by Shea,Lisa
Both Jack and Peter dropped their hands to the hilts of their swords, their eyes locked on the soldier before them. Between the two, Catherine slowly stood, putting a hand on each man’s arm at her side to gently restrain them. “Easy,” she cautioned them under her breath. She took a step forward to face the newcomer.
“Sir Magnor,” she greeted smoothly, her posture regal. “I am glad you have found me so that we can discuss this. It seems that I have caused some confusion about what took place. Take some ale and sit with us; I will make everything quite clear to you.”
She stood still, holding her hand out to indicate a seat for him. Magnor huffed for a moment, then gave in to proper formal behavior and came around to sit opposite her at the table. Ale was quickly brought, and Jack and Peter retook their seats at Catherine’s side.
Magnor took a drink, then glared at her, his voice only slightly more under control. “That treaty was necessary for our area’s safety,” he spat out. “You were responsible for conducting those negotiations, before your death.”
Catherine nodded in agreement. “Yes, I was,” she responded, her voice equanimous. “However, a few weeks before the main meeting was to take place, it was discovered that a group of mercenaries had been handed full plans to the hall’s layout, including security, guard assignments, and more. The mercenaries had been tasked with my assassination.”
Magnor stared in amazement, disbelief changing to fury. “That cannot be true!” he responded with angry shock, leaning over the table to shout at Catherine. “That hall is deep within our territory. No enemy of ours has ever been to it!”
Catherine slowly nodded, her eyes on Magnor.
Magnor sat back, his mind sorting through the options. His voice lost some of its stridency. “Surely you cannot think that one of us was responsible for this heinous plot?”
Catherine’s eyes remained steady, and her voice was light but steely. “Surely you find it more than a coincidence that my father’s assassination was also on your soil, in one of your halls?”
Magnor’s face paled. “That slaying was clearly done by someone else!” he protested. “We have been cleared of all guilt in that situation!”
Catherine said nothing, simply sitting and looking at Magnor, her face impassive. Magnor’s look became serious. “Who were the mercenaries,” he growled in a low voice. “We will make them talk.”
Catherine shook her head. “That angle has already been meticulously examined over the past four years. The task was done extremely thoroughly, from the inside. We are now quite certain that they do not know who hired them. The assignment was given through a complex anonymous system which cannot be breached. That trail has been chased and is bone dry.”
She paused for a moment, her gaze locked on Magnor’s. “The pursuit must take place from the source - with the people who knew the guard schedule and the castle’s layout. We have done what we could from our end. It is now in your hands.”
Catherine took a long drink of her ale, then leant forward. “That is why you were asked to meet me here. I am willing to answer any questions you might have of me - but the packet you received contains all of the factual details.”
Magnor nodded in agreement. “I read the material, but I did not believe the documents. However, looking in your eyes, I see that you speak the truth. You did not abandon us. Someone within our walls has betrayed us.”
He shook himself slightly. “With the details you have provided, we should be able to narrow down the person or persons through the process of elimination. Although,” he added, his voice becoming edged again, “this would have been far easier if you had brought it to us four years ago, when it was fresh.”
It was Catherine’s turn to be short. “It could not be,” she snapped briefly. “You had to be cleared of all complicity first. Also, as you see, I have been occupied with other things.”
Magnor seemed to notice the bruises covering her face for the first time, and he flushed with embarrassment. “Yes, of course, and your own safety naturally would come first.” He paused, and then continued more slowly. “It seems I might have misjudged you,” he admitted. “I promise that we will give this our full attention, and bring the culprits to justice.”
He stood abruptly. Nodding briefly to Jack and Peter, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room.
Catherine watched him leave, then closed her eyes and gave a deep exhale. She rolled her shoulders to release the tension, and took a long drink of ale. She carefully put the mug back down into the ring it had left on the worn oak table.
Wearily, she leant back and looked to each man in turn. “Thank you for being there,” she murmured with a steady gaze of appreciation. “Magnor is not the most stable of men, and I am hardly in any shape to face physical conflict right now.”
She rolled her right shoulder again, and her breath caught at the searing pain which lanced through her body. She held back an oath, closing her eyes for a long moment. “I cannot put it off any longer,” she sighed, looked up at Peter. “You said you had salves with you?”
“Of course,” he agreed readily, and turned to Jack. “I will return in a short while,” he added.
“I will be here,” Jack replied quietly. He looked over at Catherine. “Until tomorrow, then?”
Catherine looked contemplatively at Jack for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, until tomorrow. Good night,” she added softly, then turned and walked out of the room with Peter at her side.
* * *
Jack was staring into the embers of the fire, deep in thought, when he heard footsteps approaching. He looked up to see Peter stride into the room, his body full of taut-strung tension. Jack stood immediately, walking over to his friend in concern.
“What is it,” he asked quietly, clasping Peter on the shoulder.
Peter put a hand on the mantle above the fireplace, leaning on it and looking down into the embers. He took a deep, steadying breath. “Catherine was not just beaten,” he grated, anger making his voice hoarse and raw. “She was thrashed to within an inch of her life. There is barely a square of skin not crisscrossed with bruises or cuts.”
Jack’s blood ran cold. “How recently?” he asked after a moment.
“It happened two, maybe three days ago. I am surprised she lasted the evening with us without succumbing to the pain. Whoever patched her up did an adequate job, but she should not be up and around. She should be in bed for days yet, if not weeks.”
“Yet she still refuses to let anyone know of her injuries?” asked Jack, his mind running over the permutations.
“She adamantly rejects any show of weakness right now,” confirmed Peter. “Apparently she has let it be known that she received her black eye falling from her horse. Beyond that, nobody other than you and me know anything further about the extent of her injuries. She insists that the local medical staff, and Lord Epworth himself, never learn of this situation.”
“Which means,” replied Jack, thinking through the chain of events out loud, “that either the person who did this to her was not in fact brought to justice ... or that he was and it was done in a way the law would not approve of.”
He retrieved his tankard from the table, walked to the smaller wooden bench near the fire and sat down, taking a long swallow.
Peter clenched his fingers. “I think the culprit must still be out there,” he declared with anger. “She is shielding him for some reason - maybe misplaced loyalty. She is not married - maybe it is a boyfriend, or someone she knows.” He slammed his fist down on the mantle. “I will track him down. When I get my hands on him …”
Jack slowly turned his tankard in his hands, shaking his head. “I do not think that is the case,” he commented quietly, focusing on the rotating rim. “She is showing no fear of follow-up violence. A woman with an abusive person actively in her life would not be so complacent here - would not have been so cool when Magnor came storming into the room.”
Peter paused for a moment, then turned, nodded in agreement. “S
he handled that very smoothly,” he offered, considering. “She did not seem like a woman nervous about being tracked down and attacked.”
Jack thought back to when they had first met on the bridge. “Catherine’s eyes when she spoke about the battering were flat,” he mused. “It was not something of active interest. She considered the matter in her past.”
Peter’s mouth twisted into a frown. “Perhaps she had just given up hope of bringing him to justice,” he growled.
Jack shook his head. “Catherine is undoubtedly very aware of her duties to her family. Being the sole heir to her lands, if an assassin was out there, or a threat, something would be done about it.”
Peter’s eyes snapped with anger. “Her family should have kept her safe in the first place!”
“Her clan is renowned for their sword work,” rebutted Jack evenly. “I agree with you on this point – surely whoever hurt her has been made to pay for his deeds.”
Peter rolled his shoulders, coming to sit beside Jack. “I would agree. What she told us would seem to be the truth – that the perpetrator has been slain.”
Jack took in a deep breath. “Not only that, but I think that the person was of some importance.”
Peter looked up in surprise. “Why would you say that?”
Jack met his friend’s eyes. “If the family needed any justification for the actions they took, they need only show some of Catherine’s injuries to any sheriff, and the sheriff would find cause for those actions. They could say he posed an imminent threat to finish the job. Instead, they are choosing to try to hide the entire event. To me, that indicates that it could cause them great trouble if they were known to be the ones involved.”
He paused, then added, “It would also explain why Catherine is so tight-lipped about the matter. It is loyalty - but loyalty to her family, not to the abuser.”
Peter took a deep breath, then sighed. “I imagine you are right,” he agreed slowly. “In any case, I will not violate her trust and mention this to anybody. If it is truly her wish to hide her injuries, I will do the best I can to assist her in that.”
Jack nodded. The two men sat in silence for a long while, staring into the fire.
Chapter 6
Catherine glanced down her outfit one last time in the small hand-mirror. She had chosen one of her favorite dresses, a long, rippling gown of moss green, to draw on over her white chemise under-dress. She had carefully braided her hair along her temples, and it cascaded down her back in rich waves.
She peered at the bruises on her face. The eye was still fairly violet, but the remaining visible injuries were thankfully fading into quiet. Her long sleeves and floor length dress hid the many other cuts and mottling from view.
Satisfied, she carefully picked up her necklace – an elegant double spiral on an emerald green background. She reverently laid the heirloom against her chest. Then, drawing in a deep breath, she was ready to face the world.
The dining room was bustling with activity and noise as she entered. Jack and Peter were already eating at the head table, choosing from engraved copper plates of scrambled eggs, cubes of turnips, and piles of well-spiced sausage which set her stomach rumbling. The men looked up, and Peter waved her over with warmth.
She started across the room at a quick pace, drawn in by the luscious aromas, but immediately her bruises and healing cuts ached in protest, and she stiffly reined in her stride.
Jack’s brow creased, and he half rose; she made a quick, small shake of the head. The last thing she needed was to be treated publicly as an invalid, to raise suspicion and questions. He pressed his lips together, but retook his seat, his eyes steady on her slow, careful progress across the room. As she approached, he pulled out his chair so that she could more easily get in to sit between the two men.
Peter gave her a nod. “Good morning, Catherine. How are you feeling?” he asked solicitously, his tone of voice light and casual. His eyes reflected a different mood, serious and concerned.
Catherine touched his arm gently. “Your salves are really a wonder,” she replied softly. “Truly, I feel much better. Thank you.”
Jack passed over a steaming trencher of food. “Breakfast for you, m’lady,” he offered. Catherine’s eyes lit up with delight.
“I am starving”, she admitted, digging in immediately to the offering. She ate ravenously, devouring everything before her. Jack smiled, watching her for a moment.
“It does look like you are feeling better,” he commented quietly, nodding to Peter. “It appears, my friend, that your herbal talents continue to be worthy of acclaim.”
Catherine sopped up the last of her drippings with a loose roll, then reached for another from the wicker basket. As she did so, a look of sadness swept into her gaze. “Oh, that is a shame,” she commented quietly.
“What is it?” asked Jack in curiosity, looking over at the basket to see if something was wrong with it.
Catherine glanced up at him, her eyes regaining some of their brightness. “I apologize, I did not mean the food,” she replied with a half-smile. She motioned over at the center of the table, where some of the first flowers of spring had been strewn for decoration.
“It is a shame that they killed those blooms just for a breakfast meal. The crocuses could have given us weeks of beauty out in the garden, growing in the spring sunshine. Now they will be wilted in a few hours and discarded into the compost pile.”
There was a movement behind her; Magnor was passing through and turned to smile down at her.
“You look lovely this morning, Catherine,” he praised her heartily. His hand dropped heavily on her injured right shoulder in a strong pat. It was all she could do to hold in a cry, and despite her best efforts, a sharp wince shuddered through her body.
Beside her, Jack’s body went rigid, and she could almost feel the self-restraint it took him to remain quiet and motionless. Only his eyes blazed with suppressed anger.
Catherine straightened up with careful movements, her face arranged in a smile as she brought her gaze to meet Magnor’s. “Good morning, sir,” she greeted him smoothly.
“Morning to you, lass,” boomed Magnor, giving her shoulder an extra pat. It took all of Catherine’s focus to maintain her gaze, to keep her smile in place.
There was a call from across the room, and Magnor looked up, his eyes tracking to a reedy redheaded man. His smile broadened, and he removed his hand, turning to walk on. “Duty calls. Please, enjoy your meal. I am sure I will be talking with you later on, during the day’s discussions.”
Catherine’s smile slipped a little, and her eyes slid to the side. “We will see if I have time to make it to the meeting,” she replied casually, her voice tight. “There is a lot going on ...”
Magnor nodded absently, then walked toward the far end of the room.
Peter turned to Catherine, his face creased with confusion. “You are here representing the Bowyers, and you would miss one second of the intrigue?” he asked, shaking his head. “You love to debate! You and I have argued for hours about matters of little consequence, never mind the political changes which this meeting was set up to evaluate. You would never pass the opportunity up voluntarily!”
Catherine’s throat closed up, and she looked down at her meal. She was not ready for this discussion, not now when she was just regaining her much-missed friendship. She gave a push to the eggs before her, but she had suddenly lost her appetite.
Jack nodded slowly, his eyes moving from her tense shoulders to her tight jaw. “She apparently is not here for the debate.”
She could not help it; she turned her gaze to meet his, to the warmth and understanding she knew would lie there.
The gentleness of his eyes was almost more than she could bear. Her smile slipped, the turmoil of her heart bubbled closer to the surface, and she pressed it down with much-practiced effort.
His brow creased for a long moment; when he spoke again, his voice was low. “If you are here for another purpose, it would seem tha
t purpose is not of your own choosing.”
Peter leant over, taking her hand in his own, his lips pressing into a thin line of anger. “Someone forced you into something? Does this have to do with your injuries? If you would only tell me ...”
Catherine cut him off with a sharp look. This was getting out of control. She could not talk about the issue, not here, not like this.
“I was not forced,” she hissed sharply, glancing around at the others who shared the table. Thank the Lord; none were looking their way. All were enthusiastically engaged in other conversations, completely unaware of the chaos of her thoughts.
A long sigh escaped from her, and she sat back for a moment, closing her eyes in weary resignation. She knew she would have to discuss the situation eventually. She had only hoped it could be put off for longer. She drew her eyes open and looked back to Peter, at the concern in her friend’s eyes.
“Rest easy, my dear friend,” she reassured him, her voice more even. “What I am doing, I am doing of my own free will. One’s actions simply are not always what one would wish them to be. Loyalty, honor, and respect can lead to compromises in one’s path through this world.”
Iron bands constricted around her heart, mirroring the narrowing of her choices, and it was as if the room pressed in against her, stifling her, holding in her breath. She gave herself a small shake. She had to get away before she said something she regretted. “I am afraid I will leave it at that for now, gentlemen. Please excuse me.”
She moved to stand, almost stumbling, sharp pain shooting through her side. Jack’s firm arm was there beneath her, subtly helping her to her feet.
She drew in a long breath, fortifying herself, and then she stepped away from him. She moved slowly, carefully toward the back wall door. Then she was stepping through it, making her way toward the quiet garden path which wended its way behind the cathedral.