Her Lord and Protector (formerly titled On Silent Wings) (8 page)

She felt his
eyes on her as she walked behind the maid down the corridor.

Moments later,
Katherine watched Elizabeth’s face crumple at the sight of her bandaged hands,
as if she herself had caused the injuries.

Elizabeth set
down her cup and a little of the black liquid splashed out onto the saucer.
“Oh, Lady Katherine, I am so sorry you had to go through that horrible event,”
she said with a waver in her voice. “This house is so very old. The inside
handle of your closet should have been inspected to be sure it was working.
Alex has instructed Millie to never leave you alone.”

I am not a
helpless child
,
Katherine wanted to write on the slate that Millie had set on the table near
her. Since she would be leaving soon, though, it was best to keep her feelings
to herself.

Elizabeth’s
bedchamber was plush, colorful, and comfortable looking, with dark pink walls
and a pink and yellow coverlet. But in here, as in Katherine’s room, the heavy
rose patterned drapes were pulled tightly shut to keep out the light.

“Would you like
coffee?” Elizabeth asked, indicating the blue and white ceramic pot the servant
held, “Or have you taken to drinking the tea that Queen Catharine so enjoys?”

Katherine raised
her brows in interest and pointed to her cup. She had indeed come to appreciate
tea as well as coffee, but this morning, she needed the strength that only a
hot cup of coffee could offer. On the table, she noticed paper, quill and a
small bottle of ink. How nice that Elizabeth had procured the items for her.

Feeling
obligated to write her thanks, she placed her bandaged fingers on the thin
quill, but only managed to slide it around instead of lifting it. She blew out
an exasperated breath and glanced down at the thick square of chalk nestled in
its holding place on her slate. Perhaps, if she managed to pry it out, she
could palm it in her hand as would a young child. With her thumb, she tried to
lift it.

“Would ye like
me to help, m’lady?” Millie asked, sounding just as frustrated as Katherine
felt.

Katherine raised
a hand in impatience and shook her head. She would thank Elizabeth later, when
she could write again.

She concentrated
on lifting her coffee cup to her mouth using both hands. Even so, too much of
the hot liquid stung her lips and tongue. Gritting her teeth in frustration and
pain, she eased the cup back into its saucer.

“I doubt you
would like to be treated as a baby and fed,” Elizabeth said with moist eyes,
“but is there anything I can do to help you?”

Katherine forced
a smile, shook her head, and managed to slide her thumb under a piece of bread
and lift it to her lips.

It was a stupid
thing she had done, getting stuck in her closet. No matter what happened,
during the remainder of her stay at Drayton Castle she would control her
curiosity, a vice which had caused her to lose her voice and now injured her
hands.

Lord Drayton
must think her a clumsy, prying fool. For some silly reason, his opinion of her
mattered a great deal.

She ate her
bread and, determined to succeed, wielded spoonfuls of pottage to her mouth,
spilling most of them in the process. Although Millie placed a cloth on her
bodice, Katherine knew she would have to change her dress after breakfast.

Elizabeth must
have shaken her head and murmured “Poor thing” twenty-odd times, so that by the
time a knock came to the door, Katherine was ready to run from this smothering
pink bedchamber back to her sparse, colorless room. Elizabeth’s maid opened the
door.

Lord Drayton
stood there, his shoulders spanning the doorframe. “The soldiers have gone.”
His cool gaze lowered to Katherine’s soiled dress, and then to her hands. A
fleeting compassion crossed his annoyingly handsome features. “Millie,” he said
decisively, “you will feed Lady Katherine her meals until she is able to
handle....”

His voice
trailed off as Katherine gave him a fierce stare and shook her head. Would he
allow her no dignity!

Lord Drayton’s
face resumed a mask of indifference. “As you wish. I came to tell you that I
leave for Chiswick this morning to meet with a lawyer and draw up a marriage
contract for you.”

Katherine’s eyes
widened in stunned surprise. So soon? Livid now, she brushed at the quill until
the end of it extended off the edge of the table.

“But she-she is
injured,” Elizabeth said.

Katherine
finally grasped the quill between her thumb and palm and thrust the point
straight to the bottom of the inkbottle.

“I said I would
meet with him. I did not say she would leave immediately. I know what’s best
for her.”

And now he was
speaking as if she weren’t in the room—as if she were a mere child. She
struggled to keep the pen from slipping around in her bandages as she wrote.

“Who is he?”
Elizabeth asked.

Lord Drayton
hesitated, and Katherine glanced up to see him looking down at his boots as if
expecting their worn leather toes to answer. “I would rather not say in case he
refuses her,” he said.

“Oh,” said
Elizabeth meekly.

Katherine
finished, straightened, and jerked an aching finger toward her words, which
were barely legible and dotted with black splatters.

Lord Drayton
walked to the table, picked up the paper, and read, “I meet him. I decide.” A
deep rumble in his chest suggested a chuckle, although his lips revealed his
scorn and his eyes became icy. “No, you will not decide. You will marry
whomever I choose for you.”

Katherine shook
her head and glared at him while the quill slipped from her hand to the floor.

He tossed the
paper onto the table, and his derisive laugh sent chills through her body.
“Yes, I know. You want only to marry for love. But as I told you, there is no
such thing.” He walked to the door, then turned to face her. “Tolerance, yes.
Perhaps dislike, or in my case, pure hatred. But never love.”

Such bitterness!
What on earth had happened to the man? Katherine followed him out the door, but
his long legs had carried him quickly down the corridor.

And he was gone.

Riding east,
Alex detoured to Robert’s house to leave his copy of
Paradise Lost
for Edward
to borrow. A man near Robert’s barn pointed to Edward’s herbarium.

Alex dismounted
and ambled down the pebbled path to the small, squat building, and stopped with
his hand on the door latch. Edward wasn’t alone. Heated words carried through
the glassless window to his right.

“I cannot
believe it. Are you sure he wants to court you?”

“He would like
to. Why do you doubt his intentions? Am I not good enough for him?”

The voices
belonged to Agnes and Edward. Disinclined to interrupt their private conversation,
Alex released the latch and turned to leave the book with Sarah, but the next
words rooted him.

“His year of
mourning for Madcap Mary has ended,” Agnes said. “At last.”

“Has he
expressed interest? Spoken to Father?”

“Not yet. Likely
Alexander is as slow as you in your courtship. He doesn’t wish to offend me by
moving forward too quickly.” A slight hesitation, and then Agnes added, “You
know, Ed, I think you should court Katherine instead of Elizabeth.”

“What? No, I do
not think—”

“She is pretty,
you know,” Agnes said. “Almost as pretty as I am. Father said so. Her clothes
sit on her like a saddle on a sow’s back, and she cannot talk, and she is
stupid no matter what anyone says, but you’d have plenty of time to dry your
herbs and write love poems.”

Alex
instinctively stiffened at the insult to Katherine.

“Bear in mind
that I mean to continue courting Elizabeth.”

Agnes laughed.
“Tell me. Have you kissed her yet?”

“No. We are in
no hurry.”

“So you say.”

A clatter echoed
from inside. Edward must have dropped something. “What? Has Elizabeth said something
to you?”

“Only that it is
your decision whether you wish to turn your attentions to Katherine,” Agnes
replied. “Apparently, Lizzy cares not what you do.”

Edward’s voice
grew stronger. “Do not touch that, Agnes. It is mandrake root. Makes one sleep
like the dead.” A moment later he said, “What does Elizabeth want? Does she not
care for me?”

Alex leaned
against the wall and shook his head. What was that vixen doing to her brother?

“Oh, I suppose
she does,” Agnes said. “She doesn’t speak openly about her feelings. Katherine
speaks not at all, yet her face and body reveal much. It is how I know of her
desire for Alexander. This is why you must turn your attentions to her before
he does.”

Almost bellowing
his surprise, Alex jolted from the wall. Katherine desired him?

Agnes continued
in a plea. “I want to be Lady Drayton. It is always what I have wanted.
Will
you court Lady Katherine?”

“No. Alex isn’t
going to marry her, Ag. Or anyone. You heard what he said at his dinner table.
He doesn’t want another wife.”

“Yes, he does,”
Agnes said with clear irritation. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”

Footsteps
approached the door. Feeling rather foolish for his covertness, Alex slid
around the corner until Agnes had left the herbarium.

It mattered not
what she said about Katherine. They were the words of a jealous, possessive
woman. Nothing more.

****

Such a dark
home, full of misery and loss.

Three days ago
Lord Drayton had left for Kensington where there lived a prospective suitor.

Whom did he so
eagerly seek to procure as Katherine’s husband?

She had to feel
the sunlight on her face. A few minutes later, she was in her light summer
cloak and outside.

Light. Warmth.
She stood for a moment with her eyes squeezed shut, her face tilted to the sun.
Here, she was at peace, could breathe without scrutiny.

A soaring hill
beyond the barn beckoned to her with its height and open green span, and,
gathering her skirts between her open hands, she slowly climbed it.

At the top, she
turned and looked at the castle, a masculine splendor in gray stone. The late afternoon
sun made jewels of the leaded window panes, so different than they had appeared
on the rainy day of her arrival. Then, it had seemed that they had stared at
her like so many hooded eyes.

On the front
lawn, the shoddy boxwood cluster she had seen was actually an unkempt maze,
clearly not enjoyed for many years. Beside it sat an almost unrecognizable knot
garden, and further on, a dilapidated flower patch choked with weeds. It could
be beautiful, with a little care. As could, perhaps, its owner.

Here on the
hill, Katherine had a better view of the towering twin battlements flanking the
castle in the back. The stones there were ancient and crumbling.

Millie stood at
the bottom of the hill with her hands on her hips, plainly reluctant to climb
it. Finally, she turned and walked to a stone bench in the middle of the flower
garden, and plopped down on it.

The air up here
held a delicate warmth. Katherine tugged off her hood with clumsy fingers, then
shook out her hair in a rippling spill down over her shoulders.

It mattered not
that she was outdoors with her hair loose and tangled. No one would see her,
and no one cared.

She draped the
cloak on the ground and sat down with a contented sigh. A quiet breeze caressed
her cheek, and the sun swathed the top of her head like a warm hat.

The stillness
out here, broken only by the twitter of birds and occasional far-off bleating
of lambs, contradicted the steady racket that pervaded London’s busy streets.
Perhaps the tranquil peace would work its way into her heart.

But it only made
her loneliness worse. She almost preferred London.

Lord Drayton
sheltered her out of some favor to the king, but would be rid of her as soon as
he could. When would that be? And who would want a destitute woman with no
voice?

She swallowed at
the lump in her throat and blinked back sudden tears. Raising her face to the
sky, she took a deep breath, then lowered her head and coughed.

Damnation!
Without warning, frustration and hopeless rage engulfed her at the fire that
killed her father, at the heated smoke that stole her voice.

She closed her
eyes and tried to quiet her thoughts, but only heard the screaming of the two
children trapped in the townhouse next to hers. She crossed her arms over her
knees and lowered her head.

The cries of the
children trailed away as they had on that day. The silence on the hill became
absolute.

No city noise,
no plague, no fire, no one to tell her she had become an embarrassment or a
burden.

No sanctuary,
anywhere. She was utterly alone.