My Lord Raven (Knights of the Royal Household)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Sated and relaxed, Catrin sprawled across Bran’s warrior body. Her face nestled close to his ear within the tangled mass of his black hair that spread like a blanket over the sheets. Smiling to herself, she inhaled the scent of sex and felt the warmth of his body beneath hers.

She closed her eyes and rode gently upon the rise and fall of his chest. He remained hard within her. Wiggling, she savored his fullness and the groan he uttered as if pleasured by her movement. What had made the difference this time? Why now had their coupling so fulfilled and completed her?

In his passion, Bran had cried out his love. “ Cariad, I love you !” Then he came, and she had burst forth soon after, trembling with the joy of her release.

Did he truly love her? Or were these simply words of a man in the throes of passion? She had no experience other than with Bran, so she didn’t know how men behaved. Surely, they didn’t declare their love so readily. Bran had not. Not at first. Not until that moment when he cried out the words she ne’er expected to hear .

That her sworn enemy had said the words was indeed a cruel complication.

Bran’s fingertips lightly brushed a strand of her damp hair away from her face. He stoked her cheek. Was he watching her? Catrin was afraid to sneak a look for fear of what she would find in his eyes.

If Bran ap Madog, the lord of Northbridge Castle, was in love with her, ’twas because he thought her his wife Olwen. No matter, he did not love Catrin Fitzalan. Now more than ever, the warning of Father Ellis haunted her.

“I must leave you tomorrow, cariad ,” he whispered against her cheek.

Catrin squeezed her eyes even more tightly shut. “Why?”

“I must take Rhys home to the Dee River Valley, home to Llangollen.”

She clutched a strand of his black hair as if that would keep him with her. “I do not want you to leave.”

“I must. I promised him years ago to see him buried in the valley.” He kissed her cheek. “When I return, we will go to court. Together. I’ll not leave you again.”

A sweet promise, like the one he made to Rhys. But Catrin knew Bran could not keep it. Someday, he would leave her, especially if he found out the truth. Then he would hate her too. She deserved her fate, and she whimpered aloud.

“Do not cry,” he said, touching her lashes with his lips.

She didn’t realize there were tears at the corners of her eyes. A wave of emotion engulfed her. She loved this man, who thought her another woman. She couldn’t tell him the truth for fear of losing him. In all fairness, she couldn’t even proclaim her love. Yet she could show him how she felt.

In a quick move, she opened her eyes and pushed upright, balancing with her hands on each side of his head. Looking down at his battle-scared face, she smiled a teasing smile. And then she began to ride him again. Slowly, up and down, griping him with her thighs. His shaft, that had begun to soften inside her, sprang forth to full attention.

“Ah, Olwen,” he muttered. “You will send me away tired but happy.”

“I do not send you away, my lord,” she replied, drawing in a deep breath and throwing back her head to concentrate on the fire beneath her, “but I do plan to make you happy.”

’Twas very strange with Bran gone. She moped about the solar and poked around the mews, feeding the frightful raven and speaking to the stable boy Will. Her concentration was gone, and she delegated her chores, putting Meg in charge as if her servant was the true mistress of Northbridge. The castle folk did not think it odd for the real Lady Olwen oft drew apart from them, tending her herb garden or reading alone in the solar. No, their mistress’ behavior didn’t bother them. She was newly married and her husband gone. Rumors ran rampant about the lord carrying his wife up the solar steps. Perchance an heir soon would be born, they whispered.

Only Catrin and her two accomplices knew the truth. Meg accepted her situation at face value, doing as she was bid and busying herself with her duties. Not so Father Ellis. He also moped around the castle, muttering under his breath and drinking too much. That he spent as much time with his wine cup as he did in his prayers set tongues in the castle wagging .

The twelve-day celebration for Christmas had been over for two days when chaos erupted in the bailey. From inside her sanctuary in the mews, Catrin gathered from the sudden noise that a party of travelers had arrived. The day was sunny, but chill. She drew her hood over her head and clutched her fur-lined mantle closely. Her curiosity aroused, she peered outside.

The bailey was filled with yeomen, squires, a page, and one knight escorting two cloaked ladies upon stout palfreys. Northbridge grooms hurried hither and yon, catching hold of bridles and attending the winded horses.

Catrin’s chest grew tight. She recognized the coat of arms blazoned upon the surcoats of the men-at-arms. Gules, a lion rampant or . The same symbol she and Olwen had embroidered on Gilbert’s tourney scarf.

Isadora had come to the keep of Northbridge.

Panic struck Catrin. She lifted her fingertips to her lips and stepped back a pace from the door into the gloomy shadows. What did Isadora want? Would she recognize her? Of course, she would. Catrin had grown up under the watchful eyes of her stepmother. There was no way to escape detection.

Yet, she might be able to avoid her stepmother. Without any more thought, Catrin lifted the hem of her skirt and scurried from the mews, blending into the hustle and bustle. At one point, she was near Isadora’s horse when her stepmother dismounted, but she quickly turned her back and fled up the castle steps.

In the hall she spoke to Meg. “My stepmother has come,” she whispered. “Stall her. Tell her Olwen is ill and cannot receive her.”

She reached the first turn of the spiral steps when she heard the familiar high-pitched voice echoing through the hall calling for her son. Painful memories flooded her. Clutching her skirt even more tightly, Catrin took the stairs two at a time, much as she had as a child when escaping from Isadora.

Reaching the solar, she shut and bolted the door. She retreated to the window seat, sitting down to catch her breath, pulling her legs up under her, and hugging her knees with her arms.

Why did she behave like a child? Granted, there was more at stake now than just her hatred of Isadora. Olwen’s safety, for one. Richard’s welfare. And Bran. How could she forget the man she had married falsely? How could she forget the man who fulfilled her and cried out his love?

When she began this scheme, Catrin was impetuous, not giving serious thought further than the moment. She hadn’t thought to see Isadora again. She hadn’t thought to fall in love. Waves of nausea swept her. Clutching her knees, Catrin swayed back and forth and stared blankly at the empty bed that filled the room so silently.

Once more she lacked control over her life. Her destiny. Trading places with Olwen had been a risky attempt to gain some power. Instead, she had failed to win any control as surely as she had failed in her quest to find Gilbert’s murderer.

For a moment, she wallowed in a spate of regret, feeling sorry for herself and wishing things were different.

But they couldn’t be, she knew. She had started this chain of events, and she’d see them through.

Sucking in a cleansing breath, Catrin uncurled her legs and stood. Perchance with Isadora so near, she could test her theory that her stepmother and the feckless Guy were in league together.

To do this, she must arm herself as any woman might. Stripping off her old clothing, she redressed herself in Olwen’s wedding finery—the blue gown made of silk and the surcoat fashioned in a deeper shade of blue, decorated by images of golden hounds and harts embroidered into the fabric.

Wearing the fine wedding dress might help her play the part of the mistress of Northbridge with convincing authority. Perchance, her cap and barbette would hide her identity enough to trick Isadora. The headdress had fooled Bran into believing she was another woman.

Why delude herself? ’Twould not work. Still, doing something gave her a measure of control, and because of that, she was glad.

For the final touch, Catrin attached the silver-encrusted pin made from red jasper at the neck of her surcoat. The stone symbolized Bran’s love. No matter what happened, she would keep the jewel as her talisman and cherish his recent words of devotion in her heart.

Catrin stood before the fire in the solar, warming her chilled hands. Her stomach growled with hunger. The midday meal was near. Now dressed in the wedding garb, she lacked the courage to go downstairs, avoiding the inevitable confrontation.

“Catrin!” Richard called.

Her brother’s frightened voice and the sharp rap on the door drew her up smartly. She crossed the floor, her breathing hard, and placed her hand on the latch, pausing a moment to collect herself.

“Catrin, I need to talk to you! I am alone.”

“Come in.” She swung open the door, and the boy hurried through. Shutting the door, Catrin turned to face him.

They gazed at each other in silence. Richard’s face was pale, and she suddenly feared for his health. Yet, what could she expect? His mother had arrived.

“My mother has come.” His words were barely audible.

She glanced at him. “Aye, I know,” she said, feigning a calm she did not feel.

“I have news, Catrin.” Richard lifted his chin as if to bolster his courage. “Bad news.”

“What else could it be with your mother surprising us?” She moved away from him, giving him space, and returned to the fire. As if she had no care in the world, she extended her hands to the heat once more. Her knuckles were red from the cold.

Richard followed and plopped down on the stool, now behaving like a young lad, not the proper page and rightful earl of Rothmore. “She will know you, Catrin,” he gave sharp voice to his fears.

Catrin glanced down, longing to smooth his tousled hair and remove the worry from his eyes. “Aye.” She nodded. “I expect she will not think me Olwen.”

“I want to ask you what you will do, but first I must tell you her plans.”

Catrin found a second stool and sat across from him. “You have already spoken to her?”

“As soon as she found me, she drew me aside and gave me her news. ”

“Where is she now?” Catrin tried to put off hearing Richard’s report.

“I let her use my solar room so she can clean up before the noon meal. She says she wants to be away soon after, and she will thank you for a fresh change of horses.”

’Twas common courtesy, surely. Catrin shrugged, thereby giving her consent. By chance, her luck might hold. If Isadora left quickly, Catrin could avoid going below. Avoid giving herself away.

The boy squirmed nervously. “Catrin, she means to take me with her!”

“What?”

“She says Lord Northbridge is under suspicion at court. She doesn’t trust him.”

Shaking her head, Catrin frowned. “This makes little sense. She cannot simply remove you from Northbridge Castle. You are the lord’s ward.”

Richard leaned toward her. “It makes no difference to her, she says. She is going to marry Guy de Hastings, Lord Leighton, and she says King Edward will then give the wardship to him!”

Disbelief rushed through her. Isadora possessed a brazen courage. Reckless even. “But those rumors about Bran aren’t true,” Catrin said, her voice uneven.

“I know that. I tried to tell her,” he insisted. “She wouldn’t listen. She never listens.”

Catrin folded her hands. “I know. Isadora pursues her own wishes, oft to the detriment of others.”

“I don’t want to go, Catrin. I like it here.” His eyes clouded. “I forget I’m sick here, and Bran is teaching me what I need to know when I grow up.”

Breathing fast, Catrin shut her eyes and lifted her fingertips to her temples, massaging them slowly. If Isadora removed Richard, and if, as was said, Bran’s reputation had been sullied, then Edward might take away the wardship. The blow to Bran’s esteem would be immense, not to mention the impact it would have on his wealth and his ability to hold Northbridge.

Her suspicions of Isadora and Lord Leighton seemed doubly founded. Isadora, through Richard, stood to gain much with the death of her father and brother. She had never trusted Guy de Hastings. For one, no one confirmed his account of her father’s death. Now with marriage to Isadora, he could control her wealth, her dower lands, and the Lord of Rothmore himself.

Anxiety overwhelmed her, and she opened her eyes to gaze at the youthful face of her half-brother. Was his life at stake now? As long as his mother and Guy controlled the Fitzalan holdings through Richard, he had reason to live. After he came of age, what then?

Now more than ever she must overcome her fear and face Isadora. She must persuade her stepmother the folly of her marriage and make her understand the harm that might come to her son.

Resigned, Catrin climbed to her feet. “I must speak with Isadora.”

“Catrin, you can’t! What if she recognizes you?”

“I will take that chance, and if she does, perchance she will listen to me. More importantly, she will know Catrin Fitzalan is not dead. That Lord Northbridge didn’t harm her and that Olwen is safe at White Ladies. Perchance she will leave you here when she returns to Clun.”

“But she goes to find Edward at his court, not home to Clun Castle. ”

Catrin forced a smile and stretched out her hand to tousle Richard’s hair. “All the more reason for me to try to stop her.”

Catrin did not tell Richard there was not a chance in hell Isadora Mortimer Fitzalan would fail to recognize her. And, if as she feared, Isadora were behind the murders, then revealing herself would do more harm than good.

Nevertheless, she must try.