Her Lord and Protector (formerly titled On Silent Wings) (25 page)

Her hand shook.
Where
have you been?

He leaned down
beside her, his big hands clenched into fists on the table. “Does it matter?
Katherine, I want answers.”

She took in his
haggard face and reddened eyes, his lips that had trailed soft kisses down her
back. Something terrible had happened. God’s blood, the man owed her an
explanation. She turned back to her paper and dipped the quill again.
I have
none to give you
.
Talk to me now
.

He let out a
slow, ragged breath, and straightened. His face reflected relief. “I should
have trusted you.”

Katherine stood.
Her husband was hurting, and he had something to tell her. Her hands slid over
his shoulders and squeezed the tense muscles there.

“I do not know
how to say this,” he said.

She placed a
palm on his unshaven cheek, and anxiety snaked through her body. Valiantly she
tried to keep tears from filling her eyes. Would he now voice his regret at
marrying her?

“My parents...I
told you how they were killed.”

What was this?
Surprised at the unexpected statement, she nodded.

Alex’s eyes
became searching, his voice gentle. “Your father was a spy during the war. He
worked for Cromwell.”

Katherine’s face
grew slack. No. Her father had been a Royalist, true to the king. She stared at
him, then grabbed the quill.
NOT TRUE!
She stood and backed away from
him, clutching both pen and paper.

“Katherine,
after the fire they found—”

Such a
despicable lie! She threw the quill at him, barely noticing the blooming black
dots on his white shirt before the room tilted. Mouth open and trembling, she
thrust out her hands, grabbing at something, anything to hold her up.

Alex caught her
and pulled her up to face him. “Listen to me.”

She would not!
Rage charged through her and saturated her dizziness. Her fists pelted his
chest. “Lying caitiff!”

The words barely
held sound, but she registered the vibration on her throat. She froze.

Alex gave no
indication of hearing it. He cupped her face in his hands and raised her face
so that she had no choice but to look at him. His face was a mask of torment.
Tears spilled down his cheeks.

“Katherine,” he
choked. “You were sent to me as payment for your father’s treason. I didn’t
know exactly why until I visited the king.” He hugged her to him, his arms
desperate in their strength. “He killed them, Katherine. Your father murdered
my parents and left me for dead.”

No. God, no.
Katherine kept her gaze locked onto Alex’s, finding and hating the truth in his
tortured blue eyes.

Papa, her papa.
A murderer. The shock of it reverberated through her body.

So cold. Ice
gripped her, made her unable to stop shuddering. She shook her head again and
again. Finally, a deep well of sorrow made her slump against him.

Alex carried her
to his chair until he could gather up the sheet holding the glass from the
water pitcher and set it on the floor. Pulling the quarterpane over the
mattress, he then lifted Katherine onto it. Lying next to her he rocked her
gently, brushed his hands over her hair and face, soothed her with a voice
gouged with misery. “’Tis all right, my love. All right. I am so sorry.”

Spiraling down into
desolation, Katherine clung to him.

“My lord?”

The voice was
soft and breathy, and coming from the private dining room. Alex paused at the
door.

“Oh. How do you
do, Agnes.”

“I am well.” She
sauntered into the Hall and looked him over. “You look tired. Have you slept
much since your return from London yesterday?”

“A little.” Alex
ran a hand over his face. What was she doing here alone?

“And Lady
Drayton? Is she well?”

“She’s...had a
shock.”

Agnes’ eyes grew
wide. “Nothing grave, I hope.”

“Where is
Elizabeth?”

“Oh, I came over
with Edward and suggested that they take a stroll. ’Tis such a lovely evening.”

“Is it?” His
eyes itched, and he rubbed them. When had Agnes’ voice become so deep and
soothing, like a balm?

“Yes. Perhaps we
can do the same. Will you walk with me?”

“She is
leaving.” Alex said the words aloud, hoping the assertion would help to fortify
that unfeeling part of him that was his only defense. But the knowledge was
killing him. “She wants to leave.”

Agnes looked
surprised, then moved closer to him. “I am so sorry to hear that.”

He grunted a
sigh and raked a hand through his hair. “I apologize for my inattention. I
haven’t slept properly in days. May I walk you to your carriage?”

Agnes blinked,
smiled, and cocked her head. “No. You need your rest. I would be happy if you
called on me, though, when you are feeling better.”

“Yes. I will pay
a call to your family. Goodbye, Agnes.” He turned to walk toward the door
leading to the corridor that would take him to his study, then stopped and
rubbed his temples. “I haven’t told the coachman to ready the carriage for
her.”

Agnes was
quickly at his side. “Would you like me to do it? You are so weary, my lord.”
She placed a hand on his arm.

“I would. Thank
you, Agnes.”

Agnes smiled and
moved so that her large breasts brushed his arm. “What is her destination?”

“Lobb’s Inn.” He
paused, noting her closeness, her wide blue eyes and full, pouty lips accentuated
by the white powder on her face. She was overwhelming in her sensuality.

“I will tell the
coachman.”

“You’ve been a
big help through the years,” he said, taking a step back. “I never properly
thanked you for befriending Mary. You always seemed to know when to arrive,
just before she had one of her spells. I do not know what she would have done
without you.”

Agnes stepped
foreword. Her breath was warm on his chin. “Mary was a good friend. And I
wanted to help you, Alexander.”

“Thank you,” he
said again. “Her death...I wish I’d been in the room to help you before she
fell. I was too late to save her.”

“You thought she
was just having another fit,” Agnes said with a small shrug. “’Twasn’t your
fault.”

Taller than
Katherine, Agnes had only to raise her face so that her lips were near his.
This she did, and her eyes became sultry slits.

Alex moved away
from her. “I will go to my study now. I have some work to do.”

Agnes’ smile,
wide and innocent, remained. “Of course. I will speak to the coachman right
now.”

****

It had taken
Millie less than an hour to fold Katherine’s clothing into her large trunk. The
maid shut the lid and sat on it, then leaned forward to pull down the brass and
leather clasps and latch it. “That’s everythin’,” she said, running the back of
her hand across her forehead.

Millie now knew
about her father. So did Sam. The entire household had to know by now, judging
from the way they averted their eyes when she looked at them.

“Oh, sad day it
is. And ye beginning to talk now,” Millie said. “Poor lady. Sam, he says Lord
Drayton doesn’t want ye to go.”

“But I cannot face
him,” Katherine said in her raw, guttural half-whisper.

The thrill that
should have surged in hearing her own voice was crushed by the weight of her
heartache and shame. Her own father was a traitor. A murderer! Nothing could
have prepared her for Alex’s revelation.

Leaving was her
only option. He wouldn’t want her here to remind him of his tragedy. What man
would?

He didn’t love
her. And now, she couldn’t hope that he ever would. Katherine closed her eyes
as her heart’s last fragment of hope squeezed itself gray and died.

“What will
happen to me? What will I do?” She brought her hand to her throat and bent her
head with coughing.

“No, no, ye
mustn’t overwork yer throat,” Millie said, rushing to her. She fell to her
knees and tentatively stroked her hair. “There’ll be time enough t’heal.”

“Yes,” Katherine
choked. “Time enough. To forget him.”

****

She is not at
fault, lad,” Sam said softly. “Have mercy on her plight.”

“Sam.” The word
was a breath, but warning enough.

“You need not do
this.”

“’Tis done. She
is gone. And she wished it.”

“But she is your
wife now. Did you want her to go?”

Alex drained his
ale and set it on his desk. “No. But this is best. Now that she knows.”

Sam picked up
the tankard and set it on a tray. “Alex?”

“I do not want
to talk about it.”

“Do you love
her?”

The question
caught Alex off guard. For a moment he sat quiet and still, watching the
numbers blur on one of the ledgers she had corrected. “I love no one.”

Sam didn’t
answer, and left the study with a hard click of the door. Alex knew what Sam
was thinking.

But this was
best. Hadn’t he told her repeatedly that he didn’t want her here? Even though
he’d married her, his distrust had only made her leave him. And living here
would only remind her of her father’s murderous act. It made perfect sense.

Yet the castle,
only hours after her departure, seemed so forlorn, just as it had been before
she came here.

“I
am
a
lying caitiff,” he muttered.

No. He trampled
the warmth that tried to fill his heart. Loving someone only meant death and
heartache.

“Lying caitiff,”
he repeated. He stared, unseeing, at the freshly sharpened quill in his hands.

Where had he
heard those words?

“Her words.” He
drew in a quick breath and jerked up his head. “
Her
words! She talked.
She
talked
! And I missed it! God’s bones, I missed it!”

He leaped to his
feet, knocking his knees into the massive desk and lifting its front legs off
the floor. The tidy stacks of papers and ledgers toppled. His ink bottle fell
off and left a curved ribbon of glistening black along the planked floor.

Alex raced from
the study, headed for the servant stairs since they were closer, and took the
steps three at a time.

At his
bedchamber door, however, he stopped. Why fetch his cloak? Why try to bring her
back? She would only grow to hate him, or fear him for some reason.

He turned. As if
on their own volition, his feet took him in another direction, toward her bedchamber.
Mary’s chamber.

He opened the
door and stepped inside, then took in the colorless drab. Why had he put Katherine
in this dreadful room? Simply because she would have a good view of the front
of the house?

No. That wasn’t
it at all.

He’d had this
room readied for Katherine because Mary had chosen it for its distance from his
bedchamber. Mary had wanted to be as far from him as possible.

He hadn’t even
met Katherine when he’d chosen this room, but had wanted her away from him and
assumed she would wish the same.

At the window,
he flicked aside the drapes and stared down at the empty carriage drive.
“Katherine,” he whispered. “What have I done?”

Then, he looked
down at his hands clutching the window sill, and yanked them away. This was the
sill that had held Mary before she jumped. This window meant death. A finality
to madness.

Horrified, he
turned and saw the room as it had been the night she’d died, smelled the fear
prevalent in the sour stench of her bruised, perspiring skin.

He couldn’t
bring Katherine home. He couldn’t dare love her.

All at once, the
sorrow slammed into him. Alex collapsed to his knees and clutched his nauseated
stomach with both hands.

The agony was a
thousand swords strong.

“Stop. Please.”

He fought the
wretched heartache with gritted teeth, his eyes squeezed shut, warding off the
blades that stabbed at his emotions again and again. He cursed the raw wounds
that wouldn’t heal without the love of the woman who had soared in and out of
his life on silent wings.

Alex pressed his
forehead to the floor, his voice gritty with intensity. “I had to let her go.”

And the blades
tore into him with fresh strength, ever deeper, slashing until the pain
wrenched his soul. He fell onto his side, his voice now a moan. “What do you
want?”

From long ago,
his father’s eyes met his in tender love, even as death took him.

“Alex!” his
mother’s terrified voice echoed. “Run!”

“Don’t hurt
Mama. Please.” It was only the whisper of a boy, unable to look away, as the
man slit her throat and then came at him.

The boy already
knew that he’d find the murderous lecher, oh yes, and when he did, he’d first
kill his family and then tear him to pieces.