Marek (The Knights of Stonebridge Book 1) (7 page)

She flinched, disgusted by the man before her, a man who should have brought comfort. Father Jacob was every bit as vile as Jake. Another man she should have found comfort with. Not despair, anguish.

Now she must rely on yet another. At least Marek seemed the slightest of all the evils she had faced. She gave the priest a quick glance from head to toe, curling her lip against the revulsion coursing through her. How could Marek’s wife have so thoroughly forsaken him? Kitty grimaced against the sour tang in her mouth as she brushed past Father Jacob and fled back to the keep.

***

For two days, Kitty kept mostly to the rooms on the top floor. She kept watch over the ailing boy from the village, frustrated that his condition deteriorated more every day, but avoided the commotion of everyday activity downstairs. She spent hours playing hide-and-seek and a game called
Queek
with Bria. The game was played on a cloth checker board. Each of them took turns tossing a pebble onto the cloth, predicting which color, light or dark, it would land on. The girl was precious, and spending time with her made Kitty that much more desperate to return to her own daughter.

Sleep did not come easily. With Marek gone, she realized just how alone she had been these past months. She found her thoughts drifting to him again and again and tried to occupy herself wandering the rooms, prying into nooks and crannies, snooping through Marek’s things. Handling his meager possessions, inhaling the lingering scent on his clothes, all inspired daydreams that did nothing to alleviate her loneliness.

She discovered a narrow staircase leading to the wall walk at the very top of the keep. She could walk completely around the stone building and see for miles in every direction. She often found herself perched in the crook of one of the crenellations staring out at the country beyond. Drowsiness often overcame her, a short-lived sense of peace. Peace had been a rare occurrence in her life these past months.

How beautiful it was. Lush greenery as far as she could see to the north and west. To the east, a sheer cliff fell to the river below. At the south end of the bailey, a narrow path led to the village, a shabby collection of thatched huts surrounded by a fence of wooden stakes.

This castle was not rich, and Kitty imagined it would be freezing in the winter. But the warm spring weather made the drafts bearable.

It was here she sat, awaiting the beauty of the setting sun, when she spied a group of horses moving at a steady pace in her direction. Heart pounding, she watched them come closer. She knew instinctively it was him.

Marek had returned.

A slow smile tugged at her lips. Tension fled from her like a flock of geese taking to the air. She took a deep, satisfying breath. So he had come home at last. Would he come looking for her? She savored a moment’s satisfaction that was almost immediately replaced with school girl giddiness.

Kitty fled down the stairs, dragging her fingers along the walls to prevent tripping. Round and round she descended until, dizzy and out of breath, she burst out into the bailey just as the men dismounted. Her sudden appearance caught his attention. He frowned at her, started to lift one hand in greeting, but then seemed to have a change of heart.

Kitty’s breath came in short gasps, whether from her flight down the stairs or the excitement of his return, she did not know. She was surprised to discover how glad she was he was back. For an interminable moment they stood, each staring back at the other.

“Papa!”

The spell was broken as Bria raced past her and flung herself into her father’s arms. Marek hefted her up, holding Bria against his chest and nuzzling her neck. She giggled, arms wrapped about him as he carried her inside.

All five of Marek’s brothers had gone with him on this raid as had several other men-at-arms she did not recognize. Kitty hung back as the men, all except the youngest, filed into the keep. Bryn, she remembered, raced over to inspect the progress on the construction work. Now she stood alone on the landing not sure where she should be.

Her pulse raced at the sound of footsteps. Kitty knew it was Marek even before he appeared. The doorway into the keep was at least ten feet tall and wide enough for three men to walk through it abreast. But his very presence seemed to fill the space.

“Do you come inside?”

Kitty nodded but made no move in his direction. She stared up at him. He was easily the most handsome man she had ever seen, despite the grime of the road. “Will you bathe before you eat?” she asked.

Spreading his arms, Marek looked down at himself. “Do I smell so bad?”

“Well…no,” she stammered. In fact he did not smell bad at all for a man who’d been chasing criminals for three days. He smelled of horses, leather, wood-smoke. He smelled like a
man
.

A chuckle tumbled from his lips. The sound sent pleasure washing over her. Kitty had seen him do nothing more than smile, and even that was only for Bria. It felt good to make him laugh.

She remembered what Father Jacob had revealed about Marek’s wife. He deserved so much better. Guilt gnawed at her, even though it was not
she
who had been unfaithful.

He looked at her with such grave intensity, her insides melted. She parted her lips, trying to suck in more air. She couldn’t help but notice the bulge in his pants. His attraction to her fed Kitty’s own excitement. Was he trying to seduce her? If he was, it wouldn’t take much. His posture rigid, he narrowed his eyes at her. Was he considering the possibility that she might indeed be a witch?

“Come. I have consumed nothing but gamey hare and piss-warm ale these past days. I yearn for more,” he said.

Conversation ceased as they walked into the hall. Kitty felt more than a little uncomfortable with so much attention. Fresh rushes crunching under her feet, she followed Marek to the dais as those sitting around resumed their discussion. He held her arm as she stepped up onto the platform, then followed her, indicating the chair next to his.

Food had already been laid out on the tables. There were only four. This big one on the dais, obviously the lord’s table, and three below. Only two of Marek’s brothers sat on the dais with them. The ever-brooding Remi and Thane, who sat on Marek’s other side balancing Bria on his knee. She recognized the twins among the men sitting at the lower tables. Several women, detained while pouring the wine, mingled with the knights. Some protested even while flirting openly with their
captors
. Remi sat next to her. Each time she tried to speak to him, he turned away, pretending not to have heard.

Remi might be ignoring her on one side, but from the other, a barrage of sexual turmoil blasted her. Her skin fairly tingled at Marek’s proximity. They spoke little, but occasionally his thigh would brush hers. Or he would reach over her to pass something to Remi and the heat from his body would warm her all over.

She pressed her finger tips to her closed eyes. It had been a long time. Too long. Surely her non-existent sex life was the cause of the rampant lust igniting her from the inside. She had to get control of herself. She did not have time for a fling with this hulk of a man, no matter her attraction to him.

Kitty ate little. But instead took in the atmosphere around her. The men gulped down ale and called to each other in loud voices, slapping those next to them on the back while recalling the details of the raid. Several small children chased a puppy through the legs of the tables and those seated there. She would want to remember all of this when she returned.

“My lord.” Sarah bowed her head as she stood before them. For a moment, Kitty was glad for the distraction. “Your bath is ready.”

Some distraction.

Marek wiped the sleeve of his tunic across his mouth and rose. “Come, wife. ‘Tis time I grant your wish.”

Kitty felt a blush rise to her face as several of those within hearing distance looked at her in surprise. She stood and climbed off the platform, following quickly on his heels. She felt a momentary thrill that dinner was finished, and she didn’t have to clean up.

The stairwell was dark but for the light coming from the lord’s chamber at the top. The soft glow of the candles welcomed them. Darkness had finally fallen, the shutters closed against the night. Steam rose from the water in the tub that had been hauled into the middle of the floor. What a lot of work it was just to take a bath. She had been here for five days and had had only one bath herself. Kitty had been entirely disgusted with that notion, but she washed up as much as possible in the basin in her own room.

This time, Kitty chose not to wait for Marek to demand her assistance. She helped him out of his clothes and watched with admiration as he stepped into the tub and eased down into the steaming water.

Unabashed lust throbbed at her core.

This is ridiculous. It’s not like I’ve never seen a good-looking man before.
But there was more to this man than looks. Despite his lack of riches, he carried himself like a wealthy lord. Pride showed in his very stance. His only personal display of opulence was the crucifix he wore around his neck. Yet he loved his daughter to distraction and tolerated a wife who failed to show him the least respect.

The thought brought on a renewed sense of guilt. Why?
She
would never be unfaithful this man. Her compassion for him made it impossible to ignore his pain, his humiliation.

How bizarre that she would have such an intense dislike for Marek’s wife, a persona forced on her. Despite scouring the castle for one, she’d seen no mirror or looking glass since she arrived. Did she look like herself? Not being able to see her own reflection had driven her to distraction too many times to count. Her hair had not changed. Except for a few slight physical limitations, her body seemed to be her own. This time travel thing worked in strange ways.

Kitty realized that regardless of everything else, Marek believed her to be his wife, Katherine Stone, Lady of Stonebridge.

Warmth spread through her. Oh, Lord. That sounded too good.

She resisted the urge to apologize. Would he even accept an apology from her? Conflicted, she held back. She knew how much Marek hated the woman who was his wife.
God knows, he has every reason.
She still suspected he’d had a hand in the woman’s death.

Could she tell him the truth? If she did, he may turn her over to the priest and his mob. No, he’d said he was duty-bound to protect her. Even Father Jacob had commented on it. But that did not mean he would believe her.

But if she could make Marek believe, he might be able to help her. He had most likely lived within a fifty mile radius his whole life. He would have knowledge and access to information that she never would, not in this time. Kitty knew so little about life in the twelfth century, it made her afraid.

At least she hadn’t appeared in the place of some peasant’s wife, some stinking man with no teeth and no food who beat her. She let her gaze slide over him soaking in the steaming water. His beautiful green eyes were closed. Even the scar on his cheek did not make him look as hardened as he had first seemed. He almost looked relaxed. Tendrils of wet hair clung to his bronze skin.

Oh yeah, things could be a lot worse.

Marek was all she had. While the thought of living here as the wife of this gorgeous man and mother to his adorable child was tempting, Vanesa was the most important thing in Kitty’s life. She may have failed to protect her, but she would never desert her. Kitty would have to trust him. She had to convince Marek that this incredible phenomenon was real. He was the only person who could help her return to her own time.

CHAPTER FIVE

Before she could speak, Marek stood up, exposing himself to the cool night air and Kitty’s startled gaze. Goosebumps covered his arms and thighs. She admired him as he reached for the stiff linen cloth on the floor next to the tub.

The span of his back, although massive, tapered to a waist that could almost be called slim, certainly when compared to the rest of his upper body. From broad shoulders, hung arms thick with bulging biceps. The sprinkling of hair covering his chest funneled down to the patch between his thighs.

Her mouth went dry. Kitty swallowed against the passion that rose in her. Heat flushed her skin despite the chill of the air. She had never been with any other man but Jake. She
had
loved him, but he’d never aroused her like
this
.

“I have seen that look of lust on your face before, wife.” Marek smirked at her as he stepped out of the tub and rubbed the linen over his wet skin. “More often while you pant after one of my vassals.”

Kitty sat on the edge of his bed, hands folded in her lap. “You have every reason to hate her – me,” she said.

Obviously not the response he had expected. He instantly replaced his expression of surprise with one of wariness. “Hate does not begin to describe how I feel about you.”

The sting of his words was becoming familiar. It didn’t matter, she told herself. She
would
get out of here somehow. Maybe since he felt so strongly about her, he might be willing to suspend his beliefs, anything to get rid of her.

“I – I need to tell you something.”

He lifted one eyebrow, regarded her as he would the sudden appearance of a snake. He said nothing, waited.

He looked so good standing there draped in nothing but a silver cross, his broad shoulders slick with moisture, rivulets of water running in tiny seams down his torso.  “I…um…well, I can’t think with you standing there naked.”

Instead of donning some clothes, Marek stalked across the floor to stand directly in front of her. Kitty shivered, but struggled to put on a brave front. He was hard, and if he came much closer his velvety softness would brush against her face. She longed to close her eyes and caress his erection with her cheek.

“You spread yourself for any man who strikes your fancy, even while denying me, your husband. Now you would have me believe that suddenly the sight of my cock befuddles your brain?”

The sight of it, the size of it. She doubted she’d deny him anything right now. Kitty parted her lips, her tongue peeking out to moisten them. With Jake, she had always gone through the motions, had much better sex by herself. But right now she wanted to reach around Marek, grab him by his rock-hard ass and pull him into her hungry mouth.

They both jumped when someone pounded on the door. “My lord.”

She recognized William’s voice from the other side.

Marek groaned. “I shall kill that boy.” Without covering himself, he crossed the room and yanked open the door. His page seemed to take absolutely no notice of his lord’s nudity nor the embarrassment of his lady.

“My lord, the mistress has returned.”

“
Jesu
. So soon?” Marek squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Fetch me some clothes,” he said.

He looked back at Kitty with something akin to uncertainty, something he probably seldom experienced given his seeming overabundance of confidence.

While the page helped him dress, Marek said to Kitty, “I sent word to her of your demise. With that news and completion of the new keep she must have seen fit to return early.”

Her?
He had a mistress who lived right here under her nose? Kitty had a sudden urge to claw somebody’s eyes out. “Who is she?” she asked through gritted teeth.

Marek frowned at her. “My mother.”

I shouldn’t be so pleased that he has no mistress. Or at least not one he flaunts.
That irritating nag of jealousy did not go away, however.

He brushed the boy away. “Enough. Leave us.”

When they were alone, he spoke to her with grave seriousness. “She will not be happy to find you still breathing. This time, I insist you remain above stairs until I can prepare her.” Without further comment he left.

***

“Mother!” Marek greeted her as he entered the hall. She looked older since he had last seen her. Smaller. Paler. Three of his brothers, Bryn and the twins, Vale and Adin, were already seated around their mother at the high table. Either the servants had been quick to lay out an additional meal, or they had simply refurbished the one he had left earlier.

Melisende Stone picked at the trencher before her. “This is a meager meal for one who has traveled for days.”

Marek gritted his teeth. “We did not expect you until the weather had warmed. You cannot expect the same fare you had in London Towne.”

She swatted at Bryn who sat next to her. “Make room for your brother.”

Bryn jumped up, pecked his mother on the cheek. “I shall take my leave. G’night, mother.” He darted from the hall.

Adin laughed. “He is off in a hurry.”

Vale was quick to explain. “Bryn has discovered a wench belowstairs who is more than happy to introduce him to what a woman hides beneath her skirts.”

Marek frowned at them. “Do not be vulgar. There is a lady present.”

Melisende scoffed. “This place has ever been overrun with men. I would expect no less than vulgarity at every turn.”

Marek filled his goblet from a pitcher, took a long draft then refilled it. When he set it down, Adin passed the wine down the table to Vale. Marek dreaded telling his mother about Katherine. No doubt news of his wife’s death had prompted her unexpected visit. He could easily imagine her reaction, leastwise considering his own disappointment.

So why did blood rush suddenly to all the important parts of his body? Just thinking of her now, whilst sitting next to his mother for Christ’s sake, made him hard. He had not been so affected by her since well before their first, and only, coupling. Since her near-death, thoughts of her, and the lust induced by those thoughts, consumed him.

But worse than lust was the softening on the
inside
. In recent months he had hated her to distraction. Now that hatred ebbed more and more each day. What was wrong with him? Had she cast some sort of spell?

It made sense. She had surely spawned from the devil himself. Or so he had thought. She had developed a vulnerability he had never sensed in her before. She seemed disoriented, forlorn.

His own confusion scared him.

“There has been unrest.” Melisende’s voice drew him from his thoughts. “A
scholar
,” she sneered down the table at Adin, “William Fitz Osbern by name, has been gathering support among the peasants for months.”

“What support?” Marek asked.

“He has been making speeches on corners and in houses of London, marching through the streets proclaiming himself ‘savior of the poor’, always surrounded by mobs of wretched serfs. At first no one took notice. Honestly, who ever heard of such a thing? Scores of people complaining about maltreatment? Supposedly he was collecting arms and stashing them throughout the city.” She pushed the trencher away with a pinched look. Sarah scooped it up almost immediately.

“Arms?” Marek could not believe such a tale. Surely this was merely the babble of ladies with nothing more to do than gossip whilst plying their needle. “No man would be fool enough to take up arms against the king.”

“Apparently Fitz Osbern went to Richard, denouncing his own brother as a traitor. Seems this brother had grown tired of giving him money and refused when asked for more. Naturally King Richard met this accusation with derision, Fitz Osbern returned to London one angry man.” She motioned down the table at Vale. “Pass me that wine.”

Vale reached across Adin and handed the clay pitcher to Marek. Melisende continued as he filled her goblet.

“He must have had the acquaintance of certain persons, because he soon secured a place among the magistrates. As more and more joined his protests, and King Richard in Normandy, the archbishop was forced to deal with him.”

“What happened?” asked Adin.

“Fitz Osbern gathered his forces, then set out to make a fortress of St. Mary’s church. Thankfully, the archbishop had taken some of Fitz Osbern’s supporters hostage some days earlier, therefore subduing Fitz Osbern’s followers before the onset of revolt.”

“Revolt! Mother, surely you exaggerate,” Marek said.

She sipped from her goblet, then set it down and leaned back in her chair with a troubled bearing. “I tell you, these peasants meant to attack. Without the hostages, Fitz Osbern would have rallied them to it. As it were, there was but a small skirmish, Fitz Osbern being severely wounded. Those with him stood down in fear for their kinsmen.”

“There was no other bloodshed?” asked Vale.

“The Lord must surely have been present for no, only Fitz Osbern was injured, sliced across the belly, as it were. He would most likely have died of this laceration, but was henceforth arrested. The same day he was drawn asunder then hanged on a gibbet with nine of his fellows.” She reached again for her wine.

The men’s expressions were grave. “They will make a martyr of him,” Adin said. Vale nodded in agreement.

“Has the unrest spread to the surrounding country?” Marek feared such discomfiture would find its way to Stonebridge, riling his already dissatisfied vassals.

“I think not. The hasty suppression of the disturbance served well to dissuade others with similar discourse.”

Marek leaned back in his chair, took a long draft of wine before refilling his own goblet. “We can rest easy on that, at least. But we will want to pay greater attention to any rumblings from the village.”

Adin nodded. “We had best keep this from Remi. He will be running off to London in support of the rabble.”

Their mother agreed. “Your brother has ever been sympathetic to those less fortunate.” Disapproval laced her voice.

The four of them sat in silence. Finally, Vale said to Marek, “Mayhap ‘tis time you told Mother
your
– um – distressing news.”

Adin stood abruptly. “Time I was off to bed. G’night Mother.” He hurried from the hall, Vale close on his heels.

Marek glared at their hasty retreat. Cowards.

Melisende turned to her eldest son. “You have distressing news?”

The moment he dreaded had arrived. He cleared his throat, knowing full well no amount of procrastination would make the telling any easier.

“News reached you of Katherine’s death?”

She nodded but said nothing. Marek searched her expression for the slightest sign of contrition. He certainly did not expect a show of sorrow. She hated Katherine almost more than he did. If not for him, his mother would have had the harlot brought to account for her crimes against him. But for Bria’s sake, Marek preferred to forgo the embarrassment and overlook her transgressions.

He took another great gulp of wine. Dragging his sleeve across his mouth, he mumbled the news, hoping she would misunderstand and he would have a moment to escape.

There was no mistaking the icy tone of her voice. “What?” The word was spoken between clenched teeth.

“The mistake was my own. I checked her breathing myself, searched for signs of life. I was sure she had passed.”

“Wishful thinking, no doubt.”

Marek raked one hand through his hair. “I almost burned her alive.”

She stood quickly for a woman of nearly fifty years. “I would have been sorry to miss that.”

“Mother!” Marek stood with her.

She turned to leave. “Mayhap we shall wake on the morrow to find she has expired after all,” she called over her shoulder.

He heaved a deep breath. It could have been worse.

Marek climbed the stairs to his chamber. First he bid his sleeping Bria goodnight. He kissed her forehead, inhaling the sweet scent of honeysuckle used in her soap. His heart clenched with tenderness.

Then he slunk into
her
chamber. Would she still be awake, waiting for him perhaps, anticipating the swiving they had almost succumbed to before the unexpected arrival of his mother?

He hated that he was disappointed. Marek stood next to her bed, watched her sleep. What had happened to cause these unwanted stirrings? Why did he suddenly desire her after all this time?

His mother was right. It would have been better for her to have succumbed to the fires of the funeral pyre. He could have scattered her ashes to the four winds. He would finally have been done with her.

Did his mother plan some ill fate to befall her during the night? Her final statement to him certainly held a threat. Marek knew his mother could be a dangerous woman if so motivated.

Before climbing into his own bed, Marek secured the door to the solar.

***

At breakfast, Kitty learned that her mother-in-law had made an abrupt departure, taking Adin and Vale with her. Relief enabled her to choke down several bites of bread, slathered with butter so delicious she could have eaten it from the crock, before going to find Marek. She was determined to talk to him about her predicament and solicit his aid.