Forbidden Legacy (7 page)

Nor would his friend's plot to push him and his wife closer succeed. Too much stood between them for a true marriage ever to exist. “It seems you have made a friend in Sir Thomas.”

“The knight was kind enough to agree to help me train. An offer driven by gallantry.”

Stephan grunted. Gallantry was far from the reason behind Thomas's offer. “A duty from which he has been dismissed.”

She again tried to pull free. Wind slid between them, lifting a length of her hair, sweeping it across her cheek as if it were a wish.

Furious that he'd noticed, he released her. He leaned against the rail, stared at the swells, at how the sweep of moonlight spilled across them like a soft caress. “I prefer being out to sea. Many dislike the solitude, the endless days when you see naught but water. For me the vast aloneness brings peace.”

After a moment, she positioned herself beside him, faced the roll of water. “As it does to me.”

Surprised, he glanced at her. “I have never met a woman who enjoys sailing.”

Her expression softened. “My father took me with him on many of his journeys. 'Twas at sea where I came to know the warrior, and the man who gave his life saving those he lov . . . Oh God.” Her breath caught, and she started to tremble.

“Katherine—”

“Nay!”

She tried to step back, but he caught her.

Her body began to shake.

Blast it. Against his mind's every warning, Stephan drew his wife into his arms, the softness of her body foreign against his, but he held on, allowed her tears to fall, to dampen his shirt, to linger upon his skin.

As the swells rolled past, he held her until her trembling faded and she stood quiet against him. A completeness filled him, a link he'd nae expected.

“I didna mean to cry,” she rasped, her voice thick with tears.

“'Tis all right, lass.” Unsure what he should do, he remained still, shaken to find comfort in the way she lay against him with such trust. Neither would she would call it that. Nor would he ask.

He knew well how to lead men, to foster the camaraderie that grew between warriors with each battle faced. He paused. In a way, his marriage with Katherine was a skirmish. As with the knights he led, with each conflict faced and overcome, a bond would grow between them.

Pleased to have found a way to view their relationship that he could accept, Stephan relaxed to a degree. Like his solidarity with his men, this was a connection he could nurture. Exactly how was the question. Though the lass sought to hone her skills with a sword, he doubted talk of battle, caring for the horses, and other war-related issues would pique her interest.

The stories his father had told him came to mind, of how his mother's eyes would shine when she heard a tale that fascinated her. Neither was he a bard. But he could share a touch of his past, show his wife that he understood the difficulties from the loss she struggled with.

“When I was young,” he started, finding the long-stowed remembrances difficult to share, “I, too, witnessed my family murdered.”

With a gasp she looked up, the shimmer of tears lingering in her eyes. “I am sorry.”

“'Twas a long time ago,” he said, smothering the emotions the memories wrought.

“But you miss them.”

“I do. Nor will I ever forget them.” He shrugged. “But I have moved on.”

A weak smile touched her mouth. “Said like a warrior.”

“Emotions have little place in battle. You fight to achieve a goal. If your opposition canna be convinced to surrender, then they must be conquered.”

“'Tis a brutal world.”

“'Tis the life of a knight who fights for what he believes in.”

“And what of the man?” she asked. “Once you lower your sword and the battle is over, what then? You canna wage war forever.”

“With my life at risk with each confrontation,” he replied with ease, “'tis foolish to dwell upon the possibility of tomorrow.”

“As lord of Avalon, along with the people and the castle's defenses, you must consider a time beyond that of war.”

Unbidden, the image of his wife at his side in the future came to mind, of her looking at him with laughter, but also with need. His gaze lowered to her mouth. Another shot of heat slid through him, and his body hardened to a painful ache.

Katherine's eyes widened with distress and she stepped back.

Confused, he moved toward her.

“Dinna come closer,” she ordered, a quaver in her voice.

“What is wrong?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. “There is something I didna tell you.”

God help him, what now? Stephan nodded.

“I can care for a castle and lead men, but never can I accept intimacy. Ever.”

What in bloody hell was she talking about? “Katherine, I—”

“'Tis nae you,” she rushed on. “It is . . . Mary have mercy, I . . .” Regret darkening her eyes, she bolted.

S
teps from the ladder, Stephan caught up to his wife, the fear in her eyes something he'd witnessed many times in the past. Overwhelmed by the brutality of combat, the wash of blood staining the battleground, and the moans of the dying, inexperienced warriors floundered.

But she had never engaged in warfare; whatever incited her panic was personal. “Katherine—”

“Release me!”

“If I let you go, promise you willna run.”

Beneath the moonlight wary eyes held his. After a long moment, she nodded.

Irritated at her hesitation, he withdrew his hand. He preferred men who understood rules, obeyed orders, and gave him their unwavering trust.

Did she nae realize his standards had been cultivated by lessons learned, by the passage of time, honed by decisions resulting in the most effective outcomes? Nay, she understood naught but her own choices based on moods, passions, neither acceptable options in times of war.

“Why are you afraid of me?” he asked, keeping his words soft, shielding his fury at the depraved reasons she might be terrified of a man's touch. Whatever the issue, at this moment 'twas imperative she learned that he was a man she could trust.

Her gaze lowered. “'Tis nae you that I fear.”

Which he suspected. “Look at me.”

His wife breathed sporadic gulps, fisted her hands, and turned away.

Keeping his movements slow, Stephan placed his thumb beneath her jaw, turned her toward him. Face pale in the moonlight, Katherine tried to pull free, but he shook his head, kept his hold gentle but firm. “I will never harm you, ever.”

When she remained quiet, he pushed on, understanding that whatever had instilled such fear wouldna be solved this night. “I would give my life to protect you. That I swear.”

A tear collected at the end of her eyelash. With a tremble, the tear plopped to her cheek, slid down to linger at the curve of her jaw. “Dinna,” she rasped.

Confused, he frowned. “Dinna what? Care? Or want to know who hurt you?”

“Let me go,” she whispered, “please.”

Anger smoldered. “So you can run?”

“I need to be by myself for a while.”

Alone, afraid, 'twas easy to succumb to your fears. “Nae dealing with the pain will do naught but nurture its existence.”

Hurt eyes narrowed. “You dinna know how I feel.”

“Then tell me.”

Silence.

Blast it! “Who hurt you?”

The lass flinched as if struck.

“Did the Earl of Dunsmore beat you?” he asked, his temper rising at the thought of anyone laying a hand on her, the depth of his protectiveness surprising even himself.

“N-nay,” she rushed out, “my father was naught but gentle.”

Memories of Dunsmore impaling his father belied her claim. But now wasna the time to discuss the life-changing event, nor would such a moment ever arrive. Stephan refused to punish her for the sins of her father. “Then who?”

She released an unsteady breath. “'Twas a long time ago.”

“Mayhap, but the memory haunts you still.”

The flutter of the salty breeze slid through the silence.

Bedamned! “Why are you protecting him?”

Her mouth tightened.

The lass wasna going to tell him, but he would learn the scoundrel's name. God help the bastard then. “Never again will anyone touch you in brutality. If they do, I will kill them.”

* * *

Moved by the vehemence of Stephan's vow to protect her, another tear slid down Katherine's cheek.

Her husband's eyes searched hers, the anger easy to read, along with the concern. After the brutal attack when she was but fifteen summers, for years she'd dreaded thoughts of marriage, but the horrors of the assault far from negated her responsibilities as the daughter of a powerful noble.

She would marry.

She would go to her husband's bed.

She would endure his touch until she bore him an heir.

Stoic, she'd moved forward, readied herself for a loveless life, prayed somehow to tolerate the physical act, and that her husband would have a kind heart.

But she'd been unprepared for a man like Stephan. A warrior who would choose his blade over having a family. A man who, as she, hadna sought marriage.

If she had met this intriguing knight before the assault, she would have wished to know him better. In truth, even now she wasna immune.

Moments before at the rail, overwhelmed by the rush of horrific memories, she'd panicked.

After the harrowing event, months had passed before the whispers had faded from those within the castle, but she knew from an errant look that people still remembered.

If Stephan learned of her having been brutally compromised, she couldna bear the shame. Never did Katherine wish to suffer his pity. Neither should she have released her guilt and frustration at her husband for another man's ignominy.

Despite her heart's quandary, a bewildering need pulled her to explain. “You are an honorable man . . .” Her whisper trailed off in the moonlight.

The glint in his eyes sharpened. “But . . . ?”

“My past is exactly that.”

“Nae when it haunts you still.”

“Naught you say can change what happened. Nor will I entertain further questions. And however poorly I fumbled the saying earlier, know this: A marriage of our working together, and one without intimacy, is one I can accept.”

The galley rode the next swell. Another gust rich with the scent of the sea rushed past.

Calmer, feeling as though they'd reached an understanding, Katherine shifted to a question that left her puzzled. “What is in the crates below?”

The tenderness in his expression faded to caution. “'Tis naught of importance.”

Irritation trampled her lingering frustration. “Naught of importance? We are sailing to my home; anything that affects the castle is important to me.”

“Necessary cargo.”

“Cargo? A vague reply that answers naught.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Is there a reason for your inquisition?”

“I asked what any wife would want to know.”

“
Most
wives,” he drawled, “wouldna seek to know more than was beyond their daily duties as mistress of the castle.”

The arrogant toad. “I am nae like most.”

A dry smile touched his mouth as he unfolded his arms. “An understatement.”

“You—”

“Neither will I entertain further questions on the topic.” He pushed back. “'Tis late and we both need a good night's rest. On the morrow, after we have broken our fast, several knights and I will be meeting to plan our attack on Avalon. As you know where the entry is to the secret tunnel, you will join us.” He paused. “Unless you have decided to share that information?”

“Why would you think I have changed my mind?”

He grunted. “I didna; you are too stubborn to consider the dangers. Had I any say in the matter, you would have been forced to draw a map and remained at Urquhart Castle.”

“A point,” she said, her voice crisp, “you have made very clear.”

Stephan watched her for a moment, as if to say more, then nodded. “I bid you good night.” He headed below deck.

The man was frustrating! What did they carry within the crates? Though Thomas had helped her with sword practice, she suspected the tentative friendship they'd forged would far from sway him to reveal their cargo.

Katherine frowned as she studied the four ships sailing in their wake. How had the king found the coin to raise such a force? From the discussions she'd overheard between her father and his council, the king's coffers contained little gold. Over the past few months Robert Bruce had struggled to support the men who'd joined him to unite Scotland.

Neither had she heard a whisper of such a fleet's existence. Nor did his supporters hold great wealth. Mayhap tired of King Edward's tyranny, the Irish nobility had sent gold to aid in the effort to drive the English from their land. It made sense and at this moment was the only logical explanation.

Exhausted, she started toward the ladder, praying that if she found sleep, 'twould be void of horrific dreams.

* * *

Sweat coated Katherine's face as she opened her eyes. Her breaths coming fast and her pulse racing, she looked around. She lay curled in a ball in the center of the bed. The golden spill of lantern light illuminated the blanket she'd covered herself with hours earlier, now shoved in the corner and tangled in a heap.

Vivid images of her nightmare rolled through her, and she scrambled from the bed. Struggling for calm, she focused on the small cabin, the steady rocking of the ship, the errant creaks of wood.

The terrible images lingered.

Oh, God. She had to get out of here! Katherine hurried to the door, paused. Last night Stephan had heard her leave. Needing to be alone, she must be quiet.

With care, she crept into the passageway.

The soft tap of boots upon wood echoed from above, near the bow.

A guard on duty.

Relieved most of the men slept, Katherine glanced through the entry at the top of the ladder.

Streaks of gold sliced through the wash of purple smearing the sky.

She started up. A reflection from down the passageway had her pausing.

Aware how often the men polished the brass and other metal fixtures, she thought 'twas probably an errant reflection of the sun's first morning rays. She reached for the next rung.

A weak shimmer came from near the cargo hold.

Curious, she climbed down.

Paces from the entry, in the dim light, wedged against the corner, lay a silver round.

'Twas currency.

Unsure if she was more confused or surprised, she walked over and lifted the crafted metal. Unable to identify the denomination in the murky glow, she pocketed the coin and hurried above.

Shafts of sunlight had cut through the heavens by the time she reached the deck, the night losing its battle to the dawn.

The knight on guard nodded to her as she passed.

Near the bow, after a covert glance to ensure the knight making rounds wasna looking in her direction, she lifted the smithed silver.

Illuminated in the newborn rays, a winged creature; half horse, half serpent filled the bottom; the image of a boat covered the upper half. She turned the coin over. Scars lined an image of one beast attacking another, the remainder of the scene was too distressed to make out. She'd seen this coin before.

But where?

Of course: France. When her father had been an emissary for Scotland, she'd sailed with him to meet with King Philip. During a tour of the sovereign's castle, several coins like these lay piled inside a chamber filled with valuables from around the world. Intrigued by the design, Katherine had questioned their origin.

King Philip had explained they were from the Phoenicians.

She frowned. Why would currency from an ancient Mediterranean kingdom be onboard her husband's ship? Irishman wouldna have such coinage, so where had it come from?

“You are up early,” Stephan said.

With a start, she pressed the worn silver against her palm. “I didna sleep well,” she said, debating the wisdom of showing him her find. “I came above deck in hopes the fresh air would clear my head.”

“Did it help?” he asked, the quiet concern in his voice feeding her guilt.

“A little.”

He glanced toward her hand. “What were you looking at?”

Curious about his reaction, she opened her palm. “I found this below.”

Her husband's gaze landed on the coin. Wary eyes lifted to hers.

Frustrated at his silence, she frowned. “'Tis Phoenician.”

He shrugged. “'Tis currency. Common enough.”

“This coin is anything but common.”

“'Tis spoils of war.”

Which explained why the coin was onboard, but from his evasiveness, there was something he was withholding. “Why could you nae tell me last night that your ships carried foreign currency?”

His mouth tightened. “Stay away from the goods stored in the hold.”

“Why?” she pressed, aware she'd hit on a matter of some relevance. Whatever was behind his intention to keep her ignorant of the ship's cargo, it held great significance. Katherine's thoughts circled back to Robert Bruce.

“You are here to lead us to the hidden catacombs, nay more. Come,” he said. “'Tis time to break our fast.”

She ignored the twinge of guilt that she'd misled the king about knowing the location of the catacombs and followed. “What else is in the crates?”

Her husband rounded on her, his face hard, but beneath it, she caught a look of grief. “I refuse to discuss this further.”

Oh, nay, she wasna giving up so quickly. “Why do you have Phoenician currency onboard? The other ships carry more as well as other important cargo, do they nae?”

With a muttered curse, he swiped the silver from her hand.

Furious, Katherine tried to pry it from his fingers.

He raised his hand out of reach.

“Give it back.”

“'Tis time to eat.” Stephan strode away.

She ran after him. “I dinna know what you are hiding, but by God, 'tis my home, and I have a right to know!”

He whirled, his eyes dangerous. “You are here out of necessity. Dinna press issues of which you have nay understanding.”

“Then tell me. Keeping me ignorant willna strengthen our marital bond.”