Her Lord and Protector (formerly titled On Silent Wings) (6 page)

An odd, aching
warmth stole into the most private part of her.

Now he would
take her in his arms and kiss her. Baffled at the thought, she knew she would
let him. She closed her eyes.

His hand brushed
her waist. She heard a click at her side, and her dazed mind registered it as a
latch.

“You are
blocking the door.”

Her eyes opened.
His tone, impassive and flat, matched the expression on his face. Gads! She was
a fool to think that Lord Drayton could feel any emotion.

The man had a
heart forged from iron.

****

In her
bedchamber once more, Katherine allowed Millie to help her change into her
nightclothes, and then dismissed her with a wave. She walked to the window and
once again opened it to let in the breeze. Below her, the Cookes made their
noisy way to their carriage. Sir Cooke stumbled and cursed, and Lady Cooke
fussed at him. Edward seemed unperturbed.

Agnes glanced
up. Her head angled to the side as she stared at Katherine as if contemplating
something. To be polite, Katherine waved, and after a moment, Agnes returned
the gesture.

Katherine turned
away from the window and then crossed the room to sink into the chair at her
writing desk.

Lord Drayton
provoked a swirling cauldron of emotions within her that she’d never encountered
in her life. She should detest him for his coldness, or fear him because of
what he might have done to his wife. Instead, she couldn’t help the undoubtedly
lethal heat that made her breath come short and her hands damp whenever she was
near him. What was behind that aloof, handsome face, and why did he affect her
so?

She balled up
her fists and hit her thighs in frustration, and then rubbed her legs briskly against
their protesting ache. His references to their tied past mystified her. She
could not fathom how they knew of each other before her arrival here yesterday
afternoon.

Unable to dispel
her agitation, she pulled her journal from the drawer of the writing desk and
opened it to a blank page. Only here could she express her innermost thoughts.

Moments later, a
ponderous creak behind her made her drop the quill with a gasp and whip her
head around. Her closet door was opening. She stared, hand pressed to her
chest, as if expecting someone to step through the door into her room.

Another breeze
billowed in through the window, and the door creaked back toward its frame.
Shaking her head at her folly, Katherine turned back to her journal and picked
up the quill. Seconds later, she startled again at the creak of the closet door
opening again.

This wouldn’t
do.

She went to the
door to push it shut, but then paused. A cloth-covered furnishing the size of a
small chest had been shoved far back against the wall, away from prying eyes.
Strange that she hadn’t noticed it before.

Inside might
simply be stored linens. Or, perhaps it held a trove from the past that could
tell her the story of Lord Drayton and his dead wife, or give her a reason for
his contradictory disposition.

She stood,
biting at her lip, trying to still her growing curiosity. It mattered not what
it was, really. She could wait for Millie to uncover it because it was too far
back in the closet, and she didn’t want to go in there.

But—she leaned
down, squinting—it wasn’t a chest, but rather a painting, or a group of them.
She could see the dull gleam of a carved gilt frame where the dark cloth didn’t
quite cover it.

She had seen no
portraits on the walls. Some were hidden right here. Why?

Her breathing
quickening, Katherine hurried to her bedside table and grabbed the candleholder
before she could talk herself out of going in for a quick look. But when she
stepped a foot in the doorway, she hesitated as anxiety battled
inquisitiveness. Perspiration formed on her upper lip as the familiar fear of
small spaces swept over her.

She blew out a
slow breath. By the heavens, it was time to get beyond this dread that had
begun during her entrapment in the fire.

Armed with
light, Katherine edged into the room with her eyes riveted on the object. Four
steps took her there. The floor creaked under her weight, and she sneezed and
rubbed her nose at the musty smell.

She set the
candleholder on the shelf in the very back, grabbed the cloth, and yanked it
off.

Five paintings
stood facing the back wall as if in forgotten punishment.

Quickly she
hoisted the first painting with both hands and turned it around, then knelt in
front of it. A chill charged down her spine.

A black—haired
young woman with an ashen face and a thin, tormented smile stared at her. Her
dark eyes were too wide, as if shocked at some horrible news. Yet they held no
emotion.

Was this Lady
Drayton? Katherine touched tentative fingers to the woman’s pale painted cheek,
and then withdrew her hand. Hurriedly, she stood and moved the painting to the
side in order to look at the next one.

Cool air tickled
the back of her neck, and a creak of hinges brought her back to her surroundings.
She whipped her gaze to the door.

It was closing.

Dear God! She
had left the window open.

Stomach
clenching, Katherine
leaped toward the door. Her
toe caught the hem of her nightdress. Tumbling to
her knees, palms slamming onto the wood floor, she stared through rapidly
blinking eyes. Through the closing door, the dull gray tester over her bedposts
flapped merrily as if bidding farewell to her with appalling, colorless hands.

A detached voice
in her head, something one might mention over a cup of chocolate and biscuits,
spoke of the quickly changing weather, and wasn’t it just like the English
springtime to fling a sprightly gust of wind at any moment?

The door clicked
shut.

In the light of
the flickering candles on the shelf, Katherine saw an inside handle on the
door. She wetted her dry lips and staggered to her feet.

But it was too
late. At once, the walls tilted and closed in around her. She stumbled
backwards and struck the wall beside the paintings. The closet door skewed and
shrank as it drifted away from her. She held out her hands toward it,
begging it to return. The door faded to a pinpoint and disappeared.

No way out.

Bands of steel
wrapped around her chest and throat, and she gasped for breath. Twisting, she
slapped her hands against the rough planked wall as a
cough ripped
through her chest.

The memory of
the fire slammed into her. In her mind she grasped the doorknob, relenting only
when intense heat seared the flesh of her palm. On the other side of the
door, the children’s terrified wails faded to silence.

Katherine
covered her face and gasped at the blistering inferno that scorched her throat.

As the memory of
thick, acrid smoke engulfed her nose and mouth, she raised her hands in
desperate panic and scratched wildly at the splintering wood of the closet
wall.

Dragging her
torn and bleeding fingertips down, she slumped to her knees. To her right a
woman stared, her mouth contorted into a grimace, her dark eyes fathomless yet
vacant.

With shaking
hands pressed to her face, Katherine collapsed. The scream that
resounded in her
head only emitted in a thin breath.

All thoughts
faded as her eyes closed.

It had to be
only the dampness of the spring weather that sent the sudden chill through
Alex.

He sat huddled
in an enormous armchair with his stockinged feet stretched toward the roaring
fire. The heat in his large bedchamber grew, but the strange coldness within
him would not let up its rigid clench.

As he lifted the
mug of ale from the small round table beside him, he realized something else
held him in its frigid grip. Whatever it was stretched powerful, icy fingers
deep inside him and scraped at his carefully wrought, self-imposed numbness
with razor-sharp claws.

Alex tensed and
growled inwardly, giving a silent warning to whatever dared try to breach the
fortress in which he hid his emotions.

Oh, but he had
wanted so badly to lose his hands within her soft-looking, fragrant curls. And
when she had closed her eyes, as if waiting for him to kiss her....

No. Katherine
Seymour was a liar, the daughter of a spy, using her beauty as a means for
manipulation. Tomorrow he would begin inquiries of eligible men to choose as
her husband.

Alex drained his
tankard of ale and slammed it down on the table. He would not touch her. He
took strength in the promise he’d made to himself last year—a promise based on
a series of horrid circumstances, the details of which not a soul would ever
know.

A crisp rap at
his door became an outlet for his frustration, and he jumped to his feet. His
servant, having just pulled out the truckle bed for himself, straightened and sent
a silent question to Alex.

“Just see who it
is, Sam,” he snapped.

“Yes, m’lord.
”
Sam shaped his face into an annoyed expression similar to Alex’s and opened
the door with yank. “Yes?”

The servant
standing in the doorway looked past him to Alex, and bowed. “A messenger is
here. A company of the king’s soldiers is traveling this way and seeks shelter
for the night. Shall I direct them to the barn when they arrive?”

“That will do,”
Alex said from across the room.

Sam closed the
door and walked on silent feet to the blue bowl and pitcher on the washstand,
where he lifted a clean towel and stood watching Alex expectantly.

“Are you telling
me it is time for bed, Sam?” Alex asked. Still, he pulled off his shirt as he
walked toward the washstand, gave it to Sam, and washed his face.

“You seem
tired,” Sam said. “Tired and quite tense.”

“Something is
amiss with me,” Alex conceded as he took the offered towel and dried his face,
“but it will pass.”

“When the woman
is gone?”

Alex hesitated.
“Yes. When the woman is gone.”

The network of
stout ropes holding up the wool undermattress and its feather top mattress
creaked and groaned when Alex lay down a few minutes later dressed in his long
nightshirt. The large bed molded comfortably to his body, and he sighed and closed
his eyes. Perhaps a night’s rest would quell the strange feelings that plagued
him.

His thoughts
drifted for a while, and eventually settled on the image of Katherine at the
table rising, her brown eyes flashing fire. But this time, Alex stood and went
to her, and eased away the determined line of her beautiful mouth with his
lips.

Another knock
came, this time gentler yet rapid.

Alex sat up in a
fog. “By the devil,” he muttered.

“I have it,” Sam
sighed, and rose from his truckle bed.

“Wake the cooks
and give the soldiers food, if that’s what they want.” Alex lay back down and
rolled over onto his side. Vaguely, he heard Sam open the door.

“Lady Elizabeth,
what ails you?”

Instantly alert
at Sam’s alarmed voice, Alex leaped out of bed and dashed to the door.

“Alex!”
Elizabeth cried. “Lady Katherine is missing!”

Alex grabbed
Elizabeth’s thin shoulders. “How do you know this?”

“I—I went to bid
her goodnight. She didn’t answer her door. When I looked in, she wasn’t there.
I searched the parlor. I do not know where else she could be!”

Alex released
Elizabeth, fetched his candle from his night table, and began a fast pace down
the corridor with his hand in front of the flame to keep it from blowing out.
Elizabeth was soon left behind, and he stopped at the stairs to wait for her.
The pierced iron lantern she held by its top handle swung crazily left and
right as she limped toward him. Sam, following behind her in his own shuffling
gait, puffed for air.

“Slow down. Both
of you!” Alex ordered. “Where is Millie?”

“She is
searching the unused rooms,” Elizabeth said. “She said Lady Katherine dismissed
her. We thought perhaps she walked through the house and couldn’t find her way
back to her room. Oh, Alex, where could she be?”

She could be
anywhere in this rambling fortress. Beneath the castle wound a labyrinth of
passageways where one could become lost in minutes. And the ancient keep behind
it was dangerous with its tumbled rocks and fallen floors. If she ventured off
and hurt herself, no one would know.

Alex’s heart
wrenched in his chest.

He tried to keep
his voice calm, yet his words sounded too rapid. “Tell Millie to alert the
servants to a search. And look downstairs in the buttery. Perhaps she was
hungry. She barely touched her meal.”

As Elizabeth
hobbled down the steps, Alex dashed down the hall toward Katherine’s
bedchamber, slamming open doors of the rooms near hers as he went, pausing,
shouting her name.