Read Online Gayle Callen by The Darkest Knight - Free Book Online

for control over emotions which ranged from protectiveness to outright lust. And God help him, he did lust after her, this fragile girl with a heart so big she had to take on a man’s cause, no matter what the peril. Every other woman he had ever met or wooed would have run straight to the man in her life, be he father or suitor. He had never had much use for women, except for baser needs. Sometimeshe felt pity for his older brother, who had to marry and produce heirs. Yet, had he met a woman like Katherine in his youth, perhaps his life would have turned out differently.
    Reynold sighed. It was difficult to think rationally when her legs twisted in sleep, exposing the fair skin of her calves, when her lips pouted, then parted. He could only think of kissing her, of cupping one of those magnificent breasts in his shaking hand.
    Stop this! he told himself angrily, rolling onto his back and covering his eyes with one arm. He tried to remember the monastery, the book he had been transcribing, but everything except the girl was a blur. Why was he allowing himself fantasies of making love to her? He knew it was impossible—not only was she engaged to some fool, but the monastery was where he belonged now. All he could cling to were the shreds of his honor. He remembered his older brother’s contempt and disgust, his sister’s sobs. Because of him, his youngest brother was dead. He had brought himself to this wretched life, but it did not mean he couldn’t appreciate a beautiful woman.
    He turned and looked once more at Katherine, at the curve of her cheek and those full lips, beckoning to him. She was a test to his honor and penance. He refused to fail.
     
    The dream had not come to Katherine in many years. The old monk had been the only man to show her any kindness, besides her father’s occasional remembrance that she was there. He wanted to know what she was studying, even what she was thinking. And he always hugged her, something her own father or mother seldom did. But once when they were alone, his hugs had turned to intimate touches. When she had finally realized that something was horribly wrong, she cried out in sudden shock and terror. He ignored her, his hands no longer gentle, but sweaty and hurtful.
     
    Katherine’s hoarse scream brought Reynold bolt upright out of a pleasant doze. Her contorted face was shiny with perspiration, and she lay unnaturally stiff, her limbs stretched outwards.
    “Katherine,” he called, reaching out to touch her shoulder. “’Tis but a dream. Wake up!”
    She screamed again, and the sound was so agonized that Reynold felt gooseflesh rise on his skin. He rolled up to his knees and shook both of her shoulders. She suddenly went limp and began to weep, huge sobs torn from her chest. He gathered her into his arms and she didn’t protest. She simply clung to him, and he rocked her like a child, his hands combing through her tangled hair.
    “Tell me your dream, my sweet,” he whispered.
    Katherine shook her head and sobbed harder, clutching his shoulders.
    “Do you have this often?”
    She began to quiet in his arms, and gave a shivery sigh. “No,” she whispered. “’Tis n-nothing. I’m sorry.”
    Reynold nodded, resigned to her silences. He resolved to himself that he would discover her secrets—all of them. He would help her heal, because he had never bothered to help his brother.
    “Do you wish to go back to sleep?” he asked.
    She shook her head, then suddenly seemed to realize where she was and how he held her. Instead of bolting from his arms, she studied him, her blue eyes dark as the stormy skies outside.
    “Brother Reynold?”
    “Yes?”
    “Why do you care about me? Why do you risk your life for me? I tell you nothing, as if you are untrustworthy.”
    He hesitated a moment, feeling the weight of her head in the crook of his arm, her body across his thighs. “You are frightened, but you will tell me why eventually.”
    “You are so sure of yourself, then?”