Catriona’s Secret Page 3

  When he was done, he slid from his seat, adjusted his tunic and bowed low, giving them the courtesy of a chivalrous knight. “I bid you ladies good day and anticipate seeing you later at the feast tonight.”

  Though he spoke to them both, it was Cat he watched with his tender brown eyes. She swallowed down her disappointment at losing him so quickly after having finally gotten him back. Doubtless, Papa would want to discuss political affairs, and matters concerning the king, with Geordie. Such things were of great import, of course.

  None of it could be helped by Geordie, and she would not make him feel guilty for doing what he should. Swallowing down her disappointment, she got to her feet and grinned at him. “I look forward to the feast, Sir Geordie.”

  An endearing flush colored his cheeks and then he was gone.

  “I know you must be elated to have Geordie home once more,” Marin said to Cat.

  “If only Papa wasn’t stealing him away so quickly.” Cat regretted the selfish words as soon as she’d said them. In the chaotic swirl of her thoughts, Geordie had seemed like a rock, the same as he’d always been when life was difficult. And now he was being pulled from her.

  “You know Father has been eager to see Geordie too.” Marin placed a length of linen over the honey pastries. After a word to Nan of their departure, she led Cat from the kitchen.

  It was true. Papa had missed Geordie as well. He’d listened to the letters Geordie sent with an expression of pride crinkling the corners of his blue eyes.

  “What did Isla say?” Cat asked.

  Marin was silent and Cat bit the inside of her cheek. Mayhap she shouldn’t have asked. She was opening her mouth to apologize when Marin finally spoke, “She said she does not feel as though I am with child currently.”

  Cat reached for her sister’s hand. “Oh, Marin—”

  Marin waved off Cat’s disappointment. “I did not expect I was. And yet…” She stopped and gently squeezed Cat’s fingers. “And yet, hearing her say those words plunged a dagger into my heart.”

  Cat stared at her eldest sister, praying to God to take the child from her womb and place it into her sister’s. Where it belonged. Where it would be welcome.

  “How will you know when you are with child when it happens?” Cat asked. Her pulse quickened. Was it too obvious a question? Would Marin wonder at her asking?

  Marin sighed, oblivious, and they continued walking. “My courses would stop, of course. There could be some sickness some time after conception, primarily in the morning, as well as tenderness to my breasts and a feeling of exhaustion. If I want confirmation, however, Isla swears by placing a needle in a cup of urine to see if it rusts. That, or…” She settled a hand to her stomach.

  Tenderness of the breasts? Cat nearly winced at the suggestion. Her nipples had been highly sensitive to the point of pain and her breasts had felt swollen of late. And the very mention of exhaustion made her want to curl up on her bed to rest, even though it was only mid-day.

  “Or?” Cat hated herself for pressing Marin, for trying to glean information to know for certain of her own predicament and using her sister’s misfortune to achieve it. And yet if she asked on her own…

  “Or I will feel it.” Marin pulled in a soft breath. “It’s called the quickening. I was told it’s like little bumps against the backside of your stomach as the babe moves.”

  Cat relaxed slightly. At least she had not felt the babe move as yet.

  “That happens much later, though.” Marin’s hand dropped away from her stomach and clenched into a fist. “Isla gave me something to help.” But Marin did not look hopeful. She gave a dramatic grimace.

  “Is it steeped in urine?” Cat asked.

  They shared a smile. The old healer tended to add urine to many of her curatives.

  “I believe it may be worse this time than even urine.” Marin pulled a small pouch from her pocket and handed it to Cat.

  Curious, Cat opened the pouch. A chalky odor escaped and stuck like dust in her nose. As she peered in, she gave a choke of displeasure and covered her nose with her hand. Several round-shaped items smaller than eggs were nestled at the bottom. “What is this?”

  “It’s…” Marin hesitated. “Pig…bollocks.”

  Cat nearly dropped the pouch. “What are you supposed to do with them?”

  “They are to be ground up and put into wine to drink.” Marin took the pouch from her, closed it and replaced it in her pocket.

  Nausea rolled over Cat at the very mention of wine. “How will you drink such an awful thing?”

  Marin shook her head. “It’s for Bran.”

  Cat wrinkled her nose. The musty smell remained in her nostrils even after the offensive “cure” had been tucked away. “Will he actually agree to drink it?”

  “If I asked him to, he would.” Marin stopped in front of Cat’s door. “But I will not subject him to such a thing. If it is God’s will that I conceive, it will be.”

  “Then I pray you get the child you so deserve.” Cat hugged Marin, regretful of her own full womb, even as Marin’s remained empty.

  “I am going to the chapel, if you would like to join me,” Marin offered.

  Cat hesitated, knowing her own transgressions had not yet been confessed to the priest, Bernard. Except she could still not bring herself to say what she’d done aloud. Not when her shame burned so deeply. And if she entered the chapel with such sin rotting inside her, it might prevent Marin’s prayers from being heard.

  Exhaustion weighed down on Cat suddenly, like a large stone coming to rest over her body.

  “I will go by later today,” Cat promised. “For now, I believe I shall rest.”

  “I hear you have been resting often.” Marin’s brow pinched with concern. “Are you still unwell?”

  Cat’s heart caught in her chest. Was Marin suspicious? Cat shrugged and gave a wide smile. “’Tis just a bit of exhaustion.”

  “Rest then, Sister.” Marin wrapped her in a tender embrace. “I will see you this evening at the feast.”

  And rest Cat did. Through the entire day. She’d been so weary that she had forgotten to place a needle in her chamber pot to see if it rusted. Not that she needed the needle to tell her what she already knew in her heart. Between her missed courses, the illness, her sore breasts and the fatigue, there was no longer a shadow of a doubt in Cat’s mind.

  She knew herself to be with child.

  A knock at the door startled Cat from her slumber. She bade the person to enter in a groggy voice and Leila entered.

  Her youngest sister had grown to be lovely, her long hair like black silk, especially when set against her creamy skin. Her eyes were what captivated one the most: a striking blue, solemn and casting a mysterious air even Cat and her sisters had never quite managed to unravel.

  She was incredibly beautiful. Not so much as Anice. No woman in all the world could compare to Anice. But of all four other sisters, she came the closest. And of all the sisters, Leila cared the least.

  “You aren’t preparing yet for the feast.” Leila closed the door gently behind her. “I came to assist you in dressing. You are coming, are you not?”

  Leila wore a lovely blue gown that made her dark hair gleam like a raven’s wing. It was a pity she refused to leave Werrick Castle. She would have captured the attention of every man at court if she had decided to pursue a husband.

  The awareness of Cat’s own predicament crushed in on her. Mayhap it was better for Leila to have refrained from going to court. But then, Leila would never have been so gullible and made such poor decisions. Not like Cat, who had always trusted too readily, forgiven too quickly and as a result was a terrible judge of character.

  It was her tender heart, as Marin called it. Though Cat wouldn’t call it tender now; she’d call it what it was: foolish.

  “Of course, I intend to go.” Cat drew herself into a sitting position. She’d meant to say more, about how it was so good of Nan to prepare a feast on such short notice, how the woman tru
ly was a wonder, how marvelous it was to have Geordie home.

  Then, the room spun about as though it were unhinged. The words died in Cat’s throat while her world tried to center once more. For a brief, fearful moment, Cat worried she might purge the meager contents of her stomach.

  “Are you well, Cat?” Leila came to her side and pressed her hand to Cat’s brow. Her hands were cool and smelled of meadowsweet and chamomile. They were heavenly.

  Cat sagged against the comfort and felt her eyes begin to slip closed.

  “You’ve no fever.” Leila pulled at Cat’s shoulders to keep her upright. “Up with you. Geordie is no doubt excited to see you at the feast more than any one of us.”

  Geordie. Cat’s eyes snapped open. Leila was correct. Geordie was waiting on her.

  “Are you still getting ill in the mornings?” The skin around Leila’s eyes tightened.

  “I’ve been fine.” Cat pulled herself from the bed, suddenly more alert.

  Leila did not reply and instead knelt at the trunk at the base of the bed. She drew a scarlet gown from the depths. “I remember when you had this one made that you said you wished Geordie was there to see you in it.”

  It was true. It had been two years prior when it had been sewn for her, when she’d simply been a girl missing her childhood friend. She still wished Geordie would see her in it, but now as a woman, knowing how it called to attention the slenderness of her waist, the swell of her hips. Her cheeks flushed to think of parading so in front of Geordie. Her sweet Geordie.

  And yet, he had been over the whole of England for the last four years, no doubt sampling every woman Christendom had to offer. The flush of her cheeks grew hotter still, spiced by a dash of impetuous jealousy. It was ludicrous an emotion to give way to, especially as she was carrying another man’s child.

  He was simply Geordie, nothing more. And certainly not interested in her as anything more than simply Cat. Why, then, did that tug at a deep thread of disappointment within her?

  Geordie tried to keep his gaze from drifting to the empty seats where Cat and Leila were to sit between the Earl of Werrick and himself. He’d spent the greater part of his day with the earl and Drake, learning of everything he’d missed in his absence. All this was followed by a much-needed bath prior to the feast.

  Now he sat in a clean doublet and hose, his hair still damp with the effects of bathing, and he was desperate to see Cat once more. He had nearly told Lord Werrick of his decision to seek Cat’s hand once he had earned it, and yet pragmatism had stayed his tongue.

  The Earl of Werrick had always been Geordie’s greatest champion. Mayhap it had been brought on by Lord Strafford giving Geordie up as sacrifice for his own transgressions, or how protective Geordie had been of Cat as they’d grown up. Regardless, he'd always been cast in favorable light with the earl.

  It would not be outside Lord Werrick’s generosity to offer a position to Geordie, as well as land and a considerable income, to encourage his marriage with Cat. Except Geordie did not want it handed to him. Cat was not the kind of woman whose favor should be given with donated honor. Nay, Cat was a woman whose affections, whose right to wed, were earned. And he would do it.

  Leila walked in suddenly, wearing a simple blue kirtle. It was the figure behind her, though, that made Geordie sit upright in his seat.

  Cat.

  If she’d been beautiful by late morning, she was radiant now. The crimson gown she wore caught the light and drew it toward her until she was practically glowing. Her hair flowed down her back, smooth and glossy, no doubt still as soft as it had always been in their youth. His fingers twitched at the memory, with a keen longing to stroke her silken tresses once more.

  Her sparkling eyes found his and locked there with such intensity, it nearly took his breath away.

  “Geordie.” She said his name on a breathy exhale that preceded a brilliant smile. The flush of her cheeks matched the vivid color of her gown.

  She might have said more, but Geordie’s ears were consumed with the hammering of his heartbeat, to the point he could hear nothing else. And aside from his name on her lips, did he need to hear anything more?

  Geordie’s own cheeks went warm, a pleasant sensation like what followed after a glass of wine. “You are brighter than any candle in any room, Cat.”

  His flattery left a lovely smile on her face. “Have you become a charmer?” Cat asked, her tone flirtatious. New. Unfamiliar to him, and yet welcome.

  Geordie’s cheeks heated further still. “Mayhap I’ll let you discover as much for yourself.” He stood back and indicated her seat.

  She gave a pleasant laugh and sank into the proffered chair. Throughout supper, her conversation was light and airy, revitalizing.

  In this way she had not changed at all, and for that he was grateful. He drank from a goblet that did not go empty and ate Nan’s richly spiced fare of meat that was far fresher and more tender than anything he’d had in the last several years.

  Any awkwardness that had settled between him and Cat cleared like mist, and the casual comfort of their childhood resumed. Eventually, the tables were cleared away to make room for those who wished to dance, and the thrum of music became livelier. Cat bounced her leg under the table to the beat. No doubt she would be up and twirling by the next song.

  But she didn’t get to her feet right away, as Geordie had expected. Instead, she propped her elbow on the table and cradled her chin with her palm as she gazed up at him. “I missed you, Geordie.”

  Such wonderful words. The wine running hot in his veins, and the sheer happiness at being in Catriona’s company, pulled a smile to his lips. “As I missed you, Lady Catriona.”

  She laughed. “Lady Catriona.” She leaned over and bumped his shoulder with hers. “Save your chivalry for wooing ladies, Sir Geordie. I’m simply ‘Cat’ to you.”

  He gazed down at her, a seriousness descending over him with the sincerity of his words. “You’ll never be ‘simply Cat’ to me.”

  She chuckled and tilted her head coyly. It was a way she often looked at him when they were children, when she wanted something. Except now, she was a woman, one whose long-lashed blue eyes held the power of seduction and whose lips were lush and begging to be kissed.

  The swell of her breasts rose round and high over the bodice of her kirtle. He noticed that as well, though he tried not to. It was too easy to wonder at the softness of such skin, to imagine freeing them and cupping them in his palm.

  “Do you intend to ask me to dance?” She lifted her brows in expectation.

  “Aye.” He grinned. “But thought I might make you wait a bit longer.” He reached for his goblet of wine, but she caught his hand and tugged him from his seat.

  “I’d be honored,” she said with a grin.

  He didn’t bother to resist as she pulled him to the dance floor. Especially now that he had learned to dance as part of his knighthood training. A knight must excel at life and love, just as he did in battle.

  The music gave off a thrumming beat with hearty drums amid the pitched whine of a psaltery, while pipes and a lute tinkled in the background. Of all the instruments he’d tried, it was the lute that Geordie most enjoyed playing. One day he would play for Cat.

  Once they were upon the area cleared to be the dance floor, Geordie and Cat began leaping and hopping along with the other dancers. When he’d been a boy, he hadn’t noticed the grace of Cat’s body as she moved to the music. As a man, he noticed, and was mesmerized. Slender arms, flat stomach, curvy hips, and the jiggle of her bosom as she danced in rhythm to the music.

  Geordie’s pulse matched that of the drum, pounding lust through his wine-laced veins. After several songs, Cat lifted her brows and clapped. “Your dancing has improved immensely, Sir Geordie.”

  “Whatever a knight can do for his lady.” He bowed humbly.

  If Cat had noticed he had called her his lady, she did not comment on it; the slip of his tongue brought on by too much drink.

  Part of him h
ad wanted her to notice, to ask. In his less hazy, sober state, he intended not to tell her of his plans to wed her, to have the opportunity to provide a good life for her by his own volition. All the things he anticipated coming sooner than later with the victories he’d won on the battlefield.

  And now, with his blood hot from dancing and desire, he longed to tell her. All these years, everything he had done—–it had all been for her. He needed her to know that.

  “Cat,” he said with intent.

  She twirled around in a play of red skirts and long blonde hair. Her gaze wandered up to his, where they locked deep into a place in his soul that only she could touch. She grasped his hands and put them on her shoulders. “Dance with me,” she said breathlessly.

  And dance with her he did, not intending to let her go. Desire roared through his body, desperate for a kiss, a taste of what he had been craving for far too long. He wanted to pull her against him, to tilt that beautiful face of hers back and kiss her until she was flushed and panting with need.

  But he was a knight, bound by a code of chivalry. Holding a lady so inappropriately already pressed the boundaries of his conscience, let alone kissing her. Reluctantly, he let his hands fall away. The music resumed a faster pace and once more, he was moving in time with Cat.

  “It’s far too warm in here,” Cat said after the song ended.

  Her brow glistened with sweat. Geordie’s own body was almost unbearably hot. He caught her hand as he had done when they were children, though now her fingers seemed so small and delicate in his grasp. “Let us go outside for some fresh air.”

  Cat immediately nodded and allowed him to pull her away.

  It wasn’t until the door had closed behind them and they were plunged into moonlit darkness and silence that he realized it had not been chivalrous of him to take her outside alone. The line between right and wrong was blurred by what had been normal during their childhood and what was now proper.