Carolyne Cathey (27 page)

"I sense
your hesitation, lass.  But I like not your dour expression.  I long to see
your smile that makes the sun seem insignificant, for the glow warms me to the
core."

Dear, God.  Give
her the strength to do what must be done.  She must protect Kyle.  She must.

Kyle cleared his
throat, both a gentle seriousness on his face and an excited awe, as if he had
reached a great, unexpected moment in his life.  "Eleanor, as I told you
when you sat with me upon Valiant, I am an honorable knight."

The memory of
being with him atop his steed left her shaky, yet letting him say what he
intended would make the telling even more unbearable.  She must stop him, even
if she had to lie.  "My lord, I have had much time to think whilst you lay
injured.  Much has been made clear to me."  She stood and avoided his
reach.

"Eleanor?" 
He tilted his head, puzzled.

"For one, my
lord, I have accomplished my mission."  She clasped her hands to hide her
tremble and studied the mossy cracks between the stones of the walk as she
continued the lie.  "In truth, I must apologize."

He pushed to his
feet.

She retreated,
afraid that if he touched her, she would not have the strength.  "I have
overstepped my purpose, Lord Kyle."

"Eleanor." 
Dry leaves crunched beneath his boots as he stepped toward her.  "'Tis impolite
to interrupt your master.  I want to tell you--"

"I didn't
interrupt, my lord."  She stumbled, but took another step back.  "As
I was saying--"

"Eleanor!" 
He crunched another step and reached out his hand.

Don't let him
touch you
.

Her heel caught
on the edge of a stone but she remained upright.  "Our original agreement
stated that I scrub your floors--"

He scraped to a
halt.  "And tend my garden?"

"Aye, my
lord."  She rubbed her dirt-covered hands on the roughness of her skirt.

"'Tis the
reason for your scratchy wool?"

"Aye. 
'Twould ruin the silk."

He drew up to his
full height as if insulted.  "You would disobey me?"

"I seek to
serve you, my lord."

"By burying
your hands in filth instead of your body in my mattress?"

She shoved her
hands on her hips.  "At least 'tis wholesome filth!"

Kyle released a
ragged sigh and closed his eyes.  "I know what you hope to force,
Eleanor.  But if you'd listen, you'd see 'tis for naught.  I plan to honor
the--"

"Nay!  'Tis
not what I want!"

Kyle stiffened. 
Anger and pain froze in the ice of his eyes.  "Did I hear true?  Are we
again on the opposites of a conversation?  Am I to assume you've had a change
of heart?"

Aye, 'twas now
shattered into painful shards.  "'Tis not meant to be, my lord.  We are
not meant . . . "   A sob caught in her throat as she struggled to recover
her fractured composure.

Behind Kyle,
Eleanor saw Beth sashay into view, smug triumph in her expression as if eager
to fill Eleanor's soon-empty place.

Panicked, Eleanor
glanced again at Kyle.

Suspicious rage
darkened his eyes.  "Have you found another whilst I lay ill?" 

"Nay, my
lord!"

"Has Rupert
tended more than his flock?  Did he sniff his way up your skirts?"

"Nay!  I
swear!"

"Then why? 
Why this foolishness?"

Why indeed?  The
reason became more obscure by the moment.

"I am sworn
to wed you, Eleanor.  I gave you my vow." 

The vow
again.  Not love.
 

He moved toward
her and lifted one hand as if to caress her.  The other arm he held still as
stone, so mayhaps the injury pained him after all.  Then he lowered his hand to
his side and released a sigh, his brow furrowed in a frown. 

"Nay, 'tis
more than the vow.  There is something between us that is beyond explanation. 
You have touched something deep within me that I never knew existed until
you." 

She held her
breath while he turned his back to her and glanced at the sky as if in
thought. 

"When I lay
abed, trapped in the black void, 'twas you who pulled me from the slippery edge
of the grave.  Instead of falling toward the darkness, I struggled toward the
light, toward you.  And then when I sensed your loss, my nightmares returned,
as if my very existence depends upon your nearness."

He spun to face
her, desperation in the depth of his eyes.  "Brigham speaks true, love.  I
am obsessed with you.  You are the air I breathe, the beat of my heart, the
fire in my veins, the purpose behind my steps.  Without you, I'd be a walking
corpse, intact when viewed with human eyes, but inside, hollow, devoid of
life."

His admission
ripped her apart and left a searing pain. Sir Jerrod said Kyle expressed little
of his emotions or events, which meant Kyle opened his soul to her, a risky
venture on his part. Tears burned as they slipped unbidden from her eyes at the
unfairness of their situation.  The more he cared for her, the more he drove
her away.  And instead of imparting wise solutions, she only stared at him, her
thoughts shattered and useless.

He ran his
fingers through his golden curls, confusion and hurt on his face.  "Do you
not understand, Eleanor?  I want you as my wife."

Dear God, she
wanted to accept.

She shook her
head in response and bit her tongue to prevent her agreement. 

"You refuse
me?"  He blared the words in disbelief.

Bittersweet and
gold blurred in her tears. 

Don't weep. 

Too late
.

"Even after
I expose my soul, you refuse me?"

His broken
whisper shoved a sob past her broken restraint.  The once-beautiful world
blended into swirls until nothing stood distinct, not even her intentions.

"Satan's
curse!"  Kyle spun and stormed toward the keep with a pride-driven stride,
then hesitated, his attention caught by the too-willing servant.  "Beth! 
Come here!"  He motioned to her and strode into the solar. 

Eleanor clutched
at the ache in her chest where Kyle had torn out her heart.  Hatred burst from
within the searing agony, hatred at the world for decreeing she be unworthy of
his love, hatred at herself for her moral code.  Bitter, she turned and ran,
but to where she didn't know.

Dogs barked. 
Children yelled, then became silent as she passed.  Voices whispered.  All
seemed distant, unreal.

Eleanor stumbled,
then ran on, forcing her feet past the corner of the keep.  Perhaps she would
run all the way to the convent.  She slammed into Brigham.  Terror bolted
through her and pinned her to the ground.

"If you care
for him, you'll leave, witch."

Although
frightened and shaking, Eleanor refused retreat.  She straightened her
shoulders and faced him with all the courage she could dredge from her wounded
dignity.  "'Tis not your decision, Sirrah.  'Tis mine and Lord
Kyle's."

Brigham leaned
his back against the wall, arms crossed, the image of casual concern. 
"You know in your heart 'tis the only answer.  Unless, of course, you act
with greed, not love.  I appreciate what 'tis like to suffer the loss of one
for whom you feel affection."  He pushed from the wall and held out his
hand.  "I suggest we make peace.  To show you my good intentions, I offer
to see you to safety."

Eleanor laughed. 
"See me safely to the grave, you mean."

"If need be." 
Brigham lowered his unaccepted hand.  "Make a hasty decision, witch.  I'll
come for you soon, one way or the other."  He turned his back and strode
toward the stables.

Eleanor inhaled
an unsteady breath and took determined strides across the crowded bailey
through the doorway of the chapel.  Once out of view of the other servants, she
sank to her knees on the rushes and wept.  Tears fell onto her clasped hands
like drops of crystal blood from where Kyle had torn out her heart.  But what
did she expect?  She had refused him!

Dear God. 
Give her strength
. 

Sir Jerrod wanted
her to leave.  Brigham wanted her dead.  And the king?  Yet, despite all, she
had performed the most difficult task of her life.  She had refused the man she
loved.  If the denial served as punishment, then she deemed the results
successful.  She wished she had never been born.

* * *

Eleanor knelt
before the altar in the dark chapel, praying for guidance--knowing the answer. 
The hour of Complin had tolled and faded.  Midnight had passed and Kyle had not
come to worship, his last chance for that day if he kept his knightly vow to
attend daily mass.  Shoving to the dark corner of her soul the vision of the
trollop who kept him occupied, Eleanor concentrated on her surroundings. 
Although she couldn't see the stone walls of the chapel because the moon had
yet to rise, they reminded her of her life in the convent, of the morality she
had forgotten while in Kyle's blinding presence.  Of what she must do.

Footsteps.

Brigham's?

Eleanor spun and shoved
her back up against the altar for divine protection.  She strained her gaze to
determine whether friend or foe, but saw only shadows against shadows.  All
stood dark mysteries.

Feet scuffled
upon stones.  Breaths rasped.

She had thought
for certain her heart had ceased for eternity, but now it pounded to tell the
intruder of her whereabouts.

The footsteps
halted, then sounded again, this time more near.  They scraped her direction! 
Fabric rustled against fabric.  Metal clanked against metal.  A sword?

Eleanor stifled a
scream and struggled not to breathe.  Terrified, she felt around her for
something to use as a weapon, then wondered if she committed a sin if she
struck another within a house of God, but nothing could she feel other than
dried rushes.

Still the
footsteps came.

Perspiration
beaded on her upper lip.  Terror beat against her ribs and clutched at her
throat.

Boots scraped to
a stop before her.  Wool brushed against her shins.

Oh, dear God. 

"Eleanor. 
Come here."

"Lord
Kyle!"  Despite hearing the anger in his tone, Eleanor's breath gushed
from her lungs in a distorted moan of relief.  He had come for her.  But for
what reason?  For punishment or dismissal?

He grasped her
arms and pulled her to her feet and she feared again for the wound across his
chest.  "We will discuss this nonsense in my chamber."

"Nay, my
lord.  We will speak here where the chapel will give me the strength to do what
is right." 

"Must you
disagree with me in all things?"  Ale wafted strong from his warm breath
as his shout echoed within the blackened structure, then he sighed as if for
control.  "I am struggling to hold my temper and to understand why this
folly.  Now, come with me."

"Who goes
here?"  The friar scuffled in from behind the rood screen as if disturbed
from his sleep.  The glow from his candle reminded her how young his years. 

He shaded the
flame from his eyes and peered at them, then showed embarrassed surprise. 
"Ah, Lord Kyle.  I heard shouts--"

"All is
well, Billy . . . ah . . . Friar.  Forgive me.  You were but a gangly sprout
before I went to war.   However, Brigham must have thought you worthy of such
an honor or you wouldn't be here.  Am I correct?"

The Friar's face
darkened with a blush as he fidgeted with the rope that encircled the waist of
his brown robe.  "Uh . . . uh . . ."

"Therefore .
. . Friar . . . I'm certain that out of compassion you will return Lucinda's
chickens you took for a death payment."

Eleanor stiffened
with the reminder of when Lucinda had mentioned Brigham and the Friar as the
ones who had taken her livestock and had left her to starve.  She knew not how
Kyle had discovered the information, but her respect for him blossomed as full
as her love.

Kyle waved his
hand in dismissal.  "You may return to your bed, but leave the candle on
your way out."

The Friar cast
her a judging sneer as he set the lit taper on the altar.  Obviously, even he
considered her as life's refuse.

"And,
Friar."

The lad tilted
his tonsured head.  "Aye, my lord?"

"Wipe that
censure from your face.  And do not return until Matins, no matter what you
hear."

The Friar
swallowed as if contrite, then scurried behind the rood screen.

A door thumped
shut.

Eleanor's pulse
pounded in her ears.  What did Kyle intend that even the Friar should ignore
them?  She moved from Kyle's controlled anger in pretense of viewing the murals
in the flickering light, then wished she hadn't, for a chilling representation
of the Last Judgment dominated the lime-washed wall.  At least the gruesome
depiction intensified her determination.  "You should rest, my lord, so as
not to worsen your wound."

"'Tis the
wound of my heart that concerns me."

Sweet torture. 
Not the answer she had expected.  He suffered as much as she.  How could she
endure the misery?  Hers she could handle.  Eventually.  Perhaps.  But his? 
Unbearable.

Kyle moved up
behind her and stroked his hand down her hair, and she shuddered.

"I never
meant to take so much time to find you, Eleanor.  I spent longer in my chamber
than I intended."

Crushing memory
of how he had turned so easily to Beth rushed into her mind.  "Aye!  Now I
remember the reason for your delay.  Curse you!"  Eleanor twisted from
Kyle's nearness and strode to the rood screen meant to separate the chosen from
the dregs of humanity, a too-close symbol of her own life. 

"Eleanor?" 
He grasped her arm and turned her to face him.  "What has possessed
you?"

How could she
admit her hurt?  Her jealousy?  She mustn't say a word in protest. 

"I heard you
call for Beth, Lord Kyle."  Eleanor jerked against his hold.  "Did
you enjoy her, my lord?  Did she please you?  Did I seem naught but a skinny
stick in comparison?  Did she know how to arouse you, to make you call out her
name?"