Splendor, page 15
Become further acquainted with him? she thought. What else was there to know? He was arrogant to a fault. And despite what Brother Bernard had said, he did lie. He’d posed as a priest, hadn’t he? He’d tricked her, leading her into the wood. As far as she was concerned, she was as familiar with him as she wanted to be.
But then she’d thought she was familiar with Miles, knew his traits quite well. Geoffrey’s too. Yet from Rolfe’s and Brother Bernard’s depiction of them, she was beginning to wonder if she really knew them at all.
Was it possible that both Miles and Geoffrey had duped her?
Perhaps it was her pride speaking, but Catherine remained undecided as to what the truth was. There was something she had yet to do. Scanning the vast room, she found what she sought.
“Excuse me, Brother Bernard,” she said, rising from the bench, “but it is important that I speak to Garrick.”
Rolfe viewed Catherine for the longest while. She had retired early to their chambers, Aubrey locking her inside. When he’d entered some time later, he’d found her sitting in one of the chairs, staring at nothing in particular. On greeting her, he’d received no reply.
At first he thought nothing of it and moved about the room, seeing to some minor tasks. But her continued silence and statuelike state soon began to concern him. It was unlike her to be so withdrawn. Though he felt he knew what was troubling her, he wanted her to voice it for herself.
“What’s wrong, Catherine?” he asked finally. She didn’t answer, and he moved closer. “I know you’ve been questioning Brother Bernard and Garrick. Have their responses caused your despondency?”
Her gaze hit him like a spear. “I am not despondent. I’m simply thinking.”
“I take it you’re still not willing to accept the truth.”
“The truth?” she asked. “What is the truth? Yours? Garrick’s? Brother Bernard’s?”
“Are they not the same?” he countered.
Her gaze hardened. “The stories appear to match, but I have yet to hear Miles’s side of it.”
At once Rolfe was filled with the sudden desire to go to her, take hold of her shoulders, and shake some sense into her. “’Tis obvious, milady, that you wouldn’t recognize the truth even if it were to somehow fall from the sky and smite you. You are too stubborn by far, but that is your failing, not mine. Two others have confirmed my words. Despite that, you refuse to believe.
“So hear me now, for I speak true. I have nothing to gain by anything I’ve said. The only reason you were told about my distaste for your betrothed is because you asked. I had thought that by telling you I could save you from what promises to be a miserable marriage. You will be the one who suffers, Catherine, not Miles. Think about it. If he has hidden his cowardice from you, what else has he concealed from you as well?”
His words said, she remained quiet, and Rolfe wondered if he’d reached her at all.
“I’ll not judge him until I have his side,” she said at last.
Exasperation swirled up inside Rolfe until it nearly choked him. He felt as though he could throttle her. As he stared at her creamy neck, the temptation grew. Knowing he had to get from the room before he followed through, he headed for the door. Once there, he pulled it open. Just as he was about to exit, he checked himself. Slowly he turned her way.
“’Tis only right that you should be prudent in your judgment by weighing all sides. However, I tell you this: In the end, should you decide to wed Miles, my words will one day return to haunt you. In your misery, you’ll hear them again and again. Too late, you’ll have learned the truth.”
CHAPTER
10
CATHERINE SAT ALONE IN THE LORD’S CHAMBER, PONDERING HER dilemma. She now knew the angst she was meant to suffer on her refusal to accept Rolfe’s words as being true. At the moment the door had slammed behind him, their relationship changed.
The days passed in endless succession, and the weather worsened. It was cold, gloomy, and as the pelting snows and frozen rains swirled outside Cartbridge Castle, a chilling dampness permeated its walls. There was no warmth to be found anywhere, not even by the hearth in the great hall. Why anyone would war over such a forsaken land was a complete mystery to her.
But the icy fury raging beyond the protection of the keep was nothing compared to the frigidness that had settled inside.
Rolfe de Mont St. Michel had become indifferent. Cold didn’t describe him. Glacial suited him far better. And Catherine was well aware that she, along with her stubbornness, was the reason behind his wintry facade.
Since that day when he’d stormed from the room, they had spoken little, if at all. It was as though his warning hung between them. She could do with it as she pleased.
Not only had his mood changed, but their entire existence had taken a turn. She was now barred from the room whenever he bathed—which, in actuality, was a relief. Likewise, she never knew if he would be sleeping in his bed at night or if he would simply order her locked inside the room till dawn.
On most occasions, he chose to take his rest elsewhere. At those times she gazed longingly at the empty bed, desiring its comfort. But she dared not leave her pallet, for fear that sometime during the night he would enter the chamber and toss her to the floor.
Strangely, when Rolfe had rejected her, something happened. She couldn’t explain why, but she likened her feelings to those of a small child who desperately vied for a parent’s notice, only to be continually ignored.
Where once she was impatient to be away from him, she was now eager to see him. And when he turned away, as he always seemed wont to do, a sinking hollowness would settle inside her.
Her emotions were in a turmoil, and Catherine thought she was losing her mind. Not long before, she could barely abide his being near; now she hungered for his attention. Presently, even the smallest scrap would appease her need. But considering the recent turn of events, she doubted he’d offer even that.
Madness, she thought, launching herself from her chair. She strode to the window and threw open the shutters. The cold wind whipped over her. She readily withstood its bone-chilling bite. Breathing deeply, she hoped the frigid air would somehow clear her head, allowing her to regain her senses. Unfortunately, the act had little effect.
She thought about her father.
Gazing across the castle wall to the field beyond, she wondered how he fared. Was he out in the elements, suffering from the cold? Or was he safe and warm at his estate? She prayed that it was the latter, for she couldn’t bear the idea of his searching for her in such horrid conditions.
In her mind’s eye, she saw him fighting against the wind and the snow, ice crusting his graying locks, his face chafed from the cold. What she feared more was that he’d become ill. If that were to happen, she might never see him again.
Adamantly, Catherine wished she’d never set eyes on Rolfe de Mont St. Michel. Life would be so much easier as a result. She wouldn’t be worrying about her father. She wouldn’t be suffering doubts about Miles or about her love for him. Nor would she be feeling dejected because her abductor no longer acknowledged her.
She lifted her face to the heavy gray heavens. “Oh, the misery of it all,” she lamented aloud.
“Milady, don’t!”
Startled, Catherine blinked. Turning, she saw Rolfe’s squire standing just inside the doorway. His face was as white as the snow on the window sill. “What is it, Aubrey?”
“I, uh—well, I thought you were going to jump.”
“Jump?”
“Aye, milady, jump.”
“What gave you such a notion?”
“The open window and what you said.”
Catherine’s laughter bubbled into the air. “The thought of exiting by this window has crossed my mind several times, but I fear the fall will kill me. Hence, I have resisted the idea from the start.”
The color slowly returned to his face; he smiled. “I’m glad it was only a whim, for Sir Rolfe would be very upset had you seen fit to follow through.”
Upset? she questioned silently. Unlikely. He’d probably be relieved. “Where is the most noble knight?” she asked, while closing the shutters.
“He is down in the hall. That is why I have come. He says you are to join the others for your meal.”
The window now secured, she turned to face Aubrey. “I’d prefer to take my meal up here alone.”
“He won’t allow any excuses, milady. He said you are to come to the hall at once.”
“In other words, he has commanded my presence.”
Aubrey looked at his feet. “Aye, milady. His words are a behest.”
Catherine had been in this room for so long that she was about to go completely mindless. She could tell anyone who cared to ask that there were two hundred and twenty stones on the chamber’s front wall and one hundred and seventy-five stones on each side wall.
She could also inform them that it had taken the spider that resided in the high corner nearest the door approximately four turns of the hourglass to weave its web. There was also a huge cobweb in the opposite corner, but she didn’t know if it had once belonged to the current spider or to a past resident, long since dead.
Alongside that, she—
“Milady,” Aubrey said. “Shall I escort you to the hall?”
It was time she left this place, she decided. “Aye. I will welcome the change.”
“You shouldn’t drink so much,” Eloise said sternly. “The wine will soon muddle your head, if it hasn’t already. You might feel cheery now, but on the morrow, you’re certain to be in the depths of your own gloom.”
Catherine glanced at her nurse. The two women sat side by side at one of the tables in the great hall, their guards for this night posted not far away. Since the evening Eloise had locked Aubrey in the cellars, both had been kept under watch. Neither was to be trusted, at least according to Rolfe. He was right, but the thought nettled Catherine just the same.
She took another swallow from her cup. “This is the only way I am able to forget my problems,” she announced. “Considering everything I’ve been through, I should be allowed some succor. If the wine promises such, I shall gladly take it.”
“’Tis well and good, milady, that your worries are given some ease. Just see that you don’t regret it tomorrow by making a fool of yourself tonight.”
How could she possibly make a fool of herself? Except for her guard, no one watched her—especially not Rolfe. For all the attention he gave her, she could soon slide under the table into the rushes from the drink and he’d not miss her one whit. Frowning, she wondered why he’d insisted she come to the hall at all.
Some time before, when she’d come down the steps, she’d been surprised to see the sumptuous feast spread along the tables. If Rolfe had thought to be prudent with their stores because he feared a possible siege from her father, he showed no sign of any such concerns tonight.
Maybe he wanted to lift the castle’s inhabitants from their winter mopes or perhaps he’d learned that Henry had garnered a victory over Stephen, hence the need for a celebration. Whatever the reason, the mood inside the hall was exceptionally festive. Weary of her own depressed state, Catherine had decided to join in the fun, thereby elevating her spirits.
“As usual, you worry too much, Eloise. I doubt I’ll make a fool of myself. Especially when I intend to do naught but sit here.”
“We shall see, milady.”
Catherine chose to ignore the warning and summoned the server to again fill her cup. Twice more she did the same.
Somewhere along the way she heard the thrumming tones of a lute coupled with the melodic whistle of a flute. Several in the crowd rose from their places and came together in the center of the hall. There they twirled merrily in a carol.
As Catherine watched the dance of the common folk, its participants circling around and around, she was tempted to join in. She resisted the urge, aware that Eloise would not approve. Instead she tapped her feet against the floor, imitating the steps beneath the table. Likewise, she clapped her hands in time to the beat. Though she was not among the dancers, she enjoyed herself just the same.
Well into her fourth cup of wine, she found herself staring at her abductor. He sat across the way, his head close to Garrick’s.
At first she wondered at their discussion; then, with no evidence whatsoever, she quickly concluded he conspired against her father. No doubt he planned his assault for when her sire rode upon Cartbridge.
The scurrilous rogue, she berated silently, her gaze narrowing on Rolfe. Had she a knife, she’d slit his throat and be done with him, once and for all.
He’d obviously anticipated such a move, for she had no such instrument. Even at mealtime, she was forced to eat solely with her fingers, as was Eloise. He was too shrewd by far. But one day he’d have his comeuppance. She’d see that he did.
Catherine took another swallow from her cup, and her gaze resettled on Rolfe’s lips. Supple yet masterful, she mused, becoming mesmerized by their movement. Heat streaked through her body as she remembered his kiss. She was on fire, she thought, her face feeling as though it were ablaze.
Certain it was the wine and not the man that had caused the sudden rush, Catherine felt more at ease. Yet as she continued to stare at him, she couldn’t explain the tiny flame flickering low in her stomach. Nor could she fathom its source.
Her head began to spin in the oddest fashion, and Catherine giggled. The wine, she concluded again, noting that the music had stopped. Wanting to hear more, she peered over her shoulder, whereupon she spied her guard.
He leaned against the wall, his expression one of boredom. His duty apparently kept him from participating in the revelry. It was all Rolfe’s fault, she decided, and was immediately impelled to remedy the situation.
Turning around on the bench, she crooked her finger at the young knight, beckoning him to come forward. “You look to be most unhappy, Sir Knight,” she said once he’d approached her. “Mayhap some wine will cheer you up. Shall I summon the server and have her pour you a cup?”
“My name is Paxton, milady,” he stated. “I thank you for your kind offer, but my obligations prevent me from partaking of any wine—at least for the moment.”
Catherine frowned. “All because of me you are made to miss the fun. How very unfair.” An idea struck, and she smiled. “Would your duty also prevent you from joining with me in conversation?” Uncertainty flashed in his eyes. “Your orders were to watch me, correct?”
“Aye.”
“What better way to do so than as we talk?”
“What you say sounds logical, milady.”
At the knight’s words, Eloise reacted. “You are far too brazen,” she hissed in Catherine’s ear.
“Hush. All we will do is talk.” She looked back at her guard. “’Tis very logical,” she said. A slow smile crossed his face, exposing strong white teeth and deep dimples on each of his cheeks. Coupling that with his black hair and deep blue eyes, Catherine realized he was far more handsome than she’d originally thought. “Come, sit beside me, and we shall become better acquainted.”
Without hesitation, Sir Paxton did as requested.
“Young Paxton appears to be taking his duty more seriously than intended,” Garrick stated.
“Aye,” Rolfe agreed.
He stared at the fledgling knight who was part of the castle’s detachment, had been doing so for quite some time. Catherine also. She was far too happy. Unbelievably, with all the voices humming around him, Rolfe could hear her laughter rising merrily from across the way. Paxton’s deep chuckle would follow. Admittedly, Rolfe was a bit more than just annoyed. In fact, he was becoming downright angry.
“’Tis not hard to tell that our young associate has received his spurs in the past year or that he has taken to heart the minstrels’ songs lauding the merits of chivalry,” Rolfe said. “Experience will soon teach him that all is not what it seems, especially when it has to do with a woman.” He paused, and his eyes narrowed as he considered the young man more fully. “He resembles a lovesick hound, don’t you think?”
Garrick chuckled. “’Tis certain she holds him spellbound. He is as equally entranced with her words as he is with her smiles.”
“She trifles with him for a reason. Probably hopes to besot him, then use him as a means for another escape.”
“I will find someone who is less impressionable to relieve young Paxton from his post.”
Rolfe caught Garrick’s arm just as the man started to leave his chair. “No. That won’t be necessary,” he announced, rising himself. “Paxton’s one failing is that he is naive. For that, I do not want to embarrass him. After this night, assign him to a different post and make certain he stays as far from Catherine as possible. Besides, ’tis time she retired. She has been too long sipping from her cup.”
“Since you intend to put an end to her pleasure, she’ll not be of a mind to treat you with favor. The sling is off. Your shoulder is almost healed, so take care and protect it.”
Rolfe smiled. “Your concern is appreciated, Garrick. However, I believe I will be able to control her.”
Moving away from the table, Rolfe made his way to where Catherine sat. Once again her laughter overrode the room’s din. Inexplicably, his mood darkened. When he reached her, he took hold of her arm. She gasped as he plucked her from the bench.
Paxton was instantly on his feet. “Your action, sir, is most offensive. Unhand the Lady Catherine at once.”
Rolfe eyed the man, who was about his own height. “’Twould do you well, Sir Paxton, to take yourself to your quarters. The Lady Catherine is about to find her own.”
The young knight remained firm in his stance, and Rolfe hoped he’d not be called upon to use his sword. Then Catherine giggled; her hand met his chest.
“Will I be sleeping alone tonight?” she asked. “Or will you be joining me?”
With those words, young Paxton’s hardened expression quickly fell. Though Rolfe knew exactly what Catherine had meant, it was obvious Paxton had taken her words the wrong way.
“Sir Rolfe. Lady Catherine,” he said with a bow. “I bid you good night.” He then strode to the far side of the room.
