The Earl: Order of the Broken Blade: Book 4

by Mecca, Cecelia

  Thankfully, he appeared to be alone.

  No Terric yet.

  “They greet you properly,” Sarnac said as they approached. “As I am wont to do for the man who set this upon our heads.” He gestured back outside the gates from which they’d just entered. “Welcome to Heath Castle.”

  Their host shifted toward her.

  “Greetings, Lady Cait. And welcome.”

  She answered in kind, startled he knew her name. Which meant . . .

  “So they are here?” Conrad asked.

  “Aye, just inside the keep. Though I wish I could give you a better greeting, I am actually preparing for a ride among the men. But my squire here will lead you inside.”

  Ah, so the mount was a show of force for those who would soon be following him into battle.

  “Many thanks, Lord Sarnac. For your welcome. And your hospitality.”

  Just then two men on horseback rode up to their lord, prepared to flank him, no doubt.

  “Arnie, see to our guests, lad.”

  The boy next to Sarnac nodded to them, then kicked his mount and turned toward the inner gatehouse. With a final farewell, their host headed out just as she, Conrad, and the boy made their way inside. By the time they made it up the stone steps of the keep, Cait’s heartbeat had nearly returned to normal—until the maid who’d greeted them asked if they would prefer to be “seen to their rooms, or to the hall with the others.”

  The others.

  Meaning her brother.

  “The . . .” Conrad stopped, gesturing for her to answer. Cait’s entire body warmed as she realized why he failed to respond.

  “The hall, if you please,” she said. Part of her wished to put the confrontation off indefinitely, yet she also wished to get it out of the way.

  “My lord will return before the evening meal,” the maid said, leading the way.

  Neither she nor Conrad corrected her assumption that they had not yet been greeted by Lord Sarnac. Did Conrad feel as nervous as she did? Likely not.

  They’d been spotted.

  She could not tell from whom the shriek originated, but there, in the corner of the hall, sat all of them. With the exception of Roysa, who was nearly running toward them. The others stood, the hall mostly empty with the exception of servants beginning to move the tables toward the center of the room for the midday meal.

  Roysa rushed right past Conrad to wrap Cait in a hug. She squeezed the other woman back, grateful for such a welcome.

  “We’ve been expecting you.”

  She glanced over her sister-in-law’s shoulder and caught Terric’s gaze. As expected, he did not appear very pleased.

  “Is he angry?”

  Roysa twisted her mouth, as she often did, but gave no other answer. Which meant, aye, he was angry, but she did not wish to say it aloud.

  “With me, I hope, and not Conrad,” she whispered as Conrad walked toward the rest of the group.

  They sat next to a fireplace that crept up the entire wall. Intricate carvings began close to the floor. The stonework was as fine as any Cait had ever seen. She spied a dragon, two actually, one on each side.

  “He is better . . . now,” Roysa whispered.

  Cait didn’t have time to ask about that before she was engulfed in another hug, this time by Idalia and then Sabine. The somber mood that had consumed her began to lift, despite the circumstances. Namely, her brother, and his likely disapproval of her presence here.

  “I’d have a word with you both,” he said, his voice booming as he approached them.

  “Terric, they’ve just returned,” Roysa interjected. “Are likely tired and hungry . . .”

  “I am both,” she acknowledged, catching Conrad’s eye. “But I would speak to you now.”

  Before she even finished, Cait found herself enveloped in her brother’s strong arms.

  “I’ve not survived the journey for you to squeeze the life from me,” she teased. Despite her words, Cait returned her brother’s embrace. “I love you too,” she whispered, feeling his urgency—his need to know she was, indeed, well.

  He let her go finally, turning toward the front of the hall, which had begun to fill during their reunion. With one last glance at the women who had helped her “escape” Licheford, Cait followed Terric just as Conrad, who’d been greeting Lance and Guy, reached her side. Though he did not look her way, his hand found hers, his fingers winding through her own.

  For a simple gesture, it was telling—Terric knew it too, judging by the frown he gave them as he directed them to follow him into a small chamber just off the hall.

  “Sarnac has given use of his solar for our purposes,” he said, leading the way inside. The dark interior began to illuminate as the wall torch Terric had grabbed just outside the door was used to light similar ones inside. The walls flickered with light, coming alive.

  Sadly.

  She could have lived a hundred years without seeing her brother’s scowl. It was one she knew well, having seen it many, many times before.

  “Again, Cait? After you stowed away with Rory, I did hope you’d learned your lesson.”

  “Terric.” Conrad never let go of her hand. “I was angry as well. And considered sending her back.”

  “Considered. ’Twould seem a fine plan to me.”

  She hated seeing them this way. At odds, because of her. “Speak to me, Terric. Not him. I was the one who left. I am your sister and can accept your anger as I know it will pass. But Conrad—”

  “Is my brother.” Terric looked at their joined hands. “He has been so for many years,” he added, his voice thick, “but it seems our bond will only grow stronger.”

  Cait had expected to beg and plead for her brother to be reasonable. She’d prepared many arguments. That his wife was here too. As was Idalia. That she was his elder. That he’d called Conrad the most honorable man he had ever known.

  But it seemed none of the arguments were needed.

  “Roysa and the others explained. Everything.”

  When Conrad squeezed her hand, Cait thought she might cry. Terric’s approval was the last barrier to a story that had begun years ago. She hadn’t dared hope it would be this easy.

  “I wish you had told me,” Terric said to her, “but understand why you did not. Although I cannot pretend to understand why you hesitated to come to Dromsley for so long, avoiding a man you clearly love.”

  Cait rubbed her thumb along Conrad’s hand.

  “I avoided him because I was scared,” she admitted.

  And was even more so now to admit to the part she’d played in that awful, cruel day the brotherhood had been born. But it needed to be done.

  “I asked him to meet me that day at the tournament.”

  “Cait . . . ,” Conrad warned.

  She ignored him.

  “There was an instant connection between us. And as improper as it seems now, I felt bold that day. It was my first tourney. My first time away from home. The first time my entire body came alive at the mere sight of someone . . . and so I asked him to meet me. Alone.”

  Before Terric could react, she continued. “You and Rory were always with me. And when you competed, father stood guard, never allowing me more than a moment alone. So, I asked him to meet me,” Cait repeated.

  Her brother looked at Conrad.

  “He refused. Said it was too dangerous.”

  Clearly Terric was confused, and she did not blame him.

  “But I went anyway. I pretended to need privacy but ran all the way to the river behind the tents.”

  “I saw her go,” Conrad finished. “And sought to follow her. Rory stopped me. I could never remember what he asked, or what we spoke about, but you came along then.”

  “And asked you to walk with me,” Terric finished.

  He nodded. “I didn’t want Cait to be down there alone, but I couldn’t say anything without getting her in trouble. I planned to feign surprise when we saw her.”

  The room went silent, each of them remembering
their version of what happened next. She’d planned to take off her boots, dip her toes in the river, enjoy the bit of freedom she’d managed to gain.

  The man had grabbed her before she even saw him coming.

  “It was my fault,” she said, choking out the words like they were acrid smoke. Before Conrad could argue with her, she added, “But I know, now, it was actually more my attacker’s fault than anyone’s.”

  Another squeeze.

  “I love her,” Conrad said, his voice unwavering.

  I will not cry. I will not cry.

  “I fell in love with your sister when we corresponded and she told me of all her exploits, some you likely wish I didn’t know.” Conrad grinned at her brother. “And I love her even more now. I would marry Cait, with your permission, Terric.”

  When her brother smiled at his friend, Cait’s silent plea was answered. Her eyes blurred.

  “I give it gladly if you’ll answer just one more question.”

  Cait’s heart leapt in anticipation of what her brother might ask.

  “Did you consummate the marriage you’ve yet to have?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Terric!”

  “I know you well, my friend, and believe you have not. But Guy and Idalia do not agree.”

  “You . . .” She had no words. “You all speculated on whether or not we . . . Conrad and I. Terric!”

  For his part, Conrad grinned broadly.

  “We did not,” he said, clearly proud of the fact. “But know this,” he said over her brother’s laughter. “We wed immediately. Before London. I’d hoped to give Cait a better wedding but . . .”

  Terric crossed his arms, nodding his approval.

  “Go ahead, then. Say the words.”

  This could not be happening. Did he mean . . .

  Conrad spun her toward him, taking both of her hands.

  Cait was about to be wed.

  Chapter 27

  “Tonight, we forget about the rebellion,” Conrad whispered to his wife.

  Freshly dressed, newly married, they sat beside each other on Sarnac’s raised dais, honored guests. Even so, he’d arranged to be seated at the very end of the table, not wishing to share Cait with the others just yet. He snagged a morsel of meat from their shared trencher.

  “Tonight,” he said, just before placing it in his mouth, “we celebrate.”

  Conrad had never been happier in his life.

  At first he’d thought Terric was jesting about marrying them, but the look in his eyes had assured him his friend was quite serious. There was trust and respect in his gaze, and a fair measure of you will marry my sister after being alone with her, which he’d expected. He had known it from the moment he’d chosen not to force her back to Licheford.

  She might deserve a better man, or at least one who was not about to risk his life, but Conrad could no sooner stay away from Cait for a single night more than he could call off the whole rebellion. The torture of holding her, pleasuring her, without full consummation . . .

  The memory of Cait’s hand wrapped around him made him hard even now, sitting in the hall, with hundreds of men and a few women staring up at them.

  He’d have given her a grand wedding, if he’d been able.

  But Conrad vowed, at least, to give her the wedding night she deserved.

  “Husband.”

  He finished chewing, the spiced meat tender but not so delicious as his wife’s expression.

  “I enjoy saying it.”

  Conrad’s response was cut short by their host, who pounded the table with his mug to quiet the hall.

  “A toast to the new bride and groom! To the man who brought us all together and the one who will lead us through the gates of Aldgate three days hence.”

  He would not celebrate that feat prematurely, but Conrad did raise his mug in deference to the woman he now called wife. She beamed, her smile as radiant as the sun.

  The audience’s cheers and banging mugs did not appear to be ceasing. The sound echoed through the hall, louder and louder until Conrad leaned over to Cait.

  “Kiss me.”

  She didn’t hesitate.

  His wife leaned up to him, and Conrad kissed her so thoroughly Terric finally shouted, “Enough, ’tis my sister!” next to her. The crowd laughed, and drank some more.

  Taking advantage of the jovial mood, Conrad stood, unwilling to wait a moment longer. Cait joined him, and as he’d expected, the crowd roared. Guy and Lance, along with their wives, smiled as he took Cait’s hand and led her from the hall. His gaze lingered longest on Terric, who was laughing, a sound Conrad had sorely missed.

  He didn’t let go of Cait until they reached their chamber. Not his. Nor hers. Theirs.

  Smiling at her, Conrad slowly opened the door.

  He had been explicit earlier in his request to Sarnac. The man had done much for the movement—his agreement to host the forces likely placed him second on the monarch’s list of rebel barons—and yet he had come through again.

  The quite ordinary room he’d occupied for a bath earlier had been transformed, filled with deep pink camellias mixed with crocuses the color of Cait’s kirtle.

  “’Tis beautiful,” she said softly.

  Candles sat in every crevice of the chamber, and the fire had recently been stoked. Silently thanking his host once again, Conrad wasted no time. Gathering Cait in his arms, he murmured his agreement.

  The kiss, as sweet as the one he’d given her in the hall, quickly became much more. He’d had a taste, but now Conrad wanted it all. Reaching behind her, he deftly unlaced the back of her gown, his fingers actually trembling. That day at the tournament, when she’d asked him to “meet me briefly by the river,” he’d little thought the beautiful, timid, and bold young woman would one day become his wife.

  Unlaced, he gathered both sides of her gown in his hands and lifted it above her head. Cait’s shift was next to go. As she reached down then to untie the laces on her boots, Conrad focused on ridding himself of his own clothing, knowing their night might be over before it started were he to look upon his wife’s breasts as she stripped off her stockings.

  Slowly, Conrad.

  Taking off everything but his shirt, he was about to divest himself of that as well when Cait stopped him.

  “Nay,” she said, pulling him toward her by that very garment. “Let me.”

  Except she did not move to take off his shirt. Instead, she leaned up to kiss him, and the sweet pressure of her lips made him lose patience. He needed her. Now. He picked her up, intending to take her to the bed, but when she shivered, he carried her to the fire instead. Placing her on the large fur pelt in front of it, he sat down beside her. Cait stretched herself out.

  “Mmmm.”

  He was content to watch her, if only for a moment, as the firelight cast a shadow over the very part of her he intended to touch first. And so he did. Running his finger from her knee to her inner thigh, Conrad never took his eyes from her.

  “You will be mine tonight,” he said, aware of the gruffness in his voice.

  “I am yours already.” Cait bent her knee, so he took advantage and captured her leg.

  “You are my wife, aye.”

  He splayed his hand across her thigh just before reaching his goal.

  “But after this eve.” Conrad inched closer. “There will be no question of the validity of our vows.”

  Her lips parted as he slipped one finger inside.

  So wet, so ready.

  “Your shirt,” she said, her hips pushing into him.

  Conrad laughed. “It seems you forgot to remove it.”

  He wanted to lean down and kiss her. To mimic the movement of his fingers with his tongue, to taste her as she came into his hand. But he also wanted to see Cait. To watch his wife as her breathing became deeper, more erratic. As her cheeks flushed from an internal heat that had naught to do with the fire that raged next to them.

  “I did,” she breathed.

  Pressing his palm into h
er, moving it in circles, he could see she was close.

  While he’d fully intended to watch her come apart in his hands, it had been too long.

  He’d spent too many sleepless nights dreaming of her beneath him. Of sinking into her as he intended to do just now.

  Tearing off his linen shirt, Conrad positioned himself over her and claimed her lips, his tongue delving into her mouth. The exquisite press of Cait’s breasts against his chest threatened to drive him mad, but he forced himself to lift up.

  He wanted them in his hands.

  Conrad could not get enough of her. He propped himself up with one hand, using the other to explore her body. She pulled him back down, insistent, and he reached between them to position himself.

  Ah, he was there. Right there.

  Somehow he managed to rip his mouth from hers. “Cait?”

  She knew enough to understand. Nodding, Cait squeezed her eyes shut.

  He wasn’t in the habit of bedding virgins and had little experience here, but he did know it would hurt some. But it was for him to soothe her afterward.

  Little by little, he guided himself in, moaning for the sweet torture of it all.

  There. The barrier that he’d refused to cross on the hellish journey south. Knowing she wanted this as much as he . . .

  Conrad stopped thinking. In one swift movement, he crossed the barrier and captured her cries with his mouth. Not moving, forcing her attention to the tangling of their tongues, Conrad waited for what seemed like forever.

  Until she moved.

  A little at first. Testing.

  And then a bit harder. Her hips pressed upward, and so he circled her. Not daring to go too quickly.

  “More,” she said, breaking contact.

  He had so much more to give.

  Wanting to both close his eyes for the pleasure of being inside Cait and keep them open to watch her face, Conrad decided on the latter. Lifting her leg on one side, he sank in so deeply that for a moment he thought he’d hurt her again.

  But her cry was of pleasure, not pain.

  So he moved faster. Pumped harder.

  Cait’s nails dug into his back, and he welcomed them as a reminder of their union. If she left a mark, it wouldn’t be the first he’d gain because of this woman. And like the first, he would revel in the reminder that they were linked.