Flame (43 page)

Catherine could hear the urgent cries of her
mother, pleading with them to make haste into the fields, to hide
themselves in a haycock. To remain unseen. To be silent!

She could feel the fear clutching at her
throat. She could not cry. She could not allow her sisters to sense
her fear. Adrianne’s hands were cold, tugging at her arm. Together,
they pushed into the piled hay.

She stretched a hand out toward Laura, but
her sister was not there. She’d been right behind her when they’d
fled the house. Laura! Where was Laura?

A hand clamped onto her arm, holding her
back. Nay, she could not let them take her. Laura!

“Laura!” Catherine sat upright in the bed and
looked wildly at the figure retreating a step from the bed.

“‘Tis I, Catherine. ‘Tis Ellen!”

It took her a long moment before she could
pull herself from the shadows of the recurring nightmare. She felt
her heart pounding ferociously at the walls of her chest, the sweat
beading and dripping along the line of her jaw. “What...what is
it?”

“Nothing! I just came up from the Great Hall,
and I heard you crying out in your sleep.”

Catherine turned and looked groggily at the
open door leading to the Master’s Chamber.

“‘Twas a dream.” A nightmare! A horrible
semblance of the long past mixed with her present. She ran a shaky
hand over her brow, wiping away the sweat. Nay, Laura was safe!
Safe...as was she, herself.

“Aye, but as long as you’re awake, I
was...well, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind sleeping in there
for tonight.”

Catherine stared blankly through the dim
light at the young woman. “You...you want me to sleep with
you?”

Ellen giggled and shook her head. “Nay, I was
hoping you would change rooms with me. Every time I’ve been here
before, I’ve slept in this chamber. So I thought...if you wouldn’t
mind...I’d be happier in here, you see.”

“Well, I...” She frowned, trying to clear her
mind, but before she could even think of an answer, Ellen was
pulling the bedclothes back for her. “If you think...”

“You are a darling creature.” Catherine felt
the younger woman grasp her by the shoulders and direct her toward
the open door. “I’ll come and get you in the morning. You just go
and crawl into that bed and go back to sleep.”

Before she knew it, Catherine found herself
standing in the middle of the Master’s Chamber with a sound of the
door closing behind her. Nearly asleep on her feet, she pushed the
thick waves of hair back over her shoulder. As she climbed into the
huge curtained bed, she could hear the far-off sound of voices and
hushed laughing.

Ellen Crawford was up to some dangerous
mischief, and such goings-on were incomprehensible to Catherine.
True, she felt a pang of regret for being thought a fool by Ellen,
but more important, she felt sorry for the good earl of Athol.
Their upcoming marriage already had all the markings of a
farce.

Once again, Catherine reminded herself, this
was none of her business. Her plans were to tutor the young people
of Athol’s demesne, not to become the spiritual adviser to
foundering brides.

Weariness soon overtook her, though, and the
sound of the rain outside dulled her senses. She was so tired, she
later remembered thinking. She needed sleep. Why, the great gates
of York itself could fall on her, she decided, yawning. She was not
going to wake up again until the sun was coming through that
window.

In just a moment or two, slumber wrapped her
in its velvet cloak, and outside the rain relented and eventually
stopped.

This time, her dream was an old one. Even as
she entered the mists of sleep, it occurred to Catherine that she
had not had this dream in years. But there he was, her own knight
of a thousand romances, tall and strong, coming to her after the
great battle, claiming her for his own.

For he was now her husband. The dragon lay
dead in its lair, the treasure of gold and rubies and emeralds
returned to the castle’s vault. Order and goodness reigned once
again in the realm, and the night now offered its own promise.

But this time the dream was somehow
different...changing...going into a world of fantasy she had never
experienced before. She felt his body sink into the down mattress
beside her, his arm slide across the planes of her belly, his large
hand rest for a moment on her hip before drawing her against his
warm, firm body.

It was all so real. Catherine’s dreams often
carried her to other worlds. Worlds she could see and smell and
feel. Worlds that she, upon awakening, would be certain existed
somewhere.

But this...this was like no dream she’d ever
had, and she found herself shivering as her knight’s hand moved
over the thin linen of her shift to the hem. Her back arched
reflexively as his long fingers gently caressed the skin of her
belly and traced the curves at the base of her breasts. Her breath
caught in her chest and she felt her body rise to his touch when
his hand cupped the full roundness of her breast. And as his thumb
drew tight circles around the hardening nipple, sparks of fire shot
through her.

So new and yet so thrilling, Catherine sighed
in her state of bliss. To have a mere touch make her insides quiver
so exquisitely.

Something hot throbbed insistently against
her thigh, and as her knight’s hand again slid down over her belly,
Catherine’s lips opened and her breaths began to shorten. A soft
moan escaped her lips. Molten liquid was flowing within her,
building in pulsing waves as his fingers slid through her downy
mound. She felt him move, felt his body rising. There was a
whisper, inaudible, almost a growl, and then her knight’s lips were
on her neck, moving, brushing against her earlobe, kissing the line
of her jaw...her cheek. Catherine waited.

His kiss was gentle at first. A brush of
lips, but so real. So unlike her long recurring dreams of the two
of them drifting into each other’s embrace, her body molding to his
as the mist would softly steal around them. She could feel the
pressure of his mouth. The groan of approval when she parted her
lips. And then the knight’s tongue swept deeply into her mouth,
shocking her with a reality that left her gasping for breath.
Catherine’s eyes flew open.

This was no dream. This was not her knight.
As she felt his knee press between her legs, she jerked her mouth
away, breaking off the kiss. She tried to push at his chest.

“What the devil...?” came the growl through
the darkness.

This was no dream, she thought again with a
flash of panic as the coarse skin of a man’s chin rubbed hard
against her cheek. She beat his naked shoulder with her one free
hand. Grabbing at his long hair, she yanked with all her strength,
but nothing could move the beast.

His hand came up quickly, catching hold of
her wrist, but she reared up instinctively and bit down with all
her strength on a powerful forearm.

The man gave an angry roar of pain and leaped
back, snatching his hand away. But this was all the time she needed
as she screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Hush, you cursed she-devil!” The man
shouted, leaning over her again. But Catherine went wild beneath
his shifting weight. Kicking him with all her strength in the
groin, she twisted to the side, clawing her way to the edge of the
bed. But the villain grabbed her by the waist.

“Wait! I’ll not hurt you, though God knows,
I...”

The door from the other chamber burst open
and, David Hume, holding a torch aloft, charged in, his sword
flashing in the light.

Catherine’s eyes darted from the warrior’s
naked skin to the gleaming flesh of Ellen Crawford in the open door
behind him.

“Up, you villainous blackguard. Prepare to
die!”

With a flick of his arm, her attacker tossed
Catherine to the side and leaped toward David, snatching his own
long sword from the floor beside the huge bed.

“Nay, you son of a whore! You’re the dog who
is about to choke in his own blood!”

Ellen’s shocked gasp stopped the two men in
their tracks.

“John!” she whispered, her panic evident in
the single word. Raising her thin chemise over her breasts in a
belated attempt to cover herself, the young woman started backing
out the door.

Catherine’s head snapped around as she saw
her assailant move menacingly toward David Hume. Suddenly, there
was no question in her mind whose blood would be shed on this
floor. The red-haired giant Ellen had called John stood head and
shoulders above David and from the powerful breadth of his
shoulders, Catherine was certain that he could cut her would-be
rescuer in half. And from the stunned look on his face, she doubted
David would even think to lift his sword in defense.

“You--you’re John Stewart!” her warrior
stammered.

“Aye, you filthy dog. John Stewart, earl of
Athol. And that wench you were keeping company with in the next
chamber is none other than my intended.”

It was sheer madness. There was no other
explanation. But Catherine, in the next instant, found herself
standing before the flaming-haired nobleman, blocking his
approach.

“Stop!” she pleaded. “There has to be a
better way to settle this than by drawing blood.”

Athol hesitated, and as he stared down at
her, the man’s gray eyes flashed murderously. She stood her
ground.

“You see, m’lord, I am Catherine Percy. David
Hume here was entrusted with my safety, and...and I’m quite certain
he must have had no prior knowledge that Ellen...”

The words dried up in her throat. She stared
as the blade of his long sword gleamed in the torchlight.

“Out of my way, woman!”

Catherine’s knees were ready to buckle, and
her head suddenly felt light, but she raised her chin in defiance.
“I cannot!”

Athol advanced a step, looking past her at
the man standing by the door. Taking a deep breath, she raised a
pleading hand and gazed with as much courage as she could muster
into a face ablaze with fury.

“He was given the task of protecting my life
until we reached our destination. And he has done an excellent
job...er, up to now. But now that the task is finished.” She
paused, hoping that David would pick up her hint. “And now that his
task is finished, I believe ‘tis my duty to see him safely
away.”

There was no movement behind her. How could
men be so thick-headed? she stormed inwardly. Away! Run! Flee!

“We are here at the end of our journey!” she
pressed. “With the earl of Athol!”

“Out of my way, woman.”

“At the end of our journey!”

That did it. David must have turned to flee
with the speed of a falcon, dropping the torch by the doorway in
his escape. Responding quickly, the earl reached out and tried to
move around her. But Catherine was quicker, throwing herself
against his chest.

It was like hitting a wall of moving rock at
a gallop. Her breath was knocked from her lungs. She fell with the
grace of a meal sack to the floor as Athol picked up the torch and
strode from the chamber.

For a long while Catherine sat still in the
dark, listening to the shouts and curses and then to the sounds of
horses. She didn’t know if it was the impact of hitting the man so
hard or the cumulative effect of the entire episode that had left
her unable to move. The lodge was in an uproar now, and she could
hear the sound of people rushing about--while the steely voice of
Athol could be heard above all of them, shouting commands and
cursing violently.

What in heaven’s name had she gotten herself
into? she thought groggily, trying to push herself to her knees.
Thank the Lord she had never developed a fondness for any man in
particular--other than her dream-knight--nor for marriage in
general. And in truth, what she had witnessed tonight was a clear
reaffirmation of that view.

She was definitely not suited for matrimony.
She could never make anyone a fit wife. She would never know how to
deal with this open display of temper and this threat of violence.
Nay. And what of this business of a man coming to his future wife’s
bed uninvited, then not even recognizing her as someone else. She
brought her hands up to her flushed cheeks and again shook her
head, pushing from her mind how wantonly she’d responded to him at
first, when she’d thought it was just a dream.

She was still on her knees when the door to
the Ladies’ Chamber swung open. Closing her eyes, she felt him
brush past her without pausing.

Pushing herself shakily to her feet, she
stole a glance in the direction of the man who now stood by the
bed. His back to her, he was muttering under his breath as he
wrapped a kilt around him by the light of a wick lamp he had
evidently carried in with him.

The earl of Athol, she thought with a pang of
regret, was quite different from what she had hoped he would
be.

The man was supposed to be an advocate of
learning. She had expected him to be a serene, subdued looking man.
But his actions, his behavior, in bed and out...Catherine felt her
heart start to race anew! Trying to force the memory of his
mistaking her for Ellen Crawford from her mind, she stared at her
host. He was certainly not at all what she had expected.

Ellen had told Catherine that the earl was
past seven and thirty years of age. So even in her wildest of
dreams, she hadn’t been prepared for the handsome face and the
solid wall of muscle that was just now trying to pull on long,
muddy boots. With flowing, partially braided red hair tumbling over
a pair of broad shoulders, he looked more like an outlaw than he
did the cousin of a king.

Catherine couldn’t help but guess what silly
maneuvers she might have come up with as a young maiden to get the
attention of a man like him. Not that with her unassuming
appearance she’d ever have had even a chance of catching his eye.
But all the same, she reminded herself, it was a blessing to know
that her life had taken a different route. A far more sensible
one.