Splendor, page 17
“Because, as you say, I’m mad.”
If he were mad, then she must be doubly so, for again she found herself staring at his lips. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Loose me,” she demanded. She rolled her head against the wall and tried to break free.
The effort was for naught, for he was far too strong. Her eyes came wide when he checked the toss of her head. He held her still, his right hand framing her face.
“If I do that, you’ll always be left to wonder,” he said, his warm breath fanning just above her lips. “But wonder no more, Catherine. ’Tis time you learn the truth.”
She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, thinking to scream. A decided mistake. In a trice, his lips were on hers. Hot and wet, they foraged with determination, sending fiery prickles down her spine. His tongue sliced past her teeth, probing deeply, and flames burst to life in the depths of her stomach. She throbbed between her thighs. Unbelievably, she was warm and moist. Mother of God! What was happening to her?
His kiss became more ardent, his tongue thrusting and withdrawing, and Catherine heard herself moan. She was on fire from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Insanity, she thought, as she began to respond. In that instant, his lips left hers.
Cold air rushed over her. Her eyes sprang wide. She saw him standing several feet away.
“Are you yet wondering, Catherine?”
His tone was mocking, his smile complacent. Like lightning slicing into a giant oak, the realization struck: He’d baited her, then used her. For what purpose, she didn’t know.
Seek to tempt me again, and you’ll know the consequences of doing so.
His words, uttered while in the tub, streaked through her mind.
“No answer?” he questioned.
Feeling utterly mortified, she ran from the stables, across the yard, and up the steps to the keep. On entering the great hall, she came face-to-face with Eloise.
“Why is your mouth all red?” the woman asked, frowning at her.
Catherine’s fingers quickly covered her lips. Unbidden, the memory of what had just transpired streaked through her with a force that left her gasping for air. “’Tis cold out,” she muttered, then she rushed toward the other set of stairs.
Climbing them, she wondered at her own purpose in seeking him out. Was her intention what he’d said? Did she desire his kiss anew? Whatever the reason, she felt certain she was now worse off than she had ever been before.
It had to be done, Rolfe thought.
Absently playing with a piece of straw, he crouched down, his back pressed to the same wall where he’d pinned Catherine. The shattered look on her face just before she’d run from the stables was forever etched in his mind.
Blessed Virgin, why had she come out here? If she’d just stayed in her room, he wouldn’t have had to embarrass her as he did.
From the moment he’d approached her from the back of the stables, he’d sensed something was amiss. When he’d clearly seen her face, he knew what it was.
True, she’d offered some speech about wanting to apologize, about not desiring his advances. But beneath that confident facade, she was filled with uncertainty. The first time she looked at his lips, he knew exactly what she wanted. Though she might not have been fully aware of it, he had no doubts. The trouble was that he wanted the same himself. Maybe more than she. That’s why he’d mistreated her as he had.
This past week had been a living hell for him. By day, she was constantly in his thoughts. By night, she invaded his dreams. What transpired in his vapory visions was magical. More than once, he’d awakened in a sweat, his body aching for release. Yet he knew that to go beyond his fantasies would be nothing less than madness. And that’s why he’d used her as he had. She’d thought of him as a spurious spawn of Satan once, and he wanted her to continue doing so. It was the only way he knew to assure they remained apart.
Springing from his haunches, Rolfe rubbed his shoulder. Though not fully healed, it was far better than it had been. Yet it would be a while before he could use his sword, and that to him was another worry.
Then there were the nightmares.
He’d thought they’d been put to rest over a year before. Apparently all this talk about Miles had again stirred them to life. God’s wounds! He wished he’d killed the bastard years ago. The deed done, none of this would be happening now.
Between his lustful dreams about Catherine and his nightly terrors of Antalya, his mood was suffering. This eve, after his promised game of chess with Brother Bernard, he intended to retire early.
As Rolfe left the stables, heading toward the keep, he prayed that this night he’d get a decent round of sleep.
She saw it lurking in the shadows.
And it wasn’t alone.
In the dim candlelight, Catherine watched the shaded area along the floor near the wall.
There.
She wasn’t imagining things.
There.
She saw its companion.
Her heart leaped to her throat when she heard the squeal; one of the pair suddenly charged toward her.
Bounding onto the chair, Catherine screamed with all her might.
Rolfe bolted straight up from his pallet.
Was he dreaming?
Beside him, Garrick jumped to his feet.
The two men looked at one another as the shrill cry sounded louder.
“’Tis Catherine!” Rolfe said. Grabbing up his sword, he raced from the common quarters and down the torchlit corridor to her chamber, Garrick beside him all the way. Once there, he viewed the lock and hissed a curse. “The key.”
“We have our shoulders,” Garrick said.
“’Tis easy for you to say.”
“Here!” Aubrey cried as he waved the key in the air while he ran toward them. Brother Bernard ran beside him.
“What is the trouble?” the monk called.
Above all the commotion outside, Rolfe could hear her screams on the inside. “Catherine,” he yelled through the door. “What’s wrong?” She responded with another scream.
His squire was now at his side. The key was inserted into the hole, the lock tripped, and Rolfe opened the door, whereupon he bounded into the room, his sword ready. There on the chair, her skirts raised, stood Catherine, yelling at the top of her lungs.
“Christ, woman!” he fairly exploded. “’Tis only a rat.”
With one swing of his blade, he felled the furry creature.
“Come down, Catherine,” he said, offering her his hand. “The thing is dead.”
“There’s another one. I saw it. Oh please, kill it too!”
Her words were a piteous plea, and on closer inspection, Rolfe saw the sheer terror in her eyes. She was deathly afraid of the creatures, he decided. Somehow he had to convince her the things wouldn’t hurt her.
“Catherine—”
“Oh, milady! Do not move.”
Rolfe turned to see Eloise standing in the doorway. Her gaze was centered on the dead rat.
“There is another one, Eloise. Please make him kill it.”
“I will, milady. I will.”
Rolfe noted the soothing tone of Eloise’s voice. Catherine’s fears, he surmised, were more grievous than he’d thought.
“Find the thing and slay it,” her nurse whispered as she drew alongside him. “Or she’ll be struck by a madness from which she’ll never recover.”
“Stay there, Catherine,” he said, motioning for Garrick, the monk, and Aubrey to join him, “and we’ll look for the thing.”
“Kill it too?” she asked.
“Aye, and kill it too.”
Each man took a different corner, whereupon they began a thorough search around the furnishings. The shadows obscured Rolfe’s vision. Twice he poked his blade at something he thought could be the rat. Twice he went unrewarded.
Behind him, Garrick was apparently doing the same, for Rolfe heard the ping or the thud of the man’s sword against stone or wood. Then Aubrey cried, “Tis here!”
Rolfe rushed to the spot. With a stabbing thrust aimed behind the low chest, he skewered the thing. Bringing up his blade, he stared at one of his boots.
Aubrey turned red. “I guess I forgot to put it with the other one.”
“Aye,” Rolfe said, pulling the ruined boot from his sword.
They began their search anew.
A moment later, Rolfe turned when he heard Garrick growl, “Come here, you little bastard, so I can lop off your head.”
“Is it the rat?” he asked.
Garrick stood by another chest, his sword poised. Brother Bernard was at his shoulder. “Aye. For certain,” the monk whispered, hopping back several steps. Just as Garrick was about to strike, the rat scurried from its hiding place. The knight’s blade hit the wall as he tried to fell it.
“It goes for the door!” Eloise cried.
At once, Rolfe, Garrick, the monk, and Aubrey were after the small gray creature. The rat scuttled into the hall just as all four men hit the door. Squeezing through the opening practically shoulder to shoulder, they stumbled out into the corridor. The rat was nowhere to be seen.
Rolfe shook his head. “Imagine, will you? This valiant effort came from two of Henry’s best knights.”
Garrick arched a grizzled eyebrow. “Had he knowledge of this right now, I’m of a mind he’d be glad we are here and not with him.”
“Aye. ’Twould be comical, save for Catherine’s fear. Her reaction was more than simply a woman’s squeamishness. Let’s see to her,” Rolfe said.
“Should we say we killed it?”
“No. She may want proof, and we cannot provide it. I think the truth is better.”
Rolfe was the first to enter.
“Is it dead?” she asked from her position above him.
“I’m sorry, but it got away.”
“Dear God. ’Twill be back. I know it.”
“I doubt it will, Catherine,” he said. “By all our fumbling around, I think we scared it nearly to death.” He offered her his hand. “Come down now. ’Tis gone. I promise.”
He watched as Catherine looked away from him to her nurse. She appeared to question Eloise with her eyes.
“He’s right, child,” the woman said. “The thing is gone and cannot hurt you.”
She hesitantly slipped her hand into his, and he helped her from the chair.
“I’ll not stay in here alone,” she said. “It might come back.”
She truly was frightened by the creatures, Rolfe decided. He wondered what had precipitated her fear. “Then go with Eloise to the women’s quarters. You may sleep there.”
Her eyes widened. “On the floor?” She shook her head. “No, I cannot.”
“I will stay here with you,” Eloise offered.
Rolfe carefully studied Catherine. She looked somewhat relieved, but not fully convinced that Eloise would protect her. “Even better,” he announced, “I will stay with you. Should the thing reappear—which I doubt—my sword will be ready.” She still seemed unconvinced. “I slew the first one, didn’t I?”
She looked at the rat on the floor several yards from her, then nodded.
“I am certain,” he said, “I can slay the second as well—that’s if it returns. I promise, Catherine. I’ll not let it harm you.”
“You’ll not leave me?”
“No. I’ll stay beside you the night through.” Her fears subsided some. Then he noticed she was not yet ready for bed. “You are up quite late.”
“I was thinking,” she said.
Their meeting in the stables, he surmised. “I’ll be just outside while Eloise helps you undress.”
Her gaze whipped toward the bed. “Did you check under there?”
“Aubrey, look under the bed.”
His squire quickly complied. “Naught but dust, sire,” he said, his head popping up over the bed’s side.
“Good. Now get rid of this thing,” Rolfe ordered, pointing at the dead rat.
He watched as Aubrey lifted the creature by its long tail to carry it out the door. Brother Bernard followed the young man down the corridor.
Rolfe strode to one of the chests and set his sword aside. Opening the lid, he pulled from within the same mantle that Catherine had worn that afternoon. He swung it around his bare shoulders. Her scent instantly drifted into his nostrils. Another long night, he thought, as he retrieved his weapon.
He moved to the door. “I’ll be just outside,” he said, then he walked into the hall.
“What do you think caused such fear in her?” Garrick asked in a low voice.
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out,” he answered. “Eloise will stay until after Catherine is asleep. I’ll ask the woman about it then.”
“If you don’t need me, I shall find my pallet. ’Tis cold in these halls,” he said, a great shiver running through him.
Like Rolfe, Garrick was barechested, barefoot, and in his braies, except Rolfe now had the benefit of a heavy cloak. “Retire, sir, before you catch your death. When you see Aubrey, tell him to bring my pallet down here. The Lady Catherine has removed the other from sight.”
“You hope to sleep, then?” Garrick questioned.
“I shall try.”
“The nightmares—any tonight?”
“Not so far. But I had not been asleep too long before this.”
“Rest well,” Garrick said, lightly patting Rolfe’s left shoulder. “And keep your sword close to you. ’Tis possible this was all a ruse.”
“Another attempt at an escape?” Rolfe asked. He saw his friend nod. “I’ll keep your words in mind, but I doubt this was a ruse. The fear in her eyes was genuine. I’ve seen such a look only in battle, and that’s just before I laid low my opponent.”
“If you say it is real, I’m certain it is. Good night to you. I’ll see you on the morrow.”
Rolfe watched as Garrick trekked along the corridor back the way they’d come. Before long, Aubrey came hurrying toward Rolfe, dragging the pallet and covers behind him. With a wave, Rolfe cautioned him to be quiet; then, peeking into the room, he saw that Catherine was already abed.
As they entered on silent feet, Rolfe noticed how she lay curled under the covers. Eloise was singing to her. While Aubrey spread his master’s pallet, Rolfe watched Catherine and her nurse from the shadows. Soon Aubrey left; then a bit later, Eloise stilled her lullaby. The woman rose from the chair and came toward him.
“I suppose you would like to know why she reacted the way she did?” Eloise whispered.
“Aye. She was overwrought and exceptionally fearful.”
“And for good reason,” Eloise stated. “When she was a small child—five, I believe—she had gone deep into the cellars, down to the dungeon, thinking it was a fine new place to play. No one knew she’d gone there. Actually it was forbidden for her to do so. However, always having been a bit independent, she slipped off on us.
“’Twas dark, very dark, and she did not see the creatures lurking alongside the walls. Apparently she stumbled into a nest of them. Her screams could be heard through the entire castle. When we all realized where they were coming from, her father rushed the stairs and saved her. She was bitten many times.
“Thank God she didn’t take the sickness from the bites. But from that day onward, just the sight of one sends her into a near state of madness. Never will you see her go into the cellars or the dungeons. Never,” Eloise pronounced.
As Catherine’s nurse related the story, a chill ran the length of Rolfe’s spine. Such a small child suffering from so terrible a horror, he thought, understanding fully why she was mortally afraid.
True, he suffered from his own horrors, but he was a man, capable of facing his fears. However, her fears stemmed from childhood, and when they came upon her now as a woman, she reverted to that time long ago when she was small and helpless.
Rolfe promised himself that tonight, and every night thereafter, he would protect her from whatever troubled her. This he would do until the time came for them to part.
Rolfe twisted on his pallet, locked in a macabre dream.
His sword, painted with blood, swung with an inordinate slowness. Then he heard the deliberate clang of the blade as it met another. The sound reverberated forever. Red droplets dispelled, flying endlessly through space. He felt the splatter of one, then another, and another, as they struck his face.
Why couldn’t he wield the thing faster? Why were his movements so laggardly?
Robert!
Francis!
He saw them across the way, at least thirty men surrounding them. But he could not bridge the distance between them. Then the span stretched farther and farther away.
He plied his sword again, and the same pattern repeated itself.
He groaned, for he felt the pain.
An iron blade sliced into his forearm. Another lacerated his thigh. The last cut into his waist. How many men had he felled between each wound? A dozen? Fifty? Had he slain any at all? He fought onward, Robert and Francis held in his sight.
They were going down. He watched as merciless swords rose and fell, hacking and gashing. Blood saturated the ground, the air.
Noooo!
The word echoed and re-echoed in grisly horror. Desperately he tried to advance, but something held him back.
Hands were on his shoulders. Where had they come from? Then through narrowed eyes, he saw the dark-skinned, dark-eyed Turk. Sunlight flickered off the blade as a knife drove toward his chest.
Instantly, he caught his adversary’s wrists. He flipped the savage on his back. Grabbing his sword, he set its point. One thrust and his blade would penetrate the heathen’s heart.
It was then he heard the scream.
Blinking, he swirled out of the past and into the present to find himself astride a pair of slim hips; the tip of his sword was centered between two ripe breasts hidden beneath a film of silk. His gaze shot upward to stare into a set of wide hazel eyes. The terror within their depths reflected back at him.
“Catherine?”
A great shudder ran through his body as he tossed his sword away. It clattered against the floor, then stilled. Twisting, he lifted himself off her, then settled on his backside, facing away from her. Drawing a cleansing breath, he raked his fingers through his hair. They came away wet, and he realized he was drenched in sweat.
