Samantha James (41 page)

"Our daughter," he corrected. Kathryn felt a rush of tenderness. He eased down beside her and ran a callused fingertip across the infant's cheek. The rosebud mouth stopped working her nipple; dark brows drew together over a tiny nubbin nose as if in puzzlement.

They both laughed.

"What shall we name her?" Guy asked.

Kathryn had been so convinced she would bear him another son, she'd scarce considered names for a girl. Now, she bit her hp and considered. "I can think of only one," she admitted. "What think you of Brenna?"

"Brenna," he repeated, testing it upon his tongue. He grinned suddenly. " 'Tis a fitting name, for indeed she'll grow to be a maiden with hair as black as a raven... what about Brenna Elizabeth?"

Kathryn's face ht up. "Aye," she breathed. "That would please me—" It was her turn to laugh. "— and I know it will please Elizabeth!"

"Then Brenna Elizabeth it shall be."

Kathryn beamed her satisfaction, smiling directly into her husband's eyes. Guy stared into the sparkling beauty of her upturned features. She was a trifle pale, but there was a radiant glow about her. Lord knew he'd have handed heaven and earth to her just to see such undisguised pleasure in her eyes once again.

After a moment Kathryn lowered her gaze. "Has Peter seen her?"

Guy nodded. "Her cries last night woke him, so I brought him in to see her." There was a slight pause. "You were already sleeping," he said softly. Then, softer still, "You gave me a fright last night, Kathryn." He could not bear to say his greatest fear was that he would lose her—he could not bear to even think it.

Kathryn ducked her head. Her long labor was hazy and fuzzy in her mind, but she knew Guy had been with her at the moment of Brenna's birth. She'd have known the touch of those lean, dark hands anywhere, so strong and yet so gentle. And afterward, she remembered him cradling her close—both her and Brenna.

Not knowing what else to say, she murmured, " 'Tis glad I am that it is over." She hesitated, not daring to look at him. The words slipped out before she could halt them. "Guy, I would know. . . Are you... terribly displeased?"

"Displeased! Why on earth should I be displeased?" His tone reflected his astonishment.

The shining curtain of her hair fell forward, shielding her expression from him. "Because I gave you a daughter instead of another son," she whispered, her voice little more than a wisp of air.

The next thing she was aware of was the touch of his fingertips upon her jaw. With the pressure of his thumb, he urged her face to his. Kathryn swallowed, fearful of what she would see—just as fearful what she might not see. But his expression reflected only warmth and gentleness, his hold upon her wholly tender.

With his thumb he grazed the pouting fullness of her lips. "Listen to me, sweet. My only concern was that you and the child, be it daughter or son, be healthy and well. I thank God that He has seen fit to bless me with such a wondrous gift."

His quiet intensity made her tremble inside. She wanted desperately to believe him, yet wondered if she dared... A blunted fingertip reached out to trace the arch of one tiny dark brow, his hand big and dark against the babe's tiny form.

"She's very precious," he said softly. "I've no doubt she'll be as beautiful as her mother in beauty." He bent and kissed the soft downy head.

Kathryn's hand came out to twine in the thick black hair that grew low on his nape, an unconscious caress. He raised his head to smile at her.

Kathryn's eyes slipped to Brenna, now asleep at her breast. She marveled anew. Long dark lashes lay fanned against the infant's cheeks, her skin so fair and delicate it was almost translucent.

"She is beautiful, isn't she?" There was a breathless catch in Kathryn's voice as she laughed. "She's not at all wrinkled and red, and her features are dainty and fine!"

"That she is," Guy agreed. But this time his gaze was locked not on his daughter, but his wife—

A hard arm locked around her and brought her close. His kiss was magic and bliss, long and unbearably sweet, spinning her away to the gates of heaven and beyond.

And when at long last he released her mouth she buried her face against the corded column of his neck, breathing deeply of his musky male scent. Her fingertips were splayed against his chest—beneath she could feel the drumming rhythm of his heart. Happiness blossomed within her, for this was a moment to treasure—a moment she would horde in her soul for all eternity... and therein lay the bittersweet hurt that wilted her joy. It would have been so very, very perfect . ..

If only he loved her.

A month later, Kathryn sat nursing Brenna in the great hall. Most of the men were scattered about the day's work so the hall was deserted except for the occasional servant.

Brenna's small size did not hinder her appetite, nor her growth, as her mother could attest to. She was thriving and healthy—her little belly grew hard and round, her cheeks plump and pink. It was little wonder that Kathryn was enraptured of this tiny creature who was her daughter. Since Gerda would soon be marrying Sir Michael, they'd brought in a young village girl named Norah to tend to Peter and the babe. Kathryn refused to bring in a wet-nurse; she was nearly as loath to give over any of Brenna's care to either Gerda or Norah, for she derived no greater pleasure than when she cradled and cuddled the wee form of her child.

Despite Guy's assurances, she was half-afraid that he would care very little about the child. Didn't all men desire sons? Yet she could not count the times Guy had appeared in her chamber in the middle of the night, easing Brenna from her breast after her frequent night feedings and lulling the infant back to sleep.

But he no longer shared their bed—his bed—and he had not done so since the night of Brenna's birth. Instead, he slept in the chamber across the hall.

With a sigh Kathryn rose, climbing the steps to her chamber where she laid Brenna in the wooden cradle at the foot of the bed. The infant released a long, bubbly breath. Kathryn smiled slightly and wiped away a frothy drop of milk from the corner of her mouth. As she knelt beside the cradle, she did not understand the sudden shadow that crept over her. At times, like now, her happiness was tinged with pain.

Guy was just as preoccupied as he entered the great hall, his mind beset by images of his lovely wife. Aye, and wasn't it always? He treasured these days since Brenna's birth—they had been marked by a peaceful contentment he'd once thought could never exist between himself and the beauty he now called wife. He dared to hope that they could put the past behind them and begin anew. Oh, she was still as fiery and fervent as ever! But she had gained a mature strength, a calm serenity and confidence that lured him ever deeper into her spell. He had only to gaze at her and feel himself possessed for all time.

And still she turned him inside out! He'd been chafing inside for days already, searching for some sign that she wanted him back in their chamber. Oh, he knew it was too soon after the birth to seek the pleasures of the flesh with her. But it would have been enough to hold her, to feel her softness clinging to his hardness in the chill of the night. Oh, she smiled that bewitching smile that sent his pulse to pounding like a pagan drum; she dropped an idle hand upon his shoulder from time to time; she leaned against him when he helped her up the stairs after a long, exhausting day. Arid there at the door of their chamber, she wished him the sweetest of good nights with lips that ever enchanted... ever beckoned.

Joy had gladdened his heart when Brenna was born. Their daughter provided a link that Kathryn could neither deny nor break. By now Guy was desperate enough to use whatever means he could to bind her to him. But he'd not swear undying love where it was not wanted!

A self-derisive smile twisted his lips as he climbed the stairs. How, he thought with a stab of dark humor, did one woo and win a woman he'd already taken to wife... a woman who shared his name and his home... a woman who claimed his very bed—and shunned the husband that rightly should have lain alongside her in it!

Yet the sight of her pulled him up short. She knelt beside the cradle, the delicate mauve of her skirts pooled about her knees. The waning trickle of the wintry sun through the shutters etched her profile in palest gold. But what set him back was the air of melancholy sadness that clung to her.

Kathryn did not hear his silent entrance. Even as he approached, she gently brushed her fingers against the babe's cheek. "Oh, Brenna," she murmured, and she could not hide the ache in her heart. "I love you dearly, but how much better had you been a boy! I wish for you so very much, yet I pity you, child, for you will have so little."

Guy froze. Her tone, as much as the words themselves, went through him like the tip of a lance. At precisely that instant, Kathryn realized she was no longer alone.

Darting a glance over her shoulder, she beheld the aloof regard of her husband. His very lack of expression left her in no doubt that he'd heard every word she spoke to the babe.

"Mayhap you'd like to explain that statement, mistress. Especially since you know as well as I that Brenna will lack for nothing."

His smile was chilling, his tone glacial. A slow burn began to simmer along Kathryn's veins. It was just like a man to think that food in her belly, a roof over her head, and a little affection was all it took to make a woman happy! She rose to her feet, meeting his stare with a challenge of her own.

"I mean only this, milord earl. From now until the time Brenna grows to womanhood, her choices will not be her own. Were she a boy, she could choose her own path, whether it be landowner, knighthood, or the Church. No man, her father included, could force his will on her. But by simple virtue of her sex, Brenna will neither go where she pleases, nor when. She will be naught but a possession, a pawn. First you will control her life, and then her husband will control it—a husband, no doubt, chosen by you. Indeed, I fear she is doomed to a life no better than mine!"

His eyes were glittering. "Ah, so now the truth comes out. Tell me, sweet. Is this truly how you feel? As if I hold you prisoner here?"

Curse her bloody tongue! Too late Kathryn realized where her recklessness had taken her. Yet it wasn't solely her fault. If Guy did not goad her so, she'd not be so tempted to retaliate!

"I did not say that—" she began.

"Nay, you need not say it at all," he bit out tightly. "You make yourself very plain, Kathryn. You'd rather be free of me." He gave a short harsh laugh. "Well, in this you are right, sweet, for you'll not have your way. We are married in the eyes of God and man, and by all the saints, so we shall remain!" He spun about and started for the door, only to stop halfway there. "I came to tell you I have received an urgent summons from Henry to join him in London. I thought perchance you might find it in your heart to cheer a lonely man's spirit on the eve before his departure. But since you find my presence so distasteful, I see no point in waiting till dawn to take my leave."

Stricken, she made no effort to stop him when he strode from the room. An hour later, she stood near the entrance to the bailey, watching as he prepared to depart.

At last he stopped before her, his helm tucked under his arm, so tall and handsome he took her breath away. Brenna was tucked into the crook of her arm; Peter stood at her side. Try though she might, Kathryn could not find the courage to meet his eyes.

He bent and kissed the soft down of the babe's head. Peter was next, lifted high in his arms for a hug. "You must be a brave lad and watch over your sister for me," he whispered to the boy.

Peter beamed.

Not once did he look at her. Something inside Kathryn seemed to wither and die. It was if she did not even exist.

Do not do this, she longed to cry. Oh, don't you see that 1 love you! All at once she wanted desperately to heal this breach between them. But what was the use? She thought despairingly. His heart was set against it—his heart was set against her! And so in the end, she dared not speak the words that welled in her throat.

It seemed the pride that had long been her staunchest ally was now her fiercest enemy.

A sennight passed, and then another. The month of March was upon them, bringing glorious skies and the promise of warmer days to come. For the people of Sedgewick and all across the breadth of England, spring was a time that heralded growth and revival and prosperity. There were fields to be plowed, crops to be sown. Spirits were merry and jovial for all but the lady of the manor.

She could not help but remember her nightmare— how her uncle had taunted her.
'Tis your wont to covet what can never be yours,
he had said.

Her heart cried out in anguish. Mayhap it was true—for the one thing she wanted most was the one thing she could never have.

Her husband's love.

She was sitting in the hall early one evening when the sound of shouting in the bailey reached her ears. One of the maids moved to peer outside.

Kathryn frowned. "What is it, Meg?"

Meg's eyes were round as saucers. "A small troop of men, milady—methinks they are not the earl's."

Just then Sir Edward appeared. "Milady, there is a knight without who wishes to see you."

"He asks to see me?" Puzzled, she put aside her sewing and rose.

"He says he is from Ashbury, milady."