Chapter Three
Quinn stood in the rear of the chapel, seemingly in quiet reflection when, in truth, he awaited the arrival of Lady Catarina.
He had learned from Father Kenneth—right before the good father put himself to bed with a stomach complaint—that following the evening meal and entertainment in the great hall, the lady always went to the chapel to pray before retiring to her chambers for the night.
The chapel doors swung open. Candlelight illuminated Lady Catarina’s profile.
Her olive skin stood out in contrast to the stark white of her wimple and headdress.
Eyes solemnly downcast, her thick lashes shadowed her cheeks.
Behind her, equally as solemn, trailed two maids, followed by two castle guards.
Quinn cursed under his breath as he stepped further into shadow.
Catching Lady Catarina alone was going to be no small feat.
Quinn silently shuffled to the left to have a better view of the lady, who was now hidden behind her entourage.
Her rich tunic trailed behind her, dragging across the stone floor until she reached the altar.
Kneeling with head bowed, she made the sign of the cross.
After several quiet moments, she stood and turned around.
The guards and ladies bowed to her and then stepped to the side.
With her company following at her heels, she unknowingly walked past Quinn, her head still piously bowed.
The chapel doors closed behind them. “God’s bones,” Quinn muttered before remembering where he was.
Every day blasphemy was one thing—God may have made man in his image, but man’s tongue was all too human.
However, blasphemy in His house—that was a different matter entirely.
Quinn crossed himself, muttering a quick prayer before he hurried outside, his long stride easily overtaking her party.
“Forgive me, my lady, I would beg an audience,” he said, choosing to ignore the guard. They were unlikely to censure a man of God.
She did not slow her pace as she turned to meet his gaze. Even in the dim light of dusk and torch, her eyes shone a vibrant amber. Their lightness stood out against the backdrop of her perfectly arched black brows.
“You may speak, Brother Augustine,” she said, her eyes narrowing.
Quinn smiled. “Ye remembered.”
She nodded but offered no more pleasantries.
He looked at her full lips and watchful eyes.
She was beautiful. There was no denying that.
In fact, she could have been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
His eyes shifted from her lips to the rich, dark skin of her cheeks, then lower to the full curve of her chest, which even her wimple could not hide.
She had the body of a woman, rounded and sensual.
Her trim waist flared out to full hips. His thoughts strayed to what it might feel like to stroke that curve.
“Brother Augustine, you wanted to tell me something.”
Her words rushed over Quinn like a bucket of cold water. He shook his head, banishing his wandering thoughts. He glanced at the guards standing just behind her. Then in a low voice he said, “My lady, could we speak in private?”
Her eyes grew wide, but before she could utter the refusal Quinn instinctively knew was on the tip of her tongue, he leaned close.
“Yer sister, Bella, has sent me. The matter is urgent. Meet me after dark upon the battlements.” He turned away, heading back toward the chapel, confident he had said all that was needed for her ladyship to risk a secret rendezvous.
CATARINA SLOWLY WOUND her way up the narrow stone staircase, which led from the east wing to the battlements.
She had waited until her brief nightly visit with her newborn son was over and her ladies were asleep in their chamber before setting out.
Given the late hour, she treaded the steps with some confidence that she would not encounter anyone else.
Her one fear of discovery was that Henry might come to her room looking to appease his masculine hunger.
Thankfully, his visits were infrequent, not to mention perfunctory.
On the rare occasion that he did come to her, he opened her door and crossed the room to stand by her bedside.
With a dip of his head in greeting, he would pull back her bed coverings and ask her to lift her nightdress.
Then without ceremony, gentle word, or soft caress, he would penetrate her.
She, in turn, always closed her eyes, gripped the headboard and prayed he finished quickly.
After he climbed off her, she would jerk her nightdress down and, with relief, watch her husband leave her room without so much as a backward glance.
During three years of marriage, he had only kissed her once and that had been in the chapel by order of Father Kenneth to seal their marriage vows.
She shook her head, chasing away her complaints.
Indeed, she did not know the feel of a tender kiss, but she also did not know the lash or the back of a hand.
Henry may not have been doting, but he never sought to hurt her with word or deed.
Given the terrible stories she had heard at court of husbands with biting tongues and fists, she knew to count her blessings.
She was satisfied at Ravensworth, and that had to be enough.
Stepping out onto the ramparts, she ducked below the first opening to avoid being seen from the courtyard below and took refuge behind the adjacent stone merlon.
Henry did not place permanent guards on the inner wall.
They were reserved for the outer wall alone, their watchful eyes turned ever outward.
Her heart started to pound as she scanned the battlements set aglow with torch fire.
Then someone grabbed her arm from behind.
She jumped. A hand covered her mouth, smothering her scream.
“Hush, my lady. ‘Tis only I,” came a whisper in her ear.
Slowly, the hand dropped from her lips. She turned around and stared up into black eyes.
Brother Augustine was close, very close, also seeking concealment behind the same merlon.
His nearness made her instinctively step away, but he gently clasped her hand, pulling her back.
“At this late hour, the courtyard should remain empty,” he said. “Still, we must be cautious. The castle guard could always pass through.”
She nodded, staring up into his deep-set, black eyes, fringed with thick, black lashes.
Her gaze dropped to his full lips and strong jaw and then to the large wooden cross hanging from his neck.
What business did a monk have being so large and formidable, not to mention handsome?
Shaking her head, she cleared her throat.
“Brother Augustine, against my better judgment, I have come. Deliver the message from my sister at once.”
A smile, slight but not unkind, curved his lips. “Ye do not resemble Bella overly in appearance, but the way ye just gave that order tells me ye truly are sisters.”
Catarina did not return his smile. “Do not toy with me. Neither one of us will benefit from being found together. Speak your message.”
Brows drawn, he gently placed his hand on hers. “Ye need not be afraid, Catarina. ‘Tis why I’ve come. That tyrant cannot hurt ye now. I’m going to take ye away.”
She snatched her hand back. “What are you talking about? What tyrant? And how dare you address me as your familiar.”
“Forgive me, my lady. I meant no insult. I’ve had the privilege of becoming acquainted with yer family. I realize though that ye and I still are strangers.”
Catarina narrowed her eyes. She was growing increasingly suspicious of Brother Augustine. There was something very unholy in his black eyes. “You have one final chance to say your piece, after which I fully intend to return to my chambers.”
He nodded. “As ye wish, my lady. Yer father and sister bade me come to save ye from yer husband.”
She lifted her chin. “I love my sister dearly, but she has always judged Henry falsely. I assure you my husband is no tyrant.”
“Is he not?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I spoke plainly enough.”
Brother Augustine lifted a skeptical brow. “Then yer father and sister are wrong, and yer husband is a kind man?”
She faltered. Henry was certainly not a kind man. He did not care for her with tenderness nor did he value her company, but he was not a bad man. She straightened her spine and lifted her head and said as much. “My husband is not a bad man.”
His skeptical brow stayed aloft. “Then yer husband is a good man?”
A good man? Her father was a good man, but Henry was nothing like her father. Catarina resisted the urge to shrug. “He is good enough for me.”
Quinn drew closer. “Do not sell yerself short, my lady.”
She thrust her hand between them, ensuring he kept what little distance the narrow merlon permitted. “Why are you here?” she demanded.
The monk scratched at his forehead. Then he threw his hands up in a frustrated gesture.
“There’s no good way to tell ye this, so I’m just going to say it.
” He looked at her squarely. “Yer father committed an act of treason. He and yer sister were forced to flee Berwick for their lives. Before leaving, Bella made me swear I would come here, to Ravensworth, and take ye away. She feared yer husband would punish ye for yer father’s disgrace.
He might shame ye or hurt ye or, worse yet, give ye over to King Edward himself. ”
Catarina stumbled into the open, her mind reeling. She felt a strong hand grip her waist and pull her back out of sight. Her father was guilty of treason. He and Bella were in danger. She grabbed the monk’s robe. “Where are they now? Are they hurt?”