She pressed cool hands upon her burning cheeks, willing her hands not to shake. God, but she hated him! He had humiliated her, shamed and degraded her. She would never forget the ruthless skill with which he had touched her—the blatant intimacy of his tongue in her mouth, the shocking feel of his hand plundering her breast. She drew a deep shuddering breath. Even now, she could still feel the ridged hardness of battle-toughened thighs forged against hers.
And it was all for naught.. . all for naught.
With a little cry she flung herself upon the bed. If the earl had his way, he would send her from here. She would never see Elizabeth again. Never see Ashbury again.
Ashbury was lost to her. She knew it as surely as night followed day.
Bitterness choked her. Her heart was empty and cold and hollow. She would never learn, it seemed. She must ever bow to a will greater than her own, for this was the chessboard of England.
And as always, as always, she was naught but a pawn.
Chapter 4
Kathryn woke slowly the next morning, feeling peculiarly lethargic. Curled on her side beneath her furs, she closed her eyes, oddly content to keep the fringes of her tardy mind from struggling to awareness, sensing that to wake fully was to remember something awful, something she would rather forget.
It was early. Through the wooden shutters, the first faint fingers of dawn began to creep into the room. Belowstairs, the household was rumbling to life. She heard the faint sounds as if from a great distance away.
Down the hall came was a scream so shrill it could wake the dead.
Kathryn bolted upright. Mother of God! What on earth? The piercing scream came again, just as she pushed her legs from beneath the furs. Her heart pounding, she threw on her clothes and thrust her feet into her slippers.
She raced down the passage, her heart pounding apace with her feet. The door to her uncle's room had been thrown open. She started to rush inside, only to stop short with a gasp.
Helga sat in the corner, openly weeping. Richard's bed was surrounded by a crush of men, among them Sir Hugh. Kathryn jumped when someone brushed her elbow.
It was Elizabeth. Her skin was ashen, her eyes huge in her pale face. "What is it?" she cried. "What is happening?"
Just then one of the men stepped aside. Kathryn had an unobstructed view of her uncle's bed. His body lay open to her gaze; a sticky pool of crimson flowed across his pillow.
His throat had been slit.
An icy jolt of shock ripped through her; her head swam giddily. For an instant Kathryn feared she would be sick.
"My God," she said faintly. "He's been murdered... Uncle's been murdered!"
Kathryn saw nothing of the earl that morning. She was informed by one of the servants that he'd left the keep shortly after dawn.
Pray God that he never returned.
But alas, he did, just after the noonday meal. She saw him with Sir Hugh in the bailey, deep in conversation. Kathryn stood in the window of her chamber and watched them. She saw Sir Hugh spread his hands wide and shake his head; no doubt they were discussing Richard's murder. But Kathryn was under no illusions. No doubt the earl knew all there was to know about that foul deed.
Richard was buried that afternoon. The day was a fitting one for a funeral. Storm clouds hung perilously low and ominous. Though the hour was still early, a misty fog had begun to roll in from the sea. Father Bernard from the village church presided over the gravesite. Richard had refused to have a priest in residence at the keep. Beside her,
softhearted Elizabeth dabbed at an occasional tear, while Kathryn stood still as stone. It was odd, she thought vaguely. She felt nothing, not relief that Richard was dead and could no longer interfere in their lives, nor even hate that he once had.
It was a solemn procession that wound its way back inside the walls of the keep.
Inside the bower, Kathryn tore off her cloak and dropped it on a stool. Elizabeth stood in the center of the room, hugging herself as if for warmth.
" 'Tis hard to believe that Uncle is dead." She shivered. "Who do you think killed him, Kathryn?"
Kathryn's mind sped straight to one man. The earl had come to Ashbury to seek revenge for his wife's death. He had come to kill Richard—
And he had.
Her laugh was without mirth. "Who do you think? The earl came here for one purpose only. And today he has seen the deed done!"
Elizabeth said nothing, merely hugged herself more tightly.
Kathryn would have said more but some slight sound behind her alerted her. She whirled around.
The earl stood there. Tall. Dark. His presence as commanding as ever.
His gaze flickered to Elizabeth. "Lady Elizabeth—" His voice was pleasant. "—would you mind leaving us alone for a moment?"
Elizabeth bobbed a curtsy and fled.
Kathryn stood her ground boldly. When they were alone, those devilishly slanted brows rose slightly. "Mayhap," he murmured with a strange half-smile, "you'd like to accuse me to my face of murdering your uncle."
"You think I will not?" Kathryn drew herself up proudly. Her tone was as fierce as the blaze in her eyes. "You swore by all that is holy that there would be no murder done at Ashbury. But you lied, O mighty lord. You murdered Richard and for that you will rot in hell."
His smile vanished. In its stead was a cold, merciless mask. It was with a great deal of restraint that Guy held fast to his temper. There were few who would have dared to call him a liar without fear of grievous punishment indeed. He would allow Kathryn this transgression.
But this one time only.
He rubbed his chin, the gesture curiously offhand considering the pulsating tension in the room. Those strange silver eyes fixed upon her. "Why," he queried softly, "are you so incensed? I would have thought that you, of all people, would be happy that Richard is gone."
Kathryn inhaled sharply. "I hated him, yes," she said evenly. "But you, milord, you are the one who is glad he is dead!"
She never dreamed that he would turn her words around on her. He merely raised his brows once more and inquired mildly, "And you, dear Kathryn? Can you not say the same?"
Kathryn said nothing. She had oft wished that Richard was gone from their lives—that he had never been born! But she had never wished him dead. And yet, may God take her soul, she could not feel true remorse that Richard was gone.
The earl's laughter grated. "You see? I am right. Furthermore, I do believe I underestimated you, Kathryn. When you told me last eve that you would do anything to be rid of your uncle, I never dreamed you'd be so quick about it. And he was killed with a knife... could it be you were frustrated at being foiled by me and decided your uncle should be the one to taste your handiwork instead?"
Kathryn was at first puzzled; then a flare of white-hot rage spiraled within her. Did the man think she was daft? Oh, she knew his ploy. He sought to transfer the blame from himself to her. And this was what men called honor?
It appeared she was the one who had underestimated him. Sir Hugh had said his lord was fair and just, but the earl was conniving and deceitful, like all men.
"You bastard," she said feelingly. "By God, I'll not listen to this." She spun around and stalked toward the door, determined that he would bait her no more.
But Guy was right behind her. She hadn't gone more than two steps before he grabbed her and pinned her shoulders to the wall.
"Let me pass," she cried bitterly. "I had naught to gain from murdering my uncle."
"Naught but revenge."
'The same could be said of you! All I wanted was my home back—but now Ashbury is yours!"
"And will remain mine." His smile was frigid.
She hated him for reminding her. "How can you be so cold?" she cried in despair. "Have you no shame? No heart? You're no better than Uncle," she accused. "A man who kills but for the sake of killing. Nay, I've no doubt you killed him. You had every reason to want him dead!"