Lovers in Enemy Territory (35 page)

He strained to make out faces. It was Miguel, and there was someone seated at his side, but the figure was huddled under a covering. It was impossible to distinguish details from this distance.

"Thank heaven he has come back," he murmured aloud and hurriedly reached for his crutches. He hobbled over to the ladder and edged down to the ground floor.

Luis was sitting in a chair before the fire, deep in concentration. He was worried because it had been a week now and Miguel hadn’t yet come back. He heard the crutches and looked up to see the Englishman's happy face looking down at him.

"Miguel!" Jeffrey pointed to the door. Luis stood up and cocked his head to listen. Sure enough there was the unmistakable sound of hooves outside. Luis smiled back and flung wide the door before Miguel could knock. The surprised young Basque stepped inside to hug the old man affectionately. Jeffrey extended his hand in greeting. Miguel grabbed hold of it and shook it vigorously, noticing with satisfaction that the flyer seemed healthy and fit. Then the two Basques began a lengthy conversation, much to Jeffrey's consternation, for he had many questions to ask.

For a moment Jeffrey's eyes strayed outside. He saw the other figure descending from the cart, still enveloped in a blanket.

Catherine gathered up the basket in her arms and slid off the seat on to the ground. She worked her way around to the end of the cart. For a brief moment Jeffrey caught a glimpse of the lower half of her face. It was only the merest glance, but the proud thrust of chin, the fullness of the wide mouth were unmistakable even from this distance.

There was a hammering in his ears. He pushed past the two men and hurried out into the darkness. Catherine was just coming around the other side of the cart, her head lowered. Had he been mistaken? Was his mind playing tricks on him? That had to be it! He wanted her so badly, his mind had conjured her up.

Still, the figure moved closer. He called her name. She stopped where she was, frozen to the spot.

Her eyes traveled from the work boots, the bandaged leg, up the lean body clad in Basque clothing, and came to rest on the handsome bronzed face, the golden hair.

"Jeffrey," she whispered in disbelief. Suddenly the basket was on the ground, the contents spilling out in all directions. The blanket slid from her head down

her shoulders and fell to the earth in a heap. The light from the doorway illuminated her exquisite face turned momentarily white from the shock of seeing him.

He was instantly reminded of a description from an old fairy tale: "Lips as red as blood, skin as white as snow, hair as black as ebony." That described his fair Catherine. His eyes took in the curves of her magnificent body. He could scarcely breathe.

Suddenly the crutches went crashing to the ground and he drew her into his arms, repeating her name over and over again, burying his face in the warmth of her neck and hair. Nothing existed but their closeness. She wrapped hungry arms around his body and he hugged her until her ribs ached. His neck was wet with her tears. She clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably in the warmth of his arms.

"Jeffrey," she gasped over and over again. He couldn't speak, the thickness in his throat was too great. He ran trembling fingers through her short, glossy black hair, and finally his mouth found hers. He kissed her until they were caught up in a dizzying vortex of ecstasy.

"Catherine," he moaned her name, and the thrill of each other's nearness consumed them both. Her fragrant, soft body was intoxicating. "I don't believe it," he murmured into the silky hair he’d never seen before, much less touched.

She had no words, only love to give him, and her eager lips sought his again as if she could never get her fill. Time passed, and they were oblivious to everything except each other. He gently forced her head back and looked quietly into her shining eyes. He shook his head as if she were a heavenly apparition.

"Dear Lord you're beautiful!"

"So are you," she replied in a husky voice. She said it in all seriousness. For the second time since she'd known him, he blushed.

"Catherine, men aren't beautiful."

"You are. I've always thought so."

His mouth fell on hers and he kissed her with an aching tenderness that left her limp. "I love you. There’ve been times when I thought I'd never see you again," he cried out softly.

"I know. I love you too, Jeffrey.” Her fingers gripped his arms. "I had no idea it was you up here. I didn't know! Thank heaven you're alive!" She looked up at him, stroking his curls with her hand. "You've been here all this time alone, in pain. And I've been at the priory thinking you were back in England or in Africa. Oh, my love," she closed her eyes tightly. He hugged her to him.

"By what miracle are you here now?"

"It's a long story, darling ... but I'll never stop thanking Miguel for making me come.” She stopped talking, eager to feel his mouth on hers once

more, and they were caught up in a new intimacy that set their bodies on fire. He crushed her to him and the joy he felt at having her safely in his arms at last erased the months of loneliness and frustration.

Catherine felt his heart beating wildly against her breast through the rough sweater. This was where she had longed to be. He was all she ever wanted. Words were unnecessary as they delighted in the wonder of being united at last.

Miguel and Luis had long since gone inside the hut and closed the door. When Miguel stepped outside to help Catherine with the basket and saw the two lovers, he thought he'd lost his mind completely. Then he began putting the pieces of the puzzle together and realized that the injured Englishman was her beloved. There was no other explanation.

Such a coincidence as the two of them meeting at this remote hut hardly seemed possible. The expressions of joy and desire on their faces was enough to make Miguel green with envy. He went back inside the hut, pulling the dazed old man along with him.

There was much to explain to Luis who stood in awe over what was transpiring before his very eyes. In fact Miguel wasn't exactly certain how he was going to tell Luis everything, for he didn't understand it all himself. The only thing he knew was that he had an aching sadness caused by seeing Catherine in the arms of the flyer.

The moon started its upward journey over the top of the mountain behind the hut, spreading its light on the landscape below, bathing the lovers in its pale glow.

"You're not wearing your habit," he finally whispered in her ear.

"No. Just this morning I received my dispensation from the Pope. The Mother General gave it to me in person instead of sending it on to Our Lord of the Lamb. All day I've been wondering why, now I know, my love. It’s as if I’ve been set free just so I could come to you now."

"Catherine," he pressed her more tightly to him. "I can't believe my eyes or my ears.” He swung her up off the ground, kissing her with wild abandon. He could never get enough of her.

When
he
put
her
down
again,
she
felt
his
body
trembling.
It
occurred
to
her
that
he'd
been
standing
on
his
bad
leg
all
this
time
without
any
support.
If
he
were
in
pain,
he'd
never
admit
it.
She
raised
her
head.
"Let's
go
inside,
Jeffrey.
It's
chilly
out
here
and
you
mustn't
stand
on
your
leg.
I
know
you're
uncomfor
table.
I
can
feel
you
tremble."

He smiled down at her, loving her more intensely for her concern. "That's not why I'm trembling, darling." How he adored her! "We'll go back in, but not until I've kissed you once more."

It was some time later that he reluctantly let her go. She knelt down and picked up his crutches. He put them under either arm while she gathered up the contents of the basket. Then with the blanket and basket firmly secured, they went into the hut, holding tightly to each other in spite of the crutches.

Miguel looked up as they came inside. He'd never seen two such radiantly beautiful people.

"Miguel," she addressed him in French, "I don't know how to explain it, but this man is the man I’m going to marry.”

“You’re kidding,” he teased.

She laughed. “I want you two to become the best of friends."

"We're well on our way," Miguel responded. "Luis!" he called to the old man. "This is the sister from the priory who intends to marry the Englishman." Luis smiled broadly and put out his hand to shake hers.

In her best Basque she thanked him profusely for taking care of Jeffrey, for allowing her to come and for giving them refuge. It pleased him that she knew some phrases in his native tongue and he told her that she and her man were welcome to stay as long as they liked.

Miguel looked on and noticed that the flyer was in pain. In his excitement to greet Catherine, he’d forgotten his leg and was suffering the consequences. Under the circumstances Miguel understood.

"You, Jeffrey," he spoke in English. "Get off that leg, now!" he pointed and shook his head as if he were chastising a naughty child.

Catherine immediately agreed. "He's right, darling You must rest." Jeffrey nodded. She looked around the room so sparsely furnished and tidily kept. "But where do you sleep?"

"Up in the loft. Luis has given up his only bed. And he's risking his life for me," he muttered.

"I'm discovering that there are many godly people in the world, like Luis and Miguel.” Jeffrey eyed Catherine, realizing how blessed he really was.

"Catherine—“ He motioned for her to come over to the ladder. She took his crutches while he propelled himself up the rungs. She handed them back to him and as she did so, he caught hold of her hand. "Come up here, darling."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Jeffrey’s eyes were dark with desire. Catherine felt a sensation not unlike a current of electricity flow through her body as she drew closer. When she reached the loft he pulled her away from the edge and together they went over to the bed in the corner, opposite the window.

It was nothing more than a straw mattress covered with several blankets. There were pieces of newspaper on the floor by the bed covered with his sketches.

Her eyes smarted as she watched him sit down and rub his thigh above the break. "We shouldn't have stayed outside so long, Jeffrey." There was alarm in her voice.

For answer he drew her down on his lap. One arm went around her shoulders, the other gently forced her head to lie on his arm. "It's a small price to pay," he whispered and began kissing her eyes and nose. Suddenly he was covering her mouth and throat. His touch sent delicious chills through her body till she felt drugged.

Miguel poked his head into the loft and waited till he felt he could intrude, but no such moment seemed to present itself. He cleared his throat noisily. "Excuse, please."

Catherine blushed because Miguel had come upon them so unexpectedly. She swayed visibly after getting to her feet. Jeffrey lay back against the pillow and grimaced as Miguel lifted the bad leg on top of the bed and began unwrapping it.

She watched in rapt attention, anxious to see if his leg was mending properly. She raised soft eyes to Jeffrey. They gazed at each other and spoke silent words of love.

Miguel examined everything carefully, then rebandaged the leg. He stood up and patted Jeffrey's shoulder. "Your leg is good," he said in perfect English. Then in French to Catherine, "It’s coming along well, but he must stay off it as much as possible. He can’t expect to travel for another six weeks or longer. You will both stay here till he’s better."

"But we can’t do this to Luis, Miguel."

"Luis wants you to stay. You will be safe here."

"Thank you, Miguel. We will never forget your kindness. Please tell Luis again how grateful we are. One day we will repay both of you."

He smiled. "I think I’m safe in assuming that it won’t be lonely for either one of you. It is the best plan. In a month or so, the pigs will have stopped actively looking for you."

"Yes," she answered excitedly. "I will keep house and do the cooking. I want to be of as much help as possible." Miguel flashed her a broad smile.

"Catherine?" Jeffrey called to her. She went quickly to his side and he took her hand. "What are you two talking about?" He felt an uncontrollable jealousy of her attentions to the handsome Basque who spoke only in French so Jeffrey couldn't understand.

Miguel noticed the Commander's possessive manner and chuckled. He didn't blame him. The Englishman was hopelessly in love with her. That much was obvious. And no wonder.