Chapter 13

K AT PACED THE CONFINES of her bedchamber in a fury of thought and motion.

God in his heaven! What was she going to do now? She damned the Silver Sword to a dozen painful deaths, still unable to grasp the fact that the man had betrayed her.

He had never made her any promises, she reminded herself. He had been set on turning her over to Montjoy. But if he had been so set, and if he admired the man so very much, how could he have made love to her?

And how could she have enjoyed it?

No!

She couldn't think about it. She dared not think about it. Her cheeks grew too hot, and a wild sense of panic swept through her once again.

He had not just given her to Montjoy. He had betrayed her, and then given her to Montjoy. And after bursting into the cottage and so coldly informing her what was to be, Montjoy had ordered that she be given a cloak and taken home. One of his men had rushed in with cloak, and that same man had courteously escorted her outside to a small mare that had evidently been brought along for her use.

Montjoy had had nothing else to say to her. He had been impatiently waiting at the head of his party of men, and as soon as she was mounted, he was ready to ride. She had been afraid that he planned to take her to his home, Clifford Castle, but thankfully, he had not.

But upon their arrival at the castle, he had lifted her down from the mare himself. He had tried to speak with her then—to push the idea of an immediate marriage, she was certain—but her wits had come about her at last and she had tossed back her hair, forced her voice to be both soft and caring, and pleaded exhaustion and a chance to bathe and rest before he should speak with her anymore.

And so she was now upstairs in her own chamber, awaiting bathwater, while Montjoy was downstairs, speaking with her household servants, introducing himself as their new lord and master.

A tap sounded on her door. She strode across to it and threw it open. Marie was there, red-cheeked and beaming. "Kat!" she cried, enfolding her mistress tightly in her arms. And Kat hugged her in return, suddenly riddled by guilt. She had forgotten just what good people she had, and how concerned they must have been for her safety. "Ah, love! We worried about you so! The whole of the castle knew that you had escaped those wretched henchmen of de la Ville's." She paused, clapping her hands. "Ah, that wonderful man! It was a miracle! He'd come to save you!" Marie sighed deeply, and with pleasure, looking heavenward as if the Silver Sword had arrived by some divine intervention. "The saints be praised, for they sent one of their own down among us!"

"The man is no saint, pray trust me on that!" Kat said, and drew Marie into her room. She was ready to shut the door, but Howard was right behind Marie, and a half dozen of the kitchen lads were behind him, all carrying heavy buckets of water. Howard bowed to her, looking as if he ached to give her a great hug, too, but knew that propriety would not allow it.

"Dear Howard!" she said, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek that made him blush.

"'Tis grateful we are, lady, to have ye back!" he said. "All the lads and I—and the guard. Of course, 'tis bitter sorry the men are to have been so deceived by some traitor in our own midst! Why even now, my lady, Sir Gunther begs pardon to Lord Montjoy about the travesty of it."

"He begs pardon to Montjoy!" Kat gasped. "He owes Montjoy no pardon, nor does he even need beg it from me. I shall see to this situation myself. Why, men were injured, killed here in my defense—"

"My lady!" Marie warned softly. The lads dumping the steaming bathwater into her tub were watching her with a certain awe. Of course, that meant gossip would fly in the kitchens and stables and servants quarters this night. They all seemed amazed that even she would think to cross a man like Lord Montjoy.

She tossed back her hair. "I don't care! This is my property! Not his!"

"Very shortly his," Marie murmured uneasily.

Kat shook her head fervently. "Nay, I cannot marry him, Marie! I cannot."

Howard frowned. Marie shook her head likewise to him, and clutched Kat's arm. "It seems the water is delivered and that it might be a good time—"

Kat ignored her and turned, heading for the stairs. Her hair was still in a very wild tangle, but she was wearing the cloak that Montjoy had provided her, and she refused to feel like a child confined to her chamber while he went about her castle chastising her servants and her guard. She had descended the stairway more than halfway before she realized that she was afraid of Montjoy, and with good reason. But even as she reached the great hall, she knew it was too late to back down. He was seated at the banqueting table, and Sir Gunther, tall, slim, lean, hard, and gnarled as an old oak, stood before him with a drawing of the castle plan spread out on the table. Jenny, one of the young kitchen wenches, was busy pouring Montjoy a chalice of wine, while Meg, an older woman, second cook after Howard, was setting out a plate of cold smoked meats.

"My lady!" Sir Gunther cried, and took long broad steps to meet her, kneeling down and taking her hand. "Forgive me!"

"There is nothing to forgive," she said quickly. "Rise, Sir Gunther. We were tricked—"

"And should not have been tricked so easily," Montjoy said, rising, his voice already harsh with an authority to overrule hers. "Sir Gunther, as the Lady Katherine seems so determined to speak with me before resting from her ordeal, we will continue this later."

"Aye, my lord!"

"We, Sir Gunther, you and I, will continue this discussion later," Kat said firmly.

"Aye, my lady," Sir Gunther said, looking a bit unhappily from one of them to the other.

"I will send for you when Lady Katherine returns to her chamber for her bath," Montjoy said softly. Kat stared at him, dismayed at the shiver that seized her, and determined that she must find a way to have her temper and her wits keep her from the wretched hands of this new enemy. Ah, no! Montjoy was no de la Ville. Far to the contrary. As he stood he seemed the darkest, most dangerous knight. His hair was so deep a color that it seemed to be as black as a raven's wing. It was not cut so short as the usual Norman fashion, and curled somewhat at his neck. It framed a face that was handsome with its very high cheekbones and hard, squared jaw. There were minor scars upon his cheeks, attesting to the fact that he was a warrior lord, as the kings he had served were warrior kings. Those scars, however, were faded and pale, and took nothing away from the cleanly chiseled appearance of his countenance. She had heard that many women found him irresistible.

Those women, she was certain, had never looked into his eyes. They were silver-gray, menacing—ruthless!—hot as fire one moment, and cool as slate the next. This was all business to him. Acquisition. He was here assessing his gain, and she was no more than an annoying piece of that gain.

After Sir Gunther left Jenny and Meg looked at each other quickly, then scurried from the banqueting hall.

Kat realized they were left alone, she and Montjoy.

She was starting to shake as he stared at her. It seemed that he was looking right through her. As if he carried a deep-seated fury against her. And yet, he could not! Not unless he knew that she had been the girl in the forest that day. Nay, Robin had told her Montjoy had taken her for a peasant. He couldn't recognize her now when she was dressed so differently.

But what if he knew what had gone on in that cottage?

He could not. The Silver Sword would surely have risked his own neck to carry such a tale!

It was suddenly hard to breathe. She had to speak quickly. "I will thank you, sir, to leave the affairs of my castle to me," she said.

He leaned against the table, his arms crossing formidably over his chest. "I will thank you, my lady, to see to women's affairs. Like your bath and dressing, so that we may be wed."

"This castle, the people who abide within its walls and beyond them, are my concern. Falling stone is my concern, food and clothing are my concern, and our strength and our loyalty to King Richard are all my concern. I have done well here. It is my birthright. As to the other, I cannot marry you. I—"

"I beg to differ, my lady. I have all the proper documents and dispensations. We will be wed this very day, just as soon as you are prepared."

She quickly ascertained that she was not going to talk him out of a wedding. Perhaps arguing was a mistake.

She lowered her head, and her words were very soft. "You don't understand, my Lord Montjoy. I have just endured a most horrible experience—"

"Aye, two days in the wilderness," he murmured, and she thought his tone was sympathetic.

She raised her eyes to his. "After a dive into the moat! Freezing by night, starving, thirsting—"

"How amazing! From all the stories that I have heard of this Silver fellow, I was quite certain that he would have seen to it that you had food and drink. They say, in fact, that he must be some fellow who owes his loyalty to me, for he seems to know his way about my lands quite well. There was wine in the cottage."

"I know," Katherine said, trying to keep her voice light and sweet. "There was wine. I had wine. Too much wine—"

"What was that? I do beg your pardon, my lady."

"Nothing, my lord! Can't you understand? It was a trying experience—"

"Trying?" he repeated politely.

She nodded emphatically. "Wretched!"

"Wretched? The Silver Sword was wretched? Did he threaten you?"

She almost stepped back at the violence in his voice. And to her annoyance, she was afraid for the Silver Sword.

She did owe him something.

Even if he owed her much, much more!

"Nay!" she said quickly. "Only if I attempted to escape. You see—"

"Escape? Why would you want to escape a man who had rescued you from de la Ville and meant to hold you safe for me?"

"Safe for you—!" she began, her temper rising, but then she remembered herself quickly. "My lord, there is so much treachery these days, I dared not trust anyone. I knew nothing of Richard's plans until he told me, and how could I know, truly, what to believe?"

"Ah!" he murmured.

"So you do understand," Kat said. "You will give me time."

"Nay, my lady, I think not."

"What?"

"I said, I think not. We will be wed this afternoon."

"You don't understand—"

"You don't understand," he told her bluntly. "There is always rebellion afoot, so it seems, and I will not add fuel to the fire, engaging in a fratricidal war if you are left a tempting prize, dangling there even a second longer, for someone to think to snatch!"

"But—"

"Do you think that de la Ville will stop trying to seize you? Aye, lady, you are important. This castle is important. We cannot leave the strength of this place at risk, not for a moment longer. I missed the fall of Jerusalem for this, my lady! I will argue with you no longer!"

"Well, sir, I will not say the words! I have had no time to prepare my soul, to speak with my confessor—"

"To prepare your soul? My lady, you are marrying, not dying. And if you think you need a confessor, I will be happy to send you a priest immediately."

"Forget the priest! My sins are not so great!"

Weren't they? What of last night …? she asked herself.

"I shall be happy to listen to any confessions you wish to make myself," he remarked, watching her with cool speculation.

"Hell shall burn with icicle flames ere that shall happen, my lord, I assure you!"

"Then you may confess to yourself while you bathe. My patience grows very short."

"As does mine! Your insistence is terribly unchivalrous. I am not ready to wed—"

"Who ever is, my lady?"

"I am not ready to share anything with you!"

"A pity. We will be wed."

She thought quickly, "All right. I shall agree to the wedding. If you will swear before God right now that you will not insist upon our—our sleeping in the same quarters. If you will not—"

"Demand my conjugal rights?" he suggested, amused as she sought the words.

"Aye," she said coldly. "If you will give me a year, perhaps—"

He was smiling.

"Six months," she amended quickly.

"Six hours, perhaps," he said very softly, "depending upon my mood. But fear not—I swear that I will see to it that you know me very, very well, and quickly so!"

Speechless for the moment, she stared at him furiously. She wished that she were a man. She longed to take a sword to him.

She had taken a sword to him once. And he had beaten her easily. Then he had taken a hand against her, and spanked her like a child.

He wouldn't dare behave so now! Now she was a lady. Back then he thought that he had captured a village wench.

Ah! She wished that she could tie his hands behind his back and then take a sword to him. That would do it.

But even as the thoughts of bravado came to her, she felt a shivering inside. He meant to wed tonight. And he would know then that he hadn't received the wife he had expected.

"Bastard!" she hissed, heedless of the fire that leaped to his eyes. "You will be very sorry, sir, if you marry me."

He threw up his arms in exasperation. "Pray, lady! I am sorry at this moment! But we will wed. And if you are capable of being demure and quiet and well-behaved, we will have an easy enough time of it. And if not …" He let the words trail away. "No matter," he warned darkly. "We will wed."

She fought the fear that swept over her. "I am not demure and I am not well-behaved! This is my castle, my inheritance, and I—"

She broke off because he had pushed away from the table and was striding toward her. She was not going to run from him! He wouldn't dare commit any violence here, in her own home!

He continued coming toward her purposefully, menacingly.

"My lord, I am warning you—"

"And I am warning you, my lady. You've two seconds to turn around and march up those stairs and bathe. Else I will take you there myself."

"Nay, my lord, you will not!"

"One second."

"Nay!"

"Aye!"

She gasped in astonishment as he ruthlessly swept her up into his arms. For a moment she clung to him lest she should fall, meeting the silver glitter of his eyes. Then she swallowed down fear and surprise, and cried out, slamming a fist against his chest, struggling fiercely in his hold. It meant nothing to him. Ruthless step by ruthless step, he made his way to the stairs, and then up the length of them. Marie and Howard, their hands folded nervously before them, still stood in the doorway in front of her bedchamber.

"Out!" he charged them in a thunderous voice.

"Marie—" Kat managed to gasp.

But Marie didn't want to hear her. She and Howard both dashed away down the stairs. Montjoy carried her inside and kicked the door closed behind him.

Kat twisted wildly, whispering. French curses, desperately trying to free herself.

"And you, my love, are risking great damage to your posterior section!" he promised.

She was suddenly on her feet, spinning around to meet his eyes. At least he had put her down.

"Jackal!" she cried.

He was not done with her. His hand reached out, snatching the cloak from her. In dismay she watched the heavy material give in his hands. His eyes were on her. Flickering over the robe.

The robe he had given the Lady Alyssa.

His gaze met hers again. He meant to have the robe back, and right then and there.

"No!" she cried, and turned to run! He caught her hair and spun her back. She shrieked in protest, near tears.

For his hands were on her. Blatantly on her naked flesh, slipping beneath the robe to untie it. The garment fell to her feet. Once again she turned to run.

And once again a furious and mortified cry tore from her lips, for he was, indeed, ruthless and relentless. She was swept up into his arms, made acutely aware of his rough knight's hands on her soft flesh. She squirmed, she writhed, she fought against him, then she gasped, astounded, near drowning, as he quickly dropped her into the tub of now-cooling water.

She emerged, furious, choking and coughing, and looking at him with all the malevolence in her soul. When she could breathe at last, she said simply, "You bastard!"

He nodded, arms crossing over his chest once again. "Know it well, my lady. I will be whatever it takes. I pray that you will come to understand. I, at the very least, pray for your continued good health and long life. De la Ville has never cared for anything but his own amusement. I wish to be gentle—"

"Gentle!" she gasped. "This is gentle?"

"I am what you make of me," he promised her softly. His hand was upon her nape. She felt the startlingly seductive movement of his fingers there. His voice sent a tremor along her spine as he spoke again. "Now, can I safely leave you to bathe on your own? Or shall I help you? Wash your hair, scrub your back?"

"No!"

He bowed courteously, with as much finesse as if they were at court.

And then he turned to leave her.

Stunned, Kat sat very still in the cooling water. Then she swore violently.

She heard the door open tentatively. She gripped the rim of the tub, shaking, trying to summon her forces to do battle once again.

But it wasn't Montjoy. Marie stood there, waiting. "My Lady Kat!" she exclaimed, and she slipped quickly into the room, closing the door behind her. "He—he wants the wedding to take place in an hour. I've come to help you."

Kat stared at her. Marie hurried across the room, delved around Kat's dressing table, and found sweetly scented soap and a sponge. She came to the bath with both, and began to wash Kat's hair.

But Kat swung around on her. "I cannot marry him!" she said, near panic.

"Well, he does seem very fierce, but if you were just a bit more agreeable yourself—"

"You don't understand! I cannot marry him!" Her panic was growing. "For so many reasons. He's probably had half of the women in Richard's retinue! Queen Eleanor once said that men could do what they pleased—that she was quite certain that Henry had even had affairs with Rosamund Clifford's sheep!—but that it was different for women."

"My lady, what are you talking about?"

Kat shook her head, her fingers gripping the rim of the tub. She couldn't tell Marie about what had happened last night. She longed to tell her, but she couldn't.

Not even Marie would understand. So she said simply, "I really, truly, can't marry him."

"Let's rinse your hair."

Kat didn't move. Marie ducked her head beneath the water, trying to smooth out the wet skeins of her hair.

Kat came back to the surface. Marie swept up the length of her hair and started to soap her back. "Kat, it will be all right. Truly. Think of it! King Richard sent this man back, one of his best warriors, on your behalf. He cannot be so bad a man. And I have heard that he was devoted to the Lady Alyssa—"

"I saw how he was devoted to Alyssa!" Kat murmured.

She had seen him that one day with Alyssa, yes. And she had assumed that he was harsh and cold and distant with her. But even then, Alyssa had smiled warmly; her eyes had been adoring.

Maybe he had loved Alyssa. The Silver Sword had been certain that Montjoy had loved her. But the Silver Sword had loved her himself. Alyssa had been worthy of such adoration. She had been so gentle, kind, and warm.

So perhaps he really had cared most tenderly for Alyssa. He did not love her, Kat!

She grabbed the soap from Marie and suddenly started to scrub her arms, and then her breasts, with a fury. De la Ville, Prince John, the Silver Sword—Montjoy! They were all alike! She hated them all. She wanted the touch of that traitorous Silver Sword off her!

Oh, aye …

Because Montjoy's touch was coming!

Nay, nay, nay, it couldn't be.

With soap and sponge, she still bathed as if she were covered with a soot that could be removed. Marie watched her worriedly, wondering if her usually level-headed mistress had lost her mind.

The fall into the moat might have done it.

"Kat!" Marie knelt down by the tub and lovingly smoothed back her wet hair. "I had not imagined that marriage would frighten you so. But then you're always so very certain and strong. I wish your dear mother were here. She would say all the right things, and you would not be so afraid of what will happen. If you just knew a little more about men—"

"I know all that I wish to know about men," Kat replied dryly. "I'm not afraid, I'm just—" She broke off and then she stared at Marie. "I have it!"

Kat rose, water sluicing from her body. She reached quickly for the huge linen bath towel Marie offered her and wrapped it around herself as she stepped from the tub. "Find me something a bit rugged to wear—"

Marie gasped. "You don't mean the green—"

"Aye, that would be fine!" Kat said, then she paused. No. Not the colors of the Lady Greensleeves. If she was discovered escaping, she could not risk the other identity that was so important to her.

She could not be discovered! she told herself. But she said softly to Marie, "Nay, not the green. Something similar. A very simple undergown and tunic. Both a bit short. Wool hose, and my plain wool cloak."

"For your wedding?" Marie said in dismay.

Kat didn't reply. She was at the door to the secret tunnel. It had failed her when she had tried to escape de la Ville. She could not let it fail her now.

She pressed upon it, praying. It stuck. She wet her lips, and pressed again with force.

It gave, and gave so suddenly that she almost went flying right through it in her bath towel.

"Blessed Jesu, God you are above me!" she cried.

"Oh, nay!" Marie wailed. "Kat, you cannot run away from him!"

"Marie—but I can! I must!" she insisted. She hurried away from the tunnel doorway, quickly donning the clothing that Marie had brought her, then plucking up her brush to work on her hair.

Her hands froze for a moment. She remembered the feel when the Silver Sword's hands had worked on her hair.

Then she remembered the feel of his hands elsewhere and started to tremble. Ah, men! If the lot of them could just crumble into the earth!

"How can you even think of doing such a thing when you were in such horrible danger before! When you had to leap from the parapets—into the moat! There won't be a legendary savior at every twist and turn in the days to come, not so many miracles—"

"So he's a miracle now, is he?" she interrupted irritably, throwing her brush down on her bed. "Trust me, Marie, the legendary Silver Sword is neither saint nor miracle!"

"But you are still threatened by de la Ville! Montjoy will, at least, keep you from that monster. Kat, this is the King's command—"

"The King is not here," Kat said flatly. "How do I know his command?"

"Montjoy carries his orders, and his signet, and all the Church's dispensations so that the wedding can take place at any time," Marie argued.

"You are afraid of him," Kat accused her.

"Ha!" Marie chortled in return. "You are afraid of him, my lady—and there's the rub to you!"

"I haven't the time to carry on with this conversation," Kat said sternly. Then she gave Marie a fierce hug. "Get yourself downstairs and say that I insisted on being my own lady's maid. That way you will not be blamed when I cannot be found."

"Oh, Kat!" Marie's eyes were worried. "Don't do this thing. Montjoy is not so bad."

"He is arrogant to the very teeth! Muscle-bound and reckless and—"

"Aye!" Marie agreed, her voice carrying a little breathlessness. Kat stared at her incredulously.

"You … like him! He's been wretched. He came in here spouting out orders, he humiliated me in my own hall—and you like him!" Her tone was hurt.

"Oh, I'm sure he never meant to humiliate you. He will just have his way, so it seems. You're very much alike."

"I beg your pardon!" Kat exclaimed.

Marie sighed, and smiled. "He seems bold and adventurous and exciting. Kat, please, think about this!"

But Kat would not be dissuaded. "I'm going! Get downstairs now. I'd not have you accused of complicity."

"Kat, please—"

"No!"

Kat felt Marie's eyes on her as she disappeared into the secret doorway.

Then she was alone. Blinking against the darkness in the narrow corridor, she carefully pushed the door closed, making sure that it was properly in place. She caught her breath for a moment, wondering if she wasn't really a fool.

But if she didn't run, she would soon be wed to Montjoy, sharing—everything!

She thought of meeting with the man in her hall below, and of how he had swept her up, heedless of anyone around them, to bring her back to her room. Of how he had taken her robe away.

Plunged her naked into the tub. And set his fingers on the flesh of her nape, warning her …

Blindly she turned around in the darkness.

And fled.