He saw it all then. The future—her future with John Hawke. The two of them ensconced cozily in Barby Hall, his child growing up a little English lord, clad in plumed hat, doublet and hose, taught by the best tutors, conversant in English, French, and Latin, moving with ease from the London court to any country hall. And undoubtedly there would be other children as well, little boys and girls—the children Katherine would eventually give John Hawke, as any wife must do.
Liam hated him.
In that moment, he hated her.
He turned with a cry of rage and smashed his hand into the wall. Katherine cried out in fright. Liam punched the wall again. And again, and again. Until he realized that Katherine clung to his back, weeping, weeping and shouting that he must not do this, please, please stop.
Panting, his fist bloodied and hurting terribly and probably badly broken, Liam leaned his face against the wall. Katherine sagged against him from behind. She sobbed softly. He felt his own tears streaking down his cheeks. And for the first time in his life, he doubted himself.
He was going to lose everything. His woman, his child, his life.
Fear almost paralyzed him.
And then some inner strength surged forth. The fear remained, but determination pulsed now in his veins, roiled in his blood. He must gain his freedom, and he would. Before Katherine did the unthinkable and returnedto John Hawke. Before she gave herself to John, or any other man, in the hopes of using them while they used her—in order to free him. Before she became a political sacrifice, her altar his life, and before he truly succumbed to madness.
32
Hawkehurst
It was exactly one year since Katherine had first visited Hawkehurst. Then she had been John Hawke’s betrothed, soon to be his bride. It seemed an eternity ago. She remembered how naive and innocent she had been, both of the ways of the world, and of the ways of men. She felt as if she had aged a decade since that time.
Now she was returning to Hawkehurst in circumstances which she would have never dreamed even remotely possible.
They traveled slowly along the rutted, muddy road that wound down through the moors toward Hawkehurst. Although Katherine had spent much of the past week traveling in a carriage, today she had insisted upon riding astride. Hawke had conceded. Last year Katherine had found the windswept, gorse-covered moors picturesque and somehow romantic. This year she found them desolate and inhospitable.
The stone walls and slate roof of the old manor, with its several limestone chimneys, was already visible below them, and Katherine felt a bubble of panic rising up in her. Her life was pure madness. How could she carry on as Hawke’s wife when she yearned so desperately for another man? When she carried that other man’s child? When that other man might very well hang? How?
Pain pressed in on her heart unerringly, very much likea huge vise. She was counting on Leicester being successful in persuading Elizabeth to pardon Liam, dear God, she was. He had to succeed, but if he did, then she would have to uphold her part of the sinful bargain she had made with him. How powerless she felt. How desperate. How alone.
They clattered into the cobbled courtyard, a dozen men following them. Hawke helped Katherine to dismount. “My parents are not in residence. They are in their London home, so you will not have to face them quite yet.”
Katherine was relieved. But she had been too anxious about Liam’s fate even to think about the unpleasant reception Hawke’s parents would undoubtedly give her.
“I know you are tired,” Hawke said. “Why do you not go upstairs to your chamber and rest? You need not join me for dinner if you are too fatigued to do so.”
Katherine met his troubled gaze. Why did he continue to be so kind when he was, it seemed, as unhappy as she? “Thank you.” She turned to go into the house.
“Katherine.”
Katherine paused.
Hawke’s regard was grave and searching. “We must put the past behind us,” he said slowly. “I know it will not be an easy thing to do. Not for me, and certainly not for you. But we must try.” He forced a smile, still holding her eyes.
Katherine could not reply. In that instant, standing there in the courtyard beneath the warm spring sun, she realized it was going to be impossible for her to put the past—and Liam—behind her.
“We must try,” Hawke said firmly when Katherine did not speak. “I think it best you bear the child here in Cornwall, far from the court, and my motives are not the queen’s. And even after the child is born, you should remain at Hawkehurst, where you will have few visitors, if any. In time the scandal will die down.”
Katherine could not agree. “The scandal will never die completely. Like my mother, they will whisper about me after I am dead.”
“No,” Hawke said flatly. “The scandal will die down,although it may take some years. But after you have given me children, when we are happy, people will forget.”
And Katherine was stricken. She could not do this. John Hawke was a good man, but she would never be happy if she remained with him as his wife.
“I want your promise, Katherine,” Hawke said, “that you will put the past behind you, forget the pirate, and in good faith, abide with me as my loyal wife.”
Katherine hugged her swollen belly. Logic told her to say the words, to tell the lie, but somehow, she could not. She would never forget Liam. Never.
Hawke’s right eye ticked. “You will not give me the promise I have asked for—knowing all that I will do for you and your child?”
