Delicate and pale, her fingers twisted about themselves on the table. It was a telltale twitching for a woman so self-contained. “Bertrand of Bridge. You may recall him?”
“Vaguely. In what way was Bridge an alternative?”
“An alternative bedmate, Aodh,” she said, almost sadly, that he had not understood. “If the passions could not be tamped down, they could be channeled. Bertrand was a perfect choice. He was of a long-standing noble family. We had land, he was impoverished. He very much wanted Rardove, and had the…will…to contain me. It was a perfect match, really. But I was…stubborn. I refused.” She lifted a faint smile to him. “You see, there it is again, stubbornness. Certes, I am doomed.”
“Spirit is not stubbornness,” he said grimly. The notion that someone had tried to tame her…as he himself was doing.
Something in his gut twisted, and a weight descended on his chest. He pushed it away. What he was doing here was different. Much different.
“Oh, on occasion it is,” she said, as rain began to lash at the windows. “In any event, I said no. Which mattered not at all; Bertrand is a resourceful man. All the situation required was a little ruination. He came to my room one night. It was very dark, and I’d only seen him once, across a crowded courtyard, so at first I did not know who he was. I was terrified. Then when he told me who he was, and what he wanted.... Me, Rardove.” She shrugged. “I’d already been disgraced, you see.”
Darkness veiled his vision. “Did he hurt you?”
She looked up swiftly at the low, menacing tone. “No, Aodh, no. Just…frightened me.”
“I will kill him.”
Her eyebrows arched. “I thought that was already part of your plan.”
“I will kill him twice,” he vowed.
Katarina smiled faintly, and her fingers trailed over the cards on the table. “And yet again, the queen was good to me. I said I did not want Bertrand, and she allowed me that. Instead of throwing me into the sea, or the Tower, she gave me Rardove. Aodh, she could have done any number of things, none of them good. Time and again, I was the product of misbegotten passions, and looked to recreate them ever and anon. And still, she gave me Rardove to rule.”
“Until she gave it to Bertrand after all.”
“And then you came,” was her tart reply.
“Thank God for small favors,” he said with feeling.
She laughed, and a smile lingered after. The secret smile, the one that housed something sweet and hidden, and it was aimed right at him.
Soon. Very soon, she would be his.
Chapter Eighteen
KATARINA DRAGGED her gaze away from the clear intent in Aodh’s eyes: he wanted her. She looked at the treasure chests, then the map, then turned slightly to examine the bundle of silk he’d tossed on the shadowy bed. She nodded toward it.
“And what is that? It does not look like something won in a pirate raid.”
“I am not a pirate, Katy.” The words were quiet, but hard as steel.
“Good. What is it?”
“Silk. Soon to be a gown. For you.” He reached out and pushed the bundle closer.
She got to her feet and touched the fabric, then swept it up and held it against her body. It was a gorgeous, luxurious piece of fine-woven silk. She stroked her hand across it, then looked up to see his ice-blue gaze climbing from the fabric to her eyes.
“You said you would accept a gown.”
Her fingers curled into the silk. “Aodh, you do not have to bring me gifts.”
“Aye, I do.” He sounded grim and sat forward. “Does it please you?”
She shrugged dismissively, pulling her mouth into a pout of indifference as she glanced at the fabric that was finer than anything she’d ever owned. “It is pleasing. Is this what they are wearing over the sea?”
“Some.”
She lifted a handful of the silk and slid it over her cheek. “I recall in England, the…thing worn…about the neck? A bit of lace…?” Her fingers fluttered against her throat.