True Love, page 20
“Gwendolyn,” Braedon said, very slowly and distinctly, “where is Catherine?”
“Come with me and I'll show you,” Gwendolyn said. “Be quiet about it. You don't want to alert Achard. He's bedding his doxy right now, but he has sharp ears.”
“Are you saying that Achard has a lover here at Wortham?” Braedon exclaimed.
“Didn't you know?” Gwendolyn smirked at him. “Aye, Achard's a sly one. Nasty, too. He hit me twice. Lord Royce has never hit me, not in all the years I've been at Wortham, nor Lady Catherine, either. Are you coming?”
“I'm right behind you.” Under the present circumstances, Braedon didn't really trust anyone at Wortham except the few men he knew to be honest. Even good servants could be corrupted, but he decided to take the chance that Gwendolyn was telling the truth, that she did know where Catherine was, and that she was appreciative enough of the kind treatment she received at Wortham to be willing to see Catherine freed from Achard's clutches.
“Where are we going?” Braedon asked as he followed Gwendolyn down and around the spiraling staircase. “We must be below the level of the great hall by now.”
“So we are.” Gwendolyn was holding a clay lamp in one hand and the meager flame sent exaggerated shadows flickering along the stone walls. They came to a heavy wooden door that was barred.
“Slide the bar back,” Gwendolyn said, “and leave the door open. If the search parties come this far and find us, it won't matter. You and I will still be the first ones there.”
With Braedon following she went through the doorway and down a long set of steps that led to the lowest level of the castle. The air grew colder and damper with every step they took, and each footfall echoed off the stone walls.
“We must be heading for the dungeon,” Braedon said, keeping his voice low.
“Where else would you hide a prisoner?” Gwendolyn asked. “One of those wise nobles up above should have thought of it hours ago. Or Captain William should have. He usually has more common sense than most nobles.”
The stairs ended in a small anteroom from which extended an unlit corridor. When Gwendolyn held her oil lamp higher Braedon could see a row of closed doors. Gwendolyn indicated a ring of keys hanging from a hook set into the wall.
“Those will open the cells,” she said. “I'm not sure which one Lady Catherine is in. I only heard Achard say she is safely locked in the dungeon.”
“You mean, you were listening at a keyhole,” Braedon said.
“What I overheard is to your benefit.” Gwendolyn was unrepentant. “And to Lady Catherine's.”
“To your benefit, too.” Braedon's tone was mild, rather than accusing. He had listened at a few keyholes himself during the performance of his secret duties for the king.
He removed the keys from their hook and while Gwendolyn held the light so he could see the keyholes, Braedon tried each door. They found Catherine in the last room on the right.
She was standing somewhat unsteadily in the middle of the cell, her hands balled into fists, eyes bright with defiance. The bruise on her chin was a dark reminder of Achard's violence. Catherine did not relax when she saw Braedon. She met his relieved expression with a fierce glare.
“Well, Sir Murderer,” she cried, “have you come to kill me, too?”
“Don't be an ass,” Gwendolyn said. “We're here to rescue you.”
“I refuse to go anywhere with this man. I marvel that you are helping him,” Catherine said to her.
“We can talk later.” Seeing how she trembled, Braedon put out a hand to take her arm. “For now, we all need to get out of here before Achard decides to check on you.”
“No.” Catherine sidestepped Braedon's reach. “My father’s blood is on those hands.”
“Stop your whining and come with us,” Gwendolyn said, “or will Braedon have to hit you and carry you the way Achard did? Do you have some aversion to traveling up and down the dungeon steps on your own feet?”
“Gently, Gwendolyn,” Braedon murmured. “Catherine has been hurt, and earlier tonight she received a great shock.”
“You killed my father!” Catherine shrieked at him.
“I can explain,” Braedon said.
“I don't want to hear your excuses. There is no excuse for what you've done.”
“Oh, for the love of heaven!” Gwendolyn declared. “Quit babbling, and let's leave before Achard decides to come down here and force himself on Catherine.”
“Too late,” said Achard, strolling into the cell, sword in hand. “Braedon, your head is harder than I thought. I expected you to be discovered unconscious on the steps outside the lord's chamber. I cherished a fond hope that Captain William would hang you before morning. I am sorely disappointed to find you still alive.”
“Captain William would never act in haste, not even when dealing with a murderer,” Catherine said. “He will take Braedon to King Henry and present the evidence against him there. Then Braedon will hang. And I will watch.” She regarded Braedon with cold hostility.
“Of course, my dear.” Achard smiled at her. “I see a certain justice in that notion. On the same day when Braedon dies, you and I will marry. And that night, while Braedon's lifeless body still dangles from the gibbet, I will get my heir on you.”
“If you try, I will kill you,” Catherine said, cold and hard and filled with hatred. “I want neither of you. You spies, with your secrets and your twisted plots, have destroyed my father!”
“Where's your mistress?” Gwendolyn asked Achard. “I thought you were in bed with her.”
“I was.” Achard transferred his smile to Gwendolyn. “After we were finished playing with each other, she fell asleep. When the urge to have a woman came upon me a second time, I thought of Catherine, and so I came to visit her. There is something peculiarly exciting about soft female flesh pressed down hard against a stone floor.”
“You are disgusting!” Catherine cried. “How can you expect me to marry you? Why didn't you raise the alarm as soon as Braedon stabbed my father? Instead, you kicked him – kicked a dying man!”
“A dead man,” Achard corrected her. “Royce was already dead. He felt nothing.”
“Hah!” said Gwendolyn to Catherine. “No respect for the dead. If you ask me, that bodes ill for the kind of husband and father he'd make. I say, let his whore have him.”
“No one asked you,” Achard said softly, lifting his sword and pointing it at Gwendolyn. “Say one word more and I'll spit you on this blade.”
“What I don't understand,” Catherine said, staring at Gwendolyn, “is why you helped Braedon to find me. I know you respected my father. Why would you do anything at all for his murderer?”
Gwendolyn looked at Braedon. For the space of a single breath he tried to communicate a warning to her to be careful when she spoke again. Since she knew about the search, she also knew that Royce was not dead. Braedon prayed she would not squander that piece of valuable information. It was better saved for a time when it would startle Achard into revealing something important.
“Well,” said Gwendolyn, her gaze lingering on Braedon's wide shoulders, his narrow waist, and his muscular thighs, “the first night he was at Wortham, when I was sent to bathe him, he was so kind to me, so strong and virile. I would do almost anything for Sir Braedon.”
“Ah,” Achard said, nodding, “I understand. When the urge to have a woman comes upon a man, it matters not where he spends himself. Of course, the wench will do whatever he asks of her. She is so homely that Braedon is probably the only man who ever delved between her thighs. She is grateful to him.”
“That is not what happened,” Braedon said, his eyes on Catherine.
“I don't care,” she responded.
Braedon saw in her eyes that she did care, that her tender feelings for him remained unchanged even though she believed he had killed her father. They were in mortal danger, with Achard, for all his relaxed stance and mocking conversation, just waiting for an opening to attack Braedon. It was possible that Achard would attempt to use Catherine as a decoy or a shield, to give himself the opportunity to kill Braedon. Only one man would leave that cell alive. Yet, in spite of the danger, Braedon's heart warmed at the knowledge that Catherine's emotions remained true. She stood bravely, bruised chin lifted high, and Braedon ached to hold her in his arms and tell her the entire truth.
But not yet, not until he was finished with Achard. Braedon drew his sword.
“What, are you prepared to spill your blood before Catherine?” Achard asked, still mocking him.
“Mine, or yours,” Braedon answered him. “Catherine is brave enough to bind up the most grievous wounds. She will not flinch at the sight of your blood.”
“Catherine will not need to faint, not for me. Unless, of course, she cries out when I breech her maidenhead. There will be some blood spilt on that occasion, I am sure.”
Braedon knew Achard was trying to goad him into making a thoughtless charge at him, in hope of putting a quick end to his opponent. Braedon heard Catherine's soft gasp at Achard's sneering words about taking possession of her, and for a moment the memory of her lying in his bed with her body convulsing around him filled his mind. He forced the sweet image away, concentrating instead on his enemy and on the business of preventing Achard from ever holding Catherine in his arms.
Achard was a skilled swordsman, and he was bent upon killing Braedon. Their blades clashed together, steel sliding against steel, their hands almost touching, arm straining against muscular arm to break the contact. Achard forced Braedon back and Braedon quickly took the full measure of his opponent. It was not going to be easy to defeat Achard. They circled each other, striking and parrying, breath coming quickly.
Suddenly, Achard bent, snatched up the blanket that lay near the cell wall, and flung it at Braedon. It caught on Braedon's sword blade and a portion of the blanket fell across his head. Braedon stumbled, then felt his sword being wrenched out of his hand.
He caught the edge of the blanket and swirled it around, hoping to confuse Achard with the unexpected movement. When Achard rushed forward, sword lifted to deal the slashing, side-to-side blow that would end Braedon's life, Braedon spun away on the ball of one foot. In the next instant he plucked from his boot the dagger hidden there. Before Achard could turn Braedon caught him from behind, with an arm across his shoulders, holding the dagger at Achard's throat, immobilizing him. With Braedon at his back, Achard's blade was useless.
“Drop the sword,” Braedon ordered. “I said, drop it!”
The sword clattered on the stone cell floor.
“Thank you, my lord,” Braedon said pleasantly. “Will one of you ladies please be good enough to take the sword out of Achard's reach?”
During the fight Catherine had been edging her way along the wall toward the door. She darted forward to grab up Achard's sword and hold it in both hands.
“Now,” Braedon said into Achard's ear, “I think the time has come to punish you for what you have twice tried to do to Catherine. I promised Cadwallon I wouldn't kill you, that I'd leave you alive for King Henry to deal with, so all I intend to do just now is castrate you. Never again will you threaten rape to any woman.”
“No!” Catherine screamed. “What if he bleeds to death? Hand over your knife, Braedon. I am going to lock you in this cell with Achard until Captain William can make arrangements to take the two of you before King Henry. Be assured, I will testify against both of you and, woman though I am, King Henry will listen to me.
“Do it!” she yelled when Braedon just stared at her. “I am not joking. I will gladly use this sword on either of you.”
“No, my lady.” Gwendolyn grabbed Catherine's wrist. “You don't understand.” With strength worthy of a servant who regularly carried heavy loads, she pulled the sword out of Catherine's grasp.
“Whose side are you on?” Catherine shouted at her.
“Yours,” Gwendolyn responded. “If you would only have a bit of patience and listen to what Sir Braedon and I can tell you, then you'd understand.”
Achard took advantage of this diversion to fight free of Braedon's grip. But not for long. Braedon used the pommel of his dagger to whack Achard on the side of his head. Achard crumpled onto the floor.
“That's fair enough,” Braedon muttered, looking down at him. “You hit me with a stool so you could carry Catherine off, and now I've hit you with a knife hilt in order to release her.”
Pulling aside the blanket, Braedon retrieved his sword and sheathed it. He tucked the dagger back into his boot before turning to face Catherine.
“I did not kill your father,” he said. “I didn't tell you before, because I don't want Achard to know it yet.”
“I saw you stab him,” Catherine said.
“Come to my room and I'll show you the trick knife I used, and how it works.”
“I refuse to go anywhere with you.” Her eyes blazed a terrifying mixture of love and hatred at him.
“Would you rather stay here with Achard?” Gwendolyn asked, brandishing the ring of keys. “My lady, every word that Sir Braedon says is true.”
Catherine looked from Braedon to Gwendolyn, and back to Braedon again.
“I'll take you to Royce,” Braedon told her.
“Truly? You didn't -?” She gulped, one hand at her mouth, and she made no protest when Braedon gently guided her out of the cell.
“There,” Gwendolyn said, locking the cell door. “I am not going to put the keys back on their hook and risk someone coming along to free Achard as we have just freed Lady Catherine. I will give the keys only into Lord Royce's hands.”
“My father really is alive?” Catherine looked as if she still could not believe what she was hearing. “Is he sorely wounded?”
“He's not hurt at all,” Braedon told her. “It was a trick. My love, you weren't supposed to be in the lord's chamber. Our plan was for just your father, Achard, and me to be present. But when I arrived, there you already were, and I couldn't think how we were going to get Achard to Royce's room a second time without arousing his suspicions, so I decided to go ahead with the plan, and Royce went along with my actions, just as we had agreed.”
“You let me think my father was dead!” Catherine's fists beat upon his chest until Braedon caught her hands and held them there, over his heart.
“I am sorry for the pain we caused you,” Braedon said. “We thought we knew the way to get information about Achard's accomplices. Unfortunately, we haven't learned much more about his activities than we knew before this night began. We are going to have to think of another plan.”
“Another plan,” Catherine repeated. “And where will your next scheme end? With my father's actual death? With yours? Stupid, thoughtless men!”
Chapter 14
When Catherine and her companions reached the great hall Royce, Cadwallon, Captain William and a few men-at-arms were gathered there, conferring in low voices about where next to search for her.
“Father! I'm so glad you're alive!” Catherine rushed into Royce's arms, clinging to him, relishing the solid bulk of his strong body pressed briefly to hers before he broke away from her embrace.
“It's all right, Catherine. It was only a trick, part of the game. As you can see, I am in perfect health.”
As if his apparent death and her abduction were ordinary matters, events that occurred every day, Royce took her by the shoulders and set her aside, while around them the other men exclaimed at her sudden appearance and Cadwallon and Captain William began to question Braedon about where he had found her.
“Part of the game?” Catherine knew she was shrieking again, but she couldn't seem to stop herself from raising her voice or from expressing her righteous fury at her father's deception. “Don't you ever, ever again play a trick like that on me!” As far as she could tell her outburst made no impression at all on her parent.
“I am glad Catherine is safe,” Royce said to Braedon, “and I thank you for finding her, but we still don't know where Achard is.”
“He's locked in the dungeon,” Gwendolyn announced, tossing the ring of keys at Royce. “Thanks to Sir Braedon, and to me, Lady Catherine is rescued and that miserable villain Achard lies unconscious in a cell down below.”
Royce caught the keys in midair. He spared a long look for Gwendolyn before addressing Braedon again.
“Is this true?” he asked.
“Men,” Gwendolyn muttered to Catherine. “They don't believe anything a woman says, unless she's speaking words of high praise for male prowess in battle, or in bed. Except for Braedon. He believed me when I said I knew where you were being held, and because he did, you are safe. You are, aren't you? Achard didn't do anything vile to you when he first dragged you into that cell, did he?”
“The worst he did was punch me,” Catherine said, rubbing the sore spot on her chin. “That was vile enough.”
“If you've had your fill of these wretched warriors,” Gwendolyn said, casting a baleful look at the assembled men, “I'll see you to your room and find some hot water so you can wash away the dust of that cell – not to mention washing away the touch of Achard's hands on you.”
“That sounds like a very good idea,” Catherine responded with a tired sigh. “I suddenly feel an urgent need to lie down.”
“Catherine.” Her father's voice stopped her progress toward the stairs. “Not one word to anyone about the events of last night. Not even to Aldis. You are to carry on as if nothing has happened.”
“Yes, father.” It was a properly meek response but Catherine was still seething with indignation against Royce. By the time she reached her bedchamber she was shaking in the aftermath of terror and outrage. She leaned against the bedpost for support.
“Here you are.” Gwendolyn had left Catherine at the bedroom door; now she reappeared bearing a large pitcher of hot water.
“How did you get that so quickly?” Catherine asked in surprise.
