True Love (9 page)

“A bowl?” Royce repeated, looking
baffled.

“It is a most effective feminine weapon,”
Braedon explained, his eyes gleaming.

“Don't you dare mock me!” Catherine thrust a
finger at his chest and Braedon took a step backward. “I am
heartily sick of men arranging my life, putting me off when I ask
questions, refusing to tell me anything! I will tolerate no more of
it! Do you understand?”

“Mind your manners, Catherine,” Royce chided
her. “There are guests present.”

“My lady,” said Achard from just behind her,
“if I have offended you in any way, I do most humbly
apologize.”

Catherine whirled on him, angry words on the
tip of her tongue. Achard stood before her with one hand over his
heart and a supplicating look on his handsome face.

“You are quite right to be distressed,”
Achard continued. “I ought not to discuss my romantic hopes, my
dearest dreams, with others until after I have laid my heart at
your lovely feet.”

“Romantic hopes?” Catherine exclaimed. “My
lord Achard, you do not know me. You only met me yesterday. I dare
say, your hopes have more to do with my large dowry and my father's
high rank than with my person.”

“And yet,” Braedon interrupted her tirade in
an oddly breathless voice, “it is possible for a man to be stricken
through the heart at his first sight of a lady.”

“I warned you not to mock me!” Catherine was
unable to interpret the look on Braedon's face. She thought she
detected bitter humor in his glance, and cold determination in the
tight line of his mouth. His face and figure were rigid, as if he
was trying his best to conceal his true feelings. Catherine assumed
he was trying not to laugh at her. The assumption fueled her sense
of outrage against men in general and Braedon in particular.

“Thank you for those words, Braedon,” Achard
said. “It is encouraging to know that my friend understands, if
Lady Catherine does not. For, in truth, my heart was lost in the
first instant when I beheld her beauty.”

“Indeed,” said Catherine, biting off each
word she uttered. “That is why you spoke to my father about
marrying me long before you came to Wortham to meet me.”

“Surely, my dearest lady,” Achard protested,
“you know how noble marriages are made. My interest in a
well-dowered lady is neither unusual nor reprehensible, nor can you
blame me for my delight when I met you and realized your personal
beauty. What a rare joy it is for a man to be able to combine his
duty with marital pleasure.”

“My father has given me his solemn promise
never to force me into marriage against my will,” Catherine stated
firmly.

“So I have.” Royce stood behind Catherine,
his hands on her shoulders. “Achard, you have asked for and
received my permission to court my daughter, but the final decision
will be hers. If you want her, you must win her heart.”

Catherine opened her mouth to declare that
she refused to be courted by Achard. She did not want to marry a
man whose motives she suspected were not honest. Royce's fingers
tightening on her shoulders stopped her. She believed he was trying
to convey a message by his pressure. She wasn't sure exactly what
the message was, but where her happiness was concerned she trusted
her parent. He wasn't going to insist that she accept Achard.
However, she knew he did want her to be agreeable and allow Achard
to present his suit.

“You have heard my father,” Catherine said to
Achard. “I am in complete accord with him.”

Achard beamed at her as if he was certain she
was going to agree to marry him, and it occurred to Catherine that,
given his remarkable good looks and his ready charm, perhaps no one
had ever refused him anything he wanted. She wondered what his
reaction would be when she presented him with her final negative
response. She did know she could not agree to marry him. Her every
instinct warned that Achard would not be a loving or a kind
husband, that he would employ his skill at flattery and use his
handsome appearance to beguile her until he achieved his goal of
wedding her, and then he would move on to other prey.

She did not know how she could be so sure of
this; it was simply something perceived deep in her woman's nature,
and her lack of physical experience with men did not alter her
perception. When Royce removed his hands from her shoulders
Catherine turned to look at him. He was smiling a little, as if he
was pleased with her. His face was bland, his eyes warm. Nothing
unusual there. What a fine spy he was, to hide his true feelings so
well. She intended to insist, later, that he tell her what he was
really about in encouraging Achard to court her.

Then Catherine looked at Braedon, who was
standing at Royce's right shoulder like a bodyguard prepared to
defend his master to the death. What a strange notion that was, yet
Catherine saw in Braedon a peculiar intensity, almost an eagerness
to act. Braedon's eyes met hers for just an instant, before he
looked at Achard again. Catherine trembled with the impact of his
gaze and a thought flittered through her mind: Braedon, a landless
bastard, versus Achard, a nobleman with a family name and estates,
charm, good looks and bright prospects. In reasonable, sensible
terms, there was no contest between them. But in Catherine's heart
there was no question that, in a desperate fight, Braedon was the
man she would want on her side.

“My lord, have you thought through your plan
in its entirety?” Braedon asked an hour later. He and Royce were
standing in the bailey, where the folk of Wortham bustled about
their duties. It was as good a place as any to be private. Braedon
had often observed that suspicions were likely to be generated when
people tried to go off into shadowed corners to exchange secret
information, while daylight and open spaces provided the illusion
of innocence. And his work, Braedon reflected sourly, was all about
illusion. Since coming to Wortham, he was beginning to yearn for
solid substance instead of illusion, for honesty in place of
constant lies. The longing disconcerted him, making him
short-tempered.

“It is always difficult to predict the
actions of others,” Royce said. “I know what I hope to achieve by
my machinations; still, there remains an unexpected element. I see
by your face that you harbor serious objections. Reveal them to me,
so I may either dispel them or alter my scheme.”

“First,” Braedon said, though the issue he
was about to raise was not actually his primary objection, “I
question the reliability of your information about Achard. Not,
mind you, that I think he is incapable of changing his allegiance
if a change would benefit him. Achard and I have been on friendly
terms for years, so I am aware that he hungers for wealth and power
beyond what his father holds..

“Which brings me to my second objection,”
Braedon went on, voicing the matter that held first place in his
thoughts. “How in the name of all that's holy can you offer your
daughter to a man whom you believe may be a traitor? I know you
love Catherine. No one who sees you together could doubt your
devotion to her.”

“No one who knows Catherine would think for a
moment that she will agree to wed Achard,” Royce said.

“Then, why are you permitting Achard to court
her?” Braedon demanded.

“If my suspicions about Achard are correct,
he believes marriage to my daughter will put him in a perfect
position to continue his spying for the French king,” Royce said.
“As my son-in-law and one of my most valued agents, he will be
privy to many of King Henry's secret plans, plans which he can then
report to Louis VI of France. Foremost among those plans is the
matter of who is to succeed Henry on the throne of England, which
is a subject almost as important to Louis as it is to Henry. Achard
will also be ideally situated to provide us with misinformation
about Louis's intentions. What more could a double agent ask?

“But Achard isn't as clever as he imagines
himself to be,” Royce continued. “Catherine saw him openly talking
with Phelan at the fair. Such carelessness suggests he may have
become over-confident. I expect that soon Achard will do something
even more obvious to give himself away. Then, with very little
effort on our part, we will have evidence against him that we can
take to King Henry.”

“I must admit, it’s an ingenious scheme. The
king won't accept charges of treason against one of his nobles
without certain proof.” Braedon did not add how appalled he was by
the way Royce was planning to use Catherine. “What of Achard's
contacts with Lord Phelan?”

“I think Achard is taking advantage of
Phelan's desire to influence King Henry's choice of his heir. A
false friendship with Phelan is an easy way for Achard to acquire
the names of other discontented nobles here in England.”

“Names which Achard will then pass on to King
Louis, so Louis can encourage their disloyalty to Henry,” Braedon
said, shaking his head at the intricate workings of the world of
spying. “Sweet angels in heaven, Royce, do you never long for
straightforward honesty, for men who speak without secret meanings
to their words?”

“Sometimes, I do,” Royce admitted. “But
devising clever schemes to serve King Henry's purposes kept me from
going mad when I first became a widower. It was Henry himself who
suggested I should become a spy for him. I believe he made his
request of me knowing the work was exactly what I needed at that
time. Now I pursue the game for its own sake, for the satisfaction
of outwitting traitors and intriguers.”

“You loved your wife,” Braedon said in
shocked surprise. Royce's mind was so cool, so calculating, that it
was difficult to think of him overcome with passion or tenderness.
Those were not emotions Braedon associated with Royce of Wortham.
And yet, Royce did love his daughter – or professed to love her.
Catherine.
Braedon forced himself to stop thinking about her
so he could attend to what Royce was saying.

“For more than fifteen years Avisa was my
life, my very heart. It was a most unexpected development in a
marriage arranged for political reasons. She died too young.
Braedon, my interest in this particular group of possible traitors
is far more personal than you know. If my plans unfold as I
anticipate, I will reveal certain facts to you later.”

Royce fell silent, while Braedon attempted to
adjust his perceptions of the man he had known for years, the man
who was his superior in King Henry's most private service. Braedon
discovered that there remained an element of Royce's character
which he could not reconcile with the image of a loving husband and
father.

“How can you deliberately place Catherine in
danger?” Braedon asked.

“I told you, she will not marry Achard,”
Royce said. “Even if my sensible girl should temporarily take leave
of her wits and decide she wants to wed him, I will never permit
her to marry a spy. It would be a hellish life for her. Too many
secrets can destroy the trust and affection that ought to exist
between husband and wife.”

“Catherine may be in danger merely by
consenting to be courted by Achard,” Braedon protested. “You know
as well as I do, there are men who will not scruple to ravish a
woman so she will be forced to marry.”

“Catherine's protection lies in Achard's wish
to appear to be an honest man and my friend,” Royce said. “I am
confident that, so long as Catherine is at Wortham, she will be
safe.”

Braedon was not so sure. The possibility of
Catherine being treated as cruelly as Linette had been left him
with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. He told himself he
would feel the same way about any woman who stood in danger from a
dishonest suitor. And then he vowed that he would see to it that no
harm came to Catherine from Achard.

“My very dear lady,” Achard said to Catherine
as the midday meal was ending, “will you grant me the great honor
of accompanying me when I ride out to inspect the field where the
mock battle will be held?”

“Do you mean this afternoon?” Catherine
asked.

“As soon as it pleases you, my lady,” he
said, displaying all of his white, even teeth in a smile that was
plainly meant to be charming.

The opportunity to get away from the castle
for an hour, to ride in the bright spring sunshine, perhaps to
gallop headlong across the countryside while leaving behind the
questions and the problems that troubled her, was too tempting for
Catherine to resist.

She reasoned that there were sure to be other
guests wanting to see the field in advance of the tournament, so
they could observe the conformation of the land and the way the
sunlight fell on it in the hope that familiarity would provide some
advantage over their opponents when Tuesday came. She would not be
alone with Achard. In fact, she decided, she would take Aldis
along. Her cousin's presence would keep Achard from making too many
flattering remarks, and also keep him from ungentlemanly physical
gestures. The thought of Achard attempting to kiss her was
singularly unpleasant.

“Allow me a short time to order my horse
saddled and to change into clothing more suitable for riding,”
Catherine said to Achard. “I will join you in the outer bailey.”
Not wanting to give Achard a chance to think of an objection to
Aldis' presence on their ride, Catherine did not mention her
cousin's name. Instead, she paused on the way to her room and spoke
quietly to Aldis, who was talking to Braedon's squire, Robert.

A little while later Catherine and Aldis
arrived in the outer bailey together, both dressed in simple woolen
gowns and with their hair tightly bound into nets. Catherine
expected to surprise Achard, but she was the one surprised when she
and her companion reached the stable and discovered not only
Achard, but also Braedon and Robert awaiting them, and five horses
saddled and ready.