Mary Reed McCall

by Secret Vows

  Gasping, she shoved against his chest with all of her strength. He barely budged. Instead he chuckled softly at her renewed struggles, the sound magnified in her ears like the howling of the damned. She pushed against his powerful weight in earnest, trying to raise her fists to beat against him. It had no effect except to make him laugh harder.

  A split second later, however, he went utterly still against her, and his smile faded.

  “Get your hands off of her Montford, or I swear you won’t live to regret it.”

  Slowly, Eduard turned to face the owner of that inexorable voice—and the deadly tip of his sword. Catherine had thought Gray looked menacing on the field earlier, but it was nothing compared to the expression in his eyes now. His gaze had sharpened to cold, green ice. Eduard backed up, Gray’s blade pointed at his chest, until he was pressed against the wall.

  “A wise choice,” Gray said. Catherine stood a few paces away. She dashed the tears from her cheeks as she gazed back and forth between the two men, feeling the almost tangible hatred rippling tense and hot around them. Eduard looked coiled and ready to spring at Gray, who seemed in turn to be waiting for even the slightest reason to rip Eduard open, belly to chaps.

  She clenched her fingers tight to still their trembling. Though Gray stood a little taller, the men were dangerously similar in build and strength. Seeing them in this adversarial pose, wounded as both were, made it easy to understand how they’d risen to the status of the king’s champions. They looked like gods of war, their bodies hardened and trained into weapons of destruction.

  She shuddered anew, thinking how fortunate it was that they’d not managed to kill each other on the field. Surely ’twas only an act of the Almighty that had prevented what would have in turn brought death to her children.

  “Care to explain what you were doing to my wife?” Gray’s voice sounded deceptively quiet. Unmistakably lethal.

  Eduard’s expression shifted, suddenly, and he shrugged. “I was giving my sister a bit of brotherly advice on conducting herself as your lady. That and wishing her farewell in private before my journey of tomorrow.” He smiled, though she saw that the look didn’t reach his eyes. “’Twas nothing sinister, I assure you.”

  It was clear that he wanted to strike Gray away from him; he was barely restraining himself, and it gave Catherine a burst of satisfaction to know that for once Eduard was being forced to rein in his brutal temper.

  “My lady,” Gray murmured, calling her attention back to him, though he kept his gaze and his blade squarely pointed at Eduard. “What say you to this? I would feign believe otherwise, but tell me he speaks true, and for your sake I’ll forswear.”

  Eduard tried to twist his head to look at her, no doubt to glare her into submission, but Gray immediately shifted his stance to prevent the contact. She was left as so oft of late to make her own decision in the matter. The power of independent thought frightened her. She felt unsuited to the task, having rarely been allowed to indulge in decision-making before coming to Ravenslock.

  “I—I don’t know what to say, my lord.”

  “Just tell me the truth.”

  Catherine clenched her fingers tighter together. What could she say? Oh, but she would love to see Eduard suffer for his sins against her. For his threats against her children. But the twins were the very reason she needed to protect him from Gray’s retribution. Sighing, she unclenched her hands and pressed her palms flat to her skirt. “’Tis true that Eduard was giving me parting advice in private, for fear he’d have no other opportunity before his departure on the morrow.”

  “’Twas no more than that?”

  She paused briefly. “His ways are not yours, my lord, but that is all that happened.”

  Gray paused, obviously wavering. Finally he murmured, “Then I am forced to abide by your avowal.” He slid his sword back into its sheath and stepped away from his rival, though he continued to position himself as a buffer for her. He indicated the portal to the great hall. “Go, now, Montford, before I change my mind.”

  Eduard looked ready to explode. He flashed a hate-filled glare at Gray, his gaze flicking over to slice Catherine as well. Then, with a growl, he gritted his teeth and stamped down the corridor. The door to the great hall swung open and slammed shut behind him.

  Gray faced Catherine once more and warmth flooded her. She felt shock tingle up her spine, not unlike the sensation she’d had the first time she looked into his startling, beautiful eyes at their wedding. But when he spoke that sensation faded under a wave of regret.

  “I had hoped that you would expose Eduard for the brutal wretch he is, my lady,” he said softly. He gazed into her eyes, reaching to her very soul, it seemed. The way he looked at her was making her breathless, and she struggled to find some answer for him. Something that wouldn’t sound as awful and insincere as she felt. But before she could muster a sound, he looked away. “I’ll expect your return to the feast shortly.” Then he walked away down the corridor, disappearing into the great hall as Eduard had done a few moments earlier.

  She sagged against the wall after he left, bitter emptiness engulfing her. Her chest tightened as she remembered what he’d asked of her during the confrontation. Just tell me the truth. By the Saints of heaven, she knew the value of that practice, now more than ever. If only she could follow through with it. She’d prided herself on her honesty all of her life. She’d taught her children to revere it as one of the best Christian virtues. But that had been before Eduard had trampled over her and threatened everything she held dearest with destruction.

  Nay, there was no help for her deceptions. Not now at least. Though it galled her to her soul, though it went against every fiber of her nature to continue it, she’d have to maintain this enormous lie that had become her life. Two other far more precious lives depended on it.

  She shook her head and turned to begin walking back to the great hall herself, but a tingling up her spine made her pause in her steps. Someone was watching her.

  Slowing, she reached out to the wall to steady herself and hazarded a glance over her shoulder. The tingling intensified to a rush of fear. A shadowy figure lurked in the doorway at the opposite end of the hall, back toward the kitchens. The person crouched in the portal to the castle spice chamber, not moving in muscle or breath, it seemed. Only watching.

  It was a man, or at least she thought it was. Her heart pounded, and her hands felt icy. ’Twas difficult to tell, he was stooped so low and swathed in so much dark fabric. He looked to be lame, perhaps. Or afflicted with a humped back. Only his eyes showed, glittering dark and intense through the space in his head covering. Her heart leapt into her throat again.

  Merciful heavens, he was staring right at her…

  Gasping, Catherine turned and fled the rest of the way to the great hall. Gripping the heavy door, she pulled it open and then shut it firmly behind her, leaning against it for a moment to regain her composure before forcing herself to reenter the din of feasting still underway in the hall.

  She didn’t dare, even once, to look back.

  Gray watched his wife reenter the hall, making her way timidly around the clusters of people who feasted, drank, and sang with the minstrel who played a rollicking song near the hearth. The king had already retired to his chamber, as had Eduard directly after the incident in the corridor. But many others remained awake, and the revelry still went strong.

  Gray knew that he couldn’t sleep. Not if his life depended on it. He’d been reliving what had happened in the corridor, shifting between condemning himself for not beating Eduard to a pulp, sanctions be damned, to reassuring himself that he’d done what was right by giving Elise the final say. But as she approached him now, he almost wished he’d gone with his urge to throttle Eduard. She seemed more upset then ever. Apparently allowing her to stay his hand hadn’t been the right choice.

  When she rounded the end of the hall, one member of the Royal Caravan, a squire to a lesser knight, leapt from the table near her, shouting with l
aughter at one of his friends. The young man was well into his cups, oblivious to much around him, and Elise shrank away from his abrupt movement and noise. Her skittish reaction might have gone unheeded by anyone at the feast.

  Anyone but Gray.

  “My lady,” he said, his voice even as she regained her seat next to him on the dais.

  “My lord.”

  She was still pale. Her hands trembled when she raised her cup, and he watched with displeasure as her gaze strayed immediately to Eduard’s place at table.

  When she noted her brother’s absence, she seemed to calm a little, but anger spiked within Gray nonetheless. Damn Eduard. Damn every man who ruled those in their care with their fists. He, too, knew what it felt like to be so thoroughly dominated. He’d lived his childhood in fear, always watching and trying to read each expression, each word from his master’s mouth. Yet even at the tender age of fourteen, he’d had his masculine strength and size to bolster him against Thornby’s threats.

  Elise was tall, but she was most definitely female and therefore more vulnerable to abuse. Just like Gillian had been.

  The thought raked him with claws of steel, and he tried to push aside the images that never failed to lurk close to the surface of his thoughts. He tried to repress the vision of Gillian, gasping his name as he held her. She’d been beaten and broken. Defenseless. And Gray had been unable to stop it. Unable to save his own sister.

  But he could help his wife. He’d already vowed to protect her with his body and blood, both as knight of the realm and as her husband. True, the king’s command forbid him from killing Eduard, as deserving as the bastard might be. Yet there was something else that he could do to safeguard Elise. Something he would have done for Gillian, if he’d only known how, then.

  “My lady?” he murmured. Considering the din of the feasting around them, he’d spoken softly, and yet she startled at the sound of his voice. When she looked at him, the timidity and caution in her gaze sent an aching stab through his heart.

  “Aye, my lord?”

  “Have you ever held a sword?”

  Surprise widened her eyes, their soft hue reminding him again of the blue flowers sprinkled across Ravenslock’s meadows.

  “Nay, my lord. Never in my life.”

  Gray paused to weigh what he was about to say, knowing that it would sound daft. He wanted to be logical, but intellect wasn’t part of what he was feeling. This sprang from some deep, primal place in him that urged him to protect and shield this woman from anything that might harm her.

  He clenched his jaw and forged ahead. “Do you dislike the thought of wielding a weapon, lady?”

  “Aye…I mean, nay…I—” She stumbled over her answer as her face suddenly bloomed with color. “I cannot say that I ever considered the possibility.”

  “Yet you seem strong, and you have your height to aid you. Do you think it possible? If not, we could begin with daggers and work our way up.”

  “My lord?”

  Now she seemed truly confused; she’d gone completely still, and she was looking at him as if he’d grown a third eye. Gray felt a twinge of remorse. Of course she had no idea where he led with this conversation. In truth, what he envisioned doing with her was as unorthodox as his own donning of gown and veil.

  It would be better, he decided, just to spit it out. “I wish to train you, Elise. I want you to learn how to use weapons for defense, to give you enough skill so that you need not fear physical harm from any man, ever again.”

  She gazed at him, unmoving, not uttering a sound. She was shocked. Mayhap even mortified. Gray tried to read her thoughts but found that they were closed to him. He was preparing to clarify himself, wondering if she’d understood what he meant, when she spoke.

  “’Tis a noble gesture, my lord, your desire to teach me these skills. Yet ’tis pointless. Under English law a woman cannot take arms against a man.”

  “In the act of protecting oneself, ’tis allowed.”

  “And yet many women have been punished, nonetheless, for daring to do just that, especially against men bearing title.”

  Gray stared at his wife, surprised at her quick intelligence and pleased with her stubbornness; this show of spirit boded well for her success in the training he planned for her.

  “You argue aptly, lady,” he said, “but I must counter that England is still a land of justice and truth. And I vow that I will allow none to punish you for defending yourself against tyranny.”

  She seemed to hold her breath for a moment. Her gaze slid to her hands, folded tightly in her lap. When she looked at him again, he saw a flicker of interest in her eyes. “’Tis not likely that Eduard would approve of such training. Is that why you wish to pursue it?”

  Gray’s jaw tightened. “I would have already punished your brother for what he did to you had the decision been mine to make. But barring my own action, I must find other means to protect you from his or any other man’s violence. If that means training you in weaponry and defense, then so be it.”

  Elise’s cheeks flooded pink again, and she looked away. “I understand, my lord,” she murmured, “and I am humbled by your care of me. ’Tis more than I deserve.”

  “Nay, lady, you deserve all that honor and respect can afford. ’Tis sinful that you have not received more of both in the past.” Gray heard the gruffness in his voice, even as he tried to ignore the warmth that had begun to swell outward from his chest at her praise. He stemmed the unfamiliar feeling by adding, “You agree to the training, then?”

  She nodded, her eyes grave as she lifted her face to him. Trusting. Accepting. Another surge of warmth engulfed him. He allowed himself a moment’s indulgence to stoke the delicious embers of emotion she inspired in him. He knew that it couldn’t last. It never did. But God, how good it was to taste this pleasure again. To let himself feel needed by a woman, if only for a short time.

  Too soon it slipped from his grasp. Like an arrow fired true and deadly, the memory of what had happened the last time a woman placed her trust in him pierced his heart.

  “We will commence your training as soon as your bruises are healed,” he said, clenching his jaw as he tried to push back the memories and the fear of failure that accompanied them. “I leave it to you to inform me when that time arrives.”

  “Aye, my lord,” she murmured.

  A shout of laughter from the feasting tables and the arrival of several jesters on the floor prevented any further discussion. Gray tried to concentrate on the antics of the fools. He forced himself to look amused when one of them hit the other on the head while juggling apples. But he felt incredibly distracted, and it wasn’t only because of the nearness of his voluptuous bride. He was a man, after all, and such carnal thoughts were to be expected, especially considering that their marriage would remain unconsummated until she was healed.

  Nay, his anxiety went much deeper, stemming from a source not so easily dismissed as physical desire. He couldn’t help but acknowledge that he’d taken a giant leap off the path he’d planned to follow here, a leap away from safety into the most dangerous arena of all.

  He’d promised to keep his emotional distance from Elise. To leave his heart unaffected. But he’d already begun to break his own word, for his vows to stay clear of entanglement seemed to have melted into a sapphire mist. It had billowed up and surrounded him, muddling his mind and making him want to stay wrapped in its seductive embrace forever…

  Mist the same soft, compelling shade as his lady wife’s beautiful eyes.

  Chapter 7

  Though he’d known she’d come eventually, Gray was still unprepared for his reaction when Elise appeared in his solar a fortnight later and admitted that her bruises were healed. He could commence her training on the morrow, she’d murmured. Then she’d stared at the floor for a moment, cheeks blazing, before glancing up at him again and scurrying away. He’d been left sitting in his chair, engulfed by an almost painful sensation, as if someone tugged invisible, taut threads connected at st
rategic points to his belly.

  He’d spent the remainder of the day roaming the grounds of his castle, restless and sharp-tempered. Nothing had pleased him. He’d felt on edge. Tight as a bowstring. As the shadows deepened to darkness over the lush fields of Ravenslock, his tension had only wound tighter. He’d come late to the evening meal in the great hall to learn that his wife had already supped and retired to their chamber for the evening.

  At the news, he’d swallowed his food mechanically, downed the rest of his mulled cider, dismissed his jesters and his courtiers, and stalked up the curved stairs after her.

  Now he stood outside their door, filled with the same uncertainty he’d felt the first night he’d come to her. ’Twas ridiculous, he knew. What other man had ever waited more than two weeks to bed his lawfully wedded wife? And yet something still nagged at him as he pushed open the door and stepped into the chamber’s gloom.

  Moon shadows played a pattern across the floor as he moved closer to the bed, close enough to touch her as she slept. She looked innocent, almost like a child in slumber. He unclenched his hand and reached out, his fingertips pausing but a whisper away from her hair spread out on the bolster. He could almost feel the silken texture of it against his skin. But with a grimace he pulled back and pressed his hand to his side.

  He’d fought this same temptation every night since they’d wed, and each night he’d made himself walk away, made himself sleep on a pallet before the fire so that no one would question his absence from their chamber. He’d succeeded in his restraint thus far, spurred by the knowledge that joining with her might bring more pain to her injuries.

  But there was nothing to hold him back now. Nothing, that was, except the haunting shades of his own past.

  Elise sighed and shifted, turning away from him. One arm crossed over her chest protectively; the other cradled her head. Just looking at her made Gray’s breath catch in his throat. He was struck again by that incongruous, seductive blend of sensuality and spirit that seemed to emanate from her. His heart thudded slowly, and threads of heat tingled through him, spiking shafts of desire that tightened and wound from his belly out to the rest of him as he gazed down at her.