Chapter 16

T HE GREEN SHADOWS OF the forest were just beginning to fall. Damian, dressed as the Silver Sword, sat atop Lucifer, waiting impatiently for Robin to make an appearance. Time was of the essence at this moment.

News had come to them here in the north country in a frightening manner.

First, the news had been good. Richard's Crusade was finished.

Although Richard had not really bested Saladin—and Jerusalem had not really fallen—the English King and the Moslem ruler had come to an agreement. Travel was now made safe for Christian pilgrims to the Holy Lands.

Despite his tireless energy and resolve, circumstances had tied Richard's hands as surely as a cord of rope. King Phillip of France had given up the quest and gone home. Other European leaders had done the same.

Richard alone had gained this one piece of victory.

Hearing all that had occurred from the messenger sent specifically his way, Damian had felt a surge of bitterness. He should have been with Richard. He should have tasted the victory, and the sense of discouragement, with Richard. He should have been with him.

He had forgotten that he had wanted to come home just before Richard had summoned him to his tent. Forgotten the longing for the green coolness of the forest.

He would have liked to have forgotten his new bride, but that luxury was not allowed him.

He was angry half of the time, it seemed, and obsessed the rest. No matter what victories he gained over her, no matter how he sought through sheer strength to control her, she managed to fight him still.

She had been the most perfect hostess to Eleanor and Prince John and his retinue. There had been no reason to be diplomatic with de la Ville, for he had been so furious with the turn of events that he had turned around then and there to ride home—after denying, of course, that he'd had anything whatsoever to do with an attempted abduction of the Lady de Montrain.

Lady Montjoy now. And forever. Damian had stressed that last. For he was certain, now that de la Ville had seen her possessed by another, he wanted her more than ever.

Katherine! His wife. She was a complexity.

No woman could have been more tactful, more gracious, or more beautiful as she entertained their royal visitors. She was still seething at him, he knew. No matter what he had touched within her. No matter how he had held her. No matter how he wanted her, again and again, just watching as she moved about the hall.

She saw to meals, she offered interesting tidbits of information about the castle and the forest, telling tales about the day-to-day lives of both peasants and knights, making everyone laugh.

Not that he was so very amused himself. For though surely no man could have come to know a wife more intimately, she held herself carefully away from him. And she told him so with her every glance.

No matter, lady! he thought. You will learn to obey me, and that will be that! It was all he needed do, he told himself. Mold her. Teach her, tame her. And that he would do.

Yet every once in a while he would catch her smile. And first he would feel the steel and fever seep into his body, causing his muscles to tense and her jaw to lock. And he'd want to sweep her up and cast the chalices and plate from the broad table in the great hall and have her then and there. All of her. All that she held away from him.

He would remind himself that he did not love her. Perhaps he was acquiring a certain tenderness toward her. Perhaps he admired her, perhaps he even enjoyed the challenge of her, for when those cool, sea-colored eyes touched his, so often he felt a smile curl his lip, and a sizzle of fire touch his heart. But he could not love her, so he assured himself. He had done well enough. He had managed to take the castle and the girl, and make both his. He could expect no more. His heart he had given before, and it was not something he would ever think to risk in her furious fingers. And still …

Ah, indeed, she was becoming an obsession. And they played at a game of give and take. The first night following their wedding, she tried very hard to keep Eleanor and John and their retinues of nobles and ladies up just as late as she could.

Conversation and wine flowed—and very easily, at first, for the topic had been the assault on the castle. Prince John had pretended to listen to every detail with great concern—he had, of course, been completely ignorant of such an attack, and he clucked with sympathy over it. "It was wonderful for dear Katherine that this Silver person—" Eleanor began.

"Silver Sword?" John interjected, an edge to his voice.

"Yes, that's it! It's wonderful that he could come so swiftly to Katherine's defense!"

"The man is a bandit, Eleanor," John informed his mother. "A plague of these parts—just like that wretched Robin Hood."

"Yet, for Katherine's sake, we all must be grateful," Eleanor said. "Isn't it true, my dear?"

"Aye, isn't it true?" Damian pressed Katherine.

Her lashes fell as innocently as an angel's, but he detected a strangling tone to her voice, too, and he quickly hid his own smile. "I am most certainly—grateful!" she murmured.

"Kat rescued, honor saved!" Eleanor said delightedly. "It's a wonderful story, isn't it, Damian?"

"Oh, aye. And of course, I am grateful, too, beyond belief," Damian said, lifting his chalice to his wife in a salute. He smiled. Her cheeks colored just slightly. Her eyes clashed with his.

"If I find the man, I will be fully aware that he is a bandit still!" John announced harshly. "And he will be treated as such. Hanged, just like wretched Robin Hood and his companions, that huge Saxon Little John, the one they call Will, the Lady Greensleeves, and all the others!"

Damian watched his wife carefully as John spoke, and was startled by the strength of the emotions that swept through him as he studied her face. For there was some light of innocence in her eyes, and then a touch of fear as a small shudder seized her. But her chin went up, almost imperceptibly. She would not be frightened or swayed by anything that John said. She hated what she had seen in the forest that day so long ago.

And she meant to fight it, whether she was afraid or not, for herself or equally for Robin.

Or the Silver Sword.

John's eyes suddenly touched Damian's. "You, my Lord Montjoy, must take care now that you are here."

"Oh, how is that?" Damian asked, sipping his wine nonchalantly and leaning against the stone mantel at the hearth.

"Some say that the bandit Robin Hood is kin to your wife. That he is the son of the old Saxon Earl of Locksley. That would make him your wife's first cousin on the maternal side."

Damian didn't allow himself to tense. His eyes narrowed as he watched Kat's golden head. Give nothing away! he longed to warn her, and he spoke quickly. "They say that no one knows the true identity of Robin Hood. In fact, the peasants say that there is not one identity for the man, that the name speaks of a spirit of freedom within the forest."

"It sounds as if you're near to speaking treason, Montjoy!"

Damian bowed low. "Never, Your Grace! I would honor our good King Richard to the grave and far beyond!"

Kat turned, watching him, a curious light in eyes, a picture of, beauty as the wealth of her hair streamed behind her.

"Katherine?" John said acidly. "Tell me, do you agree with this?"

"Of course. I honor my husband in all things," she said softly.

Just as hell could freeze! Damian thought. He smiled wryly, watching her. Her eyes quickly turned from him.

This marriage was still war.

And later that night, she fought her battles with the beauty of her smile and the flash of her eyes. Wine flowed, wonderful food was served. She played the lute. She sang with a melodious voice, one to rival the angels. Even with a house filled with royalty and nobles, she was the one to hold court. A queen, a prince, knights and ladies, villeins and hounds, all seemed to circle around her. She charmed. She seduced. She brought easy laughter to the lips of so many.

She irritated Damian beyond belief, never stepping over the boundaries of perfect propriety, and yet …

Pushing. Ever pushing. She had the Prince just about at her feet, eating out of her hand figuratively and near literally, as she offered him olives brought back from the Holy Lands.

A dangerous play! he wanted to shout to her. John didn't really care one way or another if de la Ville wanted something.

But if John wanted something himself …

Yet she had the Prince talking. Bragging. Telling her all his thoughts and desires.

There, so charming, so sweet, moved the cunning mind of the Lady Greensleeves, Damian thought. But those days are over, my lady! You'll not run into the forest with your tales and weapons any longer. It is too dangerous a game, and if Robin could not stop you, I will.

But watching her, Damian realized that she seduced men to speak. To tell her anything they knew. She elicited the same response from the knight's ladies, sympathizing with them, advising them, laughing with them.

Beyond seducing all their secrets from them, Damian realized dryly, she was managing to keep them all up, and awake, and busy throughout the night.

She was quite determined to escape the hours alone with him.

She innocently protested Damian's command that they go to bed, telling him that they must be courteous. And she turned her back on him, drawing adoration from the eyes of even Damian's good servant, Sir James. She laughed with him, and flirted outrageously. And when Damian would have approached her again, she turned to Father Donovan, and what she said to that false priest, Damian did not know.

Anything, he thought, to avoid her husband!

He let her go so far, fuming inwardly, yet smiling to both the Prince and Eleanor with all the humor and tolerance he could muster.

He had no intention of allowing John to see that theirs was a house divided. Such knowledge could be very dangerous in those Plantagenet hands.

Then when a number of the knights, in their various colors, were snoring upon the floor and the rushes, their arms and their cups draped over the huge bodies of the castle hounds, he determined that he'd had enough.

Perhaps she saw the look in his eyes. Her own narrowed, and she bid her good-nights quickly to those who remained awake, and flew up the stairs, well ahead of him.

As he had expected, she was curled up, feigning sleep. He was weary himself, but very determined, so he lay down beside her and waited, half closing his eyes.

And when he saw the smug smile begin to creep into her lips, he rolled quickly, taking her into his arms. "Ah, you cannot sleep, my lady? Neither can I. I know a very brisk exercise that is wonderful for such restlessness."

"I can sleep very well!" she protested. "Truly, I am exhausted—"

"You will be more so. And so prone to smirk and smile, acts which must cause an awful wakefulness!"

Those beautiful aquamarine eyes of hers shimmered in the darkness. "Last night you would starve me! And now you would deprive me of sleep!"

"Aye, lady! That I will do. Until you have come to honor your vows to love, honor, and obey."

"I shall never love you! I detest you!"

"Lady, that is your misfortune. And something that means nothing to me. You will honor and obey me!" he promised. "If it means that you must starve, stay awake for eons, or even reside within the walls of the castle dungeons."

She gasped, eyes growing wide, amazed that he would say such a thing. He was startled to see that a soft glaze had come to shield her eyes. As if there just might be a trace of tears upon the length of those golden, wickedly long lashes.

"What of you, Montjoy? I am not your Alyssa, so you have no love for me. You vowed to cherish, my lord, but all that you seek is to command. May I also threaten to cast you into the dungeons, or into some awful hell on earth?"

He moved his fingers over the radiance of her hair. And he spoke the truth as he did so. "Lady, you spent half this evening sending me to every imaginable hell. Flirting, smiling, teasing, taunting, seducing—seducing my own men, at that! Poor Sir James. He's young, my lady. You did well setting your web about his heart. I might begin to wonder at how easily you seem to acquire men. So I warn you. Let's talk no more this night. Not unless you feel that you should bare your soul, and tell me of your past life, the lover—or lovers!—you have known."

She gasped. "Nay!"

"Then …?"

To his amazement, her hands curled round his neck. And her lips touched down upon his. Softly. Tentatively. Yet with such a feminine and captivating appeal that he was inflamed, and more than willing to forget any questions—had he really had them. By nature, she was beautiful. By instinct, she could use that beauty to be an incredible love.

And when the night was over and he lay awake while she slept, he knew that in one way they had formed an intimate bond—they had become husband and wife, and perhaps more. It was almost as if he were drugged. He craved her. Wanted more and more of her. There was something magical about her beauty. About the golden tendrils of hair that would around and seduced him, soft, enchanting. Perhaps it was even in her eyes. Eyes with that fascinating aqua shiver, all fury and challenge one moment, and all fascination the next. How could they be such fantastic lovers—and such bitter enemies?

And though he knew that she would eventually come into his arms, each night it was something new. She must brush her hair, for several hours at the very least. There was a problem with their bed—the ropes were not right, the bedding was awry, and not one of the hundreds of villeins who lived within the place had managed to fix it to her satisfaction. She could always think of some reason to elude him.

One night when he had been entirely certain that she had gone to bed ahead of him, he was amazed to discover that she was not within the chamber. He had paced the confines of the room, then begun a silent search of the keep. Down the to hall below, and upstairs again.

She had awaited him then. And she had seemed extremely nervous.

"Where were you?"

"Why, just down the hall, seeking to see to—"

"To what?"

Those rich lashes fell over her eyes. Her hands folded demurely before her. "Seeking to see to my household duties, my lord."

He gripped her shoulders. "You were nowhere! I searched for you!"

She was, indeed, very, very nervous. Her tongue lightly touched her lips. Perhaps he had spent too much time taunting her, being fully aware that he himself was the Silver Sword, the lover she had first known.

This was not so amusing. This was something that he could not touch, and it was alarming.

"Where were you?"

And she had pulled away. "Nowhere, my lord, as you can see. I am here in the castle. With you."

He found himself worrying still. Although de la Ville was gone, John remained. He was not hunting, or amusing himself in any of his usual pursuits. There was no one here with whom he could plot and plan. His mother ever sided with Richard. Why was he staying?

"Jesu!" He seethed suddenly. "If it is John—"

"John!" she exploded. And a smile curved her lips. "I do assure you, my lord, I have not been with John. He is truly a Norman rat!"

"But so am I, my lady. So you've informed me."

She lifted her nose regally. "Aye, that's true enough." Maybe something in his expression gave her cause for alarm, for she stepped back quickly. "You are not as … repulsive … a rat!"

"The Prince is a surprising man of our time, my lady. He seeks to bathe daily. At least he is not a dirty Norman rat."

She shuddered softly. "He could bathe forever, and he would remain filthy."

"So you wouldn't be with him—by choice."

"Never."

"But it seems that you did bed another before our marriage. Out of love, or out of spite? Was it something done to flaunt me?"

"It was not done on purpose," she said swiftly.

"Rape? I will have his throat!"

"Why bother? Is life so different now?"

"Aye, it is. For we are wed. And I have very carefully done my best to charm and seduce—as you do yourself!—rather than use any force. So tell me a name—"

"There is no name! No one name. Perhaps there were twenty names—"

"John among them?"

"No!" she protested. Then she swore in aggravation. "Leave it be! As I have said, you are not so repulsive."

"But I believe that you did go to another to spite me. So even if the Prince is repulsive, perhaps—"

He caught her wrist quickly as she tried to strike him. "My lady—"

"Don't you dare accuse me so! I owed you no allegiance before we were wed!"

He pulled her close. "You damned well owe it to me now!"

"And I truly despise John. Far more—"

"Far more?"

"Than I have ever hated you!" she whispered softly.

He laughed. "I believe I'm even entertaining to you upon occasion." He murmured. He wanted to stay away. Damn. She was hiding something from him, and he was determined to know what.

But he found himself holding her still. Looking down into the coolness of her eyes. Longing to shake her.

And slipping his fingers into the soft flowing cloak of her hair instead. "I think, my lady, that I am not nearly so horrid as you claim. You forget that I am the second skin that lies with you. You forget that I hear your cries, and your whispers, and feel the movement of your limbs beneath me."

She blinked and tried to escape his hold. "Montjoy—"

"Come, my lady, whisper it. ‘My lord, you are really not repulsive at all.' That would hardly be a declaration of undying love and passion, yet it would be a start!"

Her head fell back. Her eyes challenged his. "You would have this? From me? When you come to bed each night and make your demands, then close your eyes and wish that I were another woman?"

"What?" He released her instantly, eyes narrowing.

She turned her back on him. "I am not Alyssa Albright, my lord."

"Nay, lady, you are not!"

Neither was she right, and he felt an odd sense of shame at the words. He had loved Alyssa. He had thought himself loyal to her memory.

Yet he had never wanted Kat to be she, never dreamed of Alyssa in the night. He was obsessed with Kat. His desire for her never seemed satiated …

"So what do you care, my lord," she murmured softly, "where I have been? Or with whom?"

He swung her back around to face him. "What I care, madam, is that you are mine. And if I discover you with any man, he is a dead one. What you are, Kat, is my wife."

She was trembling. Not fighting him with her usual fury.

Just where had she been?

The anger, the fear might have seized hold of him.

But her arms suddenly wound around his neck. "I have not betrayed you!" she whispered. Her lips were against his throat. His arms wrapped around her.

Hours later, he lay awake in the night, haunted by the memory of Ari's words in the desert.

She will betray you …

Had she done so? Was it yet to come?

Was Ari a fool? Was there such a thing as destiny, and could he change it?

She lay sleeping at his side, comfortable there now. The nights had made her his, as such things went. Her inhibitions with him were fading. She seemed as natural as a kitten, indeed his wife, naked within the shelter of his arm, sleeping so peacefully.

Ah, peace!

Aye, he wanted a touch of peace, he thought. Some gentleness in this world.

But now, as he sat upon Lucifer, waiting, he knew that there could be no peace. Not domestically, and not within their world at large.

He sighed, growing more impatient as the sun set in a burst of red beauty behind the high tops of the tall trees to the west.

Only days after word reached him that Richard had found a certain triumph in the Holy Lands, a second messenger had found his way to Damian. And this man brought news of disaster, not triumph.

England could well be at the brink of civil war.

Richard the Lionheart, Richard the great warrior, Richard the King was suddenly the prisoner of another monarch in another place.

Richard had left the Holy Lands to return to England, but his journey had been cut short. He had been captured by the Duke of Austria, who had immediately turned him over to Henry VI, Emperor of Germany.

And the Emperor wanted a hundred thousand marks from England as a ransom for King Richard's release.

John had departed the castle the moment the word had come and Damian had been sorely worried by the look he had seen on John's face. Eleanor, too, had departed. The Queen was headed to London to start what efforts she could to raise the ransom.

While John …

John had already ordered that a nearby monastery be stripped of all precious relics of silver and gold.

They would not be sold for the money to ransom his brother. They would rather be sold to the highest bidder for the money to raise his own army.

If Damian knew John, and he was afraid that he did, the Prince intended to claim the throne in Richard's absence and see that his brother resided in a German castle until he grew old and rotted there.

However, to transport his stolen riches, John's men were going to have to travel through the forest roads. And there he might well be stopped. If only Robin would arrive so that the men might be gathered in time!

Damian heard a rustling in the trees and backed Lucifer more deeply into the foliage, determined to see before he was seen. But as he had expected, Robin came riding to him on a white mare.

"My friend!" He rode close, offering Damian his hand. Damian clasped it quickly. "Jesu, I am grateful to you. I hear that you rescued my fair cousin from the tower rather spectacularly."

Beneath the mail helmet and visor of the Silver Sword, Damian grimaced. "Spectacular—and wet," he admitted.

Robin grinned. "Oh, indeed, it seems my Kat was seriously outraged, and is as angry with the Silver Sword as she is with her new husband, Lord Montjoy."

Damian shrugged. "Robin, I did my best."

"Um. I tell you, Damian, there's much I'd have given to have seen the faces on our dear Prince John and the noble de la Ville when they broke in on the two of you on your wedding bed."

"Word travels quickly," Damian said.

"Very quickly. And now, we've little time. Did you come to assist my men and me this afternoon? Within the hour, we must be on the road, ready to attack the pack train with the religious relics."

"How in God's name do you know about that? I came here this afternoon to warn you that your men must be gathered, and that something must be done. And that Richard is captive—"

"Richard is captured, and a ransom must be raised before John can seize the crown. Aye, Damian, I know it all."

"And how? By God, I can see how you might know about the King, but I heard about John's plans in my own house—"

He broke off, feeling a swift simmering of anger within him. "Let me guess. Katherine. Ah, no! She's the Lady Greensleeves when she slips through the forest, right? Damn you, Robin! I thought that we were agreed! This is too dangerous a game now for her to be involved!

And damn her! She's my wife now! I swear I—"

"Damian, I know that it is dangerous. And we did agree. But we did not get Kat to agree, and therein lies our problem."

"She comes to you—"

"And I send her home. With warnings and threats and all. Damian, she does not heed me."

"Well, Robin, she will heed me. I will see to it."

There was a hard set to Damian's jaw that sent a chill of unease along Robin's spine. He started to speak, then reminded himself that Damian and Kat were now wed. It was certainly not a match made in heaven—not from Kat's point of view and, from Damian's look, not from his, either. But Robin loved them both dearly, and respected Damian as he did few other men. Few other men would risk so much in loyalty not just to a king, but to justice.

No harm would come to Kat in his care. Even if Kat's eyes did flash with fury every time she mentioned his name.

"Deal gently with her, Damian!" Robin said.

"Gently!" Damian snorted.

"She's a tender little thing—"

"As tender as a hedgehog, Robin."

Robin lowered his head, hiding a smile. "She claims you're the most arrogant jailer she's ever met. And she likes the Silver Sword no more. What were you, charming in the extreme as both men?" Robin inquired.

"You sent me to save her at the castle. I sent hooks flying to scale walls to rescue her, and the next thing I knew, she had taken her sword against me. Then I told her that I was holding her safe for the husband chosen for her by the King, and she tried every available means of escape. That was the Silver Sword. Now as Montjoy, I merely married her, and I promise you, hell can be no greater a tempest!" His eyes narrowed sharply. "How the hell is she getting to you? I've ordered my men to keep a strict eye on her. Ah, and before the wedding could take place, she managed the miraculous escape from the castle. I knew she would be heading for you, and so I found her in time. De la Ville was on his way at the very moment."

Robin laughed. "Ah! So the damsel is escaping the Silver Sword at every turn?"

Montjoy's eyes sizzled like the silver of the mail that lay against his face. "Robin, I tell you, this is not amusing. Perhaps she finds her lot a bitter one now. If de la Ville seizes her, or if the Prince finds a higher bidder for her now, we will be hard put to sweep her from their hands again! With Richard free, John knew some fear. While now …"

"Aye, I know!" Robin said quickly. Then he shook his head, somewhat at a loss. "I never told you about the tunnel?"

Montjoy leaned low over his horse's neck. "What tunnel?" he asked sharply.

"There's a tunnel that runs from the castle. There's an entrance from Kat's room. One pushes a false front, and there is a door there. Then a small hall, a circular stone stair, and at its bottom, the tunnel. It lets out in the caves just beyond the stream."

"There is a tunnel into the castle?" Montjoy repeated, his voice hardening.

"Aye!"

Montjoy shook his head. "I sent that wretched hook and rope up the parapets, scaled the castle walls—and there was a tunnel entry?"

"Jesu, Damian, I am sorry. I was deeply worried when I spoke with you that night. And I was right to be so concerned, as you saw."

Damian sat back. "Well, at the least, I am glad that you have let me in on this secret now." He paused a moment. "Why, that little witch! She nearly escaped me before the wedding, and she did sneak out the other night! That was why I couldn't find her!"

"She came to tell me what she knew about Richard and the Crusades," Robin said.

"I will wring her lovely little neck!"

Robin shook his head. "You can't do that. Not unless you intend to tell her that you are the Silver Sword."

Montjoy's eyes narrowed. "Nay, not yet!" He didn't tell Robin that he didn't intend Kat to be let off any too easily for her encounter with the Silver Sword. It worried her still, and he was glad of it.

She deserved it!

"Well, then—"

"I will find a way to stop her using the tunnel," Damian said quietly. "Perhaps I will block it somehow."

"Well, don't do so yet."

"Why not?"

Robin looked unhappy. "I'm not sure that she's returned home as yet."

"She came running out again this morning!" Damian exploded.

"She felt she had to tell me about John and the relics stolen from the monastery."

"Wretched little—" Damian began.

But there was suddenly a movement in the forest, and a small gray mare could just be seen through the trees. A soft feminine voice sounded.

"Robin! Robin!" The horse broke through the trees. Kat was riding it. Kat, caped and capped in a costume of green that matched the trees. Her eyes were on Robin. "The men are seeking you! The Prince's men have already entered the forest with their wagons—"

She broke off abruptly, for she had turned.

And she had seen him.

"You!" she gasped. A strangled fury entered her voice. "You—traitor!"

"Traitor?" Robin said, looking from one to the other of them with confusion. "Kat, this is … er, this is the man who rescued you."

"You!" Damian exploded in return. "The Lady Katherine—the Lady Montjoy! Madam, you are now wed, a wife and chatelaine. You shouldn't be here!"

"You have no say over me here!" she informed him coolly. "I'm not your prisoner any longer. Here I am the Lady Greensleeves, and a dozen men in this forest would die to protect me!"

"And you would probably have them do so!"

"Both of you, please—" Robin tried to interrupt.

But Kat was working into a rage. "You! You scurviest of rats and traitors—"

"Aye, my lady, me!" Damian replied, "Traitor, whatever you would have me be! The Silver Sword—ever at your service once again!"