Sharon Schulze (21 page)

His revenge could be so close now, if he made the right move. Returning to the chair, he made himself comfortable while he waited for Huw to return. They’d have to
come up with a foolproof way to get Catrin. And this time he’d do it himself, so there’d be no mistakes.

He wanted Catrin, and this time he would have her. Listening to the thoughts rolling round his mind, Steffan began to shape his plan.

N
icholas glanced thankfully at the midday sun high overhead and brought his ragged troop to a halt near a stream along the boundary of l’Eau Clair lands. During his brief tenure as Gillian’s guardian last spring, he’d patrolled these woods often, seeking out the brigands who wreaked havoc on the outlying farms. Another league and they would reach the castle itself.

And none too soon. Catrin needed to rest.

Although she protested each time he asked if she wished to stop, he knew she kept going on willpower alone. And their guard…He shook his head.

Judging by the way they drooped and moaned, they needed the respite more than she did.

He rode to the rear of the straggling column and smacked the last man across the buttocks with the flat of his sword to hurry him along. “Come on, you laggards. If the Welsh come upon us now, they’ll be all over you like a pack of wolves on a lamb. Keep dawdling and you’ll be dead.”

Idris trotted out of the woods, tongue lolling from the side of his mouth in a canine smile. Nicholas joined in
the dog’s amusement when he noticed how his men tried to edge away from Idris without appearing craven.

He could scarcely wait until he had the time to whip these lazy oafs into a respectable troop of fighting men. He’d do it, just as he’d shape Ashby into the fine keep it had been in his grandfather’s day. Anticipation lent a keen edge to his appreciation of life: not since his childhood had he looked forward to each day with such eagerness.

Turning his mount, he jogged toward the front of the line, slowing when he reached Catrin’s side. She rode the mare they’d found after they were attacked. A fine animal, possessed of an even temperament, the mare had already begun to fill out. Catrin had named her Rhosyn. When he protested that no one named a horse after a rose, she laughed and told him she never did anything the same as other people.

He found that easy to believe!

He rode so close to Catrin, his knee nudged against hers. “Your rose doesn’t smell too sweet,” he teased.

She smiled and met his gaze. “You’ll not convince me to change her name.” She patted the mare’s neck. “Besides, roses are beautiful, and so is Rhosyn.”

“My miserable troop needs to rest again, milady.” He’d noticed how her shoulders sagged with weariness despite her brave front. At least the men had served one purpose; their lack of stamina provided ample excuse for them to stop, to Catrin’s benefit.

If she hadn’t been along, Nicholas would have harried them unmercifully until they developed some backbone. As it was, he thanked God they hadn’t met up with any type of threat. Even a rampaging wild boar would likely have panicked them into a hasty retreat.. He and Catrin would probably have been trampled to death in the process,
too, he thought wryly. Still, they presented the appearance of a guard, if he didn’t look at them very closely.

“Nicholas, we’re almost there. Surely they’re capable of walking the rest of the way without stopping again.”

He shrugged. “You’ve seen Ashby, Catrin. There wasn’t a person there who’d done an honest day’s work in months, ever since Clarence heard I was dead. I still don’t understand where that rumor came from. But if I’d paid more attention to Ashby, things never would have gotten so bad—and Clarence would have known the rumor was untrue.”

“’Tis no wonder he reacted so violently when he saw you standing outside the keep,” she said with a laugh. “He must have thought you were a ghost come to haunt him.”

“At least he could have tried to discover if I had actually died. Instead the fool began a celebration that lasted far too long.”

She reached over and took his hand, her lips curved into a grin. “Isn’t it touching to realize how they mourned you?”

He grimaced. “They’ll wish
they’d
died before I’m through with them,” he vowed. “And I’m certain Clarence is grieving the loss of an extremely profitable position—for him. The bastard bled me white this past year and more. I could see that much just from the cursory glance I took at the accounts before we left.”

“I doubt you’ve anything to worry about on that score now.” Catrin squirmed in the saddle. “Clarence is long gone, and you put the fear of God in everyone else before we left.”

He chuckled in remembrance. “I think some of the women had the impression that I took their men with me as hostages for their good behavior.” He sent her a questioning
glance. She refused to meet his eyes, but she looked very pleased with herself. “I don’t know where they got the idea, but I’ll be very happy if it works. Thank you.”

“Can’t we move on yet?” she asked. “I know what you’re doing. I’m fine. I don’t want—or need—to stop again.”

He should have realized she’d see through his pretense. His concern was genuine; he hadn’t even been sure they should make the journey so soon. But he feared that if he didn’t bring her to l’Eau Clair himself, she’d find some other way to get there.

And he didn’t want to chase through the marches after her.

“We’re still going to rest,” he told her firmly. “It matters not whether ’tis for your benefit or for theirs. ’Twill only be for a little while, then we’ll be on our way.”

Despite Nicholas’s enforced stop, it took all Catrin’s remaining energy to stay upright in the saddle. And he noticed it, too, damn him. Not half a league left, and he halted the troop again.

Hungry, filthy and tired, she glared at him when he brought his horse right up beside Rhosyn, but before she had a chance to open her mouth he reached over and scooped her from the saddle and onto his lap.

He covered her mouth with his hand. “Not a word.” After settling her more comfortably, he leaned over her shoulder and looked her in the eyes. “And don’t even think of biting me,” he warned before he moved his hand away.

As if she’d consider putting that glove in her mouth ever again!

This really wasn’t so terrible, to feel Nicholas’s warmth
and strength surrounding her. They had spent no time alone together since the morning they’d made love, and much to her surprise, she missed him. Closing her eyes, Catrin snuggled into his embrace, resolved to enjoy her good fortune for the brief remainder of the journey.

Nearly a fortnight after she left Gwal Draig, Catrin finally reached l’Eau Clair. Although she wasn’t pleased to enter the keep draped over Nicholas’s saddlebow like a war prize, it was far better than the alternative. If not for his bravery, they’d be carrying in her lifeless body on a hurdle.

Assuming her body had ever been found at all.

Her pride would permit this. After all, how many women were fortunate enough to make an entrance cradled in the arms of a gallant, handsome man? ’Twas the stuff of girlish dreams—even hers. Smiling to herself, she nestled back into his arms.

Their approach had been sighted, and they rode over the drawbridge and through the gates straightaway. Once they passed into the bailey they were engulfed by a cheering crowd. People waved, braving the horse’s hooves to reach toward them as they crept through the throng.

As she looked out over the sea of faces, Catrin was stunned by the expressions of goodwill. She blinked furiously and turned in Nicholas’s arms to see his face.

He looked overwhelmed. When he met her gaze his lips twisted into a grin, lighting his expression from within. He responded to a saucy comment with a laugh and a wave, appearing happier than she’d ever seen him.

These people respected Nicholas, and it seemed they liked him, as well.

This was how his return to Ashby should have been, she thought sadly. But his people didn’t know him as
these people did. Once they saw what a good leader—a good man—he was, his homecomings to Ashby would likely reflect this same joy.

For his sake, she hoped so.

As she scanned the crowd for a sign of Gillian or Rannulf, she noticed that some of the voices and comments were directed at her, asking after her well-being or simply calling her name. Their concern touched her, and a smile rose to her lips even as tears threatened once again.

Though Nicholas’s mount was enveloped in the crowd, they’d been swept along on the swarming tide until they were nearly across the bailey. Her gaze was drawn to the stairs along the outside of the keep, and she saw her family waiting there.

Framed by Ian and Rannulf, Gillian leaned against her husband’s side, her face ecstatic as she called their names. She’d grown so huge, Catrin noted with concern. How did she manage to stand there without toppling over?.

Nicholas halted his horse at the foot of the steps. Ian bounded down to meet them, scooping Catrin into his arms and wrapping her in a tight embrace.

“Have a care,” Nicholas said sharply as Catrin winced.

Ian eased his grip, but he didn’t let her go. “I should warm your backside so hard you won’t sit for a week,” he growled, raising his head. “But since I’m so happy to see you, I won’t…this time.” He squeezed her again, more gently. Green eyes dark and solemn, he looked her over carefully before kissing her cheek. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Catrin raised her hand and touched his face, meeting his eyes for a moment. She couldn’t recall when she’d last seen Ian express so much emotion. But she didn’t want to wallow in solemnity now; they had plenty of serious matters to discuss soon enough. But if she didn’t
laugh, she’d cry, and she didn’t want to do that. Once she started, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop.

She forced her lips into a grin and poked him in the stomach. “You should know by now, you can’t be rid of me so easily.”

Ian’s face twisted into a grimace, although Catrin knew she hadn’t hurt him. But there was an unexpected joy in the familiar things she’d taken for granted before. She hugged him again, completely losing the forced sense of lightness she’d tried to project. “’Tis so good to see you.” She stifled a sob. “Ian, what of Padrig? Did you find any sign of him?” she whispered. The lad had never been far from her thoughts, although she held little hope for his safety.

“He found us.”

“Thank God,” she murmured, losing her battle against her tears.

“He’ll survive, although at first we weren’t certain he would. But he’s a tough lad—there’s no doubt he’s related to you. Come inside and see for yourself,” he said, hoisting her into his arms and turning to mount the stairs.

“Ian, put me down!” She clung to his tunic. “I’m perfectly capable of walking. At least let me greet Gillian and Rannulf.” Blowing her disheveled hair from her face, she wriggled in his grasp until she could see them.

Nicholas had joined them on the stairs; Catrin had been vaguely aware that they, too, were exchanging greetings. “Would you please tell him to set me down?”

Gillian’s eyes merry, she solemnly shook her head, Rannulf and Nicholas following her lead. It looked to her as though they were all trying not to laugh, damn them!

“Fine. Carry me to Padrig’s chamber, you overgrown idiot. I hope ’tis a good, long distance away.” She glared
at them, one by one, before she let her head droop against the comfort of Ian’s chest.

No sense in letting them know she’d reached the end of her strength.

Ian dipped his arms threateningly in response to her demand, forcing her to cling more tightly to him.

Rannulf scooped Gillian off her feet and started up the stairs. “Come along, you lazy wench,” he said, his voice shaking with laughter. “We’ll all be more comfortable inside.”

Nicholas let them pass, then fell into step with Ian. Catrin met his eyes briefly before Ian swung her about, making the bailey spin wildly before her. “Tell me, Talbot,” Ian said, pausing on the step and ignoring Catrin’s squirming. “How did you happen to find my sister?”

Catrin poked Ian in the ribs. “You may ask him all the questions you like—once you put me down.” Freeing one hand from Ian’s clothes, Catrin shoved her hair back and stared meaningfully at Nicholas. He only laughed.

“Could you get him to put me down?” she asked dryly. Ian started up the stairs. “Nicholas—”

Coming to a halt, Ian shifted her in his arms and brought his hand across her buttocks in a gentle swat. “Silence, wench.” His body shook with suppressed laughter.

He glanced at Nicholas, who continued to chuckle. “Come along, Talbot. If I don’t get her up there soon, Gillian will come down after us.”

“We don’t need that. Between the two of them—” Nicholas’s eyes teased her “—they’ll likely jaw us to death as it is. We don’t want them angry, too.”

Frustrated by her inability to break free and give both men the kicks they so richly deserved, Catrin contented
herself with growling low in her throat. Padrig must be well, else they’d not have seemed so happy.

But she refused to let Ian off the hook so easily. “I wish to see Padrig now!”

He must have realized she’d reached the limit of her patience. Clamping his arms more securely about her, he ran lightly up the rest of the steps, Nicholas dogging his heels.

Finally!

She closed her eyes, uncertain, now that she was safe in the midst of her family, whether she could bear any more without breaking down completely.

N
icholas trailed along behind Ian as he carried Catrin to Gillian’s solar. In spite of Ian’s teasing, Nicholas suspected the real reason he’d picked Catrin up was that he realized she’d reached the end of her endurance.

Though she’d never admit it, the signs were clear enough to him.

And now that Catrin had finally arrived at l’Eau Clair, Nicholas doubted she’d rest until Gillian gave birth. He knew already how it would be, for Catrin could not stay still when she thought she might be needed. There had been ample evidence of that before they left Ashby.

Though she should have been mustering her strength for their journey, he’d encountered her handiwork everywhere. She seldom left her chamber, but she’d discovered a willing and able emissary in Tildy. The maid had a knack for harrying the most idle servants, bullying and cajoling until they gave in and got to work. Perhaps ’twas simply self-defense, he thought with a chuckle.

Whatever the reason, Catrin and Tildy proved an invincible combination. In only two days they made a number of improvements in the way things were done.

“I’ll take you to see Padrig in a bit,” Ian said. “He’s
not going anywhere for a while, and neither are you.” He set Catrin on her feet by Gillian’s chair. She knelt beside her at once and carefully slipped her arms around her cousin.

“You look better than I imagined after receiving Nicholas’s message,” Gillian said, wiping a tear from her cheek. “But I can see you’ve been ill.”

Rising, Catrin accepted the chair Rannulf pulled forward for her and settled onto the cushioned seat with a sigh. “You needn’t mince words. I’m sure I look a fright. I’ve had little opportunity to beautify myself of late.”

“I see nothing wrong with your looks.” Nicholas moved behind her chair. It bothered him when she belittled herself; she did it more frequently than he’d first realized. She surrounded herself with an aura of selfassurance, of arrogance, but now that he knew her better, he recognized that she wasn’t like that at all.

“I feel much better, thanks to Nicholas,” she said, not responding to his comment. But she reached up and touched his hand where it lay on the back of her chair, sending a tingle up his arm. “He’d make an excellent healer, Gillian. Wait until you see the stitches he put in my back. I hear they’re very fine.”

“Perhaps you could help Catrin while you’re here,” Gillian said with a teasing look. “I’ll need her services as a midwife very soon.”

Although he knew she didn’t mean it, Nicholas couldn’t disguise his horror at the thought. “’Twas sheer luck Catrin got better. It’s a wonder I didn’t kill her with my ignorance.”

Reaching up, Catrin linked her fingers with his. “You did very well, and I’m more grateful than I can say.”

He felt his face redden at the look in her eyes. Glancing away, he saw that the others watched them with a variety
of expressions, from Gillian’s blatant curiosity to Ian’s frown.

And was that amusement in Rannulf’s eyes? “How did it seem, returning to Ashby?”

Nicholas sent him a grateful look. “The place is a midden, a veritable sty. Knowing how I’ve come to enjoy the comforts of noble life, can you imagine how I’d fare in such surroundings?”

“Actually, I imagine you’d manage just fine,” Rannulf said, surprising him. “Before you returned to court last year I realized you were not quite the man you appeared.”

“There’s more to you than you allow others to see,” Gillian added.

Nicholas felt his flush deepen at their words. “Enough! Next you’ll try to convince everyone I’m a saint, when nothing could be further from the truth.”

He moved around to the front of Catrin’s chair. “I realize we all have plenty to discuss, but I can see that both these lovely ladies need their rest.”

“Nicholas, never tell a woman she looks tired,” Gillian scolded. “Though you’ve become quite the gallant of late, you’ve still a ways to go.”

“I’m not trying to impress you, I’m being honest After all my efforts to nurse Catrin back to health, I have no intention of allowing her to become ill again.” He bent and lifted Catrin out of her chair. “And don’t you dare to give birth until Catrin has rested, understand?” he said, leaning down to kiss Gillian’s cheek.

“I don’t believe there’s much she can do about that,” Catrin said. She shoved at his shoulders. “Would you put me down? At this rate I won’t remember how to walk.”

Heedless of their audience, Nicholas raised her higher in his arms and pressed his lips against hers, cutting off the flow of words. This had to be the most effective way
he’d ever found to silence her, he thought, fighting the urge to deepen the kiss.

He tore his mouth free, looked up at their stunned companions and grinned. “It works, doesn’t it?” he asked of no one in particular. He carried her out the door quickly, before she had a chance to say anything more.

Laughter followed them down the corridor. “I’ve never been so embarrassed,” she said, her voice faint. Burrowing her face against him, she didn’t say another word.

Now what? Catrin groaned, slowly rolling over and pulling a pillow over her head. Running feet thundered past her door, and faint shouts rose from the bailey.

Judging from the fading daylight still visible through the shutters, she couldn’t have slept more than a few hours. Despite Nicholas’s efforts to see that she rested, soon after he placed her on her bed and left her with another soul-stirring kiss, Gillian slipped into her chamber.

Moving quietly so the men wouldn’t discover them, Gillian and Catrin had gone to see Padrig. Although she would always carry responsibility for the guards’ deaths on her soul, at least by sending Padrig away she’d managed to do something right. From what Gillian had recounted of his travail, ’twas only by God’s grace that the boy had found his way here. Still, he’d survived, and she was thankful for it.

Surprisingly, Padrig didn’t seem to blame her for his suffering. He’d made tremendous improvement since they’d carried him into l’Eau Clair, and he sounded more eager than before to begin training for the knighthood.

Once Padrig settled into sleep, Gillian hastened Catrin back to her chamber and began to interrogate her about Nicholas. Giggling like a young girl, Gillian taunted and
teased, but in the end she told Catrin she couldn’t have chosen a better man for her herself.

And who’d ever have believed he could be so gallant? Gillian had asked saucily.

Catrin’s face grew hot whenever she thought of Nicholas’s bold caresses—within sight of her family and his friends! By the Virgin, they’d all be expecting a betrothal soon if he didn’t stop. She had an incredibly difficult time trying to convince Gillian there was nothing between them.

And Gillian hadn’t believed a word she’d said.

But so far as she knew, there was nothing between them but one morning of passion. Although Nicholas had become affectionate toward her, he’d mentioned nothing of feelings.

It was probably just lust on his part. She yanked the pillow off her head and wrapped her arms around it. If she had any sense, she’d make certain lust was all she felt for him.

But she couldn’t delude herself. Her feelings for Nicholas had always been strong, if a bit misguided at first. They couldn’t be summed up as something so simple as lust.

She sat up as more footsteps pounded along the corridor. This time they stopped outside her door.

“Lady Catrin, you must come quickly.”

Catrin recognized the voice of Emma, Gillian’s maid. Slipping from the bed, she tugged her bliaut into place and opened the door.

The old woman looked frantic. “’Tis time, milady. Her water’s broke, and Lord Rannulf’s fit to tear the walls down,” she said, clutching at Catrin’s arms.

All thoughts of exhaustion forgotten, Catrin tugged Emma’s fingers from her arms. “Tell Lord Nicholas to
keep Lord Rannulf away from Gillian’s chamber. We don’t need a wild man getting in our way. I’ll be along directly.”

Although Emma’s face remained creased with concern, she appeared less distracted now that she’d been given something to do. Nodding, she moved down the passageway with determination in her shuffling step.

Catrin paused only to weave her hair into a single braid before she headed for Gillian’s chamber. Likely she had no need to hurry; doubtless it would be a long while before the child finally made an appearance.

“I don’t want to do this anymore!” Gillian shrieked, her fingers grasping clawlike at Catrin’s gown. Culling strength from some hidden reserve, she hoisted herself upright on the bed. Her eyes darted frantically from Catrin to the maid standing beside the bed, but she maintained her hold. “No more, Catrin,” she whimpered, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. “Make it stop.”

Catrin fought the drag of Gillian’s weight on the front of her bliaut, struggling to remain upright as she sought to release her white-knuckled grip. “Enough of this,” she said, infusing her voice with a stern tone as she pried Gillian’s fingers from her bodice one by one. “The babe must be born, and you must work to help. You know I cannot make it stop.”

Free at last, she straightened. She held one of Gillian’s hands clasped firmly in her own as she eased her down onto the bolsters. Her back sent up a sharp twinge of protest, but she forced the pain aside. Gillian needed her now. Her own discomfort could wait. But she couldn’t stop her hand from trembling when she reached out to smooth the sweat-soaked hair away from her cousin’s face.

Catrin noted the pallor and strain on that face with an inward wince of alarm. This birthing was taking much too long. A full day and night had passed since Emma fetched her from her chamber, an eternity of pain and exhaustion for Gillian—and herself. Under normal circumstances she’d have been better prepared to face this, but now…

Her scant hoard of strength was nearly gone. She had to deliver this baby now.

Gillian hovered on the edge of hysteria. Catrin knew it would take strength to pull her back from the precipice, a strength she wasn’t sure she possessed.

Her love for her cousin spurred her on, reviving her flagging spirits. Gillian depended on her; she could not fail her now.

She sat on the edge of the bed. “You must help us, Gillian. Come now, you must push.” She smoothed a wet cloth over her face.

Gillian’s fingers crushed her own as another contraction racked her. Murmuring encouragement, Catrin tried to calm her, but it was clear her efforts were for naught. Gillian’s moans rose to a pitiful cry before subsiding to whimpers when the spasm eased.

She had to do something now, before Gillian became too muddled to be of any help.

At this point, she’d try practically anything to jolt Gillian into action.

She motioned Emma to her side. The maid’s careworn face was tense, her lips held in a firm line as though to still their shaking. “What are we to do, milady?” Her faded blue eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “My poor lamb—I’ve never seen her like this. I don’t think she even knows what’s happening.”

“Bring Lord Rannulf here. Mayhap he can lend her the
strength she’ll need.” Surprisingly, Emma didn’t question her suggestion as she hurried away.

Catrin paced beside the bed until the next contraction seized Gillian in its grip. Coaxing and cajoling, she bullied her cousin through the paroxysm, so completely involved she didn’t hear anyone enter the room.

But when she looked up during the brief interim between pains, she discovered Nicholas standing next to her, staring at her with a strange intensity. Raising her finger to her lips, she motioned him away from the bed.

Once they reached the door he took her in his arms, cradling her gently. “How long has she been like this?” he asked, brushing his lips comfortingly over her forehead.

She rested against him, briefly savoring his strength. “Hours, I think. Too long.” She looked about the room. “Where’s Rannulf?”

“I wanted to hear for myself that you asked for him. Emma’s practically incoherent, and I didn’t know if you truly wanted him here. He’s like a caged beast, Catrin. I’m not sure his presence will help her. He’s more likely to terrify her.” He glanced at the woman on the bed. “Or become completely mad with worry.”

“Perhaps they can help each other.” Catrin sighed and stepped back from Nicholas’s comforting arms. “I cannot make her try anymore, and if she doesn’t we could lose both her and the child.” Recognizing from Gillian’s whimpers that another pain had started, Catrin hurried to her side. “Warn him what she’s like before you bring him in,” she added, sitting beside Gillian and taking her hand. “But get him in here now.”

Nicholas brought Rannulf into the chamber as the next contraction eased, not a moment too soon. Catrin motioned
him over, tiredly noting that he looked nearly as bad as his wife. At least he was sober, thank God.

“You must talk to her, Rannulf,” she said softly. She placed a hand on his arm. “Gillian is too exhausted to heed me any longer, but perhaps she’ll listen to you. It’s not too late, but I’ll not lie to you—she needs your strength to carry her through this.”

He nodded, his gaze never leaving Gillian. “What must I do?”

“Argue with her; threaten her—it matters not how you do it, but you must rouse her enough to help herself. She’s so weary, I think she’s fighting against her body. She’s very close to delivering the babe,” Catrin reassured him. “But you must make her try.”

Catrin was aware that Nicholas stood on the other side of the bed, but she didn’t send him away. She—or Rannulf—might need him before this was over, and she found his presence comforting. She summoned up the energy to give him a faint smile, the look he sent her in return washing over her like a balm and lending her the spirit to see this through.

“Rannulf, sit on the bed behind Gillian. You must hold her up and support her when she pushes.”

Rannulf swiftly obeyed her directions, then spoke sharply to Gillian before leaning down to whisper something in her ear. Whatever he said caught her attention, her eyes darting about groggily before settling on Catrin where she stood near the foot of the bed.

She thought Gillian still had the look of a cornered animal, but she also saw a growing awareness in her cousin’s weary green eyes. “I’m going to see how far you’ve come, Gillian,” she said, raising the sheet draped over Gillian’s legs and suiting action to words. Another contraction struck while Catrin examined her; she could tell
that this time Gillian concentrated on riding the spasm through, panting as she’d taught her. Rannulf encouraged her.