Page 28 of The Forsaken
She closed her eyes and waited for sleep to come. She tried to recall happy times with her brothers, to honor their memory, but Guy de Rosel was the last person she thought of before falling asleep. His face appeared to her, clear as day, and the anguish she felt at the thought of never seeing him again took her by surprise, possibly because he was as lost to her as if he were dead.
SEVENTEEN
Kate woke with a start. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep. For a brief moment, she thought it was time for the Midnight Office prayer, or Matins, but quickly remembered she was no longer at the priory. What had woken her was the opening of the door, followed by footsteps.
As her father approached the bed, the light of a single candle illuminated the lower half of his face, giving it a demonic appearance.
“Is it Mother?” she gasped, sitting up.
Gerard set down the candle on a bedside table and leaned over Kate. The anger burning in his eyes frightened her. “Did he force you?” he demanded.
“What? Who?”
“Did Hugh de Rosel force himself on you?” her father repeated, his face so close, Kate could smell wine on his breath.
“No, he didn’t.” Her mind had been muddled with sleep, but now she was fully awake. She drew back from her father and pulled the counterpane to her chest, clutching at it with all her might in a desperate but vain effort to protect herself.
He slapped her hard across the face and she cried out in shock as her head spun to the side, blood filling her mouth when she bit her tongue.
“Father, what have I done?” Kate cried as he towered over her.
Her father didn’t answer. He dragged her out of bed and pushed her down on the cold floor. She thought he might kick her and she curled into a ball to protect her middle, but he stood aside, panting with fury.
“Whore!” he spat out. “Get out of my house and never return. You’re useless to me now. You’re soiled.”
“Father, I…”
“Get out!” he roared. “If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you.” He grabbed the candle and stormed from Kate’s bedchamber, leaving her bewildered and shaking with shock.
What had she done? Why did he think she was soiled? Kate hastily pulled on her clothes, stuck her feet in her shoes, grabbed her cloak, and ran downstairs.
Hugh was in the yard, their horses saddled and ready. “Come, Catherine. We’ll bide at the inn tonight, and tomorrow, I will return and try to reason with your father.”
“What on earth did you say to him?” Kate cried as he gave her a leg up and handed her the reins.
“I asked him for your hand in marriage,” Hugh replied as he swung into the saddle. “I told him that I’d had the honor of getting to know you over the past few days and wished to spend my life with you.”
Kate stared at him. “Is thatallyou said?” She couldn’t begin to understand why Hugh would ask her father for her hand. Lord Dancy was a staunch Yorkist, cousin to the Earl of Warwick, and distant kin to the new king. He would never consider a suit from someone whose rank was beneath his own, particularly an avowed supporter of the House of Lancaster.
“Of course,” Hugh replied, sounding deeply offended. “What else could I have said?”
“My father seems to have misinterpreted your meaning,” Kate replied, her voice shaking with anger, hurt, and confusion. Only a few days ago she had been at the priory, her life measured, ordered, and calm, and now her father, who professed to love her, had accused her of being a whore and cast her out when she’d done absolutely nothing wrong, other than help a wounded man.
“Please don’t worry, Catherine. I will speak to your father in the morning, but in the meantime, I will look after you, just as I did for the past few days. You are safe with me.”
Kate had no choice but to follow Hugh out of the yard and toward the road to Belford. She didn’t cry, but her insides twisted with misery and she wanted nothing more than to turn around, run up to her mother’s bedchamber and beg her father to listen to her. He’d misunderstood, that was all. He would forgive her and apologize for the awful things he’d said to her.
But her bruised cheek told a different story. Surely her father should have known her better, or if he didn’t, could have at the very least given her a chance to explain—not that there was anything to explain. She was innocent of any wrongdoing, as was Hugh. The most he’d done was help her mount her horse and dismount when they arrived. He had taken no liberties. He hadn’t so much as touched her hand or looked at her with anything other than respect. He was Henry VI’s man, that was true, but that didn’t make him a blackguard.
When they arrived at the inn, all was quiet and dark. The shutters were closed against the night and the stable door was bolted. Thick clouds obscured the moon and fat drops of rain were just beginning to fall, a downpour imminent. Kate slid into Hugh’s waiting hands, and he set her on the ground and drew her cloak closer around her body as her teeth chattered with cold and anxiety. He threw the horses’ reins to a bleary-eyed boy who’d materialized out of the darkness, then banged on the door of the inn until the proprietor came to answer, wearing nothing but his nightshirt.
“We need two rooms,” Hugh commanded as he pushed past the man and drew Kate inside, out of the rain. The man followed them into the small parlor, his candle casting a pool of light on his tired face.
“I’m sorry, sir, but there’s just the one room. The bed is big enough for you and your lady wife,” the man added, as though reluctant to let them leave now that they’d woken him up.
“One room?” Kate balked.
“We’ll take it,” Hugh replied and dropped a coin into the man’s outstretched hand. He turned to Kate. “I’ll sleep on the floor. You’ve nothing to fear from me, Catherine.”
