True Love (10 page)

“So,” Catherine muttered to herself, “Robert
informed his master of my intention to ride.” She could not decide
whether she was annoyed at having her actions watched and reported
upon by a squire, or glad to have Braedon along because his
presence would certainly prevent any improper behavior on Achard's
part.

Without waiting for the others, the instant
she was mounted Catherine rode alone through the gatehouse and
across the drawbridge, both of which were too narrow to allow more
than one rider at a time. But as soon as she turned right and
struck out over the fallow fields Achard maneuvered his horse so he
was riding next to her. At once Braedon appeared on Catherine's
other side.

To give Achard his due, he was gracious about
the inclusion of companions he had not invited. He and Braedon fell
into a discussion of the weapons and armor they were going to use
during the tournament, and they seemed to Catherine to be, if not
the closest of friends, at least warm aquaintances of long
standing.

Nor did Achard forget to pay attention to
Catherine. He patiently explained to her in great detail the
technique involved in using a broadsword and the strategies a
winning fighter ought to employ, until Catherine was ready to
scream. Did the man think she had never observed her father's
men-at-arms at mock battle in the practice yard? Or did he assume
she possessed no thoughts beyond the kitchen or her embroidery
frame?

“There are the stands, where you and the
other ladies will sit, sheltered from the sun,” Achard informed her
as they rode onto the field. He waved a hand to indicate the
various areas as he spoke of them. “Over there, directly in front
of the stands, is where the men will fight. As you can see, work
has ceased on the stands, no doubt because today is Sunday. We
cannot expect the carpenters to work on the Sabbath.”

“Certainly not,” Catherine said. She wanted
to tell him in her most haughty tones that she knew what the stands
were for and where the tournament ground was. She longed to command
Achard to keep silent and stop insulting her with his masculine
assumptions that she knew nothing at all about her father's plans
for their guests. Only good manners and years of training in
correct behavior kept her quiet.

She envied Aldis, who was talking and
laughing easily with Robert. From what Catherine could hear, Robert
was complaining in a humorous way about his duties as a squire
during the melee, declaring he would far rather be fighting, and
Aldis was assuring him that she was very glad he was not going to
be involved in such a dangerous activity.

Achard broke off his interminable
explanations to Catherine while he looked closely at the ground
over which they were riding. When he rode a little ahead of her,
she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, glad to be free of him
for a few moments.

When Catherine opened her eyes again she
found Braedon watching her. There was unmistakable humor in his
midnight gaze, and one corner of his mouth curved slightly upward.
Catherine read in Braedon's expression complete, sympathetic
understanding of her impatience with Achard and his tedious
attempts to educate her on a subject dear to his heart.

She did not say anything. Achard was too
near; he would hear any word she spoke and it would not do to
disparage a guest who was a close friend to her father. But
Catherine was so grateful to recognize in Braedon a fellow sufferer
that she gave way to a broad grin directed at him alone.

To her astonished delight Braedon grinned
back at her. His harsh, serious face was transformed by the flash
of his teeth and by the sparkle in his eyes. Suddenly, he looked
years younger, like a mischievous boy. Something in Catherine's
heart lifted as they looked into each other's eyes.

Then, abruptly, Braedon's smile disappeared.
A stern, hard look crossed his face. He called something to Achard
and rode forward, joining the other man for a conversation about
the condition of the turf and whether there were any holes
disguised by the grass that could cause accidents to horses or men
during the confusion and heat of battle.

He left Catherine bewildered. She felt as if
a delicate bud, secretly nurtured deep in her bosom, was just
beginning to reach toward the sun in tentative preparation for
unfurling. The sudden change in Braedon blighted the fragile bud as
surely as a late-season frost can nip a tree about to blossom. She
did not understand her own reaction. She only knew her heart ached
for something lost before she had possessed it.

Her reaction to the heartache was most
uncharacteristic. She, who was usually sensible and rational, dug
her heels into her horse's side and dashed away from the melee
field, wanting only to put distance between herself and the two men
who plagued her.

Braedon saw her go, and knew Achard would
follow her in short order. At the moment, however, Achard was
engrossed in studying the field. He had dismounted and was on one
knee, his fingers raking the tufts of grass.

Very quietly, Braedon turned his horse.
Robert looked at him in a questioning way. Braedon motioned to him
to be silent and not to call Achard's attention away from the turf.
Robert nodded to show he understood the signals they had long ago
devised between them so they need not speak aloud. Braedon knew he
could trust Robert to keep Aldis quiet so she did not alert
Achard.

Catherine had almost reached the forest. Once
Braedon was out of Achard's immediate vicinity he gave his horse
its head and pounded across the fields. He was gaining on Catherine
when she fled into the shadows of the heavily leafed trees.

“Damnation,” Braedon muttered to her
disappearing back. “If you lose yourself amongst the trees and
Achard finds you alone before I do, will he restrain himself? Or
will he risk your father's fury in hope of forcing you into
marriage?”

The thought of Catherine writhing in Achard's
lustful grasp turned Braedon's mind icy cold. In their moment of
communion behind Achard's back, Braedon had seen that Catherine did
not care for Achard. If she looked with favor on any man, it was
Braedon, himself.

“No one knows better than I how impossible
that is,” he said to himself. “Still, she is caught in the net her
father is weaving to trap a traitorous double spy, and she doesn't
know she is caught. She needs protection from Achard, and from
Royce's cold-blooded schemes, and it appears I must be the man to
keep her safe.”

When he reached the edge of the forest he
discovered there was a path winding among the trees. From the
meadow the forest looked impenetrable, but in fact most of the
underbrush had been cleared away.

“Of course,” Braedon said. “It's for the
convenience of Royce's hunting parties. Catherine probably knows
her way through here very well. She won't get lost. All the same, I
can't leave her alone in case Achard decides to follow her.”

He caught a glimpse of a blue skirt far ahead
and spurred his horse in pursuit. He finally caught up with
Catherine when she halted to let her horse drink from a stream. Her
graceful, mounted figure went rigid when Braedon's horse let loose
a noisy breath.

“Well,” she said, turning her head to look at
him, “at least you aren't Achard. I feel quite certain he would
begin at once to describe to me in excruciating detail the best way
to hunt deer, followed immediately by a thorough expounding of the
technique required to bring a boar to its knees.”

“It's Achard who is the boar,” Braedon said.
“Be careful, Catherine. Don't trust him too far.”

“I do not. Achard is much too friendly with
Phelan and Eustace for my taste. But he is also on friendly terms
with you.” She said it as if she was issuing a challenge.

“I have known Achard for more than ten
years,” Braedon responded.

“Is he another of the many spies who work for
King Henry?” She glared at him. “I am not a fool, Braedon.”

“No man could think you are,” he said
quietly, wondering how much else she knew.

“Achard thinks I have no brains at all.”

“Then Achard is the fool.” He watched her
expressive face, taking intense pleasure in the sight of her
upturned chin and her compelling gray-green eyes.

“A fool and a boar,” she repeated. “How
flattering to have such a man eager to wed me, and to have my
father favor the match.” Tears sparkled in her eyelashes. She
gathered the reins as if she was about to race off again.

“Ah, don't,” he said. Pulling off one glove
he reached out to catch her chin so he could turn her face and look
directly at her. Catherine's skin was soft and smooth beneath his
fingers. “You deserve a man far better than Achard.”

“Yes, I do,” she said. “And I shall have a
better man, never fear.”

Her smile was tremulous, yet more inviting
than the lures of the most practiced courtesans. Braedon was lost
in the wonder of her eyes and her soft lips. Her lips.... He leaned
toward her, to touch her mouth with his. He knew he should not kiss
her, no more than he should have kissed her in his room on the
first day he came to Wortham, nor again in her stillroom after his
quarrel with Eustace. He had no right to want her, but he could not
help himself. He desired Catherine as the parched earth longs for
rain. Her warm breath touched his face and her lips parted in
expectation of his kiss. Braedon slid his hand from her chin to the
nape of her neck, pulling her closer.

“Halloo! Braedon, where are you?”

“That will be Achard.” Braedon dropped his
hand and straightened to sit more securely in his saddle while he
pulled on his glove again. “I suppose Robert couldn't keep him
occupied any longer.”

“There you are,” Achard said, pulling up
beside Catherine. “My dear lady, why did you leave us so
precipitously?”

“I felt the need of a hard gallop,” Catherine
said.

“But you should not ride alone. What would
happen if you fall?”

“I did not fall,” Catherine said through
gritted teeth. “I see you needlessly brought Aldis and Robert along
with you in your search for me.”

“In case you had become lost, I planned to
send your maidservant back to the castle for help, while we three
men scoured the forest to find you.”

“These are my father's lands, my lord Achard.
I have ridden over them since I was a child. I have never been lost
here. And Aldis is not a servant; she is my cousin and a dear
friend.”

Braedon noticed how Catherine's cheeks were
flushed. He saw the way she kept her lips compressed and spoke as
if being polite to Achard was seriously taxing her good manners.
Something ought to be done at once to separate the two and give
Catherine a chance to work off the irritation he could see building
in her.

“My horse is barely winded,” Braedon said.
“Why don't we all race back to the castle?”

“It is not fair to Lady Catherine to make her
race against men,” Achard said.

“I'll show you how fair it is!” Catherine
exclaimed. “Come on, Aldis. You, too, Robert. The first one to
reach the drawbridge wins. Count to three, my lord Achard.”

“I cannot race against a woman,” Achard
protested with lordly distain.

“I can,” said Braedon, “and so can Robert.
Achard, if you won't count, I will. One! Two! Three!”

He had scarcely shouted out the last number
before the two women and the squire were off. Braedon was a
heartbeat behind them and he quickly discovered it was going to be
no easy task to overtake Catherine. She leaned low over her horse's
neck, urging it on along the cleared pathway until she fairly flew
out of the trees and onto the open fields.

Braedon raced after her, his mount throwing
up clumps of mud and grass with every step. They were neck and neck
when they reached the castle road, and they pounded toward the
drawbridge side by side.

“Do your best!” Catherine shouted at him. “I
want to win fairly.”

“So you shall, if you win at all!” he yelled
back at her. He saw the eager, laughing glance she threw in his
direction and he knew he could not pull up and give her the race.
Catherine expected more of him.

She won by a nose, by a breath, and it was
the most exhilarating finish Braedon could ever recall. In his
years of training and the long years of his knighthood, he had
often raced against other men. Never before this day had he found
losing to be a pleasure. Never before Catherine.

“I did it!” she cried.

“So you did,” he responded. “But you knew you
could.”

They were both laughing as they walked their
horses beside the moat to cool them down before returning to the
stable.

“Oh, Catherine, I was sure you would be
thrown,” Aldis cried as she and Robert joined them.

“Your cousin is a courageous woman,” Braedon
said, and rejoiced in the happy look Catherine sent his way.

“It was generous of you to allow Lady
Catherine to win,” Achard said to Braedon a while later, when they
were in the stable.

“I allowed nothing,” Braedon said. “She won
fairly.”

“Of course you allowed it. No woman can ride
faster than a man. But don't worry, I won't reveal your little
secret.”

It was all Braedon could do to keep himself
from dragging Achard into the bailey and plunging his head into the
horse trough. The cursed man had ruined the pleasure of the race
with his thoughtless accusation.

It wasn't until Braedon reached his chamber
and was sluicing cold water over his face and shoulders that he
understood there was nothing Achard could do to ruin Catherine's
win because, whatever Achard believed, she had earned it. He stood
with towel in hand, reliving those moments again, seeing in his
mind's eye Catherine's slim figure leaning low against her horse's
neck as she raced down the road, and his heart beat faster with the
excitement of it.