Splendor, page 11
Catherine noticed that his hands remained on the chair’s arms, but as the cries got more tawdry, they moved to the woman’s waist. Meanwhile Ilona linked her fingers behind his neck. The din grew louder.
Ilona was the first to advance. She brushed her lips temptingly across his cheek. Rolfe hesitated, then he turned his head. He parted his lips and kissed her soundly.
Shutting her eyes, Catherine blotted out the rest. The deafening cheers told her all she needed to know. Strangely, she felt a hollowness in the pit of her stomach; she grew oddly weak. “I believe I shall take my leave,” she said to her nurse as she rose from the table.
On wobbly legs she started walking close to the wall, heading toward the stairs, her nurse fast behind her. As she went the boisterous voices, the smells of bitter ale and sour wine, pressed in on Catherine. Somewhere along the way she thought she heard her name shouted. She paid no attention to the call, uncertain that she heard it, and continued toward her appointed goal.
Three treads up the stairs, Eloise having preceded her, Catherine felt a hand snag her arm. Turning, she looked down on Rolfe and frowned.
“Where are you going?” he asked, his grip relaxing.
“To my quarters, where I may find some peace,” she said, then noted the lovely Ilona was standing just behind him.
“Wait, and I shall send someone with you.”
“If you mean so that he can lock me in, hand me the key and I shall do it myself.”
“Do not be so disagreeable, Catherine,” he said while his fingers feathered lightly down her arm. “The night is young.” He caught hold of her hand and tugged gently. “Come and enjoy the festivities with me.”
“I thought we were to slip away together somewhere,” Ilona interjected. “Have you now changed your mind?”
Catherine forced her hand from Rolfe’s. “I am still suffering the effects of our journey and would prefer to seek my bed.”
He grinned up at her in a lopsided fashion, and Catherine realized he was nearly as drunk as the rest.
“As you wish, milady. Run to your bed and miss the fun. Go on.” He turned her around and patted her bottom, drawing a gasp from Catherine. “I’ll send someone up after you to secure your door. Good night and pleasant dreams.” With a wave, he rotated on his heels, threw his arm across Ilona’s shoulders, and swaggered off toward his chair.
Catherine stared after him for a moment. Then she cast her gaze over the room at large. Not an eye was turned her way. “’Tis time I depart this place,” she muttered.
“What are you saying?” Eloise asked, catching hold of the same arm Rolfe had held. “Surely you don’t mean to escape?”
“Aye. They are all into their cups. ’Twill be a long while before any of them miss us. ’Tis now or never, Eloise. Are you coming?”
“The dangers, milady—I don’t think it is wise.”
“Then you may stay, but I cannot.”
Catherine scanned the room again, and again she saw that no one watched her. Her gaze leaped to the head table and to Rolfe. He was seated in his chair, Ilona ensconced on his lap. By what she had said, Catherine was certain he planned to bed the woman. Since they had not yet left the hall, she surmised he was probably waiting until he felt the mood was right. For her own sake, Catherine hoped his whore kept him entertained through the night.
It was time, she thought, after giving another cursory glance at the crowd. Shaking free of Eloise’s hold, she hopped down the three steps and rounded the corner.
“Milady, don’t!”
Catherine ignored her nurse’s call and descended the dozen more steps that led to the keep’s entry. On her way out the door, she caught hold of a cloak, lifting it from the peg where it hung. Quickly she was down the last flight of stairs.
Staying in the shadows, the wool mantle now around her shoulders, she made her way across the bailey to the curtain wall and the small gate she’d spied earlier that day as she looked through her window. That it was left unattended surprised Catherine. But then she doubted those at Cartbridge were expecting any trouble. Henry was far to the south of their location. If word of his arrival had by now spread, Stephen’s supporters would have either ridden toward Devizes, where Rolfe said Henry had gone, or remained where they were, in order to fortify their own keeps.
Catherine nearly groaned aloud when she discovered the gate was secured. As her hands were fast becoming numb from the cold, she struggled with the heavy iron bar, raising it from its braces, then dropping it in the dirt at her feet. Exhilaration filled her when the gate easily swung open.
Free, she thought, racing down the steep incline, then across a deep ditch, which to her advantage held no water. Once she’d scrambled up its side, she stopped to get her bearings.
In front of her, she spied the full moon brimming on the horizon. Instantly she spun to her right and ran across the open field, heading south. A woodland stood not too far away. When she came to the forest, she’d shelter herself among the trees and slow her pace. Till then, she would run until she collapsed.
This was madness, she decided, just now realizing she didn’t really know where she was going. Her father’s estate was somewhere to the northeast of Oxford. But she had no idea how far the town was or, for that matter, in which direction it lay. It could be days before she came across anyone who might show her the way. By then she may have starved to death.
Catherine knew she should probably turn back, but she feared the repercussions if she did. Her abductor would be none too pleased, to say the least. Although she’d not yet seen him angry, she imagined he could be quite swift and forceful when roused. Then she questioned if he was the sort who would strike a woman, not just with his hand but with his fist. Woe unto her if he was, she thought, making her feet go faster.
Her side ached from her exertion, and her breath blew from her lips in a frosty stream, but she pressed onward, for she was nearly to the wood. Once she reached the haven, she planned to rest awhile. After she’d regained some of her stamina, she would continue on into the night, until she could go no farther.
Scanning the forest’s edge, she thought she saw movement. Naught but the shadows playing, she concluded, after searching the area again. Shortly, she broke through the line of trees and pulled up.
Spent, she leaned against a tree, where she drew the crisp night air deep into her lungs. As the moments passed, she felt herself revive. Releasing one last long breath, she attended to the sounds in the wood, for a cloud had covered the moon, leaving her in virtual blackness.
Catherine heard leaves rustling in a wide arc around her, and at first she thought it might be from the wind. Then a low growl vibrated through the darkness; Catherine froze.
You’ll have good reason to fear.
Rolfe’s words tumbled through her mind just as moonlight streaked through the treetops and flooded the woods. Catherine stared wide-eyed at the large wolf, fangs bared, standing not more than five yards from her. The beast, she realized, was not alone.
Dear God! she thought as she eased away from the tree to slowly back toward the open field. What had she gotten herself into?
Eloise had warned her, so had her abductor, but she’d refused to listen to either of them. With each step she took, the pack kept pace with her, its leader the boldest of all. Snarling, he baited her, treading back and forth in front of her while always advancing.
The urge to run sparked to life inside Catherine, but she cautioned herself against it, positive they would attack. She envisioned herself being torn limb from limb, the carnivorous lot fighting with one another over the choicest piece. A ghastly sight it was.
She was now at the edge of the wood. If she could somehow make it back to the castle, she’d be safe. But its protective walls were an eternity away, and Catherine knew she’d never reach them.
They were coming closer. One more step backward and she would be clear of the trees. Taking that step, Catherine tripped, then found herself on the ground, upended by a fallen log. Her gaze shot to the pack’s leader. He emitted a vicious growl, unlike any other.
“No!” she cried, knowing he was going to spring. She shielded her face with her arms, praying it would all be over quickly.
Hearing Catherine’s scream, Rolfe urged the stallion into a faster stride. They were only yards away, and he could see the wolf was about to attack. Rolfe drew his sword; then on his command, the horse vaulted over Catherine, placing them between her and the predator.
“Give me your hand,” he ordered, leaning toward her while attempting to control the stallion. That the animal was performing as well as it was surprised Rolfe. “Hurry. The wolves are making him skittish.”
She was up from the ground, reaching toward him, when the horse rolled its eyes and spun sideways, knocking Catherine away from Rolfe’s outstretched hand. Trying to control the rogue with the reins, Rolfe discovered the bit had slipped.
At once the stallion reared. Its forelegs pummeled at the wind as a frightened whinney charged the air. When its hooves struck the ground, the horse twisted, then set to bucking. Rolfe was quickly unseated.
He hit the ground with force. Nausea instantly filled him from his gut to his head as pain shot through his right shoulder and down his arm.
As he attempted to pull himself from the ground, he saw the stallion running free across the field. Good riddance, he thought, cursing the animal. Then the hairs prickled along the nape of his neck, for he heard the snarls. The wolves, which had scattered with his appearance, were regrouping.
Rolfe gritted his teeth against the pain and forced himself to his feet. Looking for his sword, which had flown from his hand, he spied it lying several yards away. He took a step in its direction and immediately felt his head swim. A combination of the drink and the pain, he decided. “Catherine, my sword,” he said, nodding toward it. “The wolves—we need protection.”
She rushed to the weapon; then, grasping the hilt, she dragged it to him. His right hand dangling uselessly at his side, he took the blade in his left. “Get behind me,” he ordered. “They come again.”
“Can you stave them off?” she asked.
A good question, he thought. Though he could wield a sword with his left hand, he was far more proficient with his right. “I may not fell as many as I’d like should they attack, but they’ll be fewer than they are.” Because of his pain, however, he might not be able to slay a one. “They pace, waiting for their leader, but he acts as though he’s having trouble gathering his courage. Crashing in on him the way I did, I think I made him take pause, but he’ll not stay cautious for long. His hunger is too strong. Go, Catherine. Garrick and the others are somewhere out in the field looking for you. See to your safety while you have the chance.”
“You’re injured and cannot fight them alone,” she told him. “I’ll not leave you thus.”
Rolfe was more than a bit surprised by her response. If anything, he would think she’d want him dead. “Your concern is well taken, milady, as is your bravery. However, I can fend for myself,” he said while glancing over his shoulder. He wanted to look upon her face one last time, committing it to memory for all eternity. The dozen wolves were too many, he knew. Yet it was Catherine’s safety that concerned him. “Now go,” he ordered.
“’Tis too late,” she said, her fear apparent. “He comes.”
Rolfe jerked his head around to see the lead wolf stealthily moving toward them. The hairy beast now had a companion. Rolfe readied his sword.
“Get back,” he commanded Catherine.
Just as the words left his lips, one of the beasts sprang through the air. The great broadsword was swung in an arc, slicing into its neck. Rolfe paid for the movement. Pain seared through his shoulder and into his gut. He had no time to pay heed to himself, for another creature was about to commit the same folly. Baring its fangs, the beast launched itself at Rolfe’s throat. Again he swung the sword. The wolf fell dead beside its companion.
Beads of sweat had broken across his brow, and he wobbled on his legs. Rolfe fought against the agony encompassing him and stared at the lead wolf, noting the rest of the pack had gathered around him.
“Catherine,” he said, “when the others attack, run from here. Once they take me down, they’ll have no interest in you.” He heard her strangled cry of protest and briefly shut his eyes. “Promise me you’ll do that.”
“Aye,” she whispered, her voice choked.
Rolfe felt what he thought was the press of her cheek against his back. Though he wore no mail, it was hard for him to tell for the pain masked all else. “Be ready. They grow eager.”
The snarls and yapping grew more vicious by the moment, then the leader drew back on his haunches, and Rolfe lifted his sword, certain this was the end. Pray God that Catherine made it to safety, he thought, wondering again how her lips might have tasted. Far sweeter than Ilona’s, he decided, just as the huge wolf came at him.
All at once hoofbeats thundered in Rolfe’s ears, accompanied by a fierce cry. Garrick, he realized, as the beast sailed at him. On contact, Rolfe was knocked to the ground. Sheer agony vibrated through him, and he groaned in misery. The wolf lay atop him, and Rolfe wondered why its fangs weren’t tearing into his flesh; then he saw that the beast had been impaled on his sword. He relaxed his hold on the hilt and awkwardly shoved the lifeless wolf from him. Again he paid for the deed.
While Rolfe was trying to conquer his pain and make sense of what had just happened, Garrick rode straight into the pack, his sword swinging. When it was over, five more wolves lay dead. Those that were left quickly scattered off into the night wood, whimpering as they went.
His head clearing, Rolfe looked to his right. Catherine knelt beside him, concern etching her face. “I am not pleased with your actions,” he said, glad that she was unharmed. He tried to ignore the searing heat in his shoulder by making light of the situation. “Running off as you did, you interrupted the festivities, thereby dampening everyone’s spirits. Had your nurse not come to me, I’d still be enjoying my drink.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Eloise came to you?”
“Aye. She feared for your safety. She had good reason, I’d say.” He heard footsteps and saw Garrick approaching. Once beside him, the man settled on one knee. “What took you so long?” Rolfe asked, then chuckled. Instantly, he wished he hadn’t.
“’Twas a matter of discovering in which direction you went. If you had waited for the rest of us, you probably wouldn’t be lying here now.”
And Catherine would no doubt have been torn to pieces, Rolfe thought. “Time was of the essence,” he replied, looking up at her. Guilt riddled her features; she couldn’t hold his gaze.
“What happened to you?” Garrick asked.
“The rogue horse tossed me to the ground,” he said. “I landed on my shoulder atop a log. My arm is useless.”
The older knight grunted, then rose. Stepping over Rolfe, he urged Catherine aside and took her place, whereupon he probed the injury. Rolfe’s breath hissed between his teeth.
“’Tis separated,” Garrick announced. “If you hope to remain alert on the ride back, I suggest we take care of it here.”
“Then be done with it,” Rolfe stated.
Finding a stick, Garrick held it above Rolfe’s face. “Open your mouth and bite down. And see if you can hold your temper while I’m about my task. ’Twill be better for us both.”
Rolfe snorted. “I’m sure my agony will supplant my anger.”
“At first, yes. ’Tis afterward which concerns me,” Garrick stated, shoving the stick into Rolfe’s mouth.
By now the men who’d ridden out with Garrick had found their location. Rising, the older knight ordered a litter be made. Then, lifting Rolfe’s arm—which elicited an agonized groan from his companion—he set his foot to Rolfe’s side.
“Ready?” he inquired, giving a firm jerk on the arm.
White-hot fire permeated Rolfe’s body, from his head to his toes, just before his shoulder popped into place. The sound in itself was sickening. Through it all he heard Catherine’s gasp as he was instantly relieved of his agony.
“We need to bind it,” Garrick said. “If not ‘twill surely slip out again. But we are lacking a bandage.”
Rolfe saw a flash of skirt, then heard a tear. A wide strip of samite, interwoven with threads of gold and silver, was dangled just above his face.
“Will this do?” Catherine asked.
“Aye. This is just what we needed.” Garrick took the length of silk from Catherine’s hand. “Up with you, now,” he said.
With Garrick’s help, Rolfe came to a sitting position, whereupon the man bound the silk around Rolfe’s arm and chest.
“Should do until we get back to the keep,” the man offered.
Before long Rolfe was resting on a litter that had been hastily put together with tree branches and short strips of leather. As he was pulled along behind Garrick’s horse, he gazed up at Catherine as she walked beside him.
“Why did you run?” he asked finally.
She didn’t look at him, but kept her attention on the track ahead. “It should be obvious enough,” she replied. “I wanted to be away from you.”
Now that her fear had settled, she’d taken on a haughtiness about her, wearing it like a coat of mail, and Rolfe wondered if the change in attitude resulted from a feeling of uneasiness. She probably believed that she was the cause of his injury. In one way, she was; but in another, it was his fault. If he hadn’t imbibed so much wine, he might have had a clearer head and been able to control the stallion, keeping it from heaving him from its back.
But he wasn’t certain that was the whole of it. Her present show of disdain might have something to do with Ilona.
Just after the comely wench had planted herself on his lap, he’d noticed on a glimpse that Catherine was watching them. He’d kissed Ilona, not because of the boisterous cheers urging him to do so but because he wanted to see how Catherine would respond. When the kiss was over, he’d had his answer. She’d bolted from her seat and was headed for the stairs.
