Chapter Three
For the first time in her life, Cate wished she knew how to curse. She’d heard her uncle loosen a string of words once and had been impressed even if she understood less than half of what he’d said. She drew her cloak tighter to keep out the biting wind.
“If that is not enough,” Wal said with humor still in his voice, “then surely my youth and the fact that I have all my limbs work in my favor.” He leaned closer, too close. “I have even been told I am not unpleasant to look upon.”
He was not only the living embodiment of his parents’ sin, but as confident as a cat. He was thrice blessed with royal blood, youth, and health. Naturally, he didn’t have a humble bone in his body.
How had she not realized he was the king’s son? No one but a bastard prince could be so arrogant without consequence. Likely, he’d been given special dispensation all his life, free to bully other children, order servants about with a cruel tongue, or kick the puppy that peed on his shoes. That he was a capable knight, intelligent as a priest, and handsome only added to his hubris.
“You look as if you want to say something.”
“You have no idea.”
He laughed, and heat curled through her abdomen at the sound. “You look as if you have a question.” He said. “Ask.”
Hundreds. But she’d remain ignorant before she asked them of him. He’d spoken roughly to her the day she left her father. He’d put his hands on her, forcing her onto the ship and below decks, then stood guard over her during the crossing as if he thought she’d leap over the rail and swim back to Favieres.
As if she could swim.
They turned onto a new path that led to a small structure inhabited by four Cistercian monks and a man who called himself the abbot. Several of the monks were laying out the boundaries for a second building, while a third appeared to be testing the hinges on the door to the church.
“Can you have an abbot without an abbey?” she asked.
“That’s your question?”
No. “It’s as good as any other and more answerable than most.”
He smiled at her, and everything about him changed. He had a beautiful smile, wide and open, softening the abruptness of his jaw and crinkling the skin around his eyes. “The plan is to build an abbey once my cousin gifts the land to the order.”
“What has your cousin done to make such recompense necessary?”
“Naught that I know of.”
“So he plans to need those prayers.”
The smile disappeared and a sudden chill rushed beneath her skin like an ill wind. “Why do you suspect my cousin of something? What have you heard?”
“I have heard no more than all of England. The king wants his daughter to inherit his crown. However capable your half-sister Matilda may be as queen, men will not forget she is a woman.” She smoothed her hands down her bodice, ignoring the way he watched the movement. “You inhabit a dangerous world, Waleran Fitzroy.”
“What does that have to do with my cousin?”
“Everything, I think. And my father promised me love. I cannot marry you. I do not think I can love you.”
Instead of protesting that he would love her, he arched a brow. Just one. She was instantly envious of the imperious look it gave him. “Love is like a sword,” he said. “Most people cannot handle it. Even the ones trained for it are usually killed by it.”
“Yet I have been destined for it.”
“You sound like a child—or one of those women from the Duke of Aquitaine’s court that swoons over minstrels’ tales. Few are given a choice in where they wed.”
They stopped in front of the church. The only other building in what might become a religious complex was a thatched-roof hall with whiffs of smoke rising from a center hearth. That is where they would feast. “As the son of the king, you of all men can choose your own bride. So do not choose me.”
“As you wish.”
Cate ignored the sting of his swift words. “You do not mind?”
“Nay. One woman is as good as the next.”
Arrogant didn’t even begin to describe him, Cate decided. “Women are not interchangeable, but that you would think so makes me…makes me…oh, I have no words to tell you how furious you make me. God forgive me, I would despise you as my husband.”
“Then ’tis good we are not to wed.”
“We are agreed? You will not consent?”
His smile dimmed. “You do not trust my word?”
“I do not want you to mistake me for another woman between now and when my uncle arrives.”
He laughed. “My word is good.”
The expected relief didn't come. She looked around, searching for the source of her unease. The woods were thick here, and likely filled with outlaws and poachers. It was an odd place for an abbey, and an even odder place to spend the Yule season. Her uncle marched up the road, his expression grim as he approached them.
“I trust you became acquainted on your walk and are ready for your vows.”
“’Twas an unnecessary measure, Uncle. We have decided we do not wish to wed.”
His smile tightened. “Have you, now?”
“Aye,” she said, but Uncle Robert was looking at Wal.
“A messenger just arrived. The co-kings of France have made a claim for her lands near Rouen. ’Tis not just Philip who wants her inheritance.”
“I know how this works,” Cate cut in. “I do not owe the French king loyalty. King Henry is my feudal overlord, so Louis cannot force me to swear fealty to him.”
“Unless his men hold your castle,” Uncle Robert said. “You may know how loyalty is supposed to work, but not how it actually does work.” He motioned to the monks, who moved closer, then turned to Wal. “I was born one of two. There is no difference between her father and me. We are the same in all ways, so that a child of his body would be the same as a child of mine.”
Wal stilled. “You declare her your heir?”
“You heard me. These men of God are my witnesses.”
“Very well.” He took her elbow and walked toward the Abbot.
“What? No!” She sank back on her heels, but Wal ignored the shift in weight. He kept walking, her feet sliding over the gravel in front of the church. God save her, he was going to marry her right here and right now. “You gave me your word.”
“I owe fealty to your uncle first,” Wal said.
“So you force me into this? I do not consent.”
“I heard an aye,” Uncle Robert glared at the abbot. “Did you not hear an aye?”
The abbot nodded.
“Wait! No! Please.”
Wal hesitated, and then tightened his grip. “I will make this up to you. I vow it.”