“That is precisely what he intended!”
“He did not,” she protested, looking up. “It was not like that.”
“Just how was it, Catherine?” William’s amber eyes were hard and narrowed, and she saw the warning in them.
“In sooth, it was not easy to persuade him.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But there was no one else to ask, no one else I could trust.”
She felt herself blush, remembering how she pulled her gown off before she could lose her courage. The young man’s eyes traveled slowly down her naked body. In a breathy voice, he asked, “Are you very, very sure?”
She knew then she had won.
“Do not tell me how you convinced him,” William spat out, as if reading her thoughts. “I thought you never enjoyed having a man in your bed before me.”
“It was not like it is with us,” she said, surprised he might think so. “He did not hurt me, but it was nothing like what happens between us.”
The memory came back to her slowly. With a gentleness she could not have imagined, the young man kissed her cheek, her forehead, her throat. He caressed her with the softest touches, all the while murmuring soothing words to her. A great calmness settled over her.
She sensed a power held back to protect her, and she was grateful. Weak, barely able to move, she gave herself over to him. He seemed to understand she was hurt in spirit even more than in body and expected nothing from her.
The young knight gave her a glimpse that day of what her life could have been like with a different man, a kind man. It had been almost more than she could bear.
A jagged knife ripped through William’s heart as he watched her thinking of her lover.
He always hated thinking of her with Rayburn, but the man had been her husband. It helped to know she had felt neither lust nor affection for the man. But Catherine taking a lover was something altogether different.
A terrible coldness swept over him. He stood up. He had to get out of this room, to get away. He could not be here.
But there were things he had to know before he could allow himself to escape.
“This knight is Jamie’s father?”
She nodded.
“How long was he your lover?”
When Catherine’s answer was too slow, he demanded, “Is he your lover still?”
Her eyes went wide. “He is not! He could not be! One time was all—I swear it.”
“One time?” His voice was heavy with skepticism. “Quite the miracle.”
She had the nerve to say, “I’ve always thought so.”
He ground his teeth, trying to control the rage pounding through him. “Where is your lover now?”
He would track the man down and kill him.
“I learned he died of a fever,” she said, and the sadness in her voice wrenched him. “It was not long after…”
She had the sense not to say afterwhat,but the vision of her writhing under the man burned across his mind.
“I can see you think I was wrong to do it,” she said, standing up and clenching her fists. “But I cannot regret it. I cannot! Rayburn would have killed me if I did not conceive. And you cannot ask me to wish Jamie had not been born.”
William had watched her face soften as she spoke of her lover. The man she had “persuaded” to take her to bed. He knew all he needed to know; he could stand no more.
“What I regret, William FitzAlan, is that I was foolish enough to tell you!” She was shouting at him now, tears streaking down her face. “I trusted that you would understand, that you would not think these hateful thoughts of me.”
He barely heard her.