Splendor, page 26
As they lay quietly in the darkness, the flame now extinguished, the heavy gold bracelet gracing her wrist, Catherine wondered at his current mood. The coldness had vanished. A wistful quality had taken its place. Her heart aching, Catherine knew why, for the same sort of sadness had encompassed her as well.
Shared moments such as these were not destined to last. And though neither dared speak of it, the fact remained.
Soon—very soon—all this would be just a memory.
CHAPTER
18
“OUCH! THAT HURTS.”
Catherine frowned at Miles. He sat on a stool near the open window in the common quarters. “I’m being as gentle as I possibly can,” she replied, thinking he was acting like a child.
It was now the third week in July, a full month since he’d made his appearance at Cartbridge. From the time his fever had broken, he’d been throwing one tantrum after another, and Catherine was annoyed with his behavior.
Taking care, she again pulled against the bandage. He’d been slow to heal; the wound was still draining. As she lifted the linen swatch, the seepage causing it to adhere to the scab, he winced and hissed a curse. Gritting her teeth, Catherine had had enough. She ripped the bandage free.
The yell that went up drew several gazes their way, including those of the guards. Catherine noted how the two men chewed at their lips, trying to keep from laughing aloud.
“God’s wounds, Catherine!” Miles exploded. “I believe you’re trying to kill me.”
Had that been her intent, she would have held her tongue and allowed him to be left on the ground beyond the moat where Rolfe had wanted him to stay. Recently, because of Miles’s surly mood, she wondered why she’d spoken up at all.
“It could not be helped,” she returned, checking the wound. Puckered and drawn, the area around it was an angry red. “The thing was stuck.” She spread a dab of Brother Bernard’s ointment over the wound, working it into his skin. “We’ll leave the bandage off. Maybe then you won’t put up such a fuss.”
Miles turned on the stool. “Have I been behaving that badly?”
“Aye,” she said, wiping her hands on a scrap of cloth. She thought briefly of Rolfe and how, with his arm dangling uselessly, unspeakable pain tearing through him, he’d stood before her, protecting her from the wolves. Not once had he complained. “You have no patience, Miles. You are perpetually belligerent and haven’t the decency to show the appreciation that is due those who have attempted to help you. Everyone here will be glad when you’re gone.”
“So will I,” he muttered, not offering an apology. “That is the problem. We are held here against our will. The days grow tedious. I cannot wait until we are released. When that happens, in the first church we come upon, we can be married—finally.”
The cloth in Catherine’s hands stilled. She glanced through the window. Until this day, whenever he questioned her about her captivity, her only response had been to say she’d been treated kindly. The time for the truth had come. Drawing a breath, she released it slowly, then said, “We cannot marry, Miles.”
His brow furrowed while his eyes searched her face. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that things have changed, and I cannot, in good conscience, marry you.”
“Changed? In what way?”
“My feelings, for one.”
He stared at her. “Your feelings? Are you saying you no longer love me?”
Catherine wished there were some way of telling him without hurting him. But she knew that, no matter what was said, he’d suffer, and so would his pride. “Aye. That is what I’m saying.”
His jaw dropped. Disbelief marked his face. “You cannot mean that.”
“I’m sorry, Miles, but I do.”
He examined her at length, then his eyes narrowed. “At night, I’ve yet to see you come into this room to seek your own pallet. Where do you sleep?”
“In the lord’s chambers.”
“That’s where he sleeps also, correct?”
Catherine understood whom Miles meant. “Aye, he sleeps there.”
“Do you share the same bed?”
His questions were becoming too personal. Besides, they were not alone. “Miles—”
“Tell me!” he demanded, his anger apparent.
Catherine noticed how several heads had again turned their way. “I know this is difficult for you, but unless you can contain your temper and keep your voice down, I’ll not go on with this conversation. Understand?”
“Difficult? Christ, Catherine, if you’re about to say what I think, how can you expect me to remain calm?” He gave her no chance to respond. “He’s bedded you, hasn’t he? Forced you to become his whore! I’ll kill the bastard for taking what was to be mine!”
“Miles, listen to me. He didn’t—”
Before Catherine could finish, Miles sprang from the stool and gathered her into his arms. “Oh, my dearest, you shouldn’t have tried to protect me by telling me you no longer love me. That you are not virginal matters little. You were defiled. I can only imagine the horrors you’ve endured, all because of his lasciviousness.” He pulled back to gaze into her face. “I do know one thing: I forgive you. And even though you are no longer pure, I want to marry you.”
Catherine gaped at him. Forgive her? If he believed she’d been defiled, why should she need to be pardoned? She shrugged from his hold and stepped back. “He didn’t force me. Whatever has occurred between us was done by mutual consent.”
“You gave yourself willingly?”
“I did.”
He viewed her as though she were some odious creature that slivered through the mud. Catherine braced herself for what was to come.
“How could you have done such a thing!” Miles grated. “He’s naught but a rogue and brigand. He doesn’t even know his own sire. When I call him a bastard, I mean it literally. ’Tis beyond me how you could possibly switch your affection to some ignoble piece of rabble such as him.”
Miles’s words were telling, for as she was being escorted down the steps from the battlements she’d heard his claim that he had never met Rolfe. If that were so, she thought it rather strange that he knew so much about Rolfe’s personal history.
“He said he knew you, Miles. Is that true?”
His expression grew guarded. “Until the day I was wounded I never set eyes on the man.”
“Then how is it you are aware that he really is a bastard?”
His gaze was now shuttered, and though she waited, he didn’t respond. Even when Garrick had confirmed Rolfe’s story, Brother Bernard relating what he’d been told for good measure, she’d been willing to give Miles the benefit of the doubt. But now Catherine knew fully that all along Rolfe had been telling her the truth.
“Then you were once a knight, just as he said,” she accused. “And you were on the road to Antalya, along with Robert de Bayeux and his son, Francis. You ran from the fight, didn’t you? And because you did, both Robert and Francis were killed. Further, you were named a coward, your sword and spurs stripped from you and broken. That’s so, isn’t it, Miles?”
Enmity shone in his eyes as he glared at her. He gave no response, but Catherine was determined to have one.
“Don’t be so bold as to deny it, Miles. Garrick has confirmed Rolfe’s account. I imagine there are others who will do the same. All of it—it’s true, isn’t it?”
“Aye,” he admitted, the utterance bursting through his lips. “But you don’t understand. It was futile to stand against so many. They came by the dozens, wave upon wave. Had I stayed where I was, I also would have died. It was horrible.” Moaning the word, he shook his head. “Horrible, I say.”
Pity welled inside her for the man whom she once thought she loved. The terror he must have suffered at seeing the hordes of savages descending upon him was beyond her imagining. Still, others had stood and fought. Most had died, but some had lived, including Rolfe.
Even if Miles had stayed and faced the enemy, she questioned whether his doing so would in any way have changed the final outcome for both Robert and Francis. As Miles said, they might all have died. No one would ever know. Fate had decreed itself that day. And no amount of conjecturing could ever alter what had happened.
But one thing was apparent: Catherine now possessed the truth—or at least part of it. As she looked upon Miles, she wondered what else Rolfe had told her that might also be fact. Had Miles and Geoffrey sought another betrothal before seeking one with her? Was it actually their greed that had brought them to Mortain?
“Do you fault me for not telling you about my past?” Miles asked.
“No.”
“Then why are you so determined to reject me? Despite what has happened, I want you for my wife.”
Desperation sounded in his voice. Was it because he truly loved her? Or did it have to do, as Rolfe suggested, with his greed?
Catherine could have used this opportunity to question him about the young beauty he’d allegedly sought as his wife prior to making a betrothal with her. Six months before the answer may have mattered to her, but not now. Everything had changed.
“I cannot accept you as my husband, Miles, for I don’t love you.”
“And I suppose you think that because you’ve shared his bed he has lost his heart to you? That he’ll ask you to be his wife?” Miles laughed sharply. “You’re a fool if you believe that. From what I remember of him, whether it was a woman or a battle, he was always eager for the next conquest. I doubt he’ll abandon his wandering ways simply for you. His profession is his first and only love. Take my word for it, he hasn’t changed.”
The words cut deep, for Miles was probably right. By all indications Rolfe’s devotion would last only until the day they parted.
She thought miserably of the bracelet that she’d tucked away, fearing it would generate way too much speculation about them. As far as Rolfe knew, the ornament was the sole remembrance that she’d carry with her once she left Cartbridge. Even given its worth, she believed the keepsake was scant compensation for the heartache she would bear. The one thing that could possibly counteract the abiding sorrow was their child. In that new life was where she’d ultimately find her joy.
“By your silence,” Miles said, “I gather you know what I say is true. But if you doubt me, go to him and ask. I’ll wager anything he’ll choose his freedom well above you.” He again took her by the shoulders. “Don’t you see, Catherine? In his twisted need for revenge, he’s attempting to turn you against me. He’s used you, tricked you into believing he’ll offer more. He’s done this simply to get at me.”
Could Miles’s words have any merit? Did Rolfe seek his revenge through her? No. She’d not accept that as being true.
Breaking from his hold again, she said, “No promises were ever made, Miles. He’s never been anything except honest. But that is not what’s at issue here. I cannot and will not marry you. You may therefore consider our betrothal ended.” She packed the medicinals in the chest and shut its lid. “I’ll check on you later.”
“Still hoping, aren’t you?” he called as she headed for the door. “Remember, we have a contract. I’ll not let you go that easily. Ask him—just ask him. You’ll see what I said is true.”
As Catherine walked along the corridor, her guard traipsing behind her, she decided she would indeed pose the question to Rolfe. After all, there was a slim chance that Miles was wrong.
Rolfe was striding across the courtyard when he glanced at the window to the common quarters. His gut lurched, and he stopped dead in his tracks. There, framed by the opening in the stones, stood Catherine and Miles, locked in an embrace.
Through narrowed eyes, Rolfe watched the pair. Soon Miles pulled back and gazed at her upturned face. She seemed entranced by his every word.
He’d seen enough. His jaw set, he aimed himself at the keep.
Thinking about her discussion with Miles, Catherine entered the lord’s chamber. On closing the door in her guard’s face, she turned and gasped. “I didn’t expect you to be here,” she said, her heart yet fluttering from the sudden surprise.
“Where have you been?” Rolfe asked.
He lazed back in the chair by the table. Relaxed as a lion, she thought. Just as dangerous, too. There was something about his demeanor that warned her to be careful.
“I was tending Miles’s wound,” she said, crossing to the table. She set the medicine chest down. “I thought you were in the stables.”
“I was, but now I’m here.” He came to his feet and pulled her to him. “Take your clothes off.”
Catherine blinked. “’Tis the middle of the day.”
“So? Don’t you think it can be done in daylight?”
“The guard is standing outside the door.”
Rolfe shouted the man’s name. On the guard’s acknowledgment, Rolfe told him to take his leave. “Now he’s gone,” he told her. “Disrobe.”
Something nettled him. Eyeing him cautiously, she wondered what it could be. “Why are you acting this way?”
“How am I acting?”
“Odd,” she said. “Very odd.”
“Do you consider my wanting to make love to you odd? Except for the few days you said you were unable to do so, we’ve enjoyed each other every night. ’Tis time we did so during the day.”
Those “few days” were supposed to be her monthly flow. She’d lied—again. Not wanting to draw his suspicion, she’d told him her cycle had come.
His attitude was making her nervous, so she blurted, “The Church says we should not come together during the day.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Nor should we come together if we’re not married. But that hasn’t been the case, has it? Actually, Catherine, if the Church had its way, we’d all remain celibate, married or not. Were we all to adhere to that doctrine, Christianity would soon die out. I’ll wager anything the Church hasn’t considered that.” He pulled her closer, his hands settling on her hips. “I want you—now.”
What did it matter if it was daylight or dark, they were married or not? She loved him, and their time together grew short. Whatever moments they could steal, adding new memories to the old, suited her quite well.
“Now,” he repeated, his voice husky, and Catherine nodded her consent.
He led her to the bed and helped her from her clothes. His own garments fell beside hers on the floor. Then he pressed her down to the mattress.
“Open to me,” he said.
Catherine complied, and they were instantly joined.
He was commanding, masterful, his lovemaking fast and hard, and when it was over she had the strangest feeling that she’d just been branded his possession.
Contented, she lay in his arms, wishing they never had to part. It was time to ask the question. But not forthright. A roundabout manner would be far better. That way, should Rolfe respond as Miles had said he would, she wouldn’t look the complete fool, her hopes crumbling before his eyes.
She moved her head so as to see his face. “What do you plan to do when this is all over?”
“Are you referring to our lying here in utter repletion?” he countered. “If so, I thought we might start anew. Only this time, you may take the lead.”
Catherine blushed. “That’s not what I was talking about. I meant when I gain my freedom. What will you do then?”
Propping one hand against his head, he smoothed the other over her belly. It was beginning to round slightly. If he noticed, he’d never mentioned such, something for which Catherine was exceedingly grateful.
“I suppose I’ll rejoin Henry.”
She was silent, allowing his hand to play freely wherever it decided to roam. All along she gathered her courage. “Do you think you’ll ever marry?”
His palm grazed lightly over one nipple, sending a delightful chill through her. “No. ’Tis not something I desire. Besides, I have no home, no means by which to support a wife. All I own sits in yon chest. And even if I were to find the right woman to love, I’d think twice about asking her to wed me. My profession always calls. When it does, I’d have to leave. I could be gone days, months, years on end. It wouldn’t be fair to her or to me.”
The right woman to love …
The phrase tumbled through her head. Apparently he hadn’t found what he required in her. The hollowness inside her was unbearable. She fought to contain her emotions. “Why do you say it wouldn’t be fair?”
“For one, I doubt either of us would remain faithful to the other, especially if I were to be gone months at a time.”
“Are you saying that even though you loved her you couldn’t be true to her?”
“I don’t know,” he replied with a half shrug. “The situation has never arisen.”
Catherine stared at him. Even if he were to profess his undying love to her, she would never be certain he could be trusted. She imagined herself sitting alone at night while he rode from town to town, hopping from bed to bed, a new wench every night. That was not her idea of marriage.
Oh God, why had she ever fallen in love with him? And why had she posed all these questions? She thought her heart had just been shattered. Dazed, she saw his hand lying on her breast. She wondered if he’d somehow reached inside her and squeezed with all his might until something cracked, for that’s precisely how she felt. She’d stupidly wanted an answer, and now she had it.
The urge to run welled within. Somehow she had to get away from Cartbridge, away from him, before she went thoroughly mad. She could see herself clinging to his leg as he dragged her across the courtyard while heading for his horse. All along she’d be begging him to stay. That would never do. If nothing else, she had to retain her pride.
“And what of you?” she heard him ask. “What do you intend to do once you’re set free? Marry Miles, perhaps?”
So caught up in her grief, she missed the sarcasm in his voice. “I—I don’t know. Even after what has happened, he says he wants me as his wife.”
