Bitterness gripped his innards. Striding to the door that connected to the great hall, Gray swung it open and scattered several revelers who’d been drifting past. Then he gestured to the opening with a flourish, even as he mustered a sardonic smile. “Come, my friend, and accompany me. It can be postponed no longer. ’Tis time for me to join my lady wife and celebrate the joy of our marriage.”
Catherine watched Grayson emerge from the far end of the enormous hall, grim purpose etched in every sculpted line of his face. Without wanting to, she tensed, her hand tightening around her tiny silver cutting knife so that it gouged into the bread trencher in front of her. “Sweet Jesu, Eduard,” she murmured. “What if he’s discovered our deceit?”
Eduard leaned in, his whisper a sinister reminder of all that she stood to lose if she failed in the task he’d given her. “Control, Catherine. Don’t let your weak-minded tendencies get the best of you. He knows nothing. ’Tis impossible for him even to suspect.”
Despite that reassurance, Catherine couldn’t suppress the shudder that rippled through her. Eduard rolled his eyes. “Really, Catherine, your constant quivering begins to wear on me. ’Tis not as if you’re an untouched maid about to be deflowered.” Grasping her hand, he pushed it and the knife she held to the table. “Just don’t fail to act that part when you join Camville in his bedchamber, or complications will arise that might be less than pleasant for you and your children.”
Catherine hid her reaction to his threat behind her wine goblet, swallowing some of the tart liquid before attempting to answer. “If you’d have bothered to fully warn me about my husband beforehand, I might feel more prepared.”
But even as she spoke, she knew that nothing he could have said would have readied her for the impressive sight of Grayson de Camville. Still, she’d touch hot coals before she’d admit that or any other truth to Eduard.
He shrugged. “I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t expect you to react like all of the other wenches who go aflutter with lust upon seeing him.” Pausing, he glanced across the hall. “But alas, poor Catherine. Your husband is quick approaching, and he doesn’t seem likewise affected byyourcharms.”
Catherine pretended to ignore the jab. After almost eight years of marriage to Eduard’s brother, such remarks were to be expected. Every time Geoffrey de Montford had insulted her excessive height and peasant build, every time he’d cursed her like her father before him because she wasn’t dainty and pale like a true beauty, she’d told herself that it didn’t matter. But it had. The constant debasement had hurt in a way that went as deep as the bruises he’d periodically inflicted on her flesh; it had lodged an ache in her heart that refused to go away.
Taking a breath, she raised her gaze just in time to see her new husband halt directly in front of her; she struggled to adjust her expression, to appear pleased, as befit the bride of a successful man. It was an effort made possible only by thoughts of Isabel and Ian’s safety.
“My lord,” she managed to murmur, tilting her head with what she hoped was polite grace.
“Lady,” Gray responded, gazing at her for a brief moment. A shadow darkened his sea-mist eyes, and it sent a renewed stab into her heart. Eduard was right. Her lack of beauty disappointed her husband, and that meant she would be beaten for it later. She shuddered as she imagined the damage that this man’s hands could inflict on her.
“I trust that the feast meets your favor, lady?”
His solicitous question startled her. Geoffrey had never cared if she enjoyed a meal. He’d usually been too drunk to notice. Twisting her fingers in her lap, Catherine murmured, “It looks superb, my lord. But I—I haven’t tasted of it yet.”
Gray scowled. “Why not?”
Catherine felt herself flush. “I thought it only fitting to wait for you, my lord.” She decided not to add that she possessed absolutely no appetite. Not with Eduard sitting at her elbow like one of hell’s gargoyles.
Her husband’s face revealed no change, though the shadow deepened in his eyes. He looked away. Finally he said, “’Tis not my custom to dine with women, and I cannot be expected to remember the niceties of such occasions.”
Waving his hand almost angrily, he gestured for someone to fill his goblet. A page darted forward with a cider pitcher, his young face stiff. The boy filled his master’s cup with a trembling hand, and Catherine felt a prick of sympathy. It seemed she wasn’t the only person who feared the presence of Ravenslock’s Lord.
And so when her husband quaffed the contents of his cup and reached out to affectionately ruffle the boy’s hair, it sent a thrill of shock through her. The feeling intensified when the boy grinned, his chest puffing out with pride and his grip steady as he refilled his lord’s cup again. Then he bowed and retreated to his place along the wall.
Without comment, Grayson stalked around the end of the banquet table, making his way to the dais. It was all she could do not to stare. How strange that the man who seemed every inch the hardened warrior had just treated a boy with kindness.
She allowed herself to study Grayson as he strode nearer to his place next to her at the table. She hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on much more than his face during their wedding, but now she could see that his form matched his visage. He was clad all in black, though his cloak and the sleeves of his tunic bore an intricate design embroidered in emerald silk.
When he sat beside her, Catherine caught a faint scent of spice mixed with smoky leather; it tickled her senses, and she dared to turn and stare openly at him. She’d rarely known men to smell good. Geoffrey, Eduard, Father—all had carried with them a scent that at its mildest couldn’t be termed pleasant.
“Is something amiss, lady?” Grayson swung his gaze to her after she’d been looking at him for what must have been a full minute without blinking.
Her breath stuck in her throat. “Nay.” She felt her cheeks heat, her tongue tripping like a three-years’ child. “Nay, ’tis just—” The force of his attention unnerved her, though not in the same way that her father or other men she’d known frighted her. Of course they had usually followed their intimidation of her with a slap or blow, and that possibility seemed unlikely right now, considering that she and Grayson were newly married and in the presence of scores of wedding guests.
Glancing down at the table again, Catherine willed the shaking in her hands to cease. “’Tis just that you’re—you’re quite different from what I envisioned.”
“As are you, lady. Very unlike what I was led to expect.” He paused, and she felt his gaze bore more deeply into her before flicking to Eduard. “I cannot help but wonder why I was so misled.”
Catherine’s stomach clenched, and Eduard coughed. She didn’t dare look at her husband to determine what he might have meant, or even if he was in earnest.
“Elise experiences many changeable moods, Camville. ’Tis part of her nature. Hence no two descriptions of her are completely like, even among those who know her best.” Eduard delivered his answer with smooth skill, leaning forward to pat her fingers as he spoke. It took all of her will not to snatch her hand from beneath his vile touch.
“I’d prefer to hear your sister speak for herself,” Gray said coldly. Catherine’s shoulders hunched, and she slouched forward as she tried to make herself less noticeable.
“My lady, would you care to venture an opinion?” Gray continued to gaze at her, his soft tone belying the granite-hard demand behind his question.
“I—I don’t know what it is that you wish me to say,” Catherine whispered, shrinking away from him as the knot in her stomach turned to nausea. It seemed she’d been wrong to assume that the presence of wedding guests would shield her from a beating so soon. Eduard had said that Grayson was a monster, and judging from the leashed anger in her husband’s voice, it seemed increasingly certain that he was about to lash out at her now. She only hoped that he wouldn’t kill her with the power sure to be contained in a blow from his massive fist.
