Chapter 14

D AMIAN STOOD OUTSIDE THE castle walls, in the forest across the moat, and stared at the edifice, studying it. The castle was magnificent, he determined. It wasn't nearly so large a place as nearby Nottingham, nor was it so very different from his own stronghold of Clifford Castle. It was just that the planning of it was ingenious. The walls were high and stark. The encircling moat was a fantastic barrier, not a cesspool of complete filth, as so many moats were, because the builders had seen to it that a drainage system had been dug connecting the moat to Lake Ure, a beautiful body of fresh water with many free-flowing tributaries. If the bridge was up and the towers and the parapets were manned, the castle could probably withstand almost any army, any siege. Though the villeins' fields were, of necessity, beyond the walls and moats, the great courtyard of the castle housed many trades. The blacksmith, the cooper, carpenters, stone masons, merchants, and more kept their businesses against the inner walls of the castle. As he had just gleaned by the castle plans, there were vast storerooms of food and grain and hay beneath the living quarters. One tower housed armaments.

The place was, indeed, an incredible prize. He had been lucky to acquire it.

Aye, he had given up the fall of Jerusalem for this, but perhaps it had not been so bad a trade. With his own property, he now had vast and extensive holdings that would surely place him as one of the most important barons in England, certainly in the north. Between the Clifford Castle and the castle at Ure, he would have the power he needed to carry out King Richard's order that he keep Prince John and his rapacious minions in check.

All he need do was keep her in check …

The thought rankled him anew. It was time. He had been admiring his new holdings long enough. Now he needed to go secure them.

Despite himself, despite his absolute determination to think of his loyalty to Richard and the strength he would gain from this marriage, he felt the hot fire of emotion licking into his heart—and loins—once again.

"I do not want to hurt you, wench!" he whispered aloud through clenched teeth.

But maybe that was a lie. She'd been willing to use anything to escape him, even her virtue, her honor. What should have been a great prize to her husband, she had cast aside.

What if he himself were not the Silver Sword!

She would have betrayed him already. Not for the sake of love, but out of hatred. The only gentleness he had ever seen about her had been when she spoke about her father, and his love for her mother.

Nay, maybe there had been more. She loved Robin. That was obvious. And she was so very passionate about her people. She was dedicated to them, determined, and had great strength of spirit. The lady was no coward.

She was seeping her way into his soul! he warned himself. Aye, she was courageous, she was lovely, she could fight like a little tigress. She was far more than he had expected, even knowing that she had prowled the forest as the Lady Greensleeves.

Well, her father had spoiled her. And now there were things that she would just have to learn, and he would have to continue to treat her firmly and coldly.

Coldly! When he burned inside and out, thinking of her? He might long to wind his fingers around her neck and shake the very defiance from her eyes, but even as he did so it seemed that the blood and fire within him created their own resolve. He wanted her. Again. Like some sweet potent wine he had tasted, he craved the taste again.

His wedding was about to commence. And just how, he wondered, was he going to deal with this traitorous little bride of his?

More intriguing still …

How did she intend to deal with him? So far, she had not rushed forward with any confessions!

Well, he would discover her intentions very soon, he thought. He mounted Lucien, the black stallion who was half-brother to Lucifer whom the Silver Sword rode, and started for the castle. Even as he rode toward it, he narrowed his eyes, for a horseman was racing across the drawbridge. It was his castellan and very loyal retainer, Sir James Courtney.

Knowing that something was very wrong, he nudged his thighs against Lucien's flanks, and the stallion burst forth in tight gallop to meet Sir James at the end of the drawbridge.

His redheaded, freckle-faced young servant was fraught with tension as he drew his horse to a halt before Damian.

"What in God's name has happened?" Damian began.

"Damian—she's gone!"

"She—who?"

"The Lady Katherine. The announcements had been carried into all the villages as you ordered. The kitchen villeins have all received their orders for a wedding feast. Father Jacob had arrived. All was in preparation. But when the serving woman went to the Lady Katherine's room to escort the lady down, she found nothing but an empty bedchamber."

Damian's eyes narrowed fiercely. The fire shot through him. Damn her to a thousand hells! She did not learn!

Damn her, indeed, he thought furiously. So she was out there somewhere. She didn't begin to realize that de la Ville might be out there, too. And if de la Ville found her before she was legally wed …

He would kill de la Ville with his bare hands before ever allowing the man to touch what was his.

"You're quite certain that she is gone?" he thundered.

"Aye, Damian! For when her lady's maid gave us the word, we searched first her chambers, then the castle, high and low."

"Perhaps she is hiding. Maybe her people would hide her, thinking they did her a great service."

Sir James shook his head. "I don't believe it can be so. Her maid is white with worry. We can put pressure on these villeins, of course, but …"

"Aye, pressure! Torture! And be no better than the men we must combat!" Damian said angrily. "How in all of hell might she have escaped?"

"We watched the hall, I swear it, Damian!" James told him passionately.

And he had watched the drawbridge himself, Damian thought. Who had come and gone? Men to the fields. A few lads with a flock of geese. Had she costumed herself?

"Damian," James said in confusion, "I watched even the faces of those who came and went. Is she a witch?"

"She is a witch all right, though I do not believe in witchcraft," Damian muttered darkly.

Yet, was there such a thing? He suddenly remembered Ari on a dark desert night, feeling the wind, watching the stars up above.

She will betray you …

And she had done so. The exact beauty he had described. The woman with her golden hair and aquamarine eyes, eyes to rival the rippling waters of the seas …

"Is a horse missing? Did you speak with the grooms and stableboys?"

"Aye, Damian, I did. She rides a gray mare, Elisha. She has not taken her mount, or any other."

"Then she has escaped on foot, and I will find her," Damian said flatly.

"I will ride with you. Let me call out the others—"

"Nay. I will find her myself. Go back, pray. See that the wedding preparations continue."

"But, if you cannot find her—"

"Do as I say," Damian commanded. He felt his temper soaring like a dark fever within him. "I'll find her. So I swear it, I will find her!"

Could he really do so? he wondered briefly. The forest was immense, and she could be anywhere.

Nay. She would head straight for Robin. "Aye, I will find her!" he repeated. He tugged a command upon his reins. Lucien rose with a wild, excited snort, pranced upon his hind legs, then stormed into a gallop that carried him away from the castle.

And into the woods.

Afternoon shadows were already coming to the forest when Kat left the tunnel behind her.

The late afternoon was clear, cool, and beautiful. She felt as if she were surrounded by a comforting blanket of green. This was part of the forest she knew very well. The grasses here were exceptionally soft. The lush embankments led to beautiful brooks. Trees formed exquisite canopies over her head.

For several long minutes, she ran. She wanted to go as far from the castle as quickly as she could. But though she was swift and surefooted, she quickly tired. Gasping, panting, she looked back to the castle.

Had they discovered her missing yet? Maybe not, maybe she still had time. All that she had to do was come deep into the forest and find the first of Robin's lookouts. Then she could reach her cousin, and God help her, she would be safe from all men, once she had thrown herself on his mercy. Perhaps he would disapprove. It didn't matter. He would help her. And she wouldn't risk his all-important function within the forest. She would see to it that she left him just as quickly as she came. Some help outside the forest—even a touch of monetary help!—and she could make her way secretly to London, and then onward to find the King. It would be difficult, but it could be done.

Ah, especially if she went straight from Robin to Eleanor of Aquitaine. The Dowager Queen, in her old age now, was still a formidable matriarch. John had been a favorite of Henry's, but not so with Eleanor. She loved her youngest son, but knew every one of his weaknesses and perversities.

She blamed them all on his father, of course.

When Henry had been king, Eleanor had been imprisoned. One of Richard's first orders at the news of his father's death was that his mother be released.

And so it had been. And now Eleanor was free, and very powerful, and as wildly independent as she had ever been. She had been married to two kings, Louis of France and Henry of England. She and Louis had very willingly divorced, and her two daughters were half-sisters to King Phillip.

Eleanor had outlived both kings. Her outlook on life was very pragmatic. She was not, however, without a vivid sense of romance and adventure, and she might very well understand that Katherine wasn't defying Richard, that she merely wanted to see the King herself and present her case to him.

It occurred to her as she saw the tall towers of the castle rising above the trees behind her that she was giving up a great deal because of Damian Montjoy.

She was leaving her own home behind her. Leaving a people who had learned her ways, who depended her.

And it was surely true that it was a woman's lot in this world to be wed. Perhaps marriage was a sacrifice, but maybe, just maybe, it was one she should have made.

If she left England, she could no longer be of any assistance to Robin. If she had wed Montjoy, she might have been privy to even more information that might have stood Robin very well.

A little shudder streaked through her, bringing with it a chill of dismay. Maybe she had acted like a fool. She was left out here now with nothing.

Montjoy had everything.

Damn! It was all his fault. He had been so heartless! He hadn't begun to understand.

But it would have been so much worse once they were wed …

It didn't matter now. She had run. There was nothing to do but keep on running.

She had caught her breath, but she didn't feel quite so afraid now. The afternoon was growing darker and darker. She would be close to Robin soon.

Her stomach suddenly growled. How long had it been since she had really eaten? There had been those bites of bread and cheese and nothing more.

Oh, no, there had been that wine! That wine that had dulled her wits, that had made her thoughts and her words so very reckless. The wine that made something magical of a stranger's caress in the dark …

"No!" she whispered out loud. And she looked to heaven. "Damn them all!" she swore. "Dear God, forgive me, but they are knaves, every one of them!"

God did not answer her. Her stomach did, growling once again. There was nothing to be done for it, not until she could find Robin. But she turned her feet toward the brook, hoping that a long swallow of cool water would help to fend off her hunger.

She found the brook in the growing green darkness and bent down on her knees before it. She drank a long cool swallow of the water, then bathed her face. She closed her eyes, shivering as trickles of water trailed down her throat and beneath her tunic and underdress. She bent down to the water once again, cupping her hands for a last drink.

But then she froze. For in the darkened pool of rippling water before her she could see the weaving mirrored image of a man on horseback. She stared at the water as the ripples began to fade, her hands cupped above it without moving.

Then she swung around, incredulous. He was there. Behind her.

He wore no cape or cloak against the encroaching coolness of the night. He did not seem to feel cold or dampness—any more than he might feel the least sensitivity to her position. He was as deaf to the whispers of the wind as he was to her pleas. He had come after her in his undershirt of plain fawn linen, his dark chausses, his crested tunic, his high leather boots—and his low-slung scabbard and sword.

"Get up!" he commanded sharply. She stared at him, dazed for a moment, unable to believe that she had risked so much for freedom—and lost it all so swiftly.

She gasped as he slipped his sword from his scabbard, urging his horse forward, and setting the tip of the blade to her throat.

"Get up," he repeated angrily.

She jumped to her feet, eyeing him as she backed away from the blade, trying to skirt around him. His eyes were like silver daggers, no less sharp than the honed edge of his blade, piercing through her.

He could not have come upon her! He could not have caught her so easily here! She knew this part of the forest! He did not!

But apparently he did, for he had found her, and quickly.

"What kind of coward are you, Montjoy, to come after a woman with a sword?" she demanded quickly.

"What kind of coward are you, my lady, to run so quickly from one who would protect you!" he roared in return.

There was some distance now between them. He had never meant to use a sword against her, she realized. He just wanted her on her feet. He expected those around him to jump when he commanded them to do so.

There was a clearing before her. And then a dense group of trees. Perhaps too dense for him to travel through with his huge black war-horse.

She gazed into his eyes—and then made a break, sprinting ahead of him with a wild burst of energy. Yet even as she ran, she heard the pounding of the horse's hooves and she drew up short as the great animal swung around before her, directly in her path. She turned again to run.

And once again, the horse cut her off.

One more time …

And again the animal was too quickly there.

With Montjoy.

Exhausted, winded, she held still, staring at the ground, unable to bear the awful feeling of being trapped so. "Lady, give it up!" Montjoy warned softly. "You weary us both."

"But not enough, so it seems!" she murmured.

The sword touched her chin again, forcing it to rise. She didn't fight him any longer, didn't protest, but looked into his speculative and pensive eyes. "Nay, lady," he said very softly. "Nor will I grow too weary for you! Merely more impatient. Give it up. It is over." He drew the sword away, replacing it in his scabbard. He reached a hand down to her.

"You can't just take over my home!" she cried, and despite herself, there was a desperation to her words.

The wind rose and seemed to whisper, too. The trees rustled. The wind fell. He watched her all the while.

"I do not mean to take over your home. Only to give it strength. Take my hand."

She swallowed hard, and accepted it. She gasped as he easily swept her up before him on the horse. She straightened her back, dismayed by the feeling of his muscular arms and thighs around her. But the ride did not last long. She had not come so far. Within minutes they had reached the drawbridge, and there he slowed his horse so that they clattered over it.

"We've guests," he muttered suddenly, his voice husky and warm against her ear.

She stiffened instantly, amazed at how very afraid she was that Prince John had come again with de la Ville, and that he would somehow overrule this knight and pass her over to de la Ville.

He must have felt her fear, for he chuckled softly. "Nay, lady, 'tis not the Prince. See the pennants flying. They're the colors of Aquitaine! 'Tis the Queen Mother who has come to visit here!"

"Eleanor!" she gasped with relief and pleasure. The Dowager Queen! She hadn't reached Eleanor, but Eleanor had come to her!

They entered the courtyard where a dozen servants were dismounting from horses and pack trains and scurrying about with trunks and satchels and barrels.

Katherine started to squirm, anxious to get away from him.

"Let me down! Eleanor is here! There's much to be done! I have to—"

"You have to stand by my side and wed me, my lady, now!"

"But the Queen Mother—"

"Will understand."

He held tightly to her, refusing to let her slip down from the horse before him. He dismounted first, holding on to her arm.

Then he lifted her down. His eyes met hers, and held them still as he set her upon the ground.

"I cannot be wed like this—"

"Dear God, do you think to delay the ceremony further! Lady, if you were naked at this point, you would be wed so!"

"Really, it sounds divine to me!" a soft, musical voice said. They both turned around and saw that Eleanor was indeed there with them.

Katherine didn't know just how old Eleanor was, but surely she was in her sixties at the very least.

Yet she was beautiful. She walked with a springing step and her dark eyes flashed continuously. Her smile belied the wrinkles on her face—a knowing, sage smile, yet one that still laughed at the world, and at herself. Her dignity was unsurpassed, and yet life still offered her incredible pleasure and enjoyment and enormous vitality. She displayed that now, opening her arms to both of them. "Katherine, my sweet! And Damian, you handsome devil. How glad I am to see you both!"

And how glad I am to see you! Katherine thought in silence, hugging the Queen fiercely. You will truly be sorry now, Damian! she thought.

But he did not intend to be sorry. Nor was he awed by Eleanor's presence among them.

"You've come just in time for a wedding, Your Grace!" he informed her.

"Ah, so I have come in time!" she said, smiling at Katherine. "How glad I am! I do love a good wedding! And I will make a very remarkable witness for the marriage documents, what say you?"

Katherine's mouth went dry. "Whatever is the matter, child? You've gone quite white. And surely this is a sudden affair, but you're not dressed at all properly for the occasion!"

"Katherine wanted a drink of water," Damian said blithely. "The water here would not do."

"Oh?" Eleanor looked at Kat, her interest piqued, a smile playing on her lips again. "I see. I think I see. Well, Damian, if you'll give me but a moment with your bride—"

"She's had many moments, Your Grace."

"But a proper gown is required."

"She went for a proper gown. And the next thing I knew, she was determined on drinking from a stream in the forest!"

"Ah." Eleanor seemed perplexed. Then she set an arm around Kat. "Kat would not leave me sitting alone in any room in her castle. It would not be courteous, would it?"

Kat still couldn't seem to speak. Eleanor nudged her. "Katherine! Upon your honor, you would not do so!"

Kat sighed, giving in. "Nay, Your Grace, I would not," she admitted, her eyes upon the dust-covered ground.

"Then it's settled. I shall produce her for the wedding in a matter of minutes," Eleanor promised. And with her arm still around Kat's shoulder, she led the way into the castle which she knew well, having come there often since Richard had ascended to the throne.

There was a clamor within the hall. Kat saw that the table was being set with a great feast. Her own people were hurrying about with a purpose.

They had never been advised that there might not be a wedding, Kat realized.

It was all a den of confusion. Even Marie was there, directing Howard to do something at the table. Her eyes rose to Kat's, and she flushed with dismay.

Eleanor's retainers were all still hurrying about, bringing in the Queen's belongings for her stay.

She did not travel lightly.

"There's Marie!" Eleanor said lightly. "Marie, come soon, we'll do up your lady's hair together, eh?"

"Ah, Your Grace!" Marie said, dropping into a low bow for Eleanor.

The Queen quickly steered Kat up the stairway and to her own room. Just as quickly, she closed the door behind her. Then she stared at Kat.

"Just what is going on here?"

It was her very last chance. Kat was determined to play it to the hilt.

She flew across the room and knelt before Eleanor, taking her hand. "Oh, my lady! I am ever so grateful to see you! I beg you! Stop this! Don't let this wedding take place!"

"Whyever not?" Eleanor demanded incredulously.

Kat lifted her head, meeting the Queen's eyes. "Because I cannot marry this man! He is harsh and hard and merciless—"

"And my dear son John intends to give you to de la Ville for his loyalty—and for a great sum of money which John always seems to need," she said dryly.

"Aye, I know that. But if I could just speak with Richard—"

"Why?"

"Well, to tell him that it must be some other knight. Not this one!"

Eleanor disengaged her hand from Kat's grasp. "Up, young lady. It was Richard's command that you marry Montjoy."

Kat felt as if her heart sank to her feet. She had heard the finality in Eleanor's voice.

Of course. Richard had always been Eleanor's favorite child. She refused to see ill in him at all, ever. In her eyes, he did not make mistakes.

"But—"

"Montjoy is the perfect match for you, Katherine. His lands adjoin yours. Together you will form a formidable force here. Powerful enough to offset John's constantly grasping fingers."

Katherine sank down on her knees, watching as the Queen walked purposefully to Kat's trunks, opening them up to throw out masses of her underdresses, hose, tunics, and veils. She sprang to her feet, rushing to Eleanor one last time. "Eleanor, you do not understand. I could be in serious trouble with this man."

"What do you mean?"

Katherine inhaled and exhaled wildly. She wanted to tell Eleanor the truth.

The truth failed her.

"He's … he's been betrothed before. He's—"

"At the least, Katherine, he's had dozens of mistresses, concubines, and simple whores before you," Eleanor said flatly. "Such is the way of men." She paused, holding a beautiful blue headpiece before her. "However, I don't believe I've ever heard any word of his having any affection whatsoever for animals." She touched Kat lightly on the cheek with a cheerful smile. "Be grateful. I am quite certain now that dear Henry did have quite a penchant for sheep!"

Sheep! Because Rosamund Clifford had been the child of a shepherd and of all Henry's women, Eleanor had been jealous of Rosamund. So jealous that many had accused her of Rosamund's murder. Eleanor had been locked up at the time, but even Henry had seemed to think that she might have had her fine hand in it.

This was not getting her anywhere.

"Eleanor, what of me?"

"What of you, my dear?"

Confess! Kat thought. After all, it was not all her doing. The Silver Sword had been the knave to go forward when she had demanded that he stop.

But she could not say those words. She didn't dare admit what had happened. Eleanor just might tell Montjoy.

And Montjoy just might …

Seek out and slay the Silver Sword.

The traitor deserved it! Kat thought.

Nay, she couldn't let it happen. Not that she wouldn't like to inflict some injury upon the vile rat herself!

But he did keep the forest clean of vermin such as de la Ville. Robin needed him.

And she …

She felt her breath coming more quickly.

If only she were being wed to the Silver Sword. She could close her eyes. Accept the magic.

"What is it?" Eleanor insisted.

Kat shook her head. She didn't dare speak.

"I think, Kat, that he may come to love you very much."

"I don't think that he will."

"And you, my dear, may come to a point where you defy both heaven and earth for him."

"Never!"

"Sooner than you think! Ah, the blue gown it shall be," Eleanor told her. "Come. Let's get those things off, and these things on."

The door opened. Marie, her eyes wide, came through. She carried a huge chalice. She bowed quickly to Eleanor, then focused her gaze on Kat. "I thought that a bit of wine might help."

"Oh, aye!" Eleanor said gaily. "A bit of wine always helps!" She took the chalice from Marie and sipped, then offered it to Kat, smiling. "Actually, a lot of wine helps!"

Kat swallowed down nearly the whole chalice full. Then she shuddered.

Wine!

It was what had gotten her into half of this trouble to begin with!

But it did help. Before she knew it, she was dressed in the soft blue underdress with the rich royal-blue tunic set over it, and both Eleanor and Marie were working on her hair. "Ah, I do remember when I married Henry. There was never a question between us. I had the Aquitaine, you see, and Henry coveted it. But he was a man to behold, I tell you. Those were wild and tempestuous days, when all our lives and ambitions were before us. How I envy you!"

"Envy me!" Kat cried.

"Aye, indeed, Kat! For you've gotten yourself a knight truly wondrous to behold. Dark and dangerous, with all those years of delicious tempest before you. I daresay, you'll come to adore him."

Adore him? A curious trembling swept through her. For a moment she remembered his words by the tub. I am what you make of me …

She felt the stroke of his fingers at her nape. And she remembered the gentleness of his words in the forest. He did not mean to take her castle. He meant to give it strength.

Could their battles end?

They would just begin tonight. When Montjoy discovered that he would receive no maiden.

Kat caught her breath, watching Eleanor, then daring to remind her, "You came to detest King Henry!"

Eleanor paused, catching her lower lip lightly with her teeth. She didn't look at Kat; she was seeing some far distant path.

"Nay, I never hated him. I battled him. Year after year. I had to pray for his death for my own freedom. Yet in the end, I wept. I never ceased to love him. Neither of us knew how to love. Maybe you will have a chance to do much better. If so, seize it. There is no greater glory in life. Not lands, not riches, not crowns. We were blinded by the glitter. We forgot people," she said softly. "We forgot love. But, well—I'm sure that you will fare very well. Oh, he is a wondrous-looking man, isn't he, Marie?"

"Oh, aye!" Marie agreed.

"A fine lover! And you will love him one day."

Kat shivered. "Never!" she whispered.

Eleanor laughed softly. "You'll see, he will make you love him."

"Never."

Eleanor's and Marie's eyes met over her head.

Aye, she'll learn to love him, Eleanor thought, and sorrowfully so. For then she would learn the pain of jealousy, and so many other agonies.

But perhaps not.

For few men had been given so beautiful a gift as Katherine de Montrain.

No knight had been more loyal than Montjoy had been to his Alyssa. No knight had been more loyal, to Henry, and then to Richard. No knight, she decided, was more striking, sensual, or intriguing.

She smiled. She hoped they would do very well.

And if not …

Well, then, there would be a very desirable blending of property, and a good firm check on that naughty boy John!

She stepped back. "I think we're done. Katherine, are you ready for your vows?"

"No!"

Eleanor issued a soft peal of laughter, clapping her hands together.

"Alas, we've left an impatient bridegroom below. Marie, give us the chalice for another sip of wine there. Trust me, love, it will make the proper words slip more easily from your tongue!"

Perhaps it would be so. It did not seem quite so painful as Eleanor and Marie led her from her chamber.

It didn't even seem quite so horrible when she saw Montjoy at the foot of the stairs, awaiting her.

It didn't seem quite so terrible at all until he took her hand.

Then she felt the fire and steel in his fingers. And when he looked at her, she saw the silver triumph in his eyes.

It was all that she saw. She knew that the priest was there. She heard him saying the words.

Then she felt Montjoy's iron grip upon her tighten so that she cried out.

She must have cried the proper words, for the ceremony continued. Montjoy clearly stated his own vows. She gritted her teeth, despite the feel of his grip upon her.

Bastard! So he would marry her! He would not find any triumph over her; she would not allow it.

She would not fear him …

But then the priest proclaimed them man and wife before God and all assembled there.

And Montjoy looked at her again.

Silver eyes sizzling, his mouth sensually curved into a wicked, wicked smile.

And then he kissed her …