by Pam Roller
****
Fifteen days, and Alex still hadn’t come home.
Sam had dispatched servants to look for him along the roads—and, because of rumors that the highwayman still lurked in the woods, had notified the sheriff that he was missing.
Was he still alive? Was he broken alongside the road, bleeding, dying, too weak to call for help while travelers passed by him unawares?
Worried to distraction, Katherine tried to work on her embroidery, giving up when the needle only pricked her trembling fingers. She drank the vile-tasting concoctions for her throat, and wandered the dim corridors. She sat in Alex’s big chair in his study and found comfort there, closing her eyes and breathing deeply of his scent.
After a few days she consulted with Elizabeth, made a list of things in the castle that needed improvement, and set to work. The boxwood maze was trimmed and cleaned up under her supervision, as was the pretty knot garden. Outside the kitchen, she oversaw the planting of the herbs she needed for the healing of her throat.
She directed needed improvements to all the rooms of the castle. Upon discovering undesirable conditions in the kitchen, she promptly fired the head cook and hired a more efficient one through Elizabeth.
Only Alex’s bedchamber did she leave alone.
Her things were still in her old chamber at the front of the house. She wouldn’t move into her husband’s chamber. Not until he came home to willingly share his bed with her.
Unable to sleep at night, she trod wearily through the halls. Many times, Elizabeth limped along beside her.
“He’ll come home,” Elizabeth soothed. But she could give no reason for his absence.
And, although living in the constant dimness was oppressing, Katherine did not order all the drapes opened. Alex could do so when he was ready to look at a window in his house again without thinking of Mary.
During the second week of his absence, as Katherine stood in a dilapidated flower garden directing the gardener with points and gestures, the Cookes’ carriage rolled up the drive. Katherine expected Edward, as he must have heard of the unexpected letter Elizabeth had received from Lord Wiltshire stating his desire to see her.
But it was Agnes who stepped from the carriage. Katherine sighed and then shaped her lips into a wan smile.
“Well. Hello, Lady...Drayton,” Agnes said as if the words got caught on her tongue. “I wish to visit with Elizabeth.”
Katherine shook her head and pointed down the road, gripping her smile, wanting the woman to leave.
“Ah. Elizabeth is in town. Well, I will be returning home, then.” She began to turn toward her carriage but then stopped, tapping her lips with one gloved finger. “Father says that Lord Drayton has not returned from London.”
So she knew. Katherine shrugged and nodded, hoping Agnes wouldn’t see the tightening of her shoulders. It wasn’t necessary to let Agnes know how much she worried.
“Perhaps he regrets his decision to marry you.” Agnes’ red painted mouth turned up in an impudent smile.
As soon as the carriage had disappeared around the bend in the drive, Katherine ran into the house, willing her tears to hold back until she could get to her bedchamber and fling herself onto the bed. Tears wetted her pillow as hopelessness and despair washed through her.
Perhaps Agnes was right. Alex was disappointed in her as a wife. He didn’t want to come home.
Chapter Twenty-five
Two days later, Alex crashed open his heavy front door. “Wine! And bloody quick!”
He stomped into the parlor with head down and shoulders slumped under his scuffed brown cloak. This he flung to the floor while he headed toward a chair and dropped into it. With a long sigh, he closed his eyes and lay back his head.
A sound near the bookcase made him open his eyes a moment later to see Edward sidling toward the parlor door. “What do you want?”
Edward stopped and faced him. “I, uh, I am waiting for Elizabeth. I didn’t wish to disturb you, so I was just leaving the room. You look—well, quite worn out.” Edward sounded as if rocks filled his throat. “A servant went to see if she—.”
“Enough,” Alex said. He scraped a hand through his windswept hair. “My head is pounding. Where is the blasted sack?”
Sam entered then with a tray holding the wine. He glanced at Edward and gave a slight bow. “Mister Cooke, Lady Elizabeth is on her way down.”
“Yes, thank you,” Edward said. “Well, I will just wait for her at the stairs.” He slipped out.
“Set it there,” Alex said.
“Lady Drayton returned two weeks ago,” Sam said as he poured sack to the brim of a sizeable cup. “We’ve been worried for your safety. What happened?”
“I have something to tell you.” Alex tipped back the cup and gulped the wine. The pungent liquid warmed his stomach, but didn’t ease his heartbreak.
There was a smile in Sam’s voice. “Yes. How fortunate that she may speak again!”
“I learned something else about her father. I want to find out what she knows.”
“I thought she knew nothing about her father.”
“God help her, Sam.”
“Alex? What is it?” Sam’s voice held a worried edge.
“Leave me now. I want to be alone.”
He heard the door close, and in the quiet of the parlor the king’s words resounded like axes in his head. Alex knew he would get no peace until he confronted his wife.
His wife. He’d married her, spilled his life’s seed into her, explored every secret of her sweet body. Loved her.
If she had known all this time of her father’s acts and not admitted it to him—ah, the knowledge was a blade ripping out his heart.
He would confront her. But first, he needed sleep. He got to his feet, and with heavy footsteps left the parlor. On a bench in the Hall sat Edward, and he was kissing Elizabeth on her mouth.
Astonishment slapped Alex to a halt. “About bloody time,” he growled.
Elizabeth jerked away from Edward and gazed with startled eyes at Alex.
Hunched and brooding, Alex raised a dismissive hand as he continued past. “Carry on, Edward. Glad to see you are a man after all.”
“Alex!” The word was almost a breath, yet Elizabeth’s disapproval was clear.
Alex stopped. “What?”
“That—that was quite rude!”
Edward stared at Elizabeth in surprise.
Alex sighed and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “I apologize. ’Tis good to see your spirit, Bethie. I have missed that part of you.” Then, his voice broke. “I will need your courage when I speak with you later.”
Elizabeth began to stand, and Edward jumped up to help her. “What troubles you?” she asked. “And why are you just now returning from London? Katherine has been frantic with worry.”
Alex shook his head. “Not now. I am going to lie down for awhile. The devil’s splitting open my head.”
“Has something happened? Were you robbed?” Edward asked.
Alex snorted. “Robbed? Yes. You could say that.” He turned toward the stairs. “Tell a servant to bring the sack to my bedchamber.”
Elizabeth hobbled after him. “What of Katherine? Do you not wish to see her?”
Alex hesitated, then moved on. “Not yet.”
****
He’d come home. Home!
Heart drumming with anger, excitement, and concern, Katherine rushed from her drab bedchamber past Elizabeth and down the corridor toward Alex’s chambers.
“Katherine, wait,” Elizabeth called to her. “You must not go to him yet.”
Katherine halted and wheeled back toward Elizabeth. Still unable to voice her hurt thoughts, she stamped her foot on the floor.
Elizabeth stood twisting her hands, her gray eyes wide and worried. “He said he does not wish to see you.”
He didn’t wish to see her? After sending her home alone and then staying away for a fortnight? Her husband, the man who should have swept her into h
is arms, formally introduced her to his household as Lady Drayton, and made love to her in his bed, didn’t want to see her?
Oh, he was going to see her whether he liked it or not. And the man had some explaining to do.
Lowering her head in fury, Katherine balled up her fists and stalked toward his room.
What bothered her more than anything, what made her throat ache and caused her to cough again after more than two weeks of healing, was that her husband didn’t want her, didn’t care enough about her to seek her presence when he returned. Agnes’ words of his regret in marrying her took on fresh importance.
Anguish filled Katherine as she grasped the latch and pushed open his door.
“Leave me,” Alex growled behind closed lids when he heard the creak of his door. “I do not want to be bothered.”
Seconds later, something smashed the wall above his head and rained wet, shattered pieces onto his face. With a roar, Alex leaped from his bed.
There his beautiful wife stood in the door, hands on hips, eyes blazing. Her chest and face were flushed pink with fury, and Alex willed his feet to be nailed to the floorboards to resist running to her, holding her close, kissing her.
He would have, had he not touched his forehead and pulled away fingers wet with blood. “Is this how you would greet me, wife? By cutting me?”
Katherine narrowed her eyes and kicked the door closed with her heel.
Ah, but she was ready for a fight. And so was he, headache and all.
“I trusted you,” he said savagely, intent and anger and need to be near her propelling him across the room. He grasped her arms and smelled the heady lavender fragrance of her hair. “I thought you knew nothing. Why didn’t you tell me, Katherine? You owed me the truth.”
She blinked up at him in confusion, and he had a moment of doubt as he searched her eyes. Did she truly not know? His hands relaxed on her arms.
She backed away then and looked around his bedchamber.
“Yes, I will get you paper so you can write your lies,” he said, hating himself for not trusting her. Unwilling to face his doubt, he walked to his writing table and pulled paper, pen and ink from the drawer and slammed them onto the table. “Better start explaining.”
Katherine remained where she was, no longer furious but thoroughly bewildered, trying to fathom what was happening. She had expected him to apologize, to explain that he was feeling poorly, had gone falconing with friends, had unexpected business in London. Something. But not this anger, this pain and sorrow that filled his eyes. What was she supposed to have told him?
“Well?” he asked as he jerked a finger toward the writing table. “What say you?”
Shaking her head in puzzlement, Katherine walked toward him, sat and picked up the quill. He stood at her left shoulder as she dipped the pen, and she could feel the heat from his thighs.
Her hand shook. Where have you been?
He leaned down beside her, his big hands clenched into fists on the table. “Does it matter? Katherine, I want answers.”
She took in his haggard face and reddened eyes, his lips that had trailed soft kisses down her back. Something terrible had happened. God’s blood, the man owed her an explanation. She turned back to her paper and dipped the quill again. I have none to give you. Talk to me now.
He let out a slow, ragged breath, and straightened. His face reflected relief. “I should have trusted you.”
Katherine stood. Her husband was hurting, and he had something to tell her. Her hands slid over his shoulders and squeezed the tense muscles there.
“I do not know how to say this,” he said.
She placed a palm on his unshaven cheek, and anxiety snaked through her body. Valiantly she tried to keep tears from filling her eyes. Would he now voice his regret at marrying her?
“My parents...I told you how they were killed.”
What was this? Surprised at the unexpected statement, she nodded.
Alex’s eyes became searching, his voice gentle. “Your father was a spy during the war. He worked for Cromwell.”
Katherine’s face grew slack. No. Her father had been a Royalist, true to the king. She stared at him, then grabbed the quill. NOT TRUE! She stood and backed away from him, clutching both pen and paper.
“Katherine, after the fire they found—”
Such a despicable lie! She threw the quill at him, barely noticing the blooming black dots on his white shirt before the room tilted. Mouth open and trembling, she thrust out her hands, grabbing at something, anything to hold her up.
Alex caught her and pulled her up to face him. “Listen to me.”
She would not! Rage charged through her and saturated her dizziness. Her fists pelted his chest. “Lying caitiff!”
The words barely held sound, but she registered the vibration on her throat. She froze.
Alex gave no indication of hearing it. He cupped her face in his hands and raised her face so that she had no choice but to look at him. His face was a mask of torment. Tears spilled down his cheeks.
“Katherine,” he choked. “You were sent to me as payment for your father’s treason. I didn’t know exactly why until I visited the king.” He hugged her to him, his arms desperate in their strength. “He killed them, Katherine. Your father murdered my parents and left me for dead.”
No. God, no. Katherine kept her gaze locked onto Alex’s, finding and hating the truth in his tortured blue eyes.
Papa, her papa. A murderer. The shock of it reverberated through her body.
So cold. Ice gripped her, made her unable to stop shuddering. She shook her head again and again. Finally, a deep well of sorrow made her slump against him.
Alex carried her to his chair until he could gather up the sheet holding the glass from the water pitcher and set it on the floor. Pulling the quarterpane over the mattress, he then lifted Katherine onto it. Lying next to her he rocked her gently, brushed his hands over her hair and face, soothed her with a voice gouged with misery. “’Tis all right, my love. All right. I am so sorry.”
Spiraling down into desolation, Katherine clung to him.
Chapter Twenty-six
“My lord?”
The voice was soft and breathy, and coming from the private dining room. Alex paused at the door.
“Oh. How do you do, Agnes.”
“I am well.” She sauntered into the Hall and looked him over. “You look tired. Have you slept much since your return from London yesterday?”
“A little.” Alex ran a hand over his face. What was she doing here alone?
“And Lady Drayton? Is she well?”
“She’s...had a shock.”
Agnes’ eyes grew wide. “Nothing grave, I hope.”
“Where is Elizabeth?”
“Oh, I came over with Edward and suggested that they take a stroll. ’Tis such a lovely evening.”
“Is it?” His eyes itched, and he rubbed them. When had Agnes’ voice become so deep and soothing, like a balm?
“Yes. Perhaps we can do the same. Will you walk with me?”
“She is leaving.” Alex said the words aloud, hoping the assertion would help to fortify that unfeeling part of him that was his only defense. But the knowledge was killing him. “She wants to leave.”
Agnes looked surprised, then moved closer to him. “I am so sorry to hear that.”
He grunted a sigh and raked a hand through his hair. “I apologize for my inattention. I haven’t slept properly in days. May I walk you to your carriage?”
Agnes blinked, smiled, and cocked her head. “No. You need your rest. I would be happy if you called on me, though, when you are feeling better.”
“Yes. I will pay a call to your family. Goodbye, Agnes.” He turned to walk toward the door leading to the corridor that would take him to his study, then stopped and rubbed his temples. “I haven’t told the coachman to ready the carriage for her.”
Agnes was quickly at his side. “Would you like me to do it? You are so weary, my lord.” She placed a
hand on his arm.
“I would. Thank you, Agnes.”
Agnes smiled and moved so that her large breasts brushed his arm. “What is her destination?”
“Lobb’s Inn.” He paused, noting her closeness, her wide blue eyes and full, pouty lips accentuated by the white powder on her face. She was overwhelming in her sensuality.
“I will tell the coachman.”
“You’ve been a big help through the years,” he said, taking a step back. “I never properly thanked you for befriending Mary. You always seemed to know when to arrive, just before she had one of her spells. I do not know what she would have done without you.”
Agnes stepped foreword. Her breath was warm on his chin. “Mary was a good friend. And I wanted to help you, Alexander.”
“Thank you,” he said again. “Her death...I wish I’d been in the room to help you before she fell. I was too late to save her.”
“You thought she was just having another fit,” Agnes said with a small shrug. “’Twasn’t your fault.”
Taller than Katherine, Agnes had only to raise her face so that her lips were near his. This she did, and her eyes became sultry slits.
Alex moved away from her. “I will go to my study now. I have some work to do.”
Agnes’ smile, wide and innocent, remained. “Of course. I will speak to the coachman right now.”
****
It had taken Millie less than an hour to fold Katherine’s clothing into her large trunk. The maid shut the lid and sat on it, then leaned forward to pull down the brass and leather clasps and latch it. “That’s everythin’,” she said, running the back of her hand across her forehead.
Millie now knew about her father. So did Sam. The entire household had to know by now, judging from the way they averted their eyes when she looked at them.
“Oh, sad day it is. And ye beginning to talk now,” Millie said. “Poor lady. Sam, he says Lord Drayton doesn’t want ye to go.”