Catherine stood her ground, as weak as her foundation was. “I needed to go into town,” she said. “The clerics owed me money from last week. The babe has been ill and I’ve not had a chance to collect it and make a full accounting.”
Kress looked like a man who was at the end of his patience. “And you took them another poem, didn’t you?”
She didn’t lie to him, although she was losing some of her confidence. “Aye,” she said. “But it was a truly beautiful one, Kress. It will make us a good deal of money.”
Kress slapped a palm against his forehead, begging the gods for patience. “Sweetheart, we do not need the money,” he said. “I know you like to write this poetry. You have been doing it since I met you. But I thought we agreed that you would no longer do this after Keene was born.”
She was feeling scolded, even if she knew she deserved it. “I thought I could stop and focus on our son, but it seems that I cannot,” she said, reining her horse nearer to him. “Please understand. I love Keene and I love you. You know that, Kress. You are my sun and my moon, both of you. But there is something inside of me that wants to write poetry and I cannot stop it. I wish you could understand that.”
He was genuinely not trying to be cruel about it. Looking into her dark eyes, he could see how much it meant to her and, as usual, he was a slave to her wants. He couldn’t help himself.
“I know you like to write your poems,” he said. “But the ones you have written since the child was born are… well, far naughtier than the ones you have written in the past. There is no other way to put it.”
She grinned. “That is because I understand what it feels like to need a man,” she said, lowering her voice. “I understand what it means to feel his shaft deep within me. You know how I crave such things.”
Talk like that instantly aroused him and Catherine wasn’t afraid to speak to him in ways that most women would be ashamed of. But not her; the woman demanded he bed her at least once a day, sometimes twice, even when she was pregnant with their son. The physic had warned against such a thing whenshe was heavily with child, but it only seemed to arouse her more and Kress, of course, could not resist her no matter how much the physics warned against it. Fortunately, their son had been born healthy and beautiful, and their intimacy had resumed just a couple of months afterwards.
But, God, what the woman did to him.
Frustrated, and resigned, he simply shook his head.
“I do not know why I fight it,” he said, turning Samson around as they began to head back towards Seton Castle with the old dog trailing behind them. “You did this when you were at Castle Rising and now you are doing it here. You write these… thesepoemsand convinced the poor clerics of St. Martin’s to reproduce them on those shingles and you continue to make a fortune at it. Why do I even resist?”
He was asking questions he already knew the answer to. Catherine grinned, reaching out to take his hand even as they rode along, side by side.
“Do not worry so,” she said. “The Scots are much more open-minded about such things. They love the work ofMhuire Dorcha. I was Lady Dark in Lynn and I am Lady Dark here, only in the Scot’s language. But the truth is… well, it is more than my need to write. I also feel that I am keeping poor Yerik alive somehow by continuing on. He was very devoted to my poems.”
Kress lifted an eyebrow. “He was devoted to the money.”
She shrugged. “In part, he was,” she said softly. “But he believed in me enough to leave Lynn and go with me those years back. Had he not gone with me, he would still be alive now. I feel some obligation to him to continue on, so that his dedication to me would not be in vain. Does that make sense?”
The conversation took a somewhat somber turn. They didn’t learn about Yerik’s death until well after the event, on a missive Alexander had sent them once they were settled, and it had been months before Catherine could speak about him without crying.Even now, Kress could sense her sadness and he squeezed her hand as they rode along.
“It makes sense,” he said. “I am sure he would have been quite happy wherever you settled, producing the prayer cards for you. You must remember that the man was doing what he was happy doing when he died.”
“I know,” she sighed. “But for him, at least in part, I wish to continue writing my poems. I know you are afraid people will discover whoMhuire Dorchais, but the clerics at St. Martin’s are very discreet. They would never tell and give up a great source of income.”
Kress nodded, rather ironically. “I would believe that,” he said. “Money over piety.”
“Are you angry with me, then?”
He looked at her, a reluctant grin on his face. “Am I ever angry with you?”
She flashed her dimples. “Sometimes you yell.”
“But do I mean it?”
“I do not like it when you yell.”
He started to laugh. “Then do not do anything to make me yell, it is that simple.” He watched her grin before she turned to watch the countryside around them, gloriously content with her life and her love. That was why he dreaded to tell her what he must. “And speaking of yelling, you and I have something to discuss.”
Catherine turned to him with interest. “Oh? What is it?”
He maintained a casual manner, hoping that if he didn’t seem disturbed by what he was about to tell her, then she would follow suit. That was the hope, anyway.
“I have just come from a meeting with the king,” he said. “I have been asked to accompany William’s son to France. Evidently, Alexander wishes to make an alliance with the Frenchand I have been asked to help mediate the matter. It is a great honor, Cadie. The king is putting trust in me.”
Catherine looked at him, her fine and powerful husband. He was trying to gently tell her that he was about to leave her for a length of time. There wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t thank God for the man she’d married. Her life could have so easily been different, and it almost was, so there wasn’t a moment in her life that she took for granted. She was married to the man she loved and they had a fine son, Keene, who looked like his father in nearly every way.
