LADY EVER AFTER: A Medieval Time Travel Romance (Beyond Time Book 2) Page 17

  “Now, there is the matter of your marriage. Ere supper, the lady and you shall wed.”

  “This eve?” Catherine exclaimed.

  “You object, my lady?” Morrow asked.

  She glanced at Collier who looked over his shoulder at her. “’Tis just so sudden.”

  “The banns have been read. What more need be done?”

  True, thrice now the priest had publicly announced she and Collier were to wed, but she had expected she would have a few days past Morrow’s return to ready herself. “Preparations must be made.”

  He leaned forward in the chair. “All that is required is a willing bride and groom. Have we not both?”

  “But—”

  “Lady Catherine, did you not agree to wed Sir Collier?”

  “I did.”

  “Then it shall be as Lord Montagu instructed, and it will be this day. When you depart for Irondale on the morrow, you shall do so as Lady Catherine Gilchrist.”

  Montagu was taking no chances. Wed and beneath a man’s heel was how he wished her. Tamed.

  Edmund Morrow waved a dismissing hand. “I give you an hour to prepare yourself.”

  What should have been an important day of her life reduced to insignificance.

  Tilly appeared. “Come, my lady, we have little time.”

  Avoiding Collier’s gaze, Catherine allowed herself to be led away.

  “Lady Catherine Algernon, do you freely give yourself in marriage to Sir Collier Gilchrist?”

  As the late afternoon breeze swept a tendril of hair across her face, she looked to the man beside her, and in his warm eyes saw something that made her heart stagger. But was it she he gazed upon? Or his beloved Aryn?

  “Lady Catherine?” the priest said.

  Collier lifted an eyebrow, prompting her to respond as he had moments earlier.

  Did she freely give herself to this Yorkist? She who had agreed to marriage only to save her family from Montagu’s wrath? Who had been repulsed by the idea but now found herself drawn to an enemy who had twice risked his life to save hers?

  Edmund Morrow cleared his throat. Loudly.

  She inclined her head. “I do.”

  The priest proceeded to enumerate the duties Collier would be bound to perform as her husband. He must love, comfort, and honor her, keep her in sickness and health, and to her be faithful.

  Considering what Catherine had learned of him these past weeks, the last four were not entirely out of the question, but love?

  Her duties were to be the same, but with one difference—she must also obey and serve Collier. Though Hildegard had served her husband well, she had not obeyed him, and neither had the old baron corrected her.

  Catherine clenched her hands in the skirt of the splendid gown Tilly had insisted she wear—the same the maid had cut from dark red samite and trimmed in gold in preparation for her lady’s marriage to Hildegard’s son. Now Catherine, who was to have wed and ruled a future baron, was to wed and be ruled by a Yorkist.

  The priest leaned forward. “Your answer, my lady?”

  “I will.” Only to a point, she silently added.

  “And who gives this woman to be married to this man?”

  Acting as her guardian, Morrow said, “I do,” then took her right hand and passed her to the minister, who set her hand in that of the man who would share her life.

  Collier stared at the small hand in his, and feeling it tremble, looked up. Catherine was beautiful. On one side of her face, her auburn hair was loosely braided near the crown. On the other side, a thick tress wrapped with gold ribbon draped her shoulder and fell to her waist. Eyes as wide as a deer’s, lips softly parted, she held his gaze.

  “And now pledge your troth, Sir Collier.”

  He looked to the priest, who gave an encouraging smile. The clergyman would not first recite the vows? Though in the past—rather, future—Collier had attended a few weddings, he hadn’t paid enough attention to commit the vows to memory. But even if he could muddle through them, would they be appropriate for this time?

  “I must ask that you lead me,” he said.

  The priest inclined his head. “Repeat after me. I, Collier Gilchrist, take thee, Catherine Algernon, to be my wedded wife.”

  He recited the familiar words.

  “To have and to hold,” the priest continued, “for fairer for fouler, for richer for poorer…”

  Collier repeated the traditional, twenty-first century wedding vows he had not known were so deeply rooted in the past.

  “In sickness and in health, from this time forward, till death us do part…”

  This time forward. Till death us do part. As everything and everyone but the woman before him faded, Collier stared at the one he had intended to wed had death not parted her from him.

  “Collier?”

  He blinked at Catherine. Her face was lined with concern, and it was not love that shone from her eyes but uncertainty. For those few moments, it had been Aryn before him—blue eyes and shoulder length hair.

  “Are you well, Sir Collier?” the priest asked.

  “I am,” he said and repeated the vows and those that followed.

  Then it was Catherine’s turn. Though she required no assistance, her vows sounded forced. But then, she did not wed him willingly.

  “…and thereto I plight thee my troth,” she finished.

  “The ring, Sir Collier.” The priest held out his hand.

  From his pouch, Collier retrieved the simple band Edmund had provided.

  “Let us pray,” the priest said.

  As Collier bowed his head, he felt Catherine’s gaze and met violet eyes that peeked at him from beneath sweeping lashes. Sensing her churning emotions, he squeezed her hand, and when that failed to ease her misgivings, grinned.

  The corners of her mouth turned up slightly.

  The presentation of the ring followed and a blessing. Afterwards, the wedding party filed into the chapel and husband and wife knelt before the altar. Then came the nuptial mass, a long recitation spoken in Latin.

  Collier couldn’t remember the last time he had been on his knees, but it felt right.

  “I suspected Walther was not to be trusted,” Edmund said. “Where do you think he has gone?”

  Collier dragged his thoughts from Catherine who, following the banquet, had been escorted upstairs by Tilly and the priest. “You are aware he was a Lancastrian turned Yorkist, my lord?”

  His ancestor’s eyebrows shot up. “I was not.”

  “That is what I am told. Thus, I would not be surprised if he has returned to them.”

  Edmund nodded. “Even so, they are crushed.”

  “You don’t think they will rise up again?”

  “Unlikely. What do you think?”

  They would, but Collier said, “Henry and his queen are still out there, my lord.”

  Edmund lingered over his ale, then said, “With their coffers running empty and most of their followers under King Edward’s rule, what can they hope for?”

  Though Catherine was also under Yorkist rule, she had intended to replenish those coffers. Remembering, Collier ran a thumb over his sore fingers.

  “Nay.” Edmund shook his head. “Methinks the House of Lancaster has seen its last days.”

  Still, Henry would hold the throne again, though only for a short time. And in twenty or so years, a distant relative of his would be crowned Henry VI and wed a daughter of King Edward, reconciling the two houses.

  “Perhaps,” Collier allowed.

  Edmund set down his tankard. “I have heard tale of your extraordinary climbing feat. Is it true you scaled the cliff without a rope?”

  Collier had hoped the furor over that would die and none would mention it to Edmund. “It’s true.”

  “I have never heard of such a thing. It sounds remarkable.” Edmund sat forward. “How is it done?”

  “It takes years of training, and usually it is done with a rope, but I had to improvise.”

  Edmund rubbed his
jaw. “Why would one train to climb rocks?”

  He wondered how it fit in with warfare, Collier realized. “Mostly for the pleasure. And the challenge.”

  Edmund chuckled. “You are like no man I have met, Gilchrist—noble or otherwise. Still, methinks your time better spent learning the sword.”

  In which case, Collier mused, Catherine and he would have perished.

  “How was it Lady Catherine escaped?”

  Collier had hoped Edmund wouldn’t ask, for it could prove a mistake to reveal the underground passage. If Edmund was to discover it, he must do so on his own. “She went out though the postern gate.” Hopefully, none would dispute that.

  “A boat awaited her?”

  “No, though I’m sure there would have been if not for the storm.”

  “You were trapped by the incoming tide?”

  Collier nodded. “We sought higher ground on the outcropping of rock, but since we were wet and there was no shelter, the only way out was to climb the cliff.”

  “How did you punish Catherine for attempting to escape?”

  “I did not. It was enough that she nearly died.”

  His brow furrowed. “You risked your life to save hers, and not for the first time. Is she worth it?”

  “She is.”

  He grinned. “No doubt, you are anxious to bed your bride.”

  He was not. Though the kisses of Catherine left him desirous, too much he felt Aryn between them. And it seemed like betrayal to be intimate with her until—were it possible—it was only the two of them. Equally important, as long as the portrait tempted him back to his own time, it would be a mistake to sleep with her.

  “Well?” Edmund prompted.

  “She is a beautiful woman,” Collier said. And that was all the insight Edmund needed of the night ahead.

  “Were she not Catherine Algernon, I would envy you. And that brings me to another matter.” Edmund sat back. “She has two brothers—one, a wicked fellow not more than ten, who twice tried to bite me; the other ten and seven, who vowed that did I show him my back, he would put a knife in it, then spat on my boots.”

  “I’m guessing they remain sympathetic to the Lancasters.”

  “Aye. The younger served as a page at Dunstanburgh, and the older squired for the Lord of Bamburgh. Both were sent home following the fall of those castles.”

  “And their father?”

  “Lewis Algernon is harmless, though only because he was struck by apoplexy when Montagu brought his army against Irondale. If not for that, methinks he would not have yielded the castle without considerable bloodshed.”

  Collier wondered if he should have accepted Harden Castle after all. Now that Catherine was softening, he would be taking her into an environment strong with Lancastrian sentiment, and strengthened further by the fact those people were her family.

  “’Tis not too late to change your mind about Harden,” Edmund said as if reading his mind.

  As difficult as Irondale might prove, Collier knew it was there Catherine needed to be, especially if he did return to the twenty-first century. Too, he was taking enough chances in filling Walther’s shoes, since Harden belonged to whomever Edmund had chosen in that other past.

  “You are generous, my lord, but I prefer Irondale.”

  “Let it not be said I did not warn you.” Edmund glanced at the stairs. “Methinks it is time.”

  Collier followed his gaze to Tilly and stood. “Good eve, my lord.”

  Edmund chuckled. “I pray ’tis for you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Patience, sire,” Tilly said as they neared the landing atop the stairs. “My lady was dressed down to her chemise and properly put to bed, but once the priest withdrew, she arose.”

  “You needn’t worry for her, Tilly.”

  Upon reaching the landing, she turned to him. “I believe you speak true. Just as I believe you are both finding your way across the divide between you.”

  Were they? Collier wondered. And if they did, would it be enough to hold him here?

  As if sensing his doubt, Tilly lightly touched his arm. “Is it that you love another, Sir Collier?”

  He stared. Had Catherine told her he had called her another woman’s name?

  She sighed. “Aye, and so the divide is wide indeed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just as you cannot be in two places at one time, neither can your heart be devoted to two women at the same time.”

  Once again, her choice of words disturbed him, but before he could question her, she continued, “You must needs let one of them go, Sir Collier, and ’tis not the one who is here…who is now.”

  “Who are you, Tilly?”

  She smiled so sweetly he felt as if embraced. “But a servant, Sir Collier.” She turned and started down the corridor.

  He wanted to press her further, but he sensed she would give no more. And perhaps it was best to let the mystery of her be.

  She halted before the solar, and when he reached her, said, “My lady awaits her husband,” and opened the door.

  He entered, and as the maid eased the door closed behind him, he saw his wife stood at the window. “Catherine.”

  She came around. Though her chin was high, something like fear shone from her eyes.

  “For the sake of appearances, I must remain.” He gestured at the chairs. “However, I’ll sleep there.”

  She glanced at the bed whose covers were drawn back in silent invitation. “But you are my husband.”

  Which according to these times, gave him every right over her regardless of her wishes.

  “And a marriage must be sealed by consummation,” she continued, though not with distaste.

  He almost smiled. More progress. More possibility. Still, he said, “I know, but I think it best we wait.”

  “Why?” What sounded like accusation was followed by pained laughter. “Aryn. Though in the eyes of God you are now and ever bound to me, in your heart you are not.”

  He didn’t want to hurt her, but if he denied it, she would think it a lie since he’d admitted he would always love Aryn. “I’m sorry.”

  Catherine crossed her arms over her chest. “As such devotion—and honesty—is honorable, ’tis hard to begrudge you that. But tell me, how long will my husband eschew the marriage bed? How long ere he accepts I am the one with whom he shall spend his life?”

  Would he spend it with her? That would require turning his back on a future five hundred years distant from hers. And never again going near her portrait. He glanced at where it sat draped in the far corner.

  His hesitation and whatever emotions showed on his face made Catherine gasp. “Dear Lord, you are staying only as long as you must. You intend to return to her.”

  That last was impossible, but he said, “I haven’t decided what I’ll do.”

  “Then you should not have wed me!” Tears glistening, she dropped her chin as if to hide them.

  Collier knew he should keep the room between them, but he strode forward and raised her face. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have wed you, but I believed it better me than whoever Montagu would have chosen had I refused—especially had he decided Rudd Walther was a more fitting punishment.”

  Fear leaping from her moist eyes, she pressed a hand to his chest. “’Tis only better if you stay, Collier Gilchrist. And I wish you to.”

  She seemed so sincere he nearly gave her his word he would remain, but then she prompted, “Stay and be husband to me, and I shall be wife to you. And we will make the best of what neither of us wanted.”

  Meaning no matter how grateful she was to him for saving her life, no matter he had proven time and again he was not her enemy, she was a Lancastrian and he a Yorkist. And the fifteenth century was not his home—unless she came to feel deeply for him and he for her, giving him reason to make this backward, bloody time his own.

  “I can only promise to stay until you’re safely back with your family and under their protection,” he said.

&
nbsp; “Their protection? You forget they also resisted Edward’s rule. Thus, they are as much in need of protection as I.”

  Protection her Yorkist husband was meant to provide—Collier Gilchrist, the lesser of evils. “Catherine—”

  Of a sudden, she was on her toes, her hand up around his neck. “Pray, stay with me,” she beseeched, then urged his head down.

  Her mouth was not as sweet and innocent as when they had first kissed. Though still inexperienced, it was demanding. And his body, awakening to the press of hers, was not averse to her attempt at seduction.

  “We should wait, Catherine,” he rasped and started to extricate himself. But she held tighter, nipped at his lips, and trailed kisses across his jaw. Then her breath was in his ear and hands tugging at his clothes.

  Somewhere between the window and the bed, they shed their garments, but when Collier lowered her to the mattress, her innocence returned. The only movement about her the quivering of her body, she stared up at him.

  He brushed the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “We should stop?” he asked what should not be a question.

  Her lashes fluttered. “Do not,” she whispered, and when he reclaimed her mouth, she slid her hands up his sides and began to explore the muscles and hollows of his back, hips, and thighs.

  What started out as a time of gentle learning became a time of urgent finding and seeking, giving and taking, and it caused something to awaken and stretch within Collier—something beyond the needs of the body that he had experienced with only one other woman. But that woman did not belong here with them.

  Lest he bruised the flower blossoming in his hands, he determinedly saw and felt only Catherine as they made love. And sealed their marriage.

  Catherine reveled in the arms wrapped around her. This night she was Collier’s wife in full, and all the nights hereafter she might know him again.

  Was this the lust of the body the Church preached against? Or love? As soon as the latter occurred to her, she shied away. Lust. As Collier had given her pleasure, it was only natural she should feel kindly toward him.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked.