Mary Reed McCall (21 page)

“I want this delivered posthaste. No delays. It must arrive at Ravenslock on the morrow. I myself will follow by no more than two days. See to it.”

The man nodded, fear etched in the tight lines of his face. The messenger’s expression pleased Eduard, made him more comfortable. His will would be obeyed, as always. Because if it wasn’t…

Smiling to himself, he strode back to his tent at
the center of camp. His men, the nearly five score of whom he’d forced to join him for his travels with King Henry, were settling in for the night in their lesser shelters, dotted around him in circular formation. The very position of their tents protected him as their lord. ’Twas his right, as was his own sumptuous canopy, occupied by no one but himself.

Aye, ’twas his right—as Ravenslock Castle would also be his by right, before the week was out.

Pushing aside the flap to his tent, he ducked in and squinted at the thin veil of smoke hanging in the air. That blasted boy, Compton. He’d forgotten to leave an opening at the tent’s peak again. Eduard resolved to speak to him about it, to ensure that he’d remember next time. Just as soon as—

“My—my Lord Montford?”

The soft, dread-tinged voice tingled up Eduard’s spine like the stroke of fingernails.
Ah, she was here.

At least Compton had obeyed one of his commands. He stepped further into the partitioned area of his tent and approached the mound of pillows and furs that served as his bed. A woman huddled beneath the coverlet, obviously naked. And trembling. Her auburn hair curled over her shoulders, spilling onto the blankets; her eyes followed his every motion, as a hare watches the approach of a wolf.

Eduard smiled again, excitement flaring in his blood. She was afraid. Deliciously so. As well she should be.

After disrobing slowly, so that she might gain full view of his impressive size and strength, he yanked the covers off of her and sat on the bed. Then, taking
the back of her head, he pulled her hard to him for a deep kiss. She tasted of cinnamon. He delved deeper into her mouth, pleased. Again, his wishes had been obeyed.

Soon the woman—Juliette, was it?—began to struggle, whimpering and pushing against his bare chest as she fought for air. Laughing, he shoved her away and reclined on the pillows, flicking his wrist to indicate what she should do for him next.

Her lips looked slightly bruised from his kissing, her eyes wide brown pools, so expressive, so shocked at what he was demanding of her. And yet she did as she was bidden, crouching over him to grasp his erection and take it into her mouth. She moved tentatively at first, then with a choking cry as he dug his fingers into her hair, forcing her into a rhythm that pleased him.

He sighed and leaned back into the pillows, abandoning himself to sensation. Ah, yes, ’twas just what he’d needed. He craved release to soothe the tensions of this last week with the king. All of the bowing and scraping he’d been forced to do—it had sickened him, but he’d done it, done everything needed to ensure his continued privilege and rank in the kingdom. To ensure his high status with King Henry.

And yet even the mighty king didn’t know how much Eduard de Montford’s power was about to increase. Aye, it would swell by no less than a third of the cursed Camville’s estates. And after that he’d take the wretch’s latest plum on the vine—his imminent appointment as Sheriff of Cheltenham. Pluck it himself, once that milksop Catherine completed his
instructions, as he’d directed her in his letter. Then it would all fall into place. Just a few more days…

His groin began to tighten, pleasure rippling into his belly, mounting and growing. He gritted his teeth, savoring his coming triumph as he watched Juliette’s head bob up and down on him with smooth, even strokes.

It was good to be obeyed. To know that those he commanded would scramble to do his bidding, would struggle to please him and serve his will. He closed his eyes, pressing into the pillows as the delectable tension began to overwhelm him. He felt it building to a fever-pitch…

Suddenly he exploded, releasing the hot flow from deep inside. Sensations swirled and throbbed, mixing with his angry thoughts until they were almost indistinguishable in his mind.

Blind obedience.
So sweet, so necessary to the smooth progress of life.

And his right, by heaven and hell.

His bloody right.

As darkness fell over the land, Catherine stood in the torch-lit opulence of the bedchamber she’d shared with Gray, trying to put the constant, wrenching thoughts of him from her mind. She’d waged a silent battle against her emotions all day, her heart leaden at the thought of leaving, even knowing that she had no choice.

Setting her jaw, she twisted her plaited hair into a knot and paced to the window. Rain spattered the costly glazed panes and a chill seeped through the
cracks between window and wall, but the storm seemed to be waning. Thank the saints that the foul weather had had little effect on the Punkie Night revelers beginning their celebration below. Bonfires winked merrily across the hillside, glowing in defiance of wind and weather.

With a sigh, Catherine turned away, resolving to make her final preparations. She’d already changed into her breeches and tunic, and strapped the sharp sword she used for training to her side.
A cape
. Aye, she still needed something dark and hooded, like Heldred wore, not only for warmth, but to hide her features and shield her feminine shape from the world.

Making her way into the small room attached to the bedchamber, she lit a wall torch. Gray kept most of his clothing here, stored in trunks or in the two tall wardrobes standing against the wall. Her garments were here too, though they weren’t what she sought now. Nay, all of her things were too feminine and colorful. She’d have to use one of Gray’s cloaks for her escape.

After rummaging a little while, she found what she sought. A hooded cape of thick, black wool, brushed soft, with no edging or braid to distinguish it. Taking it from the trunk, Catherine shook it out and draped it over her shoulders. It was big, cut for Gray’s powerful frame, but that would serve to hide her more effectively. She only hoped that her height and build would help her to carry it well enough to avoid suspicion.

Snuggling the fabric around her, Catherine closed
her eyes. A biting pang stabbed her. Gray’s scent, fresh and masculine, drifted to her from the folds of the garment, teasing her as if he stood there with her, wrapping her inside his embrace. She breathed deep, letting the feeling wash over her, unable to stop herself from prodding the fresh wound.

Gray. Oh, Gray, my love.

Squeezing back tears that welled again, Catherine turned and walked into the main bedchamber. She forced one foot in front of the other, making herself keep moving. ’Twas time to meet Heldred in the stables. No more dawdling with childish hopes and memories.

She gazed round one last time, every object, each shadow seeming to burn itself with aching clarity into her mind. ’Twas here that Gray first came to her after their wedding, here where he’d soothed and cared for her. Here where he’d simply held her, safe and warm, until dawn on the night they finally were to consummate their union.

These and so many other memories throbbed with a life of their own, making the ache swell until she thought it would swallow her up. But it couldn’t. She must consign her memories to the dust now. Those and all of her secret dreams of a future with Gray.

Dashing her hand across her eyes, Catherine moved toward the door. It was over. She was leaving.

But as she reached the portal, she heard a loud noise in the corridor. Startled, she stepped back; at that moment the door crashed open and slammed against the wall. Gray stood framed in the open
ing, rain-soaked, his chest heaving, his expression feral.

He went still and gazed at her for what seemed like an eternity. His shadowed eyes burned, dark and vulnerable, his muscled frame outlined in stark relief by his wet shirt and breeches. Finally, he just shook his head.

“Damn you, lady,” he growled softly, “but I want to know who the hell you really are, and what kind of game it is that you’ve been playing with me.”

S
he stood frozen in place, dwarfed by his ridiculously large cape. Gray clenched his jaw. Hell, she looked more like a naughty child caught raiding his closet than a deceitful imposter bent on his destruction. Her breeches clung to her legs as deliciously as ever, her eyes bluer than he remembered. And damn her, but she was gazing at him with a look he might have mistaken for love if he hadn’t already discovered the awful truth about her.

God, she was beautiful
.

The thought came unbidden to his mind, and he shoved it aside angrily, striding into the chamber. The locket swung like a weapon from his fist.

“I stopped in Somerset on my way home from the grand assize, lady,” he grated. “And I found this.”

He stopped right in front of her, offering up the necklace. She moved nary a muscle, nor did she utter a sound in her defense.

“Well?” he demanded, thrusting it at her again.

She took it from him then, and the gentle brush of her fingers against his made him wince, made the ache he’d borne since that moment at the tavern lance deeper in his belly. He watched as she opened the pendant and looked at her own portrait. Her gaze was somber. Almost sorrowful. And yet still she didn’t speak.

“By the Rood, woman, just tell me. For once, let me hear the truth coming from your lips.”

She stood motionless, her expression filled with pain. “I’m so sorry, Gray. You’re right. You deserve the truth. I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time, but I—I—” She made a choking sound and squeezed her eyes shut. “Nay! I cannot tell you. Not here. Eduard’s spies—”

“Spies?”
Gray broke in bitterly. “You mean other than you?”

She flinched, and the ache in his gut bloomed wider.

“Eduard hired spies to watch
me
,” she said quietly. “To report of my every move, my every word, back to him.”

“If that is true, then I can assure you, they are no longer a concern. When I arrived, I ordered all of the revelers back to the castle before barring every gate under heavy guard. ’Twill remain so, with none allowed to enter or leave Ravenslock until I
am satisfied that there is no further danger to me or my people.”

She remained silent, looking at the floor.

“Go ahead,” he challenged her. “Speak! There’s naught to fear now in revealing the truth.”

Slowly, she lifted her gaze until it connected with his; a jolt of agony went through him, mocking him with its power. God, but he was a pitiful excuse for a man, a weak wretch to still want this woman—this betrayer—so much, even after all that she’d done to him.

“I never meant you harm, Gray,” she whispered. “You must believe that.”

“Must I?” he managed, his throat aching, tight. “Was it not you who came here under false pretences, you who feigned marriage with me, making our union and everything that came after it a lie?”

“I swear that I never wanted to deceive you.”

“And yet you did. Every time you let me call you Elise. Every time you let me call you
wife
.” His already hoarse voice broke on that last word, and he took her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “For God’s sake, tell me why! Did you and Eduard plan this to make a fool of me? To humiliate me further at Court?”

Exquisite pain shifted over her face, that face he loved so well, but she shook her head. “Nay. ’Tis worse than that.”

“Then tell me, damn it.”

Biting her lip, she paced a few steps away, her fingers clenched tight. Finally, she faced him again.
“All of this began when Elise died. She took her own life, driven to it by Eduard’s cruelty. When he discovered that she had escaped him, he came up with his own solution to the problem. He forced me to marry you in her place so that I could aid him in committing the terrible deed that he’d already planned…” Catherine gazed at him blindly, her eyes pleading with him.

“God forgive me, Gray, but I married you in order to help kill you.”

He didn’t think he could breathe for a moment. Her words hammered through his skull with cracking blows. She stared at him now as if he might crumble to dust before her eyes. And he felt like doing it. Felt like disintegrating rather than having to face what she’d just said. He should have expected as much, but hearing her say it made it that much more real and painful.

His breath finally exploded from him in a rush, and he jabbed his hand through his hair, swinging away from her. He held himself very still, very stiff. What he’d stumbled upon in Somerset was true, then. His real betrothed, the woman he’d forced himself to accept to appease King Henry, was dead, and he’d been duped into a marriage whose sole purpose was to ease the way to his murder. And Montford had plotted it all…

His stomach rolled, his mind careening with the duplicity of it. With a growl, he slammed his palms into the wall above the fireplace, closing his eyes against the pain.

God it hurt
.

The lies…sweet Jesu, the lies. Even with his eyes closed he could see her face, so beautiful and serene—on the altar, with his people, in front of his men. Aye, even cradled in his arms as they made love with a passion that had pierced him to his soul.

And it had all been a lie…

Desperately, Gray searched within himself, looking for some dark, dangerous emotion to swell and ease the pain of this betrayal. He’d always been able to summon such feelings at will, call up rage or battle lust to wipe out all else from his mind. But this time, nothing happened. This time, the hurt went too deep. No matter how hard he tried, it still seethed beneath the surface, vying for power and precedence.

And for the first time in his life, Gray feared that the hurt would win.

“I’m sorry,” Catherine whispered. “I should have told you the truth long ago.”

“Aye,” he said finally, still leaning into the wall. “But you didn’t.”

“Because I was protecting my children.”

For the second time in less than a minute, Gray felt like someone had impaled him with a bloody lance. “Your
children
?” he asked in a raw voice, swiveling his head to look at her. “You have children, lady?”

“Aye,” she murmured, looking startled. “I thought you’d learned about them as well.”

Of course
. The realization of it sliced him like a blade. He should have made the connection back at the tavern, only he hadn’t allowed himself to think beyond the excruciating point of learning that she’d played him false.

When he didn’t answer, she looked down at her hands, still clasped tightly in front of her. Then, with slow, even steps, she walked over to the trunk by the bed, lifted the lid and retrieved the portrait that Gray had somehow known from the first would come to mean more than just a wedding gift. His heart throbbed, the ache inside him thrumming with each beat.

“I named them Ian and Isabel,” she said softly. “They were born to me eight years ago, through my cursed union with Eduard’s brother, Baron Geoffrey de Montford.” She stroked her finger over their images, her lips tight. “They were the only joys of my existence, and that is why Eduard chose to use them against me, to get to you.”

“How?” Gray couldn’t seem to stop himself from asking.

When Catherine raised her gaze to him again, her eyes were shadowed by that same haunted look he remembered from their very first night together. “’Twas simple. Eduard forced me to comply with his schemes by threatening to kill my children if I did not.”

“Sweet Christ.” Even through his own pain, Gray couldn’t escape the horror of what that must have meant to her. Montford was a sick bastard. As corrupt and evil as the devil himself, to be willing to threaten the lives of his own niece and nephew.

Gray shook his head, feeling blessed numbness begin to creep in. It was all starting to make more sense now. At least he was beginning to understand
why Catherine had betrayed him. He couldn’t blame her for going along with Montford’s plots. Nay, not when her children’s lives were at stake.

But that didn’t change what had hurt him more than anything else in all of this. She should have told him the truth. Weeks ago. Christ, she should have trusted him enough to tell him the truth.

He pushed away from the wall, the heaviness in his soul near to choking him. “On the morrow, lady, I will lead my forces to Faegerliegh Keep and take your children back, by force if necessary. At the same time a message will be dispatched to the king, informing him of the situation. We will await his answer and direction here, with you and the twins safe under my protection.”

She stared at him, eyes wide. “You would do that for me? Even now, after all this…?”

“I would do no less for anyone, lady. ’Tis justice, pure and simple.”

“But what of King Henry’s sanctions against it? Will you not be risking everything if he does not see this thing in the same light?”

“Aye,” Gray said, snapping his gaze to hers in exasperation. “’Tis a distinct and unhappy possibility. And yet do you think I could live with myself if I let any number of sanctions—or even the king himself—stand in the way when children’s lives weigh in the balance?”

She looked as if she would answer, then. Perhaps assure him that, nay, she’d been foolish not to trust him. That she’d always known he would do what
was right, regardless of what he risked or how he’d been hurt. But in the end she said nothing. She just stood there, pale and haunted, her gaze downcast.

“Ah, lady,” Gray said at last, shamed to find his voice gone suddenly as husky as hers, “here you stand before me as you did on our very first night together, silent and frightened, uncertain of what the future may bring.” He swallowed hard. “And still knowing me, it seems, not at all…”

Unable to say more, Gray walked to the door on legs of wood, hardly aware of leaving the chamber or pulling the heavy door closed behind him. He took several stumbling steps before the pain finally overwhelmed him and he jerked to a halt.

Then he just stood very still in the dark, listening to the rain beating its muted melody on the roof above him, and feeling sadness sweep through him in crashing waves; it weighed him down, defeating him. He sank slowly to his knees under its power, fists clenched against the agony tearing through his brain—against the inescapable knowledge that he had just walked away from everything in the world that would ever matter to him…

A woman and a love, God help him, that had never truly been his to begin with.

Catherine watched the door shut, feeling its echo reverberate through her soul. She waited until the sound of Gray’s leaving faded into nothingness, until she heard naught but the cold wind rattling the panes in the window.

He was gone.

Wrapping her arms round herself, she gripped the twins’ portrait tight against her, letting the metal frame dig into her flesh so that she’d know she wasn’t some formless spirit, wrenched from her mortal body by the force of her anguish. The pain rocked through her, devastating in its power.

Sweet Mother Mary, she’d just lost the man she loved. Lost him forever because of her secrets and her lies.

And it was then that she began to weep.