“I’ve no shoes,” Kathryn said, feeling her face flush up. Richard laughed again, and reaching down, swung her up into his arms, carrying her as easily as air. She closed her eyes again, thinking how pleasant it was, and strangely she must have slept. When she reopened them she was in a little chamber, curtained off the main room, from which evidently Richard had evicted the stout man.
There was a fire, crackling and warm, and the walls were flickering red with shadows. She blinked, realizing she was still in Richard’s arms, as he sat by the hearth, his face frowning in concentration above her head. Opposite him was another man, lean and serious, with the same fair hair. Kathryn watched him from half-closed eyes, their dark gleam hidden by her lashes. He was saying something about the King, and she tried to concentrate, knowing it was important. But she felt altogether too weary, and the voice took on a low, murmuring quality, soothing her fears away.
Her feet were tucked up into the cloak, and one had gone to sleep. She tried to wiggle the toes unobtrusively. Behind them, the curtain rustled, and the stout man came in, setting a tray upon a table.
Bread and cheese and mead, steaming and hot. She eyed it, realizing suddenly how hungry she was. Sleep vanished. She was wide awake.
John bent to take his bread, saying, “You look tired, Richard. Does not your rise in fortunes agree with you?”
“I never seem to have time for sleeping.”
“You should have taken your vows, as our father wanted. I always pictured you as some red-garbed clergyman, with fiery words to denounce the wicked for their sins.”
He laughed. “I would have hated it, as you well know. Poor father. He knew us not at all, did he? You should have been the monk, John, not me. How goes it? Are you a good scribe?”
“I’ve had no complaints.”
“Do you still live in the Palace? I thought you to be married again.”
A pause. “I have not had the heart to, not after Frances. I have a woman to care for the child. I feel no need for else.”
Richard sighed. “They say one grows used to death. They say memories fade. I pray, for your sake, it is so.”
John laughed softly, almost mocking. “Do you, my brother? Then you know little of love. I don’t want memories to fade. I want to remember everything, every moment with her. For me, the memories must be enough.” He laughed again, “Don’t look so dismayed! I have my son, and in time he will need my guidance and my influence. Mayhap you’ll take him into your house, Richard. He could not do better than growing up under the banner of de Brusac.”
Kathryn held her breath. Was this brother also a traitor, though he lived in the Palace itself? She waited for Richard to speak, not daring now to move.
“I would be proud to teach him what little I know.”
“No prouder than I. You are the most honorable, honest man I know, brother. My son could not do better than to emulate you.”
Richard said nothing to that. Kathryn wondered if he felt too shamed. His brother swallowed some more mead, and added in a different tone, “What of your wife? Would she mind?”
The arm about her shoulders shifted, drawing her closer against his chest. “Kathryn has too soft a heart to mind. Have you not, my love?”
She stiffened, but he would not be fooled and, stooping down, raised her chin. She opened her eyes, staring back at him. His eyes were blue and bright with mockery and amusement and made her dizzy. “I... it is for you to say.”
He laughed. “John. You have not met my wife. When I sought to introduce you before she had rudely fallen asleep. Kathryn, this is my brother.”
She flushed and put out her hand. He kissed her fingers, smiling so like his brother that she blinked. He was older than Richard, his features thinner and more austere, and the fair hair was thinning at his brow, making it much higher than Richard’s. His eyes were blue, but not so warm—sad eyes.
“My lady, asleep you were lovely, but awake, you are beautiful.”
“I... that is, I am most sorry for...”
“You were tired, and no doubt worried, too, for my foolish brother’s welfare. But, as you see, there were no brigands, only myself and my poor page.”
She moved to rise, but he stopped her.
“No, stay. I must leave now. Richard? Your reply?”
Richard’s fingers played idly with a tress of her hair, “My answer is ‘yes’, brother, as it always was. I await his coming with eagerness. I am tired of this waiting game, and sick to the stomach playing at friendship with men I heartily despise.”
John nodded and rose. The two brothers shook hands, and then he was gone. Kathryn knelt by the fire, warming her hands, and did not speak when Richard returned to his seat. He stared thoughtfully into the flames, and after a moment met her eyes.
“Do you trust me, Kathryn? I do not ask it idly. Our lives may depend upon your trust.”
Her mind rebelled, calling her a fool. But her heart formed the words, and she spoke them, knowing they were true. “I trust you with all my heart, my lord.”
A smile flickered at his lips’ corner and was gone. “Then ask me none of the questions I see in your eyes. Only trust me. It will be over very soon, and then...” He smiled, put up his hand as if to touch her, only to drop it again. “Ah, then will be time enough for other things!”
Chapter Ten
They returned to de Brusac, silent. She asked him nothing, and wondered at herself. But she had sworn it, and must be content. She called herself ‘fool’ a dozen times a day, and yet she did trust him. She could not believe, however much she remembered the words she had overheard, that he would hurt her. She could not believe it of him.
Christmas came creeping nearer, bringing snow. Kathryn leaned more towards Sir Damien. He seemed to distract her from her worries, and she needed other distractions than the running of the household and the ordering of servants. They had stores enough to last them months, everything was ready. No one could get into the castle without a long siege and even then, surely, there would be time for an army to come to their rescue?
And yet Richard seemed always busy. She saw him rarely, and longed more than ever that she had not been so stubborn when they first married, and let him be her husband in truth.
The winter had brought hardship to many. There were brigands again in the forest, and Richard went out with his men to deal with them. Kathryn was sewing a new gown in her room. It was almost done, when Emma came running up the stairs and, almost at the same time, horses clattered in through the gate.
“My lady! Tis Lord Ralf!”
Panic caught at her throat, like a desperate bird seeking escape. She pricked her finger on the bone needle and hardly felt the pain. “Lord Ralf!” She had meant to keep him out. The King would come soon, and then all must be well. There was already talk of him in Winchester.
“My lady, he has brought his woman with him.”
Wenna too. She felt her heart sink, but then, in anger, lifted her chin. They had no right to make her feel so low. This was her home and she would have the running of it and them. In a brisk voice Emma had not heard for weeks, she ordered the preparation of rooms and food, and sent men running to see to horses and quarters for servants.
By the time she had smoothed her skirts and hair and was on her way downstairs, Kathryn almost felt the part she had played for so long. The grand lady of this manor.
Wenna was there, standing quiet as Lord Ralf spoke with some of his men-at-arms. Sir Damien stood back a little, his eyes somber as they lifted to hers. Wenna must have seen his glance, and turning, raised her own beautiful grey eyes. They were as full of scorn and disdain as ever. Nothing, it seemed, had changed.
“My lord,” she said, her voice deep and melodious, “she is come.”
Lord Ralf turned, golden eyes narrowing as Kathryn descended the stairs towards them. He had put on flesh, and his doublet fitted more snugly over his belly, but otherwise he was as big and bright and handsome as he had ever been.
“My lady,” he w
as saying, as he hurried forward to kiss her fingers. She inclined her head coolly.
“My lord of Pristine. Sir Damien will have told you that my husband is not here. There are more brigands to be routed. But he should return before nightfall.”
Ralf smiled, though his eyes remained cool. “I look forward to speaking with him.”
Something in the timbre of his voice struck her cold, but she pretended it had not, and turning to Wenna laid her cool cheek against that other. “Wenna, how are you?”
“Well enough, my lady falsity,” that voice hissed in her ear. But when she drew back Wenna was smiling sweetly.
“I shall have the servants take you to your rooms. There is water waiting. You must be weary.”
She was glad to leave them. But it was laced with pride, for she had seen their eyes on the improvements she had wrought at de Brusac. It was a far different place from when they had first arrived at its gates. Emma came hurrying to help her change. The new red gown was finished, and she donned it, smoothing it over her slim waist and hips. Emma caught her breath at the sight. “Oh my lady, you’re beautiful.”
Kathryn laughed. The red made her skin the whiter, her dark hair and eyes the darker. Where was the peasant girl now? She thought of the past a little sadly, realizing suddenly that she could never go back. She had become what she played at. She was Kathryn de Brusac. And yet something lay hollow inside her. Something was missing.
Ralf was appreciative of the sight she made. Wenna’s eyes went cold and hard. “My lady!” he said, his voice booming. “Your beauty puts the sun to shame.” Sir Damien beside him thought so too, but did not say it. Instead, stepping briskly forward, he informed her: “My lady, Sir Richard has not yet come. I sent out a rider to find him and inform him of my Lord of Pristine’s arrival.”
“Then we can only wait.”
Unbidden, her mind flew to Richard hurt, Richard lying alone and untended on the icy white ground, but she thrust such thoughts aside. Wenna was looking at her with curious malevolence, and if Wenna were to discover her love for Richard, she would take great pleasure in informing him of it. And what would become of that, Kathryn dared not think. The meal was sumptuous. Lord Ralf ate greedily, while Wenna picked at her food like a sparrow. Kathryn, surveying them, could not keep her mind from humming with conjectures. What did they want here? To see how Richard had obeyed their instructions? To kill her? To capture and murder the King? It made her tired, all the thinking, and she was glad that they retired quite early.
She commanded Emma to occupy the pallet in her room, for company and protection, and the girl agreed without question.
She woke to darkness. It was very late. The cold air made her shiver.
A sound close by her, the rustle of cloth being tossed aside, the jingle of spurs. She sat up, suddenly wide awake, her throat dry with horror. Steps drew closer to the bed and Richard’s pale, tired face stared down at her.
For a moment she was too startled to speak. “Emma?” she gasped, half cry, half question.
“I sent the girl to her own bed,” he retorted roughly. He sat down by her, on the bed, and pulled off his boots.
“But—”
“What’s the matter?” his mockery bit into her like fangs. “This is my bed, isn’t it? I’ve a right to sleep in it.”
“How dare you! Get out of here, get out—”
His hand covered her mouth, shutting off all sound. His blue eyes stared, glittering in the darkness. “Be quiet! Ralf doesn’t know I don’t share this chamber with you. Why should he imagine things are as they are between us? Be quiet, Kathryn, for God’s sake. I’m far too weary for quarrelling now.”
He removed his hand and began to finish his undressing. She took a breath, and managed, “The brigands?”
“What?”
“The brigands! The reason you went out. Did you capture them?”
“A few. They were mostly starving peasants. I let them go.”
She was silent a moment, allowing this new, compassionate side of him to melt into her heart. “Did the messenger find you?”
“He did.”
“Why did you take so long to return, then?”
He made an impatient sound, and jerked back the covers before lying down beside her with a sigh. She moved as far over to the other side of the bed as she dared, without falling out. There was a mystery here, she sensed it. And why come to her room when Ralf was here? “Why!”
“Let me sleep for God’s sake, woman! I need to be on my wits tomorrow.”
“But I want to know.”
He gave a low growl and, stretching across, caught her arm. “If you don’t stop your questions,” he began to pull her closer, for all her struggles, “I’ll stop them like this.” His mouth closed on hers, warm and rough. She tried to push him away, but even so weary as this he was a formidable opponent.
“Vixen,” he whispered, his warm kisses shifting down her throat to her shoulder, where the silken nightgown had slipped.
“I will not question you any more,” she gasped. “I promise it. Please don’t...”
His hands tightened. “Do you still hate me so much then, Kathryn?”
“I—”
He sighed and drew away again, leaving her close to tears. “Tomorrow the intrigues will be over. Then, you will need to decide what it is you want, Kathryn.”
After a moment she realized he was asleep, but she could not close her own eyes for many hours.
Richard was already dressed and gone when Kathryn rose. She hurried down to the hall, where she found him and Ralf addressing each other like suspicious, hackle-raised dogs. They did not hear her approach, and as she drew closer Lord Ralf was saying: “And your vassals, Richard, what of them?”
“They pay homage to Kathryn as their overlady, my lord.”
Ralf’s shoulders stiffened, and suddenly he laughed. “So,” he said, “that is how the wind blows.”
Richard, glancing up, saw her standing there and frowned. “My lady?”
Ralf turned, rising to take her hand before offering her a place beside him. She declined, saying she would go up to Wenna.
The woman was dressing, but sent the maid from the room when Kathryn entered and informed her she could help.
“Your husband is back?” she asked, as Kathryn brushed the long, fair strands of Wenna’s silky hair.
“Yes. He was detained.”
“Indeed,” the cool grey eyes sneered. “I don’t wonder he stays away so late. You drive him away, girl.”
Kathryn gaped at this sudden attack.
Wenna smiled, “Poor peasant! Did you not know he loves me? Before Ralf, I was Richard Tremaine’s mistress. He still loves me; he always will.”
Kathryn felt the room spin. Richard and Wenna. Suddenly so many smiles and glances made sense. Wenna had moved on to better things— Ralf—but Richard still loved her.
Wenna’s knowing smile was infuriating. “Well girl? What have you to say to that? Can you deny it is so?”
What had Richard said the night before? “Tomorrow all intrigues will be at an end.” She felt coldness creeping into her fingertips and move upwards. Was she to die after all, despite his talk of trust? Did Richard mean somehow to regain Wenna?
She hurried away, seeking household tasks, anything to stop her thinking. There were simples to prepare—some of the men had been hurt in the scuffles with the brigands. There were menus to order and supplies to be fetched up from the cellar, for which only she had the key. The work kept her mind occupied, for which she was grateful. It did not do to dwell on such sad thoughts as hers.
In the afternoon, Richard came to find her in her bower, stitching. “My lady, we are riding out to hunt. You must accompany us.”
She looked up at him, her dark eyes huge in her pale face. “Must I?”
He frowned, trying to read the question in her eyes. “Wenna comes, also.”
“My lord,” but her voice trailed off, and she could not ask the questions. “I will chang
e my gown.”
“Quickly then.”
He was gone, and she stirred leaden limbs. Had the moment come. Did they mean to kill her now? She bit her lip, Oh Richard!
The horses were ready, and as she approached Ralf came to swing her up into the saddle. Richard was speaking with Sir Damien to one side, frowning. He broke away at last, hurrying across to his own mount. He had a falcon, a hood covering its wicked beak and marvelous eyes. Ralf also carried a bird on his wrist. Wenna rode up to Kathryn, her grey eyes secretly laughing.
It was very cold. Kathryn pulled the fur collar of her cloak closer about her with a shudder. Wenna seemed untouched by the cold, just as she was by everything else. Ahead, the two men were laughing over some joke, as the winter landscape slipped by.
The few men-at-arms rode at a distance. At whose orders? Richard’s or Ralf s? It made little difference, Kathryn thought, with a further shudder. They both meant her harm, and she had a premonition that the moment was coming towards them, even as they were riding to meet it.
“How does Pristine?” she managed, in a dry voice, turning to her companion.
Wenna’s eyes mocked her. “The same as ever. The peasants toil and we reap.”
“I have thought of giving de Brusac’s serfs their freedom.”
Wenna scowled. “Indeed? Can serfs ever be truly free?”
“There are papers.”
“And what does Richard say to this, my lady?”
“I have not asked him.”
The grey eyes mocked her again. He will scorn you with laughter they said. There was a silence, and Kathryn knew she would have to ask the question burning her tongue.
“Why have you come here?”
Wenna smiled. “We have every right to come. De Brusac will soon be ours. You’d best prepare yourself for that, girl.”
Never, she thought, but gritted her teeth on the oath.
Ahead of them, the hoods had been removed from the falcons’ heads. A squire came running to hold the horses as the men dismounted into the white snow. The sky was a cold, clear grey. Kathryn watched as the birds soared up into the cold air, hovering so effortlessly, so beautifully. And then one dropped, like a stone, vanishing into the black trees. It appeared again quite as suddenly, carrying something in its talons. Ralf held out his gloved arm, and the bird came to him. The thing it held was the bloodied corpse of a furry creature, hardly grown from babyhood. Kathryn lifted her own fingers and bit them.
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