“Aye. They are much worse.”
He no longer wanted to talk about Elena. And he was genuinely curious about Catrina’s unusual upbringing. Much better to talk about her than to harp on the disappointments of the past. “When did your mother leave?”
She shifted in her seat, looking at the deep purple velvet cushion as if it were a fascinating curiosity. He shouldn’t have asked.
“When Pa died.”
He didn’t say a word. Didn’t move. The pained expression on her face forced him to shift in his seat. He wanted to comfort her but doubted it would be welcomed.
“I told you she was English. They met at the Tournament of the North. Father fell in love with her, and he nearly caused a war. As you can imagine, the daughter of a minor English baron was not who my grandfather had planned for his eldest son to marry. But he did so anyway.”
Her tone was casual, but Bryce sensed the incident had been anything but. A chief’s son did not marry whomever he pleased. Bryce knew better than anyone the importance of forging alliances.
“Luckily he wasn’t alive to see her flee. Within a week of my father’s death, she was gone.”
She looked at him as she said it, too proud to look away, but perhaps for the first time, Bryce couldn’t discern her feelings. Did it make her sad? Angry? He wasn’t sure.
“We never heard from her again. As a child I begged Toren to find her, knowing in my heart she was still alive. But he refused, and I’m glad for it.”
When he realized she wasn’t going to elaborate, Bryce knew he had to say something.
“Ungrateful bitch.”
He smiled.
Catrina’s eyes widened and her lips curled into an answering smile. She laughed and laughed so hard tears began to stream down her face. He didn’t hear Thomas’s knock, and when the steward entered, they both laughed even harder.
Normally being caught in such a state would have mortified Bryce.
“What is it, Thomas?” He was impatient for his steward to leave. “Thomas?” he pressed when his friend stood there gawking.
“My apologies. Evelyn requests the presence of my lady. There seems to be a problem.”
“What problem?”
What could be so urgent that Evelyn would go against his wishes to send for Catrina?
“If you will, Lady Catrina. I beg you to come with me.”
13
Catrina was exhausted. Evelyn, it turned out, had summoned her to help with Elise’s babe. She had spent the better part of the night trying to convince her maid’s dense husband that it was just as natural to feed a babe with a cloth as it was a mother’s teat. The ignorant priest had recently convinced him it would be blasphemy for the babe to get nourishment any other way even though the cloth was working.
When her reassurances didn’t work, Bryce’s intimidation did. He had insisted on coming with her, thank the saints, and he’d resolved the situation by threatening to throttle the man if he didn’t comply. He looked to her first as if asking for permission to intervene. At her nod, he’d delivered the threat coolly, of course, which had done nothing to blunt its effectiveness.
Catrina stretched out on the bed. If only she could stay under the coverlet and not make the journey to Kenshire. The sun had not yet risen, but she knew Bryce would summon her any time. He had said they would leave at daybreak, and he was never late.
She smiled, remembering her favorite part of the evening. As soon as they left the maid’s small house, Bryce had marched directly to the chapel at the center of the village. Unlike the diminutive homes that surrounded it, the chapel was a grand stone building. It even had small stained-glass windows. Curious, Catrina had followed Bryce into a room at the back of the building where the priest resided.
Catrina had never liked the man. Unlike Father Simon, who was educated and thoughtful, this priest had always seemed to relish more in the luxuries of his station than in administering service to the people of Bristol. After the incident with Elise, Bryce had ordered him to leave, immediately. Apparently he cared little about the repercussions. Who would offer service in his stead?
They had returned to the manor then, their intimate conversation in the solar apparently forgotten. Bryce had reminded her they would leave at sunrise and then promptly retired. She’d spent the remainder of the evening packing for their “extended” trip. How extended, she wasn’t sure.
A knock announced Elise’s arrival. After repeated requests for reassurance the babe was indeed fine, she helped Catrina prepare for the journey. Since her favorite riding dress had been ruined in the attack—she shuddered to think about the reivers and their fate at Bryce’s hands—she wore an older one. The deep green gown was a bit snug around the chest, but it would have to do. The others were too impractical for travel.
By the time Catrina walked down the winding staircase into the hall, she was fully awake and ready, not only for the journey, but also to put her new plan into action.
There was only one issue with that. The man standing in front of her looked as if he wanted to kill her.
What did I do now?
“No,” Bryce said, his eyes narrowing.
Every step toward him made her more aware of his scrutiny. “And a good day to you, my lord.”
“You will not be wearing that dress, Lady Catrina.”
She looked down at the fitted bodice and tight sleeves that were perfect for riding. “I most certainly will. I’ll thank you to remember, my other traveling dress was ruined.”
What was wrong with him? Bryce looked like he would continue to disagree; a tic had developed in his cheek that reminded her of his brother.
Oh.
She’d almost missed the quick glance at her chest. Perhaps she’d grown in that area a bit since arriving at Bristol, but she’d seen ladies wear much more revealing gowns than this one, and it was her most appropriate. “I will wear this gown. You’ll have to take it off me yourself if you mean for me to change.”
Thomas, whose presence she’d only just noticed—had she really been that focused on Bryce?—chuckled. The alternate meaning to her words only then dawned on her. For Lord’s sake, why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut?
She couldn’t look at either man, so instead Catrina concentrated on the woman who’d just slipped through the entrance to the hall. Walking toward Evelyn, she could feel Bryce’s eyes on her back. The tingling his regard stirred deep within her was becoming a more familiar feeling as of late.
“Safe travels, my lady,” said Evelyn.
As she hugged the older woman, it felt like goodbye forever. And they both knew it.
“Many thanks, Evelyn.” She wanted to say so much more, but tears began to well in her eyes. Without her, Catrina would likely be dead. “For everything.”
“Take care of him.” Evelyn squeezed her hand and turned to walk away. What a strange thing to say…
She startled at the hand on her back. Bryce.
“It’s time to go.” His tone was gentler now. Did he understand this was the last time she’d walk through the great hall at Bristol Manor, this place that had become her home, too? She turned and looked up at him. His hand was still on her back, and the warm weight of it made Catrina shiver. Bryce wore the surcoat he so rarely took the effort of donning. And for the first time she realized he wore mail as well. How could she have missed that? He typically dressed so casually that she could almost forget what he was. A knight. The Lord of Bristol Manor, a powerful baron with the backing of one of the greatest houses in Northumbria.
Odd she never noticed how intimidating he could be.
“You look like a knight.”
“I am a knight.” His lips tipped up just a tiny bit.
“My lord? All is ready,” Thomas said. Bryce dropped his hand from her back.
With one last hug for Evelyn and Elise, who had trailed down to the hall after them, Catrina followed Bryce and Thomas into the courtyard. A small retinue of men, five fully armored knights, waited atop their m
assive destriers.
A squire secured her bags to the packhorse and Bryce assisted her in mounting Davie.
As promised, they kept a steady pace. Bryce told her they should reach Kenshire Castle in three days, four at most, if they rode hard. She knew he wished to be on the road as little as possible.
By the time they camped for the night, Catrina’s bravado began to wane. She prided herself on keeping up, not giving any of the men reason to doubt she was just as capable as them, but other than a brief respite for the horses, they traveled swiftly, breaking bread at a trot and not even stopping to relieve themselves, which was all Catrina could think about after a time. She watched the sun set, tried to concentrate on the beauty of the landscape—anything to distract herself. Fairly flat and verdantly green with rolling hills in the distance, Northumbria was indistinguishable from the Scottish lowlands.
Now traveling on old Roman roads, some no wider than the horses they rode, their small party finally encountered a thicket of trees. Catrina prayed Bryce was looking for shelter among the dense pine trees, and when he raised his hand to stop, she thought she might cry from relief. Dismounting on her own, she led Davie to the man who rode in front of her and held up the reins. Without question, he took them. She practically ran into the trees.
Leaving modesty behind and lifting her skirts, Catrina vowed never again to stay silent about her needs for so long. Damn stubbornness. Moments later, feeling much relieved, she was making her way back to the horses when a hand reached out and grabbed her.
“Bryce! I didn’t hear you.” How could a man so large make so little noise?
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.
“If you must know…”
“Aye, I must.”
Ah, he had taken her desperate dash into the woods for an escape attempt.
“We stopped twice all day, Bryce.” If he made her say it out loud, she’d be mortified.
“What the devil does that have to do with…oh.”
She pulled her arm back and lifted her chin. “Aye.”
Bryce took off his helm. Despite the surcoat and mail, he wore no hauberk. His hair was damp with sweat. And were his cheeks actually tinged with pink?
“My apologies. I’ve seen you ride and knew you could keep pace.”
Catrina glowed. She wasn’t sure if he had meant it as a compliment, but it felt like one. And he’d apologized twice now. She liked that Bryce was not immune to admitting a mistake. It was a quality her eldest brother could learn to emulate.
They walked back to the small clearing where the men were already setting up camp. She knew two of the knights, but the other three were unfamiliar to her. Likely from Kenshire. They worked efficiently, starting a fire and erecting small tents. One escorted her to a nearby stream to wash. She didn’t see Bryce again until after they ate a modest meal of roasted rabbit and bread. She was accustomed to being in the presence of men, and Catrina actually enjoyed herself. It was much preferable to being locked up in a small bedchamber. And though Bryce ignored her for most of the evening, the others did not. She was almost sorry when it was time to retire.
The third day of travel went much smoother than the first two thanks to more frequent stops. They slowed through a tricky incline, and she could tell the men were impressed with how she navigated Davie over the rocky slope. Now back on flat ground, they flew through the open fields, and Catrina felt wonderful. She was determined to speak to Bryce when they stopped that evening. He had retired early the previous two nights, but tonight he would not continue to elude her. There was no reason to wait for Kenshire to begin convincing him to let go of this feud with her family.
It would be a fine day indeed.
It was hell.
Bryce had started questioning his decision to accompany Catrina to Kenshire even before they left Bristol. He’d sworn under his breath upon his first sight of her in that dress, not caring if Thomas overheard him. By God, what had she been thinking? Her breasts nearly burst from the neckline of the otherwise fine-looking gown. While her explanation of the ruined dress made sense, he honestly didn’t know how they would make it to Kenshire without incident.
He wanted her.
There was no use denying it. The small tastes, the blasted kisses, only left him wanting more. Bryce had finally resigned himself to that fact. Every time she entered the room, his pulse quickened. When he closed his eyes, he could feel the firm press of her chest again his own. How her buttocks felt as if they were made for his hands.
Accompanying her on this trip was an error in judgment.
But although he knew that, there was nothing to be done. He could not remain at Bristol wondering if she’d outsmarted her guards. The thought of her wandering toward the border again, prey to any reivers who crossed her path, was too much for him to bear. He would see her safe and secure at Kenshire before making his next move.
Clan Kerr was being watched. He would know if they remained at Brockburg or took the bait and followed them to Kenshire. And if Toren Kerr was stubborn enough to march on Bristol even though his sister was no longer in residence, he was prepared for that too.
Either way, the man would pay for his actions.
Just as Bryce himself was paying for his insistence on joining this trip to Kenshire.
The draw she had on him, stronger every day, convinced him that his best strategy was to stay away from her. Which is exactly what he tried to do. But as he lay awake in the small tent on the second night of their journey, he could hear her talking, laughing with his men. More than once, he considered putting a stop to their merriment—until he realized the source of his irritation was jealousy.
What did he care if she enjoyed the company of his knights? They would likely learn very quickly that she talked too much. Said the most outrageous things. Surely they would tire of her chatter and insistence upon swearing like a man.
Finally, he did put a stop to it, reminding the group of their early start. Other than an angry glare, he received no other indication from Catrina that she’d heard him. Instead, she continued to tell the group a story about the first rabbit she’d killed.
Of course the lady hunted. The woman could do just about everything.
The next day, he forced himself not to turn around. To ignore the itch that urged him to look back at her, just once. She was riding in the middle, keeping up with their grueling pace. Admittedly, he was impressed by her riding skills. Any other woman would have complained more than once about the harsh conditions of the journey.
But not Catrina.
Disgusted by the turn of his thoughts, Bryce called out an order and rode ahead. There were precious few inns this far north. Few had survived the ravages of being so close to the border. The Wild Boar was one of the lucky few that thrived in this in-between space.
Friendly to both English and Scottish, the owner was notoriously protective of its reputation. The inn was unique and somehow able to preserve its position as neutral dwelling.
Loyal men from both sides of the border helped guard the inn’s peace. The Wild Boar was known for miles as being off-limits for settling disputes.
With any luck, there would be available rooms for the evening. Or at least one for Catrina. He and the men were accustomed to beds of leaves and sticks, but a hot meal and cold mug of ale would be welcome.
Spotting the stone structure ahead, he made his way toward the inn, anxious to put distance between himself and Catrina, who would—he assured himself—be safe with the men. After giving his horse to the groom and disarming with the help of a stable hand, Bryce walked under the wooden sign depicting a boar with a hunter’s arrow piercing it.
The two-story timber-framed building was large for an inn. It boasted a great hall, both public and private accommodations, a kitchen, and stables large enough to house more horses than there were rooms. Making his way through the hall, Bryce spotted the innkeeper at the far end of the room.
She was an older, plump woman, but anyone who thought
to instigate trouble with the widow of the former owner was quickly dissuaded.
“My lovely Magge.”
She turned swiftly, likely ready to box his ears. He knew what would be coming and braced for it.
“Sir Bryce. Or is it Lord Waryn now? Get over here and give ol’ Magge a kiss.” He attempted to kiss her ruddy cheek and was ready when she turned her head.
He managed to find his mark despite her best efforts.
“Ah, ye’re wise to me, young lad.” She reached behind him and slapped his backside.
“You forget I’ve been coming here since Father brought me as a child. You try that trick on every man looking for a warm bed.”
She scowled at him, though he could tell she wasn’t really angry.
“Not everyone, my young lord. Just the handsome ones.” Turning from the table and giving the buxom maid who served him ale with a wink, he walked with Magge toward the hearth.
“Come, sit with this old lady,” she said. “Tell me of Bristol. I hear you gave Clan Kerr the fight they deserved.”
He sat in front of a roaring fire, letting the comforting and familiar sounds of men eating, drinking, and playing dice wash over him. If nothing else was familiar to him these days, Magge’s hospitality was something he could count on.
“You already know.”
Giving an overly rambunctious knight who nearly stumbled into them a whack on the leg, Magge nodded. “Your brother told me about it on his way from Bristol to Kenshire.” Magge leaned in as if imparting an important secret. “He’s smitten, that one. Is this Lady Sara so good in bed then?”
Bryce nearly smiled. “I wouldn’t know, Magge. But she is a strong, kind woman. You’d like her.”
Magge cackled. “The only girls I like can cook and clean and serve ale without managing to get a cock stuck in them while they’re at it.”
Which was precisely when Catrina cleared her throat from behind them. They both looked up. Bryce stood and introduced the women.
“Catrina, meet Magge, owner of this fine establishment. Magge, may I present Lady Catrina…” He stopped.
The Lord's Captive (Border Series Book 2) Page 13