Devour me. I want nothing more in this world but you upon me. Inside me. Consuming me.”
He brushed his lips over hers, sank inside her and fucked her with tender ferocity.
Moaning, he came and she followed in a pounding crescendo of delight.
He slipped out of her, leaving her bereft. For he took with him her resolve not to love him.
Chapter Six
That night he did not come to her room. Without him, her supper seemed bland. She sat in a chair, growing weary waiting for him, and, uttering a curse, crawled into her bed. But the linens became unbearably cold. Curiosity consumed her, warming her mind in need of an adventure and a search for Geoffrey.
She rose, wrapping a cloak about her naked torso and sliding her chilled toes into velvet slippers. She took a brazier from a wall sconce to exit her chamber and investigate the upper hall. She had walked these halls often as a child. Sometimes, with playmates, she had scampered all the way to the cellars. She paused, her memory snagged on a vision of a door to the plain…
A door! Of course—that’s what she recalled. If ever Marshall and his family needed to escape, the Earl had ordered the stonemasons to carve out a small door at the western end of the castle where he and his retinue could leave at will undetected.
She must seek it out. Learn if it still existed or if the Earl had bricked it up. Because if John came for her and his siege caused famine and disease, she might well have need of that little door. No one would starve for her. She had sampled the ravages of lack of food and water. She would permit no one to die like that. No one.
Taking the winding stairs down, she clutched her cloak tightly about her. But as she arrived at the entrance to the great hall, she heard men talking. One, she knew by his gruff voice, was Geoffrey. The other, a younger man. A third, younger still. They spoke together quietly and she strained to hear them.
“We wait for word from Marshall in Ireland,” Geoffrey told his companions. “But whether he sends more men to us here or not, we will organise and drill his retainers in preparation for the possibility that John or his surrogates attack.”
“We have at last count this midday one forty-two men, milord,” declared one young man with a baritone voice.
“We can pray that the King cannot raise more than that, Reginald,” Geoff responded. “John has so few who are ready to take up arms for him. Fewer who will justify the capture and starvation of a woman.”
“You are assured of that?” asked the youngest man.
“Quite so. The king has backed himself into a corner,” said Geoff. “My friends de la Poer and Dunwick offer their own retainers and arrive as soon as they possibly can.”
“How soon will our lady be fully recovered, my lord?” asked the same young man.
“I would say within three or four more days,” Geoffrey answered. “I will not rush her.”
“And does she know that there are so many who support her?”
“She went up to the wall walk yesterday and has seen those who have come to aid her cause.”
Aye. That they might die for me is one miserable thought. But that their stance here might change the way that women are treated by John and his closest nobles would be a boon.
The men pushed back their chairs, the wood scraping on the rough floorboards. Kat sank back to the far wall, prepared to flee quickly.
“We meet again at dawn,” Geoffrey told them. Wake me, Reginald. You, too, young man. I bid you both goodnight.”
Kat scurried up the winding stone steps to her chamber. There she paced, awaiting Geoffrey, her mind awhirl with questions about the numbers of men they might expect and how effective any force would be against John or his friends.
But Geoffrey did not come to her.
At last, wearied by his delay, she reclaimed her bed. Sleep did not come easily. Her mind whirled, seeking out solutions to her dilemma. The one she concluded was most useful was for her to find that small door she
He brushed his lips over hers, sank inside her and fucked her with tender ferocity.
Moaning, he came and she followed in a pounding crescendo of delight.
He slipped out of her, leaving her bereft. For he took with him her resolve not to love him.
Chapter Six
That night he did not come to her room. Without him, her supper seemed bland. She sat in a chair, growing weary waiting for him, and, uttering a curse, crawled into her bed. But the linens became unbearably cold. Curiosity consumed her, warming her mind in need of an adventure and a search for Geoffrey.
She rose, wrapping a cloak about her naked torso and sliding her chilled toes into velvet slippers. She took a brazier from a wall sconce to exit her chamber and investigate the upper hall. She had walked these halls often as a child. Sometimes, with playmates, she had scampered all the way to the cellars. She paused, her memory snagged on a vision of a door to the plain…
A door! Of course—that’s what she recalled. If ever Marshall and his family needed to escape, the Earl had ordered the stonemasons to carve out a small door at the western end of the castle where he and his retinue could leave at will undetected.
She must seek it out. Learn if it still existed or if the Earl had bricked it up. Because if John came for her and his siege caused famine and disease, she might well have need of that little door. No one would starve for her. She had sampled the ravages of lack of food and water. She would permit no one to die like that. No one.
Taking the winding stairs down, she clutched her cloak tightly about her. But as she arrived at the entrance to the great hall, she heard men talking. One, she knew by his gruff voice, was Geoffrey. The other, a younger man. A third, younger still. They spoke together quietly and she strained to hear them.
“We wait for word from Marshall in Ireland,” Geoffrey told his companions. “But whether he sends more men to us here or not, we will organise and drill his retainers in preparation for the possibility that John or his surrogates attack.”
“We have at last count this midday one forty-two men, milord,” declared one young man with a baritone voice.
“We can pray that the King cannot raise more than that, Reginald,” Geoff responded. “John has so few who are ready to take up arms for him. Fewer who will justify the capture and starvation of a woman.”
“You are assured of that?” asked the youngest man.
“Quite so. The king has backed himself into a corner,” said Geoff. “My friends de la Poer and Dunwick offer their own retainers and arrive as soon as they possibly can.”
“How soon will our lady be fully recovered, my lord?” asked the same young man.
“I would say within three or four more days,” Geoffrey answered. “I will not rush her.”
“And does she know that there are so many who support her?”
“She went up to the wall walk yesterday and has seen those who have come to aid her cause.”
Aye. That they might die for me is one miserable thought. But that their stance here might change the way that women are treated by John and his closest nobles would be a boon.
The men pushed back their chairs, the wood scraping on the rough floorboards. Kat sank back to the far wall, prepared to flee quickly.
“We meet again at dawn,” Geoffrey told them. Wake me, Reginald. You, too, young man. I bid you both goodnight.”
Kat scurried up the winding stone steps to her chamber. There she paced, awaiting Geoffrey, her mind awhirl with questions about the numbers of men they might expect and how effective any force would be against John or his friends.
But Geoffrey did not come to her.
At last, wearied by his delay, she reclaimed her bed. Sleep did not come easily. Her mind whirled, seeking out solutions to her dilemma. The one she concluded was most useful was for her to find that small door she
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