Carolyne Cathey (34 page)

E
leanor stumbled in an attempt
to keep up with Kyle's long strides as he dragged her with him past the
stables, the blacksmith's, and across the noisy bailey to the gatehouse.

Horses, dogs and
men unfamiliar to her, jostled about with the stable lads and other servants
who had crowded into the yard between the curtain wall and the keep.  The scene
seemed as a mirage through the dusty haze stirred by stamping hooves and shuffling
feet, but the soiled air choked her lungs and coated her tongue, verifying the
reality of the mixed blessing.  For Kyle now had his supporters in case of
war.  But now he would force her to leave.  And after the king's arrival, Kyle
would most likely have no reason to come for her.  All in all, the permanent
separation loomed as the best solution, for she could not bear to witness his
life with another woman.  Acknowledging the truth didn't lessen the pain in her
chest.

Kyle gestured to
John who gawked at all the confusion from his position beside the corner of the
keep.  "Lad, set up a tub for bathing in my chamber.  Go on, now.  Make
haste."

"Aye,
milord."  John bowed, then stepped back.  He tripped over the pup, landing
hard on his rump.

In spite of her
grief, Eleanor hid her smile with her hands.

"That cursed
dog.  Always under foot."  Kyle grasped her wrist and jerked her into a
run.  "Don't loll about, lad.  'Tis important."   

He side-stepped
her through the bustle toward the gate.  Then he halted and Eleanor bumped into
his back. 

She followed the
focus of his attention to the mounted men, all weary looking and covered with
dust, and who appeared as if they hungered more for a good meal and a good time
than for war, for they laughed and shouted orders, obviously pleased to have
reached their destination.  She attempted a hastened count.  Perhaps a full
score of knights and their squires filtered in through the gates, although they
moved around so much she couldn't tell for certain.  A goodly number, she
thought, although she knew little about knights and war.  She hoped enough
aided Kyle's cause, for, according to the other servants and peasants of
Trystonwood, Lord Hanley had quite a large and fierce army.

"Kyle!" 
Sir Jerrod waved, then dismounted. 

Eleanor's throat
closed with dread and she longed to run and hide from the inevitable.  Perhaps
if she made herself scarce and the men became absorbed in plotting and
planning, then Kyle might forget to ask Sir Jerrod to take her away.

Before her feet
responded, Kyle enfolded her in his strong arms and nuzzled the top of her
head, then straightened and turned to his friend.  "Welcome, Jerrod.  I
congratulate you on a successful mission."

Sir Jerrod's
mouth curved in one of his wry grins as he slapped Kyle on his back in
greeting.  "At the pace we rode, I'm amazed our bones aren't jarred into
splinters, but I feared the goriness would be over before we had a chance to
swing our swords."

Kyle laughed,
then gave Eleanor a squeeze as if he felt loathe to let her go.  "We have
much to discuss, Jerrod.  I thank you for your timely return, but I must ask
another favor."

Eleanor clutched
the front of Kyle's surcote and raised her gaze to his face.  "Nay, my
lord!  I beg you!"

Kyle released a
sigh and closed his eyes.  "I once swore you'd beg me.  Now your plea
breaks my heart."

His?  Hers hurt
so much she wondered if the pain would ever cease.  Somehow she must change his
stubborn mind. 

Sir Jerrod
withdrew his skull cap, his expression serious.  "I have a great deal to
relay, Kyle."

"Come. 
We'll go to the solar where we can visit in private."  Kyle turned toward
the keep, but another man approached. 

"Lord
Kyle
!"

"Lord
Alex
! 
Thank you for coming."  Kyle released
Eleanor and reached out his hand. 

As more and more
men surrounded Kyle, Eleanor felt more and more pushed out, until she stood on
the outer edge, much like her future.  Loneliness pressed down on her like
heavy air before a storm.  If she only knew which decision held the right
answer--to leave or to stay.  With her thoughts in a whirl, she turned and
moved to the keep to make certain fresh rushes had been strewn on the clean
solar floor. 

Dear, God.  What
should she do?  She didn't want to leave him.  Yet, she could never belong to
him.  Never.  A despicable word, never.  As hateful as cannot.  She wondered if
she should tell Kyle about the babe, the fruit of their joining.  Kyle deserved
to know, for the growing life belonged as much to him as to her.  Someday he
might want the child at Trystonwood.  Aye, she would accept that.  She would
gladly give Kyle the greatest offering possible, a gift from herself, first
given by him.

She stepped
through the entry into the great hall, proud how clean the large room appeared
after the scrubbing she and the others had given. 

The owl hooted a
lazy greeting, then ruffled its wings.

"Noisiness
will soon disturb your rest, Owl.  We have guests."  Then the thought
struck her.  A large number would dine in the great hall that night.  And even
if Nurse weren't otherwise occupied because of her recent news about her and
Peter, Nurse had let Eleanor take more and more of the responsibilities.  Eleanor
knew she must hurry to oversee the preparation of the food and to make the
necessary arrangements.  At least the activity might momentarily ease the
turmoil of her mind, and of her heart.

Renewed with
purpose, she hastened to the solar.  The room smelled of fresh herbs and
grass.  She nodded, satisfied, then turned to go to the scullery.

"Eleanor?"

She caught her
breath. 

Kyle loomed in
the solar doorway, several men behind him in wait for him to enter before they
flowed in like a welcome tide.

She curtsied and
hoped he didn't witness how she trembled from the mere sight of him, for both
agony and excitement quivered through her as he stood there, all magnificence
and grace.  "Aye, my lord?"

"I have a
surprise . . . nay, request.  Come with me to my chamber."  He held out
his hand as he moved toward her.  "Take your ease, men.  I'll return
anon."

His chamber. 
Dare she refuse him in front of his fellow knights? 
Trust him
.  Eleanor
clasped his offered hand and he smiled with relief.  She realized he had
wondered if she might protest, yet he had taken the risk.

An odd sensation
flowed through her as she re-entered the chamber, almost as if she returned
home.  She inhaled the scent of rosemary and fresh rushes, and the heady scent
of Kyle's masculinity.  At the sight of the bed, erotic memories washed over
her mind and tingled her flesh--memories to last a lifetime.  Buttercup and
green gossamer fabrics lay atop the fur cover.

Kyle cleared his
throat as if he, too, suffered from over-wrought feelings.  He fingered the
silky cloth, his rough sword-hand in contrast to the smooth weave like an uncut
stone beside a water-worn pebble.  Like his hand on her flesh.  Eleanor clasped
her fingers to still their tremble.

"A war of
emotions wages inside my breast, love.  I vacillate between forcing you to wed
me and sending you away.  However, the risk is too great.  You must leave. 
'Tis the only way, at least for now."

Oh dear, God. 
Make her strong.  A silent scream of denial echoed within her ears, yet she
stood beside him as still as death.

"And 'tis
wise your concern about a child, love.  'Tis not the time for such joy."

Eleanor's pulse
lurched.  What if he knew she might carry life from his seed?  Should she tell
him right then?

He hadn't heard
her silent questions.  His expression stayed as before, despondent.  "I
still ask a favor, love.  I had this gown made for you when I had hoped you
would become my lady before King Edward's arrival."

She clenched her
fingers tighter. 

"'Tis a cote
of yellow silk, the same color of the gown I slipped on your enchanting body
the first day you arrived.  The surcote is the color of shaded moss, to match
your eyes."  He gestured toward folded cloths of the same green. 
"And here are linen hose and matching slippers.  And one more, love."

He turned and
lifted something from atop the chest, then turned to face her.

Eleanor gasped. 
A carved rose, delicate, incredible, lay on his magnificent palm.

"For you,
love.  A broach to wear upon your gown. I should give you jewels instead of
wood, but 'tis a rose that will never die."

"Ah, Lord
Kyle, 'tis more priceless than any gem.  'Tis crafted by you."  A sweet
pain gripped her heart and ceased her rasped words.  She blinked at unshed
tears and swallowed at the painful knot that clogged her throat.  If she dared
to speak, she feared her strength would vanish and she would collapse into
hysteria, so she held her quivering lower lip between her teeth.

Releasing a
dejected sigh, Kyle placed the treasure in her palm.  He cupped her face within
his warm hands.  The blue intensity of his eyes held her mute and enslaved.

"Eleanor,
what I ask, pray, is that you'll be as my lady this last few hours.  I wish you
to don these fabrics and manage the particulars you will when fate is more
kind.  'Twill give me something bright to remember in these dark days that lie
ahead, to show me what will be, for I will prevail, love."  His voice
faded to a strained whisper. 
"'Tis a promise."

"But your
friends will see and--"

"They'll see
your beauty and will be jealous of my good fortune.  Now, will you be my lady
this day?"

"Oh, Lord
Kyle--" 

A knock
interrupted, giving her time to re-gather her crumbling discipline.

Kyle closed his
eyes and tilted his head back as if in surrender.  "Aye.  Enter."

John and other
servants carried in the tub and buckets of steaming water.  A glowing Peter
followed with a stack of fresh linens and she wanted to congratulate him on his
new life with Nurse, but she might weep, so she decided to tell him later when
her tears didn't hover on the edge of submission 

Peter smiled. 
"Is there aught else ye need, milord?"

Eleanor witnessed
Kyle's transition from lover to lord, his body straight, his expression
masterful.

"Aye,
Peter.  Send a messenger to find Rupert. I wish to see him as soon as he
arrives.  Also, ask Lucinda to come with her two children.  She may wish a
sisterly visit before Eleanor leaves."

Peter showed a
mixture of surprise and disappointment, then he nodded and left the chamber,
followed by John and the others.

Numb from
despair, Eleanor watched Kyle stride toward the door.  "But, what about
your bath, my lord?"

He turned to face
her and his lordly expression softened.  "'Tis for you, love."

"But, your
clothes are..." Heat stung her cheeks.  "Some spiteful person doused
you with dirty water, Sire."

Kyle leaned
against the open doorjamb, arms crossed, a hint of mischief mixed in with the
sadness on his face.  "I must think of a punishment befitting such a
crime."  He pursed his mouth, in thought.  "You shall bathe me this
eve."  His expression darkened as if reality intruded.  "Nay, not
this eve.  But, someday.  Aye, someday."  His voice dropped to a level of
wistful anguish.  "I would that I could stay to dry you, but I must
prepare.  Lives depend upon our readiness." 

She thought she
saw moisture in his eyes as he turned to depart, and the sight nearly broke her
spirit. 

"Lord
Kyle?"

He hesitated, his
hand on the open door.  "Aye, my lady?"

The spoken title
jolted her pulse and she inhaled a deep breath to steady her voice. 
"'Twill be too late for me to leave this day.  Sir Jerrod and I would not
travel far before darkness settled.  The morrow will be soon enough."  By
then, surely, she will have convinced him to allow her to stay.

Kyle's smile
exposed his misery.  "You tempt me, love.  But the morrow is All Hallows
Eve.  'Tis too risky."

"But
why--"

Eleanor watched
the door close behind him, wondering why his concern about the special day. 
Most likely because of the king's arrival, for All Souls Day dawned next.

The thought that
he would force her to leave encouraged her to a hurried bath, for she refused
to waste her precious moments in loneliness.  Even though duties would fill
Kyle's day, she determined to be available for him when his time allowed.  And
somehow, some way, she would convince him to change his mind.

In as much haste
as possible, Eleanor fluffed her hair dry in front of the fire, then pulled on
the buttercup and moss gowns, her hose and slippers.  She blushed to realize
how perfect the sizes.  Trembling with remembrance of just how well he knew her
body, she let her hair cascade loose down her back in the way Kyle preferred,
hoping he would be pleased with her appearance. She kissed the delicate rose,
then pinned the broach to her gown.

The clang of
metal drifted into the chamber, a most horrid sound like swords against
swords.  The sound of war!

Terrified, she
ran down the spiraled steps  as more clangs and shouts sounded from outside.  Eleanor
raced through the great hall into the sun-struck bailey.

Beyond the
water-well, an army of men swung swords, only to have the blades deflected by
other lengths of steel.  Men shot arrows with either bows or crossbows at
targets placed against the curtain wall.  Others threw a lance, or swung a
mace, or a broad-axe.  But no blood spewed forth.  Eleanor smiled.  Practice! 

A curse drew her
attention to the field where knights fought as if in battle.