Vow of Seduction (24 page)

It was a struggle to lift him and wrap the bandages around his chest, but she did. Panting lightly, she drew back to examine her work and arched her lower back, stretching her aching muscles. A hair came loose from her braid and she tucked it back in.

Idle for the nonce, Kat had time to think, to allow fear to invade her against her will.

So she began to tidy up the room as best she could; she tossed the dirty bandages into the antechamber for Jenny to retrieve, threw out the dirty water, cleaned the mortar and pestle, and poured fresh water into the basin. Then she made sure the shutters were secure before she climbed into bed beside Alex, although she knew she would be unable to sleep.

She laid her head on the pillow next to Alex, her worried gaze intent on his flushed face, but moments later her eyelids began to droop.

Kat jerked, realizing she had fallen asleep and that something or someone woke her. Lying as still as possible, she listened for any sign of an intruder as she groped under her pillow for her dagger. Of course, it could be Jenny or Rose or Rand, but ever since the bear attacked Alex, she had been uneasy for some reason.

She heard it again, a loud bang. Kat sighed—it was simply a shutter blown open by a brisk breeze. Going to the window, she looked out at the sky as dawn gleamed. Dark clouds were brewing on the horizon and another gust whipped her loosened hair back off her face.

It felt wonderful, but she closed the shutter and returned to check on Alex. She pressed her palm against his forehead. He was burning up. His fever had spiked while she was sleeping, and she noticed now he had tossed off his covers.

Without warning, Alex grabbed her hand and flung it away violently, snarling, “Don’t touch me or I will kill you.” His eyes were pitch black and he looked not at her, but through her. Her heart thundered.

It was the first time any of his ranting made sense. He dropped his head back to the pillow and began to mumble incoherently once more, the pain of his nightmares etched in the creases of his forehead and around his mouth.

His burst of anger frightened her, and she hesitated over what to do next. But when she caught a few of his words, she drew closer. He was demanding his sword. “Give me my sword. I need my sword. Protect her. Must protect her.”

Kat gasped. “Who, Alex? Who must you protect?”

His head shifted back and forth as if he searched the room, but his eyes were unfocused. “Where is my sword?” he bellowed, too weak to rise.

“You shall have your sword. When you tell me who you must protect.”

He mumbled some more then said quite clearly, “Kat. Danger. Must save her.”

Kat sighed with relief, afraid for a brief moment that it was Lydia for whom he was concerned. She stroked his fevered forehead and whispered, “Rest, Alex. I’m safe now. You saved me. Do you hear me? I am safe. And you are going to recover. I swear it.”

It had been five and a half days since Alex contracted his fever. Kat was exhausted; sweat dripped down her back, her eyes burned and her back ached. But she was determined to see Alex defeat his fever. So, when Jenny brought her a midday repast, although not hungry, at her maid’s gentle scolding she had eaten a few bites to keep up her strength.

Now, a flash of lightning illuminated the chamber through the partially closed shutters.

Alex’s wound was healing, the red puckered skin knitting nicely together, and she continued to change his dressing three times a day. His high fever was a different matter. It seemed as though she had been trying to rid him of it forever. Preparing infusions to reduce the fever, forcing him to drink whenever he woke disoriented from his delirium, cooling him down with cool clothes. It was a continuous cycle that kept her mind too busy to think, or despair.

Alex stared at her now, his eyes blurry with fever, barely cognizant. Supporting him under his shoulders, she held a cup to his mouth. “I need you to drink, Alex.”

Instead, he nuzzled his face between the swells of her breasts and groaned. He was incorrigible. Even delirious, he was bent on seduction. Shifting him away, she placed the cup to his lips. “Drink. And then you can play all you want,” she lied.

She did not know if he comprehended her, but he drank the infusion of pennyroyal when she tipped the cup again. Since the dangerously high fever had not abated, this morning Rose decided to treat him with the herb to induce sweating. The situation was dire. If his fever did not break soon it could kill him. The next hours were critical.

“Enough.” He shoved her away with his injured arm. The cup flew out of her hand, the remaining contents spattering her shift. “Jesu’, my arm,” he cried out. Metal clanging, the cup hit the wooden floor.

Kat jumped up and pulled the wet bodice from her chest. Alex grabbed her arm, squeezing it painfully, and tugged her to him. “What did you do to my shoulder?” He snarled in her face.

Careful not to hurt him, knowing he was not in his right mind, Kat pressed Alex down on the bed gently and wrenched free.

His energy spent, the air whooshed out of his chest. Shaking his head from side to side, Alex struggled against an imaginary foe. “You cannot kill me. I am going to kill you first,” he swore.

Kat sat back on the cushioned window seat, shaken and bewildered. As the afternoon progressed, when not exhausted senseless, Alex continued to rant and rave against his captors as his fever raged higher. His ramblings were mostly indistinct, until he hollered for someone called Sir Richard.

There was a restless pause then Alex roared, an agonized wail of grief that pierced Kat’s heart. “You killed him. You killed Sir Richard. I shall see you in hell!” Gasping for breath, Alex’s head fell back to the pillow and rolled to the side.

Kat jumped up, shaking with fear. She leaned over Alex and pressed her ear to his chest. She detected a weak, but steady heartbeat. A sigh of relief escaped her.

Kneeling down beside the bed, Kat dropped her forehead on the mattress, haunted by Alex’s grief. She breathed in and out deeply, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart. Who was Sir Richard? How had Alex known him? Had the man been incarcerated with Alex in the Saracen fortress?

She pounded the bed with her fist. “You will not die, Alex! You will not die!” she swore into the bed linens, her shout muffled. She remained there until her knees began to ache, then she got up and crawled into bed beside him.

When he calmed much later that evening, she tried to dose him again as the abbey bells rang the hour of compline. After lifting Alex behind his shoulders, Kat forced several drinks down his throat, but the rest dribbled down his chin.

Frustrated, she shoved his dull, matted black hair off his forehead, and then eased his shoulders back down on the bed. She turned to the bedside table, rinsed a cloth in the basin and ran it over his face. The motion was automatic now.

Alex grabbed her hand suddenly and Kat gasped.

Bleary and streaked red, his eyes held hers wonderingly. “Kat?”

Kat sighed in pure relief. “Aye. ’Tis me, Alex.”

“I am not dreaming? I escaped prison and have returned home to you?”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “Aye, Alex. You are home at last.”

With a sigh, his eyes closed.

But Kat could not rejoice yet. For just as suddenly as he had roused clear and aware for a few moments, virulent chills set in and Alex began to shake violently.

Alex was in hell. His body blazed like a bonfire in the hot Eastern sun as he labored. Bending down near the precipice of the fifty-foot deep, rock-cut ditch, Alex grunted as he and Richard hoisted another heavy stone block and carted it over rocky terrain. His back ached with the strain, the pace from dawn to dusk relentless. When they approached the tower under construction, they put down their burden where the master mason indicated. Sweat dripped into Alex’s eyes, stinging them. Unable to see, he stopped a moment to rub his eyes. A mistake. The guard’s whip snapped; it licked a burning path across his shoulder and chest. Alex gritted his teeth in excruciating pain, tamping down his fury and hate. Otherwise he would grab the master mason’s chisel and drive it through the guard’s skull. His will to survive was stronger than his rage.

The next he remembered, he was hurtled into his dark cell for the night and began shivering with cold. Except for the disbursement of the evening rations—stale bread and a thick sticky grain dish—Alex was left in peace for the night to dream of escape. Holding out his bowl through the iron bars, he waited till a veiled female servant came to his cell. She spooned gruel into his bowl and pulled a bit of bread from the sack hanging from a strap on her shoulder.

Suddenly the robed slave metamorphosed into Kat. She was standing in a bedchamber before a washstand wearing only a shift and looking over her shoulder at him. She appeared weary, her expression fearful. Then she turned away and removed her shift. He was burning up, his shoulder throbbed poker-hot, but the sight of Kat naked was like a drink of water to a man lost in the middle of the Syrian Desert.

He watched transfixed as she began to wash her body with a wet cloth she wrung out in a basin. She ran it down her neck and around one breast, which plumped back up when she removed the cloth. Alex groaned, the sight of her naked body undoing him. He knew ’twas just a dream, one of many he conjured in prison to keep him from going mad, but it seemed so real.

Alex groaned again, the torment unbearable. He tried to move, tried to reach out to her, but he could not budge a muscle. He was so hot, could barely breathe. Then he remembered she was in danger and he tried harder to reach her. He had to save her, had to protect her. But suddenly Kat disappeared and he was back in prison surrounded by guards.

Naaay!

The Mamluk guards jumped Alex and held him down, one of them sitting on top of him as they tried to subdue him. Alex cried out in anguish, clawing and fighting them like a man possessed as they lashed him with their whips. Kat was in danger because of
him
. And he would reach her even if he died trying.

But pain shot though his chest and shoulder, making it difficult. He was growing weaker, sweat pouring down his face, when he heard Kat’s voice pleading with him to stop struggling or he would reopen his wound. In disbelief, he breathed in the exotic scent of her perfume. He was dreaming! Or was he?

Blearily, Alex opened his eyes. Stunned, he realized he was in a dark room, a soft mattress beneath him. But he was more amazed to discover Kat straddled on top of him, with her hair in disarray and her chemise riding up her hips. Her bodice gaped open, giving him a delicious eyeful of the slopes of her upper breasts.

He remembered everything.

Kat stared at him, blinking. “You are awake.”

Alex chuckled, his voice scratchy. “Aye, I am awake.”

Her silver eyes glimmered with tears. “You are sweating.”

“Aye, sweating.”

Surprising him, she leaned down and began kissing his moist face wherever she could reach. “Your fever has broken. You’re going to live.”

He did feel much cooler, but certain parts were just starting to heat up. His member hardened and lengthened, not even the pain in his chest could detract his attention from it. With his right hand, he reached over and touched the bulky bandages, remembering the precise moment when the bear clawed him.

“Your wound is healing well. ’Tis the fever we were worried about. You were injured over a sennight ago.”

“A sennight!” Limply, he raised his hand and brushed her hair back over her shoulder. “And is this normally how you greet a sick man who has just recovered?” he asked, looking down at where she sat on him, a peek of her black curls vivid against her white shift. Kat looked too and blushed furiously.

He gasped in mock shock. “Surely you did not intend to take advantage of me in my weakened state.” He
was
weak, achy, and in pain, but he had never felt more alive either.

“Oh…you devil.” She slapped his good shoulder. “Of course I did not. You were delirious. I had to hold you down so you wouldn’t reopen your wound.” She began to scramble off him, but he wrapped his good arm around her waist and halted her. The blunt head of his erection prodded her moist center.

Kat gasped in shock. “What are you doing? Alex, release me.”

“Pray, do not leave yet. I was not chastising you on your unusual nursing habits. In fact, you have done a remarkable job of lifting my spirits.” He chuckled. “I believe I remember hearing you say that if I drank that nasty concoction you would let me play all I want?”

Kat sputtered. “Are you mad? You are weak, injured, and barely recovered from fever. I will not have your relapse on my conscience.”

She scrambled off the bed on his good side, her shift dropping back down to her ankles.

Alex chuckled. “I believe it just might be worth it. A relapse, I mean,” he said.

“Well, that certainly is not going to happen. Indeed,” Kat said, as she bustled about straightening the covers over him. “I intend to see that you recover completely. Foremost, I imagine you will need to remain in bed a sennight or more.”

“A sennight?” Alex barked, and then began coughing.

Kat came to his side, helped prop him up with pillows behind his back, then poured a cup of water and held it to his lips.

He took several drinks, the aches in his body making their presence known. He was extremely weak and his head throbbed painfully along with his shoulder.

“Aye, a sennight at the least. ’Tis imperative you get plenty of rest and sustenance. And there shall certainly be none of…of…well, you know what I mean,” she ended, blushing. “Eventually we shall have you up and about at full strength.”

Before he could utter a word, Kat left him to find Rose and the sustenance of which she spoke.

Later that afternoon Alex woke slowly, immediately sensing someone’s presence in the room.

“You’re looking much better.”

Opening his eyes, he could just barely make out Rand in the shadows of the cushioned window alcove. Rand got up, pulled a stool next to the bed and sat down in the light of the bedside lamp.

“’Tis amazing what some rest and nourishment can do to revive an injured man.” After propping the pillows against the headboard, Alex reclined. “Are you alone?”

“Aye. Rose let me in and has returned to her duties. And Kat is fast asleep on a pallet in the antechamber.”

Alex frowned. After Kat had returned to their chamber this morning, bringing him some measly broth to eat, she had insisted on making up the pallet in the other room. She did not want to disturb him or accidentally aggravate his wound while she slept. But he would have preferred her comforting presence beside him.

“Tell me, have you seen young Matthew of Oxford since the attack? How does he fare after his brush with death?”

Rand chuckled. “You know how boys are, all bravado and beating chests. It appears he has become quite notorious with the ladies at court, who all wish to hear of the attack firsthand.” He paused. “Actually, the attack is what I wish to speak to you about.”

Alex’s heart lurched, excited by Rand’s tone. “Why? Did you discover something about the traitor who hired Scarface to get rid of me in the Holy Land?”

“Aye. Knowing your imprisonment was no random act, and your belief that Kat may be in danger, too, I was suspicious of this latest attack. So I returned to the village to investigate.”

“Did you have a chance to question the bear ward?”

“Nay. ’Tis difficult to question a dead man.”

“Dead!” Alex said in disbelief. Then his shoulders sagged in disappointment. “How did he die?”

“The villagers discovered his body floating in a stream near the outskirts of the village. They believe he must have slipped and hit his head on a rock, then fell in the stream where he drowned.”

“How convenient,” Alex said in disgust.

“Aye, and it gets worse.” Rand leaned forward, shadows in his eyes. “I checked the bear pit and discovered someone had deliberately tampered with the chain. One of the large links was cut through part way, by an axe most likely.”

“And the one person we could get answers from is dead. Damn the man!” Alex choked out, his fist clenched as though gripping his sword. Then he began to cough.

In the other room, Kat moved hurriedly back to her pallet, laid down and closed her eyes. Feigning sleep, she relaxed, breathing deep and even. The curtains rustled and Rand’s gaze bore into her. Moments passed in excruciating torment as the tension drew out. A film of sweat broke out over her body. Then Rand dropped the curtain and the stool scraped the floor as he sat once more.

Rand and Alex began speaking again in low whispers, but she had heard more than enough.

Alex’s attack and subsequent imprisonment had been no random act? Flabbergasted, Kat felt her mind flood with questions. Who could possibly want Alex dead? And why? Who was this Scarface who attacked him? And finally, how did Alex intend to discover the person behind the plot?

Then a moment from her past returned—the day in the woods at Montclair when three men attacked Alex. Afterward, two villains had lain dead, but one great hulking brute escaped. Though not without a souvenir from Alex’s sword, a slashed face. Could this be the unknown Scarface he spoke of? Were the two events related in some way?

The more she thought about it, the angrier she became.

Alex was searching for an unknown traitor and apparently did not think Kat important enough to confide in her. Not only did he not confide in her, he lied to her the morning after they made love for the first time since his return. She specifically asked Alex if there was anything else about his imprisonment he had not told her about. She had asked for honesty in their marriage, but all Alex was capable of were lies and distrust. Even more damaging was the knowledge that Alex had known she was in danger and did not see fit to inform her. How was she to protect herself if she did not know her life was threatened? And why?

Two things she knew for certain, though. One, Alex did not trust her, never would. And two, she could never accept a marriage with Alex on those terms. When their agreement expired, she would ask Alex to annul their marriage. But could she marry Sir Luc once she was free? For no matter Alex’s betrayal, no matter his inability to love her, she was still in love with her husband.

At this last realization, tears slowly slid from her eyes. Kat crushed her fist to her mouth to still the sob rising in the back of her throat.

When Rand left, Alex turned his mind to several problems that were nagging him.

Despite his injury, he had no intention of remaining in bed for a sennight as Kat wished. His injury and resulting fever had cost him precious time in seducing his wife. The feast of St. Barnabas, the day their marriage pact expired, was only a sennight away. He needed to get back on his feet soon, for he feared he had not yet convinced Kat to forgive his betrayal. Aye, she desired him, but emotionally she continued to keep him at a distance.

Neither could he afford to lie abed when he had a dangerous enemy out there who wanted him dead, an enemy who had threatened Kat, too. Alex could feel how close he was to discovering the man’s identity by the desperation of the last attempt on his life.

He had no proof of the culprit’s involvement, but it had the mark of his ingenuity. At first glance, both Alex’s imprisonment and the bear’s attack appeared to be random incidents. But what the assassin did not know was that Alex had recovered his stolen dagger as proof of the man’s guilt, along with the name of his scarred accomplice.

And that was another reason why he needed to recover quickly. Besides the fact he had no idea when the next attack would occur, Scarface would be arriving any day. Alex closed his eyes, dreaming of Scarface in his power, the taste of revenge burning in his mouth. Alex’s face was going to be the last thing the mercenary ever saw if he did not confess who hired him. No one harmed Kat and survived to tell of it.

In the deep of the night, Kat stared down at Alex lying pale and gaunt beneath the covers. His breathing was deep and even. Earlier she had given him a sleeping draught to help him rest. She moved to the large chest along the wall. Alex had put a leather satchel containing his personal belongings in it the day after they began sharing a bed.

Alex had deceived her, again. What a nightmare, a nightmare that kept repeating itself.

She pulled the satchel out and rummaging through it—hose, tunics, a comb, razor—she tossed them aside in her search for more evidence. When, suddenly, at the bottom of the leather bag her hand grazed cold hard steel.

She pulled out the dagger and gasped, unable to believe her eyes. The sheath was adorned with raised double spirals punctuated with garnet enamel. The handle was quite simple in contrast, except for a ruby on the pommel. The Beaumont dagger, the dagger that was stolen from Alex the day he was attacked in the Holy Land. It glittered brightly in the glow of the hanging bedside lamp.

Finding the dagger only raised more questions. How did Alex come to be in possession of his missing dagger? When did he discover it? And how long had he suspected his captivity was not a random act? She was pretty sure he had to have known since before his arrival at court. But how did the Beaumont dagger figure into the equation? she wondered. If only Alex would trust her enough to confide in her.

She unsheathed the dagger and tested the steel blade with her finger. The Latin inscription on the blade below the cross-guard read:
Ad mortem fidelis
, Faithful till death. A bitter laugh escaped Kat, and her finger slipped on the blade. The sharp point pricked her finger. “Ouch,” she cried out. She sucked the bead of blood, infinitely sad and disillusioned. How ironic that the Beaumont family motto claimed the one ideal she wished Alex would profess to her.

Slowly, Kat put the items back in the bag and returned it to the chest where she found it. Alex moaned. Kat spun around, her heart racing. Alex kicked at his covers, though he remained blessedly asleep. Breathing a sigh of relief, she left the bedchamber, her hand pressed against her aching heart.

Alex stood in a wooden tub and scrubbed his body with jerky motions. Beside him, his squire handed him a bucket of cold water. Alex poured it over his shoulders, the water sluicing down his body and into the tub. St. Barnabas’ feast was two days away and his courtship of his wife had not progressed as he wished.

The chamber door creaked open, interrupting his ruminations, then his wife walked around the screen with a tray of food in her hands. Her gray eyes wide, a cry of dismay escaped her lips.

“What are you doing, Alex?”

He smiled wickedly. “Just what it looks like, wife,” he said, indicating his naked body with a flourish of his hand.

Kat blushed, and then harrumphed. After she placed the tray on the table, she turned to him, hands on her hips. “What are you doing out of bed? It has only been four days since your fever broke. You need bed rest.” She turned on his hapless squire, who had stood frozen beside Alex during the terse exchange. “Jon, how could you allow this?”

Alex took pity on the poor man. “That will be all, Jon. My wife will attend me now.”

After handing him the drying cloth, Jon beat a retreat. Alex stepped from the tub, the air cool upon his wet body, and began drying off. Once done, he wrapped the cloth around his hips and approached Kat, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“I am fine, Kat. You need not worry about me. I feel much better today.” He bent down and kissed her on the lips. She stiffened, but otherwise did not move. “Now what is that delicious smell coming from the bowl?” he asked and sat down in the larger chair to eat.

Kat sat down in the other chair. “Very well, but I insist you not leave this room. ’Tis foolish to overdo before you are completely mended.”

Alex took several bites of the savory venison pottage, steeling himself for the explosion ahead. “I’m afraid that is impossible.”

“Pardon?” She drew her eyes away from his lips.

He would have smiled, but frustration gnawed at him. Kat had barely spoken two words to him or acknowledged him these last few days. To make matters worse, Scarface had been ensnared in King Edward’s trap and Edward had summoned Alex to the Tower. It was the moment Alex had been anxiously awaiting, but the timing was abominable.

“The king has summoned me to attend him at the Tower. I must leave for London as soon as I am dressed.”

Kat stared at him in disbelief. “Surely you jest?”

“Nay. I jest not.”

She jumped up from her seat and thumped her fist on the table. “That is ludicrous. You are injured and cannot be expected to traipse about the countryside on the king’s whim. Send him word that you cannot attend him till you are better.”

Alex finished his pottage and stood up. “Kings do not have whims, Kat. You know I can’t disobey his summons.”

Alex strode into the other chamber and began pulling on his braies and a pair of hose. His shoulder throbbed slightly, but he could move his arm well enough to dress without disturbing the healing flesh.

Kat entered the room behind him, opened her clothes’ chest and searched through it. She retrieved her dagger and dropped the lid. Pulling up her skirts, she propped her foot on the chest and strapped her dagger to her thigh.

He stared at the hint of shadowed flesh exposed, distracted for a moment before her intent registered. “What do you think you are doing?” He regretted the words the moment he spoke. “Never mind. Obviously you have retrieved your dagger. But what do you intend to do now?” he asked, although he already had a sneaking suspicion.

She looked at him as if he were an idiot. “If you must meet with the king, I am going with you.” Then she moved to the table beside the bed and retrieved linen bandages. “Raise your arms.” He obeyed, bemused. While she began wrapping a linen strip around his chest, he wondered how best to forbid her to accompany him.

Kat followed Alex to the stable, trying to reason with him. She had threatened to follow him on her own if he refused to let her accompany him. In turn, he promised that if she followed him, he would have her escorted back under the king’s guard. Threats were getting her nowhere so she decided to change tactics.

“Who is Sir Richard?”

Alex stopped abruptly in front of her and spun around, his expression forbidding. “Where did you hear his name?”

“You spoke of him when you were delirious with fever.”

He stiffened, his gaze wary. “He was an English knight I befriended. We shared a cell in prison.”

“What happened to him?”

“He’s dead,” he said, his voice guilt-ridden and his eyes shadowed with pain. “Murdered.” Then his dark blue gaze pierced hers as he asked stiffly, “Did I say aught else while I was senseless?”

“Nay. But I know there is something you are keeping from me. What does Edward want with you at the Tower? And why now, when you have yet to recover from your injury? I’m not a fool, Alex. What are you hiding? Tell me,” she implored.

Kat waited, her eyes begging him, giving him every opportunity to tell her the truth. She watched the struggle in his eyes. He wanted to tell her the truth, to confess everything. Then he blinked and the midnight depths she implored became blank and unreadable.

“I have no time for this now, Kat. I have to go. I dare not make King Edward wait any longer.” Alex turned sharply away and mounted his horse with Jon’s assistance.

Kat nearly staggered.

His abrupt dismissal crushed her heart, the weight of despair unbearable. She could not breathe for the pain. She had asked for honesty in their marriage, but Alex was shutting her out of his life, again. She knew now he would never trust in her ability, her judgment. Without trust, there could be no marriage. She needed more than he could give. She needed his acceptance. His faith and trust to share everything with her, even his troubles and burdens whatever the circumstances. And she refused to beg for a morsel of his trust.