Samantha James (30 page)

Kathryn blinked. "But that’s wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Gerda, you should be ecstatic, not sitting here in tears!" She frowned suddenly. "He's not a bounder, is he? He certainly doesn't seem that sort."

Gerda shook her head. "Nay, mistress. He is good and kind and honorable. Indeed," she whispered, "no woman could ask for a better man."

Kathryn was utterly bewildered. "So why aren't you dancing for joy?"

" 'Tis not so simple. ‘Tis not simple at all! I love him, but I—I'll not sully myself by being his mistress." She looked ready to cry again. "And I cannot be his wife."

"But why not, Gerda? I'll admit such a marriage is the exception rather than the rule, but marriage between you and Sir Michael would be recognized by the church."

Gerda swallowed. "The Lady Elaine taught me to hold my head high, to be proud of what I am, lame though I am—" She touched her misshapen leg gently. "—and I fear she taught me far too well, for I, too, have my pride and I'll not let Michael discard his so easily."

When Kathryn frowned, she summoned a watery smile. "He comes from good family. He is not the heir, but his father is still a lord." She shook her head and said sadly, "I cannot erase my humble beginnings. I am the daughter of a villein, and will ever be so. Like my father, I am bound to the earl. Michael's family would never accept me as his wife—never! If he were to marry me, he would be an outcast." She paused, her tone very quiet. "I'll not let him stoop so low, milady. That is why I will not marry him."

And there was no dissuading her, though Kathryn tried her best. In the meantime, summer slipped gently into autumn. Fields ripened to harvest and the household set to work filling the granary and replenishing the larder and cellars with food and drink for the long winter. Plowing began in fallow fields in preparation for the next harvest. The sunlit days grew shorter. They blurred, one into the other.

Never had Kathryn been so utterly miserable.

Nor did she understand why. Hadn't she prayed for the day she would be free of the earl? She had what she wanted. She was rid of his hateful presence! Yet no matter whether she hated him or longed for him, he was always on her mind.

One afternoon in late October found the household much more frantic and busy than usual. In the great hall, Kathryn waylaid one of the maids who had just scurried in from the kitchen. "Everyone is rushing about so," she commented. "What is going on?"

The girl's eyes were wide and shining. "A messenger arrived not an hour ago. The earl will be home on the morrow," she announced.

Not until she was alone in her chamber did Kathryn give in to the turmoil inside her. She sank down upon the bed, beset by a flurry of panic. The moment she had dreaded all these weeks— months!—was nearly upon her. Soon Guy would be home.

A helpless despair descended upon her. Like a clamp it squeezed the very breath from her chest. She moaned, remembering that last night when she had lain in Guy's arms—his tenderness, the storm of passion he ignited in her. His desire had known no bounds that night. He had taken her with a yearning hunger that even now stole her breath. Her hand crept to the gentle mound of her belly. Ah, but would he desire her now? He was strong, virile, and handsome. Undoubtedly he had only to crook his finger to have any number of women falling at his feet. Would such a man want a woman who was no longer slim and desirable? Her heart cried out. Perhaps he had already taken another to his bed!

Her nails dug into her palms but she did not feel the discomfort. How would Guy react when he saw that she was with child? Would he be angry? Indifferent? Would he even care? A wrenching pain ripped through her, even as a horrible notion uncurled in her brain.

What if Guy cast her aside? Where would she go? Ashbury immediately loomed in her mind. Yet how could she face Elizabeth and all those she had known all her life, knowing she carried their conqueror's bastard child? The thought was unbearable.

An icy shroud of despair encircled her heart. She could not return to Ashbury. She could not remain here at Sedgewick. She was the very thing Gerda feared for Sir Michael.

An outcast.

Her eyes squeezed shut in misery. She feared having Guy discover she had fled. But here she was, grown heavy with his child, and she feared facing him in her present condition far more. There was only one way out. She must escape. Flee. Better to do it now, with some small shred of dignity intact, than to have Guy turn her out later.

She left at dawn's first light.

For Guy, every day away from Sedgewick was one too many.

But he was not a man to shirk his duty to his king. Like his grandfather, Henry was determined to bring those lawless barons to heel. One way of doing so was by demolishing their fortresses and restricting the building of new ones. Those that escaped the demolition were dependent upon Henry's goodwill to renew the charter—in some cases Henry added to the royal coffers by levying a fee to the holder.

Guy was one of the more fortunate ones. In return for his loyalty Henry had chosen to retain his earldom and had regranted title to all his holdings. Guy had already ascertained the wisdom to be had in backing the new king.

But there were several Welsh marcher lords and a powerful baron in the Midlands who resisted the order of the new government. Guy was among those involved in Henry's effort to deal with the insurgence.

But at last the threat of rebellion had been squelched. Henry had released him since they were so near Sedgewick, but he was to join his king at Ashbury several days hence.

Now, nearly three months later, Guy reined his destrier to a halt, high atop a hill. A feeling of pride welled up in him as he beheld the mammoth walls surrounding Sedgewick. He regretted that he had so little time at home before he must leave again, but he let himself linger a moment, for the noonday sun was brilliant, the endless stretch of the sky above more brilliant still. A fragrant breeze whispered over the hills and fields and meadows, stirring leaves which had deepened to russet and gold. It was very near here, he mused thoughtfully, on that long-ago spring day that he'd given Kathryn her first glimpse of Sedgewick.

Kathryn.

A black scowl darkened his features. He had hoped that these months away from her would resolve his obsession with her. He chafed inside, knowing that time had not erased his need for her. Indeed, it had only sharpened it.

He had sworn she would be his—and the deed had been well and truly done. He had claimed her, willing and eager for the touch of his hand. Yet he had somehow thought that once she was his, once he'd sampled the mystery and delights her lithe young body had to offer, the allure that held him enthralled would be no more.

But that was not to be, and everything inside him cried out against it.

A brooding mask slipped over his features. Not a single night had passed that he had not fallen asleep thinking of her, dreaming of her. He had tasted those sweet lips bedewed with the wet heat of his; felt the budding crests of her breasts nestled in the crisp furring of his chest as he explored that luscious, satin-and-cream body until he knew it as well as he knew his own. And then he awoke in the morning with her name on his lips, his manhood hard as stone, throbbing like a drum.

His mouth twisted. She was like slow poison, seeping through his blood, clear to his soul. She was a sorceress spawned in hell, with the seductive charms of an angel. If only he could cast off this spell of fever and lust she roused in him—if only he possessed some weapon, some shield against it.

It was a pity he had so little time, he thought again, only now there was a wicked glint in his eye. He was going to satisfy this unbridled craving for Kathryn even if it meant the two of them did not leave his chamber—most assuredly his bed!— the entire length of his stay.

He spurred his destrier and set off again. Aye, he decided with a satisfied smile, he would certainly make the most of what little time he had.

Shouts went up when several of his men spotted him. A small crowd gathered to await him as his destrier pranced beneath the gatehouse and into the bailey. A young groom grinning from ear to ear ran up as Guy dismounted. He flashed a brief grin in return and tossed the reins to the boy.

Sir Edward clapped him heartily on the back. "We had little news of King Henry's campaign. It went well?"

"Well enough." Guy smiled dryly. "But I'm not here for long, I'm afraid. I'm to meet up with Henry and his advisors again in a few days' time. There's talk of invading Ireland." They spoke for several minutes more before Guy entered the great hall.

Gerda, who had just descended the last step, stopped short. A fleeting panic chased across her face. Some innate sense warned him that all was not well. Gerda rushed over and bobbed a curtsy.

"Welcome home, milord," she said breathlessly. " 'Tis glad we are that you are home safely."

He gave a terse nod, for this was not the homecoming he had envisioned. He'd thought to see Kathryn awaiting him, if not with open arms, at least with yearning dwelling deep in those jade- green eyes. His gaze swept the hall but she was nowhere to be found.

"How goes it here, Gerda? All is well with Peter?"

"He's grown so I vow you'll hardly recognize him." Again that look of anxious distress as she gestured toward the stairs. "He naps just now, milord."

"And Lady Kathryn? Does she nap as well?"

Gerda shook her head. "Nay, my lord," she whispered. "She is .. . gone."

"Gone!" Guy went white about the mouth. His voice boomed like a clap of thunder. "God's blood! Don't tell me she's escaped! How the hell could such a thing happen—this place swarms with my men-at-arms! And everyone knew she was not to leave these walls alone!"

Gerda quailed, wondering if she dared tell him about the babe... and decided against it. "My lord," she said shakily, "it happened only this morning. At dawn she told the guard at the gatehouse that she was feeling poorly and needed to gather some healing herbs outside the castle walls. When we realized she was gone, Sir Michael and a dozen others set out after her."

The bitch! The treacherous bitch! He did not realize he swore aloud. She had played him for a fool once again. Not once had he considered Kathryn might not be here. She had said that she would be here when he returned—damn her traitorous soul—and he had believed her! He gnashed his teeth, remembering how he'd gloried in the way she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him so sweetly, all the while promising with lips that ever lied and deceived!

Gerda fell on her knees before him, her eyes shimmering with tears. "Do not blame Sir Michael for this, milord! He was not lax in his guard of her, I swear. If you must punish anyone, punish me, for I did not realize she was gone until well into the morning. And—oh, I know you will find it impossible—but when you find Lady Kathryn, do not judge her so harshly. I beg of you, milord, find it in your heart to be lenient!"

Guy stared down at her bowed head. What magic did Kathryn possess, that she charmed so easily all those within her reach—his son, Sir Michael, even this girl whose loyalty to Elaine had been as fierce as his love for his cherished wife.

But leniency? A brittle determination sealed his heart. Never, he vowed. Never. . . Kathryn had toyed with him for the last time.

He raised Gerda to her feet. "We both know who is to blame," he said flatly, "and 'tis neither you nor Sir Michael. But this I would know, Gerda. Did Kathryn make any other attempt to escape?"

Her answer was swift and unwavering. "Nay, my lord. None at all."

His eyes narrowed. "So it was only after she received word of my return that she made the decision to flee?"

Gerda winced. " 'Twould seem so." She paused, then touched his arm. "Milord, Sir Michael set out to search the road to Ashbury."

"Likelier than not, that’s where she's headed." His voice was grim.

Gerda hesitated. "I am not so certain," she said slowly, "for one of the maids, Zelda, just told me that Lady Kathryn questioned her only last night about the convent south of here."

For an instant Guy said nothing. Something elusive tugged at his memory, and all at once Hugh's voice rang through his mind...
Why, she was ready last night to scurry off to a nunnery!

'Then I will look for her there," he said decisively. "Gerda, see that food and drink are prepared. I'll be going on to Ashbury after I find Kathryn."