“Excellent work.”
“What are we going to do tonight?” said Catherine. “Will someone keep watch?”
All the men paused and looked at him expectantly.
“We’ll take shifts,” said Brand decisively. “I’ll take the first, then you lot decide amongst yourselves who will stand guard until morning. You are free to rest after supper, I want us to be packed up and back on the road to Guildford at daybreak.”
Over the next few hours they played cards, but eventually his men and Lucas abandoned the game for bed. Soon, he and Catherine sat alone on a fallen log, hands stretched toward the fire for warmth, with a heavy woolen blanket covering their legs and cloaks securely fastened around their shoulders. Even so, the seeping chill numbed his toes and ears, and tiny white clouds danced in front of him when he breathed.
Catherine shivered and wrapped her arms around her stomach.
“Saints be praised this is only for one night.”
He nodded. “Arthur would not approve of our outdoor sojourn. Actually, I don’t think the horses approve either. Far too used to their warm stables and unending supply of oats and hay.”
“You are very good with them. Did your father teach you?”
Before he thought to temper his reaction, he’d recoiled, his fists clenching. “No.”
“I’m so sorry, that was awful of me. You don’t have to say anything,” she said, and he forced himself to meet her embarrassed gaze. Clearly she’d just remembered what he’d told her in his library about his illegitimacy.
Perhaps it was the intimacy of the campsite so far away from London, perhaps just his utter weariness, but beyond all reason, he wanted to tell her about his upbringing.
“It’s a long story,” he said hesitantly.
“Well, we do have a few hours to occupy until the next watch takes over. If you want to share, I mean.”
Brand took a deep breath.
“I only met my father five years ago,” he began. “He is a wealthy nobleman who sowed his wild oats as a page in King Henry’s court and turned his back on a rather naive young lady when she told him of her pregnancy. His relatives were most displeased and made terrible trouble for my mother, but fortunately her own family forgave the sin and took her back, babe and all. My grandfather oversaw my studies, and my uncle, a soldier, taught me how to ride, fish, and handle a sword.”
“How wonderful you had them. I bet you were a rough-and-tumble boy.”
“Indeed I was. There were a few village lads who joined in on the odd adventure, but most weren’t permitted to speak to me or my mother because of the scandal of my birth. She was too well-known for it to be hidden, and gossip travels remarkably well.”
Catherine flinched. “Do you still see your grandfather and uncle often?”
An old arrow of pain delved deep, and he took a moment to watch the bright yellow flames and orange sparks of the campfire for composure.
“Unfortunately, they both passed long ago. That is why when my mother fell ill, I was determined she have the best doctor in England, Arthur Linwood. I do not care for my true father, but his connections enabled me to secure Arthur’s expertise, and that is a service I shall not forget.”
Catherine made a muffled sound, and he jerked his head around. Her eyes remained dry, but she was biting her plump lower lip hard.
“He was the best. Wasn’t he? Not a b-butcher.”
Unthinkingly, he reached over and took her hand in his. “Those guards were fools, spreading practiced lies. Never believe anything other than your father had a remarkable gift for healing.”
“Papa helped so many people. He didn’t care whether they were nobleman, farmer, or fishwife. But sometimes I had selfish thoughts. So selfish I had to attend confession twice as often.”
His lips twitched at the grave tone. “Really?”
“I wished…I wished he weren’t quite so good, because he was always being called away to tend the sick. When he was home, we would go for walks around London and eat pasties from stalls. In our rooms he would read aloud and teach me things so I could assist in examinations. Sometimes I was so lonely without him I thought it might break me. Courtiers are too…changeable…to be true friends.”
Hell. Brand turned back to the campfire. He didn’t want open honesty, no knowledge they might have much in common despite their very different lives. Even sitting here speaking of the past and cradling her hand was madness.
The brutal lust that coursed through his body whenever he thought about the alley kiss or interlude in his library was bad enough. But to succumb to deeper feelings, to allow lust to become something more would be the worst mistake of his mistake-riddled life. He had to concentrate on solving the mystery of Arthur’s death and keep Catherine safe until she found the husband she deserved. He must definitely not think of her sitting near a fire in a far different location, smiling and talking as she nursed a brown-haired babe at her breast…
“Brand!”
He blinked. “What is the matter?”
“You’re crushing my hand.”
“Sorry,” he said quickly, dropping it and folding his arms.
“I won’t talk about myself anymore, I promise. Tell me…tell me about your mother instead. Is she well?”
Brand sighed in relief at the easier topic.
“Very much so. But she chooses to remain in the country, on our lands in West Berkshire. I would stay there too. London…court life…is not for me.”
“I understand. When I was a child, Papa was the personal physician to Lord Clinton and his family.”
“Bessie Blount’s husband?”
“Don’t say it like that, she was wonderfully kind to my mother and me. I often played with the Clinton girls, and attended their lessons when Papa went away with the baron. They traveled everywhere, France, Scotland, and told us jaw-dropping tales on their return. I didn’t want
