CHAPTER EIGHT
The men turned in the direction of the delighted utterance to see Cathlina standing in the doorway. Clad in a pale blue surcoat with a sheer white scarf around her head and shoulders, she looked like an angel. At her abrupt appearance, however, silent shock filled the air.
Mathias, in fact, was frozen. He had never seen anything so beautiful, but in the same breath, he had no idea what to do. Her appearance was unexpected and, at the moment, unwelcome. He was terrified for what was to come now, terrified that Tate would tell her everything about him and then all would be lost. Already, he felt a huge sense of loss.
“Cathlina?” Tate was the first to speak, his voice a mixture of surprise, pleasure, and disapproval. “What in the world are you doing here?”
Cathlina extended her hand to Tate, which he caught in his massive glove. She beamed up at him as he held her hand tightly. “Father brought us to see the tournament,” she said. “We have only just left your lady wife. She says you are to compete today.”
Tate nodded. “Indeed,” he replied. “I am competing, as is Sir Kenneth. Surely you remember him?”
Cathlina turned to the big blond knight standing behind her. She hadn’t really noticed him when she entered the stall because he was back in the shadow of the wall. He was smiling at her, his ice-blue eyes rather soft. So the great St. Héver was here. She wondered how her sister was going to react to his presence and she further wondered if St. Héver had gotten over his infatuation with her. As he bowed his head towards her in greeting, she was rather hoping so.
“Sir Kenneth,” she said, forcing a smile. “It is agreeable to see you again.”
Kenneth bobbed his head at her again. “It is agreeable to see you as well, my lady,” he said. “You are looking very well.”
It was as close to a compliment as the serious knight could come and somehow, Cathlina sensed that his infatuation for her had not burned itself out. There was something in the depths of the ice-blue eyes that told her so. Quickly, she turned her attention back to her cousin.
“We are very excited to see you both compete,” she said. “Abechail is so excited that she cannot eat. This is her first tournament, you know.”
Tate was still holding on to her, now shaking his head. “I did not know,” he replied. “How is she feeling?”
Cathlina’s smile faded. “She is the same,” she replied. “The physics say her disease is worsening. Sometimes she spends weeks in bed, coughing that awful stuff out of her lungs. The physics tell my parents that it is only a matter of time before… well, before she is no longer with us. Mother cannot abide their word. She believes God will heal Abbie. I pray that he does.”
“As do I,” Tate said softly.
Cathlina nodded sadly, trying not to think of her sister’s sorrowful state. But thoughts of Abechail reminded her of what had happened two days before, the very reason why she was in the smithy stall, and her attention shifted from Tate to Mathias, standing a few feet away.
“Two days ago, in fact, Abechail would have suffered a terrible fate had it not been for this smithy,” she said, pointing to the man. “He saved our lives and I am sure he is a very good smithy, so if you have come to solicit work from him, I would ask that you do so. We owe him our gratitude at the very least.”
Tate and Kenneth looked at Mathias and he could read the surprise on their faces. But with Tate, there was more than surprise; there was amusement and perhaps approval. It was difficult to say. Tate let go of Cathlina’s hand as he focused on Mathias.
“Is this so?” he asked, more to Cathlina than to Mathias. “What did he do?”
Cathlina was back to smiling broadly, her gaze nothing short of adoring on Mathias. “When we were in town with Father a few days ago, a man tried to abduct Abechail,” she told Tate. “He just lifted her right out of the wagon and tried to make off with her. I tried to stop him but he was too big for me to fight. I cried for help but no one would come. Just as I thought all was lost, Mathias stepped in and saved us. He was wonderful.”
By this time, Tate was listening seriously. “What did you do?” he asked Mathias.
Mathias tried to downplay his heroism. “A fool half out of his mind tried to take the little one,” he said, rather quietly. “It was not as great a feat to stop him as she implies. Sebastian took the fool out back and put him in the stocks.”
“Is he still there?”
“He is.”
Tate cocked an eyebrow. “Then see he is properly punished.”
“He has been in the stocks for two days, naked to the elements. I have left his punishment to Sebastian who seems to take fiendish glee in torturing the man.”
Tate cracked a smile. “I would believe that,” he said. “Still, you shall be properly rewarded for assisting my cousins. What would you have?”
Mathias could see Cathlina standing a few feet away, her lovely face upturned to him, her eyes alight with admiration. The first thing that came to mind was a serious request. Cathlina was here and his mind was on the tournament and his very reason for wanting to compete. She was looking at him with such respect. He wanted to see that in her face when she looked at him, always. What was taken away from him, perhaps he could gain back just a little. Tate could do that for him. He could also deny him. There was only one way to find out.
“What would you be willing to give?” he asked deliberately.
But Tate wasn’t catching on, at least not to the seriousness of the question. He shrugged his shoulders. “Money?” he asked, then looked around the stall. “You do not seem to be in any need of money. What else is there?”
“The tournament.”
Tate looked at him as if confused by the statement. “What about it?”
“Let me compete.”
Tate continued to look at him as if the words had no impact on him, as if it was the most common question in the world. But when the statement finally did sink in, he lifted his eyebrows. Then, he turned to St. Héver, who gazed back at him with his usual stony countenance. Tate looked at Kenneth, pondering Mathias’ request, before cocking his head curiously.
“What do you think, Ken?” he asked. “Shall we permit it?”
Kenneth seemed to be fighting off a grin. “I am not sure,” he said. “I am not entirely sure I want to be pummeled today.”
“Nor am I,” Tate said. “But it would make it a good deal more fun.”
“It would, indeed. It would make the pummeling worth every moment.”
Tate’s eyes lingered on Kenneth a moment longer before returning his attention to Mathias. It was evident he was weighing the request and the serious implications of it. Finally, he simply shook his head.
“As much as I would like to permit it, I do not believe it would be a good idea,” he said quietly. “You are Mathias de Reyne. Everyone knows who you are and what you represented, once. Hearing your name would drive those loyal to the king mad with want to kill you, or worse – it would drive those who had been loyal to Mortimer into thinking perhaps his cause was rising from the ashes. It is too soon for your name to be known again, Mat. I am truly sorry.”
Mathias wasn’t surprised at the response but he was disappointed. Still, he struggled not to react.
“As you say, my lord,” he said, holding up a good front that it didn’t matter. “Mayhap you are correct in your reasoning. One can never know.”
Kenneth came out of the shadows, approaching Tate. “I do not agree with your assessment,” he said, sounding very much as if he were pleading on Mathias’ behalf. “Everyone knows that Edward is soundly in control of England. Mathias is just one of the many knights who fought against the king. The country is united now and so is the kingdom. It is time to forgive and Mathias’ presence in the tournament today will reinforce that we are all united now for Edward.”
Tate looked at Kenneth, fully aware that the man was siding with one of his dearest friends. The words were coming from the heart, not the head.
“Mayhap that is true,” he said, “but there is a greater possibility that knights who fought for Edward are competing today and they will make every effort to kill Mathias. Like it or not, he still represents Mortimer.”
Kenneth wasn’t usually so verbal. He was normally the strong, silent type, but the subject matter had him running off at the mouth.
“I fought for Edward and I do not want to kill him,” he reminded Tate quietly. “I think you are giving too much credence to the hatred bred by men. Above all, Mathias is one of the greatest knights this country has ever seen regardless of who he sided with.”
“Ken,” Mathias put a hand on Kenneth’s shoulder, pulling the man away from Tate before the friendly discussion grew heated. “He is correct. Mayhap it is still too soon for me. He is trying to keep me out of danger as he always has.”
“You can take care of yourself,” Kenneth said frankly. “If I, Tate or Stephen had been in your position, I can say without a doubt that we would not have submitted with the grace and honor you have displayed throughout this ordeal. Mat, your greatness cannot be contained forever. At some point, you are going to have to emerge into the light again. Why not start now?”
“Because of what Tate said,” Mathias said, pointing to de Lara. “What if it is too soon for men to forgive? Mortimer and Isabella not only usurped the rightful king but they also murdered the king’s father. People have not yet forgotten about that.”
Kenneth, who was more consummately cool than any man alive, threw up his hands in a fit of emotion. “If you truly believe that, then why did you side with the bastard?”
Mathias kept his composure, although it was beginning to fracture. “You know why. He was my uncle. I had no choice. In order to please my dying mother, I promised her that I would support her sister’s husband.”
Kenneth knew that but suddenly emotions were raw again and it was as if the past year of healing had been stripped away. He felt pain and sorrow again, but instead of arguing about it, he went with his nature and shut his mouth. The past could not be undone, anyway.
With a heavy sigh, Kenneth turned away, catching sight of Cathlina as he did so. He had forgotten she was there, as they all had. The subject they had discussed in front of her was a volatile one and the expression on her face suggested she was perhaps as deeply entrenched in the subject matter as they were. It was, in truth, a passionate and fascinating story, not one easily ignored. When Kenneth locked gazes with Cathlina, she pointed at Mathias.
“Who…?” she began, then reconsidered the question. She started again. “Mathias is not a smithy?”
Kenneth turned to look directly at Mathias. He was looking at Cathlina, too, having completely forgotten she was there. He felt like an idiot. She had heard all that he hoped she would not hear and now he would have to explain it to her and pray she understood. But somehow, he was more apt to believe that she would flee the stall and never look back. Already, he felt the sorrow of her departure but before he could answer, Tate replied for him.
“He is not a smithy,” Tate said quietly. “Mathias de Reyne is one of the greatest knights I have ever known. We served together for many years before the madness between Edward and Roger Mortimer and, as you heard, Mathias sided with Mortimer. Because of this, he was stripped of his titles and lands, and has found a living now as a smithy. He is one of my greatest friends and one of the truest, most honorable men I know. You were very fortunate that he came to your aid, Cathlina. He is a very great man.”
Cathlina’s eyes were wide as she gazed at Mathias, digesting what Tate had told her. The truth was that she was overwhelmed with it all. It was too much information, too important and severe. Her head was starting to swim with it.
“I see,” she said, although she didn’t mean it. She didn’t truly grasp half of what she had heard. “I… I brought him some treats yesterday to thank him for helping my sister and me. I have only come for the empty basket. I did not mean to… I fear this is something I should not have heard. I did not mean to interrupt your business.”
“You did not interrupt anything,” Tate said, seeing how stunned she was. “Where is your father? He can escort you back to your encampment and I shall see you later at the tournament.”
Cathlina was feeling many different things at that moment; disappointment, fear, surprise, sorrow… it was difficult to isolate just one. All she knew was that too many emotions were welling in her chest. Mostly, she felt foolish. Her eyes were on Mathias as she spoke.
“My father is not here,” she said, her voice tight and with the least bit of a tremble. “I came alone. Mathias… I mean, my lord, if you will give me my basket, I shall be along my way.”
Mathias could see how upset she was and he felt so incredibly guilty. “I will retrieve it,” he said softly. “Then I will escort you back to your family.”
“Nay,” she said abruptly, already moving out of the stall. “I do not… you should stay here. I do not need an escort.”
Mathias, Kenneth and Tate were all moving after her as she tried to flee. “Cathlina,” Tate called after her. “Sweetheart, please let Ken escort you back. You do not have to….”
It was too much. Cathlina took off at a dead run, disappearing in between a couple of stalls in a silky flash of pale blue linen. Mathias didn’t even wait for Tate or Kenneth – he took off as well, following her path. He had to find her and soothe her if he could but he was sure he couldn’t. She ran because of him. Still, he felt desperate to explain himself even if she didn’t want anything to do with him. He wanted everything to do with her.
Cathlina was small and fast, but he was big and faster. Moreover, he knew this town and she didn’t. Mathias was able to follow her path quite easily. She had ended up out behind some small cottages to the north side of the village and as he emerged from between a pair of structures, he could see her in the distance, walking through knee-deep green grass with her head bowed. As he slowed his pace, Kenneth came running up behind him.
“There she is,” Kenneth said. “I shall retrieve her.”
Mathias put out a hand to stop him. “Let me do it,” he said. “I am the reason she ran. Let me take her back.”
Kenneth looked at him. “What do you mean?”
Mathias sighed faintly, his gaze on the distant figure. “I suppose you could say that we have become friends,” he said quietly. “It is not a pleasant thing to discover your friend is not who you thought he was.”
Kenneth understood somewhat. He also realized that tendrils of jealousy were snatching at him but it wasn’t in his nature to act upon them. He wasn’t the type. Moreover, he’d had his chance with Cathlina back in December when her family had visited Carlisle. His attraction to her had been mild but she clearly hadn’t been interested in him. He hoped Mathias had better luck with her.
“A friend?” he repeated. “Or something more?”
Mathias shook his head. “Nothing more,” he assured him. “Moreover, a woman like that is out of my class.”
Kenneth’s eyebrows furrowed. “She is not out of your class,” he said. “Why would you say such things?”
“If you had a daughter, would you allow her to marry a dishonored knight?”
Kenneth shrugged. He had a point. “Your dishonor will not last forever,” he said. “In fact… if I were you, I might not listen to de Lara’s assessment of your status. If I was in the same situation, I might compete in the tournament anyway. I might borrow my friend’s bay charger, a rather new and inexperienced beast, but one of very fine stock and eager to learn. Mayhap my friend would have him tethered in de Lara’s encampment so that I could slip in and take him. It is not as if de Lara told you not to compete. He simply said it would not be a good idea.”
Mathias looked at him. “What is this? Insubordination from Kenneth St. Héver, the perfect knight?”
Kenneth merely looked away, watching Cathlina struggle through the tall, wet grass. He didn’t comment on his suggestion, instead, letting it settle in Mathias’ mind. He shifted the subject.
“She is a beautiful girl,” he commented, his gaze lingering on Cathlina before turning to Mathias. “Her father is very protective of her, however. Take heed he does not come after you with his axe if he thinks you have eyes for his daughter.”
“I never said I had eyes for her.”
Kenneth’s white eyebrows lifted. “Liar.”
“I am not.”
“Then why did you run after her when she fled?”
“To make sure she did not come to harm.”
Kenneth gave him a disbelieving look before turning away and returning the way he had come. Meanwhile, Mathias went after Cathlina.
The morning dew was still heavy in the grass as he tramped through it. Cathlina still had her head down and her pace had slowed, and as Mathias drew closer he could see that her hands were at her face. She was moving them around. Eventually, she lowered her hands and he could see a white kerchief clutched in the fingers of her left hand. He came up behind her and put a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Cathlina?” he said softly.
She jumped and whirled to face him. Her eyes were red and watery and her pert little nose was red from crying. Seeing Mathias behind her, Cathlina tried to move away from him quickly but the heavy grass made it difficult.
“I do not need your assistance,” she assured him. “I do not need the basket, either. You can keep it.”
“Cathlina, stop,” he begged softly, reaching out to gently grasp her. “Please let me explain what you heard.”
She shook her head, her kerchief at her nose. “There is no need to explain,” she said. “I heard what Cousin Tate said. You are a knight pretending to be a smithy.”
“I am not pretending to be anything. I am what you see.”
She disputed him with a sharp wave of the hand. “But… but you know my cousin, the Earl of Carlisle,” she said, sniffling into her wadded kerchief. “He said you were a great knight. What in the world are you doing posing as a smithy and fooling people into thinking you are a simple man?”
“Is that what you think? That I was trying to fool you?”
She shrugged, blowing her nose. “It does not matter to me who you are.”
“Then why are you weeping?”
She came to a halt and scowled at him. “I am not weeping for you if that is what you think.”
He fought off a grin. “I had hoped that you were.”
Her scowl turned to curiosity. “You do? Why?”
He removed his hand from her elbow now that he was sure she wasn’t going to run off. He could see that he had her attention. Feigning shyness, he looked away.
“Because I have rather enjoyed coming to know you,” he said, trying to get a look at her from the corner of his eye to gauge how she was reacting. “I was very much looking forward to seeing you today.”
Cathlina’s tears were almost completely forgotten. “You were?”
“I was.”
Cathlina was seemingly at a loss. It was evident that she wanted to say something to him but perhaps propriety was preventing her from speaking her mind. The tears had been replaced by a rather warm glimmer. The fact that he seemed to be attracted to her outweighed her confusion at the moment. Suddenly, she didn’t feel like running from him anymore.
“I am not sure what to say to all of that,” she said softly, “but I suppose I could tell you that I was looking forward to seeing you, too. I have been looking forward to seeing you again since I met you. Coming to your stall in search of my basket was merely an excuse.”
He looked at her, a smile on his full lips. “I had hoped that it was,” he said, his voice deep and gentle. “In fact, I was trying to think of another excuse after the basket had been used up. Surely there was something else you could retrieve from me, or mayhap you would leave your kerchief behind so that I could return it to you.”
Cathlina’s chest was swelling with hope. In fact, it was becoming difficult to breathe as she gazed into his dark green eyes. But as she bathed in the joy of the knowledge that he was evidently feeling the same allure she was, the weight of Mathias’ conversation with Tate was pressing upon her. Her expression grew serious.
“Why were you pretending to be a smithy, Mathias?” she asked softly. “I do not understand half of what Cousin Tate was saying, but am I to understand you are an outlaw?”
Mathias shook his head, thankful that she was at least receptive to hearing his story. He chose his words carefully.
“I am not an outlaw,” he said quietly. “In order to explain myself, it is easier to start from the beginning. Do you remember when we spoke of my mother and I mentioned that she had died a few years ago?”
“I do.”
“She was an older sister to Roger Mortimer’s wife, Joan,” he went on. “My mother was close to her sister and as she lay very ill, she made me promise that I would always support Joan’s husband no matter what. Unwilling to disappoint her, I agreed. Therefore, when Mortimer and Isabella took the throne from young Edward, I fought with Mortimer and when he was ultimately captured and killed for his treachery, I was stripped of my titles and lands for my participation.”
The second time around, and with Mathias’ clear and gentle explanation, she was able to grasp the scenario better. It was still overwhelming information but somehow, she was quickly coming to accept it. In fact, it made a good deal of sense. Mathias was a very big and very muscular man, and didn’t look like any smithy she had ever seen. There was something clean and powerful about him, like a god in the midst of a sea of pagans. Now, it was all starting to make sense.
“So you served Mortimer?” she asked.
He nodded slowly. “I was the captain of his armies.”
It was difficult to comprehend that as much as her cousin Tate had been the right arm of Edward, so Mathias had been the right hand of the hated Mortimer. So much death and destruction in a power struggle that had nearly torn the country apart, and Mathias and Tate had been in the middle of it. Tate had emerged greater than before but Mathias, by virtue of his loyalties, had emerged a fallen man. He was the fallen one. The information threatened to overwhelm her again but she fought it.
“What were your lands and titles?” she asked.
“Does it matter?”
“Not really,” she said. “I was simply curious.”
His gaze lingered on her a moment before he spoke “I was known as Baron Westbury, High Warden of the Northern Marches,” he said. “Alberbury Castle and Caus Castle on the Marches were mine as well as seven thousand retainers under my direct command. But that is over and done with now. I am, in fact, a smithy these days because when my titles were taken from me, I was forced to swear that I would never again bear arms in battle in exchange for my life.”
She gazed up at him with her big brown eyes as she digested his statement. “Your brother and father, too?”
“Them, too. We had to find some way of making a living and by virtue of our profession had some proficiency at metal working, so it seemed like a logical choice.”
“So you live as peasants.”
“We do what we must in order to survive.”
She could imagine him at the head of a great army. It was very easy to picture. As she thought on him clad in armor and bearing weapons as a powerful warrior, now reduced to wearing a leather apron and wielding a hammer, she began to feel sorry for him. She couldn’t help it.
“What will you do now with your life?” she asked seriously. “It seems that Sir Kenneth did not think your exile would last forever. When your greatness is restored, what will you do?”
He lifted his eyebrows thoughtfully. As he did so, horns from the tournament field began to sound, calling the combatants to the arena for the practice bouts. Mathias fully intended to participate but before he could, he had to get Cathlina moving. He extended his elbow to her.
“Let me take you back to your family,” he said. “The tournament will be starting soon.”
Cathlina took his elbow without hesitation and he began to lead her back the way they had come. Things were calm now between them, and the feel of her hand against his arm was comforting and natural. It had been so long since Mathias had felt a woman against him, in any form, that the simple touch of her hand was enough to set his heart fluttering.
“Please answer my question” Cathlina said as he helped her navigate a muddy puddle of mashed grass. “What will you do once your honor is restored and you are a mighty knight again?”
He shrugged. “I will have my titles and property returned to me at some point,” he said as they walked. “I never believed otherwise. When the time comes, I will assume my place in the king’s stable of knights. I will swear fealty to him.”
“When do you think this will happen?”
“It is difficult to know. Time has a way of healing bitter memories. Mayhap it will be next year or mayhap in ten years. I do not know.”
“And you remain so patient?”
He thought he had been very patient, but remembering his conversation with his father whereupon he discussed winning the tournament and using the proceeds to start a new life in Scotland, perhaps he hadn’t been patient at all.
“Nay,” he shook his head ruefully. “I am not as patient as I would like to think. Something has happened recently that has made me reconsider my patient stance.”
“What has happened?”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “I met a young lady who has made me think that mayhap there is more to life than scratching out a living as a smithy,” he said. “She has opened my eyes to a great many things.”
Cathlina had no idea he was speaking of her and she began to feel a good deal of disappointment and jealousy.
“Oh,” she said, somewhat subdued. “Then… then I wish you good fortune in your future endeavors.”
He could tell that she didn’t mean it and he suspected why. In fact, her reaction gave him great hope and happiness. As they passed through the small cottages and onto the avenue that led towards the smithy shack, he put a big hand over the small fingers clutching his elbow.
“I have a question to ask you, Lady Cathlina,” he said. “May I be so bold?”
She picked up the damp hem of her skirt to prevent it from dragging in the dust and creating mud. “Of course.”
“Are you spoken for?”
Cathlina was watching the dusty road pass under her feet, her damp slipper with a brown ring around the bottom. The softly uttered words were not the combination of words she had expected and when the meaning struck her, she looked at him in shock.
“Am I…?” she repeated, eyes wide. “Why… why would you ask?”
“Cathlina!”
The shout came from down the avenue. Cathlina and Mathias turned to see Tate approaching. His expression was filled with concern, with relief, as he quickly came upon them. His focus was completely on Cathlina.
“Cathlina, are you well?” he asked. “I am happy to see that Mathias was able to find you.”
Cathlina looked rather embarrassed, her gaze moving between Tate and Mathias. “I… I am well,” she assured Tate. “I am sorry if I caused you concern. I was… well, I am sure my father is looking for me. I was simply trying to make my way back and lost my way.”
Tate took her from Mathias. “I will take you to him.”
Cathlina looked at Mathias in panic as Tate pulled her away. “Mathias,” she called, but realized she couldn’t say what she was thinking. She scrambled as she thought of a way to phrase it. “In… in answer to your question, it depends on who is asking. Were you inquiring for yourself, perchance?”
Mathias’ eyes glimmered at her as Tate tried to lead her away. “I was.”
She grinned. “In that case, I am not.”
He laughed softly, watching Tate urge her down the avenue with him. Cathlina giggled, waving at him as he waved back. It was a sweet moment in spite of Tate’s presence, the looks between Cathlina and Mathias full of potential and promise.
Mathias lowered his hand, watching her disappear from view with her enormous cousin, the vision of her smiling face the last memory he held to him. He held it close as he headed back for the smithy stall, keeping the vision of her as his inspiration. All his life, he’d been told what cause to fight for, whether or not he truly believed in it. That sense of duty had cost him everything. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. Now, he had his own cause to fight for.
He had a tournament to participate in.