Splendor, page 31
Catherine harkened to the sounds below. Water dripped, its hollow echo ascending the stairs. Other than that, she heard not a thing. But that didn’t mean they weren’t down there.
Leaning back against the jamb, she closed her eyes and listened to the hammering of her heart. What if it had been a dream? Were she to descend to the bowels of the keep and she was met by a horde of rats, she’d surely go insane.
She couldn’t do this. Rolfe was dead. She had to think of their child. Pushing from the jamb, she reached for the door’s handle, intending to pull the panel shut.
Come to me.
The words tore at her heart. She couldn’t ignore them.
Blessed St. Michael, give me your protection.
The prayer whispered through her mind as she stepped back into the stairwell and lifted the candle high. There on the wall, she caught sight of a torch. Taking it from its holder, she set the candle flame to its head. Light burst forth, illuminating the darkened hole. The intensified glow gave her comfort.
Before she again lost her courage, Catherine set the candle on the top step and wound down the rest. Coming to the bottom, she waved the torch back and forth, again searching each corner.
Empty.
Quickly she followed the footprints that marked the dirt floor. She came to another door. Trying the latch, she found the panel locked.
She stepped back, her gaze scouring each wall. A key dangled from a ring that hung on a peg.
As she tripped the lock, she wondered what might lie beyond. Her imagination took hold. She saw herself opening the door, a horde of rats sweeping from the room to envelop her. Catherine shuddered.
Stop it! she demanded of her own mind. Drawing a cleansing breath, she released the latch and pushed the door wide.
The torch held before her, light flowed over the area as she crossed the threshold. Her heart nearly stopped; her eyes widened.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered in disbelief. “Rolfe?”
Naked, filthy, oozing wounds striping his body, he hung from his wrists over a yawning pit.
If there were rats crawling over every inch of the room, Catherine cared not. She rushed to the place where he hung. “Rolfe?”
He didn’t respond, nor did he move, and Catherine’s fears redoubled inside her breast. Reaching across the stones framing the pit, she lightly touched his leg. He was warm.
“Rolfe?”
She shook him; he jerked. Turning his head, he opened his one eye. He stared down at her as though he were seeing a vision.
“Rolfe, ’tis me, Catherine,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. His once lustrous golden hair was matted with dried sweat, one eye was blackened and swollen shut, his lips were cracked and bleeding. “My God. What have they done to you?”
Noting the rawness at his wrists, she cringed. The pain. It had to be unbearable. She needed to get him down from there.
She planted the torch in a holder on the wall, then rushed back to the pit. Rising on the stones, she pushed against the wooden beam until he was free of the hole. Then unwinding the winch, she eased him to the ground.
Catherine was immediately beside him. She unhooked the chain from the rope at his wrists; then, cradling his head in her lap, she set to untying the knot. Her fingers ached by the time she’d loosened the rope. She stared at the raw wounds and moaned.
“Oh, what you must have suffered. Who did this to you? My father? Geoffrey?”
He gazed up at her as though she didn’t exist.
She smoothed her hand over his cheek. “Rolfe, ’tis me. Truly, love. ’Tis Catherine.”
Slowly recognition came to him. “Cath …”
The croak told her his throat was parched. How long had it been since he’d had water? “You thirst?”
He nodded, and she eased his head to the ground. She went in search of that vitalizing liquid. Finding a bucket, a dipper inside, she allowed the water to run over her fingers to the floor. Seeing it was clear, she took the bucket to where Rolfe lay.
He shivered uncontrollably, and Catherine set the bucket aside, then pulled her chainse over her head. When she settled next to him, she covered him with the garment, then placed his head in her lap again. The dipper in hand, she dribbled the water between his lips.
“Go slowly,” she said when he began to cough. “That’s it. A little at a time.”
When she thought he’d had enough, she took the remainder of the water and washed his face with her fingers, patting his skin dry with the hem of the chainse.
He continued to stare at her. “Cath—” He cleared his throat. “Catherine, is it really you?”
His words were no more than a harsh whisper. Though her heart ached at the lack of strength in his voice, she was gladdened he was able to speak. He lived, and with care, he’d soon be well.
“I have told you several times I am here. Why don’t you believe me?”
His hand inched across hers, and he squeezed lightly. Again Catherine was aware of his weakness.
“I believe you,” he rasped. “All I wanted is to know you are well. Now death can claim me.”
The statement pierced through her like a spear. His head rolled on her lap. He went limp in her arms. Hysteria bubbled inside her. She shook him. “You’ll not die, do you hear me? Look at me,” she demanded. “You’ll not leave me. You’ll not leave our child. How dare you …”
His eye opened, and he turned his head. “Child?”
“Aye.” Her hand on the side of his face, she made certain he attended her. “All those months ago, I lied to you. Our first time together, I conceived. I didn’t want you to find out.” Catherine still didn’t know if he would spurn her. “Oh, damn you for making me tell you this.”
He caught her wrist. “Why … why …” He licked his lips.
“Didn’t I tell you?” she finished, and saw his nod. “Because I was afraid you’d reject me, reject our child. Worse yet, if Henry or my father discovered the truth, and you were forced to marry me, I feared you’d soon hate me for robbing you of your freedom. You always said your profession meant all to you. I couldn’t abide seeing revulsion in your eyes each time you looked at me.”
“Didn’t you think I’d eventually learn the truth?”
His words were slurred, but Catherine understood him. “Aye. As time went on, I knew you’d discover I had lied. I kept praying Henry would gain his victory so I could be set free, but the days kept passing, and I was still at Cartbridge. That’s why when Miles offered me the chance to flee, I took it. ’Tis my fault that you’re like this. Oh, why did you have to follow me?”
He attempted to smile. “I had to tell you something.”
She frowned. “What on earth could possibly be so important to say that you’d put yourself in such danger? Look at you. Look what you’ve suffered. I …” She felt his hand squeezing her wrist. “What did you want to tell me?”
His tongue ran across his cracked lips, and he swallowed. “Catherine, I love you.”
CHAPTER
22
CATHERINE FELT HER HEART SOAR.
“I love you also,” she said, as worry took hold.
How could she possibly protect him, keep him safe from Geoffrey and her father? Especially the former?
She couldn’t imagine William de Mortain participating in such heinous acts. Even so, he had to know what Geoffrey was doing. Just by allowing Rolfe’s torture, he was as guilty as the man who enacted it. She’d never forgive her father. Never.
Gazing down at Rolfe, she saw his eyelid droop. “Rest, my love,” she whispered while smoothing his brow. “I’ll be here when you awaken.” And she would be, for Catherine planned to guard him with her very life. “Sleep. You must get better for me and for our child.”
“How very touching.”
Catherine started. Her gaze hit the doorway. Her arms tightened around Rolfe. “Geoffrey.”
Eyes narrowed, he strode toward her. Catherine leaned over Rolfe, protecting him. Geoffrey stopped beside her.
“My son gave his life to save you,” he said, glaring down at her. “And all the while you were the bastard’s whore. Bitch.”
Catherine took the full force of Geoffrey’s hand as it slammed into her cheek. Her head snapped around, but she hugged Rolfe to her. Then Geoffrey’s hand was in her hair. He pulled her head back. She stared up at him.
“Say farewell to your lover, Catherine de Mortain. His life is finished.”
“No!” she cried, twisting her head. As Geoffrey’s hand tightened, she held onto Rolfe. “You’ll not kill him.”
“See if I don’t,” he snarled, pulling at her hair.
Her scalp was afire, the pain growing unbearable, but she kept her arms fast around Rolfe. “Let loose of me, you bastard. You’ll not have him.”
Geoffrey gave a hard jerk; Catherine cried out. At the same moment, a voice shot their way.
“Unhand my daughter!” William demanded.
Geoffrey’s fingers relaxed. Catherine drew a steadying breath and hugged Rolfe to her.
“’Tis not her I want but the bastard she’s trying to protect. You know she’s his whore, don’t you?”
Catherine watched as her father stopped in his tracks. His face hardened while his gaze narrowed.
“Move away from him, Catherine, and let Geoffrey finish the deed.”
“No. I’ll not let him come to harm. You’ve done enough already. I shall never forgive you for this, Father. Never.”
“Catherine, move—”
“No!” she shouted, cutting across her father’s words. “I love him. Your grandchild grows in my body. You’ll not kill my baby’s father. Nor will you allow it done. Do you hear me?”
William was apparently having difficulty grasping all she’d said. Even more so, he seemed unwilling to accept her words as true.
“Father—”
“’Tis as I said. He holds you spellbound, Daughter. The man ravished you, and he must be punished.”
Tears of anger blurred her vision. “He didn’t ravish me!” she fairly yelled. “I gave myself to him willingly. Aren’t you listening to me? I love him.”
Their eyes held for the longest while, then William relaxed his stance. “’Tis over, Geoffrey. Let them be.”
“You may be willing to excuse your daughter for her lack of morals, but I’ll not forgive her lover for his having caused my son’s death. He will pay for his transgression, and it will be with his life.”
“You’re mad, Geoffrey,” William stated. “Your son died by his own negligence. You saw how he rode recklessly across that field the same as I. Had he not been so intent on keeping those gold coins gathered in his tunic, he’d probably be alive. ’Twas his own greed that killed him, not Rolfe de Mont St. Michel.” He advanced three steps. “Now give it up and let them be.”
Geoffrey was of no mind to listen. When William took another step, the man drew his sword and pointed its blade at his chest. “The bastard may not have been there when Miles fell, but he is the one who set everything into motion by abducting your daughter. I care not about the whore’s sensibilities. For his part in this, her lover must die. Tell her to move, William, or I’ll slay her too.”
“If you dare harm her I’ll kill you!” William thundered.
The sword swung; its tip was now only inches from Catherine’s back. “Tell her to move,” Geoffrey repeated.
“Daughter, do as he says,” William ordered.
“No,” she said anew. Then she felt Rolfe squeezing her wrists. She looked down at him.
“Go,” he rasped. “Let him have his due, before he harms you and your father as well.”
“I won’t leave you,” she said, tears falling to his face. “I couldn’t bear to live without you.”
“Think of our child, Catherine. Through him, I’ll always be with you. Go, my love, and save yourself.”
Oh, blessed St. Michael, she thought, rocking Rolfe in her arms. Wasn’t there some way to stop this?
“Move, bitch!” Geoffrey commanded, again snagging her hair.
“No!” she cried, shaking her head.
“Then you’ll die with him.”
“I love you,” she whispered to Rolfe. He again squeezed her wrist.
“Say your prayers,” Geoffrey grated.
In her mind, Catherine saw the sword coming at her back.
“Hold, I say!”
The voice boomed through the room; all eyes, save Catherine’s, turned toward the direction whence it came. Geoffrey’s hand relaxed from her hair. As she momentarily gazed at Rolfe, she saw his lips twitch as though he were attempting to smile. A look of relief spread over his features.
Wondering who this stranger was, she turned to view the man who moved forward from the shadows. A reddish mane of hair crowning his head, he possessed lionlike features. Though of average stature with slightly bowed legs, his presence bespoke royalty. His demeanor, she thought, in many ways reminded her of Rolfe.
The man spoke again. “Whoever dares to raise his hand against Beauclerc’s son shall answer to me, Henry, duke of Normandy, duke of Aquitaine, count of Anjou. Now stand away from my uncle.”
Uncle? The term surprised Catherine. She always believed Rolfe was of noble birth, but never did she suspect his sire was a king.
Despite the command, Geoffrey stood firm. Henry waved his hand. Several bowmen stepped from the shadows, their arrows aimed at Geoffrey’s heart.
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Geoffrey,” Henry said, “than to see your miserable life end. But I shall, in my benevolence, offer you one more chance. Stand away.”
“Not likely,” Geoffrey snarled, raising his sword. “The bastard will pay.”
Catherine cringed as she hunched over Rolfe. She waited for the blade to plunge. Above her she heard a whizzing noise, then a thud. As she peered from the corner of her eye, she saw Geoffrey stumble, an arrow protruding from his chest. His knees hit the stones framing the pit, then he toppled over the side.
“He was warned,” Henry announced as he strode toward Catherine and Rolfe. He hunkered beside them. “I always wondered why I was so fond of you, arrogant rogue that you are. Now I know ’tis in the blood. We are a match in many ways.”
Catherine spied Rolfe’s dubious frown. “I don’t think he believes you,” she said to Henry.
The duke inspected her. “You are the Lady Catherine, I suppose?”
“Aye.”
“You protected him well,” Henry said. “’Twould appear my maneuvering has spawned love between the two of you. ’Tis good. I shall be eager to attend the wedding.” He looked at Rolfe. “I assume you plan to marry her.”
“Aye,” Rolfe croaked.
“Good.” After patting Rolfe’s arm, he rose. “Duty calls me, so I cannot linger. The monk will explain all that has transpired to you both. Fare thee well, my friend,” he said with a wave, then turned. Two strides away, he swung around. “For your loyalty, Rolfe de Mont St. Michel, you shall be rewarded most handsomely.” He winked. “’Tis always wiser to extend control of a castle and the lands around it to someone I can trust. Especially when that someone is a part of my own family.” With that, the duke and his contingent of twenty men exited the dungeon.
As Catherine watched Henry depart, she saw Eloise step forth. “’Twas good I ordered the sentries to let him in,” she stated.
“’Tis good for her,” Garrick said as he limped from the shadows. “Had she not acted as she had when Henry gave the command, I’d have shown her no mercy.”
Brother Bernard and Aubrey came forward. “I believe my prayers helped as well, Sir Garrick,” the monk declared.
“Aye,” the knight responded. “Those, along with my threats.”
William was now at Catherine’s side. He knelt in the dirt. “Forgive me, Daughter. I had no idea what Geoffrey was doing here. Had I been aware of the events I would have stopped them.”
Her anger and disappointment with her father had not subsided. “Would you have?”
William could not hold her gaze. “He’d stolen my beloved daughter from me. ’Twas my anger at him that allowed me to look aside. No man should be made to suffer the way he did. Come. We’ll discuss this later. Let’s get him from this place and see to his needs.”
“Aye. We’ll discuss it later,” she said.
While William motioned for Brother Bernard and Aubrey to help with Rolfe, Catherine gazed down at him. “You’re safe, my love. Soon you will be restored to good health.” As she inspected his bruises and wounds, she lamented openly, “Oh, how I wish you had never followed me.”
“Besides needing to tell you that I love you,” he whispered, “there was something I wanted to ask. But I think Henry has affirmed it.”
She already knew the question, but she wanted to hear the words herself. “What did you want to ask?”
“Will you marry me, Catherine?”
Tears of joy stinging her eyes, she smiled. “Aye, I will. Most gladly.”
Freshly bathed and robed, Rolfe lay in the bed where he was carried, Catherine sitting beside him. It had been two weeks since he’d been brought up from the dungeon, his suffering ended. Though he couldn’t recall everything that had transpired from the time he’d been settled in his room, he did remember how she attended him day and night. Whenever he searched her out, she was always there.
His bruises were gone, his wounds healed, and but for several scars from the hot iron, which would always serve as reminders of Geoffrey’s torture, he was well on the mend.
That he was made to stay abed was Catherine’s doing. To humor her, he obeyed her wishes. Tomorrow, though, he’d be up and about. The inactivity was driving him mad.
Presently, they were sequestered in his chamber, listening to Brother Bernard’s account of how, as a baby, Rolfe had come to be on the marshes just below the abbey at Mont St. Michel. Garrick and William were with them.
“Your mother’s name was Lenore. The brothers and I didn’t know this, not until Robert de Bayeux came to the mount. ’Twas no simple pilgrimage that brought him to Mont St. Michel. She was his sister, Rolfe. Robert was your uncle.”
