Stay hunched. Walk slowly. Keep Catherine upright.
With such a reward offered and more and more men joining the search, in a matter of hours, a day or two at best, Arthur’s daughter would be the most hunted woman in England. Something damned ugly was going on, and it seemed to be connected to his friend’s sudden passing. If he stayed with Catherine, he’d soon be seen and become a known accomplice.
Brand almost chuckled at the absurd thought, as if the decision hadn’t already been made. Hell, he’d made himself Catherine’s champion back in the crypt when he agreed to discover more about Arthur’s death. It was probably his own inquiries that triggered the queen’s wrath.
He cursed softly. For a man who knew more than most about the cruel lengths highborn people would go to in preserving their secrets, he’d been a bloody damned fool.
Now there could be only two options.
Flee.
Or die.
Chapter Three
The lane was quiet. So astonishingly quiet, the pounding of her heart sounded like the beat of a thousand drums.
Any moment there would be shouts, the fast thud of booted feet and the rasp of swords as they were unsheathed. Any moment she would be the one flying through the air then crumpled in a broken heap.
“Catherine?”
It sounded like Brand’s baritone voice, but so far away. And muffled, like he sat underwater, although that was probably because one side of her face was crushed so hard against his chest she would have a doublet button imprint in her temple forever. Not to mention the haystack of curls covering her other ear and impairing her vision.
Yet she had no inclination whatsoever to move her head. Or any part of her limp body really. Brand was practically carrying her along the street under one arm, his strides long, purposeful, but unhurried. Numbness had left her useless, even the effort of breathing and keeping her eyes open a supreme one.
She’d thought the day her father died would be the worst of her life. But witnessing Robbie’s accident, being chased by soldiers, hearing the terrible falsehoods about Papa…and how could it possibly be the worst and the best? She’d heard tales from indiscreet ladies at court, even witnessed the odd heated embrace. But nothing, nothing in the world could have prepared her for the searing reality of Brand’s lips, his huge, hard chest pressing tightly against hers.
“Catherine.”
Brand again, this time louder and slightly impatient. She blinked and shook her head, anything to clear the fog in her mind. “You called me Carey before.”
Almost imperceptibly, his stride faltered. “I had to. So you would know it was me and not someone else pretending to be a friend.”
“Oh.”
“Are you cold?”
“N-no,” she replied through chattering teeth, her body abruptly wracked with shivers. The oddest sensation, especially when perspiration trickled down her upper arms and back. Unfortunately her wits were returning in a flood, and the cloying smell of sweat and whatever Brand had rubbed on her cheek and hem, the sight of her torn gown, and dirty cold-reddened bare feet made her want to vomit.
Brand sighed, pausing to remove his cloak, drape it around her shoulders then scoop her into his arms. He felt so warm, and once again so safe, she burrowed against him, curling one arm tightly around his shoulder and tucking her head against his neck.
“Just hold on,” he said quietly. “We’ll be home soon.”
She jerked. “No, please! D-don’t take me b-back to the palace. Those soldiers!”
“You aren’t going back to that damned viper’s nest. I’m taking you to my home until I work out what to do next.”
“Not giving me up for c-coins and ale?” she said softly, a warmth seeping through her body that had nothing to do with his secure hold. Not only had he saved her from those wretched soldiers, he risked his own neck to offer a temporary sanctuary.
“As it happens, I have coins aplenty. And ale gives me a bellyache. Terribly unhealthy beverage, though not quite as bad as milk.”
It might have been a joke, but something about his gruff tone made her relax and let out a long breath.
“I was so scared,” she said slowly, trying to unravel her jumbled thoughts. “I don’t understand any of this, Brand. The soldiers wanting to hurt me…those sinful lies about Papa. There is no way the queen would order this. Mary is a wonderful, kind, and generous woman who loves me as she loved my mother!”
There was a long, long silence. Then his grip tightened. “Tell me exactly what happened. Right from the beginning, when you got the message to meet me at the Grand Duke. Who told you to do that?”
“The queen’s personal page. The same lad who told me of Papa’s death when I was visiting Mary in her rooms. He had two guards with him, and said I had to leave right away as you were waiting for me at the inn. I know that place well. Papa and I often stopped there for food.”
Brand cursed under his breath. “It was my fault, then. Too damned indiscreet. I’m a bloody FitzAlan, someone is always watching.”
She flinched at the harsh, bitter words. “Brand? What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Just rambling,” he said, the tip of one finger brushing her cheek in a soothing caress. “Go on. You walked from the palace?”
“Yes. The sun was out and I wanted to get some air. The guards agreed. All was well until we reached the corner of Tewkesbury Lane.”
“Then what?”
Catherine shuddered as memories made her stomach roil.
“A little girl gave me a flower, and I paid her a coin. Then a young man appeared. He said…”
Her fingers bit into his shoulder as she again fought the urge to be horribly ill.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” she coughed, clearing her throat. “No. I want to be away from here. His name was Robbie, and he said…he said my father didn’t die of any illness. That there
