The Love Knot

Chapter 18

Having been raised at Chepstow, Louis was accustomed to imposing castles, but Rochester still managed to impress him with its combination of comfort and impregnable solidity. It was a young keep, less than twenty years old, and all the private chambers had a decorated fireplace and adequate window light when the shutters were not latched against the weather. There was a well on every level, which was far more convenient than drawing water from the undercroft or the bailey. There were numerous garderobes too, negating the need to go outside for a piss in the freezing dark.

It was the sort of keep that Louis would have chosen for himself. He knew that it was an ambition he would never realise, but there was no reason why he should not be given the custody of a smaller keep. He was in high favour with Stephen and d'Ypres for taking Robert of Gloucester's surrender.

His personal wealth was guaranteed too, since the ransom fees of Robert's knights belonged to him. On the strength of such fortune he had ordered himself a new tunic of the best Flemish wool in an expensive shade of lapis lazuli blue, a colour not usually seen on anyone less than a baron. The tunic was bordered with blue and white braid, the pattern a continuous chain of letter 'L's. Men said that fine feathers did not make fine birds, but Louis knew differently. To dress like a groom or a common soldier was to be treated as one. To dress like a noble was to be afforded respect and granted opportunities.

But Louis did not make the mistake of over-indulgence. He did not want men to see him as a fop. There were no rings on his fingers, and he made a point of telling folk that he did not wear them because they marred his grip on his sword. He frequently wore his quilted gambeson into the hall with only his tunic hem showing beneath to emphasise the fact that he was a soldier first. It was done with subtlety and it won him approval, even from his captives, who were kept under house arrest with their lord in one of the upper chambers.

When it came his turn to guard them, he often sat in their company exchanging soldiers' tales, winning them over with his wry, self-deprecating humour.

'You are not a Fleming, said a flaxen-haired knight, as Louis drank wine with them one evening. His name was Oliver Pascal, and Louis sensed a certain reserve in the man. He was not as ready to be drawn in as the others. He was thus a challenge and Louis set out to woo him, entertaining a private wager that he would have Pascal eating out of his hand by the time the ransom was agreed.

'There are many in Lord William's contingent who are not, Louis replied with a smile and a shrug, and poured wine into Pascal's cup.

The grey-dark eyes watched him shrewdly, their thoughts veiled. Thrusting his back against the wall, stretching his legs on the bench, Pascal said, 'Perhaps that is true; I do not have a great acquaintance with your lord's other men, but I wonder who you are and how you came to serve him.

'Why should I arouse such interest? Louis asked lightly.

It was Pascal's turn to smile and shrug. 'Why not? What else is there to do to while away the time except gamble and drink and gossip? Would you not want to know about the man who held your future in his hands?

Louis laughed and combed back his hair with his fingers, exposing the taut, handsome lines of his face. 'I am not sure that I would.

'Then we are different.

A brief silence fell in which Louis deliberated between telling the truth, a pack of lies, or saying nothing at all. Pascal circled his finger around the slightly uneven rim of his clay goblet and waited the moment out with apparent aplomb. Louis narrowed his eyes, but it did not help him see through his captive any the better. Still, that was part of the challenge.

'Yes, I suppose we are. He took a drink from his cup then set it to one side, for he had no desire to give his tongue a wine-loose rein. 'But since you ask, I will permit you the bones, if not the meat, of it.

The lids widened, the grey eyes assessed then flickered down.

Louis spread his hands in a disarming gesture. 'There was some difficulty on my home territory. I killed a man I should not have done. Even though it was in fair fight, I knew that if I stayed my days were numbered. So I falsified my death — took my enemy's sword and left my own by the riverside where we had fought, together with one of my shoes. He forced a grin. 'It was early spring and the weather as cold as witch's tit. But rather chilblains than death by a knife in the back. I travelled across England, heard that William d'Ypres was hiring, and I have been in his service ever since. He spread his hands in an open gesture to show that was all there was. 'I have knelt in confession and paid my penance. Now you see a washed lamb.

Geoffrey FitzMar had been listening to one side and now he leaned forward, his open gaze huge with surprise. 'But I thought you were high born with lands of your own!

Louis gave a wry chuckle. 'High born certainly, he said, 'but there are never many scraps for a younger son to glean. Lands of my own? I shall have them in the fullness of time. The smile hardened at the edges. He looked at Oliver. 'Was it worth the asking? The challenge in his tone surprised him with its defensiveness.

'Oh, I think so, Oliver answered, and for the first time the eyes gleamed with humour. But Louis did not congratulate himself, for Oliver's expression was hard at the edges too, and he was still giving nothing away, while Louis had revealed rather more than was comfortable.

'Washed lamb, my backside, Oliver said, when Louis had gone. 'A wolf in sheep's clothing, I think. 'Do you not like him?

Geoffrey looked so much like an anxious child that Oliver was moved to thaw. With a shake of his head, he laughed at himself. 'It is not so much that, he admitted. 'I do not like being cooped up here in Rochester, knowing nothing — or only what they feed us. I have never been one to kick my heels with grace. He grimaced. 'Yes, Louis de Grosmont is good company. It's all I can do not to laugh my belly out at some of his tales. That one about the woman and the parrot! He snorted with reluctant amusement at the memory. 'Then why don't you?

'Because it is what he expects. You can see him watching us, playing us like fish on his line. Well, this particular fish does not want to be hooked.

'But why should he do that? Geoffrey wrinkled his brow. 'What is there to be gained?

'Esteem. Power. Do you not notice the way he feeds on us?

'No. Geoffrey looked more baffled than ever.

Oliver sighed and, rising to his feet, took his drink to the window embrasure. The sheds and workshops in the bailey were splashed with gold from the late October sunshine. Five pigs were being driven towards the pen near the kitchens. It was almost November, the month of slaughter and salting in preparation for winter. He should have been a married man by now. If fortune had smiled, he and Catrin would have been preparing to keep the Christmas feast in Ashbury's great hall. Instead, he was mured up in Rochester, with no more prospects than he had possessed on the day he returned from pilgrimage. He thrust his shoulder against the stone embrasure wall, watched Louis de Grosmont stride on his free and purposeful way, and knew jealousy.

'Well, I like him, Geoffrey said, almost defiantly.

Oliver finished his wine and turned round. 'That's not difficult, he said. 'You like anyone as long as they've a smile on their face.

'Than that denies you, Geoffrey retorted. 'You're so sour you'd curdle fresh milk in a dairy!

Oliver arched his brow at this sharpness from Geoffrey, who was normally as mild as fresh milk.

Geoffrey swore and propped his feet on a bench. 'We are turning into a bowerful of women, he said in disgust.

'Nothing to do but pick petty quarrels with each other to pass on the time. I want to go home. I want to see Edon and my son.

Oliver's exasperation with Geoffrey was replaced by pangs of affection and empathy as he watched the young knight rub his hands together and then place his clasped palms against his lips.

'You've to dance at a wedding when we do, he said by way of reconciliation, and somehow managed the all-important smile. 'I want you to be my groomsman.

'Gladly, Geoffrey said against his hands. Then he unclasped them and held them out before him. 'At least we're not in chains.

Oliver said nothing, and thought that chains might be more bearable than this polite house arrest which was neither captivity nor freedom. He wandered back to the window. Louis de Grosmont was still in view, talking to a woman wearing a red dress and dark cloak. Then he swept her up in his arms and bore her behind a storage shed and out of Oliver's sight. His sweetheart, no doubt.

Oliver thought of Catrin and ached.

It had been a long road for Catrin, and the great keep at Rochester was both a welcome and a daunting sight. Now that she was close to her goal she was nervous, all the doubts and anxieties that she had suppressed on her journey threatening to overwhelm her. Faced by the fear that Oliver might not be there at all, she was almost tempted to turn back, on the principle that not knowing was better than knowing the worst.

'Mistress? Leaning on his quarterstaff, Godard looked at her quizzically.

He had been her escort and protection on her journey from Bristol to Rochester, and she had been glad of his enormous bulk. People thought twice about tangling with him, even if it was only to pass the time of day, and it was he who carried the pouch of ransom money.

The Countess had tried to dissuade her from her quest, but Catrin was adamant. She had to know what had happened to

Oliver, had to find out at first hand whether he was safe or dead. Not for hell or high water, for the perils of war or personal danger, was she prepared to sit and wait.

Hearing that Earl Robert and those captured with him were being housed at Winchester, they had travelled there, only to find the city in smoking ruins, destroyed by the running battle between the supporters of the Empress and the King. The castle was intact, but it housed no prisoners. Robert of Gloucester had been taken to the greater safety of Rochester in Kent.

So now, deep in enemy territory, they were about to enter one of the most formidable keeps in the kingdom. Strangely enough, although Catrin was sick with nerves at the prospect of discovering news of Oliver, she felt no fear at entering Rochester itself. Soldiers abounded, but she and Godard had been left in peace thus far. William d'Ypres was a strict commander who demanded high standards of his men. She hoped that he would be amenable to her plea for Oliver's release. Surely an ordinary, landless knight could be of small political importance.

'Mistress, said Godard again, 'why have we stopped?

'To summon courage. Catrin gave him a wan smile. Dismounting, she unfastened the bundle strapped to the mule's saddle. 'Besides, I'm travel-stained and in no fit state to plead my cause.

Godard took the mule's bridle as Catrin disappeared behind a group of young hazel trees growing at the roadside. Behind their trunks, Catrin unpinned her cloak and stripped off her plain, homespun gown, replacing it with the crimson one that the Countess had given her last year. It was creased from the journey, but that could not be helped. At least the fabric and cut were of the best quality and would ensure her access beyond the gate. She replaced her plain wimple with the one of cream silk and secured it with a filigree circlet. Finally, she repinned her cloak with a fine silver brooch given to her by a grateful client and stepped back on to the road.

Godard gazed with approval, but not too much astonishment, upon the transformation from industrious peasant to lady of substance. 'Only pitfall is that when they see you dressed like that, they'll think you can afford to buy him back at double the price, he commented.

Catrin wrinkled her nose. 'I had thought about that myself, but it cannot be helped. If I gown myself as a poor woman, then they will not let me past the outer bailey or listen to what I have to say. Looking as I do now, at least I have a certain authority. She gnawed her lower lip. 'He might not even be here. For all that I know, we could have ridden past his grave in Winchester. Her voice shook.

'No, mistress, I do not believe that, Godard said stoutly. 'He is here.

Catrin looked at him and swallowed her panic. 'Yes, she said. 'He has to be.

Cupping his hands for her foot, Godard boosted her back into the mule's saddle, and they set out upon the final half mile to the castle.

The gate guards were watchful, but their focus was upon the comings and goings of men of military rank bearing weapons. They gave Godard a cursory look because of his height and bulk, then dismissed him as a lady's prudent insurance against assault. To Catrin they yielded deference, and when she told them she had business with Lord William or his senior representatives, they directed her towards the hall without question.

Leaving Godard and the mule in the bailey, Catrin took the ransom money and made her way further into Rochester's defences. There was cold sweat on her palms and a sick churning in her stomach. The noise and bustle in the ward buffeted her like a sea around a rock and carried her forward in sharp surges towards the main building which rose above all the little islands of workshops, houses and storage sheds. Patterns of braided stone decorated the arched window spaces as they did at Bristol. She strained her neck, gazing towards the wall walk, and wondered if Oliver was locked up in one of the rooms, or whether they had imprisoned him in the gloom of the cellars as they had now done with Stephen at Bristol.

She sucked in a deep breath, summoned her courage and prepared to enter the lion's den and find out. But as she took her first, determined step, her way was blocked by a soldier striding in the opposite direction. When she side-stepped, so did he, then apologised with a laugh.

'We should become partners in the dance, he said gallantly.

Catrin had been keeping her eyes down as befitted a modest woman, but now she raised them to his face and her reply died on her lips. Black curls; hot, dark eyes; white, even smile. 'Lewis? she strangled out, and her hand went to her throat for suddenly it was difficult to breathe.

The laughter left his expression. He looked her up and down. 'Sweet Jesu in heaven, he whispered and, reaching out, he took her arm. 'Catty?

She felt the pressure of his fingers, the solidity of bone that challenged her disbelief. 'You're dead, she gasped. 'I grieved over you so hard that I thought I would die myself. You cannot be real! Drowning, sinking, she clutched for air, but there was only Lewis within her desperate grasp, and it seemed as if he was pulling her down. 'I don't feel well, she said as her knees began to give way. She heard his oath of alarm as he moved to catch her and felt the darkness of his embrace close around her.

He swept her up in his arms and, ignoring the curious glances cast his way, bore her to a bench situated outside the kitchen entrance. Her head lolled against his shoulder; one of her braids tickled his hand. The smell of dried rose petals drifted from her garments and filled his nose with the scent of her. Tenderly, he set her down and took a moment to examine her properly without being examined himself.

Her face had lost the plumpness of adolescence, and the flesh clung smoothly to her bones. The curve of eyebrow was the same; she still did not pluck them even though it was the fashion. The tilt of her nose and set of her jaw reminded him with a pang of times past. It had not all been bad. His eyes strayed beyond her ice-white face to her garments. Despite being crumpled, her crimson gown was that of a wealthy woman, as was her wimple, and the fillets securing the ends of her braids were of polished silver. Whatever she had done with herself after he left, she had made her way well in the world. He looked at her hands and saw with a slight frown that she no longer wore the Celt gold wedding rings he had given her. Instead, on her heart finger, there was a different ring: gold in the shape of a triple knot.

'So, Catty, you've got yourself a man of wealth, he murmured, with more than a pang of jealousy. His frown deepened as he looked at her hands. Wealthy or not, she still worked for her living. Her nails were clipped short and her skin had a slightly rough texture that suggested she spent her days doing more than spinning in a bower. Why, he wondered, was she here at Rochester? And what was he going to do about it?

Opening her eyes, the first thing Catrin saw was a tuft of grass growing through a dried-out crack in the soil and, either side of it, the toes of her shoes peeping out from the hem of her red gown. She realised that she was sitting on a bench, bending over, her head between her knees, but the wherefore and why escaped her.

'Drink this, said a solicitous male voice. She was drawn gently into a sitting position and a cup placed in her hand. Lean brown fingers touched hers and, with a nauseous jolt, she remembered. A look into the face bending round into hers dispelled all notions that her imagination had been playing tricks.

'Lewis. Her voice trembled. Once again the flutters of panic began in her stomach and tightened her throat. She tried to leap to her feet, but he held her fast.

'Drink first, he said. 'I know it's a shock.

Catrin tilted the cup to her lips with shaking hands. It was raw, red wine, sweetened with honey and spiked with Galwegian usquebaugh. She swallowed, coughed, retched and swallowed again, tears filling her eyes. The drink hit her stomach like a hot coal and flashed through her body. She sat back on the bench and breathed deeply, and each breath was filled with the scent of him; of orris root and horses, of a healthy, vigorous man in the full flow of life. 'Tell me, she said shakily. 'I need to know.

He drank from a cup of his own. She saw the familiar way he pouched it in his cheeks before he swallowed, and the unfamiliar line of a scar moving as he washed the wine around his mouth. What she had thought of as shattered bones and corrupted flesh was living, breathing, warm and vital.

'I killed Padarn ap Rhys, he said. 'It was in fair fight, but do you think his followers would have accepted the outcome? It would be a matter of their clan's honour to see me dead. So I decided to «kill» myself before they did it for me.

'And left me a grieving widow with never a word, so that you could save your own hide. Catrin's lips drew back from her teeth as a spark of anger lit from within and carried her forward from that awful day on the banks of the Wye.

'I was intending to return for you.

Catrin gave a cracked laugh. She felt as if all of her was breaking into little pieces; shattering like a fine and brittle mirror. 'When? Just how long were you intending me to wait? You must have an overbearing sense of your own attraction to think that I would still be dutifully pining four years later! She took another vicious drink of the wine. Had she not, she would have thrown it in his face.

'I do not blame you for being angry, just as I don't blame you for not waiting. He steepled his hands together in a prayerful gesture and gave her an engaging look from beneath his dark-winged brows. 'But I am telling you the truth. I—

'Then it will be for the first time in your life! Catrin interrupted furiously. 'How dare you say that you do not blame me when it was you who abandoned me, and in a fight over your seduction of someone else's wife! Her hand trembled on the cup. 'I thought you were dead. You can stay dead! She sought refuge in the burn of her rage, but her defences had been breached. Just the sight and scent of him brought everything back. Despite her rage, or perhaps part of it, there was a hot sensitivity between her thighs.

Lewis shook his head sorrowfully. 'First you say tell me; then, when I try, you bite my head off. I know I deserve it, but at least do me the grace of listening.

She glared and drank, saying nothing, feeling the ground slip from under her feet.

He took her hand and rubbed her fingers gently with the ball of his thumb. 'I do not deny that I have been untrustworthy in the past, Catty. I took my responsibilities lightly. I misbehaved. I know that I was not a good husband

Catrin blinked as treacherous tears filled her eyes. She pressed her lips together and looked down at her lap.

'I admit that I flirted with the wife of Padarn ap Rhys. I admit that I visited whore houses with the other soldiers, but such women meant nothing to me. I thought I was proving myself, when all I was doing was being a fool and playing with dross when I should have been at home with my gold.

Catrin sniffed. 'Spare me your honeyed tongue, I knew what you were like.

'Well, that is the meat of the matter, he said, still stroking her hand. 'I was like it then, Catty, but I'm not any more. On the day I fought with Padarn, I swore an oath to change. In a sense I truly am dead. I left the old Lewis on the banks of the Wye that day. I'm now Louis de Grosmont, and I serve William d'Ypres, Lord of Kent. Very gently, he tilted up her chin on his forefinger, betraying the glitter in her eyes. 'I was going to come back for you, Cat, I promise I was. But not until I had proved myself worthy.

'And you expected me to wait, thinking that you were dead? She jerked her head away, but the wobble of her voice betrayed her.

'I thought you might stay a widow longer than this, he said, and touched the gold knot ring on her heart finger. 'But then I made many misjudgements back then. There was sorrow in his tone, and perhaps the faintest note of reproach.

'Yes, you did.

'Are you then remarried?

Catrin swallowed and shook her head. 'But for Winchester, I would be.

'Ah. You lost him there then? Although he spoke with gentleness and compassion, his eyes were sharp.

It was impossible to bear. A great wave of grief began to gather. 'I do not know. I came here to find out if he is a prisoner and, if he is, to pay his ransom!

'And found me, instead.

Tears spilled. 'I should never have come. The final word ended in a howl of self-reproach and she began to cry.

'Yes, you should, it was meant to be. Louis took her in his arms and held her firmly. When she tried to push out of his embrace, he tightened his grip and murmured soothing words at the same time. He wanted to know more about her and until he did, he had no intention of yielding her up to another man, if at all. What had once been stale was now fresh and new and intriguing. Besides, it was several days since he had last had a woman and he was hungry. And she was, after all, his wife.

'Catty, Catty, he crooned, kissing her temple and her wet cheek. 'Catty, it's all right, I promise. He let her weep, and at the same time rubbed her back and her shoulders. He made her finish the wine, and then gave her the rest of his. Only then did he taste her lips, moist with wine and the salt of tears. His hands soothed, stroked, and then manipulated. From her side they moved to her waist and then to her breasts. His kisses went from comforting, to questing, to passionate, and beneath his touch her nipples budded and her body arched.

'Stop, Catrin gasped as they broke for air. She tried to push him away, but Louis ignored her protest and placed her hand on the swollen bulge beneath his tunic.

'Catty, for God's love don't refuse me or I will go mad, he groaned. 'I have to have you. He ended any attempt at protest with another deep, probing kiss, and moved his own hand to her lap. His fingers searched and then delicately rubbed. His tongue thrust and stroked, and his hips rocked.

She made a small sound in her throat, and her hand closed around him and began to squeeze and relax. It was good, exquisitely so, and Louis had to struggle to keep his wits about him. It was obvious that they could go no further than this without seeking somewhere more private, but it could not be too far or the impetus would be lost.

There was a storeshed a few yards away, in which was stacked kindling for the great stone ovens in the kitchen. It was not the best place for a tryst, but it would afford them more privacy than this. Disengaging, he took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

His voice was light with excitement and daring. 'Do you remember that time in Chepstow, Catty? In the keep undercroft before we were wed? It was a rhetorical question. He knew she did because it was the first time that she had experienced the delight of climax, and he had brought her to that point time and again, panting, sweating, crying out and clawing him.

Now he pulled her into the small shed and wedged the door shut with a hefty chunk of split log. Anyone who wanted fuel would have to wait. Snatching off her cloak, he spread it on the bare floor in front of the kindling and removed his gambeson to use as a pillow.

'Lewis, I can't. She tried to retreat, but he was blocking the entrance and there was a wall of wood at her back.

'That's what you said then too, he answered with a grin. For all that she was shaking her head, her rapid breathing betrayed her. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.

He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips. The tip of his tongue flickered out and touched her palm, then trailed lightly to the pulse point on her wrist. 'Pleasure, he said softly; 'nothing but pleasure. Returning to her palm, he kissed her fingertips one by one, then bit down gently. His tongue circled. He was the hunter and she was the prey. He stalked her now, his other hand encircling her waist and pulling her against him. 'Remember Chepstow, Catty. He angled his head, pushing her wimple to one side, and sucked her throat.

'Jesu God, she whispered, and he felt her swallow. In the streaks of light showing through the cracks in the wood, he saw that her eyes were closed and that her breathing was short and shallow as she sought not to gasp.

'It's more than a memory now, Louis murmured. 'It's here, it's real. He claimed her mouth again and pressed his hand into the small of her back, at the same time pushing his hips forward and up so that she could feel his arousal. 'Please, he said. 'Shall I get down on my knees to you? And promptly did so, but only to lift the hem of her gown and caress her ankles, and then work his way up her calves and thighs. She shuddered but did not try to stop him, and her gasps grew more audible. He rose to his feet again, but now the folds of her gown were bunched upon his forearms and she was naked to the waist. He cupped her buttocks and rubbed against her, enjoying the cool smoothness of her flesh. The anticipation was often almost as exciting as the act itself, although what he liked best of all was to watch the effect he had on his partner.

Holding her against him, he unlaced the drawstring of his braies and rubbed his swollen penis against her belly and between her thighs. 'Feel how hot I am for you, Catty, he muttered against her throat. 'I want to fill you until I burst. It's been too long.

He drew her down on to the improvised bed of cloak and hauberk, and spread her thighs. His thumbs rested on the soft skin there, then stroked lightly upwards, opening her to the thrust of his body. She arched her throat, a soft cry escaping between her clenched teeth. Louis watched her response and avidly fed upon it. He pushed deeper, cupping her buttocks and pressing down upon the small pea of flesh that was her centre of pleasure. She whimpered and clutched him.

Despite saying that he was desperate, Louis had no intention of racing to climax too soon and he held back, his movements rhythmic and measured, keeping up a constant pressure on her, without driving himself beyond control. She began to thresh and toss her head, and the whimpers became louder cries. Louis studied her face: the tightly squeezed lids, the open mouth drawing air in rapid breaths and letting it out in shallow gasps of frustration and pleasure. His loins twitched at the sight. Near, so near. He held her there a moment longer, relishing the sight of her struggle the way a fisherman relished the sight of a newly caught fish flapping its silver body on the river bank. Then he went for the kill, plunging deep and surging hard.

'Jesu God! Catrin uttered again, but this time it was not a whisper but a full-blown howl.

For a moment she went rigid beneath him, and then she shattered, the ripples of her climax engulfing him and bringing him triumphantly to his own.

He surfaced somewhat breathlessly from a well of pleasure whose depth had taken him by surprise. But then lying with Catrin in the old days had often been rewarding. He liked her wild response. It was always better with a woman who cried and screamed. And now that he had taken her, he felt more in control.

Withdrawing, he rolled away and sat up. She was still breathing hard, but the straining hunger no longer filled her expression. Very slowly, as if reluctant to do so, she opened her eyes and looked up at him with heavy lids. Then she flung violently away and burst into tears.

It was not what he had expected and for an instant he was nonplussed. 'Catty? He leaned over her. 'What's wrong?

She shook her head and wept all the more. Louis sighed and pulled her dress down over her buttocks and bare thighs. She was wearing red silk hose like the ones he had given her all those years ago, and the sight sent a small aftershock of lust through him.

'I'll bring some more wine, he murmured, and slipped out of the shed.

When he returned, she had pulled herself over to the wall and sat with her spine against the planks, her knees drawn up to her chin in a defensive posture. She had ceased to weep, but her eyes were swollen and she kept sniffing into a linen kerchief.

'I brought some bread too, else you'll be as drunk as a Bristol sailor, he said, as he set the wooden platter down in front of her.

'Perhaps I want to be as drunk as a Bristol sailor, she answered in a choked voice. 'Perhaps I want to consign what just happened to a drunken haze.

'Not you, Catty, it's not in your nature. You always run to meet difficulties head on.

'What would you know about my nature these days?

'Not enough, although I've made a beginning.

He started to grin, but she wiped it off his face when she said, 'Then I hope you're proud.

'I never gave pride a thought, did you? he retorted with some asperity, and poured wine into one of the cups. 'I wanted you, I still do and, as I far as I'm aware, the feeling is mutual.

He took a drink from the cup and then handed it across to her. 'Is it not?

She rested the cup on her knees and stared into the wine. 'I don't know. If you asked me my name just now, my tongue would stumble. I came to Rochester in search of the man to whom I am betrothed, and instead I find that betrothal null and void because I am no longer a widow but a wife.

Louis tilted his head. 'Tell me about him, he said. 'Tell me about your life since I left it and, in the name of Christ, eat some of this bread before you faint on me. He thrust the platter beneath her nose.

She took one of the flat, golden loaves and bit into it without any enthusiasm. 'I thought about throwing myself into the river and joining you, she said with a twisted smile. 'What a waste that would have been. But I was saved from myself and my grief by a lady named Amice de Cormel, who was in need of a maid for herself and a nurse for her seven-year-old son.

He listened attentively and with developing interest as she told him her tale. Catrin the girl-wife, whose sole concern had been tending the hearth and pleasing his needs, had become Catrin the woman of independent strength and means. But that was only a small part of her appeal. Piquancy was added by the fact that her betrothed was his prisoner. Louis could see the attraction that the tall blond knight might have for Catrin. Oliver Pascal's laconic ways only hinted at the quiescent strength of the man, and the way he bore himself would be equally as appealing to women as a more bold approach. Still, Louis might yet have released Catrin from old vows had she not mentioned that King Stephen was in her debt for tending his wounds at Bristol.

'King Stephen? he repeated, unable to believe his good fortune. 'You know King Stephen?

She made a small movement of her shoulders as if it did not matter. 'They keep him in irons and the irons chafe. I tend his flesh with salve and I have spoken to him often. He knows me by sight and by name.

Louis gazed at her while his imagination took flight. His young wife, whom he had once thought insignificant enough to desert, had the ear and the gratitude of Stephen himself. 'I have heard a rumour that Stephen will soon be exchanged for Robert of Gloucester, he said.

'Then his men will be freed too? She looked at him eagerly.

'That will depend on who holds their ransoms, but I should think so. He rubbed his palm across his upper lip.

'I don't even know if Oliver's alive. She gave a sniff and wiped her sleeve across her face. 'That's what I was coming to find out… and then this happened. She looked at him, searching his face. 'What am I going to do?

Louis considered her. He knew that he had to play this very carefully now; hold the balance, manipulate it in his favour. 'He is alive, you need not fear on that score, he said. 'I saw him and spoke to him earlier this morning.

Several emotions flashed across her face. Relief and joy, swiftly followed by the bitten lip and tear-filled eyes of guilt and grief. 'He is well?

'Chafing at the confinement, but otherwise whole. I was one of the party who captured him and the Earl of Gloucester on the Winchester road, and part of my duty has been to guard them. I am promised a portion of the ransom price but, in the light of what he is to you, I dare say I could be generous enough to waive it.

'You dare say? Catrin looked at him through swollen, narrowed eyes. 'You could be generous? She flung the words and then, with a rapid fumbling at her waist, she hurled a leather pouch in his face, making him duck. 'Take it, she spat. 'Take it all. Go and count it in a corner and rub your hands!

He looked down at the pouch where it had fallen into his lap. Silver coins spilled from its open throat. He scooped them back, laced the drawstring and placed it gently at her side. It was not as generous a gesture as it appeared. By the laws of matrimony, whatever was Catrin's was his. He would have the silver from her at a time of his own choosing.

'I confess that I am jealous, he said, with the travesty of a smile. 'I would like to run him through with my sword, but how can I when, to all intents and purposes, you were a widow and, as far as both of you were aware, the road was clear? I am sorry if I cannot be as gracious about it as you wish, or as I indeed would wish it myself. He paused and shrugged. 'But then, I realise that I have you and he has nothing. I will free him this very day.

She made a choking sound and, turning to one side, retched up the wine she had drunk. He watched her and said nothing, his eyes brightly observing her response as he had observed it in the act of love. He was surprised to find that he really did feel jealous — although he had no intention of running Pascal through on his sword. There were other, subtler means of torture.

'Is that a condition of his release, you having me? she demanded as she sat up. Her voice hovered on the verge of loathing.

Louis kept his own voice level, a little apologetic. 'I suppose you could take it that way, Catty my love, but I was hoping that you would cleave to me without such threats. You cannot marry him while I still live. You cannot give him legitimate heirs of his body or stand in church with him. Taking her hands in his, he leaned towards her. 'I promise on my honour to be a better husband than I was before. I still love you and desire you. I always have.

'But you don't love me enough to set me free, she said flatly.

'Is that what you want?

She jutted her jaw at him, and the old, stubborn look was back on her face. The one presented to him when he strolled home from the alehouse three hours later than promised with blond hairs on his tunic. 'I want to see Oliver.

Louis eyed her thoughtfully, considering his options. He could run the risk of 'setting her free' and hope that she chose him, or he could hold her to ransom with Oliver's release as the price. The first was the more dangerous but ultimately the more satisfying if things went his way. The second would ensure him her body, her obedience and access to King Stephen, but not the devotion he craved from her.

He inclined his head. 'If that is your desire. There was a doubtful note in his voice. 'But I am not sure it is for the best.

'I want to see him, she repeated, her voice trembling.

Rising, Louis beat crumbs of soil and bark from his elegant tunic. Then he helped her to her feet, his expression one of tender anxiety. 'It is your decision. He brushed gently at the creases and rumples in her gown.

'I know. Trembling, she stiffened her spine.

Louis cupped her face with his palm and brushed away her tears with a gentle thumb. 'Then, Holy Christ, I pray you make the right one, he said softly, and anticipation quivered through him at the size of the gamble he had just taken.