Gerda's huge brown eyes were fixed on her face. "If it is your wish," she said slowly, "then I will tell you." Her bad leg lay twisted at an odd angle away from her body. She adjusted her skirt over her knees before she began to speak.
"Lady Elaine was very small and fragile. The first time I saw her, I thought she was a glorious angel sent from the heavens." She smiled slightly. "Her hair was like nothing I'd ever seen before, not like the gold of the wheat fields—but pale and flaxen, like—like moonbeams flowing down from the sky." As she spoke, Kathryn's hand slipped unknowingly to the shining sleekness of her own dark locks.
"I'd never known a lady as good and kind and sweet as the Lady Elaine. She took me from my father and brought me into the castle so that he could no longer beat me." She touched her misshapen leg lightly. "I loved her dearly, as everyone who knew her loved her."
"Including the earl?" Kathryn bit her lip. Where the question came from, she didn't know. But it had slipped out before she could stop it.
"Especially the earl," Gerda said softly.
"Their marriage—it was arranged?"
"From the cradle. But it didn't matter, for it was well known that the earl fairly worshiped Lady Elaine."
Kathryn gazed out where the water rippled over the rocky creek bed, aware of an odd tightness in the pit of her stomach... Distress? Surely not! It mattered little to her that the earl had been enamored— enamored?—of his wife. If Gerda was right, he'd been madly in love with her!
"He must have taken her death very hard," she murmured.
Gerda said nothing, but Kathryn could feel her staring at her and began to flush. Thankfully she was saved from further embarrassment, for Peter ran up then, his boots and tunic wet from splashing in the creek. Kathryn stood. "We'd better get back and get him out of these wet things."
Not long after they had set off toward Sedgewick, Peter pleaded tiredness and begged to be carried. Gerda swung him up onto her hip but it wasn't long before she began to lag behind. Kathryn turned, and it was then she noted a spasm of discomfort cross Gerda's rosy face. A pang of guilt shot through her, for until that instant she hadn't given a second thought to the difficulty the trek might pose for Gerda.
She extended her hands toward Peter. "Here, Peter. Let me carry you." The boy came willingly into her arms.
Gerda blinked. "Milady. . .?"
Kathryn arched her brows. "Your leg is paining you, is it not?"
It was Gerda's turn to flush. "Aye, milady, but you need not take the lad—"
"Oh, yes, but I do."
Gerda's jaw dropped. "But Lady Kathryn, why would you do such a thing? You are a lady and... and 'tis my duty to—"
"Gerda, I see no reason why you should suffer when I'm perfectly capable of carrying him instead." She tickled Peter under the chin. "Right, my little lord?" With that, she was off again.
Gerda stared after her, both troubled and bewildered. When Richard of Ashbury had slain the Lady Elaine, he had become the earl's enemy... and hers as well. She had thought to hate and despise any kin of Richard's, certain his family must be as evil, treacherous, and odious as Richard himself. But she had put aside her anger and resentment and served Lady Kathryn solely because of her loyalty to the earl.
But Lady Kathryn seemed neither evil nor treacherous nor odious...
And it was getting harder and harder to think of her as an enemy.
They had nearly reached the outer palisade when a strange feeling crawled up Kathryn's spine. She looked over her shoulder just in time to see a horseman not twenty paces behind them. He must have seen her turn her head for he quickly swerved behind a copse of trees. But Kathryn had already recognized him. It was Sir Michael, a handsome young knight who had been with Guy at Ashbury.
Every nerve in her body suddenly quivered with rage. The earl had had them followed!
Peter's body lay limply against her, his chubby cheek pressed against her shoulder. He had fallen asleep. She delivered him to his chamber, eased him onto his bed, and dropped a kiss on his forehead.
In the great hall, she stopped one of the maids and asked if she knew the whereabouts of the earl. The girl shrugged. "Try the counting room."
Guy was busy tallying rents from one of his manors—forty ambers of ale, ten vats of honey, ten withers . .. The door burst open. A small figure stormed inside and planted herself squarely before him.
"Is it necessary to post a guard to watch my every move?" she demanded.
Guy leaned back in his chair. She was in a temper, by the look of her. Two spots of color stood out on her cheekbones; her eyes were the deep green of a stormy sea. Well, that was fine with him. If nothing else, their altercations were never boring.
He dropped his quill, his smile tight. "Perhaps it is for your own protection."
Her mouth thinned with ill-concealed annoyance. She spoke but one word. "Bah!"
"If I say it is necessary, then it is." His voice carried as much warmth as a winter wind blowing from a mountaintop.
In her anger she jammed her hands flat on the planked tabletop. "Gerda was with me today. Was that not enough?"
His eyes were the color of stone—and just as unyielding. "But you wield a dagger so well, Kathryn. I fear the damage you might do to a poor girl like Gerda."
The glitter in his eyes caused a shiver of reaction in her. With an effort, Kathryn willed the tremor from her voice. "I would know my status here, milord. Am I your prisoner? Or am I a guest here?" Even as she spoke, her heart cried out in angry despair. Did it really matter? Either way, she couldn't leave.
His expression was cool and remote. She could read nothing of his thoughts. "Your actions will dictate the answer, Kathryn."
Kathryn wanted to scream in outrage, but inside her heart was breaking. He gave no quarter... and she would ask none of him. She snatched her hands away and whirled to leave. The sound of his voice stopped her. When she spun about, she saw that he had placed his elbows on the trestled tabletop so that his fingers rested tip to tip. He tapped them together lightly.
"It occurs to me, Kathryn, that there is a way to get what you want."
He had risen to his feet and was coming toward her. Kathryn eyed him, wary of the gleam in his eyes. "How?" she asked, uncaring that he heard the suspicion in her tone.
He stood before her, blocking her path to the door. Despite the tension—or perhaps because of it—she was suddenly overwhelmingly aware of the power of his presence.
'Tell me," he said abruptly, "do you still pine for your Roderick? Do you love him still?"
She couldn't tear her eyes from the tanned hollow of his throat, where a wild tangle of curly dark hairs spilled over the neckline of his tunic. All at once she found it difficult to swallow. "I love no man," she stated unevenly.
A dark eyebrow arched high in amusement. So she scorned love, did she? Somehow Guy was not so inclined to believe it.
"Aha," he murmured. "So you love no man. . . or mayhap you love all men."
That drew her gaze up in a flash. She bristled when she discovered his mouth curled in a mocking smile.
He laughed softly. "In either case, a trifling kiss should be no hardship at all."
It was her turn to curl her lips. "A kiss, milord? Surely you jest."
"Nay, Kathryn. A kiss—and mayhap you'll gain what you wish. That's the way of it, I'm afraid."
God, how she hated his self-satisfied smirk. She wanted to scream that she'd sooner kiss a toad, a snake, the most wretched creature unimagined! Yet when at last she spoke, neither words nor action were what she intended.
She averted her face, her voice very low. "Why do you torment me so?"
Guy's mouth twisted. Perhaps a better question was why he tormented himself so. He hadn't wanted to examine his reasons for insisting she accompany him to Sedgewick. Yet for the first time Guy wondered if he hadn't made a grave mistake. So close at hand, he couldn't forget her. Pregnant or no, enemy or no, she provided a temptation that threatened his good judgment. If he were wise, he'd send her back to Ashbury and forget he'd ever laid eyes on this deceitful little wench.