True Love, page 7
“Thank you for those words, Braedon,” Achard said. “It is encouraging to know that my friend understands, if Lady Catherine does not. For, in truth, my heart was lost in the first instant when I beheld her beauty.”
“Indeed,” said Catherine, biting off each word she uttered. “That is why you spoke to my father about marrying me long before you came to Wortham to meet me.”
“Surely, my dearest lady,” Achard protested, “you know how noble marriages are made. My interest in a well-dowered lady is neither unusual nor reprehensible, nor can you blame me for my delight when I met you and realized your personal beauty. What a rare joy it is for a man to be able to combine his duty with marital pleasure.”
“My father has given me his solemn promise never to force me into marriage against my will,” Catherine stated firmly.
“So I have.” Royce stood behind Catherine, his hands on her shoulders. “Achard, you have asked for and received my permission to court my daughter, but the final decision will be hers. If you want her, you must win her heart.”
Catherine opened her mouth to declare that she refused to be courted by Achard. She did not want to marry a man whose motives she suspected were not honest. Royce's fingers tightening on her shoulders stopped her. She believed he was trying to convey a message by his pressure. She wasn't sure exactly what the message was, but where her happiness was concerned she trusted her parent. He wasn't going to insist that she accept Achard. However, she knew he did want her to be agreeable and allow Achard to present his suit.
“You have heard my father,” Catherine said to Achard. “I am in complete accord with him.”
Achard beamed at her as if he was certain she was going to agree to marry him, and it occurred to Catherine that, given his remarkable good looks and his ready charm, perhaps no one had ever refused him anything he wanted. She wondered what his reaction would be when she presented him with her final negative response. She did know she could not agree to marry him. Her every instinct warned that Achard would not be a loving or a kind husband, that he would employ his skill at flattery and use his handsome appearance to beguile her until he achieved his goal of wedding her, and then he would move on to other prey.
She did not know how she could be so sure of this; it was simply something perceived deep in her woman's nature, and her lack of physical experience with men did not alter her perception. When Royce removed his hands from her shoulders Catherine turned to look at him. He was smiling a little, as if he was pleased with her. His face was bland, his eyes warm. Nothing unusual there. What a fine spy he was, to hide his true feelings so well. She intended to insist, later, that he tell her what he was really about in encouraging Achard to court her.
Then Catherine looked at Braedon, who was standing at Royce's right shoulder like a bodyguard prepared to defend his master to the death. What a strange notion that was, yet Catherine saw in Braedon a peculiar intensity, almost an eagerness to act. Braedon's eyes met hers for just an instant, before he looked at Achard again. Catherine trembled with the impact of his gaze and a thought flittered through her mind: Braedon, a landless bastard, versus Achard, a nobleman with a family name and estates, charm, good looks and bright prospects. In reasonable, sensible terms, there was no contest between them. But in Catherine's heart there was no question that, in a desperate fight, Braedon was the man she would want on her side.
“My lord, have you thought through your plan in its entirety?” Braedon asked an hour later. He and Royce were standing in the bailey, where the folk of Wortham bustled about their duties. It was as good a place as any to be private. Braedon had often observed that suspicions were likely to be generated when people tried to go off into shadowed corners to exchange secret information, while daylight and open spaces provided the illusion of innocence. And his work, Braedon reflected sourly, was all about illusion. Since coming to Wortham, he was beginning to yearn for solid substance instead of illusion, for honesty in place of constant lies. The longing disconcerted him, making him short-tempered.
“It is always difficult to predict the actions of others,” Royce said. “I know what I hope to achieve by my machinations; still, there remains an unexpected element. I see by your face that you harbor serious objections. Reveal them to me, so I may either dispel them or alter my scheme.”
“First,” Braedon said, though the issue he was about to raise was not actually his primary objection, “I question the reliability of your information about Achard. Not, mind you, that I think he is incapable of changing his allegiance if a change would benefit him. Achard and I have been on friendly terms for years, so I am aware that he hungers for wealth and power beyond what his father holds..
“Which brings me to my second objection,” Braedon went on, voicing the matter that held first place in his thoughts. “How in the name of all that's holy can you offer your daughter to a man whom you believe may be a traitor? I know you love Catherine. No one who sees you together could doubt your devotion to her.”
“No one who knows Catherine would think for a moment that she will agree to wed Achard,” Royce said.
“Then, why are you permitting Achard to court her?” Braedon demanded.
“If my suspicions about Achard are correct, he believes marriage to my daughter will put him in a perfect position to continue his spying for the French king,” Royce said. “As my son-in-law and one of my most valued agents, he will be privy to many of King Henry's secret plans, plans which he can then report to Louis VI of France. Foremost among those plans is the matter of who is to succeed Henry on the throne of England, which is a subject almost as important to Louis as it is to Henry. Achard will also be ideally situated to provide us with misinformation about Louis's intentions. What more could a double agent ask?
“But Achard isn't as clever as he imagines himself to be,” Royce continued. “Catherine saw him openly talking with Phelan at the fair. Such carelessness suggests he may have become over-confident. I expect that soon Achard will do something even more obvious to give himself away. Then, with very little effort on our part, we will have evidence against him that we can take to King Henry.”
“I must admit, it’s an ingenious scheme. The king won't accept charges of treason against one of his nobles without certain proof.” Braedon did not add how appalled he was by the way Royce was planning to use Catherine. “What of Achard's contacts with Lord Phelan?”
“I think Achard is taking advantage of Phelan's desire to influence King Henry's choice of his heir. A false friendship with Phelan is an easy way for Achard to acquire the names of other discontented nobles here in England.”
“Names which Achard will then pass on to King Louis, so Louis can encourage their disloyalty to Henry,” Braedon said, shaking his head at the intricate workings of the world of spying. “Sweet angels in heaven, Royce, do you never long for straightforward honesty, for men who speak without secret meanings to their words?”
“Sometimes, I do,” Royce admitted. “But devising clever schemes to serve King Henry's purposes kept me from going mad when I first became a widower. It was Henry himself who suggested I should become a spy for him. I believe he made his request of me knowing the work was exactly what I needed at that time. Now I pursue the game for its own sake, for the satisfaction of outwitting traitors and intriguers.”
“You loved your wife,” Braedon said in shocked surprise. Royce's mind was so cool, so calculating, that it was difficult to think of him overcome with passion or tenderness. Those were not emotions Braedon associated with Royce of Wortham. And yet, Royce did love his daughter – or professed to love her. Catherine. Braedon forced himself to stop thinking about her so he could attend to what Royce was saying.
“For more than fifteen years Avisa was my life, my very heart. It was a most unexpected development in a marriage arranged for political reasons. She died too young. Braedon, my interest in this particular group of possible traitors is far more personal than you know. If my plans unfold as I anticipate, I will reveal certain facts to you later.”
Royce fell silent, while Braedon attempted to adjust his perceptions of the man he had known for years, the man who was his superior in King Henry's most private service. Braedon discovered that there remained an element of Royce's character which he could not reconcile with the image of a loving husband and father.
“How can you deliberately place Catherine in danger?” Braedon asked.
“I told you, she will not marry Achard,” Royce said. “Even if my sensible girl should temporarily take leave of her wits and decide she wants to wed him, I will never permit her to marry a spy. It would be a hellish life for her. Too many secrets can destroy the trust and affection that ought to exist between husband and wife.”
“Catherine may be in danger merely by consenting to be courted by Achard,” Braedon protested. “You know as well as I do, there are men who will not scruple to ravish a woman so she will be forced to marry.”
“Catherine's protection lies in Achard's wish to appear to be an honest man and my friend,” Royce said. “I am confident that, so long as Catherine is at Wortham, she will be safe.”
Braedon was not so sure. The possibility of Catherine being treated as cruelly as Linette had been left him with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. He told himself he would feel the same way about any woman who stood in danger from a dishonest suitor. And then he vowed that he would see to it that no harm came to Catherine from Achard.
“My very dear lady,” Achard said to Catherine as the midday meal was ending, “will you grant me the great honor of accompanying me when I ride out to inspect the field where the mock battle will be held?”
“Do you mean this afternoon?” Catherine asked.
“As soon as it pleases you, my lady,” he said, displaying all of his white, even teeth in a smile that was plainly meant to be charming.
The opportunity to get away from the castle for an hour, to ride in the bright spring sunshine, perhaps to gallop headlong across the countryside while leaving behind the questions and the problems that troubled her, was too tempting for Catherine to resist.
She reasoned that there were sure to be other guests wanting to see the field in advance of the tournament, so they could observe the conformation of the land and the way the sunlight fell on it in the hope that familiarity would provide some advantage over their opponents when Tuesday came. She would not be alone with Achard. In fact, she decided, she would take Aldis along. Her cousin's presence would keep Achard from making too many flattering remarks, and also keep him from ungentlemanly physical gestures. The thought of Achard attempting to kiss her was singularly unpleasant.
“Allow me a short time to order my horse saddled and to change into clothing more suitable for riding,” Catherine said to Achard. “I will join you in the outer bailey.” Not wanting to give Achard a chance to think of an objection to Aldis' presence on their ride, Catherine did not mention her cousin's name. Instead, she paused on the way to her room and spoke quietly to Aldis, who was talking to Braedon's squire, Robert.
A little while later Catherine and Aldis arrived in the outer bailey together, both dressed in simple woolen gowns and with their hair tightly bound into nets. Catherine expected to surprise Achard, but she was the one surprised when she and her companion reached the stable and discovered not only Achard, but also Braedon and Robert awaiting them, and five horses saddled and ready.
“So,” Catherine muttered to herself, “Robert informed his master of my intention to ride.” She could not decide whether she was annoyed at having her actions watched and reported upon by a squire, or glad to have Braedon along because his presence would certainly prevent any improper behavior on Achard's part.
Without waiting for the others, the instant she was mounted Catherine rode alone through the gatehouse and across the drawbridge, both of which were too narrow to allow more than one rider at a time. But as soon as she turned right and struck out over the fallow fields Achard maneuvered his horse so he was riding next to her. At once Braedon appeared on Catherine's other side.
To give Achard his due, he was gracious about the inclusion of companions he had not invited. He and Braedon fell into a discussion of the weapons and armor they were going to use during the tournament, and they seemed to Catherine to be, if not the closest of friends, at least warm aquaintances of long standing.
Nor did Achard forget to pay attention to Catherine. He patiently explained to her in great detail the technique involved in using a broadsword and the strategies a winning fighter ought to employ, until Catherine was ready to scream. Did the man think she had never observed her father's men-at-arms at mock battle in the practice yard? Or did he assume she possessed no thoughts beyond the kitchen or her embroidery frame?
“There are the stands, where you and the other ladies will sit, sheltered from the sun,” Achard informed her as they rode onto the field. He waved a hand to indicate the various areas as he spoke of them. “Over there, directly in front of the stands, is where the men will fight. As you can see, work has ceased on the stands, no doubt because today is Sunday. We cannot expect the carpenters to work on the Sabbath.”
“Certainly not,” Catherine said. She wanted to tell him in her most haughty tones that she knew what the stands were for and where the tournament ground was. She longed to command Achard to keep silent and stop insulting her with his masculine assumptions that she knew nothing at all about her father's plans for their guests. Only good manners and years of training in correct behavior kept her quiet.
She envied Aldis, who was talking and laughing easily with Robert. From what Catherine could hear, Robert was complaining in a humorous way about his duties as a squire during the melee, declaring he would far rather be fighting, and Aldis was assuring him that she was very glad he was not going to be involved in such a dangerous activity.
Achard broke off his interminable explanations to Catherine while he looked closely at the ground over which they were riding. When he rode a little ahead of her, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, glad to be free of him for a few moments.
When Catherine opened her eyes again she found Braedon watching her. There was unmistakable humor in his midnight gaze, and one corner of his mouth curved slightly upward. Catherine read in Braedon's expression complete, sympathetic understanding of her impatience with Achard and his tedious attempts to educate her on a subject dear to his heart.
She did not say anything. Achard was too near; he would hear any word she spoke and it would not do to disparage a guest who was a close friend to her father. But Catherine was so grateful to recognize in Braedon a fellow sufferer that she gave way to a broad grin directed at him alone.
To her astonished delight Braedon grinned back at her. His harsh, serious face was transformed by the flash of his teeth and by the sparkle in his eyes. Suddenly, he looked years younger, like a mischievous boy. Something in Catherine's heart lifted as they looked into each other's eyes.
Then, abruptly, Braedon's smile disappeared. A stern, hard look crossed his face. He called something to Achard and rode forward, joining the other man for a conversation about the condition of the turf and whether there were any holes disguised by the grass that could cause accidents to horses or men during the confusion and heat of battle.
He left Catherine bewildered. She felt as if a delicate bud, secretly nurtured deep in her bosom, was just beginning to reach toward the sun in tentative preparation for unfurling. The sudden change in Braedon blighted the fragile bud as surely as a late-season frost can nip a tree about to blossom. She did not understand her own reaction. She only knew her heart ached for something lost before she had possessed it.
Her reaction to the heartache was most uncharacteristic. She, who was usually sensible and rational, dug her heels into her horse's side and dashed away from the melee field, wanting only to put distance between herself and the two men who plagued her.
Braedon saw her go, and knew Achard would follow her in short order. At the moment, however, Achard was engrossed in studying the field. He had dismounted and was on one knee, his fingers raking the tufts of grass.
Very quietly, Braedon turned his horse. Robert looked at him in a questioning way. Braedon motioned to him to be silent and not to call Achard's attention away from the turf. Robert nodded to show he understood the signals they had long ago devised between them so they need not speak aloud. Braedon knew he could trust Robert to keep Aldis quiet so she did not alert Achard.
Catherine had almost reached the forest. Once Braedon was out of Achard's immediate vicinity he gave his horse its head and pounded across the fields. He was gaining on Catherine when she fled into the shadows of the heavily leafed trees.
“Damnation,” Braedon muttered to her disappearing back. “If you lose yourself amongst the trees and Achard finds you alone before I do, will he restrain himself? Or will he risk your father's fury in hope of forcing you into marriage?”
The thought of Catherine writhing in Achard's lustful grasp turned Braedon's mind icy cold. In their moment of communion behind Achard's back, Braedon had seen that Catherine did not care for Achard. If she looked with favor on any man, it was Braedon, himself.
“No one knows better than I how impossible that is,” he said to himself. “Still, she is caught in the net her father is weaving to trap a traitorous double spy, and she doesn't know she is caught. She needs protection from Achard, and from Royce's cold-blooded schemes, and it appears I must be the man to keep her safe.”
When he reached the edge of the forest he discovered there was a path winding among the trees. From the meadow the forest looked impenetrable, but in fact most of the underbrush had been cleared away.
“Of course,” Braedon said. “It's for the convenience of Royce's hunting parties. Catherine probably knows her way through here very well. She won't get lost. All the same, I can't leave her alone in case Achard decides to follow her.”
