by K. C. Helms
In a flash, all was right with the world. Edward clapped a hand upon Dafydd’s shoulder and returned the knight’s buoyant grin. “Our scheme will prove fruitful. So you’re with me?”
“Yea,” Dafydd exclaimed with a burst of laughter. Swiping the trailing ends of his moustache from out of his mouth, he added, “Once again, sire, I become your man.”
Chapter Nine
Rhys did not attend prayers the following morn, nor did he break the fast in Bereford’s great hall. Katherine had yet to locate him. Her frustration knew no bounds.
Anne and she sat on a bench finishing their allotment of raisins when a royal page garbed in a crisp tabard, his hair perfectly coiffed, suddenly bowed before her. “Pardon, my lady. The king summons you to him.”
She vented a silent groan, for this would delay her search for Rhys.
Turning on his heel, weaving his way through the army of servants disassembling the trestle tables, the young lad proceeded to cross the hall with a pronounced swagger. Thoroughly vexed, she made a moue at his apparent fondness for his charge.
But a royal request could not be refused and she hurried to follow, motioning for Anne to do likewise.
At the dais, a treasurer wearing a frown disproportionate to the beaming smile of the local parish priest standing beside him, scolded the king for his generous contribution to the church.
King Edward, sporting a dark scowl, thundered in reply, “Your penurious stance does not feed those needful subjects who do starve. They do not benefit from the absence of my alms. Praise God, ’tis not you who dispenses favors this day.”
Two clerks scurried back and forth betwixt the king and a side table, unfurling documents needing to be signed and sent off with a waiting courier. Nearby, a line of Gloucestershire nobles awaited their monarch’s pleasure, ready to assure him all laws were being upheld.
Katherine ignored the gaggle of bobbing heads and searched the milling crowd for Rhys. All she beheld were ladies carefully adjusting their wimples and smoothing their skirts and lords dusting their finery and trying not to look nervous. It seemed as though an army of knights mingled about the hall, while striving to keep their ungainly swords in check. Sir Geoffrey stood among them. In the company of two other knights, he watched her, as a cougar contemplates its next meal. With her heart in her throat, she turned away from his unsettling stare.
The young page bowed to her once more and made a flourish with his small hand. “The king awaits, lady.”
She hurried forward.
Edward, drumming his long fingers on the arm of his chair, looked weary and angry. His dark scowl settled on her.
She dropped into a curtsy with bowed head, wishing with all her might the king were in a more gracious mood. What could he possibly want with her, other than the discussion of her marriage? Mayhap he was displeased that he could not locate a husband. A spark of hope surged through her.
“Ah, a rose among thorns. Come thither, child.” The king sighed, his face clearing as he beckoned her close.
Leaning forward, he whispered, “Promises of royal favors lure many to my court. My subjects create a great throng, do you not think?”
Katherine gave him a small, polite nod and swallowed in consternation. What precisely did he want from her? His expression and tone were encouraging, yet—
“Sit!” With a long, jabbing finger, Edward pointed to a three-legged stool near him.
With misgiving, she lowered herself onto the tapestry seat and folded her hands, the better to keep her nervousness from showing.
“Alas, ’tis mine own doing,” he continued. “A means to keep an eye on those who are bent on causing trouble, do you see.”
The king fell silent, but his expectant look gave Katherine the impression she should respond. Her mind scrambled for an appropriate reply. “Of course, your majesty. Few barons could leave your peace with such a clever bit betwixt their teeth.”
King Edward chuckled and the lines in his long face softened all the more. “Yet it does not always keep them honest.”
“Nay, my lord,” she responded slowly, unsure of the conversation. “Honesty cannot be controlled by another, even a king.”
Silence followed her comment. Katherine swallowed in consternation, her fears nigh choking her. ’Twas evident she had misspoke. Ninny! Royal favors could not be expected when she vexed the one bestowing them.
Yet Edward’s expression remained kindly. “Dear lady, I find myself caught in the midst of a dilemma, one such as you own. I find I must question the veracity of a tale. Will you share your wisdom?”
This she had not expected. The king retained many royal advisors, wiser men than she, who meted out their experience and learning. Were they not the ones whose guidance should be secured? She was but a maiden from Shropshire and had seen little of the shire, let alone England. Natheless, she acquiesced with a hesitant nod.
Edward leaned closer. “How do I prove a tale to be soothfast?”
Katherine’s gaze locked with the intent, blue one of the king’s while she racked her brain for an appropriate response. “’Tis not your responsibility, sire, to prove or disprove,” she finally said, leaning toward him. “If one of your nobles seeks a judgment, ’tis his responsibility to furnish the proof.” Bemused by the strange line of questioning, fearing the king baited her—as he was reputed to do—she sat back. What was the royal intent?
Edward cocked a brow at her.
Intimidated by what appeared to be a silent query, her insides churned. But she refused to be bullied. Arching her own haughty brow, she spoke, trying to keep trepidation out of her voice. “If you are cautious, your grace, your descendants will abide at Windsor.”
With the king’s silent stare drilling her, Katherine knew she had overstepped propriety. Clearly, a royal set down was at hand, and to be witnessed by the entire court.
Prepared for a humiliation, Katherine started when the king belted out a hearty guffaw. Its sound reached into the far corners of the hall, ensnaring everyone’s attention. Holding her breath, she felt the rising heat of mortification in her cheeks.
“What a delight!” Edward expelled a second laugh as boisterous. “’Tis rare when I am caught off guard. Much thanks, Lady Katherine. You route my agitation.” He surged to his feet with a lively grin creasing his long face.
“Ah, to be a magician and make of you a man!” He bent and patted her cheek. A wave of relief rolled over her. “Come, indulge me in a stroll, Lady Katherine.”
Still grinning, Edward presented his arm. Though she wished to be anywhere but here, Katherine rose and placed her hand upon the white linen sleeve extending from beneath his plain, brown tunic. ’Twas a muscular arm. Sturdy, like Rhys’s sword arm. Her throat constricted.
The king stepped out in a brisk pace. “Exercise always clears my head,” he said, tilting his head toward her. “’Tis gratifying to escort a lovely lady. I can appreciate a pretty face, eh?”
He winked at her and chuckled. Katherine dredged up a laugh, even as her gaze darted, yet again, over the throng.
Pausing beside a window, its wooden shutters thrown open to catch the sunshine, the king took a deep breath of the crisp air. Far below, the sea of tents dotted the castle grounds.
With her heart thudding within her breast, she searched frantically, finally spying Rhys’s small white tent. The flap opened and a figure emerged. Squinting, holding her breath, she concentrated on the far-away figure. ’Twas Rhys, was it not? Zeus came bounding from the tent and her heart lurched with joy, and with painful longing.
“I have blessed news for you, child.”
Katherine grit her teeth and forced herself to attend the king.
“Haughmond is safe. A husband has been secured for you.”
Edward’s proclamation rolled through her in a rush, like a springtime river, churning and violent.
“We shall drink to your happiness this eventide,” he continued in a voice that suddenly sounded far away.
Her gaze returned to the dista
nt figure of Rhys, striding across the outer ward. A moment later he disappeared into the maze of colorful tents stretching to the curtain wall. Here and then gone. ’Twas as if he disappeared from her life. Her heart lurched again.
She gasped for air.
“Are you ill, my dear?” the king asked, covering her hand with his much larger one. “Surely you are pleased?” Ever so politely he eased back her fingers, a death-grip hold that had wadded his linen sleeve.
Katherine tried to regain her poise. Embarrassed, she smoothed his wrinkled clothing. “May I know the identity of the man?” Her eyes awash with tears, the far-away tents blurred in a confusion of colors.
“He is Sir Dafydd, a most loyal and able knight who accompanied me on crusade. I shall present him to you this eventide.”
His words snatched the breath from her.
Rhys had not petitioned the king. There had been no time. Her confidence splintered, she wiped a damp palm down the skirt of her bliaud. Or had he and been rejected? Surely, the king would think him as loyal and as skilled as this other knight?
Dry-mouthed, barely able to maneuver her tongue, Katherine struggled to stammer out a whisper. “Does this—this alliance secure Haughmond?”
“Indeed it does,” exclaimed Edward with a pleased smile. “You will be gladdened, knowing Haughmond shall evermore be your home. Rejoice, Lady Katherine, I have kept troth. Not many women have a choice in marriage. You desired a stranger for your husband and I have granted your cherished wish.”
* * *
Wishes indeed! Released from the king, Katherine clenched her fists, wanting to scream. “Mon Dieu, how do I endure it?” she grumbled to herself.
“Katherine,” Anne rushed from the edge of the crowd. “You are so very pale. Are you ill?”
Oh, perfect excuse! Katherine permitted her sigh of exasperation to lengthen into a sorrowful moan. No other inducement was necessary. Putting her arm about her quaking shoulders, Anne hurried her from the great hall.
But she found Anne less sympathetic once she chose to desert her sister at the chamber door.
Anne scowled her concern. “What do you do?” she demanded, her hands settling upon her thin hips.
Katherine ignored the query and hurried away along the corridor.
“Methinks your pallor is more from anger than from pain,” Anne called after her. “What displeases you?”
Stumbling down the circular stone stairs, Katherine came to a halt beside the entrance to the bailey. An image of Rhys—that noble knight—swelled in her mind’s eye, even as her sister’s sharp words cut through her conscience. Yea, she was displeased. Displeased she must accept this other knight, this Sir Dafydd. Displeased she could not have—
Rhys!
She shook her head in despair. Mon Dieu, how could she live without him? He was the first man she dared to trust. She had not meant to fall in love with him. There was no time for such matters. And she had not sought a broken heart, yet hers was shattering in twain. For what purpose?
Certes, for Haughmond. She had sacrificed herself for Haughmond.
It hadn’t been a sacrifice, not in the beginning. She had wanted to safeguard her castle. But without the man she loved at her side, Haughmond had lost its lure.
The royal plan must be stopped!
With a dejected gasp, Katherine hiked up her skirts. Out past the main gate she ran, slogging through the rutted and muddy roadway. Racing across the field where frozen stubbled grass scratched at her ankles, weaving through the scattered tents, she charged into Rhys’s tent.
’Twas empty.
“Where are you?” she cried out in frustration to the canvas walls. She must find him, make him petition the king for her hand. She’d promise more tithes to the crown, to the church. On Saint Winifred’s bones, Rhys must be her husband.
Struggling to keep the tears at bay, she dashed from the tent and crashed into an unforgiving wall of leather.
“Ho,” Rhys chortled, wrapping her in his arms, steadying her against his hauberk. “What a delight!”
She heaved a gasp of relief.
“What is amiss, Sweetling?”
The endearment shredded the last of her composure. She burst into tears.
“’Tis true-but it can’t be-it mustn’t be!” she stammered and caught her lip betwixt her teeth. She sounded stupid, blubbering in this half-witted manner. What would Rhys think of her?
A passing knight cast an interested leer in their direction. Two young squires stopped in their tracks to stare.
Rhys led her into the tent, dropping the flap in place.
“What is true, Sweetling?” His head dipped as he met her gaze with a concerned frown.
“Haughmond is to have a champion.” Wringing her hands, Katherine blinked rapidly. Straining not to weep, she added, “By the king’s decree, I am to have a husband.”
Her voice broke as she stared at Rhys. His golden mane of hair fell about his head in abandonment, the locks having grown long and unruly. A thick brownish beard grew on his chin. How it changed him. Yet he remained the same sincere and trustworthy knight she had first met in a Shropshire wood. She pulled air into her lungs.
“I am betrothed to a man I have never met. A stranger!” She choked on the words, her throat tight and raw. “How can I endure it?”
“But ’twas your most precious desire,” responded Rhys. He shoved his hair from his forehead and looked away.
“Nay!”
His attention jerked back to her. “You don’t desire Haughmond?” He threw her a quizzical look. “God has heeded your prayers.”
With all her frustration she shook her head. “’Tis no blessing.”
“You perplex me.” Rhys rocked back on his heels. “We traveled here expressly to secure the king’s favor. Of a sudden you are mighty unsettled, like a cat jumping thither and yon. Do you relinquish your castle to Sir Geoffrey?” In a growl, he added, “Have our homefelt efforts been for naught?”
Katherine’s heart lurched at the ruthless tone. Clasping her hands together, she whispered, “I beseech you, do not be angry with me.”
Squaring his shoulders, Rhys took a deep breath. “’Tis not anger but frustration that besets me.” He expelled air in a huff. “Tell me you do not suffer a change of heart. Speak your mind, Katherine, I bid you, for your response confounds me.”
Never had she seen his face so twisted with turmoil. ’Twas her doing. She must put things right, she must be honest. “I will speak, though ’tis naught what I should confess.” She gulped an unsteady breath. “I—I must confess my love for you. I can no longer hold it within me.”
Rhys stared at her and her heart pounded at his startled look and long silence. Finally he murmured, “Dear heart—you do?”
She went very still inside, as though her heart had stopped. Had she grown horns, he looked so shocked. His clear, blue eyes bore into hers so long—too long. He was offended. He did not share her sentiments. Pain filled her breast, spread to her limbs, making her weak and wobbly, dashing her newly born hopes and dreams.
He groaned aloud and she flinched in shame at the pain flashing across his face. ’Twas clear he did not return her love.
Once again she had misspoke. Once again she had not controlled her tongue. Choking on a sob, she struggled against tears of despair.
Then suddenly Rhys leaned toward her. His mouth touched hers.
In a blinding flash of awe, hope sprang alive within her. Regret and fear vanished in a split second of understanding. The mingled scent of leather and soap became her world. Her nostrils flared as she sought to ensnare more of his essence, as she was gathered in his arms, strong arms that crushed her to him and took her breath away and yet gave her breath.
Marveling at the sudden change of events, her arms locked around his neck. “You—you needs go to—to the king—” She spoke against Rhys’s mouth, unwilling to break the wondrous kiss. “—to ask for my hand.”
“Nay, Sweetling.” With his lips pressed unerringl
y to hers, Rhys’s murmured answer filled her mouth.
From rapture to agony, cold dread stole into her bones. She jerked her head back and stared at Rhys with horror.
“You must ask the king for my hand!”
The glazed expression on Rhys’s face disappeared, replaced with a hardening determination.
“Nay, Katherine.” His voice was low, firm. “The king will disallow it.”
Her hands slid down his shoulders, gripped the rock-hewed muscles of his arms. “You must petition him.”
“I am unlanded.” His words were quiet but frustratingly resolute.
“You wouldn’t be once we wed.” She drew a quick breath. “The king needs a strong knight at Haughmond.”
“’Tis costly to garrison an army.” Rhys stepped back with a shake of his head. A golden curl fell onto his forehead. “I have no wealth, Katherine. ’Tis a hopeless prospect.”
A gathering storm forged across his countenance, but Katherine chose to ignore it. “For my sake, could you not try? I love you.” She fought tears, but lost the unnerving battle. Her eyes brimmed to overflowing.
Rhys’s gaze shifted away.
The sliver of hope disappeared, replaced with a hollow emptiness. “Do you not love me?” She was not able to halt the pained question, nor could she quell the cascade of tears wetting her cheeks.
“Love you!” Rhys’s gaze darted back. His expression softened. He gathered her to him once again. “Dear heart, I have loved you since we unearthed you from that filthy log.” He held her to him as though he were grasping at life itself. “But ’tis futile. The king sees me as a soldier of fortune. He will not entertain my plea.”
Katherine flung her arms about his neck once more. “’Tis better to never have loved you than to lose you!” she cried.
“Nay, Sweetling.” Rhys kissed her hair and cradled the back of her head in the palm of his hand. His strength flowed to her, even as her own wilted.
A bevy of emotions swirled through her—joy, relief, frustration, anger. Should she laugh at the irony or weep at the pain? She did not know how to feel. Rhys loved her—yet he rejected her. “How do I live without you?” Agony tore through her as she clung to him.