. Papa had been reluctant to offer his blessing and had asked several times if she truly might be happy with someone she did not know.

  At last, her father finally conceded and said he would speak with Geordie that afternoon. Now she had only to wait, alone with her thoughts and the recollection of the pained unhappiness in Geordie’s sweet eyes. Every prod at the memory cut her deeply.

  A knock sounded at her door, bringing her pacing to an abrupt halt. It couldn’t be Geordie, of course. Even in their carefree childhood he hadn’t approached her bedchamber to seek her out. Still, the possibility that somehow it was him set her pulse racing.

  She opened her door with trembling hands, grateful she had not allowed herself to give into the threat of tears. Her visitor was not Geordie, but Marin, who stood in the hall with her hands patiently folded in front of her. “I hoped to find you here. May I come in?”
/>   “Of course.” Cat stood back in invitation. “After all, it was once your room.”

  Marin entered and let her gaze scan the large bedchamber with the canopied wooden bed and all the same familiar dark furnishings that had been there since their mother had occupied the room. Marin’s clean, lavender scent filled the air, stronger and more poignant than ever before.

  “Oh, I remember.” Marin gave a slight smile. “This is where I tried to kill Bran.”

  “Which time?” Cat chuckled. Her sister’s husband had been their enemy before she’d been forced into offering a marriage to him.

  Marin gave a little laugh. “Most of them. I thought he was going to kill you that day. That he would murder us all.”

  Cat had too, though she didn’t say as much. Being held captive by Bran in his ploy to enter Werrick Castle had been one of the most terrible days of her life, one she did not relish recalling. She’d tried to counter it with optimism, the same as she did everything, even though it had felt so hollow at the time. Now, she was glad she had, that it had all worked out so perfectly. Bran made Marin so very happy.

  “What brings you to see me?” Cat asked.

  Marin sat on the edge of the bed and waved Cat over. “I spoke to Father several moments ago.”

  Cat joined Marin on the edge of the mattress. “About what?”

  Marin stroked a hand down Cat’s hair as she’d done when they were children. The way their mother used to do. Cat shifted on the bed to put her back to Marin.

  “Father mentioned you intend to return to court.” Marin’s hand ran through Cat’s tresses.

  Tingles of pleasure danced over Cat’s scalp. “Aye. I enjoyed it when I was there. The music, the dancing, the clothing, the pomp of it all.” It was only partially a lie. She had enjoyed it when she’d first arrived. Mayhap she had even enjoyed it throughout, except her memories were soured by that last night, by the consequences she was now left to face on her own.

  “You plan to go to court to find a husband, as I understand it?” Marin’s tone remained bland as her fingers moved through Cat’s locks.