My Cherished Enemy

He gave a terse nod, for this was not the homecoming he had envisioned. He'd thought to see Kathryn awaiting him, if not with open arms, at least with yearning dwelling deep in those jade- green eyes. His gaze swept the hall but she was nowhere to be found.

"How goes it here, Gerda? All is well with Peter?"

"He's grown so I vow you'll hardly recognize him." Again that look of anxious distress as she gestured toward the stairs. "He naps just now, milord."

"And Lady Kathryn? Does she nap as well?"

Gerda shook her head. "Nay, my lord," she whispered. "She is .. . gone."

"Gone!" Guy went white about the mouth. His voice boomed like a clap of thunder. "God's blood! Don't tell me she's escaped! How the hell could such a thing happen—this place swarms with my men-at-arms! And everyone knew she was not to leave these walls alone!"

Gerda quailed, wondering if she dared tell him about the babe... and decided against it. "My lord," she said shakily, "it happened only this morning. At dawn she told the guard at the gatehouse that she was feeling poorly and needed to gather some healing herbs outside the castle walls. When we realized she was gone, Sir Michael and a dozen others set out after her."

The bitch! The treacherous bitch! He did not realize he swore aloud. She had played him for a fool once again. Not once had he considered Kathryn might not be here. She had said that she would be here when he returned—damn her traitorous soul—and he had believed her! He gnashed his teeth, remembering how he'd gloried in the way she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him so sweetly, all the while promising with lips that ever lied and deceived!

Gerda fell on her knees before him, her eyes shimmering with tears. "Do not blame Sir Michael for this, milord! He was not lax in his guard of her, I swear. If you must punish anyone, punish me, for I did not realize she was gone until well into the morning. And—oh, I know you will find it impossible—but when you find Lady Kathryn, do not judge her so harshly. I beg of you, milord, find it in your heart to be lenient!"

Guy stared down at her bowed head. What magic did Kathryn possess, that she charmed so easily all those within her reach—his son, Sir Michael, even this girl whose loyalty to Elaine had been as fierce as his love for his cherished wife.

But leniency? A brittle determination sealed his heart. Never, he vowed. Never. . . Kathryn had toyed with him for the last time.

He raised Gerda to her feet. "We both know who is to blame," he said flatly, "and 'tis neither you nor Sir Michael. But this I would know, Gerda. Did Kathryn make any other attempt to escape?"

Her answer was swift and unwavering. "Nay, my lord. None at all."

His eyes narrowed. "So it was only after she received word of my return that she made the decision to flee?"

Gerda winced. " 'Twould seem so." She paused, then touched his arm. "Milord, Sir Michael set out to search the road to Ashbury."

"Likelier than not, that’s where she's headed." His voice was grim.

Gerda hesitated. "I am not so certain," she said slowly, "for one of the maids, Zelda, just told me that Lady Kathryn questioned her only last night about the convent south of here."

For an instant Guy said nothing. Something elusive tugged at his memory, and all at once Hugh's voice rang through his mind... Why, she was ready last night to scurry off to a nunnery!

'Then I will look for her there," he said decisively. "Gerda, see that food and drink are prepared. I'll be going on to Ashbury after I find Kathryn."

Gerda noted rather anxiously he did not say if he found her. . . she shivered and prayed that Lady Kathryn would come to no harm from any creatures she might encounter. . . human as well. And she prayed uneasily for her lady’s safety yet again as she watched Sir Guy gallop away a short time later.

He looked like a man beset with demons.

Darkness dropped its smothering folds about the earth with the suddenness of a candle being snuffed out by invisible fingers. Kathryn huddled closer to the fire, too nervous to sleep, too fitful to try to rest. At least she was on the right road; Zelda had unwittingly told her of several landmarks which she had passed earlier in the day. But knowing Guy had arrived at Sedgewick today left her uneasy. She had no trouble picturing his fury. He would probably set out after her, she thought with a sniff, for he was imperious enough to see her escape as an affront to his manhood.

But he would never find her, she thought, a secret smile tugging at her lips. He would conclude that she had bolted for Ashbury, but by noonday tomorrow she would be safely within the walls of the convent, where she could take refuge until her babe was born... and after? There was time enough to consider that later, she reminded herself curtly. Indeed, she had nothing but time .. . She brought her legs to her breast and let her chin drop against her knees.

In the distance the lonely howl of a wolf split the air, then fell eerily silent.

Kathryn tensed, relaxing long minutes later. Soon she began to doze. Unbidden, she remembered a similar night when he had lurked in the shadows. As if in a dream, she saw him, legs planted wide apart in that arrogant stance, his shoulders, lean and wide, blotting out the moonlight. His eyes glittered silver, bright and vivid in the firelight as his lips curved in that mocking smile she so hated.

This was no dream.

Guy was here—here! She was on her feet in an instant, spinning around wildly. She got no further than an arm-length before he caught her elbow and whirled her around. "No!" The sound tore from deep in her throat. "No!"

"Oh, yes, Kathryn... yes!" His hands descended on her shoulders. His head came closer. In some far distant corner of her mind, she thought vaguely that it was as it had been once before. His mouth plundered the softness of hers, while his hand skimmed her body—breasts, hips, thighs, and belly—

They both froze.

He wrenched his mouth from hers at the same instant an expression of incredulous disbelief washed across his features. His gaze slid down her body; had she not been so slender, the rounded swell of her belly would not have been so obvious. His fingers splayed wider, as if to seek confirmation. Stricken, Kathryn could only stare at him while his eyes widened in slow-growing horror. Abruptly, with a suddenness that wrung a startled cry from her, he snatched back his hand with a vile curse, as if he could not stand to touch her.

His reaction was like a physical blow, the ultimate rejection. A giant pair of hands seemed to close about her heart and squeeze. "Damn you," she lashed out furiously. "Why did you have to follow me? Why did you have to find me? I was so close... so close!"

His fingers closed around her upper arms. He dragged her to him. "Is this why you ran? Because of the child?"

"God, how can you ask?" She cried out in anguish and despair. "I fled for the very reason we stand here shouting at each other! Did you think I wanted you to find me like this? I knew you would blame me. I knew it!"

He ignored her railing. "How far gone are you? Four months? Five?" Guy did not doubt that the child was his. She'd been guarded far too well for her to play him false.

"Nearly six," she choked out.

He bit back an oath. 'Then you knew you were with child when I left Sedgewick for Henry's side, didn't you? You knew and you refused to tell me!"

She turned her eyes away, unable to meet the angry demand in his.

"Christ, you must have realized... you were nearly three months along. Why didn't you tell me?" When she said nothing, his fingers bit into the soft flesh of her arms. He shook her so hard her head fell back. She looked at him, dazed. "Answer me, damn you!"

In his heart he was appalled at his behavior, yet she could not know the pain she inflicted. She had run from him when she learned he was coming home. Had she would be killed in battle and never return.

Her lungs burned with the effort it took to hold back her tears. She'd not cry in front of him. She would not!

" 'Twas Gerda who realized—" She caught her breath on a dry sob. "I swear I did not know until after you'd gone!"

He stared at her so long and so accusingly she wanted to shrivel up and die. He did not believe her, she realized finally... Her heart shattered. A wave of utter desolation swept over her. Against all reason, she suddenly ached for him to take her in his arms. She longed to bury her face against his chest and clung to him, putting aside all their enmity for once.

But he was the cause of all her misery... not the cure.

Feeling numb and beaten, she watched as he stalked to his destrier. An instant later he thrust a blanket into her hands. "You might as well sleep while you can," he ordered. "We leave at first light."

In mute acceptance, Kathryn lay down and curled up before the fire. Guy flung himself down beside a tree, propping his back against the rough bark, his mind seething.

He thought of all the lonely nights he'd spent dreaming of her, yearning for her, waking up to find himself hard and throbbing, like an untried lad. Desire flamed within him, as fiery and demanding as ever. The urge to roll her over and take his pleasure was almost overpowering, for he'd lain with no other since the night he'd left Sedgewick. Oh, it wasn't for lack of opportunity. Not three nights past a winsome widow had made it known she would welcome his attentions. But once they were alone in her chamber, he found she stirred him not a whit. Her hips were too wide, her breasts too heavy. Feeling like a eunuch, he'd finally excused himself before he humiliated either of them further.

Kathryn had spoiled him for any other woman, damn her beautiful hide!

And now she lay beside him, as untouchable as ever.

Nay, he dare not lay a hand on her, he decided bitterly. She would fight him and he could not vouch for his behavior right now. Somehow he could never control either his temper or his passions when she was near.

He found no respite in sleep that night.

Kathryn felt she'd barely closed her eyes than he nudged her awake. He said nothing as he helped her to her feet, his expression carefully controlled. But her heart sank once she was on her feet. She gazed fully into his eyes; they were as icy as the frigid waters of the sea.

She sensed his impatience to be off so she quickly tended to her private needs. When she returned he handed her a slab of bread and cheese. By the time she brushed the crumbs from her kirtle, he had their horses ready and waiting.

An hour later they came to a crossroads. Kathryn held back when he guided his destrier down the fork in the dusty road, rather than returning the way she had come. Ever alert, Guy turned and fixed her with a glare.

Her tongue came out to dampen her lips. "Are you certain this is the road to Sedgewick?" She gestured to her right. "I'm sure I came from that way, milord."

"We are not returning to Sedgewick," he informed her curtly. "We go to Ashbury where I am to meet Henry."

A jolt of shock ran through her. For an instant she felt as if everything inside were collapsing. Her face bloodless, she stared at him. "No," she whispered faintly. Her hand moved instinctively to her middle. "You cannot—"

At her look of horror, a blaze ignited within him. He let loose of the storm in his soul. "What!" he mocked. "Does this not please the lady Kathryn?" He was far too upset to heed his tongue. "For months you've been telling how much you hate Sedgewick, how desperately you long to be back at Ashbury. Well, you finally have your wish, milady, so where is your gratitude now?"

There was no escaping the determined glitter in his eyes. He grabbed her bridle and brought Esmerelda wheeling alongside his destrier. Her heart began to bleed as he slapped her palfrey sharply on the rump. She did not cry, though for once she would have welcomed the release.

This was a hurt that went beyond tears.

Chapter 14

They arrived at Ashbury several days later.

Kathryn's reunion with Elizabeth was all she feared. They were scarcely through the gates than Elizabeth came tearing outside, laughing and crying her name. Kathryn half-turned from Esmerelda, unwittingly providing a side profile of her rounded tummy.

Elizabeth's cries of joy ended on a strangled gasp.

By the time they hugged and embraced, Sir Hugh was there as well. Guy stood next to Kathryn, but it was as if an invisible boundary had been drawn between them. The four of them exchanged greetings, the atmosphere stilted and awkward.

Now, back in the chamber she had occupied since she was a child, Kathryn released a long sigh of relief. The oaken portal had no sooner creaked shut than Elizabeth threw her arms around her sister and hugged her fiercely once more. "Kathryn," she cried. "Oh, you do not know how I have missed you!"

Tears sprang to Kathryn's eyes. It was difficult to speak around the lump in her throat. "Oh, but I think I do," she said shakily.

Elizabeth squeezed her hands. Her smile faded. "Are you well, sister?" She worriedly noted the pale-purple smudges beneath Kathryn's eyes. "You look so wearied."

'The journey was not overly pleasant." Ah, and wasn't that the truth, she reflected bitterly. The discord between herself and Guy had never been greater. They had spoken only when necessary. He could scarcely bring himself to look at her.

Her hand fluttered down to the hard swell of her belly. "I suppose I should explain," she said quietly.

Elizabeth then bit her lip. "I fear I am rather puzzled," she admitted. She hesitated. "You were so certain when you left that you were not—"

"I was not." Kathryn's laugh held no mirth. "At least not then."

Elizabeth was aghast. "Do you mean to say that you... I mean the earl. . ." She blushed a fiery red and broke off.

"Aye, Elizabeth. The babe is his." She glimpsed the anxious question in her sister's gaze. "And no, we are neither married nor betrothed. Nor," she stressed shortly, "are we ever likely to be. We may have created a child together, but rest assured that the earl and I have little regard for each other."

As briefly as possible, she told Elizabeth of the earl's mission for King Henry and how he had just learned of her condition. Elizabeth nodded slowly when she'd finished. "Hugh has told me that King Henry is expected any day now." She shivered. "Having the earl here makes me nervous as it is, let alone the king. I fear I shall say something wrong."

"You will do fine," Kathryn soothed. But the next instant she studied her sister more closely. She had been concerned for Elizabeth's well-being these many months, afraid she would wilt away from loneliness. But vibrant color bloomed in Elizabeth's cheeks. Her eyes were clear and unwavering. It struck her then that Elizabeth appeared calmer, more confident, despite her words. . . and more at peace with herself.

"You have changed," she said slowly, then smiled slightly. 'Tell me, Elizabeth. Is Sir Hugh responsible for the lilt in your voice, the glow in your cheeks?"

Elizabeth's eyes widened with dismay. "It is obvious, then?" She sounded so worried that Kathryn could not help but laugh, her first genuine laugh in days, and soon Elizabeth joined her.

"I never thought to feel anything but fear for any man, but Hugh is different," she confided after a moment. "Kathryn, he is ever so kind and thoughtful. He makes me feel very special and— and cherished." She blushed a becoming shade of pink and lowered her voice to a whisper, though there was no one to hear. "I love it when he touches me. I love it even more when he kisses me. And oh, it is not frightening as I had feared it might be. In truth, it is the most glorious thing I've ever felt in my life!"

A sharp stab pierced Kathryn's chest. She remembered the searing fusion of Guy's mouth on hers, hot and demanding and fervently exciting.

She forced a smile. "You have not been so unhappy then?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I've missed you sorely, but nay, I've not been unhappy."

Kathryn squeezed her hand. "Then I am glad for you."

There was a tap on the door. It opened and Helga came in, bearing a small tray. She bobbed a curtsy, then placed the tray of honey cakes on the bench between the two sisters. "I thought mayhap my lady could use the sustenance—" She straightened, her gaze lingering openly on Kathryn's belly as she gave a trilling laugh. "—being that she's expecting a babe and all."

Kathryn was too stunned to say a word. It was left to Elizabeth to murmur politely, "Thank you, Helga. That will be all now."

Helga swept from the chamber, but not before Kathryn glimpsed her simpering smirk.

Hot shame swept over her. Helga had not acted out of kindness or consideration, or even duty. The girl had merely wished to gape and see the truth for herself. Had word spread so quickly then? A feeling of sick dread clutched her insides. She could not eat a single crumb of the tempting honey cakes.

That same moment found Guy striding through the doorway of the chamber he'd occupied previously during his stay here. He'd be damned if he'd sleep in that bastard Richard's bed!

He gestured Hugh inside and closed the door. 'There," he muttered. "At least we can speak freely now." He stripped off his leather jerkin and dropped it on the bed. "How goes it here?"

Hugh's mind veered straight to Elizabeth. "Well," he murmured. "Exceedingly well, in fact."

'There's been no insurrection?"

"Only an idle man in the first month or so. Richard was not a man to inspire loyalty among either his tenants or his knights." Hugh's lips tightened. "He was not a man given to compromise or reason. Punishment and retaliation were his only methods of keeping those beneath him in line."

"So anyone might have murdered him then," Guy said slowly.

Hugh smothered a smile. "I take it you've decided Kathryn did not kill him." His friend nodded. He had the grace to look slightly ashamed. "Richard is the last man I'd mourn," Hugh added. "But no one has come forward to admit it."

Guy dropped down on the bed, thrusting a booted leg out in front of him. "I dislike not knowing who murdered him."

Hugh grimaced. "I know, Guy. But I've had no luck in the matter. Frankly, I'm inclined to believe whoever did it may have fled that very night."

When Guy said nothing, Hugh hesitated. "Speaking of Kathryn," he ventured, "I must admit I was startled to see she is with child." A frown puckered his forehead. "Elizabeth confided that she—"

"The child is mine."

Indeed, Hugh thought. He was not about to question his friend's conviction. If Guy's expression was anything to go by, it was sour enough to curdle milk. But as he watched his friend jump up and begin to prowl restlessly around the room, he was unable to still his tongue completely. There were few men who were a match against Guy—and Kathryn was but a woman.

"I see," he said coolly. "And you're angry because your seed found fertile ground in her?"

Guy stopped short. His head swiveled around. He scowled. "I only lay with her twice." He scowled.

"Where a man plows the field the harvest will be yielded. It takes but a single seed to bear fruit, milord."

"Do not look at me like that," he growled. "I didn't know she was with child when I left Sedgewick and took up Henry's flag." But you should have, taunted an inner voice. He was furious with himself for failing to consider the possibility she might be with child, for Hugh was right— it took but once. And then when last he lay with her, he remembered thinking her breasts seemed fuller and riper, her nipples rouged a deeper, darker pink. Aye, he should have at least suspected!

His jaw clamped together. "How was I to know when she chose not to tell me? When she learned I was expected home, she sought to flee to a convent! Only by the grace of God was I able to catch her!"

The sight of his mighty lord scrambling to defend himself was immensely amusing. Hugh bit back a smile. "I take it your time with Kathryn has been rather taxing."

Guy snorted. 'That woman would try the patience of a saint."

Hugh sighed. "Did you truly think to tame her? She is much like you, I think. And you've the devil's own temper."

"And she's the devil's mistress!" Guy was rather affronted that his friend was taking Kathryn's side against him.

Hugh sighed. "Guy, you cannot blame her for this."

"I do not intend to." He shoved a hand through his hair and stared broodingly across the room. At length he turned to his friend once more. "Enough of my troubles, Hugh. Let's hear yours instead." He clapped a hand on his shoulder. "When last we saw each other, I swore you were smitten with Elizabeth."

"And still am." Hugh gave a lopsided smile. "Nor do I expect to be otherwise."

Heavy dark brows shot up. "That's quite a prediction, my friend. Is it so serious then?"

Hugh's smile faded. "I do not know if Kathryn has told you," he said slowly. "But their mother was raped and killed, and Elizabeth saw it done. 'Twas Kathryn who told me how Elizabeth has been fearful and timid around any man since then. I've known almost from the start that I loved her, but for that reason I've had to bide my time and go very slowly with her. My only regret is that I have so little to offer Elizabeth." A light like a thousand suns filled his eyes. "But I think she loves me, Guy. Nay, I know she loves me and will take me as I am. So as soon as I'm certain she's ready, I intend to ask her to become my wife."

It was a long time later when Hugh finally left for his own chamber. Sleep did not come easily to Guy, however. Whenever he closed his eyes, images of Kathryn danced behind his eyelids. Over and over he envisioned her expression throughout their journey here. She had looked so lost and hopeless. That expression had haunted him—it haunted him still. And it was with his mind thus occupied that he came to realize... there could be but one solution to their dilemma.

Kathryn would fight him. She had fought him on everything else, he reflected bitterly, why not this, too? He knew better than to expect her willing compliance. He stared at the shadows flickering on the ceiling, his mouth tight. Were that the case, she'd have naught but more perfidy in store for him!

But he'd be damned if he'd have her running off at every opportunity that presented itself—and her carrying his child yet! He expelled a long frustrated breath. Somehow, he thought tiredly, they must come to some agreement.

In the morning, he would go to her. Reason and cajole. Demand if need be...

But morning came too soon, and with it, Henry's entourage. For the next four days, Guy scarcely ate or slept. As was his wont, Henry demanded as much of his followers as he demanded of himself. Guy spent the days—and half the night—cloistered with Henry and his advisors. It was well after midnight before he fell into bed; he dragged himself out before dawn. The privacy he sought with Kathryn was simply not to be. There was no chance to speak to her, even in passing. He saw her but once.

With Roderick, blast her fickle, faithless hide!

But for Kathryn, too, those days numbered among the longest and most painful of her life.

King Henry was not what she expected. His youth took her by surprise, but not for long—the sheer commanding power of his presence alone proclaimed that he had taken his place as ruler, by right as well as might.

She and Elizabeth were summoned to the hall the morning of his arrival. Kathryn spotted Henry immediately, for she'd heard tales of his fiery-red hair—and the temper that matched it. His figure was lean and spare, his shoulders broad, though he was not quite as tall as Guy, who stood at his side, quietly listening and nodding. Though she could not make out the words, the timbre of his voice was deep and booming, his manner fierce and energetic as he gestured and finally threw up his hands, as if in dismay. Sir Hugh approached the pair and snared their attention, gesturing over his shoulder toward Kathryn and Elizabeth. As they awaited introduction, Elizabeth was clearly petrified. She clutched Kathryn's arm so tightly Kathryn knew she'd have bruises on the morrow.

The king stepped up to them, flanked by Guy and Sir Hugh. Guy directed a tiny smile at Elizabeth. "Your Grace, may I present Elizabeth of Ashbury?"

Elizabeth sank into a deep curtsy. When her head came up, it appeared her nervousness had miraculously fled. "Sire—" Her voice betrayed only the merest hint of a quiver. "—you humble us with your presence."

He brought her hand to his lips. "And you humble me with your beauty, Lady Elizabeth, a beauty that rivals my queen's." His ruddy face lit with a grin. " 'Tis glad I am that Eleanor is not with me that I may appreciate such loveliness more fully." While Elizabeth flushed a becoming pink, he turned to Kathryn.

Guy was no longer smiling. "And here, Your Grace, is Elizabeth's elder sister—Kathryn."

Praying her calm would not desert her, Kathryn inhaled deeply and looked up at the king. His face was square and intelligent, his beard as fiery-red as his close-cropped hair. Despite his charm, it gave her a start to see that his eyes were as gray and every bit as keenly piercing as Guy's.

Her curtsy was a bit awkward. "Sire," she murmured, "I hope your stay here is a comfortable one."

Henry raised her to her feet, his eyes on her exquisite features. "God's blood! Not one beauty but two! And sisters, you say?" His gaze bounced between Elizabeth and Kathryn, noting the dramatic contrast in their coloring. "Amazing!" he said with a throaty chuckle.

Guy spared her not a glance as he moved away with the king. Kathryn felt his dismissal like a stinging slap in the face.

Yet despite his indifference, she nursed a halfhearted tendril of hope that Guy would come to her, that he would beg forgiveness and whisper that he was glad of the child. But soon even that frail hope withered and died.

It twisted her heart to see Elizabeth with Hugh, both of them so enamored with each other that when they were together, they had eyes for no one but the other. And when Elizabeth began to speak of love, Kathryn couldn't help it.

Never in her life had she been so miserable. She was aware she was feeling sorry for herself, but she could not rid herself of this wretched self-pity. She didn't know which was worse, Helga's scornful disdain or the pity she glimpsed on Elizabeth's and Hugh's face whenever their gaze chanced to rest on her thickened waistline.

On her fifth day there, she stood on the parapet, watching the endless procession of carts weave through the gates. It was Hugh who told her King Henry had abandoned his plans to conquer Ireland, at least for the moment. And so the king had departed, on his way to his next destination to carry out the business of running his country.

A bitter despair seeped through her. Henry could go where he chose, whenever he willed— not because he was king, but because he was a man. Her soul cried out at the injustice dealt her by the cruel hand of Providence. Even the lowliest villein possessed more choice than she, for if he so desired, he could change his lot in life. He could prosper and buy his freedom from his lord; he might escape and remain free for a year and a day. Or he could enter the Church.

He could aspire to freedom. She, as every other woman of the times, could not. . . She must remain subject to the whim and will of whatever man controlled her destiny, be he father, husband, lord, or king.

From birth until death.

How long she stood there, those bleak and discouraging thoughts her only companion, she did not know. A violent wind whipped her hair and skirts—it did not wipe the chill from her heart.

The sun sank low in the sky before Kathryn finally made her way down the tower stair. She had nearly reached the bottom when guttural male laughter drifted up the narrow enclosure.

". . . she always did look down her nose at the lot of us—why, even her uncle!"

"She was never like her mouse of a sister, that’s for sure," another agreed.

Kathryn froze, one small foot poised on the last step. The men were undoubtedly several of Richard's men-at-arms—and they were talking about her!

"Can't say as I blame de Marche for wanting such a fine piece of fluff. Nor did it take him long to dip into her honey pot!" Lewd laughter followed.

"He brought her down a peg or two when he made her his whore. She's not so haughty now he's put his bastard in her belly."

The blood drained from Kathryn's face. There was a horrible constriction in her chest, so painfully acute it hurt to breathe.

Until that moment, she had scarcely let herself think about the child she bore within her; despite the fact that the babe moved within her, it still seemed vague and unreal. But in that mind-splitting instant, the life within her far eclipsed her own.

They called her child bastard. Bastard. Oh, God, she thought wildly, she could not even say the word aloud. She couldn't even think it. The pain that blotted her soul was as vivid as a bloodstain.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. She felt listless and drained, unable to summon much feeling for anything. At supper that night she sat at Elizabeth's elbow, pale and withdrawn, saying little, eating even less. As usual, the hall teemed with activity; knights and servants alike swarmed to and fro. Guy was late but Kathryn scarcely noticed. Misery enshrouded her, sealing her off from everything save her own heartache.

The last dish was offered and served; the meal ended. From where he sat on the raised dais, Guy rose to his feet and called for silence.

The rowdy talk and laughter ebbed. Only then did Kathryn rouse herself from her trancelike state. The hall hummed with quiet. Nearly every eye was fixed upon the handsome figure that strode from the dais to the center of the hall, commanding everyone's attention.

Guy raised a hand. "I ask but a moment of your time, and I promise I'll be brief so that you may be off to spend the evening as you will." He smiled slightly and glanced around. "I asked much of you these many months past when first you swore your allegiance to me. It pleases me greatly to know there are none here who have disappointed me. But now it seems I must ask not only for your allegiance once more, but your trust in my judgment as well. There is among us," he went on, "a man you have come to know well—Sir Hugh Bainbridge. Sir Hugh served me well as a boy. He has served me even better as knight, as well as friend."

Kathryn went very still inside. A shiver of uneasiness prickled her skin. She had the sinking feeling some terrible spectacle was about to commence.

'That is why I've decided 'tis time I rewarded such loyalty and faithfulness." Across the room, Guy's eyes met those of his startled friend. "Sir Hugh, I hereby grant Ashbury Keep and all its holdings to you." He held his cup high in silent salute. "To health, wealth, and happiness, my friend."

A boisterous cheer broke out. Next to Kathryn, Elizabeth threw her arms around Sir Hugh.

Kathryn was beyond hearing, beyond seeing. Her world was splintering all around her. Guy had just granted Ashbury to Sir Hugh .. . Sir Hugh. She had thought he could hurt her no more than he already had. Dear God, she was wrong, for Guy spared her nothing. Always, she thought helplessly, always he destroyed her dreams... She had just lost all she ever wanted, and to a heart so sorely battered and bruised, it was like a death blow.

There was shouting and laughter all around her. Everyone was frivolous and gay. Someone picked up a lute and began to sing a lilting tune of merriment. She could not stay here amidst such revelry... she would not. She rose and pushed her way forward. Certainly, there was no one to see her if she left. . . no one to care.

"Kathryn!"

She need not look behind her to realize who called her. Her steps began to quicken, one by one, until she was running.

"Kathryn!"

She was nearly at the top of the stairs. Her breath came in sobbing pants. Guy's heart leaped to his throat when she stumbled on the last step and went sprawling on the narrow landing. Hands on her waist, he tried to help her up.

She wrenched from his hold. "Do not touch me!" she hissed.

She backed toward the corridor, her face white with rage. He stretched out a hand toward her but did not touch her. "Kathryn," he said urgently. "Let me explain."

Her eyes glowed in burning hatred. "What is there to explain?" The ragged breath she drew burned her lungs. "Ashbury was my home, mine and Elizabeth's. Not yours. Not Sir Hugh's! Now there is no hope, no hope at all—”

Ashbury! Bitter frustration gnawed at him. It always came first with her—it always would! He clenched his jaw, fighting to hold tight to his temper. Didn't she see there was no malice or spite in passing title to Hugh? This was the only way he could think to end her compulsive desire for Ashbury. Indeed, he had hoped it might pacify her.

"Think," he said tightly. "Kathryn, think! Sir Hugh intends to marry Elizabeth. Ashbury will remain her home, always. Possession will still be in your family—"

She clapped her hands over her ears, her eyes wild. "Why should I believe you? You sought to shame me by bringing me here. You trample on my pride and my dignity! You—you take everything from me and leave me nothing!" She whirled and ran toward her chamber.

Guy's hand fell to his side. This time he did not try to stop her. Her heart was closed against him, as surely as a wall of stone. He could only hope that soon she would see reason. Reluctantly he made his way back to the hall.

He did not see the furtive shadow that slipped from the wall behind Kathryn.

Near her chamber, Kathryn reached to snatch open the door. Behind her, a palm splayed wide above hers, thrusting it closed. She spun about with a shriek of rage.

Roderick caught her by the wrists only an instant before she would have clawed his face. Stunned that it was he and not Guy, she gaped at him.

"Shhh, Kathryn. Do not say a word, just hear me out." His hands slipped to her shoulders. "I know how unhappy you are, love. I know it's all because of that arrogant whoreson de Marche. No one knows better than I how he has wronged you! But you need not feel you have no one to turn to, for I am here." With his thumbs he slowly stroked her collarbone. "You have only to say the word and I will always be here."

Her heart began to slow its frantic throb. "I do not know what you mean," she whispered.

"We planned to run off and be married once, Kathryn. What's to stop us from doing so now?" He threw back his tawny head and laughed. "Think what sweet revenge it would be on de Marche!"

She searched his face, convinced she'd heard wrong. "You would marry me," she said slowly, "even though I carry another man's child?"

Something hard crossed his handsome features. "You don't love him, Kathryn. I know you don't."

But she did not love him either! Feeling torn and confused, she did not stop him when he pulled her close and smothered her mouth with his. Kathryn submitted passively and let him part her lips, feeling curiously unaffected by the kiss. She felt neither pleasure nor displeasure.

Roderick did not seem to notice. He raised his head and gave a triumphant laugh. "You see, Kathryn? Nothing has changed between us. You cannot refuse to marry me now!"

Kathryn neither agreed nor disagreed. "This is so sudden," she said slowly. "Roderick, so much has happened. I must have time to think on this."

His smile vanished, replaced by an ugly sneer. "Judging from the look of you, I'd say time is short. In only a few months your babe will be born a bastard—"

She cried out sharply. "No! Do not say that! My babe is not a bastard!"

"He will be if you don't marry—and quickly. I'll raise the child as my own, I swear." His eyes gleamed. "Kathryn, you must marry me now. Tonight. The monastery is not far. We can leave now and marry there as we once planned."

'Tonight?" A hint of uncertainty dwelled in her tone. "Roderick, that is so soon."

He made a sound of impatience. 'It must be tonight. If you do not give the gossip time to die down, it will forever stain your child. Is that what you want?"

Oh, God, she thought starkly. He was right. If she did not act soon, this one single folly would taint the rest of her life—and the life of her child! Guy would never marry her. He hated her too much to bind himself to her for the rest of his life. Unbidden, unwanted, the memory of these past few days crowded her heart. The shame and humiliation, the pity and condemnation—it was more than she could endure. The prospect of bearing her child outside of wedlock made her shudder. She would be forever shunned, forever disgraced.

And her child would have naught but a legacy of shame and degradation.

Roderick was right. She could do little to change her circumstances, but she could not destroy the innocent life within her. At least the child would have a name.

She swallowed. "I will marry you, Roderick." Her voice was very low.

He claimed her lips with another long unbroken kiss, then gave her a gentle shove toward her chamber. "Pack a fitting gown," he ordered. "I'll meet you in the stables."

Within minutes they were riding through the gates.

Chapter 15

It was early yet when Guy excused himself and made his way up the stairs. In the hall, both ale and conversation continued to flow freely. He had rejoined the celebration out of duty and consideration for Hugh. He had even laughed and joked, but it was merely a performance. In truth, after his confrontation with Kathryn, he was scarcely in the mood for festivities.

His footsteps slowed as he neared her door. His gaze bored into the dark oak panel. Within, all was quiet. He wondered if she slept, if her temper had cooled. Did he dare hope she might listen to him now? With a silent sigh, he moved further down the passage.

It seemed he was not in the mood for battle either.

In his chamber, he caught his breath in surprise. The candle in the wall sconce flared brighter, casting flickering shadows on the figure curled beneath the furs. The figure shifted and he caught the rounded flare of a feminine hip, the fleeting glimpse of white limbs.

The breath rushed from his lungs. He drew it in slowly, aware of a drumming pulse beating deep inside him. A slow smile crept across his lips as he moved noiselessly to the bedside. As Kathryn was so often wont to do, this time it appeared he had been the one to judge too hastily.

Long dark hair spilled across his pillow. He reached for a trailing strand. Already he could feel it, smooth as silk, clinging to his fingers with a life of its own...

Coarse brittle curls chafed his skin. He dropped the hank of hair as if he'd been burned just as the figure in the bed turned and sat up. The sheet fell away, exposing naked, jutting breasts. Helga smiled up at him.

Guy was not amused. "What are you about?" he demanded.

She wet her lips. "My lord," she murmured, "you've spent these many nights alone. I seek merely to ease your needs." She arched her back, displaying her breasts in what she perceived to be a seductive endeavor. After Kathryn's small but exquisitely rounded fullness, Helga looked immense and grotesque.

Disgust soured his stomach. "If I wanted a woman in my bed," he said flatly, "she'd be there at my invitation. And as I have no recollection of such an event, kindly remove yourself from my chamber." He grabbed the pile of clothes on the bench behind him and flung them at her.

Helga caught them with a little gasp of rage. "And who would you have? The virtuous Kathryn?" she scoffed. "Why, she'll soon be fat as a sow and then you'll be wishing you had a woman like me to warm your bed."

"I think not." His smile was frigid.

She flounced from the bed. 'Think you're too good for me, eh? Well, I've news for you, my fine, fancy lord." She jerked her kirtle over her head.

"She obviously likes the sport she finds in Roderick's bed far better than yours!"

His smile withered. "What do you imply?" he asked roughly.

"I imply nothing. The lady's actions speak for themselves, for she has run off with Sir Roderick!"

"Run off," he repeated. "You mean she is gone?"

"Aye, milord!"

His gut felt as if he'd been rammed broadside with a sword. "How do you know this?" When she said nothing, he grabbed her arm. 'Tell me!"

" 'Tis lucky for you I overhead them plotting. They left for the monastery, where they plan to be married."

Guy whirled and grabbed his scabbard from the corner. "This monastery. It is the one outside the village?"

Helga shrugged. "Mayhap you're not so lucky after all," she taunted with a smile. "Why, they're probably wedded and bedded by now!"

If Guy heard, he gave no sign of it. Moments later, the tower watchman scratched his head as yet another horse and rider raced through the gates.

The night was damp and cold and eerily silent. A full moon spilled down in shining splendor, lending an eerie glow to the dense layer of fog that clung to the ground. His mind ran apace with his destrier's flashing hooves. Christ, was Helga right? Did Kathryn truly prefer Roderick over him? He swore a violent oath. If only Henry hadn't demanded his every waking moment! He would be the one to whom she'd be wedded and bedded—not Roderick.

A horrible idea clutched at him. He had not considered that Kathryn might not want the child. One thought led to another .. . The possibility she might not want his child disturbed him still more.

He spurred his horse faster.

The destrier's sides were heaving and lathered when Guy reined up outside the gray stone walls of the monastery. He quickly tethered his mount and strode through the ivy-drenched archway that marked the entrance. He grabbed the bell pull and tugged insistently, not once but five times. Hollow clanging resounded within the darkened interior.

Guy blew out a breath of frosty air and tried again, this time punctuating the sound with a furious pounding on the door. A restless impatience marked his steps as he paced the muddied cobblestones. Finally a narrow panel on the inside of the door slid back. An owlish countenance framed by a deep cowl peered through the grilled opening. "Tell me, my son," said the monk, "what do you seek?"

"God's mercy and yours—and Father, I need it badly, for I come in search of a woman, Kathryn of Ashbury, who was brought here by the knight Sir Roderick."

The monk stared at him long and hard, as if to take his measure. Then, apparently satisfied with what he saw, he said slowly, "They have been given rooms for the night. Their marriage vows will be spoken in the morning."

He wasn't too late! He exhaled with vast relief and went on swiftly, "Father, I am Lord Guy de Marche, Earl of Sedgewick. I pledge a generous boon if you can help me. Kathryn is with child—my child, not Sir Roderick's. There has been a grave misunderstanding, a misunderstanding which I intend to rectify."

The monk ushered him down a narrow passage where he pointed out Roderick's room and passed him the rushlight. "Lady Kathryn's is there at the end, milord." The monk quietly retreated.

The room was small and stark, void of any decoration except a wooden crucifix above the narrow bed. A stub of a candle revealed Roderick stretched out there.

His eyes widened as Guy stepped inside. Guy gave him no chance to speak. A fist on the front of his tunic, he hauled him to his feet.

"Mother of Christ!" the other man gasped. "How did you—"

He got no further. "If you value your life," Guy warned flatly, "I suggest you make haste back to Ashbury now—else you will make me forget we are in the house of the Lord."

Roderick grabbed his boots and fled.

Down the passageway, Kathryn lay huddled in the narrow bed. She twisted her head around, trying to decide if she'd heard the faint rumble of voices. Or was it merely her imagination?

The thought progressed no further. The door of her room crashed open. Stark terror brought her upright in the bed.

A powerful figure filled the doorway. In the gloom he appeared dark and faceless—until he stepped forward and she found herself captured in the ruthless hold of glittering silver eyes.

This time there was nowhere to go... nowhere to run.

He stripped off his gloves and hurled them aside. "Well, milady—" His expression was as cutting as his tone. "—you've really done it this time."

Kathryn's heart beat like a trapped bird's. She drew the sheet up to her breasts, a pitiable shield against such a peremptory presence. His eyes stabbed at her, piercing her to the quick. "Do not look at me so!" she cried feebly. "What have I done that is so awful?"

All the fires of hell leaped in his eyes. "My God," he said, his voice was shaking with the force of his anger, "that you can ask that—" Anger exploded into violence. He slammed his fist against the wall. Kathryn had seen Guy angry before, but not like this—never like this! A murderous rage contorted his features into a mask she scarcely recognized.

"How could you!" he shouted. "How could you marry him when it's my child you carry?" He started toward her, menace apparent in the tightly leashed tension of his body.

Kathryn's eyes cleaved to his, shadowed and frightened. The very air seemed charged with his fury. She scrambled back instinctively until her spine encountered the cold stone wall and pulled her knees to her chest, cowering like a child. Suddenly, without warning, something inside her crumpled. Never had she felt so defeated—so utterly alone. She'd tried so hard to be strong for months now, clinging to a meager thread of hope. But now even that hope was gone and the hurt that descended was unbearable. And in this, her moment of greatest despair, she rested her head in her hands and began to cry. Helplessly. Uncontrollably. With all the tremulous fear hidden deep in her heart.

Shaken and stunned, Guy could only stare, caught wholly off guard and totally unmanned by the sight of this strong, fiery woman in tears. He swallowed. Christ, how many times had he thought her cold and heartless? Never had he considered her vulnerable... never, until now.

"Kathryn." His hand hovered just above her head. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to frighten you, I swear." He eased down on the bed and touched her shoulder.

A tremendous shudder wracked her body. At his touch, a dam seemed to break loose inside her. "Don't be angry," she moaned, over and over. "Oh, please, do not. . . I—I didn't know what else to do. . ."

Her spirit was broken, her bravery and pride in tatters. Seeing her like this was like a knife turning inside him. He wrapped her in his arms with a surge of fierce protectiveness.

"I'm not angry." He sought to reassure her. "But Kathryn, you must understand, I could hardly let you marry Roderick."

Her head came up. Her face was pale and ashen, her eyes huge and wounded and pleading. "You must!" she cried. Her small hands clutched at him, and suddenly it was all pouring out—the angry hurt she felt in losing Ashbury, her fears and uncertainty about the future... the shame she felt in carrying his child.

"Do not take me back to Ashbury," she begged. "I cannot go back there. Everyone knows that we lay together. They—they think I am your whore."

His anger erupted anew. 'The devil take them!" he stormed. "Who would dare to say such a thing!"

"I heard them," she choked. 'Two knights... they said I was not so haughty now you'd put your bastard in my belly." She began to sob again. "I—I don't want my babe to be a bastard. I don't want this child to be scorned or—or become like my Uncle Richard, selfish and greedy because he must always do battle for what little he has. Peter will have Sedgewick," she wept, "but this child will have nothing. I beg of you, do not stop this wedding. At least let this babe have a name."

Guy closed his eyes, his throat achingly tight. His arms tightened. She was shaking uncontrollably. Scalding tears soaked the front of his tunic; they seeped clear to his heart. Each jagged sob was like the piercing thrust of a blade. She cried until she had no strength left, until he was sure there could not possibly be a drop of emotion left inside her.

He had brought her to this, he realized numbly. He had robbed her of her innocence, stolen her reputation. He had wronged her deeply.

And now he must do what he could to set things aright.

"Kathryn." He nuzzled the baby-soft skin of her temple. "You must cease this weeping—" With his palms he framed her face and tipped it to his. "—for a bride should not cry so the eve of her wedding."

Another time, and he might have smiled at her expression of wide-eyed shock. Instead, he merely awaited her reaction.

Her eyes clung to his. "Do not—toy with me." Her voice caught, still thready with tears. "Please, speak plainly."

Staring into her tear-ravaged features, Guy decided she'd never looked more beautiful. He heaved a sigh, for he was feeling rather possessive of her right now—and protective as well. His body, however, was far from immune from those sweetly feminine curves nestled so cozily against him.

But she was so disarmingly vulnerable right now, too vulnerable, he reminded himself firmly. He ached with the need to lay her down, strip away her gown, and explore with lips and hands all the fascinating changes that had taken place since the last time he'd touched her. Unfortunately, as he'd so forcibly cued Roderick, this was God's house, hardly the place to make love to a woman, married or otherwise.

With his thumb he sponged the dampness from quivering pink lips. "I can speak no more plainly than this," he whispered. "In the morning you planned to speak your marriage vows—and so it shall be."

Very gently he put her from him and rose. She huddled beneath the covers once more, but her troubled gaze followed his progress toward the door.

"Guy?"

He half-turned.

"I must know... you'll truly not prevent this wedding?"

He watched her a moment, his features unusually grave. "This I promise," he said finally. "On the morrow, you will no longer be a maid—" His eyes cleaved directly into hers. "—but a wife."

In the morning, it all seemed like a dream.

Kathryn had slept deeply, though she had thought not to sleep at all. She dimly recalled hearing the chapel bell which summoned the monks to morning mass several hours earlier. But she remained where she was, her limbs weighted down with a weariness she suspected was more of the mind than body. With a dispirited sigh, she finally thrust her leg from beneath the covers.

There was a knock on the door. "Kathryn?" called a voice. "Kathryn, are you awake?"

Elizabeth! For a moment Kathryn feared the worst, that Elizabeth was here to dissuade her from her chosen course. Yet when Elizabeth let herself in, her lovely face was wreathed in smiles.

She threw her arms around Kathryn. "Oh, Kathryn, I cannot believe it! You are to be married!" She hugged her fiercely. "You see? I knew things would work out. I knew it!"

Kathryn was still rather stunned at her arrival. "Elizabeth," she murmured, "I do not understand. How do you come to be here?"

"The earl woke me early this morning and told me the news," she said gaily. "I've come to help you dress and—oh, you could hardly let your wedding take place without your only sister in attendance, could you?"

It was a relief to let Elizabeth take charge. She helped Kathryn dress, then plaited her hair into a shining coronet atop her head. When she'd left Sedgewick, Kathryn had taken none of the gowns she'd fashioned from the cloth Guy had given her, save one—the midnight-blue velvet. In a rare display of vanity, she'd simply been unable to part with it. Now, hearing Elizabeth exclaim delightedly, Kathryn was glad she had not left it behind, if only for Elizabeth's sake.

"Oh, Kathryn." Elizabeth clapped her heads and sighed dreamily. "Your gown is beautiful! You are truly a vision, for I've never seen you look lovelier."

The words made her heart catch. In spite of all that had been between them, she thought of how she had once longed to wear this gown for Guy. But Guy had never seen her in this dress—now he never would.

She summoned a wobbly smile. "Lovely?" she murmured dryly. "Lumpy is more like it, Elizabeth." Her hand moved instinctively to that slight roundness.

"Why, it hardly shows!" Elizabeth replied staunchly. "I only wish there was a glass here in this monk's cell that you might see for yourself."

Kathryn merely shook her head and allowed Elizabeth to lead her from the chamber toward the chapel, feeling numb inside. Where her heart should have dwelled, abrim with joy, there was only a hollow, empty ache that went on and on.

Hugh was there at the entrance, waiting, his smile broad. Kathryn felt him press her hand. He murmured something, she knew not what. Elizabeth hugged her and drew back. Her beautiful blue eyes glistened with a betraying sheen, but her expression was rapt.

"Oh, Kathryn," she whispered, "this day is just the beginning. Your life will be filled with happiness. I feel it with all that I am!"

Her legs leaden, a suffocating heaviness in her chest, Kathryn forced herself to take those first steps that would take her to the man about to become her husband. For the first time that day, Kathryn allowed herself to think of Roderick. An unseen hand seemed to close around her heart and squeeze. If only she could share Elizabeth's elation! This was her wedding day, she realized desperately, but she could not think of it as a blessing. She didn't love Roderick. He wasn't even the father of her child!

Tears pricked her eyelids. She saw everything through a watery blur—the dark-robed priest, the broad back of a tall figure elegantly garbed in rich brown velvet. She cringed inside, not wanting to look at him, yet he drew her gaze with a force more powerful than she.

The tilt of his head was impossibly arrogant. .. impossibly familiar.

Her mouth went dry. Her knees went weak. Her head swam dizzily, and for a mind-splitting instant she thought vaguely that surely this was but a dream. For the man who awaited at the altar was not Roderick at all...

It was Guy.

Chapter 16

That she could walk was a mystery. Her legs were shaking so that she could hardly remain standing. As always, Guy's face was a mask that betrayed nothing of his feelings. She could read nothing in his expression—not dismay or anger, defeat or indifference. Then, all at once, something flickered in his eyes.

He held out his hand.

She never remembered taking that last, fateful step which brought her to his side. Nor did she remember if he reached for her—or she reached for him.

Their fingertips touched. Her heart lurched. Was she elated? Or horrified?

His fingers weaved through hers, warm and tight, reassuring despite the upheaval raging inside her. A gentle tug brought her down on her knees beside him. From then on, Kathryn did not notice the cold of the hard stone floor. Heat and vitality radiated from the man at her side. Swept into the sheer aura of his presence, she found the strength she so sorely needed. She did not stumble and falter as she spoke her vows. And when it was over, a firm hand at her waist guided her to her feet.

As they glided down the aisle, a surge of some powerful, unnamed emotion swelled inside her. This man, she realized dazedly—so tall, so strong and ruggedly handsome—was now her husband. And she was his wife... his wife.

Outside a tepid sunshine weaved through naked tree branches. Elizabeth had remained inside to help Kathryn gather the rest of her belongings. Hugh turned to Guy. "Will you return to Ashbury?" He chuckled. "You can oversee my first duty as lord there—providing your wedding feast!"

Kathryn's frozen features flashed through Guy's mind, that moment she had realized it was him and not Roderick who stood as her bridegroom. He had held his breath, half-afraid she would run, even when she laid icy-cold fingers within his.

Something hotly primitive surged inside him. The temptation to return to Ashbury was strong. He'd have liked nothing more than to flaunt the morning's deed before Roderick. But, he decided wryly, Kathryn would probably not take kindly to being displayed as a battle prize.

He laid a hand on Hugh's shoulder. "Much as I appreciate the offer, I fear I must refuse. I've been away from Sedgewick too long as it is and I'm anxious to be home again." He paused. "I must ask a boon, though, my friend."

"You have only to name it, Guy."

"I want it known that Kathryn is now my wife." His smile did not reach his eyes. "Roderick may find it to be of particular interest." A silent glimmer of understanding passed between the two men.

Kathryn and Elizabeth emerged then. Kathryn didn't seem surprised when he told her he intended they leave for Sedgewick from here. Whether she was relieved or disappointed he couldn't tell, perhaps because he didn't want to. But he couldn't suppress a twinge of guilt when she and Elizabeth said their good-byes. He watched her embrace Elizabeth, who was both laughing and crying. Elizabeth's voice drifted to him.

"Oh, Kathryn, I never thought to see the day... you and the earl married! Do you realize you are now his countess?"

Kathryn's reply was lost on him. He scowled when tears sprang to her eyes—tears of happiness? Doubt marched like an invading army inside him. Relief, mayhap? Or tears of despair?

He stepped up and took her elbow. "We must be off, Kathryn. We've a long journey ahead of us." A wounded look sped across her features. Too late he realized he spoke more harshly than he intended. But it was just as he'd told Hugh. Perhaps it wasn't the best way to begin a marriage, but he was eager to be back at Sedgewick.

Little did he realize that Kathryn's thoughts followed that same channel. They spent their wedding night lying on cold hard earth, surrounded by a small contingent of men he'd brought with him from Ashbury. There had been reports of several bands of outlaws preying on travelers of late, so Guy took his turn standing watch with his men. Kathryn huddled beneath a pile of furs, cold and miserable and very alone in the meager shelter of their tent. It was very late when he crawled within. He threw an arm around her and brought her close. Within minutes his deep even breathing told her he was asleep.

Her wayward mind gave her no peace. How very different this must have been from his wedding night with Elaine! It might have started out with artless shyness on her part. Sweet persuasive kisses and tender caresses would have followed, and then. . .. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed away the vivid picture in her mind. But if her thoughts were faintly textured with bitterness, she couldn't help it. Elaine had been the bride he loved.

She was only the bride he hated and despised... the bride he had not wanted at all.

By the time they arrived at Sedgewick, Kathryn was drained, both physically and mentally.

One of his men rode ahead to announce their arrival. The bailey was filled with knights and servants alike. The crowd let out a cheer and scurried to make way for the horses. Near the entrance to the great hall, Guy dismounted, then lifted her from her palfrey. His hand in hers, he mounted the stairs with long determined strides. Kathryn was gasping when they reached the top. Raising their joined hands high, his voice rang out over the crowd.

"I give you Lady de Marche, Countess of Sedgewick!"

A roaring, deafening cheer went up. Stunned and amazed at such a welcome, a smile appeared from nowhere, wide and radiant. The next thing she knew, a rock-hard arm curled along her waist and pulled her around.

The softness of her form was crushed against unyielding male strength. Even as she drew a startled breath of surprise, his lips boldly captured hers, the contact deep and slow and rousing. Yet even while she clung to him, weak and hot and shivery, her spirits plummeted to a deep despair. For all that his embrace was heady and all-consuming, there was little of tenderness and gentleness, and she wondered at the emotions that prevailed within him. Was this kiss naught but a spectacle to please his people?

When he finally let her go, her radiant smile had withered. Afraid her face would betray the tumult in her soul, she turned and fled into the hall without a backward glance, struggling for control. The crowd, thinking her embarrassed and shy, roared again.

The evening meal dragged on forever. She sat on the dais beside Guy, her head buzzing from all the laughter and shouting. He was accommodating and solicitous in much the same way he'd been these past days of their journey here. Was it her imagination or did he seem rather distant? She clasped her fingers tight in her lap to keep them from trembling. Had she done something to displease him? To anger him perchance? A sudden notion knotted her stomach. They were but four days wed—did he already feel trapped? Did he regret those sacred vows that bound them husband and wife?

A little moan escaped her. She was simply too worn out right now to seek answers, particularly when she suspected they would scarcely be to her liking.

At the sound, Guy fixed that disturbingly intense gaze on her profile. "What is it?" he asked sharply. "Are you unwell?"

She shook her head and summoned a wan smile. "I am fine. To be sure," she admitted, "I would like nothing more than to seek my bed."

She didn't see the pulse that ticked hard in the leanness of his cheek. "Then you have my leave to do so. I will not be long." Kathryn scarcely heard this last. She needed no further urging to be on her way.

Upstairs in her old chamber, she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off her wimple. Her braids came tumbling down and she loosed them, running her fingers through the thick strands to free the tangles. There was a knock and Gerda shuffled inside. As fast as her uneven gait allowed, she crossed to her mistress and fell down upon her knees.

"Oh, milady," she burst out. "When I heard the news, I cannot tell you how happy I was for you." She drew back, her cheeks flushed with enthusiasm.

Kathryn searched the girl's face, lightly laying a hand on her head. "Gerda," she murmured wonderingly. "Gerda, I must tell you. I was not at all sure you would be pleased."

Gerda tilted her head. "Why would I not be pleased?"

"I know how devoted you were to Lady Elaine," she said slowly. "I know how you loved her. And to be honest, Gerda, I thought it might be hard for you to see another woman take her place—" Her voice caught slightly. "—especially me."

Gerda's eyes darkened. "Milady," she said unevenly, "it shames me to realize that I ever thought ill of you—that I judged you because of who you were, and not by what you are. I wronged you deeply, milady, and I hope you can find it in you to forgive me." She seized Kathryn's hand and kissed it.

Kathryn slowly brought her upright. "Gerda—" She swallowed, her throat achingly tight. "—there is naught to forgive. I don't know what I'd have done these many months without you." She hugged the girl, and they drew back, exchanging watery smiles. Kathryn wiped away a tear, wondering why she was so weepy of late and ever despairing of her ability to control it.

Gerda brushed her hair and helped her undress. Kathryn slipped into bed with a sigh of weary relief. Four nights of sleeping on the cold hard ground made her appreciate such comfort more than ever. She snuggled into the softness more fully and closed her eyes.

Below stairs, Guy chafed impatiently, eager for the moment he could rise and make his excuses without appearing the overeager bridegroom. In truth, he was exactly that! The thought of Kathryn lying in his bed sent heat singing through his veins. At a lull in the conversation, he rose and gracefully took his leave. His heartbeat quickened apace with his stride. He took the stairs two at a time.

A welcoming fire warmed his chamber, glowing embers casting out their stingy heat. But the room was empty, his bed cold.

Oblivious to the vile oath hurled her way, Kathryn hovered on the fringes of a nebulous dream-world. True to the day, this was no gentle sleep she had fallen into, but restless and disturbing. Swirling fog stretched before her, as far as the eye could see. A hulking shadow, vaguely resembling a man, shifted and rose from the mists. It glided toward her, slowly at first, and then with racing speed, as if the devil himself had set sail in a sea of fog. Mayhap it was the devil. Terror engulfed her. She saw a vision of herself turn and begin to run, but it was no use. The shadow loomed closer. Ever closer. Just as it reached her, thunder split the air. Kathryn's eyes flew open. She jolted upright.

Guy towered above her, his features grimly forbidding. No mercy softened that steel-honed gaze that scraped over her. He looked for all the world like a demon bent on destruction—her destruction. With a powerful sweep of his arm, he raked the furs from her body and snatched her high in his arms.

The utter determination she felt in him crammed her protest low in her throat. Dazed and numb, she clung to his neck as he bore her swiftly down the passage to his own chamber. The next thing she knew, she'd been dumped unceremoniously in the middle of his bed.

She lurched to a sitting position while Guy began to storm the length of the room, back and forth like a caged animal. "By all the saints," he fumed, "you try my patience as no other! You are stubborn and willful and acknowledge no authority save your own. You fight me, you defy me at every turn of the hand, woman, but by God, no more. . . no more!" He stomped to a halt and glared at her.

Beneath his blistering regard, Kathryn's heart beat like a captured doe. She stared at him dumbly, wary and uncertain of the violence she sensed in him.

"So soon you forget," he said tightly. "You would pretend that nothing has changed, but you are now my wife, Kathryn. And my wife will share my chamber. She will most certainly share my bed— this night and every other night!"

Kathryn clutched a sable fur to her breast. "You think that I sought to anger you by going to my old chamber? Guy, that is not so, I swear." She began to tremble. "You gave me leave to retire," she cried wildly. "I just was not thinking... it never occurred to me you wanted me here!"

His condemning silence was unbearable. Her throat worked convulsively as she fought to hold back tears. Her breath tumbled out in a shuddering rush. "I'm sorry," she said brokenly, and then again. "I'm sorry." To her horror, a scalding tear slipped down her cheek, then another and another, for all at once her emotions were a hopeless tangle. She dropped her forehead to her knees and struggled vainly for control.

Guy stared. Her shoulders were shaking. Soundless sobs wracked her body. His fury drained as suddenly as it erupted. He swallowed, aware of an odd tightening in his chest.

"Kathryn." He eased down beside her and awkwardly touched her shoulder. He felt her stiffen, then all at once she turned blindly into his chest. His arms encircled her, bringing her shaking body close. With his hand he stroked the midnight cloud of her hair.

"Guy—"

He kissed away the tears spurting from her eyes. " Kathryn." He nuzzled the soft skin of her temple and sighed. "Ah, lass, we've had so many battles, you and I. I feared this was but one more."

Her jagged sob tore right into his heart. "I did not mean to fight you. Or even to spite you. It’s just that I was so tired."

"I know, sweet. 'Tis my fault and none of yours.” He caught her fingers in his and pressed a kiss on her palm, holding her misty green gaze with his own.

"Please do not cry," he pleaded. 'This has not been an easy time for either of us. But now that we are home, I swear it will be better."

Kathryn buried her face in the side of his neck. He was being so kind, so gentle. As always, his gentleness tied her heart in knots. He cradled her against him until her shaking began to subside. Then he eased her back against the pillows. Rising to stand beside the bed, he stripped off his clothes and crawled in beside her, tucking the furs about her shoulders and bringing her flush against his length.

She melted against him like a kitten seeking heat. The warmth of his body was like a benediction straight from heaven. She rubbed her cheek against the sleek hardness of his shoulder, loving the musky male smell of him, the hardness of his arms tight about her back. Why it was so, she did not know, nor did she care. She nestled even closer, for the sheltering protection of his arms offered all she needed in that moment.

Guy savored the way she rested against him, even while he discovered it came with a price. It was impossible not to hold her like this and ignore the soft, womanly shape of her. A hot, familiar ache flooded his loins. But her pride had been sorely battered and bruised these past days. Though his body craved release, she was simply too vulnerable right now.

She twisted slightly, bringing the rounded plumpness of her breast in fleeting contact with his hand. The spiky dampness of her lashes brushed his neck and fluttered closed. Her thready breathing slowly evened out. Her very defenselessness spurred his torment further. Did she cling to him because she sought him, the man who was now her husband? Or because he was simply there, the only one who offered strength and security?

It was a long, long time before he was able to join her in slumber.

Kathryn woke alone the next morning—and with the certainty that Guy had held her close throughout the night. She shivered, recalling how angry he had been—and then later, how tender and gentle. Her throat swelled just thinking about it. But his abrupt change of mood puzzled her. It troubled her as well, for she never knew what to expect of him.

It was then that she realized... They had spent the last four nights together. Guy had yet to consummate their marriage. A nagging fear tugged at her heart. Had time and circumstances managed to erase all desire for her? The thought was devastating. She wanted him to make love to her, she realized. She wanted it with an intensity that left her weak and yearning. But he had scarcely touched her, except for last night when his touch spoke more of comfort than passion. Why, he hadn't even kissed her, save for yesterday in the bailey—and that for the benefit of his people!

Righteously outraged, she pushed off the furs and glanced down, only to confront her swelling belly. She groaned, unsure whether to laugh or cry. Could she really blame Guy if his passion lay dormant, like a fallow field? It seemed she grew rounder with each day.

She spent the day wavering between hurt and indignation.

Guy had ridden out early to catch up on estate affairs, and arrived home late, looking disheveled and tired. He ate a hasty meal then excused himself so that he might bathe. Kathryn helped Gerda put Peter to bed, then approached Guy's chamber with a distinct trepidation.

She caught her breath when she discovered he was still soaking in the tub. She paused, wanting to flee yet not certain she dared. She'd not put it past him to come after her, naked or no! She closed the door and cleared her throat nervously, alerting him to her presence.

He merely glanced over his shoulder. "I left the linen on the chest. Could you get it for me?" His manner was easy and nonchalant. He acted as though her presence during his bath were an everyday occurrence.

Swallowing hard, Kathryn passed it into his waiting hand, envying his composure. Her heart beating clear up into her throat, she fled to a stool before the fire, deliberately turning her back to him. Behind her, she heard the slosh of water. It took no stretch of the imagination to picture Guy's bronzed, hair-roughened limbs, sleek and wet, as he climbed from the tub. Ah, and her traitorous mind did exactly that! An instant later she heard the slap of wet linen against the stone floor, then the sound of him climbing into the bed.

Nervously she began the task of unplaiting her hair. Anxious awareness gathered in the pit of her stomach, for she could feel his eyes drilling into her back. She picked up a comb and began to work slowly through the tangles.

Long minutes later, he sighed. "You dally apurpose, Kathryn. I begin to think you find your husband repulsive as a toad."

She had forgotten the night she had riled him with that very taunt. Ah, but he was cruel to remind her so! "Repulsive, nay," she muttered. "Aggravating, of a certainty!"

His laughter grated. "Could it be you need help with your gown then?"

She spun to fix him with a glare. A mistake, that! He was powerful and imposing despite the way he lay indolently sprawled on his side, supporting himself on one elbow. The furs were drawn up no further than the jutting ridge of a narrow hip. He was clearly naked beneath the furs.

The sight of that dark haired chest and belly made her stomach drop clear to the floor. But Kathryn could not be so casual about her own nudity, particularly not in her present condition. Beneath the sheltering protection of her kirtle, she tugged off her hose. Her soft woolen kirtle came next. She pulled it over her head and shook her hair free.

Guy had yet to relieve her of his bold stare. Clad only in her thin linen chemise, she clutched her kirtle to her middle like a shield. "Must you look at me so?"

Her hair spilled over her bare shoulders, sleek and shiny as the wings of a raven, and offering tantalizing glimpses of ivory skin. His gaze lowered slowly from her exquisite features, lingering with avid male interest on the shape of her breasts beneath the sheer linen. One corner of that hard mouth curled upward. "I see no harm in staring," he murmured lazily, "especially when I see much that I like."

She stomped her foot. " 'Tis just like you to mock me!"

Guy's smile faded. "Mock you?" he repeated incredulously. "What mockery is there in a man eager to share with his wife the joys of the marriage bed?"

"And I ask you what joy is there? We've been wed for four days—nay, five!—and you've yet to make me truly your wife. Indeed, you've made it very clear that for you it will only be a duty! Well, I hereby relieve you of your duty, milord. No one need ever know our marriage has never been consummated!"

The last was fairly flung at him. Indeed, the whole speech was. No longer amused, his jaw clamped shut. "What goes on here?" he demanded. "Do you deny me my rights as a husband?"

"You play the wounded bridegroom well," she said bitterly. "But you need not spare my tender feelings, for I have accepted that you no longer desire me."

"No longer desire you .. . woman, you are mad!"

She shook her head. "Nay," she said unevenly. "That night in the forest before we returned to Ashbury, when you discovered I was with child—” She swallowed. “—I saw the way you looked at me, Guy."

"And how—" His voice was dangerously low. "—was that?"

Her throat was achingly tight. "You looked as if I. . . as if I disgusted you." She didn't hear his impatient exclamation as he swung himself from the bed. Her eyes were swimming so she didn't see him until he'd planted himself directly before her. She gave a tiny shake of her head and went on unsteadily. "Guy, it’s all right, really. I understand why you—you no longer want me. I've grown ugly and fat and—"

Lean fingers pressed against her lips stopped the outflow of words. "And since you've been doing far too much thinking and coming to all the wrong conclusions, it seems I must explain after all." He paused, his gaze delving deeply into hers. Kathryn found she couldn't look away.

"I could hardly take you unto me surrounded by my knights," he chided, his voice very low. "And last night, well, you were exhausted." He tugged her kirtle from her grip and tossed it aside. His touch bold and sure, he stretched his fingers wide across the hard mound of her tummy. "Ugly? Fat?" He scolded her gently. "I think not, sweet, for you are enticing and feminine and delightfully round and full. And you are a fool if you believe I find you anything other than desirable."

Her eyes clung to his. She longed to believe him, longed for it with all of her soul. But she was so afraid of being hurt again.

"You do not believe me?" Her uncertainty twisted Guy's heart. "So be it then. Mayhap I can show you much better."

The abruptness of his movement startled her. Her pulse leaped in protest as his hand closed around hers, flattening her palm and dragging it down across his stomach . .. ever down. She gasped as he brought the plundering journey to a halt, closing her palm around his throbbing member and keeping it there with the insistent pressure of his.

Kathryn was stunned to find him rigid and thick, swollen with arousal. His size made her quiver, yet it was not with fear. Her heart pounding wildly, she watched his eyes squeeze shut. A jolt tore through him as she extended her fingertips in an involuntary, tentative caress.

His eyes flicked open, searing hotly into hers. There was a subtle tightening of his hand around hers. "Feel," he said thickly. "Feel what you do to me and never doubt that I want you. Feel how your touch makes me tremble. And know that you alone, Kathryn, hold this power over me. You alone have the power to make me quiver like a stripling lad."

He spoke of power, but the relief that poured through her made her giddy and weak. He wanted her. . . Guy wanted her. She gave a strangled little cry and slipped her arms around his neck, melting against him. His hands slid around to cradle her buttocks, pulling her full and tight against him.

He bent his head and sealed her lips with his, a kiss both tender and fierce. His tongue swirled far and deep. She tasted the hunger in his mouth and responded with a wild fervency that made his heart soar.

He tore his mouth from hers, silver eyes aflame. "You make me feel greedy," he muttered, already lowering his head. He feasted on the sweetness of her lips until her legs felt like melted wax; if not for the supporting strength of his arms she'd have fallen into a clumsy heap at his feet. And then she was the one who trembled when strong hands stripped away her chemise. She felt herself lifted and borne upward, lowered gently to the bed a moment later.

He stretched his length beside her, propping himself on an elbow so he could look his fill, his regard slow and unhurried. Kathryn blushed fiercely, her gaze shying away until she finally gathered the courage to glance at him again. A wealth of unexpected tenderness lurked in the depths of his eyes. His expression made her throat ache.

His hand splayed possessively on the naked swell of her belly. "You've naught to be ashamed of," he whispered hoarsely. "I tell you true, sweet, you're beautiful. Everything a man could want. . . everything I want."

She clung to the words and to him. Turning her head, she blindly sought his mouth. His kiss was tender and piercingly sweet. Tugging her hands to his chest, he wordlessly invited her touch. Her fingers crept across his chest, tangling in the dense dark fur as she explored his skin, warm and faintly damp. Her touch was shy and untutored but soon grew more daring. The muscles of his stomach clenched as she ventured lower. Her knuckles grazed the ridged plane of his abdomen. Cool fingers curled once again around his straining hardness. Both shy and eager, her small hand shaped and curved, gently stroking with the tips of her fingers, acquainting herself with his satin-and-steel texture, his searing heat and fire. His hand engulfed hers, clamping tight over hers as he showed her the way of it. And then he gritted his teeth against a pleasure so excruciating it bordered on pain.

A groan tore from deep within his chest. Unable to bear her sweet torture any longer, he bore her gently onto her back, hunger wild and rampant in the urgent demand of his mouth on hers. With his thumbs he teased her nipples to aching little buds, over and over until she was nearly delirious with pleasure. Her fingers knotted in his hair.

Heat stormed through her like molten fire. She moaned when at last his mouth encompassed the dark straining center, tugging gently with a rhythm that tipped the world upside down.

But there was more. His fingers stole through the downy nest that shielded the secret folds of her femininity, stroking and parting and teasing, rousing her to the brink of madness. Her heart plunged into a wild frenzy. She thrust up against him, her hips unconsciously circling and seeking those maddeningly elusive fingers, uncaring that he might think her wanton and bold. Her fingers clenched and unclenched against his shoulders. Tiny cries of pleasure burst from deep inside her.

His body was on fire for her. The blood was pounding in his head, roaring through his ears. His shaft was swollen and engorged. The long lonely weeks of emptiness and frustration .. . Need and passion combined, nearly blinding him to all but the compelling urge to plunge deep within her satin heat. It was then that he felt it. . . a slight stirring where her belly pressed his, a reminder of the tiny life sheltered deep within her womb. He raised himself above her, hauling in a stinging lungful of air as he struggled to control his rampaging desire.

Tension strained his arms as he braced himself above her. She touched the rugged hollows of his cheeks, explored the sensuous curve of that beautifully shaped mouth that brought her to the brink of the heavens. She trailed her fingers over his smooth shoulders, explored the tightness of his arms, loving the sleekness of his skin, the resilience of keenly honed muscle. Their eyes met and melded as if a sizzling flame arced between them. She whimpered, wanting his straining fullness buried hard and deep inside her, so deep they were no longer two, but one.

Her eyes opened. Her nails dug into his arms. "Please," she gasped. "Oh, Guy, please."

The naked pleading in her tone beat at his resolve. The thrusting, seeking movements of her hips against his wordlessly conveyed her need. A sound of half-frustration, half-surrender escaped his throat.

One soul-shattering thrust took him clear to the heart of her.

Her sob of joy tore at his control. "Kathryn," he groaned. "Oh, God, this is so. . ." He shuddered against a pleasure so acute it was nearly unbearable. When she reached for him, he caught her hands. Their fingers locked together. Entwined. Inseparable. She arched her hips to take all he would give and more.

His mouth covered hers. He drank in her mindless cries, each gasping little whimper, each tremor of her quivering flesh clinging tightly to his. The tempo of his thrusts was deep and slow, gradually gaining power and momentum, until the pounding rhythm inside them both reached a fever pitch.

Shivers raced the length of his spine, heralding fulfillment. He cast his head back, the cords of his neck taut, his features twisted into a grimace of pleasure. Amidst the frantic thunder of her heart, Kathryn knew a surge of boundless joy, her pleasure expanding all the more because of his. Then suddenly she was caught in the same explosive rush to completion, hurtled high aloft. His thrusts reached a crescendo. She felt herself swept ever higher, soaring like a falcon on the wind until at last she reached that pinnacle among the clouds. Release claimed her, pulsing through her in wave after delirious wave. She was only dimly aware of crying out his name.

When it was over he eased to his back and tugged the furs over their heated bodies. A sinewed arm swept her tight against his side. Fingers that were incredibly gentle brushed the hair from her flushed cheeks. A long, lingering kiss of infinite sweetness met an eager welcome in lips soft, warm, and willing.

Exhausted, sated, content, they slept.

Chapter 17

Such was not the case a sennight later.

Kathryn had excused herself early, as she had these last few nights. Oddly enough, marriage to Guy had not yet proved a battleground. Guy had seen to it that her duties as lady of the manor were light, and Kathryn was secretly grateful. Though her pregnancy had not made her pale or wan or sickly, by evening she drooped like a wilted flower, so tired she could scarcely stand. This evening was no exception. Guy had immediately rose to accompany her but she shook her head and waved him back to the game of chess he played with one of his knights.

Upstairs in their chamber, she shed her kirtle and crawled quickly into bed, shivering a little against the chill. Beyond the shuttered windows, the world lay hushed and still. Early in the day, a dense veil of fog crept across the land. From the tower window she watched trailing fingers of mist stealing through the valley, wrapping like silent tentacles around the trees, until the earth lay cocooned beneath a murky shroud. One of Guy's men had stomped into the hall, complaining that he could scarcely see his hand in front of his face.

It was little wonder that when Kathryn fell asleep, as she had her first night back at Sedgewick, she dreamed she was running through the fog, lost and alone. The looming shadow once again raced at her heels. Her heart pounded with terror, for the thing was evil itself. On and on she ran blindly, damp and perspiring, her lungs heaving as she struggled for breath.

But alas, suddenly her way was blocked by a solid wall of stone. Behind her, eerie laughter raised the hair on her neck. With a gasp she spun to face her uncle. Blood poured from the jagged slash on his throat.

"You thought you were so clever, didn't you, girl?" Wet lips pulled into a sneer. "You thought you could be rid of me. You thought you could have Ashbury! You are much like me, girl, more than you know. Like me, 'tis your wont to covet what can never be yours. But now you will have nothing— nothing!—for I will take you with me to the fiery pits of hell!" And he threw back his bloodied head and began to laugh, and laugh... and suddenly the shadow fell over her. She was immersed in smothering folds of blackness. Hands snatched at her, clawing her, touching her everywhere, clammy and cold, and all at once she knew—

The shadow was death. It was death that stalked her, death that sought to seize her in its grasp and squeeze the life from her.

"Nay! I am not like you, Uncle... I am not!" She sobbed wildly, twisting and thrashing, desperate to evade the chilling hands of death. "Oh, please, Guy, you must help me," she screamed. "Guy... Guy!" But there was nowhere to go, no one to help her, of a certainty not Guy, for he had never wanted her. No doubt he would be heartily glad to find himself rid of her.

"Kathryn!" Hard hands curled around her shoulders. She fought wildly. It took a moment before her frantic senses were able to register another presence. Her eyes opened. Her scream turned to a garbled half-sob as she saw Guy hovering above her, and he was not cold and icy, but warm and solid and strong.

"Hush, sweet. 'Tis just a dream, that's all."

She clung to him, shaking, her body damp and perspiring. "I am not like him," she cried desperately. "You must believe me, Guy. I am not like him!"

His arms engulfed her. He tucked her head beneath his chin, his harsh features etched with concern. "Who?" he murmured. "Who do you mean?"

"Richard." Her fingers clenched and unclenched in the front of his tunic. "I am not evil and cunning like him, Guy, I am not!"

She lifted her face to his. He could feel her shaking against him. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her mouth tremulous and vulnerable. The pleading in those misty green eyes speared his heart. "Nay, love. You are not like Richard," he whispered, and knew it for the truth. He gently pushed damp tumbled strands of ebony from her brow. "Were you dreaming of him?"

Resting her cheek against his chest, she nodded slowly, loving the steady throb of his heart beneath her ear, the sheltering protection of his embrace. She gave a breathy little sigh, wishing they could stay like this forever, but Guy was waiting. Her voice halting, she told him of her dream, ending with a shudder. "Guy, I do not want to die. I— I do not even like to think about it."

His arms tightened. "It must be the babe," he mused. "Are you afraid of the birth?"

"A little," she admitted, then shivered suddenly. "Richard's wife died in childbed."

With his fingertips he massaged the tightness between her shoulder blades. "There is no reason to think the birth will be anything but normal, Kathryn. If the babe were overly large, you might have a difficult time. But judging from the size of you, the babe is a small one."

"Small! Too small, do you think? Oh, Guy, what if—"

"Kathryn—" He sighed, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "—I fear I am alarming you when I only thought to reassure you. Do not worry overmuch, for I would guess you'll have an easy time of it."

"Easy!" Her lips parted indignantly. " 'Tis well and good for you to say it will be easy," she muttered crossly. "You are not the one who must endure it."

He smiled at her sputtering, sliding his fingers through the silken length of her hair. Kathryn rubbed her cheek against the soft wool covering his shoulder. For a moment each of them were immersed in their own thoughts. Then finally, her troubled gaze sought his.

"Guy," she said quietly, "who murdered Richard?"

She had startled him. She felt it in the sudden tension that gripped his body. Then, just as suddenly, she felt the tension seep from his limbs. He arched a roguish brow. "I thought you were convinced it was I."

A spurt of guilt shot through her. "Nay," she confided with a shake of her head. "Not for a long time now." A tiny frown appeared between slender dark brows. "You accused me of murdering him," she recalled suddenly. "But it was not I, Guy!"

He smiled crookedly and pressed a fingertip against the indignant pout of her lips. "I'm not sure I ever truly believed you guilty, Kathryn." His smile ebbed. "Likely as not, the secret of Richard's murderer went with him to his grave."

His hands swept down to encircle her waist. He encountered the sticky dampness of the chemise she'd worn to bed. He pulled back with an impatient exclamation. "You're soaked, woman. Come, we'd better get this off you." Even as he spoke, he'd already begun the task. He pulled the linen cloth up and over her head, the tips of his fingers warm and pleasantly rough as they skimmed her thighs and ribs, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He disposed of his own clothing just as quickly and slid in beside her.,

When he cradled her against his length, she pressed against him with a breathy sigh. Her terror had subsided, but not her desperate need to be held. Her fingers crept up to tangle in the furry darkness on his chest. She burrowed her face into the musky hollow of his shoulder, needing the reassurance only his nearness could give.

His thumb slipped beneath the fall of her hair, caressing the tender skin of her nape and sending tiny pulses of pleasure winging through her. "It occurs to me," she heard him say, "that I've yet to give you a wedding gift."

All at once Kathryn felt she'd been plunged into a vat of frigid cold. "There is no need," she faltered. "Indeed, I would not feel right in accepting such a gift."

"And why not?"

"Because you gained no marriage portion. Need I remind you that my uncle sold my dower lands?" She swallowed miserably. "I've brought nothing to this marriage."

His eyes darkened as he glimpsed her distress. "Ah, but you are wrong," he said huskily. Deliberately he splayed his hand on the hard curve of her belly. "You bring the gift of life, a gift beyond price—mayhap the greatest gift of all."

His tenderness wrenched at her chest. Her throat clogged with some powerful, unnamed emotion, she wound her arms around his neck and blindly sought his mouth. Guy took full advantage and leisurely sampled the honeyed sweetness of those tempting lips. When at last he released her mouth, he trailed a fingertip down her nose. "Now tell me, wench. Give me some hint of the gift you would have, not something you have need of, but something you desire very dearly."

Unbidden—unwanted—a maelstrom of longing rose within her. Mayhap it was this strange mood that had sprung up between them—his gentleness was wholly disarming. But in that moment, all she yearned for was that he truly care for her—nay, not out of duty or obligation, but straight from the heart. Perchance even to love her...

She quickly relinquished the thought, just a little appalled at the direction her mind had taken. Someday mayhap, Guy might come to hold her in some affection, if only because of the child they would share. But he would never, ever love her.

"Well?" His crooked smile made her heart catch.

She bit her lip, her manner hesitant. "I could have anything I wanted?"

"Aye, anything within my power to give."

"Then I would have you grant Gerda her freedom."

"Gerda! Kathryn, this is the gift you would seek?"

She laid her fingers against his jaw. "It is the only thing I wish," she whispered.

His hand lifted to cover hers. His eyes snared hers as he pressed a kiss to her fingers. " 'Tis good as done, milady."

That rare, sweet smile just before she ducked her head and snuggled against him told him she was well pleased with herself. But inside Guy was still stunned that she asked nothing for herself—a new gown or some bauble perhaps. At times he was certain he knew her mind as well as his own... at times like this he felt he knew her not at all.

She fell asleep quickly, but Guy made no move to put her from him. Instead he held her, unmindful of the way her hair tickled his chin. He enjoyed feeling the rise and fall of her breasts against his side, the warm womanly softness of her. A rueful smile tugged at his lips as he thought of all their tempestuous encounters. It seemed nothing less than a miracle that she lay so trusting and pliant in his arms.

But she had come to him willingly—nay, eagerly!—every night since their marriage. And every night he had held her thus, his body physically satiated beyond anything he'd ever known before. It should have been enough. If only it were! Yet he felt oddly out of step, as if something vitally important—and damnably elusive—were missing.

Kathryn belonged to him. She was now his wife. She would share his home, his life, bear his children. Even as he knew the greatest of pride, a bitter ache swelled his chest. What mystery, what madness was this, that this one small slip of a woman was able to rouse such hunger, such longing in him? But he had long since acknowledged he could not break this web of need and desire she spun so easily about him.

He thought of Elaine. His life. His love. He braced himself inwardly, waiting for the familiar, stabbing pain to strike his soul.

It did not come.

Shame pricked him deeply, for he had held fast to her memory for so long now. He'd thought his heart taken for all eternity. But that was before a dark-haired enchantress had swept into his life.

Kathryn . .. He dared to breathe her name... And then he dared even more .. . Did he love her?

Elaine's image spun through his mind: eyes like a summer sky, flaxen hair floating about her like a halo of gold, so delicate and sweet. With Elaine, love had been a gentle wind to ease the spirit, a soothing balm to heal and comfort.

And then there was Kathryn. With her he felt passion and fire, a blaze that flamed his senses to white-hot coals and scorched his soul. Even now, it took but a fleeting glance down the length of her and the dormant flames of desire flared hot and bright within him.

Her hair tumbled over his bare chest, as black and shiny as a raven's wing. She was strong, he acknowledged, fierce and defiant, with a temper to match his own. Though she possessed no sword or shield, she had fought Richard. She had fought for Ashbury. And she had fought him... Yet now she lay curled against him, as trustingly as a child, and he was filled with an aching tenderness.

Did he love her? He knew only that Kathryn made him feel things he'd never thought he could feel for any woman again. But he could not deny that his love for Elaine was vastly different than whatever it was that he felt for Kathryn.

Yet she had only to ask, and he would gladly move heaven and earth itself.

A weary bleakness slipped over him. It was said that he was a great warrior, for he'd fought and won many battles in his day. But he'd never fought one quite so fierce as the one before him now. It was then that he realized... the greatest battle was fought alone.

The greatest battle of all was with the heart.

The next afternoon Gerda burst into Kathryn's chamber. "Lady Kathryn," she cried. "You will not believe this but I am free! Sir Guy no longer holds me bound to my father's oath."

Kathryn set aside her sewing. "Aha," she teased. "And how did Sir Michael take this news?"

The girl blushed and clapped her hands together. "He returned only this morning from a visit with his father—and—oh, milady, this is almost like a dream come true! His father has granted Michael a small manor in Dorset. Michael says the manor house is in poor condition and will take many months to repair. But he said this time he will not take no for an answer. We are to be married as soon as the manor house is finished, mayhap as soon as late spring!" Kathryn laughed, for Gerda's elation was something to behold. Her liquid brown eyes shone as brightly as a summer morn.

The next moment, though, she tipped her head to the side. "Milady," she said softly, "why do I sense that you are not surprised?"

"Oh, but I am," Kathryn retorted gaily. "Though I did not know about Sir Michael and the manor."

Dawning realization crept into Gerda's expression. "Wait," she said slowly. "Was this your doing?"

'The choice was Guy's," Kathryn reminded her. A tiny smile twitched at her lips. "Although I did drop a hint as to my feelings in the matter."

"Granting my freedom—" Gerda shook her head. " 'Tis no small thing, to be sure." She knelt before Kathryn, her expression soft and dreamy. "He must love you very much," she murmured.

The happiness in Kathryn's heart wilted. Love was the one thing she could never even hope to expect from Guy. Yet Gerda's features contained such shining certainty that Kathryn could not find it in her to object.

Instead she said softly, "You and Sir Michael love each other. 'Tis only right that the two of you should be together."

"Milady, you have just changed my whole life." Tears sprang to Gerda's eyes. "How can I ever thank you?"

Kathryn laid a hand on her shoulder. 'You just have."

Gerda clasped her hand, her gaze fixed searchingly on Kathryn's face. "I—I cannot tell you the joy this day has brought me. And I long for nothing more than for you to be happy, too."

'Then set your mind at ease, Gerda, for I am happy." She told herself it was not an out-and-out he, for she was not unhappy. Indeed, she was as happy as she could possibly be.

For a woman whose husband did not love her.

November was wet and rainy, interspersed with brief periods of warmth and sunshine. Early December found winter dropping its chill upon the land. The stream froze solid and a glittering veil of snow softened the contours of the hills and valleys, but the bitter freeze cut to the bone. Those who ventured without did not do so for long; they soon returned to huddle around the roaring fire in the hall.

Throughout those long weeks, Kathryn found herself besieged by fear and doubt. She shared Guy's chamber and his bed—and the pleasure therein as well. But though her nights were spent in the warmth and comfort of his arms, her days were fraught with worry. She was well aware he hadn't married her because of any tender regard for her. Mayhap he only meant to make certain he had his heir and spare. After all, he had already fathered a son by Elaine, the woman he had loved.

And what of their child, the child whose life burgeoned within her? If their child was a girl, would Guy love her less than he loved Peter? Or because the babe's mother was her—Kathryn—and not Elaine.

All these thoughts and more disturbed her. Her restless soul found little ease from its torment. Yet she could not banish the frail seed of hope that took root within her, for Guy was so tender and sweet she could almost believe he did love her . Or was she only seeing what she wished to see?

She did not know. Heaven help her, but she did not.

She and Gerda spent much of their time sewing for Gerda and the babe, but there were times Kathryn chafed at the enforced confinement. When Gerda asked her to come along with her and Peter to the stream one afternoon, that was all the encouragement Kathryn needed.

They dressed warmly, layer upon layer. Just as they departed the gates, a sudden whirlwind slapped icy crystals of snow against her cheeks, making her gasp and inhale a stinging mouthful of air. But although the temperature was frigid, the sun shone glorious and bright, and the sky was a brilliant vivid blue. All at once Kathryn felt free and unfettered as she had not felt in months. Catching Peter's eye, she blew a huge puff of frosty air that sailed away with the breeze. Peter giggled delightedly.

At the stream Gerda tied horses' shinbones to her boots and Peter's; holding his hand, she gingerly led the boy onto the frozen surface of the stream.

Kathryn watched in fascination as she showed Peter how to skim the ice, pushing himself along with a stick. She began to glide faster and faster, her braid flying out behind her, her expression alive with excitement. Kathryn sighed wistfully, wishing she could join them, but she knew a fall might prove disastrous. With Gerda's help, Peter did quite well, but when he tried on his own he went sprawling across the ice on his belly. He ran crying into Kathryn's waiting embrace. She tenderly hugged and soothed him, then coaxed him back onto the ice with Gerda.

The brisk air tired Peter, though Kathryn needed no such excuse when she retired later that night. Guy had been gone for several days and had only just returned that evening. She readily admitted, at least to herself, that she had missed him sorely! She rose from the trestle table with her regrets, then laid her fingertips on Guy's shoulder. "Will you be long, milord?" she murmured.

He gave a slight shake of his head, twisting slightly and carrying her hand to his lips. His gaze spoke much more eloquently—and intimately, for within those silver eyes was a heated glow that promised much.

In their chamber she left but a single candle burning. She thought to disrobe quickly and slip into bed to await him, for she was still shy about Guy seeing her bare when she was so misshapen. Were she slim she was sure she'd not have felt her embarrassment so keenly, but alas, slim she was not! She felt the weight of her pregnancy more with each day.

But she had scarcely loosened her hair and shook it free about her shoulders than Guy made his appearance. Standing before the blazing fire in the hearth, Kathryn recognized the exact instant he stepped within. Though she could not see him, nor hear him move, her senses clamored an alert. A melting heat fanned low in her middle. His sheer presence made her quiver inside. Then she felt the sweep of powerful arms coming around her from behind, cradling her, cradling her womb.

His hands moved boldly, fingers exploring, tracing the swelling curve lightly. "Guy!" Her objection was feeble indeed. " 'Tis not decent that a man should want to touch a woman so!"

He closed his hands with deliberate possessiveness over the mounds of her breasts, grown delightfully full and ripe. His smile was utterly wicked. "It is when the woman is his wife."

The warmth of his breath rushing past her ear made her weak inside. But when his hands descended once more over her middle she moaned. "Not when she is with child and looks like a cow," she grumbled. With that she turned to face him.

Knowing she carried his child filled him with masculine pride. In his mind, the swell of her middle did not detract from her beauty in the least. With her hair tumbling like tousled black silk about her shoulders and hips, she looked young and appealing and incredibly lovely, a veritable feast for his eyes.

Husky laughter rumbled from his chest. "Despite this precious burden you carry, you are as comely as ever and well you know it."

Before she could protest he plucked her kirtle up and over her head, leaving her clad in only her thin linen chemise. Pulling her to the bed, he settled her on his lap, chuckling at the lovely tide of color that rushed to her cheeks. He'd have bared her completely were it not for the faint anxiety he glimpsed in her eyes. But he was not to be dissuaded, so he splayed his fingers wide against the tautness of her belly, slowly stroking, chuckling again as he felt an unmistakable kick beneath his palm.

His fingers lightly traced a tiny protrusion as he mused aloud. "What is this, I wonder? A foot? An elbow, do you think?" The jab came again, even stronger this time. His crooked grin was irreverent. "Ah, and this prodding here! Mayhap this proves the babe is a lad—his father's son, indeed!"

Crimson and mortified, Kathryn didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She settled for burying her face in his shoulder.

He gently brushed the hair from her cheek, then slipped his fingers beneath her chin, commanding her attention. Though he was smiling, he was no longer teasing. "I have no wish to embarrass you, sweet. But this is my child, too, and all of this is as new to me as it is to you." His tone grew husky. "I would feel him grow before he is born, as you do."

She spoke unthinkingly. "But—how can this be new to you when you already have a son? Surely before Peter was born you—" She broke off, stunned to find all expression wiped clean from Guy's features.

She heard his voice, hard and brittle. "I was bound for the Holy Land when Peter was born, Kathryn. And I learned of his existence while sitting in a bloody dungeon in Toulouse more than a year later."

Kathryn stared at him, half-afraid to even speak. "You were never with Elaine while she carried Peter?"

His silence was never-ending, the thrust of his jaw taut and unyielding. Condemning perhaps? Staring into his carefully controlled features, she sensed she had done something wrong, but what? When at last he shook his head, all at once she realized... this was the first time Elaine's name had passed between them.

Too late she realized her mistake. He put her gently from him and though his manner was not harsh, his tenderness was gone. An elusive hurt twisted her insides. She nearly cried out in anguish, for his pain—and hers.

Elaine was dead and gone. Kathryn did not pretend to misunderstand Guy's reaction to the mention of his dead wife's name. She tried convincing herself it did not matter that he cared so deeply after all this time. But it did. God help her, it did.

A hollow emptiness welled up inside her. She crawled beneath the furs and curled into a tight miserable ball. Guy had moved to stand before the fire. How long he remained there, she did not know. She tossed and turned in a vain attempt to sleep, but a nagging ache persisted in the small of her back. Her hand crept around to massage it.

She had scarcely begun than she felt Guy's weight settle beside her. His fingers brushed hers aside and pressed gently, kneading and stroking. Though no words passed between them, a feeling akin to relief seeped through her; she soon fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

She woke in the middle of the night to find herself alone in the bed. Guy stood near the window. An errant glimmer of moonlight threw his features into stark relief. She sensed his distance and did not know how to breach it; it was as if he had retreated to a realm where she could never belong. Tears stung her eyelids, hot and burning. Stark yearning rose within her. She wanted his arms around her, not only in the heat of passion, but protecting her, soothing her, cherishing her... She longed to plead for him to sweep her in his embrace as he had done earlier. Pride alone crammed the entreaty back in her throat.

She must have made some small sound, for he turned his gaze toward the bed. In an instant he was beside her. His knuckles grazed the smoothness of her cheek. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "Did I wake you?"

Kathryn shook her head. Her throat was clogged so that speech was impossible. She caught at his hands. "Please," she whispered, despising the betraying little quiver in her voice. "Come back to bed."

He slipped in beside her. Drawing her against his side, he ran his fingers idly over the curve of her shoulder, but his touch seemed absentminded, hardly the caress she craved. There had been other nights they had not come together in passion, yet somehow Kathryn had always thought he refrained in deference to her condition. Tonight, however, she felt the loss keenly.

Though the chamber was rife with shadowed darkness, she need not see him to visualize that splendid frame, lean and hard. Heart-stoppingly aware of his nudity, she drew a deep sharp breath.

His arm anchored her close, yet it was not nearly close enough. The need to touch him was overwhelming. She curled her nails into her palms but it was no use. She craved his nearness. Her fingers crept up to tangle in the hair on his chest. She pressed her naked breasts against him, uncaring if he thought her bold or wanton.

"Kathryn—" There was a deep, rough catch in his voice. He twisted his head upon the pillow, and she felt his eyes upon her, dark and questioning.

She made no answer. Instead she eased up over him so that she could reach his mouth. Her lips grazed his, the merest butterfly caress. When she met no resistance, she deepened the kiss further, letting her tongue limn the seam of his lips. A curious sort of power filled her, for she could feel his tension, the shudder that shook him as her tongue danced evocatively against his.

Courage bloomed within her, even as she grew heavy and feverish with need. With reckless abandon, she coasted her fingers down his chest, to lower regions, a tentative exploration that began with shy clumsiness. Feeling the ridged muscles of his stomach clench, she hovered uncertainly, her heart beating high in her throat. Her fingers uncurled slowly.

Straining heat surged bold and hard against her palm.

Guy inhaled sharply. "Sweet—" His hand clamped almost convulsively over her smaller one. He gave a shaky laugh, his heart about to burst through the wall of his chest. "You are nearing your eighth month now. As much as I want you, this may not be wise—"

He wanted her. He wanted her. His words thrummed through her mind, flooding her being like warm, sweet wine. A dark torrent of longing rushed through her, overriding all but the deep, driving need for him to make love to her.

She slipped her arms around his neck. "It will be weeks yet," she whispered. "And I am fine, Guy, truly."

Her lips hovered temptingly... ah, so temptingly, over his. Her hair swirled all around him like a dark cloud of midnight, trapping him in silken enticement. The cushioned fullness of her breasts was crushed against his chest, burning him like twin peaks of fire. Her unexpected offering was more temptation than Guy could withstand, the promise of ecstasy too much to withhold.

"Please, Guy," she whispered huskily. "Please. . ." She turned her head so that then- lips just barely met.

He was lost. With a groan he pressed her back into the softness of the bed. His fingers wound into her hair. He took her mouth in a soul-blistering kiss, sliding his palms beneath her hips, lifting... lowering. . . plunging into the hot velvet of her sheath, stroking and seeking, harder and faster...

Ah, such sweet, piercing pleasure! Kathryn cried out softly. His stretching fullness inside her unleashed a storm of passion and splendor. She clung to his muscled shoulders. His skin was hot and sleek like sun-warmed satin. Again and again he bound their hips together, a ritual dance of pagan glory, the muscles of his buttocks churning and flexing. A tempest brewed inside her, whipping into a frenzy of pure sensation. Her blood pounded in a scalding rush along her veins. Release came in a blinding explosion of thunder and lightning, so torrid and tempestuous she was left quaking in the aftermath.

A long time later she felt the rigidness slowly seep from his body. He eased slightly away, relieving her of the pressure of his weight. His lips feathered over her neck, the fragile line of her jaw, the delicate sweep of her cheeks in an unhurried quest for her mouth. And it was there he tasted the salty warmth of a tear trapped between their lips.

A low exclamation broke from him. "Kathryn!" He raised his head to stare at her in stunned confusion. "What is it? Did I hurt you?"

She pressed her hot face into the pillow. "Nay,"

she said on a strangled breath. "You did not hurt me."

He cursed softly, slipping his knuckles beneath her chin and lifting her face to his, refusing to let her hide. "Kathryn, tell me! What is wrong?"

Kathryn swallowed. Through sheer effort of will she offered a tremulous smile. " 'Tis nothing," she managed. "I just. . . oh, Guy, I just need you to .. . to hold me."

Powerful arms wrapped her close and tight. The flutter of whispered words grazed her temple. He held her tenderly. Sweetly. With such gentle concern that she clung to him all the harder.

Her hair was a wild tangle spread across the breadth of his chest. His fingers combed idly through the silken strands, sifting lightly, letting errant tendrils trail over his hand until at last he twined it over and over around his palm. Through the silvered darkness, she thought she detected a smile.

All at once Kathryn could no longer control the dictates of her mind—it wandered where it would and she could not stop it.

That smile... Did Guy pretend the hair wrapped so possessively round his fist was as pale and gold as summer wheat? Did he even now compare dark to fair, past wife to present? The pain that ripped through her was agony. It was like a knife slicing into her, plunging deeper and deeper. She wished she could forget the anguish this night had wrought. If only she could! She knew she had pleased him . .. but had Elaine pleased him more?

She drew a sharp, painful breath. It was her own name she wanted on his lips, his mind so filled with her that thoughts of no other dared intrude. But Kathryn was suddenly terrified, for although she was the one he held and touched and caressed...

Did his heart still dwell with another?

Chapter 18

Several days later a missive arrived from Elizabeth. Kathryn was resting when a page delivered it to her chamber. She quickly hurried to the bench below the window and broke the seal eagerly. She had just finished skimming the contents when Guy entered.

"I hear you've a letter from Elizabeth."

Kathryn nodded, her eyes shining. "She and Hugh are going to be married!"

Guy smiled indulgently, but his casual air was deceiving. Inwardly his nerves were humming. He crossed to her, his keen, watchful gaze roving her delicate features. Fingers beneath her chin, he brought her eyes to his. "And this pleases you?"

"Aye," Kathryn admitted, then smiled. "Elizabeth is ecstatic about the wedding. She loves Hugh and Hugh loves her. How could I begrudge my sister her happiness?"

Perhaps a better question was whether she begrudged Hugh his possession of Ashbury . .. Guy curbed the thought. He did not know. He had no desire to know. The subject of Ashbury was one both he and Kathryn mentioned but seldom.

He was quick to note the faint shadow which crept into her eyes. Tenderly imprisoning both her hands in his, he pulled her to her feet. "What fickleness is this that you frown so already?" he teased. "As Elizabeth's elder sister, have you decided that Hugh is not good enough for her after all?"

She shook her head. "Of course not. Hugh is an honorable and worthy man," she said quietly, startling Guy just a little with such a ready admission. She hesitated. "In her letter Elizabeth said she would understand if we could not attend, but.. . oh, Guy, I do so wish that I could be there!" Her tone was imploring.

Guy went very still inside. "When is the wedding to be?"

She did not notice his sudden tension. "Several days before Epiphany."

"Epiphany! Kathryn, the babe is due not long after that. You cannot travel then!"

"The babe is not due until the end of January," she pointed out. "I should not think that I would deliver much before then."

"You have no way of knowing for certain. I'm sorry, Kathryn, but we cannot attend Elizabeth's wedding."

His thin-lipped stare caught her off guard. "You refuse to even consider it?"

Guy's jaw clamped shut. He dropped her hands, his expression as black as a thundercloud. He could not control the bitterness that abruptly seeped inside him. The darker side of reason made him wonder. Did Kathryn truly care so little about her life and the life of their child? His mind raced on. Mayhap she didn't care if the babe died—mayhap she did not want his child.

"Aye," he said, an edge of steel in his tone. "I'll not consider it, for I'll not have you delivering my child on some rutted, frozen road between here and Ashbury."

His sharpness stabbed at her, but she tipped her chin, determined not to show her hurt. Even as a part of her acknowledged he was right, something deep within her would not let her give in so easily. "I'd not be alone," she was compelled to argue. "Guy, please! Elizabeth is my only sister! I would be with her on the day of her wedding if only I could!"

"You plead so prettily, sweet. But I wonder—why are you so determined?" Some devil inside took him in thrall and refused to release him. His lip curled. "Mayhap it's not Elizabeth you wish to be with at all, milady. Mayhap you cannot wait to see your Roderick!"

Kathryn did not stop to think. She simply reacted with all the rebellious fury that leaped within her, drawing back her hand and dealing a stinging, open-handed slap to the bronzed hardness of his cheek.

His response was instantaneous and relentless. His hands closed about her wrists like iron manacles. Anger kindled in his eyes. They blazed like molten silver. "By God," he bit out from between clenched teeth, "I'll allow you that once, but do not think to ever—ever!—strike me again."

'Then do not insult me so!" she cried. She twisted against him but his grip was merciless.

"I see no insult here, milady." Soft though his tone was, the words were fairly flung at her. "Indeed, I see naught but truth. You cannot deny it was Roderick you sought to marry—nay, not once, but twice!"

His pitiless condemnation tore her to shreds. "Guy," she choked out. "You forget that—"

"I forget nothing, Kathryn, nothing! Not once have you run to me. Nay, you must always run from me. Ah, and we both know who you seek as your savior!"

A flicker of fear ran through her when he dragged her as close as her swollen belly would allow. Her heart thudding wildly, she strained against his hold, stunned at the barely restrained violence that seethed within him.

He lowered his head so that his hot breath rushed past her cheek. "I may have been the first to lay with you," he said tightly. "But tell me this, milady. That night at the monastery .. . did I find you and Roderick too early—" His lips twisted. "—or too late?"

He did not wait for an answer, merely thrust her away and spun about as if he could no longer stand the sight of her. He strode from the room, slamming the door so hard the rafters shook. Kathryn gave an impotent little cry of rage, but imbedded in her fury was anguish, a world of it. What he accused her of was unspeakable. Unforgivable! Did he truly believe she had lain with Roderick?

Her lungs burned from the effort it took not to cry. Raw pain spilled through her, and she stumbled to the bed numbly. And then the tears began to come, slow and scalding. She had fought long and hard against Guy—and against herself. But in that mind-splitting instant, Kathryn could no longer hide from her feelings any more than she could hide the torment in her soul.

She loved him. She loved him.

Helplessly.

Hopelessly.

Endlessly.

Her stormy heart knew no peace.

There was no comfort in the truth, no sweet joy of fulfillment to be gained from loving Guy. He had touched her and held her, while the winds of passion blew fierce and tempestuous. And he had held her close, his sinewed arms a sheltering haven of comfort and strength .. .

Never had he claimed to love her.

It pained her greatly to admit that she was afraid. Afraid of the future. Afraid Guy would never grow to love her...

Yield to me, Kathryn. Yield...

Time and again she remembered his fervent demand that long-ago night. She had yielded, body and soul.

But she dared not let him know it.

Never would she willingly confess her love to him, not when he neither wanted or needed it. Indeed, he had enough power over her already! Even in this mockery they called a marriage, he snatched her will from her. He'd not even asked if she would marry him—he had simply gone ahead and done the deed. And she had let him! Didn't that make her a fool? A pawn?

Nay, she decided over and over again, she did not love Guy. She would not love him. She must not weaken, for then he would truly be master of her heart.

And her heart was the one thing he could never force her to surrender, the one thing she could bestow freely, the one thing that was truly her own.

Yet despite all her resolve, all her determination, Kathryn sorely missed all that had gone before.

For a time, a curious kind of peace had existed between her and Guy. She had come to know him as the man she had refused to see before. A man who was fair and principled and honest, unwavering in his beliefs. Aye, he was fierce and warlike when provoked to anger, yet he was also sensitive and caring and so very, very gentle. He was a man greatly respected and admired, and the people of Sedgewick loved him dearly.

Kathryn did not broach the subject of attending Elizabeth's wedding again. She was convinced their argument that day had little to do with whether or not she should travel—she would not soon forget Guy's veiled accusation that she lay with Roderick. Not for an instant did she consider he might be jealous. He did not care enough to be jealous. Guy was a man who guarded his own closely. His arrogant high-handedness was spawned of possessiveness, no more, no less.

Their bitter exchange that fateful day had changed everything. The measure of closeness that reigned so briefly had been shattered by all they dared to speak... by all they dared not speak.

And so they shared their meals together, shared the warmth of their bodies in the chill of long winter nights. But there were no tender kisses, no heated caresses, no passionate joinings that left them weak and gasping for breath.

They were strangers, strangers who were together, yet ever distant.

Kathryn did not delude herself. In all this time, they had done naught but come full circle.

One evening she crooned softly to Peter, who was so tired he was about to drop on his feet, yet still fought sleep. She lay down beside him in his bed and let him press his chubby hand against the life in her womb. He was intensely curious, and she spoke to him often about his soon-to-be brother or sister, so that he would be prepared when the babe finally came.

After a while his lashes began to flutter. Soon he slept. But Kathryn remained where she was, content to feel his warmth curled close to her side.

She pressed a kiss to his forehead and hugged him tight, for she had come to love Peter even before she had loved his father. As if not to be outdone, the babe thumped and moved within her, a great rolling motion that made her stomach ripple.

A smile curved her lips. Would she bear a lad or a lass? She trailed a fingertip along the downy curve of Peter's cheek, her eyes tracing the miniature features so like his father's. If the babe were a boy, would he look like Peter? He was a beautiful child, tall for his age, his build sturdy, his shoulders wide despite his youth. Peter would grow to be strong and handsome, every bit as handsome as Guy. Nay, she'd not mind at all if their child resembled Peter.

One morning in mid-January she woke with a dull ache in the small of her back. She eased to her side and lay for a while, but the nagging ache persisted no matter what her position. At last she rose with a grimace twisting her lovely features. But her bare feet had no sooner touched the cold floor than a torrent of liquid gushed down her legs.

That was how Guy found her—staring in dumbfounded amazement at the puddle around her feet. Her gaze slowly lifted and she shook her head. "Guy," she began in bemusement, "I do not know—"

He had already rushed to her side. "It's the birth waters," he said urgently. "Christ, your time has come!" He bent and lifted her carefully in his arms, easing her onto the bed.

He bent over her. "When did it start?"

"I do not know," she said faintly. "I've had naught but a terrible ache in my back." But just then there was a subtle drawing and tightening of her womb. It lasted only a few seconds then was gone.

Guy, who had laid a hand on her belly, felt the tightening as well. Kathryn's wide, frightened gaze met his. Her hand lay icy-cold in his. "I'd better find Gerda," he muttered, "and fetch the midwife."

Kathryn clutched at him when he would have straightened. "Wait!" she cried feebly.

"What is it, sweet? Do you hurt again?" He smoothed a feathery tendril of black hair from her cheek.

Kathryn shook her head, unable to speak for the painful ache that swelled her throat. Guy's gentleness—his concern as he bent over her—was suddenly too much. It had been so long since he had looked at her thus... Her heart bleeding, she bit back foolish, bitter tears. She didn't want him to leave. She wanted him to reach out and wrap her hard and tight against him, for she was suddenly terrified of the ordeal ahead of her.

But pride would not let her admit to such weakness. " 'Tis nothing," she managed at last, summoning a watery smile.

He squeezed her fingers. "You'll be all right, love. Just hold tight and I'll send Gerda to you," he promised.

Gerda burst into the chamber a few minutes later, scurrying to Kathryn's side. "Milady," she cried. "My lord said that the babe is coming!"

Kathryn sat up with Gerda's assistance. "Mayhap this is a false alarm," she said with a shaky laugh. "I feel different, but I've yet to suffer any real pains."

But it wasn't long before the strange tautness spread around and gripped her middle again—and with growing intensity. Kathryn was too restless, both excited and fearful, to stay abed for long. Instead she paced the length of the chamber, catching her breath and bending slightly whenever the pain caught her unawares.

It was well past noonday when the midwife arrived, having tended to another birth in the village that morning. Elsa was a hulking woman with a thin thatch of iron-gray hair. Guy, who had chafed all morning at the delay, followed her up the stairs. But at the chamber door, she turned him away, chastising him soundly.

"Ach, my lord, a man attending the birth of a wee one?" She clucked disapprovingly. "Why, I've never heard of such a thing! You men have the stomach for battle but I'll wager there's not a man alive who has the stomach for childbirth! Wife or no, son or no, I'll not have ye gettin' in the way. No doubt it'll be hours yet since this is yer lady's firstborn. Aye, down the stairs with ye now! You'll see your son when the time is right, that I promise."

Guy glared at her, prepared to argue, yet he couldn't deny the woman undoubtedly knew far better than he. He scowled blackly, then turned away and lumbered down the stairs.

The pains were not unbearable, but by late afternoon Kathryn had retreated once again to the bed to rest when she was able. She gasped whenever her womb was seized with another spasm, constricting her muscles and holding her breath until it passed.

By the time night cast its shroud about the earth, the pain was like daggers slicing through her. Both Gerda and Elsa urged her to pant and breathe, but by then Kathryn was lost in an endless sea of agony. Buried deep in her brain was the notion that if she held it inside, it would make it easier to bear. And so she made not a sound, not a cry or even a whimper, for she did not want Guy to hear. He would be like Uncle, she decided fuzzily, he would laugh and think her cowardly and spineless. She was scarcely aware of Gerda and Elsa hovering around her, wiping her face and rubbing her belly between pains.

Below stairs in the great hall, Guy paced like a caged animal. He'd been up and down the stairs a dozen times, but Elsa's warning always clanged through his mind at the last instant, stopping him cold. He knew the dangers of childbirth. He knew there were women who did not always survive.

Kathryn was so small and fragile. The thought of anything happening to her made him break out in a cold sweat—and there was no sound from above, none at all! What was going on up there?

By the time the frigid winter moon climbed high in the sky, Guy could stand it no longer. "Blast that midwife's hide," he growled to Sir Michael. 'This is my home and I'll enter where I will!" He took the stairs two at a time and burst into the chamber with a frenzied rush.

Whatever he'd expected, it wasn't the two worried faces which swiveled to regard him. The chamber was oddly quiet. A chill ran down his spine. Four long strides took him to where his wife lay in the center of the bed. Kathryn's eyes were closed, her skin as white as the linen beneath her. Her hair was spread in dark, tangled skeins across the pillow. Guy's pulse leaped to his throat; chilling tendrils of dread clutched at his insides. She lay so still and unmoving that for the space of a heartbeat he feared she'd left this world for another.

But then she stirred. Her fists clenched at her sides. Guy noted in horror that her lower lip was raw and bleeding from biting it the way she did now. Her back bowed and her head thrashed back and forth on the pillow until abruptly all the tension—indeed, it seemed her life's breath itself—left her body.

He turned shocked eyes toward the midwife. "Christ!" he said hoarsely. "What's wrong? Why is it taking so long?"

"Milord," the woman said shakily, "the babe would have been here long since were your lady to allow nature to take its course."

Guy's face went ashen. "What do you mean?"

It was Gerda who chokingly replied. "She holds all the pain locked tight inside her." Tears ran unchecked down her face. "Milord, she has not cried out even once. . . if she were to just let go, I believe it would speed the birth along, but she does not make a sound, not even a whimper. We have tried and tried to tell her, but I do not think she hears us any longer!"

Just then another great shudder shook Kathryn's body, wrenching the breath from her. She clamped her legs together, twisting and turning until the contraction ebbed. Comprehension washed over Guy in a flash.

He dropped down beside her, grabbing her shoulders and giving her a slight shake. Her eyes fluttered open, glazed and unfocused. "Kathryn," he said firmly, "sweet, listen to me. When the pain comes, you must not tense up so, for you only make it worse. I know 'tis hard, but do not fight it. Yell. Shout. Scream if it makes it easier."

She stared at him vaguely. "Nay," she said faintly. "I cannot scream. . . I must not, for he will think me weak . .. weak and helpless... he will taunt me... that his will must ever triumph over mine..."

Numbly he realized she was talking about him. He groaned and framed her face with his hands. "Kathryn," he said raggedly, "I do not think you weak at all. You are strong and brave and fiercely proud and I would have you no other way .. . oh, sweet, I love you... do you hear me? ... I love you..."

Another contraction knotted her body. Feeling it, Guy spoke sharply. "Nay, Kathryn! Bear with it, do you hear? Do not fight it, Kathryn, do not!"

Kathryn winced, surfacing slowly through foggy layers of pain, aware of his sharpness but not his words. She opened her eyes and Guy's face swam before her, grim and unsmiling. She tried to push him away, despairing, thinking he was angry with her again. He was always angry with her—

God, she was so tired. So tired she just wanted to close her eyes and sleep forever. But within her the clawing pressure was mounting again. She wanted to cry and sob in despair, but she didn't have the strength. She sank back against the pillows, limp and only half-conscious, while the pain undulated over her, wave after wave.

Guy's face was ashen. His hands were shaking as he reached out helplessly. "Kathryn!" he ground out in sheer desperation. "You did not give in to your uncle so easily—you never give in to me! How can you give up now? Are you a coward after all?"

Somehow his words penetrated the haze in her mind. She opened her eyes in mute outrage just as another contraction seized her. This time she could not stop the anguished moan that escaped. And then suddenly the pains were coming faster, almost constant, and very, very hard. Indeed, nature seemed to have taken over her body in its task to expel the child from her womb. Kathryn did not scream or cry but she was no longer fighting it.

Gentle fingers smoothed the tangled hair from her cheek. 'That's the way, sweet. It'll be over soon, I promise. Here, take my hands and squeeze..." Kathryn was hazily aware of his presence; she clung to his soothing voice and to him, her nails digging into his palm.

From the foot of the bed Gerda gave a half-sob. "Oh, milord, milady! I can see the little one's head. I can see it!"

Elsa's frantic cry joined hers. "With the next pain you must push, milady! You must bear down and push!"

A racking pain gripped her entire body. Kathryn groaned and felt a tremendous gush from her body, and then a thin, mewling cry filled the air. Guy leaned over and kissed her lingeringly on the mouth, smiling crookedly at her dazed look when he drew away.

The thin, wavering wail from the corner had begun to gain strength and volume. It was several moments before Kathryn fully registered the import of that cry.

She raised her head from the pillow. "My baby—"

"A little girl, milady!" Gerda laughed, busy cleaning the slippery little body. "She's tiny, but, oh, she's a beauty!"

Kathryn turned her head but all she could see was swaddling being wrapped around the babe. "Let me hold her," she said weakly. Tears seeped from her eyes when she tried to sit up and failed.

Her exhaustion grabbed hold of Guy's heart. Deep mauve circles shadowed her eyes. Her skin was almost colorless. He twisted around on the bed and lifted her gently so that her back rested flush against his chest, then beckoned to Gerda.

Gerda settled the swaddled bundle into the curve of Kathryn's arm, while Guy supported them both. A deep sigh of contentment shook her body; she stared raptly at the babe, too choked up to speak, silent tears running down her cheeks. But she was smiling, a brilliant smile that sailed straight to his heart.

A powerful surge of emotion swelled his chest. But the thrill that shot through him was purely male, purely possessive. His arms tightened around his daughter and his wife—his wife...

He would never let her go, he thought fiercely... never!

And if it took him until the end of time, he would make her love him.

Chapter 19

Sunlight gilded the chamber a pale yellow-gold when Kathryn next awoke. She had slept deeply, unable to remember when she'd felt so exhausted. From across the chamber came a woeful little cry. Though she was tired and sore, Kathryn turned eagerly toward the sound, in time to see Gerda lift a tiny bundle to her shoulder.

"Ah, you're awake! And just in time, too!"

Gerda laid the babe on the foot of the bed, changing her swaddling while Kathryn propped herself on an elbow and looked on, anxiously counting ten tiny fingers and toes and breathing a sigh of relief that the child was whole and perfect. When at last Gerda laid the babe in her arms, Kathryn smiled weakly, feeling a trifle unsure of herself, suddenly both terrified and awed by the baby's tiny size. Yet when the babe was settled into the crook of her elbow, her slight weight felt perfect.

Gerda helped Kathryn ease her gown off her shoulder to offer her breast to the fretting infant. Quite by accident her nipple brushed the babe's cheek. The babe rooted frantically. Like a dainty flowering bud, the tiny little mouth opened and latched onto her nipple with a ferocity that widened her mother's eyes. "Oh, my." She laughed shakily. "It seems she knows better than I what to do."

Gerda merely chuckled and left mother and daughter alone.

Kathryn cradled her hand around the infant's head which was covered with fine dark fuzz. Love, pure and sweet, poured through her, filling her like golden shafts of sunshine. She bent her head low and pressed her lips to the softness of the babe's scalp. Tears stung her eyes, but they were tears of joy and wonder.

Near the door, a tall figure lingered. Guy stared at those two dark heads nestled so closely together, at the tiny fist curled on the swell of an ivory, blue- veined breast. A surge of emotion tore through him, so strong it rendered him powerless. For a timeless moment, he could not move.

Kathryn chanced to glance up. She colored prettily when she spied his eyes feasting boldly on her pink bareness. Sensing her shyness, Guy's hard mouth curled in a faint half-smile. But she made no move to cover herself; instead she wordlessly extended her free hand in silent invitation.

It was an invitation no sane man could resist. He took her hand and carried it to his lips. "How are you feeling?" he murmured.

Though she was still tired and her body ached, the heat of his mouth went through her like a bolt of lightning. Kathryn smiled, a willing captive of warm silver eyes. "I am fine," she whispered. The tip of her tongue crept out to moisten her lips. "What of you, milord? What do you think of your daughter?"

"Our daughter," he corrected. Kathryn felt a rush of tenderness. He eased down beside her and ran a callused fingertip across the infant's cheek. The rosebud mouth stopped working her nipple; dark brows drew together over a tiny nubbin nose as if in puzzlement.

They both laughed.

"What shall we name her?" Guy asked.

Kathryn had been so convinced she would bear him another son, she'd scarce considered names for a girl. Now, she bit her hp and considered. "I can think of only one," she admitted. "What think you of Brenna?"

"Brenna," he repeated, testing it upon his tongue. He grinned suddenly. " 'Tis a fitting name, for indeed she'll grow to be a maiden with hair as black as a raven... what about Brenna Elizabeth?"

Kathryn's face ht up. "Aye," she breathed. "That would please me—" It was her turn to laugh. "— and I know it will please Elizabeth!"

"Then Brenna Elizabeth it shall be."

Kathryn beamed her satisfaction, smiling directly into her husband's eyes. Guy stared into the sparkling beauty of her upturned features. She was a trifle pale, but there was a radiant glow about her. Lord knew he'd have handed heaven and earth to her just to see such undisguised pleasure in her eyes once again.

After a moment Kathryn lowered her gaze. "Has Peter seen her?"

Guy nodded. "Her cries last night woke him, so I brought him in to see her." There was a slight pause. "You were already sleeping," he said softly. Then, softer still, "You gave me a fright last night, Kathryn." He could not bear to say his greatest fear was that he would lose her—he could not bear to even think it.

Kathryn ducked her head. Her long labor was hazy and fuzzy in her mind, but she knew Guy had been with her at the moment of Brenna's birth. She'd have known the touch of those lean, dark hands anywhere, so strong and yet so gentle. And afterward, she remembered him cradling her close—both her and Brenna.

Not knowing what else to say, she murmured, " 'Tis glad I am that it is over." She hesitated, not daring to look at him. The words slipped out before she could halt them. "Guy, I would know. . . Are you... terribly displeased?"

"Displeased! Why on earth should I be displeased?" His tone reflected his astonishment.

The shining curtain of her hair fell forward, shielding her expression from him. "Because I gave you a daughter instead of another son," she whispered, her voice little more than a wisp of air.

The next thing she was aware of was the touch of his fingertips upon her jaw. With the pressure of his thumb, he urged her face to his. Kathryn swallowed, fearful of what she would see—just as fearful what she might not see. But his expression reflected only warmth and gentleness, his hold upon her wholly tender.

With his thumb he grazed the pouting fullness of her lips. "Listen to me, sweet. My only concern was that you and the child, be it daughter or son, be healthy and well. I thank God that He has seen fit to bless me with such a wondrous gift."

His quiet intensity made her tremble inside. She wanted desperately to believe him, yet wondered if she dared... A blunted fingertip reached out to trace the arch of one tiny dark brow, his hand big and dark against the babe's tiny form.

"She's very precious," he said softly. "I've no doubt she'll be as beautiful as her mother in beauty." He bent and kissed the soft downy head.

Kathryn's hand came out to twine in the thick black hair that grew low on his nape, an unconscious caress. He raised his head to smile at her.

Kathryn's eyes slipped to Brenna, now asleep at her breast. She marveled anew. Long dark lashes lay fanned against the infant's cheeks, her skin so fair and delicate it was almost translucent.

"She is beautiful, isn't she?" There was a breathless catch in Kathryn's voice as she laughed. "She's not at all wrinkled and red, and her features are dainty and fine!"

"That she is," Guy agreed. But this time his gaze was locked not on his daughter, but his wife—

A hard arm locked around her and brought her close. His kiss was magic and bliss, long and unbearably sweet, spinning her away to the gates of heaven and beyond.

And when at long last he released her mouth she buried her face against the corded column of his neck, breathing deeply of his musky male scent. Her fingertips were splayed against his chest—beneath she could feel the drumming rhythm of his heart. Happiness blossomed within her, for this was a moment to treasure—a moment she would horde in her soul for all eternity... and therein lay the bittersweet hurt that wilted her joy. It would have been so very, very perfect . ..

If only he loved her.

A month later, Kathryn sat nursing Brenna in the great hall. Most of the men were scattered about the day's work so the hall was deserted except for the occasional servant.

Brenna's small size did not hinder her appetite, nor her growth, as her mother could attest to. She was thriving and healthy—her little belly grew hard and round, her cheeks plump and pink. It was little wonder that Kathryn was enraptured of this tiny creature who was her daughter. Since Gerda would soon be marrying Sir Michael, they'd brought in a young village girl named Norah to tend to Peter and the babe. Kathryn refused to bring in a wet-nurse; she was nearly as loath to give over any of Brenna's care to either Gerda or Norah, for she derived no greater pleasure than when she cradled and cuddled the wee form of her child.

Despite Guy's assurances, she was half-afraid that he would care very little about the child. Didn't all men desire sons? Yet she could not count the times Guy had appeared in her chamber in the middle of the night, easing Brenna from her breast after her frequent night feedings and lulling the infant back to sleep.

But he no longer shared their bed—his bed—and he had not done so since the night of Brenna's birth. Instead, he slept in the chamber across the hall.

With a sigh Kathryn rose, climbing the steps to her chamber where she laid Brenna in the wooden cradle at the foot of the bed. The infant released a long, bubbly breath. Kathryn smiled slightly and wiped away a frothy drop of milk from the corner of her mouth. As she knelt beside the cradle, she did not understand the sudden shadow that crept over her. At times, like now, her happiness was tinged with pain.

Guy was just as preoccupied as he entered the great hall, his mind beset by images of his lovely wife. Aye, and wasn't it always? He treasured these days since Brenna's birth—they had been marked by a peaceful contentment he'd once thought could never exist between himself and the beauty he now called wife. He dared to hope that they could put the past behind them and begin anew. Oh, she was still as fiery and fervent as ever! But she had gained a mature strength, a calm serenity and confidence that lured him ever deeper into her spell. He had only to gaze at her and feel himself possessed for all time.

And still she turned him inside out! He'd been chafing inside for days already, searching for some sign that she wanted him back in their chamber. Oh, he knew it was too soon after the birth to seek the pleasures of the flesh with her. But it would have been enough to hold her, to feel her softness clinging to his hardness in the chill of the night. Oh, she smiled that bewitching smile that sent his pulse to pounding like a pagan drum; she dropped an idle hand upon his shoulder from time to time; she leaned against him when he helped her up the stairs after a long, exhausting day. Arid there at the door of their chamber, she wished him the sweetest of good nights with lips that ever enchanted... ever beckoned.

Joy had gladdened his heart when Brenna was born. Their daughter provided a link that Kathryn could neither deny nor break. By now Guy was desperate enough to use whatever means he could to bind her to him. But he'd not swear undying love where it was not wanted!

A self-derisive smile twisted his lips as he climbed the stairs. How, he thought with a stab of dark humor, did one woo and win a woman he'd already taken to wife... a woman who shared his name and his home... a woman who claimed his very bed—and shunned the husband that rightly should have lain alongside her in it!

Yet the sight of her pulled him up short. She knelt beside the cradle, the delicate mauve of her skirts pooled about her knees. The waning trickle of the wintry sun through the shutters etched her profile in palest gold. But what set him back was the air of melancholy sadness that clung to her.

Kathryn did not hear his silent entrance. Even as he approached, she gently brushed her fingers against the babe's cheek. "Oh, Brenna," she murmured, and she could not hide the ache in her heart. "I love you dearly, but how much better had you been a boy! I wish for you so very much, yet I pity you, child, for you will have so little."

Guy froze. Her tone, as much as the words themselves, went through him like the tip of a lance. At precisely that instant, Kathryn realized she was no longer alone.

Darting a glance over her shoulder, she beheld the aloof regard of her husband. His very lack of expression left her in no doubt that he'd heard every word she spoke to the babe.

"Mayhap you'd like to explain that statement, mistress. Especially since you know as well as I that Brenna will lack for nothing."

His smile was chilling, his tone glacial. A slow burn began to simmer along Kathryn's veins. It was just like a man to think that food in her belly, a roof over her head, and a little affection was all it took to make a woman happy! She rose to her feet, meeting his stare with a challenge of her own.

"I mean only this, milord earl. From now until the time Brenna grows to womanhood, her choices will not be her own. Were she a boy, she could choose her own path, whether it be landowner, knighthood, or the Church. No man, her father included, could force his will on her. But by simple virtue of her sex, Brenna will neither go where she pleases, nor when. She will be naught but a possession, a pawn. First you will control her life, and then her husband will control it—a husband, no doubt, chosen by you. Indeed, I fear she is doomed to a life no better than mine!"

His eyes were glittering. "Ah, so now the truth comes out. Tell me, sweet. Is this truly how you feel? As if I hold you prisoner here?"

Curse her bloody tongue! Too late Kathryn realized where her recklessness had taken her. Yet it wasn't solely her fault. If Guy did not goad her so, she'd not be so tempted to retaliate!

"I did not say that—" she began.

"Nay, you need not say it at all," he bit out tightly. "You make yourself very plain, Kathryn. You'd rather be free of me." He gave a short harsh laugh. "Well, in this you are right, sweet, for you'll not have your way. We are married in the eyes of God and man, and by all the saints, so we shall remain!" He spun about and started for the door, only to stop halfway there. "I came to tell you I have received an urgent summons from Henry to join him in London. I thought perchance you might find it in your heart to cheer a lonely man's spirit on the eve before his departure. But since you find my presence so distasteful, I see no point in waiting till dawn to take my leave."

Stricken, she made no effort to stop him when he strode from the room. An hour later, she stood near the entrance to the bailey, watching as he prepared to depart.

At last he stopped before her, his helm tucked under his arm, so tall and handsome he took her breath away. Brenna was tucked into the crook of her arm; Peter stood at her side. Try though she might, Kathryn could not find the courage to meet his eyes.

He bent and kissed the soft down of the babe's head. Peter was next, lifted high in his arms for a hug. "You must be a brave lad and watch over your sister for me," he whispered to the boy.

Peter beamed.

Not once did he look at her. Something inside Kathryn seemed to wither and die. It was if she did not even exist.

Do not do this, she longed to cry. Oh, don't you see that 1 love you! All at once she wanted desperately to heal this breach between them. But what was the use? She thought despairingly. His heart was set against it—his heart was set against her! And so in the end, she dared not speak the words that welled in her throat.

It seemed the pride that had long been her staunchest ally was now her fiercest enemy.

A sennight passed, and then another. The month of March was upon them, bringing glorious skies and the promise of warmer days to come. For the people of Sedgewick and all across the breadth of England, spring was a time that heralded growth and revival and prosperity. There were fields to be plowed, crops to be sown. Spirits were merry and jovial for all but the lady of the manor.

She could not help but remember her nightmare— how her uncle had taunted her. 'Tis your wont to covet what can never be yours, he had said.

Her heart cried out in anguish. Mayhap it was true—for the one thing she wanted most was the one thing she could never have.

Her husband's love.

She was sitting in the hall early one evening when the sound of shouting in the bailey reached her ears. One of the maids moved to peer outside.

Kathryn frowned. "What is it, Meg?"

Meg's eyes were round as saucers. "A small troop of men, milady—methinks they are not the earl's."

Just then Sir Edward appeared. "Milady, there is a knight without who wishes to see you."

"He asks to see me?" Puzzled, she put aside her sewing and rose.

"He says he is from Ashbury, milady."

Her lips parted. Ashbury! Why, she could think of no one except. . .

"Roderick!" she cried out in surprise as he limped through the entrance, supported on each side by two men she recognized as Richard's former men-at-arms.

She rushed forward. The men lowered him slowly onto one of the benches stacked against the far wall. He favored his left leg, grimacing as he eased it ahead of him. She gasped when she saw that his chausses was soaked through with blood.

"My God, Roderick! What has happened?"

"Ah, Kathryn! I and my friends were on our way to a tournament in Warwickshire when we were attacked by a band of cutthroats less than a day's ride from here. We managed to defeat the rogues, but I was not so lucky as my comrades." He managed a sickly smile. "I fear I must humbly ask you and your lord's generosity in seeking shelter for the night."

"Guy is in London," she said. "And of course you may stay. Indeed, you are welcome to remain until your leg is healed and you are able to ride again." She turned and briskly asked Meg to fetch bandages and hot water.

"You are truly too kind, Kathryn." His eyes roved over her lovely features. Kathryn flushed, for she did not miss the intensity of his gaze.

She summoned Gerda to tend to his wound, relieved to see that it was not so bad as she'd first believed. Though the slash had bled profusely, it showed no signs of infection. Gerda sprinkled a healing powder on it, then deftly bound it tightly with strips of clean linen.

Kathryn was anxious for news of Elizabeth, so she plied him eagerly during the evening meal. "How is Elizabeth? Oh, I miss her so! And the wedding—were you there?"

Roderick laughed. "Aye, I was there. And Elizabeth was truly radiant. Marriage seems to agree with her, for I've never seen her look better."

Kathryn breathed a sigh of relief. "If Sir Hugh makes her happy, then I can ask no more."

"Enough of Elizabeth," he said lightly. "What of you, Kathryn?" His voice lowered; his tawny head dipped nearer. "Does the earl make you happy?"

Kathryn inhaled sharply, caught off guard by the hungry look in his eyes.

He mistook her silence. Emboldened, he reached out and caught her hand where it lay on her knee. "Kathryn, you have only to say the word. If he has mistreated you—" His fingers tightened around hers.

Kathryn rose, tugging in earnest on her hand. He merely pulled her closer, refusing to free her. She made a sound of distress, uncomfortable with his familiarity, mindful of what the servants might think. Lord, ah she needed was for someone to carry tales to Guy... Guy! Too late she wondered what Guy might think were he to return home and find Roderick here.

She turned wide pleading eyes his way. "Roderick!" she whispered, "you must not touch me so! Do you forget that I am a married woman now?"

He released her so abruptly she stumbled and nearly lost her balance. "You are right, milady. 'Tis not my place to interfere." His gaze flickered past her shoulder at the same instant a trickle of foreboding raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

She didn't need to turn to know her husband had finally arrived. But turn she did, as if commanded from afar.

He was coming toward her, she noted with a pang in her heart. He was travel-stained and dusty, and lines of weariness scored his cheeks, but he was as wickedly handsome as ever.

Fear and yearning and an agony of longing swept through her. Her nails dug into her palms so hard they were sure to leave marks. The need to touch and be touched was overwhelming—she ached with the need to run to him, to cling to his shoulders and lift her mouth to his. But no hint of a smile softened the grim line of his lips, and the wistful throb of her heartbeat faltered. By the look of him, naught had changed since the day he'd left. Nay, she'd not play the eager wife while he was so obviously the reluctant husband!

Her delicate chin tilted. "My lord," she greeted him coolly. "We did not expect you home so soon."

His smile was frigid. "So I see." A lean hand dropped heavily on her shoulder; he drew her to his side. Kathryn's color mounted, along with her temper, for there was naught of affection in his touch—it was more a show of possessiveness.

His icy gray eyes were pinned on Roderick, who had risen to his feet and stood a bit stiffly. "I wonder that you dare to show your face at Sedgewick." Though Guy's tone was easy, there was a note of danger that did not go unnoticed by either his wife or the other man.

"A case of needs must, my lord. I and the rest of my party were on our way to a joust in Warwickshire when we met up with a band of cutthroats late last eve." Roderick touched his injured leg lightly. "I fear I did not fare so well. We stopped here for assistance and Lady Kathryn was gracious enough to bid us stay until my injury heals."

"Motherhood has made my lady generous indeed." Guy's lips still smiled; his eyes did not. His fingers tightened on Kathryn's waist. He started to turn away, but the other man's voice halted him.

"My lord?"

A dark brow arched in silent inquiry.

"My lord, I see that you look upon me with disfavor. This I understand. Truly I do. But I would remind you that I swore my loyalty to you at Ashbury, and I would ask that you hold no malice toward me, for in truth, I bear you no grudge."

Ah, but he was so glib, so facile, always ready with a winsome smile! Was that how he had won Kathryn? Mayhap he spoke the truth. Mayhap he did not. Either way, Guy was not prepared to let down his guard.

"Then I would remind you of this, Sir Roderick. You were invited to stay at my wife's pleasure. . . but you remain at mine."

He walked away, making certain Kathryn was firmly anchored to his side. But once they were in the passage at the top of the stairs, she twisted away from him. He made no move to reclaim her but instead followed in her wake.

Brenna was fussing as Kathryn walked through the door. Norah was bent over her cradle, preparing to pick her up. She straightened at Kathryn's entrance. "Milady! I was just about to fetch you." She chuckled. "It seems the babe has decided she's waited long enough for her supper."

Kathryn smiled. 'Thank you, Norah. I won't be needing you any more tonight, but would you check on Peter for me, please?"

The girl dropped a curtsy to her lord and lady. Kathryn's smile vanished when she saw Guy had followed her inside. She whirled and reached for the babe, but strong dark hands peremptorily pushed hers aside.

He raised Brenna high, letting the swaddling drop to the floor. The babe had quieted the instant she was picked up. Her legs kicking idly, she crammed a tiny fist in her mouth and gazed curiously at her father. Guy's eyes swept the length of that small naked body. "Lord." He gave an incredulous laugh, his expression incredibly tender. "I cannot believe how she's grown!"

Seeing the pair thus, Kathryn felt a painful tug on her heart. Guy's attachment to his daughter was unquestionable... would that she could command the same warmth and devotion!

He replaced Brenna's swaddling and cradled her in the crook of his elbow. He laughed softly when she instinctively began to root against his tunic, her little mouth open, avidly searching.

He glanced at Kathryn. "She's hungry." He said it as if he were less than pleased.

Whatever softness had dwelled in his expression had vanished. He was once again stark and remote. Her heart twisted in mute despair... Was it because of Roderick? Or because he did not care? Inside she was shattered, but by God, she'd not let him know it!

She took Brenna from his arms and settled herself on the bench beneath the window. Guy stood his ground, making no move to grant her privacy though she knew by the glint in his eyes that he knew she wished it.

Pride alone dictated her objection. She raised her chin and matched his bold stare. "Must you watch?" Her tone was curt.

Something flickered in his eyes—anger? It was gone so quickly she couldn't be certain. "She's my daughter, too, I would remind you. And this is hardly the first time I've watched you nurse her."

True, Kathryn admitted silently. All at once she felt chastened and subdued, perilously close to tears and hating both herself and Guy for it. She clutched the babe tighter, for this was somehow different from all those other times, because he was angry . .. and she was resentful. . . and oh, why must they act as if they were strangers!

But Brenna was squalling in earnest now, squirming and questing frantically, her wrenching cries spiraling in frustration. Unable to stand it any longer, Kathryn fumbled with her gown and bared her breast.

The babe's wails ceased abruptly, but the tension in the room grew ever more strident.

Brenna suckled noisily, making tiny sounds of contented gratification, unaware of the tumult raging in the heart and minds of both her mother and father.

Guy moved to stand directly above his wife. Her head was bowed low, her attention confined to their daughter. His gaze journeyed slowly over the curve of her cheek, down the slender grace of her neck to linger on the swelling mound of her exposed breast.

Desire knotted his gut. He longed to clamp his strong brown fingers across the milky whiteness of her breasts and stare his fill, knowing he would find the contrast riveting and mesmerizing; he could almost feel the velvety smoothness of her skin, the supple weight of her flesh filling his palms. He nearly groaned when she switched the babe to the other breast—her nipple was ripe and glistening, bedewed with milk. Blood pooled thickly in his loins, hot and potent.

The child slept far sooner than Kathryn would have wished. Guy bent, sliding his hands beneath the infant, his knuckles grazing her belly. Kathryn stiffened, scarcely daring to breathe. But she instinctively started to protest as he began to lift the child away. One glance from searing gray eyes crammed the impulse back in her throat. Kathryn, primly covered once again, looked on as he laid Brenna in her cradle, wary of his next move. To her horror, her pulse was thudding wildly. Would he leave her now? Or would he stay? And what did she want? When the babe was covered to his satisfaction, he straightened and turned.

For a frozen moment in time, neither one moved— neither one spoke. Gray eyes clashed fiercely with green.

Once again, the battle raged anew.

Guy smiled at her suspicious regard. "What!" he mocked. "Have you no proper greeting now that we are finally alone?" He went on coolly, "Indeed, I wonder at your attitude, mistress. I had thought you would miss me after my absence." His smile turned ugly. "Or could it be that the welcome which should have gone to your husband has gone to another?"

"I suppose you mean Roderick," she snapped.

"Roderick! Well, now that you mention it, sweet, I must confess I was hardly prepared to find him so snugly ensconced in my home—and with my wife hovering over him to attend his every need!"

"He only just arrived, for heaven's sake!" she replied heatedly. "I merely offered the same hospitality and consideration I'd have offered to any wounded man."

So fiery. So righteous and indignant. So very convincing. But was her outrage real or feigned? Now there was a question indeed.

"And what solace do you offer your husband, whose heart is wounded that you ignore him for another?"

"Ignore you... Wounded!... Why, your heart wears a shield of iron!" she challenged. "Need I remind you that 'twas you who took yourself from this chamber, milord. It was you who chose not to return!"

"And need I remind you that you are my wife? I have every right to claim what is mine—and I would do so now."

Anger brought her surging to her feet. He had not changed. He was still as arrogant as ever! She tried to march past him but he seized her by the waist and brought her up hard against him so their hips were bound together, and then all she could feel was the turgid strength of his manhood rigid and taut against her belly.

A shiver of longing raced through her, even as everything within her decried her body's traitorous response. It seemed so long since she had seen him, so long since he had held her thus! But she yearned for the warmth she knew he was capable of, some sign that he cared, even a little. But there was no tenderness in his eyes, nothing but the brilliant hard sheen of passion.

'Take your lust elsewhere, my lord earl, mayhap back to London and the last bed you lay in. I daresay there's a woman in court who is not so discerning as I am!"

His grip on her arms tightened. He stared down at her. For the space of a heartbeat, it was as if she saw clear inside him, and his soul was as tortured and anguished as her own.

"I've lain with no other since I first laid eyes on you that long-ago day at Ashbury," he said harshly. "Does that please you, sweet?"

Kathryn could not answer. Stunned by the revelation, she could only gape at him.

"You are the one who haunts my dreams, who lights the fire in my loins, who creates a passion in me that knows no bounds—you, Kathryn, who are forever on my mind, whether I will it or no. And aye, it seems that you are the only one who can ease this burning hunger in my soul, for no one can satisfy me as you do, sweet witch."

His admission swept her from the heights of heaven... to the dregs of hell. . . in but the blink of an eye. He spoke of passion and fire and hunger, but not love. Nay, never love.

And yet a treacherous warmth seeped through her limbs, for his nearness rocked her senses. Where is your pride? A voice within her berated her furiously. He had only to touch her and she would melt in his arms, yield him anything—everything—he wished! She wanted more than just some small scrap of affection.

She wanted his heart, for she'd already given her own.

Suddenly she was trembling so that she could hardly stand, confused and frightened by all he made her feel. She swallowed miserably. "What would you have me say?" she whispered. " 'Tis the same for me. You know that, for I have known the touch of no man but you, despite what you think!" When he said nothing, merely continued watching her in that disturbingly piercing way he had, she cried out in weary despair, "Damn you, Guy, I— I do not know what you want from me!"

His expression seemed to tighten. "What do I want? All that you have to give—all that you refuse to give!"

His eyes tangled with hers, seeming to possess her, inside and out. The temptation was strong to give up the struggle within her and cry out that she loved him. But he took all from her—and still he demanded more. Nay! She could not surrender all to him, for she was desperately afraid of losing some vital part of herself, of being wholly in his power.

But when his lips captured hers, she could fight him no longer. She could no longer fight herself. She clung to him blindly as he lifted her and carried her to the bed.

Her gown was swept to the floor, swiftly followed by his tunic, braies, and chausses. To deny him was to deny her very self, for in spite of her fear and anger, she wanted him. She wanted him with a yearning desperation that seared her blood and a tempest that stormed the heart. Firelight played over the muscles of his shoulders, gleaming and bronzed, and in him, she discovered all that she sought. He was muscled and sinewed; he was beauty and strength, sleek and naked and gloriously hard as he lowered himself beside her.

He kissed her, his hands wandering at will, his tongue dueling with hers in a wild prelude of the act to come. He played with the tips of her breasts, tantalizing and arousing. A dark heavy warmth unfurled within her, centered low in her belly. Lightning sizzled through her when at last his mouth encompassed first one straining nipple and then the other. Her teeth dug into her lower hp as she bit back a cry of pleasure. And still he was not content.

He shifted suddenly. Te heel of his hand grazed the fleecy apex of her thighs. The muscles of her stomach quivered as that brazen mouth charted a forbidden pathway down over the newly concave hollow of her belly. His hands caught at her hips and her heart leaped to her throat. The heated trickle of his breath fanned lower still.

Her eyes flew wide. She gazed in stricken horror at that dark head poised between the cradle of her thighs.

"No," she whispered. "Oh, no . .."

Slowly he raised his head, his eyes fever-bright. "You are mine, Kathryn," he said thickly. "And before this night is over you will know it, too."

A dry sob escaped. She pushed frantically at his shoulders, but it was no use. He was as immovable as stone.

His breath caressed her first, warm and damp, like the first faint whispery wings of night. Her heart raced madly. Her entire body jerked when at last he found her heated core. He discovered the dark, tangy taste of her, the rasp of his tongue a divine torment. She shuddered, her fists twisting into the sheet as a piercing wave of pleasure crashed over her. The blood pounded in her ears so that she could scarcely think, and then she wasn't thinking at all. All she could do was feel. With lips and tongue he lured her into a whirlwind of pure sensation. Little whimpers of wanton splendor tore from her throat as he brought her to the brink of rapture.

She nearly cried out when he left her. But suddenly he was there above her, the velvet tip of his manhood poised at the heart of her. Her breasts rose and fell with each frenzied breath. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, trying to clutch him to her but he braced himself above her, his arms bulging.

"Christ, you're beautiful." His voice rushed past her ear, hoarse and strained, his eyes nearly black with the passion that seared his veins.

The look in his eyes robbed her of breath. Hot and possessive, it thrilled her to the tips of her toes. "Please," she whispered. "Oh, please .. ." The sound was no more than a wisp of air; it was a marvel she could speak at all. Her senses clamoring, she thrust up against him, seeking desperately to show him what she wanted.

He gave an odd little laugh and kissed her nose, her cheeks, her lips. "Easy, sweet," he muttered. "Or you will make me forget this is your first time since the babe."

Even as he spoke, he began to fuse their bodies. His penetration was slow, so agonizingly careful she thought she would go mad before his rigid length lay fully sheathed within her. But then there was only the glorious wonder of being filled with him again.

Shivers played along her spine as he began to move. His breath rushed past her ear, harsh and ragged. The tempo of his thrusts was at first slow and rhythmic, but the velvet clasp of her body around his splintered his self-control. He plunged deep, over and over, driving and lunging and mindlessly hungry. And when the spasms of release spun her away on a cloud of ecstasy, he gripped her hips and followed her to heaven's gate. With a guttural cry, he gave one final soul-shattering plunge, his seed flooding hot and honeyed within her.

Long moments passed before the throb of their heartbeats grew deep and even. Guy combed his fingers gently through the wild web of black silky hair tangled about them both. Easing to his side, he pressed Kathryn's face against his shoulder. His hand lay just beneath her breast, the hollow of her belly flush against the jutting ridge of his hip. She lay curled against him as if they had lain just so for the span of a lifetime.

Though the winds of passion brought the sweet satisfaction he craved, he could not stop the weary bleakness that slipped over him like a shroud. The peace his tormented mind sought was simply not to be, for he realized with stark painful clarity that while Kathryn's body had accepted him long, long ago, her heart was another matter.

Chapter 20

The day was unseasonably warm for spring.

The sun shone high and brilliant, bathing the valley in a glorious golden haze. A faint breeze carried with it the sweet scent of wildflowers.

Guy and Sir Michael had spent the afternoon hawking, though the enjoyment Guy usually gained from such sport was sorely lacking. He was restless, and even brooding.

He need not wonder why.

Two days. Two days had gone by since his return home from London. Egad, it seemed like a lifetime! And to think how he had driven himself and his destrier to a point near exhaustion, eager to hold his wife in his arms again, anxious to make amends to her, so very determined to set aright all that had gone wrong between them.

But he'd be damned if he'd give her his heart when she gave hers elsewhere!

"Michael." He spoke abruptly. "I would know what you think of Sir Roderick.

Michael's eyes flickered. Somehow Guy's question did not surprise him, since he was well aware of the dissension between his lord and lady. Nor was it difficult to attribute such to the presence of a young and handsome outsider. Michael surveyed his lady and the knight in question when he thought they did not see; Lady Kathryn eyed her husband with longing and distress, her heart plainly writ upon her sleeve. Michael heaved a silent sigh. Unfortunately, the earl had always been rather blind where his lady was concerned.

'To be sure," Michael said finally, "I can find little fault with Sir Roderick's behavior. He certainly seems an agreeable fellow."

Aye, Guy thought blackly, Sir Roderick was the perfect guest—his wife the perfect hostess. Roderick was charming and engagingly humorous despite his injury, Kathryn attentive and considerate of his every need.

Guy said nothing, merely stared moodily off into the distance.

Michael eyed him with a frown. "I have the feeling, milord," he said slowly, "you do not trust Sir Roderick."

"I cannot," Guy replied bluntly, "if for no other reason than that he was one of Richard's most trusted men."

"He pledged his oath to you," Michael reminded him. "And now Sir Hugh as well."

Guy's laugh was short and harsh. "A man will swear most anything when he fears death is his only other choice. And methinks Roderick's first loyalty is to himself—"

He broke off, suddenly twisting in his saddle, his gaze intent as he scanned the surrounding forest. The woodland animals went on about their chatter as if naught was amiss. Someone, he thought, was watching them—

The thought advanced no further. Nearby there was a whoosh of sound. Vaguely aware of Michael shouting, Guy threw himself low in his saddle, and only just in time, for an arrow whizzed by his head, so close he felt a hiss of air sting his cheek.

The thunder of hooves shook the earth. There was the sound of someone crashing through the underbrush.

Michael had already ripped his sword from his scabbard, his spurs digging into his mount as he took off toward a copse of trees. Guy whirled his destrier and quickly followed; the light of battle leaped in his eyes.

But it was no use. The assailant had plotted his retreat well; the two knights could not catch even a glimpse of him before he was lost amidst the shadowed woodland.

Back in the clearing, Sir Michael dismounted and strode to where the arrow had lodged in the trunk of a black oak tree. He heaved it free, spinning the narrow shaft between thumb and forefinger as he turned to Guy.

'This arrow," he said grimly, "was meant for you."

Murder. Someone had tried to murder him. The realization chilled Guy's blood, but he cautioned Michael to silence when they returned to Sedgewick.

He did not question the loyalty of any of his men. But Roderick... now there was a possibility, a very good possibility indeed...

Guy's mood was guarded, his expression granite- hard as the evening progressed. His gaze followed Kathryn as she moved about the great hall. The sheen of firelight gilded the arch of her throat as she tilted her head and smiled at something Gerda said. Her form, clad in crimson velvet, was soft and lush and newly slim.

His mouth compressed. It was little wonder that Roderick—indeed, every man in the hall tonight, including himself—could scarce take his eyes off her. She was all that a man could desire—fierce yet gentle, vibrant and spirited, alive and alluring.

With a scowl he turned aside, and still her picture rose high in his mind. He envisioned the flawless perfection of her skin, her elegantly sculpted features, winged black brows and lips as tempting and dewy as succulent summer berries. And he remembered the feel of her slim hands entwined with his own, the way her hips churned wildly beneath his in the heat of midnight fires.

A surge of possessiveness shot through him. He had wed her, made her his lady in name and indeed. He had gained all that he sought—he had bound her to him in every way possible.

And then he heard her laugh, the sound lilting and musical. But that sweet sound did not bring solace to the bleakness etched in his soul. For she did not laugh for him, but for another.

Someone pressed ale into his hand. He accepted it blindly, all the while simmering inside, jealous and furious. He despised himself as weak for the pain that so controlled him, yet he was unable to banish it.

He felt like an intruder—and in his own home yet!

He turned burning eyes to Roderick, who had settled himself on the bench across from Kathryn. The blackguard! Guy thought fiercely. He eats my food. He drinks my wine. And does he also help himself to my wife? He watched Kathryn throw back her head and laugh again. She was cool and reserved and distant tonight—but there was a spark within her she chose not to reveal to him.

Guy could not prevent the bitterness that seeped inside him, nor the sudden doubts that crowded his mind. Did she still long for Ashbury? Did she regret the circumstances which had brought her into his arm? And into his bed? Of a certainty she found passion there—but she had never claimed to love him. Mayhap because she still loved Roderick? Had the two of them hatched the plan to kill him—did they even now plot his downfall?

She turned suddenly—and caught his eye. Her smile continued to dally about her lips . .. lips that ever lied and deceived.

With a lift of that dainty chin, she turned back to Roderick.

To Guy, it was like a slap in the face. His ire burst into flames. He swore furiously. By all the saints! He'd not stand by and watch her make a fool of him!

He rose and moved to the end of the table where the pair that so tormented him still sat. At his approach, all conversation ceased. Two pair of eyes fixed upon him, polite but questioning.

Again he felt the outsider.

"Sir Roderick," he said coolly, "how fares your wound this eve?"

"My leg fares well, indeed, thanks to Gerda's ministrations." His eyes warmed as he glanced at Kathryn. "And Kathryn, of course."

"How fortunate it heals so well and so quickly," Guy murmured with an easy smile. He laid a hand on Kathryn's shoulder. "Especially since I'm sure you and your men are anxious to be on your way with all due haste."

Beneath his fingers, Kathryn stiffened. Roderick appeared first startled, then rather uncertain.

"And now," Guy went on lightly, "I fear I must rob you of the pleasure of my wife's company." He lifted Kathryn from the bench and pulled her back against his chest, letting his fingers splay possessively across her belly.

Her color heightened, along with her temper. Guy was well aware of the storm building inside her but paid no heed.

"As you can see, the duties of a wife are many. Kathryn must see to the needs of our daughter—" He gave a low, husky laugh and pressed a kiss on the scented hollow in front of her ear. "—and her husband."

With that he spun her away, his fingers digging unmercifully into the soft flesh of her arm. Once they were out of sight, she wrenched herself free and glided up the stairs before him, her head held regally high.

A savage stare tracked their progress; neither one noticed Roderick's tight-lipped regard.

Guy said nothing while Kathryn dismissed Norah for the night, nor did he miss the way her lovely mouth tightened in disapproval as he bolted the door.

"I take it," he said mildly, "you have something to say."

"That I do," she snapped, and wasted no time in heaping her displeasure on his head. "Your behavior was rude and inexcusable, milord. Need I remind you that we have guests? 'Tis not right that we leave them unattended at such an early hour. Nor was it right for you to suggest that we. . . that you..." Color stained her cheeks as she struggled to find the right words.

Guy had no such problem. 'That I had every intention of dragging you off to my bed? As if I could not wait to lay my hands on that luscious body of yours?" He tugged off his tunic and dropped it on the bed. "Why pretend otherwise when it's true?"

Such arrogant self-confidence! And no wonder, she thought in bitter frustration. His arms were roped with muscle, his shoulders bronzed and sleek. The sight of his naked torso made her middle tingle. With a ragged inhalation, she tore her gaze from his chest. "You're drunk," she snapped. "Well, you can go below and drown yourself in ale for all I care. I'll not have you in my bed in such a sorry state."

A dangerous smile curled his lips. He advanced closer, his aura distinctly predatory. "Ah, but you will have me in your bed, sweet. This night and every other night."

She placed her fingertips upon his chest, not resisting, yet not yielding either. Yet she could not help the way her chest grew heavy and tight. With every breath, with every heartbeat, she wanted him more—she loved him more! If she cast her heart before him, he would stomp on it, cast it aside, and then where would she be? She had to have something for herself, no matter how little!

"It's not me you want," she said shakily. "You only do this because of Roderick. You do this only because I married you and not him! You wish only to flaunt me in his face." Her dignity was lost in an angry cry. "You do this only as punishment!"

His features were shadowed and tense. His fingers tangled in her hair. He brought her head back so that her face was tipped to his. "Then tell me this," he said roughly. "Who do I punish, Kathryn—you or me?"

His mouth came down on hers, hard and demanding, and all at once her heart beat wild and reckless. Lean fingers swept away her kirtle, and her feeble resistance along with it. Heat rose inside her, like a raging fever. And when he lay her back upon the bed, imprinting her body with the weight of his own, she surrendered her lips with a low sobbing moan.

Her nails dug into the sleek flesh of his shoulders. Their union was heated and driving, breath- stealing and desperate. Her legs clamped about his hips, as if she would keep him inside her for all eternity. She found her pleasure in his, and he in hers. With one final groan he collapsed against her, spent and sated.

The tempest within them grew still and silent. Kathryn slid her fingers through the midnight darkness of his hair; only then did she feel the scalding tears slipping down her cheeks. She cried because she loved him and dared not let him know it.

Guy was certain she cried because she did not.

The eastern sky was awash with a pale-violet haze when Guy slipped from the bed the next morning. He rose and quickly donned his tunic, chausses, and boots. Near the foot of the bed he paused, glancing down at the wooden cradle. The unflagging determination on his face eased slightly. His daughter, angel that she was, had obliged her father greatly. She'd slept the night through and not awakened her mother for her nightly feeding. Her legs were drawn up beneath her tummy so that her little rump protruded into the air. One small fist lay near her cheek; even as he watched, her little mouth opened and made small sucking movements. He laughed softly and laid a hand on the soft down of her scalp, aware of a slight tug at his heart as he noted how his big hand engulfed the babe's dark head. Pride swelled his chest, for she would someday be as beautiful as her mother.

It was inevitable that his gaze return to Kathryn. His footsteps carried him to the bedside. There he stared down where Kathryn lay curled on her side, sleeping as sweetly and innocently as their child. His gaze lingered on the smooth ivory flesh of one bare shoulder, peeping out from beneath the tumbled darkness of her hair. Her features were fragile and dainty, her cheeks the creamiest of pink, her lips as moist as fragrant summer rain. He felt his loins tighten and swell. The urge to explore the warm, sleep-scented hollows of her body swept over him, weakening his resolve, eroding his will.

But sweet and innocent she was not, a harsh voice inside reminded him caustically. She plied the arts of feminine bewitchment with the hand of a master, weaving him ever more deeply into her spell.

The smile deserted his heart. He turned away with a black scowl.

He had a purpose for rising so early, and he'd not be swayed from it, no matter how strong the temptation.

But the great hall was already stirring to life when he arrived below stairs. Most of Roderick's entourage was breaking the morning fast, dressed in boots and hauberk, clearly ready for travel. Guy stopped short, for this was an unexpected pleasure. He'd thought to prod Roderick on his way, but apparently there was no need.

"Milord!"

The subject of his thoughts hailed him. Guy remained where he was, his relaxed manner giving the lie to the seething tension that roiled within him.

"Sir Roderick," he said coolly. "You leave us today for Warwickshire?"

"Aye, milord." Roderick hesitated, appearing as if he wanted to say more.

Guy waited, his jaw tense, his expression remote. His dislike of Roderick had long ago hardened into hatred.

"Milord, if I have done something to incur your displeasure I am heartily sorry."

"Are you now?" Guy's tone was aloof and detached. It was plain that he tolerated the other man, but only barely.

Roderick shifted uneasily. "Milord, I tell you true. Whatever was once between Lady Kathryn and me is no more. I have accepted that she is your wife and I've no wish to make trouble between you and your lady."

Hah! No doubt that was his only wish.

"Sir Roderick," he murmured, "had you openly shown some sign that you covet my wife, you'd not be here in the flesh before me right now." His voice was so pleasant. He was even smiling. It took an instant before Roderick perceived it for the threat it was.

His eyes flickered, but he stood his ground. Guy decided idly that he was either very courageous— or very, very foolish.

"I value my life," Roderick said stiffly, "as you should value yours."

In the back of his mind, it struck Guy that there was something vaguely disturbing about that statement. But before either of them could say more, one of Roderick's men called for his assistance outside in the bailey.

Minutes later he watched Roderick and his men parade through the gatehouse. A smile of satisfaction curved his hard mouth, the first genuine one that day. He did not regret Roderick leaving... Then his smile withered.

He suspected Kathryn would not feel the same.

Neither Guy nor Roderick was anywhere around when Kathryn found her way to the hall several hours later. After the furor of the past few days, it seemed abnormally quiet. Kathryn questioned the first maid she came upon, who told her Roderick had left early that morning.

"I see. And the earl? Is he about this morning?" Kathryn was half-afraid Guy had driven Roderick from Sedgewick with the point of his sword at his back.

"No, milady. I heard him tell Sir Edward he planned to be out hunting this morn."

It was not a good way to start the day. Kathryn was hurt that Guy hadn't seen fit to tell her his whereabouts. And she was also rather miffed that Roderick had left without saying good-bye. It took no stretch of the imagination to know that Guy had something to do with that.

The noonday meal passed with no sign of Guy. Kathryn stewed silently and retreated to her chamber. She was stabbing her needle in and out of a length of cloth when he made an appearance early that afternoon. She ignored him completely.

Guy discovered the coolness of her mood the minute he entered their chamber. He knew she was aware of his presence, for her lovely mouth tightened. But she neither raised her eyes nor spoke. At any other time, perhaps, Guy might have been amused. Today he was not so inclined.

Three long strides brought him before her. Undaunted by her aloofness, he dragged her sewing from her hands and tossed it aside. Her head shot up with a muted sound of fury. She clamped her lips together, green eyes afire.

He smiled slowly. 'Tour haughtiness does not escape me, milady. Are you so angry then that your wounded knight has gone?"

The charge was so ridiculous she'd be damned if she'd dignify it with an answer. But she didn't bother to hide her impatient disgust. "You ordered Roderick from Sedgewick, didn't you, Guy?"

"Aye, I'd have put him from here. But there was no need. Roderick made the choice himself."

"No doubt with a great deal of persuasion on your part!"

A hand at her elbow, he pulled her to her feet. "Do you call me a liar, sweet?"

The dangerous glint in his eye did not go unnoticed by Kathryn. "If I am angry," she said, determined to set him aright once and for all, "it is because you showed so little compassion."

"Compassion?" He sneered openly. "I think not, milady. Indeed, I wonder just how far your noble Roderick would go to be rid of me. What would you say if I told you I very nearly met with an untimely death?" He surveyed her closely, hating the wary suspicion which leaped inside him yet unable to still it so easily.

A hand at her throat, Kathryn stared at him, stunned and confused. "What are you saying? That Roderick tried to—" She could hardly bring herself to speak the word aloud. "—to murder you?"

"Yesterday in the forest someone sought to pierce my heart with an arrow. Considering I've had no other attempts on my life of late—" His tone was mocking. "—I think even you can see why Roderick immediately comes to mind, love."

"But Guy, while you and Sir Michael were out hawking, he was here—"

"With you?"

Too late she realized the path she trod. She nodded miserably.

'That hardly absolves him of guilt, Kathryn." His eyes cut into her, like daggers of silver. "No doubt you sought a discreet liaison, safe from the prying eyes of any who might have seen you."

It was a moment before she gleaned his meaning—and then she went cold to the tips of her fingers.

He made a sound of disgust and would have left, but she caught his arm. Beneath her fingers his muscles were rigid and taut, but she doggedly kept her hand in place. "Guy, it was not what you think! We only talked, of Ashbury and Elizabeth, I swear!"

Hard fingers caught at her chin, jerking her face to his. "Be that as it may," he said harshly. "But I ask you this, Kathryn. Did you plot with him against me?"

The words sliced through her like the jagged edge of a knife. She struggled for air, every breath burning like fire. She was well aware Guy didn't love her. . . but did they have so little that Guy could actually believe she would betray him?

Stricken, she stared at him through eyes that stung painfully. The torment in her soul brought agony to her voice. "Is that what you think?"

Her vulnerability stabbed at him. His fingers tightened so that she feared her jaw might snap. Then abruptly, he dropped his hand, wrenching away and plowing a hand through his hair. "I don't know what to think anymore!" he exploded. "By all that is holy, you've had me twisted and tied in knots for months already! And Roderick has never stopped wanting you, Kathryn!"

Kathryn flinched, remembering the day Roderick had arrived, the way he had touched her so boldly. There was a heartbeat of silence—and then another. A weary bleakness descended, like an oppressive cloud of doom. Why did she bother? she wondered achingly. His frigid regard was all-consuming... but most of all damning.

"I do not pretend to know his mind!" She pleaded with him mutely, begging him to understand, to make him see that he was the one she loved— the only one she had ever loved. "You are my husband," she cried. "I spoke our vows before God and I would never forsake them, no matter what!"

Every muscle in Guy's body was tense and rigid. He felt as if he were being torn apart inside. He wanted Kathryn's loyalty—aye, even her love, especially her love!—yet he knew not if he would ever have either! And he almost hated both himself—and her—for not knowing if he could trust her even if she swore it were true.

He stared at her, his countenance stark and unyielding. 'You turned to Roderick before, Kathryn, you cannot deny it! He was the one you sought, not I! So tell me, Kathryn. Why should I believe you?"

"Why, indeed," she said bitterly. Suddenly she was crying, laughing, sobbing, beating her fists against his chest. "You asked me before if I was angry. . . aye, I am angry! Angry that you are so blind. Angry that I must hide all that I feel!"

"And what do you feel, Kathryn?" He trapped her flailing hands within his, catching her wrists and dragging her close to stare into her face with the steely probe of his eyes.

With her hands thus imprisoned, she could not dash away the salty trickle of tears which seeped down her cheeks; the taste of despair was bitter upon her tongue. Even in this he defeated her .

All the fight drained from her abruptly. She longed to shut out the relentless glitter of his eyes, but she could not. Her breath wavered, and when she was able to find her voice again, it emerged as a trembling, broken whisper. "Don't you know?"