Samantha James (17 page)

When she didn't move, Guy lost patience. He snared her about the waist, in the back of his mind marveling at how slight she was. He lifted her full off the floor and started toward the stairs. He had no qualms about carrying her kicking and screaming under his arm like a sack of grain, all the way back to the hall if need be.

But the tiny strangled sound he heard brought his eyes cleaving to hers in a flash.

Her palms opened on the soft wool of his tunic. "I cannot," she said, very low. In some distant part of her mind, she applauded the evenness of her voice. Pride alone kept her chin up.

The moment seemed to stretch into eternity, for inside Guy a violent tug-of-war was being waged. His jaw tense, he stared at her. The screen of her lashes shielded her eyes. If he were to raise her chin, he knew full well she could not hide her stricken entreaty. From the start, Guy knew he had been right about her. She was stubborn and strong-willed and defiant. Her willfulness could not be ignored, and he was just the man to bring her to heel. And yet, the feel of her body against his aroused a flurry of emotions.

She was so close he could feel the ragged tremor of her breath against the hollow of his throat. “Please," she whispered. "Do not make me." It was not her spoken plea, but the quiver of her lip that betrayed her tremulous emotions.

He lowered her to the floor but kept a steely arm tight about her waist. The grim tension had not left his features. If anything, his expression was even more implacable than before.

With his thumb and forefinger, he prodded her chin up. "Hear me, Kathryn," he said brusquely. "Hear me well, for I will say this only once. Do not expect leniency from me. Do not think to twist me round your finger! You have tested me once already and lost. Should you wish to ever have my trust, you will have to earn it."

With that he was gone, as swift and silent as the night. Kathryn fled to the sanctuary of her chamber, her dignity in tatters.

She threw herself across the bed, furious at the helplessness of her position... cursing the man who had brought it about. The earl controlled her every move, as surely as a falcon on a jess.

And she could do naught but endure the fate that awaited her.

Chapter 7

In the fortnight which followed, all that sustained Kathryn was a thin trickle of hope. She prayed nightly that the earl might soon grant her leave to return to Ashbury, but he showed no signs of relenting. He was often gone during the day, seeing to the spring plantings and other duties. During the evenings, he was ever aloof, ever icy, ever distant. Even the servants were wary of her. Gerda, who attended her closely, was stiff but polite, obliging but guarded. Indeed, the girl was almost as suspicious of her as was the earl! Oh, she knew why—because she was Richard's niece. Still, their flagrant distrust hurt, especially Gerda's.

Sedgewick itself was grand—built both as a defensive fortress and as a comfortable home. But Kathryn's soul was empty and lonely. She could not rid herself the nagging restlessness inside her. How she missed Elizabeth. How she missed Ashbury! She missed the mist-shrouded headlands of Cornwall, the keening wail of the incessant wind, the muted roar of the sea.

Her only redemption was Peter. His shyness with her lasted only a day or two. Only with the little boy did Kathryn feel she could be truly herself, for he was the only one here with no preconceived notions about her.

Even the weather was an ominous reflection of her mood. Throughout the day yesterday, dark clouds scuttled across the sky, while wind-driven sheets of rain lashed the ramparts. But this morning, bright golden sunlight bleached the sky. Between the rain and her enforced confinement, Kathryn longed to be free of the castle walls, if only for a while.

When Peter peeked into her chamber a while later, she crooked a finger at him. He ran to her and she scooped him up in her arms. "How would you like to go on an outing today, my little lord?" She whirled toward the window and Peter laughed delightedly.

"Look," she urged. Standing before the window, she pointed to where a strip of lush woodland ran back into the hills. Sunlight glinted off the stream that meandered through the trees. "You see the stream there? We could take a bit of food along with us, and eat there beside the water. And while we walk, we could pretend we're two soldiers marching off to slay a fierce, fire-breathing dragon."

"Dragons!" he cried, clapping his hands in approval. A secret smile tilted Kathryn's lips. The fire- breathing dragon conjured up in her mind had hair as black as midnight and glowing eyes of silver.

Gerda, who had been hovering behind them, said quickly, "I will go too, milady. Shall I ask the cook for some cheese and a loaf of bread?"

Kathryn glanced at her sharply. There was something about her tone. . . She lowered Peter to the floor, her smile rather stiff. "Peter and I will be fine, Gerda. You need not come with us."

A look of anxious distress widened Gerda's eyes.

"If you do not mind, milady, I—I think I shall."

It was on the tip of Kathryn's tongue to snap that she did mind. Still, she suspected Gerda was only doing as she'd been told. No doubt the earl had ordered that she was not to venture outside the castle walls alone.

"Very well," she said curtly. "If you'll fetch some food from the kitchens, Peter and I will meet you in the hall." Gerda fled the room, and Kathryn's lovely mouth turned down. Damn the earl to hell and back! she raged silently. He need not be present, and still the dratted man was able to make her utterly miserable!

But her mood lightened once they left the castle walls behind. The sun spilled down in radiant splendor, bathing her face and warming her limbs. She chuckled as Peter tramped along the narrow pathway, wielding a stick he'd found as if it were a mighty sword. She decided to stop near a spot where massive oaks arched over the shallow creek. Gerda laid out a blanket she'd brought so they could sit, and soon they were ready to eat. Peter sat between them, grinning up at Kathryn between bites of cheese. Once again, Kathryn was struck by the brilliant translucence of his eyes; surrounded by indecently long black lashes, they glowed like sapphires.

When he ran off to play at the bank, she shook her head. "I've never seen such beautiful eyes," she murmured. "Were his mother's so incredibly blue?"

Something flickered across the girl's face. "Lady Elaine," she said quietly. "Aye, milady. The boy has his mother's eyes."

Kathryn had decided that the earl would not ruin this day for her, but she was suddenly intently curious about the woman who had been his wife.

"Gerda." She twitched at a fold in the blanket. "Did you know her, the Lady Elaine? I know you must have been rather young when she was mistress here..." Kathryn broke off, feeling very awkward.

There was a prolonged silence. An odd expression crossed the girl's face. "I knew her," Gerda said finally. She paused for the space of a heartbeat. "I was the last one to see her alive."

Kathryn started. The remembrance glaringly vivid, all at once she recalled the earl's words that night in Richard's chamber.
It was only by the mercy of God that my wife's maid escaped, along with my son
...
You gave orders that no one was to be spared— not women, not children—no one!

The maid who had escaped with Peter had been Gerda, she realized numbly. Gerda had been there during Richard's rampage, while he ravaged and murdered... There was a sharp, stabbing pain in Kathryn's chest. She couldn't tear her eyes from Gerda, who sat very still, her hands folded, her gaze lowered. She longed to reach out to the girl, to ease the torment hidden deep inside—it didn't matter that she was a servant—but she sensed Gerda did not want that from her.

She drew a deep, unsteady breath, unsure of what to say. "Gerda," she murmured, "I—I do not make excuses for myself, but it shames me greatly to know that I am kin to a man such as Richard. I mourn your lady's loss, but I cannot mourn his. Will you tell me about her, Gerda? What she was like? I know it may seem a strange request, but I would truly like to know."

Gerda's huge brown eyes were fixed on her face. "If it is your wish," she said slowly, "then I will tell you." Her bad leg lay twisted at an odd angle away from her body. She adjusted her skirt over her knees before she began to speak.

"Lady Elaine was very small and fragile. The first time I saw her, I thought she was a glorious angel sent from the heavens." She smiled slightly. "Her hair was like nothing I'd ever seen before, not like the gold of the wheat fields—but pale and flaxen, like—like moonbeams flowing down from the sky." As she spoke, Kathryn's hand slipped unknowingly to the shining sleekness of her own dark locks.

"I'd never known a lady as good and kind and sweet as the Lady Elaine. She took me from my father and brought me into the castle so that he could no longer beat me." She touched her misshapen leg lightly. "I loved her dearly, as everyone who knew her loved her."

"Including the earl?" Kathryn bit her lip. Where the question came from, she didn't know. But it had slipped out before she could stop it.

"Especially the earl," Gerda said softly.

"Their marriage—it was arranged?"

"From the cradle. But it didn't matter, for it was well known that the earl fairly worshiped Lady Elaine."

Kathryn gazed out where the water rippled over the rocky creek bed, aware of an odd tightness in the pit of her stomach... Distress? Surely not! It mattered little to her that the earl had been enamored— enamored?—of his wife. If Gerda was right, he'd been madly in love with her!

"He must have taken her death very hard," she murmured.

Gerda said nothing, but Kathryn could feel her staring at her and began to flush. Thankfully she was saved from further embarrassment, for Peter ran up then, his boots and tunic wet from splashing in the creek. Kathryn stood. "We'd better get back and get him out of these wet things."

Not long after they had set off toward Sedgewick, Peter pleaded tiredness and begged to be carried. Gerda swung him up onto her hip but it wasn't long before she began to lag behind. Kathryn turned, and it was then she noted a spasm of discomfort cross Gerda's rosy face. A pang of guilt shot through her, for until that instant she hadn't given a second thought to the difficulty the trek might pose for Gerda.

She extended her hands toward Peter. "Here, Peter. Let me carry you." The boy came willingly into her arms.

Gerda blinked. "Milady. . .?"

Kathryn arched her brows. "Your leg is paining you, is it not?"

It was Gerda's turn to flush. "Aye, milady, but you need not take the lad—"

"Oh, yes, but I do."

Gerda's jaw dropped. "But Lady Kathryn, why would you do such a thing? You are a lady and... and 'tis my duty to—"

"Gerda, I see no reason why you should suffer when I'm perfectly capable of carrying him instead." She tickled Peter under the chin. "Right, my little lord?" With that, she was off again.

Gerda stared after her, both troubled and bewildered. When Richard of Ashbury had slain the Lady Elaine, he had become the earl's enemy... and hers as well. She had thought to hate and despise any kin of Richard's, certain his family must be as evil, treacherous, and odious as Richard himself. But she had put aside her anger and resentment and served Lady Kathryn solely because of her loyalty to the earl.

But Lady Kathryn seemed neither evil nor treacherous nor odious...

And it was getting harder and harder to think of her as an enemy.

They had nearly reached the outer palisade when a strange feeling crawled up Kathryn's spine. She looked over her shoulder just in time to see a horseman not twenty paces behind them. He must have seen her turn her head for he quickly swerved behind a copse of trees. But Kathryn had already recognized him. It was Sir Michael, a handsome young knight who had been with Guy at Ashbury.

Every nerve in her body suddenly quivered with rage. The earl had had them followed!

Peter's body lay limply against her, his chubby cheek pressed against her shoulder. He had fallen asleep. She delivered him to his chamber, eased him onto his bed, and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

In the great hall, she stopped one of the maids and asked if she knew the whereabouts of the earl. The girl shrugged. "Try the counting room."

Guy was busy tallying rents from one of his manors—forty ambers of ale, ten vats of honey, ten withers . .. The door burst open. A small figure stormed inside and planted herself squarely before him.

"Is it necessary to post a guard to watch my every move?" she demanded.

Guy leaned back in his chair. She was in a temper, by the look of her. Two spots of color stood out on her cheekbones; her eyes were the deep green of a stormy sea. Well, that was fine with him. If nothing else, their altercations were never boring.

He dropped his quill, his smile tight. "Perhaps it is for your own protection."

Her mouth thinned with ill-concealed annoyance. She spoke but one word. "Bah!"

"If I say it is necessary, then it is." His voice carried as much warmth as a winter wind blowing from a mountaintop.

In her anger she jammed her hands flat on the planked tabletop. "Gerda was with me today. Was that not enough?"

His eyes were the color of stone—and just as unyielding. "But you wield a dagger so well, Kathryn. I fear the damage you might do to a poor girl like Gerda."