Gayle Callen by The Darkest Knight Page B

blamed for kissing her when she threw herself against him. But as he silently led her back to the great hall, Katherine berated herself for her lack of control.
    How could she allow a man she barely knew to kiss her like that? After her mother’s monk, she had stayed far away from men and any chance of touching one. But since meeting Brother Reynold, she had embraced him more times than she could count, kissed him, and even seen most of his body. What kind of conduct was this for a betrothed woman?
    She tried to concentrate on the face of James, but it had been three years since she’d seen him. For the first time, she admitted to herself that even his features had grown hazy in her mind. Why was it so easy to forget the only man who had ever wanted to marry her?
    Reynold came to a halt and silently pointed towhat Katherine assumed was the entrance to the garderobe. Her face flushed red as she left him standing in the corridor, waiting for her.
     
    Back in the great hall, the fire had dimmed, the music had ended, and the rest of the marquess’s family had retired to their private quarters. Reynold led Katherine past benches where snoring men sprawled. Cloaks and blankets covered huddled lumps of people on the floor. He squinted into the shadows, trying to find a private place for Katherine to sleep. He retrieved his sack and settled for a spot near one hearth, between two other couples. No privacy, but at least the fire chased away the dampness of the castle.
    He spread a blanket on the rushes, and bowed slightly to Katherine. She gave him an unreadable look and sat down stiffly. When he joined her, her eyes widened but she wisely held her tongue. He covered their legs with the remaining blanket.
    With a heavy sigh, Reynold lay back, listening to the crackling of dry rushes beneath him. Katherine released her hair and it fell in waves down her back. He closed his eyes for a moment, but he could barely see his dead brother’s face. Words like “duty” and “honor” floated behind his eyelids, becoming a meaningless string of letters next to Katherine’s soft curls. All his vows, his promises of penance, meant little next a woman who actually wanted him, who kissed him with a passion he’d never experienced before. It made a mockeryof every sexual encounter he’d ever had. He finally knew all he had given up.
    Katherine lay back, taking special care to keep from touching him. Reynold drew his own half of the covers up to his waist, watching her pull her half right up to her chin as if it were a shield. The firelight flickered across the tip of her nose and touched golden strands of her hair. He deliberately turned his face away and tried to sleep.
    The rushes crackled with the movements of the other occupants, and an occasional giggle or whispered conversation reached his ears. Then, in a moment of quiet, a languorous sigh rose from the couple to his left. Reynold felt every muscle in his body tighten. The rushes shifted and the man groaned.
    Reynold desperately tried to think of something—anything—else. He pictured himself at his carrel in the monastery, painstakingly transcribing line after line. Though it had happened but a few days ago, that part of his life seemed hazy and unreal. Instead vivid images rose to mind of the smooth lengths of a woman’s leg, the rounded edge of a breast slowly revealed as a bodice dropped away. Reynold’s breathing quickened and he longed to wipe the sweat from his forehead, but he couldn’t move. He used all his mental powers not to see the face of the woman in his dreams. A strand of golden hair curled at her throat, and before he could stop it, Katherine’s face appeared above it, her head thrown back, her face severe in ecstasy. Reynold barely controlled theshudder that rippled through his body.
    Why now? Why did he have to be so vividly reminded of the life he had forsworn? Why had he even helped this woman, whose body writhed in his mind, tempting him to forget all he