My Lord Raven (Knights of the Royal Household)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Catrin paused at the foot of the solar steps. A dull ache lodged beneath her breastbone. If only Bran were here. She needed the support of his arms, not to mention his vast diplomatic experience. In a strange way, she longed to tell him the truth. Yet she knew, full well, fear of his rejection would always keep her lips tightly sealed.

Sighing faintly, Catrin stepped into the normal turmoil that was the great hall at mealtime. The tables were erected and places set. She nodded her head to the steward, who called everyone to dinner. Isadora and her female companion stood near the fire with their heads together as if gossiping. Her stomach in knots, Catrin approached the two of them.

“Welcome, my ladies,” she said. “I bring you greetings from my husband Lord Northbridge, who is away at the moment. Welcome to our home.”

Isadora turned, her eyes slowly widening in surprise. This was the woman who had made Catrin’s childhood miserable. She felt justified in harboring hatred and suspicion for Isadora had oft played high-and-mighty, never giving due respect to those she considered beneath her.

“Thank you, Lady Northbridge.” Isadora tipped her head in polite greeting. “You may remember Lady Chase, my mother’s cousin and my companion?”

“Aye, indeed,” Catrin nodded, acknowledging the second guest.

“We had word of your recent accident,” Isadora continued. “All court has been concerned for your welfare.”

Catrin met Isadora’s knowing look full on. Her breath caught. That her stepmother knew the truth, she was certain.

“My husband tended me well.” Catrin maintained the friendliness of the charade. “As you can see, I’m completely mended.”

“Aye, I can see many things.” Isadora’s lips twisted into a sly smile. “I have been concerned for my son and his welfare here at Northbridge. Now I see that I have many reasons for my anxiety.”

Richard intervened at that moment in his role of page, ushering the guests to their places at the head table. Catrin began to breathe normally again and followed them. The lad pulled out the chair for his mother, seating her and then her traveling companion. Next he attended Catrin, who took Bran’s place in the lord’s seat.

The noonday meal was interminable, as was the incessant chatter of Isadora’s cousin. Waryn de Grey’s mother despaired of finding a wife for her fussy son. A child in Shrewsbury had survived a light case of the pox. Lady Chase had purchased fine silk and baldekin from a merchant lately come from the Holy Lands.

Would the woman’s chitchat ever stop ?

Catrin picked at her food, remembering how Bran oft prompted her to eat by feeding her tasty tidbits. She remembered much more. The feel of his hands upon her breasts, the way he shouted out his love. Her face warmed when she thought about last night and how she’d come away fully satisfied and wanting more.

“You do not eat, my lady.” Isadora pointed toward Catrin’s full trencher. The golden Rothmore ring gleamed in the torchlight.

Catrin slanted her stepmother a quick look. “I’m not hungry.”

“In the family way, perchance?”

Why did Isadora’s every word, every spiteful nuance, make her so angry? “I doubt it,” she replied, her nose in the air.

“Or could it be that my arrival has ruined your appetite?”

Catrin hid her hands beneath the table and squeezed her fingers into hard fists. “That and the news you wish to defy the king’s command and remove your son from my husband’s safekeeping.”

Isadora’s eyes sharpened, and she leaned nearer. “And what, my lady, do you know of ignoring the king’s command?” Her words hissed like that of a snake.

“I know more than you might think, my lady .” Catrin’s mouth ran dry. She placed her palms flat on the table. “And much of murder and foul play.”

“Then we both have need for private conversation.” Isadora squared her shoulders and sat back, her gaze challenging.

“That talk, I welcome, and soon.” Catrin’s eyebrows knitted together. “For I fear I cannot allow you to remove Richard from this household. ”

“That remains to be seen, does it not?” Isadora turned away and dipped her spoon into a dish of blancmange.

Truly, Isadora was insufferable. With cold fingers, Catrin gripped her goblet of wine, bringing it to her lips for a sip. The liquid seemed strangely bitter on this morn. She choked as it went down and turned her head away, coughing.

Much later, amidst the turmoil of after-dinner clean up, Catrin faced Isadora near the relative privacy of the great stone hearth. Richard, pallid and drawn, stood a short distance away with his back toward them to chase away anyone who approached.

“You can stop the pretense and tell me why you claim to be Olwen de Belleme,” snapped Isadora. “I know you are Catrin Fitzalan. Yet I know not why you have played me false and let those at court believe you to be dead. Have you and the King’s Raven killed your cousin?”

Catrin was no longer the resentful child who had confronted Isadora in the Rothmore tent at the time of Gilbert’s death. She was a woman, fully bedded, and she had righteousness on her side. She need not take censure from her stepmother.

She straightened her spine. “Olwen is safe in a nunnery, as she wished.”

Isadora’s intense gaze seemed to see into Catrin’s soul. “That doesn’t explain your presence here in the guise of your cousin. That doesn’t explain why you claim to be married to Bran ap Madog.”

“When I escaped from those who would murder me and did murder my maid, just as they also killed my father and brother, I came to Northbridge and Olwen.” Swallowing hard, Catrin continued, “I learned of Olwen’s upcoming marriage and her desire to take holy vows. Switching places with her seemed to be a way of insuring her safety and a way for me to discover the truth about Bran ap Madog.”

Isadora cocked her head, her eyes brimming with speculation. “And what did you learn?”

“I learned he could not have murdered Father and Gilbert.” Catrin felt the assurance of her conviction.

“Your evidence?”

What was her evidence? The kind and just way he treated the castle folk? The way he instructed Richard. His deep concern when he cared for her during her illness? The way he cried out his love? Catrin couldn’t say these things to Isadora. She would give too much of herself away. These reasons were only reasons of the heart, nothing more. She had no true proof. For once, her confidence lagged.

“I just know,” she said stubbornly.

“And what does your husband know?”

“He doesn’t know the truth about me.” Catrin paused, once more the weight of the priest’s misgivings ringing like warning bells in her ears. “He thinks me Olwen.”

Sudden triumph lit Isadora’s eyes. “Then you’re not truly married. You have committed unholy sacrilege, making your marriage a sham. Bran ap Madog is not wed to the de Belleme heir. Therefore, he is not lord of Northbridge.”

“’Tis not the way you make it sound!” Catrin raised her hands, palms facing out as if she could ward off Isadora’s blow of words.

“Oh? Then how is it? You are not Olwen de Belleme, you admit. In that case, Sir Bran has no rights to this castle, its land, or my son.”

Catrin hated the sound of Isadora’s infuriating voice. She hated her own folly. Still, she had to salvage something of this meeting—for Bran’s sake, if nothing else .

She lowered her hands to her sides. “King Edward gave Richard, Earl Rothmore, into Sir Bran’s safekeeping because of his faithful service to the crown. The king trusts Bran and knows that he will do his best for Richard.”

“Trusts him?” Isadora laughed. “When all of court is a-buzz with rumors about his role in the deaths of the Fitzalans?”

“Those rumors are false! I am not dead. Another villain threatens our family.”

“You might say,” Isadora reasoned, her eyes narrowing, “that Sir Bran murdered John and Gilbert and tried to murder you so he could gain control of Rothmore and all its lands and people.”

“That is disgusting.” Catrin’s nose flared, anger tightened her chest. “How can he gain control of Rothmore with Richard as heir?”

“Olwen has claim to Rothmore through her mother. That he married you instead, after thinking you dead, is amusing.” Isadora smiled again, sweetly and triumphantly.

Catrin fisted her hand and fought the urge to strike her stepmother in the face. Isadora, ever a reader of her adversary’s emotion, pressed her point. “The king unwittingly placed my son in the hands of the enemy of our family. That is why I have come for Richard. We’ll go to court and plead our case. I’ll not leave my son in the clutches of a wicked murderer and a woman who clearly has been deceived by a man’s prowess in bed.”

“You know not what has moved me,” Catrin retorted. “Besides, how do I know you’re innocent in all that has occurred? Through your son, you serve to gain by the deaths of my father and all his heirs!”

“My motives are simple,” Isadora said with obvious disdain. “I protect my son no matter what. You have no more evidence for your threats than you have proof of the innocence of your so-called husband. I always thought you contentious, Catrin. Now I consider you merely na?ve.”

The words stung as Isadora had meant them too. “What about the motives of your lover de Hastings?” Catrin posed, any pretense of civility now gone.

“Lord Leighton is not under suspicion here.” Isadora waved her hand to dismiss Catrin’s question. “’Tis your behavior and that of Bran ap Madog that the king will find damning. I now have proof the King’s Raven is no fit guardian for my son. You’ll live to regret this day.”

With that parting threat, Isadora made an elaborate curtsy and swept away, calling for her lady companion and her armed escort. They would ride hard, she told them all, hoping to make Shrewsbury before nightfall and then set forth on the morrow to Rhuddlan Castle and the king’s court.

Richard protested, but to no avail. His mother, who only spared him a tearful glance back at Catrin, pulled him out of the hall.

Catrin stood by the hearth, her knees week and her mind blank. What would she do now? How could she explain this to Bran? When he knew the truth, he would hate her.

Folding her arms across her breast, she turned from the fire and climbed the gray stone steps. Somehow she had to make all of this come out for the better. Her purpose had been honorable. Surely, God would not rebuke her for simply loving her family and trying to protect them.

As she reached the darkened solar, Catrin’s mind blazoned bright with a white light of awareness. God had already punished her for her folly .

Falling in love with Bran was a curse she would carry with her forever.

Bran rode hard from the Dee Valley, reaching Northbridge Castle long after the gates had closed for the night. He awoke the guards and gave his lathered horse to a sleepy Will. Delight at being home churned through him, causing his pace to quicken as he mounted the steps to the solar.

He had missed Olwen sorely. All the time he was doing his duty for his friend and companion, Bran longed to be with his wife. No matter what happened when they went to the king, he would still have the comfort of his marriage to Olwen. No king could shake holy vows.

Armed with this assurance, he was eager to speak to Edward. They had a grudging respect between them. His liege would not believe false rumors once he could defend himself in person.

The solar was dark and chilly. Bran shut the heavy door and turned to face the marriage bed, illuminated only by a faint glow from the sputtering fire. Olwen was there, under the fur coverlet, sleeping soundly. Tenderness overcame him. Quickly he stripped off his clothing, and naked, crawled under the covers.

Bran eased himself into the center of the bed, drawing Olwen into his gentle embrace. She sighed in her sleep, snuggling closer, her sweet breath soft upon his face. Content, he relaxed, and as he drifted off to sleep, he realized the only thing important to him was his wife.

If he could hold onto this woman forever, he would gladly become a poor knight again.