Authors: To Tame a Warrior's Heart
Sharon Schulze (26 page)
He’d won. Catrin and Gillian were safe forever from that fiend—assuming Gillian was all right—and he’d survived.
He couldn’t ask for more than that.
Gritting his teeth, he stretched as far as he could, but the rope dangled just beyond his reach. He crouched and then launched himself upward. The rough bite of hemp into his palm was a pain he’d suffer gladly, he thought, wrapping his fingers about the line.
Hanging by one hand, the muscles in his arm and shoulder protesting the effort, Nicholas pulled himself up and grabbed the rope with his other hand. Slowly he climbed hand over hand up the cliff, his right leg banging painfully against the weathered rock the entire way.
Rannulf caught him by the back of the belt and hauled him up over the edge. Before he had a chance to open his eyes, Catrin’s sweet weight settled against his side.
“Thank God,” she murmured, pressing kisses over his face. He opened his eyes when he felt a teardrop land on his chin. “I thought you were gone.”
He raised one shaking arm and brushed his fingers over her cheek. “You should know by now I’m not so easy to be rid of.” He sighed, holding her tightly against his trembling body. She buried her face against his chest. “Did he harm you, love?” he asked, dropping kisses on her hair. “When I saw him—”
“I’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “Just take me away from here.” She began to sob.
“Don’t, love. I cannot bear it,” he whispered into her hair.
Raising her head, Catrin swiped away her tears on her ragged sleeve. “’Tis just that I thought I’d lost you.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “It would take more than the likes of him to keep me away from you,” he murmured.
They lay huddled together for a time, listening as Rannulf and Ian conferred in low tones, then Rannulf hastened back to the cottage.
After a few moments he returned, carrying Gillian in his arms. “She’ll be fine, with some rest,” Rannulf said, setting Gillian carefully onto the ground next to them.
Catrin sat up and the two women clung to each other briefly.
His knee protesting the movement, Nicholas pushed himself upright. “Is that bastard dead?” he asked, tilting his head toward the ravine.
“I think his back is broken,” Ian said. He coiled the rope and slung it over his shoulder. “Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving wretch.”
“Does anyone want to climb down there and get him?” Rannulf asked.
“Let him rot,” Nicholas said. “’Tis no more than he deserves. Rescuing his corpse isn’t worth risking our lives.” Slowly rising to his feet, he let Catrin bear some of his weight, holding her tightly against him. “We’ve got far better things to think of,” he said with a tired smile. “Let’s go home.”
N
icholas settled back in the thronelike chair in his chamber at l’Eau Clair, tightened his fingers over the heavily carved armrests and sighed. He couldn’t help but recall how impressed he’d been by this chair when he’d taken the wardship of l’Eau Clair last year.
He’d been a shallow creature then, too easily swayed by the appearance of nobility…too stupid to know his own mind.
And his own heart.
Even when he left court for Wales—was it only a few weeks ago?—he’d cared too much for the opinions of others, of the king, and too little for his own worth.
Other men had protested the king’s petty tyranny…and some had survived his subsequent wrath.
Nicholas grinned. He’d not be so compliant again!
Though he couldn’t be sorry the king had sent him on this journey, for through it he’d gained his heart’s desire.
From this day onward, he’d let the woman with a warrior’s heart be his guide. If he followed her lead, he couldn’t go wrong.
A light rap on the door heralded Catrin’s entrance.
“Still lazing about, I see,” she teased with a pointed look at his bandaged leg.
He rose slowly to his feet. “Not for long.”
“Nicholas! Sit down at once!” She hurried to his side and tried to nudge him back toward the chair. “I didn’t mean it—’twas a joke, nothing more.”
He wrapped his arms about her, savoring the way she nestled into his embrace. “I cannot sit here, wondering if you…”
She poked him in the ribs. “If I what?”
“If you meant the promises you made to me, the last time we were in this room,” he said with a glance at the bed.
Her cheeks flushed. “Nicholas—how can you speak of that now?”
His arms still around her, he limped back to the chair and pulled her onto his lap. “How can I not speak of that which is most important to me? You made a vow to me, Catrin. You swore you would be mine, be my love, the mother of our children.” He cupped her chin in his hand and gazed into her eyes. “Will you honor your promise, milady—or will you be forsworn?”
Catrin stared into Nicholas’s violet eyes, warmed to the depths of her soul by what she saw there. Love, respect, acceptance…this man—this warrior—knew her for who she was, and loved her in spite of it.
Or perhaps because of it.
A smile of joy rose to her lips, and her heart felt so light, ’twas a wonder she didn’t fly about the room. “Aye, milord, I meant every word. I am yours, for good or ill—forever.”
“Not till death…but forever?”
She answered his grin by stroking his cheek. “Yes,
forever. Be certain I’m what you want, Nicholas. You’ll not be rid of me so easily.”
He held her close and pressed his lips to hers. “Even forever isn’t long enough.”
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eISBN 978-14592-6819-7
TO TAME A WARRIOR’S HEART
Copyright © 1997 by Sharon M. Schulze
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