True Love, page 19
“My lord Achard,” Catherine said, annoyed, “we don't need you here. Please leave.”
“She's right,” Braedon said to Achard. “Get out.”
“This is my room,” Royce declared. “Achard is welcome here. I invited him to join me. Braedon, I want you to leave.”
“Not until I say what I came to say,” Braedon told him.
“Father,” Catherine began.
“Be quiet,” Royce commanded her in a harsh tone of voice she seldom heard from him. “By heaven, you will do as I say. I'll have no more argument from you.”
“I don't understand,” Catherine cried.
“He intends for you to marry Achard,” Braedon said. “He told me so just before the banquet began. That's why he was so rude about the seating arrangements. He's giving you to Achard.”
“No! I will never marry Achard.”
“You have nothing to say about it,” Achard told her. “When a parent makes a decision, the child must abide by it.”
“But, I cannot marry you, Achard. I -” She was going to say that she was entirely Braedon's, that she had lain with him. Something in her father's face, and in Braedon's when she looked from one man to the other, told her to keep silent.
She knew why they wanted her to be quiet about her night with Braedon. If she admitted she had given her maidenhood to him, that she was no longer a virgin, she would lose her value as a prospective bride. Except, of course, for her huge dowry. For one wild instant she wondered if Achard would take her anyway, just to get the lands and the wealth that came with her.
“She loves me,” Braedon said to Royce. “She despises Achard. She told me so.”
“I said no such thing!” Catherine cried. “Braedon, why are you lying?”
“What difference does Catherine's love, or lack of love, have to do with my choice of a husband for her?” Royce asked with all the fine indifference to his only daughter's happiness that Lord Phelan might have displayed. Catherine would never have guessed that her own kind-hearted father could be so cruel. “Marriage is a political arrangement, a transfer of lands and titles. Affection does not enter into it.”
Before Catherine could shout at him that he had loved her mother, and he must be mad if he wanted to give her to a man who had been bent upon raping her only a few days ago, Braedon approached Royce and shoved him hard on one shoulder.
“I will not allow this travesty,” Braedon declared in a belligerent voice.
“The decision is mine, not yours or Catherine's.” With that, Royce punched Braedon in the jaw.
Braedon took a step backward, though he did not stumble and Catherine could see he wasn't hurt. But he did raise his fists in preparation for another attack from Royce.
“No, don't,” Catherine begged, stepping between them. “Please don't fight over me.”
They ignored her, glaring at each other over her head.
“Catherine belongs to me,” Braedon declared with remarkable arrogance.
“Under Norman law I hold the right to decide who she will marry,” Royce snarled. Clasping Catherine by the shoulders he set her aside so he could stand nose to nose with Braedon. “Get out of my room.”
“Not without Catherine.”
“I'll call the men-at-arms and have you thrown into the dungeon.”
“No, you won't,” Braedon said, drawing the knife at his belt. “I'll never take orders from you again.”
Catherine watched in horror as Braedon's arm swung back. She tried to scream and could not. All she could do was stare in shock and disbelief when her lover's arm plunged forward until his knife struck Royce just below his ribs. Blood spurted between the fingers Royce clasped over the wound. He gasped and fell to his knees.
“Achard,” Royce cried, “help me.” He collapsed onto the floor and lay still.
Catherine found her voice and let out a loud, wailing cry.
“Father! No! No!”
She was on her knees beside him, turning him over. He flopped onto his back like a rag doll.
“He's dead,” Achard said, poking at Royce with one booted foot. “What an unexpected and thoroughly agreeable turn of events.”
“What are you saying?” Catherine screamed, hitting at Achard's foot with her fist. “He can't be dead. Braedon would never—”
“Wouldn't he, if the reward were great enough?” Achard looked around the room. “You will notice that Braedon has fled, leaving you behind. Ah, well, perhaps he realizes he has just ruined any hope he once held of getting his hands on your dowry. Now, Catherine, you are coming with me.”
“No,” Catherine said, “I cannot leave my father.”
“I don't have time to argue with you. Someone must have heard you scream. In another moment or two, there will be a servant here to investigate.”
Scrambling to her feet, Catherine started for the door, intending to call for aid. She could not believe her father was dead. There must be a way to help him, to keep him alive in spite of his awful wound. He was so strong, so vital, always full of plans for the future. He could not, could not, be gone. It was impossible.
She did not reach the door. Before she got there, Achard caught her by one arm and swung her around to face him. She saw what he was going to do, but before she could scream out her rage and fear, his fist connected with her jaw. The blow shattered her senses and the world went black.
Chapter 13
Catherine knew where she was. She had visited the dungeon a few times in recent years, because she believed a chatelaine ought to know every part of the castle. Only seldom did Royce incarcerate anyone, so there were no prisoners at the moment. No other prisoners, she corrected herself. She was the only one, and she wasn’t there by her father's order. Thus, no man-at-arms was on duty in the anteroom just up the steps to prevent escape, or to hear a prisoner cry out.
She was alone and likely to remain alone until Achard came back. He had carried her to the cell she was presently occupying. In a hazy way she remembered him dumping her onto the stone floor, the jangle of the keys as he locked her in, and the sound of his footsteps growing more distant. After that she must have fainted again, and for a long time, because daylight was streaming through the high, slit window.
No, she hadn't fainted. In her father's room Achard had punched her hard enough to knock her unconscious and after she was tossed into the cell the same black, numb state had reclaimed her. Her jaw still hurt when she touched it, she felt queasy, and her head was spinning.
She didn't try to stand up, she just slid across the floor until her back was resting against the wall. There was a blanket in the cell, which she guessed Achard had used to wrap her in when he carried her to the dungeon. Catherine pulled the blanket around herself to keep off the chill of stone walls and floor. The cell was reasonably clean. Neither Catherine nor her father held with keeping malefactors in filthy conditions, so the dungeon was swept during each spring and autumn housecleaning.
Her father. He had accused her of unseemly passion for a man she didn’t know and she, blithely certain of her own heart, had insisted she loved Braedon. Now her father was dead and it was at least partly her fault, for she’d refused to listen to his good advice about a man he knew far better than she did. She still could not accept Royce’s death, though she had watched him die and had seen how he lay unmoving, even when Achard kicked him.
She did not want to believe Braedon would commit so heinous a deed. Yet he had, while she watched, unable to stop him, and with that single, dastardly blow he had destroyed every vestige of love she felt for him.
Braedon's guilt was partly hers, for she had deliberately ignored her knowledge that he was lying with almost every word he spoke to her, and that he was engaged in secretive schemes. Wanting him with a passion she scarcely understood, she had given herself to him with an open heart, given herself to a man who had then betrayed her, and her beloved father.
And now, because of her willful disregard of the truth about Braedon, her father was dead and she was doomed to be forcibly wed to Achard, who did not love her, but only her dowry, who would surely treat her unkindly. Her dowry was what Achard had wanted from the very beginning, since before he appeared at Wortham. She could imagine how viciously he would react when he realized she was no virgin. He'd have her dowry under his control by then, so it would no longer matter whether she lived or died. Either way, Achard would have what he wanted, though he might let her live long enough to bear him a child to be his heir.
The thought of conceiving and then carrying Achard's child made her feel ill. She wanted no one but Braedon to touch her in that way – Braedon, who had murdered her father. In spite of everything she knew about Braedon, she wanted him still, and with an aching intensity that broke her honest heart.
Catherine put her head down on her knees and wept in shame and despair.
“Damnation. What a cursed muddle this mission has proven to be.” Clutching his aching head, Braedon stumbled into the lord's chamber. “I tried to stop Achard as we planned, but he hit me with something hard. I was so stunned by the blow that I didn't see what he used or which way he went. He was too fast for me.”
“He hit you with the stool. So much for your clever ruse.” Royce finished scrubbing the last of the pig's blood off his abdomen, grimacing at the discolored towel before he tossed it aside. “Disgusting stuff. The next time, you will pretend to be killed and I will use that trick knife of yours. Where is Catherine?”
“Catherine?” Braedon rubbed at the back of his head, where a large and painful bump was rising. “She must have gone to seek assistance for you. It's probably too much to hope she will meet Cadwallon first. We are going to have to concoct a story to explain to her, and to your guests, why you aren't dead. What's wrong?” Braedon asked, seeing the horrified expression on Royce's face.
“I thought you had her – or Cadwallon did.”
“The last I saw of Catherine, she was kneeling by your body.”
“Achard has her.” Royce looked as if he wanted to murder someone. “Achard hit her. Then he seized the stool and ran out of the room for a moment, I suppose to make sure no one was on the stairs. That's probably when he discovered you lurking outside and struck you down. He came back, tossed Catherine over his shoulder, and left, closing the door after him. A cool man, to think of that little detail. I couldn't stop him, because I was still following your foolish scheme, so I was temporarily dead. I made the mistake of assuming that you would stop him and release Catherine.”
“Achard has Catherine?” Braedon tried to think past the pain in his head. “Dear God, no.”
“We both know what he'll do to her,” Royce said. “Achard is determined to marry Catherine.”
“Cadwallon found me and shook me till I woke up,” Braedon said, recounting his version of events. “I told him Achard was gone and to order the castle gates closed, including the postern gate. He went to tell Captain William. It should be done by now.”
“William's men will know whether anyone has left the castle,” Royce said. “At least you did something right during this clever debacle of yours. But Wortham is a large place. Assuming Achard hasn't left, he could be hiding Catherine almost anywhere within these walls.”
“Then we search the castle from battlements to cellars,” Braedon said, “and pray we find Catherine before Achard rapes her. I warned you about Achard days ago. I told you how he treated Catherine down by the river. You should have stopped him then.”
“Achard isn't the only spy involved in this particular game,” Royce said. “I required solid proof that he is a double agent for King Louis, and I needed the names of Achard's accomplices. Otherwise, simply eliminating Achard will make little difference to the web of spies he has established.”
“So, to catch a few of King Louis’ agents, you put your daughter's life at risk.” It did not escape Braedon's notice, even in his current state of rage and head pain, that if the lady involved had been anyone but Catherine, Royce's reasoning wouldn't have mattered quite so much to him.
“I had no choice,” Royce said, his lips thinned by anger, his face pale with worry. “My duty to King Henry comes before all else.”
“Then you must live with whatever happens to Catherine,” Braedon snapped. “Unfortunately for her, so will she have to live with the consequences of your decision to allow Achard to court her.”
“You cannot imagine what I am feeling at this moment,” Royce said.
“Perhaps not.” Braedon regarded his superior with something perilously close to contempt. “I do know that I would never have set Catherine's value as low as you have. Not even for my king.”
Royce met his eyes for a tense moment before turning aside to pull on a fresh tunic. Then Cadwallon knocked on the door, entering on Royce's command.
“The castle is secured,” Cadwallon reported. “Captain William is certain no one has left or entered since the feast began some hours ago. Achard is still within these walls. We will find him, Royce. It will just take a while.”
“He has Catherine,” Braedon said.
“What? Will he use her as a hostage?” Cadwallon cried. “By heaven, if he harms that sweet lady, I'll rip his heart out!”
“After I castrate him,” Braedon stated, setting his mouth in a grim line.
“The honor of striking Achard first belongs to me,” Royce said, girding on his sword belt. “I am her father.”
Hearing that claim, Braedon clamped his teeth shut and refrained from speaking all the harsh words he wanted to say to Royce. He told himself that Royce was suffering, too, that he did care about his daughter far more than many men cared for their female children. Catherine's honor was a reflection on Royce's own honor, and Royce would see to it that the wrong done to her by Achard was suitably revenged.
But Royce did not know Catherine as Braedon did. Only Braedon had ever held her close as their bodies became one, only he had seen the look on her beautiful face as she tasted for the first time the passionate delights of womanhood. The thought of Achard forcing himself on Catherine made Braedon's blood boil, and he vowed if he found Achard first, he would not wait to grant Royce his parent's right to punish the brute. With a groan of anguish Braedon headed for the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Royce called after him.
“To put away this trick knife I used on you and get a real blade instead. I'll need my sword and a dagger when I meet Achard,” Braedon answered. He started down the steps toward his own room.
“Braedon.” Cadwallon stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “I have only seen you this angry once before. Take care. Achard is a man far more dangerous than Eustace.”
“I could not punish Eustace for hurting Linette,” Braedon said, “but this time nothing will prevent me from administering justice.”
“The king will want to speak with Achard, and he will not take kindly to the person who prevents that conversation.”
“Then, I will just geld Achard,” Braedon promised. “I won't kill him. Not today.”
“I think Achard would rather that you killed him,” Cadwallon said. “He'd much prefer your sharp sword to the traitor's death King Henry will certainly order for him.”
“All the more reason to keep him alive,” Braedon responded with a fierce smile. “I will heed your warning, old friend.”
The search for Catherine was conducted quietly and efficiently so as not to disturb the guests.
“There will be panic if your guests learn there’s a desperate man loose, who holds Lady Catherine captive,” Cadwallon advised Royce. “You will have men and women running around, some of them terrified and some trying to help, and all of the resulting confusion will only make finding Achard and his prisoner more difficult.”
Royce and Captain William both agreed with this reasoning. Swearing to Royce that no one could move about the castle for very long without being caught, Captain William posted men-at-arms at all appropriate locations and used the remainder of his men to assist Royce in the search.
Toward dawn it occurred to Braedon that Achard could have made a second foray into his room, this time to steal the poppy syrup that induced a deep sleep. Achard might have decided to force Catherine to swallow the syrup as a way of keeping her from crying for help or from fighting him and trying to escape. Braedon did not doubt for a moment that unless she was heavily drugged, Catherine would fight Achard at every opportunity.
Without telling Royce, who was supervising the search of the kitchen and the storerooms, Braedon returned to his chamber.
“I've been waiting to catch you alone.” Gwendolyn followed him into the room. “You want to hear what I have to say.”
“Do I?” Braedon decided the quickest means of getting rid of her was by listening to her and then sending her on her way. He wasn't going to untie the thong on his clothes basket until Gwendolyn was gone. He made himself stand quietly, displaying no impatience while she spoke.
“Where would all of these nobles be without ordinary folk like you and me to take care of them?” Gwendolyn asked.
“Where, indeed?” Braedon responded, wishing she would hurry with her story.
“If you rescue Lady Catherine, Lord Royce will look more kindly on you. And if I help you and we catch Lord Achard, there will be a reward in it for me, won't there?”
Braedon gaped at her, restraining the urge to shake her. He wasn't surprised that Gwendolyn knew who were the objects of the castle-wide search, for all it was being done so quietly, while most of the inhabitants of Wortham were still in their beds. Servants always knew more than their masters about what was really going on, a fact Braedon had often used to his own advantage when seeking information.
“What are you saying?” he asked carefully, trying to appear calm. “If you have knowledge of Lady Catherine's whereabouts, why haven't you told anyone?”
“I'm telling you now,” Gwendolyn pointed out. “Aldis would know if she'd been paying attention. She is Lady Catherine's companion, after all. But she's too busy these days, fluttering her eyelashes at that handsome squire of yours, and Lady Catherine is too kind-hearted to scold the silly wench for it. Anyway, I have only just made certain of where Lady Catherine is, and I came straight to you.”
