Neither did Cait deserve such a wedding, a fact she did not seem to care about at the moment, judging by her frown. He’d secured private rooms for everyone in their party. It was the last night they would sleep with a roof overhead until they reached London, and even if the innkeeper refused to draw more than one bath, it was something of a luxury. The men seemed to appreciate it, though the frown Cait gave him as they were led toward the second floor indicated she did not currently appreciate anything about him.
At least she was looking at him now.
“This way, my lady.” The serving girl motioned Cait toward one of the doors. “My lord has ordered a tub, which I will attend to forthwith. Will you take your meal in the room as well?”
“Aye,” he answered for her. He could not abide the thought of Cait eating in the hall of an inn more likely to host smugglers than noblemen.
The answer appeared to anger her, causing Conrad even more confusion. He merely wished to keep her safe. But he had no time to explain himself, for Cait moved into the room without another word.
“And you, my lord?” the maid asked. “Will you take your meal up here as well?”
“I will send for it, and for my lady’s meal, when it is required,” he said by way of an answer.
The men all safely ensconced in their rooms, Conrad threw open the door of his own bedchamber, startling the maid. She scurried away, leaving him to find his way inside with the sole candle she’d given each of them on the way upstairs.
Like the great room and the hallway, the room was small and dark. Tossing his belongings to the side, Conrad began to undress. As they had all day, his thoughts flitted from London to the bishop and back Cait.
Always Cait.
No matter that they were in the midst of a rebellion.
I cannot do this.
The thought forced its way inside despite Conrad’s attempt to push it away. Of course he could do this. The plans were well underway. His friends were likely already in position. He had dealt with each issue as it arose, the pope no more of a problem than any other.
He was the one who’d started all of this, and now they were taking on not just the king, but the pope as well. What had he been thinking?
He was not his father.
Shaking away the thought, Conrad found himself at the door before he even realized it. Pulling it open, he stepped out into the hall just as three serving girls left Cait’s room with empty buckets of water.
He didn’t pause to think. Rather, he pushed open the door and stepped inside just in time to watch her lift her shift above her head. She spun, startled, tugging the shift back down.
“I told you to lock the door at all times.”
It wasn’t how he’d intended to greet her.
Cait frowned.
“They just came in with the water,” she said by way of explanation, nodding to the tub.
He locked it himself.
“What are you doing?”
Conrad would have thought it were obvious. “Undressing, of course. For the bath. They could only fill one.”
Cait froze.
“Then I will allow you to bathe, my lord.”
If she thought he was too gentlemanly to agree, Cait thought incorrectly. He tossed his clothing and boots to the side and entered the steaming hot water. It felt good, though not as good as Cait would feel on top of him.
“Come here, Cait.”
She shook her head. “Nay.”
“Come here.”
She did not move.
“I will ask you once more. And if you do not take off your shift and come to this tub, I will gather you myself. And your shift will be as wet as I intend to make you.”
He meant every word. They could discuss her anger later. They could speak of marriage and his insistence on seeing to her safety. Of the state of the rebellion and his role in it and the fears he dare not express.
But right now, he needed her. Terric be damned.
“I am scared, Cait. I am alone and scared,” he said, perhaps too honestly.
She took a step toward him.
Chapter 25
She had never seen him like this.
Nay, Cait corrected herself. She had seen a version of the man in the bath, but that had been many years ago. The look in his eyes now was much the same as it had been when he stared back at her, cheek oozing blood, willing her to be okay.
This was a man accustomed to having his orders followed. One who had been groomed to become an earl but who also harbored doubts.
I am scared, Cait. I am alone and scared.
Hard to believe Conrad was afraid of anything, but he had never told her an untruth, to her knowledge. Still angry but also aware that he needed her, she took the final step that put her within reach of him.
His tug on her hand was anything but gentle. She found herself, rather quickly, being pulled into the tub. Although large enough to accommodate a large man, as it likely often did, it was hardly big enough for them both. There was nowhere for her save directly on top of him. She straddled him, with Conrad’s assistance, and he kissed her like they hadn’t touched each other for the entire day, which they hadn’t. Hard. Demanding. And that’s when she felt his hand between her legs. She’d spent so much time thinking about his mouth on her, wishing it would happen again, that it took her a moment to decide if this was real or another fantasy.
Real.
Very, very real. She hardly had time to react before his fingers slipped inside. Just as before, a delicious pressure built inside her.
“Show me,” she managed against his lips.
But he didn’t respond. Instead, Conrad kissed her again, his hand moving against her even as her hips pressed into them. It was heaven. Pure heaven. A blasphemous thought, to be sure, but Cait could not be sorry for it. Nothing in her short life had ever felt so perfect. But if he thought to pleasure her again and not allow the same for himself . . .
“Show me,” she said again, this time ensuring he understood her meaning. Cait found him easily, her hand wrapping around him as it had the other night, before he had stopped her.
Moaning, Conrad broke away. He looked into her eyes even as his fingers continued to taunt her. She remembered how he’d moved their hands together that night, showing her how to pleasure him, and she mimicked those movements now, staring into his eyes.
Cait was doing something right. His mouth opened, the look of pure pleasure on his face one she vowed to see every day of their lives.
“You should not.”
His palm pressed against her, moving in slow, sensuous circles, as his fingers continued their delicious assault.
“That is enough.” She was finished taking orders. “You do not speak for me. I am a grown woman and can speak and act for myself. I will do as I will, and if you think to stop me, then do it now so I know your measure. Otherwise, you will trust that I can make a decision all on my own. And just this moment . . .” Just this moment, she was having difficulty remembering what she’d planned to say. His hand, his expressions . . . her own stroking of the evidence of his desire for her. It was simply too much.
“Just this moment, you will succumb to me,” she finished on a gasp.
She could see the very moment he did.
Conrad thrust into her hand, shuddering. Letting go. And it was simply too much all at once. Her body split apart, Cait crying out his name as he did the same for her. She reached behind him and held on to the edge of the wooden tub, her entire body wracked with tremors she could not contain. He kissed her as the tremors of pleasure still ran through her, holding her as if he never wished to let her go.
Nor did she wish him to.
“What is it like to make love?” she asked, pulling away just enough to ask.
Conrad swallowed, his wet hands pushing back her hair on both sides as she allowed herself to fall atop him completely.
“With us, it will be all-consuming. It will feel as if you no longer live in the world, if just for a moment. The
thought is almost frightening.”
With us.
The implication that it would be different with them, better, made her heart soar. He’d said as much before, but she wouldn’t tire of hearing it. They still had much to discuss, but for now, Cait wanted only to revel in the feel of his strong body under her. Of his hands, as gentle as he was hard, cupping her face as if she were a wee baby bird.
Just like that day.
The day they met, he’d both killed a man and looked at her with such softness Cait had thought he must be two different men.
But he was not.
He was simply Conrad.
And he was hers. Utterly and completely hers.
She leaned down to where the scar began, just near his ear, and kissed it. She kissed it all the way down his cheek, so gently that she could hardly feel her lips against his flesh.
At first Cait thought it was water from the bath. Until a warm drop fell onto the corner of her mouth just as she was sitting up again. Not water, but a tear.
Conrad was crying.
This knight, this earl, this brave man who’d taken the weight of England on his shoulders, was crying.
And that’s when she understood the depth of his pain.
She had been hurting. His people, his country, were hurting.
He’d sought to heal them both.
And lost himself instead.
Conrad pulled Cait against him, ruing the small bed but grateful to have one just the same. Her wet hair brushed against his chest as she settled next to him. Thankfully, her shift and his linen braies separated them.
Every time he thought of what it would feel like to finally slide into her, to be closer than they’d ever been before, Conrad imagined Terric asking, as he would, if he had taken her. Determined to answer, “nay,” to repair the damage he had done by keeping his communication with Cait secret for so long, he resisted the urge to slip his hand under her shift. To bring her to pleasure again, to spend this night exploring every luscious curve.
“We must talk.”
“Cait.” He kissed the top of her head. “I would have married you today. Yesterday. Years ago. But we cannot do so without your brother’s consent.”
She stirred but remained quiet.
“You asked me not to tell him, and I never did. But the omission hurt him, and I’m sorry for it.”
“You spoke for me.”
She spun toward him, her face cradled in his arms. How small she looked this way.
“With the countess. The bishop. You spoke for me, as my father and brothers always have, but Terric does not do so with Roysa. She speaks for herself, as does Idalia. And I wish to do the same.”
“I aim only to keep you safe.”
“And with the bishop? Could you not have asked for my opinion before declining his offer?”
When he didn’t answer, Cait rolled her eyes.
“Did your father ask for your mother’s opinion on such matters?”
His answer was an easy one. “Nay.”
“Never?”
“Not on matters of import.”
He could tell she was getting upset again, but Conrad had simply answered the question honestly. And from what he knew of Cait’s father, neither would he have consulted his wife.
“When you formed the order, did you ask for my brother’s opinion? For Lance and Guy’s? Or did you order them to join you?”
He thought back to that day at the tournament last year. He’d known what he was asking. None had hesitated to join him, but it had very much been their choice.
“They are free men. None are in my service. Of course I asked.”
“Could you not ask me, at times? Rather than ordering me about as if I am in your service?”
“When your safety is not a concern, aye.”
She seemed to contemplate that. Then finally, she said, “’Tis a bargain.”
He’d not realized they were negotiating. Shaking his head, Conrad stared at her in awe. “You are a wonder to me, Cait Kennaugh.”
“But I am your wonder, am I not?”
Of that, he was certain. “Aye.”
Which was why he could not wait much longer to marry her. He knew the implications of what the bishop had told him—if they failed, the rebellion failed. All of them, but Conrad more than the rest. He’d started this movement, after all. The possibility that he would be taken, imprisoned, killed, was stronger than the outcome they prayed for—that the rebels would be welcomed, embraced, as champions of justice against a corrupt king.
He would not die without knowing her as fully and completely as a man and woman could. And so, they would marry before they entered the city.
Slipping away from her, Conrad jumped from the bed.
“What are you about?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for the leather bag that carried his belongings. Pulling out an old slip of parchment folded into a small square, he returned to the bed. He handed it to Cait and watched as she opened it.
Her expression told him she’d understood at once. Propped on one arm, lying sideways, he could not resist smiling as she looked in astonishment from the letter back to him.
“How . . . but you, you did not know I had come when you brought this.”
Conrad shook his head gently. “I did not.”
“’Tis the very first one,” she said.
Conrad waited.
“Did you look for this when I came to Licheford?”
Again, he shook his head.
“You carry it . . .”
“Always.”
Cait’s eyes filled with tears.
“You could not know I’d come. Lady Threston . . .” She took a deep breath as Conrad wiped a tear from her cheek. “You could not have known.”
“I did not,” he confirmed. “Neither did I believe I would ever see you again.”
“But . . .” She looked down at the letter she’d sent him, the simple thank you note for helping the others to rescue her.
“’Twas a reminder of a time I had succeeded. A reminder,” he continued, “of a woman I’d loved.”
“You kept this with you?”
“Always,” he repeated, taking it from her hands. “I love you, Cait. I wish to marry you the moment we meet up with the others.”
“The moment?” She reached up, her hand covering his cheek. Conrad held his own over it.
“The moment. Before we go to London.”
Before we either force the king’s hand or die trying.
“Yes. Yes!”
She sat up and kissed him in a way that made Conrad rethink his position with Terric. Her lips moved across his own so sweetly and thoroughly, Conrad wondered if the entire plan could not be altered. If they could, all eight of them, forget London. And King John. Escape to France, or anywhere really, and find peace without the need for war.
But even as he held the woman he’d never quite forgotten, positioning himself for sleep behind her, breathing in her sweet scent, he dismissed the wild notion. Guy and Sabine could escape. Idalia and Lance too. Even Terric could flee across the border to Scotland, never to return to England again.
But Conrad had begun this rebellion. He would see it through.
Whatever the outcome.
Chapter 26
“Oh dear.”
As the outer walls of Heath Castle came into view, Cait’s bravado of the past few days began to wane. Although the castle itself was most impressive, it wasn’t the structure or its proximity to London that gave her pause.
Bright white tents littered the landscape for as far as she could see. Not even the battle at Dromsley Castle had prepared her for this sight.
“There must be . . .”
She could not guess.
“Over a thousand men,” Conrad finished for her. “And more are striking southward toward the Sussex coast. We’re prepared to seize a port where our foreign allies may land.”
She slowed, her hands shaking.
“Conrad . .
.”
It had not precisely felt real until this moment. She’d only seen this many knights and warriors in one place on one previous occasion.
And that had not ended well. Not at all.
“We have been preparing for this for a long time,” Conrad said softly, his tone encouraging. “All has gone according to plan.”
It wasn’t true, of course—neither of them had forgotten about the bishop’s disclosure. Her father and brother had regularly downplayed the danger of their missions, something she and her mother had bemoaned together.
But if it allowed Conrad some measure of peace, to imagine she believed all would be well, then she’d not chastise him for it.
“I know you have,” she said, reassuring him more than herself. “But . . .”
Though the dirt road on which they traveled remained clear, they were surrounded by the clashing of swords and shouting of commands. It was impossible to forget what had brought them here.
And then it began.
A low murmur at first, Cait not understanding what was happening.
It became louder and louder, the chant clearer with each step forward. Could it be? Did her ears deceive her?
When Conrad raised his fist in the air, a cry went up that nearly unseated her.
“Licheford!”
They were calling his name.
And why not?
Conrad and a few important rebels had made this happen. She looked over at him again, attempting to reconcile the man, chin raised, jaw locked, with the one whose arms she’d slept in these past nights.
She could not do it.
“Licheford!” they cried, the name echoing into the early evening sky. Cait shuddered as the drawbridge was lowered for them.
Lord Sarnac, former constable of the Tower of London and one of the order’s earliest supporters, greeted them just inside the gates. At least, she assumed the man sitting atop one of the largest destriers she had ever seen was their host.
She shuddered again.
Conrad had described the lord of Heath Castle to her, but the man looked much more ferocious in person, his long, dark hair as straight as his horse’s mane.
The Earl: Order of the Broken Blade: Book 4 Page 12