Mariah suspect something amiss? What if she knew, somehow, that Grayson had spent the night elsewhere and because of it questioned the validity of Catherine’s marriage to him? And what if Eduard learned of it as well…?
A sickening twist gripped her belly. Pushing herself to her feet a bit too quickly, she said, “Thank you for your help, Mariah. ’Twas thoughtful of you to come without my bidding.”
“I deserve no thanks, milady. ’Twas Lord Camville that asked me to peek in on you, to see what you might need.” Her eyes softened a bit. “Though in truth, I know too well how hard the wedding night can be on young women,” she added, nodding to the bloodied sheet that still lay crumpled on the bed where Catherine had left it.
“Oh.” Catherine felt a flush fill her cheeks. “Well. I—I should be going down to chapel. It must be nearly prime , and my husband is surely waiting for me to attend mass with him.”
Mariah simply nodded, the same pointed expression on her face. Catherine felt the woman’s gaze on her, boring into her back until she’d left the room. As she descended the stairway, she tried to shake off the feeling. Mariah’s stare hadn’t been unkind, after all. Just watchful, perhaps. Even penetrating.
Aye, but that could be dangerous, too, she reminded herself, considering her borrowed identity and evil mission.
The caution sounded its dull warning, adding to the burdens she’d carried with her since the day Eduard had forced her to take part in his plots. Mariah was the least of her worries right now, she reminded herself. First, she had to face her husband in the cold light of day. Had to use every ounce of her strength to appear serene and calm when she looked into his eyes, rather than as she truly felt.
In all of her life, even through the years when Geoffrey had pounded the knowledge of her failings into her every night, she’d never loathed herself as much as she did right now. Thanks to her agreement with Eduard, she felt like a horrible spider, waiting to trap her victim in a web of deceit and death.
With that thought ringing in her mind, she entered the chapel for morning mass. Her husband, however, was nowhere to be seen. Through the course of the service, she somehow found means tolet the peace of the atmosphere soak into her, allowing her a few moments of escape from her tortured thoughts. But as soon as she left the cool chapel they converged on her again. She walked faster, letting the sun warm her as she paced herself against their onslaught.
“Lady Camville!”
Catherine turned at the sound of the voice. Sir Alban Warton strode toward her, a grin lighting his boyish features. She tried to muster a smile in return; her husband’s friend seemed like a cheerful man who wore his good humor like a favored garment, often and well.
“Lady, I saw you at mass but had no chance to speak with you. I trust that this morn finds you content?” Alban offered her a slight bow.
“Aye, sir. And you?”
“Hale and hearty.” He closed his eyes and tilted his face to the sun. “Ah…the breeze is fragrant and the sky a sparkling blue. ’Tis a day fit for a king, is it not?”
A more honest smile tugged Catherine’s lips. “It is, sir, though I’d hazard to guess that you find every day as pleasing.”
Alban laughed. “Quite true. One learns to appreciate the simpler aspects of life when faced with the loss of them.”
Catherine tipped her head, trying to guess his thoughts. “You refer to the Crusade in Egypt?”
“Aye. I have many tales to tell of it. Your husband, however,” he added, his eyes crinkling at the corners, “tells every one of them far better than I.”
“I didn’t realize that you and Lord Camville hadknown each other for so long.” Catherine nodded to a serving boy who bowed as she and Alban strolled by the herb bed he was weeding.
“Oh, Gray and I met when we were lads. We squired together, received our dubbing three years later and rode out
A sickening twist gripped her belly. Pushing herself to her feet a bit too quickly, she said, “Thank you for your help, Mariah. ’Twas thoughtful of you to come without my bidding.”
“I deserve no thanks, milady. ’Twas Lord Camville that asked me to peek in on you, to see what you might need.” Her eyes softened a bit. “Though in truth, I know too well how hard the wedding night can be on young women,” she added, nodding to the bloodied sheet that still lay crumpled on the bed where Catherine had left it.
“Oh.” Catherine felt a flush fill her cheeks. “Well. I—I should be going down to chapel. It must be nearly prime , and my husband is surely waiting for me to attend mass with him.”
Mariah simply nodded, the same pointed expression on her face. Catherine felt the woman’s gaze on her, boring into her back until she’d left the room. As she descended the stairway, she tried to shake off the feeling. Mariah’s stare hadn’t been unkind, after all. Just watchful, perhaps. Even penetrating.
Aye, but that could be dangerous, too, she reminded herself, considering her borrowed identity and evil mission.
The caution sounded its dull warning, adding to the burdens she’d carried with her since the day Eduard had forced her to take part in his plots. Mariah was the least of her worries right now, she reminded herself. First, she had to face her husband in the cold light of day. Had to use every ounce of her strength to appear serene and calm when she looked into his eyes, rather than as she truly felt.
In all of her life, even through the years when Geoffrey had pounded the knowledge of her failings into her every night, she’d never loathed herself as much as she did right now. Thanks to her agreement with Eduard, she felt like a horrible spider, waiting to trap her victim in a web of deceit and death.
With that thought ringing in her mind, she entered the chapel for morning mass. Her husband, however, was nowhere to be seen. Through the course of the service, she somehow found means tolet the peace of the atmosphere soak into her, allowing her a few moments of escape from her tortured thoughts. But as soon as she left the cool chapel they converged on her again. She walked faster, letting the sun warm her as she paced herself against their onslaught.
“Lady Camville!”
Catherine turned at the sound of the voice. Sir Alban Warton strode toward her, a grin lighting his boyish features. She tried to muster a smile in return; her husband’s friend seemed like a cheerful man who wore his good humor like a favored garment, often and well.
“Lady, I saw you at mass but had no chance to speak with you. I trust that this morn finds you content?” Alban offered her a slight bow.
“Aye, sir. And you?”
“Hale and hearty.” He closed his eyes and tilted his face to the sun. “Ah…the breeze is fragrant and the sky a sparkling blue. ’Tis a day fit for a king, is it not?”
A more honest smile tugged Catherine’s lips. “It is, sir, though I’d hazard to guess that you find every day as pleasing.”
Alban laughed. “Quite true. One learns to appreciate the simpler aspects of life when faced with the loss of them.”
Catherine tipped her head, trying to guess his thoughts. “You refer to the Crusade in Egypt?”
“Aye. I have many tales to tell of it. Your husband, however,” he added, his eyes crinkling at the corners, “tells every one of them far better than I.”
“I didn’t realize that you and Lord Camville hadknown each other for so long.” Catherine nodded to a serving boy who bowed as she and Alban strolled by the herb bed he was weeding.
“Oh, Gray and I met when we were lads. We squired together, received our dubbing three years later and rode out
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