LITMIR.BIZ

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arrangements. And her biggest folly was to even consider for a moment that she could be Geoffrey’s wife.

      Catherine removed her hand from the countess’s grasp and stood. The day was early, but already the heat was building. A breeze moved the smaller branches of the tree that provided them with some shade, and Catherine walked to its trunk and leaned against it. Pulling out a linen square from her sleeve, she wiped the remaining tears from her eyes and cheeks.

      These overwhelming feelings must be some last moment of weakness and unresolve within her. She was content with her decision. She had thought about all the questions that the countess had raised, and knew she had but one choice for her life. If she could not marry Geoffrey, she wanted to marry no man. And so the convent was her only option, nay, her only refuge, to avoid an unwanted marriage.

      “I am content with this decision, my lady. The reverend mother will accept me and she knows my heart on this.”

      “Have you told Geoffrey of this? Does he know?”

      Swallowing against the tightening within her throat, Catherine could only shake her head in reply. Closing her eyes, she fought for control.

      “He knows that this visit is our last, for his choosing a wife will settle things for both of us.” She whispered the words that declared her fate as well as his.

      “And the love you share? Have you spoken of it with him?”

      She gasped at the question and its implications. Others did know. As much as she tried to hide it, and thought her efforts enough, apparently ’twas not so.

      In a moment, the countess was at her side. “’Tis obvious to those of us willing and able to see it.” Her voice was soft and soothing. “Geoffrey has not spoken of it to you?”

      Catherine realized the question at the heart of her words. Words spoken. Promises made. Betrothals were arranged on less than that.

      “His honor would not permit anything to be spoken between us, my lady. He knows his duties, as do I.”

      The countess muttered under her breath in reply, but the words “the earl” were clear. Oh no! She did not mean that the earl knew of her feelings for his brother? No wonder he hated her. ’Twas not because he thought her a burden on his wife. He probably thought Catherine would do whatever she could to trap Geoffrey into a marriage that would be advantageous to her.

      The air around her began to flicker before her eyes and Catherine felt faint. Dropping to her knees, she leaned forward and tried to breathe. She could feel the countess touching her shoulder, but then the sights and sounds around her began to fade. Just when she thought she would lose consciousness, everything began to clear and she could hear the birds in the tree above her and the noises in the yard behind her. After taking a few breaths, she felt strong enough to stand.

      “My lady, I beg forgiveness if I have given any offense to the earl in this. I meant no disrespect to him or to his family and I do not claim that any promises were made between Lord Geoffrey and myself. Please tell the earl. Please—”

      “Catherine, you misunderstand my words. Here—” the countess sat back down on the bench and pointed to the place next to her “—sit and let us talk about this. I would not have you mistake my meaning and my comment about the earl’s knowledge in this regard.”

      Catherine felt the need to run growing within her. In a moment it would be irresistible, and so she excused herself from the countess’s presence. Shame and guilt welled within her over her thoughts and even her dreams of happiness, a happiness she did not deserve.

      “My lady? May I be excused for a short time?” Catherine walked to the gate even as she uttered the words.

      “Of course, Catherine. You are not a servant here. Go now, but come to see me later.”

      Chapter Five

      She did not even slow down to hear the countess’s reply. Instead, her feet moved quickly until she was almost running through the yard and out through the portcullis. If anyone watching thought it was strange that the countess’s companion was leaving in such a hurry, no one thought to stop her. Soon she was on the road to the village, passing peasants and villagers traveling in both directions. Still, she ran on, for in truth, when these feelings came upon her, she could do nothing but walk or run from them.

      When she could no longer breathe due to the painful strain in her side, and when her legs were beset with tremors, Catherine slowed to a walk and then found a spot off the path to sit down. Her hair, now loosened from its braid and coif, flowed over her shoulders. Tugging the coif free, she gathered her thigh-length hair and tossed it over her shoulders again.

      That would soon change.

      When she took her vows, her hair would be cut, and for the first time never be permitted to show at all. No decorative coifs or fancy braids would ever decorate her blond tresses again. A simple white habit would be her clothing for the rest of her life, and no one would ever wonder what color hair lay beneath the white wimple, coif and veil.

      Catherine’s breathing slowed and she sat in the shade of the tree, listening to the sounds around her. This path was one she’d taken before; it followed the course of a small stream and ended near the fields of one of the villeins. She would have privacy here. And she was safe.

      There was no explanation she knew that caused these anxious feelings to build within her. So strong did they become, however, that the urge to escape grew unmanageable to her. She lost control and had to get out and walk or run until the tension left her. The reverend mother seemed to understand, as did the countess, but Catherine herself did not. Usually, she followed the impulse as soon as she became aware of it. Walking around the convent grounds and praying was acceptable behavior for the residents there so it did not draw undue attention. And here at Greystone, the countess made it clear that it was with her permission that Catherine walked where she would and when she would.

      Another flaw in her character, certainly, but to find the cause she would need courage she did not have. Many times she had thought to confront Lady Harbridge or the reverend mother about the dark spaces in her memory, but a physical fear made it impossible. There was a reason she could not or would not remember from the time she came to live with her brother until she awoke one night at the convent in some sort of convalescent stay. There had to be.

      Catherine climbed back onto her feet and looked toward the castle on its high mount, nearly half a league away. The walk back would give her time to collect her thoughts and ready herself for what she must face. The least she could do in return for the generosity and support of the Dumonts was to attend the banquet this evening. She would need to overcome her discomfort at being in large groups as well as being with people she did not know. She would blend into the background as she usually did, and no one but the countess need even notice she was there.

      Catherine decided that she needed to face these next days and their challenges with a lighter mood. Had not the good sisters taught her that a sacrifice or good work done with a heavy heart or in regret was not worth doing? Neither the one performing the act nor the one who should benefit would, if the deed was not carried out with a pure heart.

      Her love for Geoffrey would sustain her through this time of trial. She knew her place and his, and once he had chosen a bride, she herself could move on and settle in her life. Feeling her sense of calm and balance restored, Catherine decided it was time to go back to the responsibilities she had accepted in service to the countess. And to explain herself to Lady Harbridge.

      Picking up her coif from where it lay on the ground, she shook it free of dust and tucked it in her sleeve. There would be plenty of time to replace it before reaching the main road to the castle, and she would enjoy the feel of the breezes lifting the hair on her shoulders and neck.

      The horses were upon her almost as she set her foot on the road. Reeling back, Catherine stumbled and would have fallen, had not one of the three men vaulted from his mount and grabbed her arm at the last moment.

      “Here, demoiselle. Allow me to help you,” he said, as he slid his hands

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