True Love, page 8
He caught a glimpse of a blue skirt far ahead and spurred his horse in pursuit. He finally caught up with Catherine when she halted to let her horse drink from a stream. Her graceful, mounted figure went rigid when Braedon's horse let loose a noisy breath.
“Well,” she said, turning her head to look at him, “at least you aren't Achard. I feel quite certain he would begin at once to describe to me in excruciating detail the best way to hunt deer, followed immediately by a thorough expounding of the technique required to bring a boar to its knees.”
“It's Achard who is the boar,” Braedon said. “Be careful, Catherine. Don't trust him too far.”
“I do not. Achard is much too friendly with Phelan and Eustace for my taste. But he is also on friendly terms with you.” She said it as if she was issuing a challenge.
“I have known Achard for more than ten years,” Braedon responded.
“Is he another of the many spies who work for King Henry?” She glared at him. “I am not a fool, Braedon.”
“No man could think you are,” he said quietly, wondering how much else she knew.
“Achard thinks I have no brains at all.”
“Then Achard is the fool.” He watched her expressive face, taking intense pleasure in the sight of her upturned chin and her compelling gray-green eyes.
“A fool and a boar,” she repeated. “How flattering to have such a man eager to wed me, and to have my father favor the match.” Tears sparkled in her eyelashes. She gathered the reins as if she was about to race off again.
“Ah, don't,” he said. Pulling off one glove he reached out to catch her chin so he could turn her face and look directly at her. Catherine's skin was soft and smooth beneath his fingers. “You deserve a man far better than Achard.”
“Yes, I do,” she said. “And I shall have a better man, never fear.”
Her smile was tremulous, yet more inviting than the lures of the most practiced courtesans. Braedon was lost in the wonder of her eyes and her soft lips. Her lips.... He leaned toward her, to touch her mouth with his. He knew he should not kiss her, no more than he should have kissed her in his room on the first day he came to Wortham, nor again in her stillroom after his quarrel with Eustace. He had no right to want her, but he could not help himself. He desired Catherine as the parched earth longs for rain. Her warm breath touched his face and her lips parted in expectation of his kiss. Braedon slid his hand from her chin to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer.
“Halloo! Braedon, where are you?”
“That will be Achard.” Braedon dropped his hand and straightened to sit more securely in his saddle while he pulled on his glove again. “I suppose Robert couldn't keep him occupied any longer.”
“There you are,” Achard said, pulling up beside Catherine. “My dear lady, why did you leave us so precipitously?”
“I felt the need of a hard gallop,” Catherine said.
“But you should not ride alone. What would happen if you fall?”
“I did not fall,” Catherine said through gritted teeth. “I see you needlessly brought Aldis and Robert along with you in your search for me.”
“In case you had become lost, I planned to send your maidservant back to the castle for help, while we three men scoured the forest to find you.”
“These are my father's lands, my lord Achard. I have ridden over them since I was a child. I have never been lost here. And Aldis is not a servant; she is my cousin and a dear friend.”
Braedon noticed how Catherine's cheeks were flushed. He saw the way she kept her lips compressed and spoke as if being polite to Achard was seriously taxing her good manners. Something ought to be done at once to separate the two and give Catherine a chance to work off the irritation he could see building in her.
“My horse is barely winded,” Braedon said. “Why don't we all race back to the castle?”
“It is not fair to Lady Catherine to make her race against men,” Achard said.
“I'll show you how fair it is!” Catherine exclaimed. “Come on, Aldis. You, too, Robert. The first one to reach the drawbridge wins. Count to three, my lord Achard.”
“I cannot race against a woman,” Achard protested with lordly distain.
“I can,” said Braedon, “and so can Robert. Achard, if you won't count, I will. One! Two! Three!”
He had scarcely shouted out the last number before the two women and the squire were off. Braedon was a heartbeat behind them and he quickly discovered it was going to be no easy task to overtake Catherine. She leaned low over her horse's neck, urging it on along the cleared pathway until she fairly flew out of the trees and onto the open fields.
Braedon raced after her, his mount throwing up clumps of mud and grass with every step. They were neck and neck when they reached the castle road, and they pounded toward the drawbridge side by side.
“Do your best!” Catherine shouted at him. “I want to win fairly.”
“So you shall, if you win at all!” he yelled back at her. He saw the eager, laughing glance she threw in his direction and he knew he could not pull up and give her the race. Catherine expected more of him.
She won by a nose, by a breath, and it was the most exhilarating finish Braedon could ever recall. In his years of training and the long years of his knighthood, he had often raced against other men. Never before this day had he found losing to be a pleasure. Never before Catherine.
“I did it!” she cried.
“So you did,” he responded. “But you knew you could.”
They were both laughing as they walked their horses beside the moat to cool them down before returning to the stable.
“Oh, Catherine, I was sure you would be thrown,” Aldis cried as she and Robert joined them.
“Your cousin is a courageous woman,” Braedon said, and rejoiced in the happy look Catherine sent his way.
“It was generous of you to allow Lady Catherine to win,” Achard said to Braedon a while later, when they were in the stable.
“I allowed nothing,” Braedon said. “She won fairly.”
“Of course you allowed it. No woman can ride faster than a man. But don't worry, I won't reveal your little secret.”
It was all Braedon could do to keep himself from dragging Achard into the bailey and plunging his head into the horse trough. The cursed man had ruined the pleasure of the race with his thoughtless accusation.
It wasn't until Braedon reached his chamber and was sluicing cold water over his face and shoulders that he understood there was nothing Achard could do to ruin Catherine's win because, whatever Achard believed, she had earned it. He stood with towel in hand, reliving those moments again, seeing in his mind's eye Catherine's slim figure leaning low against her horse's neck as she raced down the road, and his heart beat faster with the excitement of it.
He pulled on a clean tunic and belted it before descending to the great hall for the evening meal, and all the while Catherine's delighted, triumphant laughter echoed in his ears.
Chapter 5
By the time Catherine completed her morning duties on Monday and descended to the inner bailey, prepared to join the hunting party her father had arranged to entertain his guests, most of those guests were already on horseback and riding out of the castle gates. Aldis was gone, too, for Catherine had sent her on ahead with several of their lady guests.
Unfortunately, Achard lingered. Not yet mounted, he was standing near the groom who held the reins of Catherine's favorite horse.
When she saw Achard, Catherine's spirits sank. She wasn't sure she was going to be able to maintain her polite facade with him, and certainly not if he continued to treat her as if she was some bird-witted creature. It was quite enough to have her father avoid telling her the truth about his activities, and still more galling to believe that Braedon was manipulating her feelings. It was entirely too much to have Achard hanging about with the intention of convincing her to marry him.
“My sweet lady, the sight of you delights my eyes,” Achard cried. He rushed forward to grip her arm as though she was incapable of taking the last few steps to the bailey without his aid.
“Good morning, my lord. It was unnecessary for you to wait for me.” Catherine tried to pull away from Achard, but he only tightened his grasp on her arm.
“I will wait until the end of the world if need be,” he declared. “I beg you, allow me to assist you in mounting your horse.”
“That won't be necessary. My groom is used to mounting me.” Catherine succeeded in wrenching her arm out of Achard's grip. She saw his mouth tighten and knew he was annoyed by her refusal. She didn't care. She was in no mood to provide him with an excuse to touch her again. She took the reins from her groom, placed one foot into his joined hands, and sprang lightly to the saddle. “Thank you, Walt.” She bestowed a warm smile on the groom. Then, without another glance at Achard, she rode across the bailey and out of the gatehouse as quickly as she could.
She could see the hunting party ahead, with Royce and most of his guests cantering down the road to the open land on the far side of Wortham Village. Catherine set out after them, unhappily aware of Achard's presence just behind her.
“Do not linger here on my account,” she called to Achard. “I am not fond of hunting. It's the riding and the sunshine that I enjoy, so if you want to participate in the chase, or to be present at the kill, please join my father and his companions.”
“I could not bear to leave you,” Achard declared. “You are the reason for my presence at Wortham, and your sweet company will more than compensate for missing the excitement of the kill.”
“My company is far from sweet today,” Catherine said by way of an apology for her rudeness in the bailey. “I am in a most unpleasant mood. I wish you would leave until I am in better spirits.”
“I do wonder how you can dislike hunting.” Achard spoke right over her words, as if what she was saying was unimportant. “The search for the quarry, the mad rush of the chase with its accompanying danger, the heart-stopping moment when the deer or the boar is trapped, doomed, but doesn't know it yet. And then the dogs attacking, the beast brought down, the final blows and the gush of blood, the hot scent of victory. Ah, what a glorious sensation!”
Achard's handsome face assumed an expression of intense ecstasy. Catherine stared at him, sickened, the bile rising in her throat at the picture he described and the open pleasure he took in the thought of killing.
“I do wonder, my lord, if you regard me as quarry to be hunted down,” she said when she was capable of speaking without revealing too much of her emotions.
“I regard you as a far more precious prize than any in these forests,” he responded, waving a hand toward the trees where Royce's party had disappeared.
Catherine and Achard had passed through Wortham Village and were now riding down the narrow road that ran westward through cultivated fields. Catherine noticed a few men working well beyond calling distance. No one else was about. She was beginning to feel uneasy about being alone with Achard when he leaned over and grabbed the reins out of her hands.
“Since you do not want to hunt, let us rest for a time beside the stream,” he said, indicating the water that flowed out of the forest to join the river.
“I am not weary.” Catherine tried, and failed, to regain her horse's reins. “My lord, I protest. I do not wish to stop. I want to join my father.”
“But you do not care for the hunt,” Achard responded, throwing her own words back at her. “Here is a rare opportunity for us to spend an hour alone together. We can learn to know each other better. I will have a chance to press my suit with you without anyone interrupting us, as always seems to happen when others are near.”
Achard began to lead their horses toward the stream, to a spot where Catherine could see a pair of large willow trees growing at the water's edge. It was an attractive location, with the green branches swaying in the gentle breeze. The grass and moss beneath the trees suggested an inviting place to sit – or to lie down – and the drooping willow branches formed a curtain, their delicate leaves making a private bower. Too private. Catherine regarded the pretty spot with dread. She was beginning to be seriously alarmed by Achard's behavior. She decided it would best if she could get away from him as quickly as possible.
She reasoned that he could not force her to join him beneath the willows. In order to dismount from his own horse, he would have to release, or at least lessen his grip on, the reins of her horse. She would pay close attention to his movements and seize the moment to regain control of her horse. She had noticed on the previous day that Achard was not a particularly good horseman, so she did not doubt that if she caught him in the act of dismounting, and especially if she startled his horse, she could be across the open fields and well on her way to catching up with her father before Achard was back in his saddle and in pursuit.
Her plan was formulated in haste and without reckoning with Achard's intentions. As they approached the willow trees he flung an arm around her waist and pulled her off her horse, holding her against his side with her legs dangling free.
“Put me down at once!” Catherine yelled at him. She struck out with her fists, punching him in the chest and the chin. “Let me go!”
“As you wish, my lady.” Achard released her, letting her drop to the ground.
By the time Catherine rolled over and sat up, Achard had dismounted and was wrapping the reins of both horses around the trunk of one of the willow trees.
“How dare you!” Catherine scrambled to her feet, brushing grass and mud off her skirts. “I warn you, Lord Achard, my father will be very angry when he hears of your actions.”
“Royce has given me permission to court you,” Achard said, coming toward her.
“Not as roughly as you are doing,” Catherine exclaimed. She thrust out both gloved hands to fend him off. “Keep your distance, my lord.”
“How can I stay away from your sweet lips?” Achard cried. “My dearest lady, you see before you a lover whose only sin is that he is overeager. I long to hear you say you will accept me as your husband.”
“You will never hear me agree to wed you, if you persist in treating me this way,” she told him coldly.
“Catherine, I adore you. I ache to hold you in my embrace. One kiss, my sweet love. That's all I ask. Then let us sit under the willow tree and speak of our happy future together.”
“Do you truly care for me as passionately as you claim?” Catherine asked, regarding him with a great deal of suspicion. She did not take a single step in the direction of the trees.
“Indeed, I do. Only let me prove the depth of my feelings to you.” Achard reached out to clasp her in his arms. Catherine backed away. Achard followed, matching her step for step.
“If you have any honest concern for me,” she said, “you will stop this foolishness at once and allow me to remount and join my father.”
“But you do not like to hunt,” he said, pulling off his gauntlets and tucking them into his belt with a swift motion that alarmed Catherine. Before she could move away from him, Achard caught her wrist and began to drag her toward the privacy of the willows. “Let us lie down together on the grass while I introduce you to the ways of love.”
Catherine made a fist with her free hand and took a swing at him. Achard saw the blow coming and jerked hard on her wrist, pulling her off balance. Catherine missed hitting Achard and fell to her knees. When she looked up at him, she surprised a gloating expression on his face and she knew without any doubt what he was planning to do to her once he got her to the trees. There, beneath the swaying, drooping willow branches, his vile act would be hidden from anyone passing by along the road. After Achard was finished with her, she would have no choice but to marry him. Or enter a convent, as Braedon's cousin had done.
Catherine had no desire to spend the rest of her life behind convent walls, and she most certainly did not want to wed a man who would treat a woman as Achard was treating her. She bent her head and bit him on the hand that held her wrist in a brutal grip, sinking her teeth in as hard as she could. He grabbed her hair, pulling hard on the braids to force her head back and away from his hand.
“So, you do like the hunt, after all,” he said. “You enjoy the final struggle.”
Catherine glared at him. If she could just get to her feet, she would jab her knee into Achard's groin. It was a useful piece of self-defense that she had learned one day while observing Walt, her groom, fighting with one of the stable-boys.
“My lord Achard!” A loud male voice interrupted Catherine's struggle to stand and Achard's attempts to drag her toward the willow trees. “I'm glad I found you. Lord Royce wants to speak with you.”
“What?” Startled by the unexpected interruption, Achard released Catherine's hair, but he kept his hand around her wrist while he squinted up at the horseman who had moved close enough to suggest a threat. “What the devil do you want, Braedon?”
“Lord Royce sent me to find you. He asks that you join him at once.” Braedon swung down from his horse with easy grace. “I will see to Lady Catherine. I expect she'd rather return to Wortham than continue with the hunt.”
“I cannot leave her alone with you,” Achard protested.
“I wish you would,” Catherine cried, tugging harder on her wrist.
“Lady Catherine's cousin and my squire are following close behind me,” Braedon said, “so she will have a suitable escort. I wouldn't keep Royce waiting if I were you,” he added when Achard still hesitated.
“No, you are correct. The matter may be important. I shouldn't delay.” Achard finally dropped Catherine's wrist. Within a moment he was mounted and heading for the road down which Royce and his companions had disappeared.
“Are you all right?” Braedon reached toward Catherine to help her stand. She shoved his hands away with a furious gesture.
“Don't touch me!” She got to her feet, then stood shaking like a leaf in a gale.
Braedon wasted no time arguing with her. He scooped her into his arms and carried her to a spot under one of the willow trees, where the old roots were well padded with moss. At first Catherine struggled against him, but suddenly she went still and let him do as he wanted with her. Braedon set her down so she was resting against the tree trunk. He knelt before her, studying her face with open concern. Then he noticed the injury done to her fair skin.
