She felt as if she were going to be sick. She looked desperately to Eduard, sure, now, that something dangerous had been said in chambers with the king. But he failed to notice her, having moved stiffly to the table to gulp down a cup of ale even as he gestured for another.
Gray’s next comment dragged her attention back.
“King Henry leaves on the morrow for a journey to London, to preside over an ordeal by battle. I was to be his champion in the fight against the traitor who’s been charged.” A muscle in Gray’s jaw twitched. “But the king has elected to use another instead, due to the severity of my wounds.”
Clenching his fists, he shifted to give the man responsible for his injuries a look that was half scowl, half wolfish glare. A shudder slipped down Catherine’s back as she felt the leashed power in every muscled inch of Gray’s warrior-hard body. Even wounded, he was a force to be reckoned with, and it vividly reminded her of the violence that her husband was capable of committing. Of his unsurpassed ability to kill, and how it had earned him his title as the king’s High Champion.
“’Tis most unwelcome news,” he said, sliding his gaze to her again. “Yet I cannot but choose to obey.” She thought that he might say more, but then he simply nodded brusquely and stalked from the hall.
Where he was going, Catherine couldn’t tell. He needed time to cool his temper, no doubt. Her guess was that he’d saddle his huge silver stallion and ride. Such jarring would pain his injuries, she knew, but somehow mere physical discomfort suddenly seemed unlikely to affect this man who had transformed before her eyes from flesh and blood to hardened steel.
Alban stepped up from behind her. “Fear not, lady. Your husband will take care not to pull his stitches or strain his wounds overhard. But he’ll not be fit for the feast this night until he’s burned away some of the demons that sting him.”
She turned to face her husband’s friend. “Is it that keen of a disappointment to him, then, to be kept from a court battle?”
“Aye, though ’tis not just that. The king also fined him for hosting this day’sméléeand issued new sanctions against both him and Eduard for their fighting. He declared that if they ever disobey him in this—if they ever come to blows again—’twill be at risk of all that they have, including their rank as his personal champions.”
“I’d have thought that being denied the privilege to engage in constant battle would be a relief, not a punishment.”
Alban shook his head. “I cannot speak for your brother, but I know Gray. His purpose in life is to fight and fight well. For King Henry especially, but whenever and wherever he finds opportunity and cause. The king’s decision to leave him behind tomorrow is bound to be a sore distress to him.”
“But why? It seems so reckless for a man of his wealth and status. ’Tis why there are knights, hundreds of them, to serve in place of a great lord such as he!” Catherine struggled to quell the shrill quality of her voice. If she wasn’t careful, she’d lose all composure and go hysterical on him. After the events of the day, her nerves felt tight enough to play like a harp. Mastering her overwrought emotions, she added quietly, “Why does he continue to risk himself time and again if not for the petty sake of more acclaim, more glory?”
Alban seemed to consider how to answer. He gazed long into her eyes, as if reading her ability to hear the truth. Finally he glanced away. “The reasons are deep that drive him, lady, and ’tis for him to tell you the full of it. But know that he burns to see justice done. ’Tis why he craves the position as Sheriff of Cheltenham. ’Tis what keeps him breathing.”
With that, Alban nodded his leave and followed Gray’s route from the hall. She was left to stand bewildered, trying to make sense out of that which seemed to have neither rhyme nor reason.
None, at least, worthy to explain the commanding, formidable enigma embodied in the man who was her lord husband.
Chapter 6
The feasting was well under way that evening by the time Catherine received a call to the kitchens. A waifish page had darted up to her at table, begging her aid to test the roasted duckling sauce she’d ordered specially prepared, according to her recipe. The cook had fallen ill just the day before, unable to rise from his bed, and his assistant was a young lad, terrified to make a mistake lest he disappoint not only the master and mistress, but also His Royal Highness, the King of England.
Gray had given his consent, and she’d been glad to rise from the formality of the feasting table to attend the duty. Never had she faced an occasion such as this. Her very breath came shallow from the anxiety. Yet Gray’s ride of the afternoon seemed to have done him some good, even if his stiff movements belied that he’d strained his injuries. She’d insisted on checking his shoulder and rib dressings before the feasting began, and he’d reluctantly complied. She’d been relieved to see that the stitching and bandages had held.
But with the physical examination had flooded back heated memories of how she’d tended to him right after theméléeand of how he’d encouraged her touch in a much more intimate way. Her cheeks still burned with the thought. Yet she knew that the strange warmth of her feelings for this man she’d married, the man she’d pledged to help destroy, were far too dangerous to indulge.
Now she sighed as she made her way back to the hall. The sauce had needed nothing more than a few more sprinkles of ginger to make it perfect. Catherine smiled as she remembered the look of gratitude that her praise had brought to the boy’s face. He’d probably sweated full as much as the casks of chilled sweet wine she’d seen the brewers carry in from the cold cellar. Ravenslock was truly a castle of wonders, she thought, with the most current amenities, including a cooling chamber. She’d never imagined such luxury would exist in all of her life.
Catherine reached the empty, narrow hallway that would lead to the grand opening into the great hall, but a hissing sound drew her back. Eduard stepped into the light of the anteroom, his ruddy, bruised face sharp with contempt. He moved forward like an evil tide, forcing her back until the hard surface of wall stopped her retreat. Then he stroked his finger down the curve of her cheekbone in silent mockery.
“My dear Catherine,” he muttered. “’Tis near impossible to find you alone these past hours.”
Catherine tried to stand tall, struggled not to cower before him as every inch of her flesh longed to do. She’d faced Eduard’s abuse so often in the past months that it seemed second nature to tremble as she awaited the punishing blow that should come next. But she reminded herself that she needn’t fear that kind of danger from him any longer…only the greater threat of his harming her children if she failed to do his will.
“I believed you to be abed already,” she managed to say. “You’re usually full into your cups by this time of feasting.”
“I cannot drink overmuch this night, thanks to King Henry.”
“Why? Does he disapprove of foul-mouthed drunkards?”
Eduard’s face tightened, and his hand clenched to a fist. “Your tongue is getting rather sharp these days, Catherine. Would that I could quiet it into pleas of mercy as I have in the past.” He glared at her a moment more before adding, “Yet you’re still as ignorant as ever. I cannot imbibe too heartily because I leave with the Royal Caravan at sunrise. The king has commanded that I join him on his expedition to observe the ordeal by battle in London. He hopes that separating his two best champions will cool the animosity between us.”
“You’re leaving?” Catherine echoed quietly.
“Aye.” Eduard placed his palm on the wall beside her head, making her cringe. He leaned his weight into it, pressing closer, his sheer size and sour stench intimidating her as it always had. “’Tis an unforeseen event. I’ll not be here to guide you in the next weeks of your task with Camville. The king may decide to keep me for a month or more, but I expect you to continue our course. Work your way into your husband’s trust. Into the deepest chambers of his heart.” A wolfish smile creased his cheeks. “Prepare him well for the kill, sweeting.”
She felt herself blanch, and he laughed, his breath riffling the hair at her temple. Hot pricking jabbed behind her eyes. The bastard was devoid of feeling. Of even the most basic human emotion. But as she stared at his chest, gazing at the immovable slab of muscle and bone that protected his heart of stone, she couldn’t stop herself from uttering what she’d vowed never to let him hear again.
