The Fallen One (11 page)

“I see,” she
said, although she didn’t mean it. She didn’t truly grasp half of what she had
heard. “I… I brought him some treats yesterday to thank him for helping my
sister and me. I have only come for the empty basket. I did not mean to… I fear
this is something I should not have heard. I did not mean to interrupt your
business.”

“You did not
interrupt anything,” Tate said, seeing how stunned she was.
 
“Where is your father? He can escort you back
to your encampment and I shall see you later at the tournament.”

Cathlina was
feeling many different things at that moment; disappointment, fear, surprise,
sorrow… it was difficult to isolate just one. All she knew was that too many
emotions were welling in her chest.
 
Mostly, she felt foolish. Her eyes were on Mathias as she spoke.

“My father is
not here,” she said, her voice tight and the least bit trembly. “I came
alone.
 
Mathias… I mean, my lord, if you
will give me my basket, I shall be along my way.”

Mathias could
see how upset she was and he felt so incredibly guilty. “I will retrieve it,”
he said softly. “Then I will escort you back to your family.”

“Nay,” she
said abruptly, already moving out of the stall. “I do not… you should stay
here. I do not need an escort.”

Mathias,
Kenneth and Tate were all moving after her she tried to flee. “Cathlina,” Tate
called after her. “Sweetheart, please let Ken escort you back. You do not have
to….”

It was too
much; Cathlina took off at a dead run, disappearing in between a couple of
stalls in a silky flash of pale blue linen.
 
Mathias didn’t even wait for Tate or Kenneth – he took off as well,
following her path.
 
He had to find her
and soothe her if he could but he was sure he couldn’t. She ran because of
him.
 
Still, he felt desperate to explain
himself even if she didn’t want anything to do with him.
 
He wanted everything to do with her.

Cathlina was
small and fast, but he was big and faster. Moreover, he knew this town and she
didn’t.
 
Mathias was able to follow her
path quite easily. She had ended up out behind some small cottages to the north
side of the village and as he emerged from between a pair of structures, he
could see her in the distance, walking through knee-deep green grass with her
head bowed.
 
As he slowed his pace,
Kenneth came running up behind him.

“There she
is,” Kenneth said. “I shall retrieve her.”

Mathias put
out a hand to stop him. “Let me do it,” he said. “I am the reason she ran. Let
me take her back.”

Kenneth
looked at him. “What do you mean?”

Mathias
sighed faintly, his gaze on the distant figure.
 
“I suppose you could say that we have become friends,” he said quietly.
“It is not a pleasant thing to discover your friend is not who you thought he
was.”

Kenneth
understood somewhat.
  
He also realized
that tendrils of jealousy were snatching at him but it wasn’t in his nature to
act upon them. He wasn’t the type. Moreover, he’d had his chance with Cathlina
back in December when her family had visited Carlisle.
 
His attraction to her had been mild but she
clearly hadn’t been interested in him. He hoped Mathias had better luck with
her.

“A friend?”
he repeated. “Or something more?”

Mathias shook
his head. “Nothing more,” he assured him. “Moreover, a woman like that is out
of my class.”

Kenneth’s
eyebrows furrowed. “She is not out of your class,” he said. “Why would you say
such things?”

“If you had a
daughter, would you allow her to marry a dishonored knight?”

Kenneth
shrugged; he had a point. “Your dishonor will not last forever,” he said. “In
fact… if I were you, I might not listen to de Lara’s assessment of your status.
If I was in the same situation, I might compete in the tournament anyway.
 
I might borrow my friend’s bay charger, a rather
new and inexperienced beast, but one of very fine stock and eager to
learn.
 
Mayhap my friend would have him
tethered in de Lara’s encampment so that I could slip in and take him.
 
It is not as if de Lara told you not to compete.
He simply said it would not be a good idea.”

Mathias
looked at him. “What is this? Insubordination from Kenneth St. Hèver , the
perfect
 
knight?”

Kenneth
merely looked away, watching Cathlina struggle through the tall, wet
grass.
 
He didn’t comment on his
suggestion, instead, letting it settle in Mathias’ mind. He shifted the
subject.

 
“She is a beautiful girl,” he commented, his
gaze lingering on Cathlina before turning to Mathias. “Her father is very
protective of her, however. Take heed he does not come after you with his axe
if he thinks you have eyes for his daughter.”

“I never said
I had eyes for her.”

Kenneth’s
white eyebrows lifted. “Liar.”

“I am not.”

“Then why did
you run after her when she fled?”

“To make sure
she did not come to harm.”

Kenneth gave
him a disbelieving look before turning away and returning the way he had
come.
 
Meanwhile, Mathias went after
Cathlina.

The morning
dew was still heavy in the grass as he tramped through it.
 
Cathlina still had her head down and her pace
had slowed, and as Mathias drew closer he could see that her hands were at her
face.
 
She was moving them around.
 
Eventually, she lowered her hands and he
could see a white kerchief clutched in the fingers of her left hand.
 
He came up behind her and put a gentle hand
on her shoulder.

“Cathlina?”
he said softly.

She jumped
and whirled to face him.
 
Her eyes were
red and watery and her pert little nose was red from crying.
 
Seeing Mathias behind her, Cathlina tried to
move away from him quickly but the heavy grass made it difficult.

“I do not
need your assistance,” she assured him. “I do not need the basket, either. You
can keep it.”

“Cathlina,
stop,” he begged softly, reaching out to gently grasp her. “Please let me
explain what you heard.”

She shook her
head, her kerchief at her nose. “There is no need to explain,” she said. “I
heard what Cousin Tate said; you are a knight pretending to be a smithy.”

 
“I am not pretending to be anything. I am what
you see.”

She disputed
him with a sharp wave of the hand. “But… but you know my cousin, the Earl of
Carlisle,” she said, sniffling into her wadded kerchief. “He said you were a
great knight. What in the world are you doing posing as a smithy and fooling
people into thinking you are a simple man?”

“Is that what
you think? That I was trying to fool you?”

She shrugged,
blowing her nose. “It does not matter to me who you are.

“Then why are
you weeping?”

She came to a
halt and scowled at him. “I am not weeping for you if that is what you think.”

He fought off
a grin. “I had hoped that you were.”

Her scowl
turned to curiosity. “You do? Why?”

He removed
his hand from her elbow now that he was sure she wasn’t going to run off; he
could see that he had her attention.
 
Feigning shyness, he looked away.

“Because I
have rather enjoyed coming to know you,” he said, trying to get a look at her
from the corner of his eye to gauge how she was reacting. “I was very much
looking forward to seeing you today. “

Cathlina’s
tears were almost completely forgotten. “You
were
?”

“I was.”

Cathlina was
seemingly at a loss.
 
It was evident that
she wanted to say something to him but perhaps propriety was preventing her
from speaking her mind.
 
The tears had
been replaced by a rather warm glimmer.
 
The fact that he seemed to be attracted to her outweighed her confusion
at the moment.
 
Suddenly, she didn’t feel
like running from him anymore.

“I am not
sure what to say to all of that,” she said softly, “but I suppose I could tell
you that I was looking forward to seeing you, too.
 
I have been looking forward to seeing you
again since I met you.
 
Coming to your
stall in search of my basket was merely an excuse.”

He looked at
her, a smile on his full lips. “I had hoped that it was,” he said, his voice
deep and gentle. “In fact, I was trying to think of another excuse after the
basket had been used up. Surely there was something else I could retrieve from
you, or mayhap you would leave your kerchief behind so that I could return it
to you.”

Cathlina’s
chest was swelling with hope. In fact, it was becoming difficult to breathe as
she gazed into his dark green eyes.
 
But
as she bathed in the joy of the knowledge that he was evidently feeling the
same allure she was, the weight of Mathias’ conversation with Tate was pressing
upon her.
 
Her expression grew serious.

“Why were you
pretending to be a smithy, Mathias?” she asked softly. “I do not understand
half of what Cousin Tate was saying, but am I to understand you are an outlaw?”

Mathias shook
his head, thankful that she was at least receptive to hearing his story.
 
He chose his words carefully.

“I am not an
outlaw,” he said quietly. “In order to explain myself, it is easier to start
from the beginning. Do you remember when we spoke of my mother and I mentioned
that she had died a few years ago?”

“I do.”

“She was an
older sister to Roger Mortimer’s wife, Joan,” he went on. “My mother was close
to her sister and as she lay very ill, she made me promise that I would always
support Joan’s husband no matter what. Unwilling to disappoint her, I agreed.
Therefore, when Mortimer and Isabella took the throne from young Edward, I
fought with Mortimer and when he was ultimately captured and killed for his
treachery, I was stripped of my titles and lands for my participation.”

The second
time around, and with Mathias’ clear and gentle explanation, she was able to
grasp the scenario better.
 
It was still
overwhelming information but somehow, she quickly coming to accept it.
 
In fact, it made a good deal of sense;
Mathias was a very big and very muscular man, and didn’t look like any smithy
she had ever seen.
 
There was something
clean and powerful about him, like a god in the midst of a sea of pagans.
 
Now, it was all starting to make sense.

“So you
served Mortimer?” she asked.

He nodded
slowly. “I was the captain of his armies.”

It was
difficult to comprehend that as much as her cousin Tate had been the right arm
of Edward, so Mathias had been the right hand of the hated Mortimer. So much
death and destruction in a power struggle that had nearly torn the country
apart, and Mathias and Tate had been in the middle of it.
 
Tate had emerged greater than before but
Mathias, by virtue of his loyalties, had emerged a fallen man. He was the
fallen one. The information threatened to overwhelm her again but she fought
it.

“What were
your lands and titles?” she asked.

“Does it
matter?”

“Not really,”
she said. “I was simply curious.”

His gaze
lingered on her a moment before he spoke “I was known as Baron Westbury, High
Warden of the Northern Marches,” he said. “Alberbury Castle and Caus Castle on
the Marches were mine as well as seven thousand retainers under my direct command.
 
But that is over and done with now.
 
I am, in fact, a smithy these days because
when my titles were taken from me, I was forced to swear that I would never
again bear arms in battle in exchange for my life.”

She gazed up
at him with her big brown eyes as she digested his statement. “Your brother and
father, too?”

“Them,
too.
 
We had to find some way of making a
living and by virtue of our profession had some proficiency at metal working,
so it seemed like a logical choice.”

“So you live
as peasants.”

“We do what
we must in order to survive.”

She could
imagine him at the head of a great army. It was very easy to picture.
 
As she thought on him clad in armor and bearing
weapons as a powerful warrior, now reduced to wearing a leather apron and wielding
a hammer, she began to feel sorry for him. She couldn’t help it.

“What will
you do now with your life?” she asked seriously. “It seems that Sir Kenneth did
not think your exile would last forever. When your greatness is restored, what
will you do?”