But with Gray silky warmth had swept through her, and she’d realized that she wanted more of the feeling. That it felt wonderful. And when he’d stroked his tongue so gently inside her mouth…
Liquid heat settled low in Catherine’s belly at the recollection. Her cheeks felt hot, and she jumped from the chair to pace across the chamber. Lord have mercy on her, but when Gray had kissed her like that, she’d almost forgotten the horrible reason she’d agreed to wed him. She’d wanted to forget.
’Twas only when he’d brushed his fingers across her cheek that the spell had been broken. She hadn’t lied to him; his gentle touch had sent images of Eduard hammering into her thoughts. The pain and fear of those times had ripped through her in the darkness, unmerciful and harsh. Their onslaught had left her feeling exhausted, empty and aching.
But miraculously, Gray had seemed to understand. He’d comforted her, held her as she slept without complaint or guilt. She’d felt safe in his arms. And he’d asked for nothing in return. Nothing. He was like no man she’d ever known before.
But is he the kind of man you can trust with your secret? A man you can trust with your children’s lives?
The question taunted her. She put down the clothes and swallowed the nausea that rose in her throat. Dare she consider that possibility now, with Eduard gone from Ravenslock and Gray sure to be alone with her all during her weapon’s training?
Nay. ’Twas too soon to decide. She’d known him but two weeks.
Many men were capable of going to great lengths to hide their true and often foul natures. What if Gray was a man of that ilk? Aye, he’d been kind to her, but he was still a fierce warlord—the king’s best champion, a man capable of great brutality on the field. What if he secretly harbored a darkness that exceeded even Eduard’s hate? ’Twas possible, she knew. Many men had proved their baseness to her time and again.
She didn’t need to decide right away. There was still time. Eduard wouldn’t return to Ravenslock for another month at least, and perhaps once she knew more about Gray, ’twould be easier to know what to do. Until then, she’d trust nothing and no one.
She busied herself with getting ready for the day, trying to calm her mind. Except for old Heldred, the village weaver, who was the nearest thing to a friend that Catherine had known during her years at Faegerliegh Keep, there’d been no one to confide in, no one to believe in but herself, for as long as she could remember. And for now, at least, she resolved to be content to keep it so.
Pulling the shirt and tunic over her head, she sat and began to roll the unfamiliar breeches up over her knees. Compared to her usual layers of smock and kirtle, the fitted garments felt peculiar. But she managed to lace them up and take a few paces across the chamber.
She lifted her leg, kicking and swinging it back and forth. ’Twas an odd sensation. She supposed such free movement was necessary for learning to handle a sword, but she wasn’t sure that she liked it. The tightness of the breeches left her feeling almost…well, almost naked.
Catherine stood up straight and ran her hand down her leg, smoothing her palm over the fabric. Strange or not, ’twas part of her life now. Her training would commence today. And with it, she’d cross another new threshold.
Raising her arms, she combed her fingers through her unruly hair and began to plait it, thanking Jesu that time, at least, was still hers to command. For a little while, anyway. As for the rest? She’d leave it to God to help direct her to the path she should take in saving her children from Eduard’s evil…
And in coming to some lasting decision about the unusual, powerful man she was bound to, body and soul.
Gray almost sank to his knees when his wife came striding into the clearing beyond the castle’s outer wall just before noon. She’d done exactly as his message requested, he noted, his mouth going bone dry. He reached for his water-skin, making a mental note to take care that no one else saw her like this. Adding to the allure of her form-fitting garments, she’d pulled her hair into a single braid that hung down her back. It swung in provocative rhythm over the curve of her buttocks, enticing all sorts of thoughts into his imagination.
Swallowing hard, he cursed himself for his bright ideas. That they’d need to prolong consummating their union indefinitely had become more than apparent last night, when she’d dissolved into tears in their bed. He’d resolved himself to wait, planning to be patient and give her time to adjust. To let the destructive memories of Eduard fade a little.
But now, seeing her dressed in the garments he’d left for her, he suspected that maintaining his physical distance from her was going to be even more difficult than he’d anticipated.
He shifted the sword he’d chosen for her use from his right hand to his left before balancing it against a tree stump. He’d trained more than his share of squires in the arts of war, but none of them had possessed a voluptuous shape and legs as long and graceful as a doe’s. His wife’s breeches encased every subtle curve, right to where his sight was halted by her tunic at the tops of her thighs.
Gray swallowed again, dragging his gaze from that spot and subduing the heated image that sprang into his mind, suddenly, of those long legs wrapped around his waist in the throes of passion. He looked in desperation to her face, seeing the uncertainty clear in her eyes. Her heightened color told him that she experienced uneasiness about her unorthodox clothing as well, though he doubted that her thoughts traveled the same, heated paths as his.
He cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should begin.” Gesturing toward the sword, Gray indicated that she should take it up. He’d chosen it as one that would be best suited for her training, since it was light, and its hilt flowed in leaner lines, making it a better fit for a woman’s smaller hand.
As she approached, he added, “Once you’re used to the feel of the sword in your grip, we’ll master some of the common strokes and then practice the training skills used daily by the men.”
She nodded, lips tight, as she reached out to grasp the hilt. “’Tis heavy,” she murmured, almost to herself, as she balanced the handle’s weight in her palm, though still without lifting it.
“Aye, but a light blade compared to many. ’Tis the size used most oft by a squire, though I warrant it feels more ponderous to you than it would to a well-muscled lad of sixteen. You’ll grow accustomed to it as the training brings strength to your arms.”
She glanced to Gray, hesitant.
“Go ahead,” he tried to reassure her. “’Twill take time, but you’ll learn to handle the blade. You must become one with your weapon before you can use it effectively. And you must learn to respect its power.” He nodded again. “Lift it up, that I may judge how best to proceed with your training.”
Feeling awkward and silly, Catherine hefted the sword with both hands, gripping it by the metal hilt.By the Saints, but it was heavier than she guessed! Somehow, she managed to lift it waist high. Staggering for balance, she tensed her arms, fighting to keep the blade aloft even as the tip began to veer earthward; she lurched forward as it slammed home, its point digging into the soft ground near her feet.
Her breath came out in a rush, and she felt more than saw Gray frown from his position behind her. But when she turned to catch his expression, he altered it to one of concentration and continued to watch her, arms crossed in front of his chest.
Heat flooded her face, and she looked back at her metal opponent. This was proving to be more difficult than she’d imagined. But Gray had told her that she was suited to this kind of training, even though she was female. She recalled the rush of pleasure she’d felt at his words. It had been the only time in her life that she could remember feeling anything but shame about her unnatural size.
Catherine narrowed her eyes, glaring at the deadly weapon dangling from her grip. Gritting her teeth, she dragged it upward again, straining and holding her breath until she managed to balance it at chest height. It wobbled there for a moment or two, and she threw Gray a small grin of triumph. But then suddenly the blade shifted in her hand.
