As she worked, she recalled the battle between her husband and Eduard in her mind’s eye, remembering the look on Gray’s face as he’d turned to her, and seeing again the emotional struggle in the depths of his gaze when she’d begged him to listen to her.
But in the end he’d walked away. Gray had looked into her eyes, and at the moment when he might have plunged his sword into Eduard’s heart, he’d walked away.For her sake.
Warmth rushed through her even more potent than what she’d experienced in the pavilion when he’d attached her ribbon to his armor. It welled up and filled her; sudden moisture bathed her eyes, and she murmured, “My lord?”
Gray glanced to her. “Aye?”
“I know you wish to leave it be, but I need to say one thing more about this afternoon, if I might.”
He nodded, his expression both cautious and questioning.
Catherine took a deep breath and forged ahead. “I think that you are a truly noble knight, my lord. You showed fairness and honor today, far more than anyone could expect, and I—I wish to thank you for it. ’Twas a lesson in nobility that I’d never glimpsed before in my dealings with men.”
Her face flamed as she spoke, not only from the voicing of her most intimate sentiments, but also from the liquid heat that had begun to unfurl inside of her as she pulled the warm, wet cloth across her husband’s chest and abdomen. It suddenly occurred to her that she was ministering to a virtually naked, completely virile man. A man with whom she would eventually join in the most intimate of ways.
A man who was staring at her right now, by sweetheaven, as if she was the most beautiful woman in the world.
Her breath came more shallow. Her fingers clenched the cloth, and drops of water trickled down his belly. She caught the spill quickly, but silence stretched on as she worked over him, winding her tighter and tighter inside; she felt the heat of his gaze on her, adding to the heightened atmosphere. Finally, she could bear it no longer, and she pulled away to wring out the cloth.
“Wait,” he murmured, his voice husky as he gripped her wrist. “You missed a spot.”
The words sent tingling warmth up Catherine’s spine, and she glanced up. His sensual expression devastated her, making the linen drop from her hand to land with a faint plop in the basin. “There’s a little more right…there,” he added, twisting toward her to show a rusty smear that ran from the flat just below his navel, downward, where it disappeared beneath the rolled edge of hisbraies.
Catherine licked her lips, realizing that her mouth had gone dry. To stall for time, she said, “I—I think the water has cooled overmuch. Let me freshen it.” Hands trembling, she emptied the basin into a waste barrel near the door. Then, walking to the fire, she dipped out several ladles of simmering water before adding some cool cups full from a pitcher.
“Here,” she murmured as she sat next to him again. “Tell me if this is too warm. My hands are used to it, but your stomach and…well, what with that part of you being covered all of the—or at least, most of the time—” Catherine came to a stuttering halt, and a flush crept up her neck again. She pressed her lips together. “I just meant that you might be sensitive to the heat.”
While she spoke, a slow smile had spread across Gray’s face. “Aye, lady, I’m sensitive enough to it. And I’ll be sure to let you know if ’tis too hot for me to bear.”
With a curt nod, she stroked the linen across the muscled planes of his abdomen. The dusting of ebony hair there thickened below his navel; she tried not to notice how the wet cloth made his hairs whorl together, or how his hips seemed to tilt slightly back, revealing a sudden, unmistakable swelling beneath hisbraies.
Her pulse quickened, and she paused in her ministrations to look up at him in uncertainty. But his eyes were closed. He leaned back against the bunched up blanket that served as his pillow, seeming completely contented. Even relaxed.
Heat flooded her cheeks again. Relaxed was the last word she’d use to describe her own state right now. She kept her gaze trained to the area she washed, pointedly ignoring the spot below his waistband as she rushed to finish quickly; her cloth skimmed along the edge of the garment, dampening the fabric as she gently rubbed to remove a particularly stubborn bit of blood.
She lingered there, fighting the urge to delve beyond that barrier, trying to ignore her desire to see if he looked as impressive to the naked eye as he appeared with the layer of fabric covering him.
She was just mastering her emotions enough to pull away, when he subtly lifted the rolled edge of hisbraies, causing her hand to slip beneath it on a downward stroke. She gasped and Gray groaned as the force of her motion slid the wet cloth—and her palm—across the hot, rigid length of him.
At that moment the door swung open. Catherine jerked back, and Gray shifted with a wince. The serving boy turned red as he looked from his master to Catherine and then back again. Finally, he averted his gaze, staring straight at the wall behind them, announcing, “My humblest apologies, my lord, my lady.” The boy’s voice cracked as he continued, “But I come with report from the sentries. A caravan has been spotted, approaching from the East. Sir Alban thought it best to inform you, my lord.”
Gray sat up a little, holding his side and grimacing. “Are they outfitted for war? Look they ready to attack?”
The boy shook his head, so nervous and embarrassed that Catherine could see his knees quaking; the tops of his ears glowed scarlet. “Nay, my lord. Sir Alban said naught of that.”
“Then why the summons? Tell Briggs to have chambers readied to accommodate them if they’re nobility, or victuals served and a place to pitch their tents if they’re but passing travelers.”
“But my lord, I—I think you should come down yourself, if ’tis possible. The caravan—they be nobility all right, my lord,” the boy stammered. “Sir Alban recognized them by their pennant.”
“Well, son? Who is it then, that needs bring me from my chamber when I’m being tended for my wounds?” Catherine could tell that Gray was trying hard to keep his temper in check. But when the boy answered, he came bluntly to the point, and Catherine thought that her heart might stop in her chest.
“Why, ’tis the king, my lord!” The boy finally met Gray’s gaze, his eyes wide with the wonder of a child. “King Henry himself has come with his caravan, and he’s about to gain entry to Ravenslock!”
Chapter 5
Gray gripped the edge of the table, balancing himself. All of his wounds throbbed, but at the moment the torn muscle in his thigh pained him the most. He knew that his wife had noticed the hidden injury when he’d stood after hearing about the king’s arrival at Ravenslock, but he’d foregone wrapping it to avoid being late to the great hall.
Now she stood a little behind him on the dais, silent. They both faced the arched doorway, but still he felt her gaze upon him, sensed the worry emanating from her clear, expressive eyes. The hall was filled with his own people, as well as many of the visiting tourneyers, yet the only sound came from whispers and hushed comments as everyone awaited the arrival of England’s young king.
