Chapter 19

D AMIAN STOOD IN THE fields outside the castle and watched as the drawbridge was slowly lowered over the moat. He lifted a hand and ordered it drawn, and watched as the newly repaired and oiled mechanism brought the bridge upward once again. The action was smooth—and swift. Well pleased, Damian let his hand fall again, and the bridge was lowered to allow him entry, and to allow the people to come and go from the fields beyond the gates. It was later than he had planned. The evening had come and gone, and now the morning had come and gone, and he still hadn't been able to leave. As the hours passed, he was growing more and more anxious to reach Clifford Castle. He was hoping that Katherine was well moved into his homestead by this time. There was no knight more loyal or chivalrous than Sir James, so he was certain that her welcome into his home went smoothly. His servants, to the best of his knowledge, were happy people. His fields were rich, his people ate well, and he was certainly a nobleman of a decent enough reputation. Katherine should have been greeted warmly and with pleasure, and made to feel quite comfortable.

Last night he had been determined to get her away from the tunnel and keep her from the chance of any more dangerous escapades. But now, as the hours passed, he had begun to wonder at his own wisdom.

James Courtney knew the truth about the Lady Greensleeves, just as he knew the truth about the Silver Sword, and both were secrets he would keep to himself. He knew that Kat needed a careful eye on her. Nothing could happen.

But Damian had lain awake the long night anyway, worrying.

Worrying …

And missing her.

His hands clasped behind his head, he had stared up at the ceiling for long hours. He had grown so accustomed to sleeping with his arms around her. Sleeping entangled in golden hair. As he lay there, his heartbeat quickened. When he closed his eyes, he saw hers. Aquamarine, like the waters of the sea. Ever-changing eyes. Beautiful eyes. If anything were to happen to her …

He didn't intend to love her. She was willful, she was stubborn to an extreme. And as she had told him, she was not Alyssa Albright.

Nay, she was Kat. Lady Katherine, Lady Greensleeves. His wife. And since he had first met her upon the roof, trying to fight him even while he had tried to rescue her, she had somehow been winding her golden hair around his soul. He still loved Alyssa. He always would. But the love he had borne her had always been a gentle emotion. Soft. Tender. Perhaps he could even begin to lay it to rest now.

He had never felt … this. This tempest that governed him when he thought of Kat.

This need to touch her, when she had scarce been gone a few hours. This desire to hear her speak, to hear her laugh. To see her move, mercurial, beautiful, graceful.

This volatile desire to hold her, have her close to his heart. Lie beside her, sleep beside her …

They would be parted only one night. And he had been determined that they must be parted, so it was all his own doing. Yet he lay there still, not sleeping, just thinking.

Of her. Her scent remained in the room. Her clothing lay in the trunks. This had been her castle, her home, long before he had come to it. She was everywhere. She seemed to be there still, a whisper of memory, sweeping about the room. Defying him, aye, tempting him …

Coming to him.

And so the night had been long.

Then the morning had been even longer.

But now the bridge was fixed, and he could gather what he would take, and ride for his own home. He would not be encumbered, he decided, but ride with only a man or two at his side. Then he could spend no more than an hour or so on traveling.

But even as he left the field behind and started on foot across the bridge, he became aware of the pounding of horse's hooves behind him. There had been no warnings of an approaching enemy from the guards atop the parapets, so he knew that one of his own men was coming.

He spun around to see that the rider was Sir James, and his breath caught. There had to be something wrong. Something very wrong.

James's horse drew up beside him, and James was quickly off the mount, and down upon a knee before him. "My Lord Damian, God forgive me, I failed you!"

"Jesu! What the hell happened?" he exploded, shaking. "Is she all right—"

"Aye, she's all right! At least I believe that she is—"

"You believe?"

Sir James looked up, his eyes anguished. "She's gone."

"Gone!" Damian felt an inward trembling. He'd been a fool. A damned bloody fool. He never should have sent her there alone! "Since when? What in the bloody hell happened?" he roared.

"My lord—" James began, his voice shaking.

"Get on your feet man, and tell me simply what has happened!"

"She escaped us—"

"Jesu!" Damian raged. "I've men in my service who have battled whole armies of infidels! I left you in charge of a castle and lands where over a thousand men and women abide. And between you, you could not keep your eye on one small lady?"

Sir James was not accustomed to seeing Damian in such a temper. He was known for his ferocity, but never his blind rages. His mind was cool and quick, calculating at times. Though he could fight with a rare energy and vengeance, his mind was as great an asset as his muscle.

"Perhaps that is deserved, Damian," James said quickly. "But it does not seem to me that you have managed to do much better."

"Damn you!" Damian thundered, but then, even as he stepped forward with menace, he sighed, controlling his temper with the sheer truth of James's words.

"I do not blame you, I blame myself! I should have known better."

James shook his head. "Damian, you could not have been prepared for what happened."

"Which was? Come, tell me quickly!"

"More of our Clifford men had returned from the Crusade, Damian. And they brought with them more of the property you acquired."

Damian stared at him blankly. "Go on!"

"Property, Damian. Among that property, a number of fine Arabian horses, and a curious old man named Ari, and a truly curious young woman named Affa."

"Oh, Jesu!" Damian groaned aloud. "But the girl was never mine! She was a gift to Richard!"

"I hadn't even known that she was there," James continued. "By the time I discovered it, she had already introduced herself to Kat—in your room. And the man Ari had tried to give Katherine some kind of an explanation—"

"But Kat ran out. My God! That must have been last night—"

James shook his head strenuously. "Nay, my lord, not last night. In fact, she was quite incredibly controlled last night. She talked with Affa for some time, then assured her that she was quite welcome to Clifford Castle—since Katherine wanted none of it. Katherine insisted on vacating your room herself, but went of her own accord about the castle to choose a room for herself. I talked with her last night. I told her that I was certain that you didn't know a thing about the girl. I said that I'd have her thrown out bodily, taken away … but she insisted that I not do so. She was charming, saying that she'd discuss the situation with you. She couldn't have been more gracious. She ate what the cooks prepared for her, complimenting them all. She was charming. Until this morning. And then—"

"And then?"

"Then Lord Morgan from south of the forest came riding hard into the courtyard to find you. I hurried down to tell him that you were held up here, and he told me that I must warn you quickly that Prince John was in an absolute fury about Marian—"

"Marian?"

James gratefully inhaled to speak again as Damian interrupted him. "The Lady Marian of Wiltshire, Damian. The girl Robin had once been betrothed to. She was kidnapped there in the woods—"

"Yes, yes," Damian said impatiently. So Robin was still holding Marian. He had expected as much. Robin was still very deeply in love with her. And if he was not mistaken, Marian was in love with Robin. She had heard of his exploits through John, so it was easy to see why she had turned against him. When Damian had ridden with her to Robin's base camp, and listened to both her anger and her explanations, he had been certain that confusion, and nothing more, had parted her from Robin.

Damian couldn't worry about Marian or Robin at the moment. Not while his wife was missing.

"Well, the Prince is taking up arms against the entire forest. He is raising an army to thrash its way through the forest, bit by bit, so said Lord Morgan. The Prince is convinced that if he can find Robin, he can retrieve all manner of treasure that Robin has taken."

"So Kat heard these words—and then disappeared?" Damian demanded.

"Jesu, Damian, I should have known, I should have been prepared! But I told you, despite everything that had happened, she was so very calm. She seemed even to be amused by the girl Affa."

Amused. She had not been in the least amused! She had been furious, and plotting her revenge, Damian thought. But that didn't even matter now.

He had to find her.

Well, she would be heading for Robin once again.

And for once, Damian prayed that she might reach him.

At least before any of John's men reached her.

"So when did you discover her gone?"

"Just minutes before I rode to find you here. I had the whole of the castle searched, and even now, your men are looking for her. Her mare is gone—"

"They will not find her," Damian said. "But I will!" he vowed.

He spun around, calling to the men at the end of the bridge. "My horse! Bring me Lucien, quickly!"

"I'll ride with you," Sir James said.

"No, I will move more quickly myself," Damian told him. He wanted to yell, and he wanted to rage. But he knew that James was sick with worry himself. "Stay here. Watch for her returning here. It's quite likely that she may do so."

A page had brought up Lucien. Damian leaped atop the seasoned war-horse, saluted Sir James, and left the castle behind him at a gallop.

His heart and mind were in a tempest. It seemed more imperative than ever that he reach her.

And quickly.

Kat had taken no time with any manner of subterfuge to ride deeply into the forest, and seek out the first of Robin's men that she could find. It was Hamlin, once a woodcutter from Willow's Creek, a man whose talent lay in his ability to throw an axe. But like all of Robin's men, he had quickly become adept with a bow and arrow, and as soon as he saw her, he sent sailing forth a message that she was on her way toward the base, and she rode even deeper in, toward the camp, past more of the men who were ever holding guard, silently, blending in with the trees in the forest.

Kat had paused just once to assure herself that she wasn't being followed. But as she had suspected, her break had been a clean one.

She had played the night and the day amazingly well.

Truly! Amazingly well, for she had maintained a calm and serene facade when she had been alive with fury and tempest within. How dared he? How dared he send her to his home when he had a woman within it! Her first instinct had been to set her hands on the little olive-skinned harlot and tear every silky dark strand of hair from her head. And when she was finished with that, she would have liked to have started on Montjoy, and truly, her anger was so strong that she felt she might have been capable of the feat.

But before she'd even managed to take a step across the room, a curious man had appeared in the doorway.

He was dressed in desert robes, and his face had seemed both ancient and ageless. The eyes set in the slim face had been sad and wise, and he had spoken very quickly to the girl Affa in their foreign tongue. Affa had seemed furious, but the man hadn't cared. He had come into the room, his wise eyes on Kat very curiously, and he had bowed low before her. "Affa apologizes from the bottom of her heart. She doesn't understand your ways. She had been informed that Lord Montjoy has a wife, a great lady in her own right, but I think that she believed …" He paused uncomfortably. Kat watched him curiously, and then her eyes flicked to the girl.

"She thought that she could sow the seeds of discord!" Kat murmured.

"Exactly, my lady."

Affa screamed something to him furiously and threw a beautiful clay pot at him, which crashed to the floor. Kat lifted a brow to him.

Flashing an angry look at Affa, he explained to Kat, "She said: ‘You should go home, you old goat.' To me, my lady. I am the old goat, not you."

"Oh," Kat murmured. Now she was both amused and seething. And disturbed. When she glanced at the small, olive-skinned beauty with her sizzling almond eyes, she felt a curious boiling in her blood. So this was how Lord Montjoy had spent his nights in the desert. The great warrior! The King's right-hand man! The fury seemed hot enough to scald her.

And hurt her.

She had spent hours in agony for what she truly considered a sad indiscretion with the Silver Sword. She had alternately convinced herself that she was wrong, that there was no child, and then felt a cold sweat break out across her flesh because she knew that was a lie. It had taken her a while to comprehend the situation, but she was positive. There would be a child.

And now …

Now this woman!

By this time, all manner of people were rushing up the stairs to see what had disturbed her. Sir James came first, gasping with surprise at the scene, then bursting through the doorway to set himself down upon one knee before her, taking her hand. "My lady, forgive me! None of us knew, none of us expected that anyone would dare to assume this chamber! I swear, my Lord Montjoy knows nothing of this—"

"Please, Sir James! Rise." And she smiled with all the regal poise she could muster. "Do you mean to tell me that my husband does not know this woman?"

Poor, young, freckle-faced James! No lie could have saved him, for his face seemed to turn a thousand shades of crimson. "Know her? I … er …"

Kat looked to the doorway. The cooks had arrived, and the maids had arrived, and everyone was looking in. "My goodness!" she murmured. "You all must not be so distressed! You've done nothing wrong. James, see to it that my things are taken elsewhere. In fact, if you'll allow me, I'd truly like to decide upon my own domicile."

"Affa will not remain here," James stated.

"Oh, she had truly best not," Kat said softly. "But be that as it may," Kat said firmly, "neither shall I." She smiled at him. "Please, good sir! It is not your concern. I will take it up with Lord Montjoy when I see him again."

And so, with half the household behind her, she had toured the hallway and found herself a pleasant enough room. She hadn't been sure herself what she would do. She had assured herself only that she could use what had happened here against Montjoy, and she meant to do so. Yet it seemed imperative that she convince them all, all of his people, that she was extraordinarily composed and serene, every inch the lady.

She prayed that she managed to do so!

The night, however, had been a misery. She was humiliated that one of her husband's whores was so familiar with his house, and at the same time, she was ridiculously jealous that the almond-eyed girl knew the man she knew so intimately as well as she did herself. Perhaps more so.

Perhaps her husband had enjoyed the girl with all of her experience and teachings more. That thought was the one that irked her most, and the fact that it irked her most, when her dignity was at stake, made things all the worse.

She made herself summon Affa. She listened to her story about being given to Richard, and finding that she enjoyed the great Lord Montjoy so much more. They hadn't gotten very far when the man, Ari, came in once again, insisting that Affa be taken away. Affa tossed back her long mane of dark hair and informed Ari that only Lord Montjoy could order her away.

Kat smiled grimly.

That order would be coming. It was one thing that she would demand.

But for the moment …

"See that Affa is given somewhere in the castle to sleep."

"I will sleep—"

"Where I say," Kat finished for her.

Affa jumped up. "I can't go home! I must stay in England."

"Then I will see what we can find for you," Kat promised.

Affa had meant to stay. To talk down Kat. Actually, what Affa wanted to do was get rid of Kat, but it didn't seem that that would happen. Sir James insisted on taking the girl away.

Kat seethed. She boiled within.

She worried.

And she felt dizzy and ill all over again.

But she remained poised. She was entranced by Ari, who told her that he had seen her long ago, in a vision. "I told Lord Montjoy that he was destined to marry you. I saw your hair. I saw—" He broke off, shaking his head. "I knew that you would wed," he finished lamely.

Intrigued, Kat questioned him anew. "What else do your know?"

"I know that even now, storm clouds hover. There is great danger brewing in the night. My lady, you, and my Lord Montjoy, will have to take the greatest care."

"That is all that you see?"

He shook his head. "I see men. Men in armor. I see swords and pikes and a hail of arrows."

"It sounds like war," she murmured.

"A great battle, at the very least," Ari said. He was still, looking at her. "Forgive me! For there was something that I saw in a vision that I do not see now. Nay, perhaps it's still there. But so darkly clouded! I cannot read the truth of it."

"But what is it that you do see?"

Ari shook his head again. He bowed down low before her. "You are a very great lady," he told her.

Then he was gone, and she was left to wonder at his words. But she could not dwell on them long, for despite herself, despite what epithets she slammed down upon her husband's head in his absence, she was fuming with jealousy. It was her pride, she told herself. Her dignity, her status.

It was her heart. Her soul, her longing.

In the morning, however, once Lord Morgan had arrived, excitedly looking for Damian to tell him that John was preparing to scourge the forest, she knew that her restraint had served her well. It was imperative that this news reach Robin.

And she would lose nothing for bringing it to him, for in all truth, she could tell Damian that she hadn't been able to stand his home with his whore in it one single minute longer. And she had been so very calm and tolerant of manner that she had managed to assure Lord Morgan that word would go to her husband immediately—and then had turned toward the stables herself, retrieved her mare, and ridden away, completely unchecked.

She rode now straight into Robin's base camp with its wooden, thatched-roof houses that blended right in with the trees. A number of the men were about, notching their arrows, dining on pieces of wild fowl, laughing, jesting with one another. Someone played a lute, and someone else sang a bawdy song.

All paused and saluted her the moment they saw her. Little John, the big bear of a man, hurried forward to greet her. "Lady Kat! You've come through the forest with no disguise! 'Tis dangerous enough when you come clad to blend with the forest-green, but this is foolhardy, my lady!"

"I had to come here, and come straight. Robin has to know as quickly as possible that the Prince is in a rage. It is over Marian, so they say, but I know him well, and it is probably over the dowry he meant to get from some baron for her hand. Or perhaps it is over the religious treasures taken the other day. He intends to bring a whole army into the forest. Robin has to be ready for him. Actually, he has to let the Lady Marian go. And quickly. He was insane to keep her a prisoner. Where is he?"

"Gone hunting," Little John said. "I should explain about Marian—nay, lady. Robin should explain. I will find him, and quickly. Come down from your horse. Rest, drink some ale. I'll bring him quickly."

Kat nodded, and John's massive, outstretched arms lifted her to the ground. "I'll just wait in Robin's place," she said, striding toward the tiny wooden domicile that was her cousin's.

"My lady—" Little John called after her.

But it was too late. She had pushed open the door to the hut. The shadows were deep and dark here, and it took a few minutes for her eyes to adjust.

She knew the room.

It was a very small homestead, with a bed of straw and furs across from the door, a fireplace dug in the center of the earthen floor, and a pair of chests far to the left, on top of which were set the simple things for living: cup, bowl, spoon, fork, knife, water pitcher, long-handled brush. Alongside them lay bows, arrows, quivers, swords, and knives.

But from the bed of straw and furs on the floor, a figure emerged somewhat in the shadows. Kat, surprised, gasped out loud as her eyes became adjusted to the darkness.

There was a woman in her cousin's bed. A naked woman. The Lady Marian. The one who had spit at him. And the one the Silver Sword had so swiftly—and so courteously—taken away.

"Oh!" Kat gasped again. Marian sat up quickly, dragging furs about her. "Your pardon, please!" Kat murmured. "I didn't know. I … er, I—"

She broke off at sight of the soft smile that curved Marian's lips, making her more beautiful than ever. "It's quite all right, Lady Katherine. Please, come in. Perhaps you'd be good enough to toss me yonder shift. And sit. We've ale in here. I'm glad enough to have some time with you."

Kat came through the doorway, then closed it behind her curiously. She tossed Marian the shift as the woman had requested, and sat at the end of the pallet of straw and fur. Dressed, Marian became the perfect hostess—despite the strands of straw in her mane of dark hair.

Marian hurried to the one trunk, opened it, produced leather mugs and a large canister, and poured them both some ale. She handed one mug to Kat and lifted her own. "To the outlaws in the forest!" she said, and winked.

Kat took a sip of ale and arched a brow to the woman. "I assume this means that you and Robin are reconciled. Is there a wedding planned once again?"

Marian blushed and sat down beside her. "I must have sounded horrible to you. But I loved him so much. I had never imagined loving anyone so much. And everything was set, and then Prince John came in one day and told me he was quite certain that my Rob was the one who had become a murderer and a thief in the forest. I didn't know the rest of it, Lady Katherine, I swear it. The Prince neglected to tell me that Robin Hood killed men who tried to slay the defenseless poor, peasants and villeins without a stick to take up in their own defense."

"So you are a prisoner here no longer?"

She smiled broadly. "Hardly, my lady. Unless I am a prisoner of my own heart. I love your cousin. Dearly. And I pray that you believe me, for I know that he believes the sun rises and sets in you, and I wish nothing more than to be your friend."

Kat smiled. "Well, that is simple enough. But now he can hardly let you go. John will instantly see you wed to some other man, determined to thwart Robin. I came to tell him that John intends to raise an army to bring against him here in the forest."

Marian tensed. "Jesu! Because of me?"

"Aye …"

"Then I must go back!"

"No, you must not! Prince John will raise this army one way or the other. This goes far beyond you or even Robin himself. John wants the throne. Richard is a prisoner, and John wants to seize the crown. This is only part of his maneuvering. Marian, of all things, you must not go back! Robin would be distracted then, and no good would come of it." A great sigh shook her. "Robin must fight him!" she whispered, terrified. Could Robin win against an army of men, fully armored and armed, under the command of the Prince?

Marian hugged her suddenly and fiercely. "He will not be alone. He will have the Silver Sword, and other such friends."

There was a reverence to Marian's voice when she spoke of the Silver Sword. Kat pulled back, bristling. "The Silver Sword cannot best John's army."

"Oh, but he can take down a baker's dozen men alone!" she said, her eyes bright.

"But he is one man! An army must ride against an army." She leaped up suddenly. "I really have to go. I have to …" She paused again. It hurt. She was going to have to put her differences behind her. Swallow her pride. She was going to have to go home and convince Montjoy that he must actually ride against the Prince. With his men. He was a seasoned warrior. So were many of his men. They were the army that could combat an army. No matter what the pain, the tempest, the jealousy in her heart, she had to convince him to come to an outlaw's aid.

"What?" Marian said.

Kat shook her head. "I must persuade my husband to fight the Prince," she murmured, sinking down again. Aye, Damian might have cause to be grateful to the Silver Sword.

If he were not grateful for her, at the very least he had to be grateful for the Castle de Montrain, a stronghold he seemed to covet.

"Well, I can't see how that should be so very difficult," Marian murmured.

"Oh, it might be awful! Some time ago, Robin and Montjoy met in the forest. Well, rather I met Lord

Montjoy, and Robin had to come to my aid. They fought each other!"

Marian was smiling. "I believe, my lady, that they were merely careful to fool you. Lord Montjoy would never take up arms against Robin."

"What are you saying?" Kat demanded incredulously.

"You don't know?"

"Know what?"

Marian hesitated. Then her eyes lowered. "I don't know what I am at liberty to say, but I will tell you this much, for it is common knowledge, and it's truly startling that you don't know. Robin and Lord Montjoy are kin."

"But they can't be! My mother and—"

"And Robin's father," Marian said, stressing the word father. "Robin's mother was first cousin to Lord Montjoy's mother. Lord Montjoy's mother died so very young—perhaps that is why you never knew. Lord Montjoy was raised in a Norman household, and Robin, of course, was strictly a Saxon's child."

"Cousins?" Kat repeated. "They staged that fight for me! The rogues!"

Marian laughed. "Indeed. But aye, Kat, go home! Convince him that he must take up arms against the Prince!"

"Oh, I do believe that he'll need to take up arms!" Kat stated softly. Impulsively, she gave Marian a fierce hug again. "Friends—and relations!" she said. "For I believe, soon enough, we'll be cousins-in-law! Goodbye for now."

She hurried from Robin's small hut and ran for her mare. Robin's man, Will, hurried toward her. "Katherine! Robin will return shortly—"

"And so must I. He'll have my message. I must see what other help I can bring," she announced.

Before any man could stop her, she was mounted on her gray mare. But even as she prepared to ride hard toward home, one of Robin's men burst into the small copse.

"Damian, Lord Montjoy, is dangerously near the clearing!" he announced tensely.

Damian. Her heart thundered. He was looking for her.

She closed her eyes and remembered that day when she had accosted him here, in the forest. She was a good swordswoman. He had cost her her weapon in a matter of minutes. He had refused to kill her …

He was Robin's cousin, she reminded herself.

But now he was in the forest, looking for her, determined to find her. And Robin's men might well feel that he was getting too close, that they might have to accost him.

And men could die.

Damian could die …

She was startled by the pain that cut through her. She wanted to kill him herself. Rage against him, pummel her fists against him. Because …

Because she loved him. More than she had ever imagined that she could.

Even as she sat atop her gray mare pondering the situation, Marian hurtled out of Robin's crude hut. "Katherine!" she cried, having heard the news, it seemed. "You've got to do something! You've got to go stop what may happen. They don't know! Robin's men don't know! A few do, but not most of them. It has been a carefully kept secret because of his position."

"It's such a secret that Damian is Robin's cousin? We can just tell them. We can explain—"

"Jesu, Katherine! It's far more than that!"

"What, Marian? Tell me!" Eyes beseeching, Katherine looked down at the girl with the large flashing dark eyes and wild mane of hair.

"You really don't know?"

"I really don't know!"

Marian inhaled sharply, then quickly made up her mind. "Damian is far more than just Robin's cousin. He's—"

"He's what!" Katherine cried desperately.

Marian exhaled softly, watching Katherine. "Your husband, Lady Katherine, Lord Damian Montjoy, is none other than—"

"Than? Please! Tell me!" Katherine exploded.

Marian lowered her eyes.

"He is the Silver Sword."