Chapter Eighteen

G uy read the message one more time and then placed the slip of parchment neatly on his writing desk and folded his hands together. He must pen a reply to the king, but first he needed a moment to gather his thoughts.

He turned in his chair to the solar window and gazed out at the sparkling sea, but he didn't see the white-tipped waves and soaring seagulls, he saw a tall young woman with tumbling auburn hair, enticing curves and a wide smile. She had worked here for no more than a month, yet every foot of Rossfarne Castle was permeated with Kitty's memory. He couldn't so much as eat a meal without thinking of her and missing her. This room, which had once been his sanctuary, had grown almost unbearable. She had sung for him by the fireplace. They had shared their first kiss while standing on that very rug.

It would be easier to put her behind him once he returned to the service of the king. He flexed his fingers. His body was healed. His mind ready for a fresh challenge. He hadn't been expecting a summons so soon, but now he saw that the timing could not have been better. Tomorrow, he would join King Edward on the tumultuous borderlands, where they would prepare for battle.

He must get ready. There was much to do. He had no time to wallow over a girl who had lied to him, stolen from him, cheated him. Not even when the memory of how they had come together still lit a fire inside him. She had been so responsive to his touch, and his body had sung for her. But it could never be again.

He would find other avenues for pleasure. Ones that did not stave open his heart and leave him vulnerable.

A knock sounded on the wooden door.

"You sent for me, my lord?"

Guy beckoned for the marshal to enter. The man was clad in a smart but plain tunic, his dark hair neatly combed away from his sun-tanned face.

"I am leaving tomorrow," Guy announced, without preamble.

The marshal looked surprised. "So soon? We were not anticipating your departure."

Guy drummed his fingers on the desk, unwilling and unaccustomed to sharing details of his personal life. "The situation has changed. In my absence, you will once again assume charge of the castle. I trust this is to your liking?"

"Happy to serve, my lord." The marshal dipped his head.

"Ensure the repair work continues on the gatehouse. It must be weather tight by winter."

The marshal nodded. "And the extra guards? Shall we stand them down?"

Guy thought for a moment. "No. I want the castle to be secure. I may be gone for some time." A question flickered behind the marshal's eyes, but he was too well-trained to voice it. The man, however, had served him willingly and without question; mayhap he deserved more of an explanation. Guy sighed resignedly. "There is little to bring me back here." He raised his eyebrows to check he understood. "I will remain with the king for as long as he needs me."

"We shall be ready to welcome you home, whenever that may be," the marshal said, stiffly. He cleared his throat. "May I speak freely, my lord?"

Guy motioned with his arms and pulled his face into a neutral expression, even as his heart sank. "Of course."

The marshal hesitated, glancing around the room to ensure they were alone. "It has not always been easy to find men willing to work at Rossfarne Castle, not locally anyway." He dampened his lips with his tongue.

Guy felt a surge of impatience. "You mean, because of the old earl? Speak freely, man."

A tremor passed through the marshal's features, but he stood his ground. "Very good, my lord. Yes, because of the old earl. He was not well-liked, hereabouts."

"I should say that's the least of it," Guy interjected, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair.

The marshal nodded again. "But I believe the situation is beginning to change. Slowly. At least, with one exception." He ground to a halt and the silence grew heavy between them, broken only by the mournful crying of gulls outside.

Guy took a deep breath, willing himself to remain calm. He wanted to provide steady employment for those who had served him reliably. Therefore, he must listen to their concerns.

"Are you going to tell me what this one exception is?"

"The villagers speak of a young woman." He shifted uncomfortably and fixed his gaze on the window behind Guy. "A Miss Katherine Alden."

Kitty . It could only be Kitty. Guy gripped the arms of his chair to steady himself.

"I have never heard that name," he said truthfully, though a memory tore at his heart. Kitty, enfolded in his travelling cloak, the folds of fabric swamping her, lifting her chin to meet his eye with steady composure. "My name is not really Kitty. It is Katherine."

"No, my lord." The marshal's words brought him back to the solar.

"Who is she?" Guy demanded, more harshly than he'd intended.

The marshal looked hot and uncomfortable, though he stood with a straight back and his arms smartly by his sides. "Her mother was a noblewoman. Her father, less well born. But the family is well known hereabouts, and various rumours are circulating."

Guy raised an eyebrow as a chill of apprehension twisted in his stomach. "Rumours?" His voice was icy.

"They say that Miss Katherine is here." The marshal looked embarrassed.

Guy steadied himself. He must dissipate this speculation, for Kitty's sake more than his own. Heaven knows, he had no desire to see her reputation spoiled.

"I do not believe I have ever been introduced to a Miss Katherine Alden," he said slowly, gathering his thoughts. "But I may know where these rumours have sprung from. Did I perhaps meet the young lady's father in the alehouse?"

The marshal looked faint with nerves. "That is what I have heard."

Guy waved his hand, aiming for nonchalance. "A most unfortunate encounter. But one which, thankfully, held no repercussions. The man was a drunkard. A scoundrel no less."

"Oh, yes, my lord," the marshal interrupted in his eagerness to agree. "He has now been chased out of Rossfarne."

"Is that so?" Guy took a breath. Did that leave Kitty without a protector? The idea brought him up short, before he came to the realisation that Owain could hardly have been described as such. No doubt Kitty was better off without him. And hadn't she proved that she could look after herself well enough? He shook away his concerns. Kitty's reputation had rested briefly in his hands, but her future wellbeing was not his responsibility. "Both the family's jewels and the family's daughter are safe and well in the family home." He cleared his throat. "To the best of my knowledge."

The marshal heaved a sigh of relief and widened his stance. "That will make recruiting the new men easier, my lord."

"I am glad to hear it." Guy tightened his lips. What would these new men say if they knew the truth, that Miss Katherine Alden had gained entry to his castle and his heart through dishonest means?

That he was the victim here?

The marshal bowed his farewell. Guy waited until his footsteps had faded from the great hall before allowing his anger to surface.

"Damn it all," he swore, bringing his fist down heavily onto his desk and making the ink splatter onto the king's summons.

Never lower your guard.

It pained him to think it, but his father had been right all along. He would batten down the hatches. Bolt all the doors. Shore up his heart in the way that Rossfarne Castle would soon be closed to intruders. No one allowed in. Nothing allowed out.

He rose to his feet, too frustrated to sit still at a desk. His whole being coursed with impatience. He had lingered too long in Rossfarne, allowing the sunlight to shine into all the cracks and crevices he usually kept hidden. It was time to be gone.

His riding boots rang out against the stone flags of the great hall. When he stepped outside, a slight summer breeze rifled through his hair. The sky was powder blue; the air warm and welcoming. It was a beautiful day, but Guy cared nothing for it. He strode towards the stables, looking neither left nor right, scattering stable hands in his path.

"My lord." The groom nodded politely.

Guy put his hands on his hips. "Is my horse well rested?"

"He is, my lord. I've never seen him so settled."

Guy didn't believe it, but when he paced over to the stall, his horse was peacefully munching hay. His head was lowered, his eyes liquid calm. Guy stroked his silken neck and the horse breathed softly into his hands.

"We are returning to the life we know," Guy told him.

His horse was bred for battle. No wonder he had struggled with the dull tedium of civilian life. But after several weeks, he had adjusted to the quiet rhythms of the castle.

Just like his master.

Guy lifted his eyes to the spot he had last seen Kitty. It was achingly benign. Straw-strewn cobbles. A low wooden beam. Horse blankets, neatly folded on a cracked chest. He had declared his true feelings moments before discovering her dishonesty. The memory still twisted like a dagger in his gut.

He leaned his head against the horse's powerful shoulder and breathed deeply, quelling a rising tide of emotion.

Have I been too harsh with her?

As if hearing the question spoken out loud, the horse snorted and pushed his nose against Guy's belly.

"You think so?" He pulled the creature's ears, unwittingly replaying their final conversation as he had so many times before.

"I wanted only to provide a better future for my sister," she'd said.

An admirable motivation, for anything but theft and deceit. Deceit against him . When he had only ever shown her kindness.

A groan swelled inside him and he bit down on his lip lest the sound come out and the stable boys hear his anguish. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth.

Would he have been driven to such extremes to provide a better future for Angus, were he ever given the chance?

Yes , the answer came from deep within him. He would have, in a heartbeat. But not if it meant lying to Kitty. She was the one person he would prioritise above all others. Even his younger brother.

This time he couldn't push back the torrent of memories. He closed his eyes and nausea swirled in his stomach as images from that fateful day in his youth cascaded through his mind.

"Take your brother out riding," his father had demanded. "Go beyond the estate, onto the cliffs. I'm putting you in charge. Make a man of him."

Fifteen-year-old Guy had murmured a protest. "Angus is no natural horseman. He's happier riding here in the paddocks. What need is there to frighten him on the cliffs?"

His father's brow had darkened further. "Who are you to question me, boy?"

Guy had complied, leading a reluctant Angus out onto the Forbisher cliffs on a wild, blustery day, when gusts of wind spooked the horses even more than the crashing white-tipped waves below them.

"Don't communicate your fear to the horse," Guy had instructed his grey-faced brother, who had only just celebrated his tenth birthday.

But both horses were in a state of terror, snorting and prancing and refusing to go beyond a natural bend in the coastline. Moments later, as his mare reared up beneath him, Guy discovered why. A group of wild boars, grunting and growling their intent, came out of the trees. Angus cried out as his horse bucked in distress.

"Hold on," Guy shouted. He reached into his belt for the dagger he always carried, gripping with his thighs as his mare shied to the side.

Two small boars came into view and Guy's fingers stilled on the handle of the dagger. The boars were only protecting their young.

"Steady, girl," he said to his mare. "Turn back," he said to Angus. "They won't follow us."

He lowered his weapon, took his eyes from his target.

Disobeyed his father's golden rule. Never lower your guard.

Decades later, Guy could still hear Angus's last words as his horse bolted towards the edge of the cliffs, chased by the angry boar.

"Guy, help me," he'd screamed.

The squeal of terror as the horse plunged to its death, taking Angus with it, was a sound that punctuated his nightmares.

His mother blamed him, absolutely, for the death of her youngest son. And his father hadn't wasted any time in laying his own guilt and responsibility firmly at Guy's feet.

"You were in charge," he roared, full of the black rage that tainted their lives.

Then he took aim at Guy with a dagger of his own, to show him how it should be done. The dagger landed squarely above his clavicle. Not threatening his life, but leaving a permanent knot of memory too painful to bear.

Standing by his horse in the stables of Rossfarne Castle, Guy drew on his steely reserves of strength, barricading his defences against the onslaught of feelings which he'd spent most of his life holding in check.

He wouldn't crumble. Not today. Not ever.

Any regret he harboured over Kitty, paled into insignificance given the burden he already carried.

He cleared his throat and issued a command to the groom.

"Prepare my horse. We leave tomorrow."