“Be easy with your mother,” William said sharply, and took Catherine’s arm to help her up. “I am sorry. I tried to make him wait until you were awake.”
She smiled at Jamie to let him know it was all right.
“I will meet you all for breakfast as soon as I have dressed,” she told them. “I had only broth for supper last night and am near starved.”
The normalcy of sitting at table with her family soothed her soul. Although the others had long since eaten, the cook sent out platters heaped high with bread and meats and bowls of stewed apricots and sugared nuts. While she ate, Jamie told her about hiding with Jacob and the new kittens in the straw. To her relief, Jamie had thought it all a game.
At William’s signal, Jamie’s nursemaid collected her charge. “The dogs are jealous of the kittens now,” she told him. “They are so unhappy they’ve ceased to wag their tails.”
“They have not!” Jamie protested, but he jumped up to go with her all the same.
“I thought it best not to tell the boy too much,” William said when they had gone.
Catherine nodded. Jamie needed no reassurance beyond seeing her. From the dark circles under William’s eyes and the pinched skin between his brows, it was apparent her husband would need more.
Waving down William’s objections, she asked Stephen to recount their part of what happened the day before.
“You were clever to remember the tunnel,” she said when he had finished.
Stephen blushed at the compliment.
She patted his arm. “And cleverer still to get the secret out of Jacob. I’m sure no one has before.”
Still blushing, Stephen cast a sidelong glance at his brother. William jerked his head meaningfully toward the door. Taking the hint, Stephen got to his feet.
“It brings me joy to see you safe and well,” Stephen said, sweeping her an elaborate bow. With that, he left the room.
Catherine shook her head, smiling. “That boy has enough gallantry and charm for two. Heaven help us.”
William had no interest in discussing his brother.
“Time for you to rest.” He stood and offered his hands to her. “Come, I’ll help you back upstairs.”
“But I have not been up an hour,” she protested.
In the end, she gave in and let him take her upstairs, but she adamantly refused to get into bed. He settled her on the window seat with a stool propped under her feet and a blanket tucked tightly around her.
She tugged one arm free and patted the space beside her. “Sit with me a while.”
She leaned into the comfort of his arms and rested her head on his shoulder. After a time, she said, “You must want to know the rest.”
She looked at the hard planes of his face and watched the muscles of his jaw tighten and release.
“Only if you wish to speak of it,” he said, his eyes fixed straight ahead. “And only when you are ready—not now.”
“I cannot help but think of it now,” she said. “Telling you may help me put it behind me.”
He nodded and took her hand. “If it will help.”
Once she began, she could not stop. She recounted the entire horror of it: every word, every look, every touch. The telling was cathartic for her—and torture for William. She understood that he had to hear it. Reliving the nightmare with her was a penance he needed to make before he could begin to forgive himself.
He kept his rage behind a careful mask. But when she told him what Edmund was doing to her when she stabbed him the first time and then how terrified she was when he backhanded her, William jumped to his feet. Clenching his fists, he paced the room, letting loose a rain of curses.
Then he collapsed beside her and covered his face in his hands. “I saw Edmund fight many, many times,” he whispered. “I do not know another who gave him a second chance and survived.”
He pulled her into his arms again. “I was arrogant and foolish to ignore your concerns about him.”
Aye, he should have listened to her.
