Chapter Twelve

Odi et amo

I hate and love

-Gaius Valerius Catullus

Marcus went into Kit’s room through the adjoining door. There was no sign of her. The wench was gone. He scarcely contained his roar of fury as he stormed down the stairs, bellowing her name. Upon his entrance to the great hall, he spied the servants getting ready for the night meal. Roger was seated in a chair by the hearth.

Roger looked up when Marcus burst into the room. The amused glance on his face gave away his thoughts. “I haven’t seen her come through here.” Roger offered the information without being asked.

Marcus bit back another yell. “All of her stuff is gone. Would she be crazy enough to take one of my mounts?” Not even waiting for an answer, Marcus headed out the door toward the stables at a run. Roger bounded after him.

Marcus burst into the stables, causing startled stableboys to gape at him before they swiftly altered their gazes. “Where is she? Which horse did she take?” Their expressions did nothing to calm him down.

One of the braver boys asked him in a timid voice, “Where is who, milord?”

“The wen…woman that I was riding with earlier.”

He gulped, fear obvious. “She hasn’t been here, milord. The last time we saw her, she was with you.”

Upset by that news, he turned and left the stables. Roger fell into step with him, keeping his peace. If she had not left by horse, then she must be on foot. Since she would have to carry all of her things, she would not get very far. I can easily overtake her on horseback. But, which way did she head?

His heavy steps stomped along the stone floor. None of the servants claimed to have seen her leaving in any direction. Not sure action to take, half tempted to leave her out there so she could face the dangers by herself, he went to grab some food, just in case she’d gotten farther than he figured she could have.

As Marcus strode to the kitchens, he slowed when he heard laughter coming from the servants. That, in itself, was uncommon and strange. His staff had been subdued since Clarissa had moved herself in. She treated them with both disdain and rudeness.

The place was dirty. The food wasn’t impressive, partially warm and only mildly tasty. But, to hear the servants laughing… That amazed him. It also offered him a momentary distraction from his current quest.

He paused in the doorway of the kitchen, taking in the scene. His misplaced woman was in the middle of the kitchen, helping to prepare food. She told jokes and stories of how things were in her home. After the realization hit him that she was fine, he contented himself by watching. Finally, he recognized what it was about this that was odd—she spoke to them in French.

She spoke French. It wasn’t exactly the same as the way he spoke it, but she could be understood. The same language in which Clarissa called her a slave. Kit had given no notice of that when he and Clarissa argued about her. Despite their behavior on it, this woman hadn’t given any sign, at all. She’d acted as if she didn’t understand a thing. The wench is cleverer than I realized.

She’d made herself right at home in his kitchen with his servants. Marcus looked around again, taking in the differences. The room was spotless. The food smelled delicious, for once, no stench of old rotten food lingered, and his stomach rumbled loudly. A few servants looked up, saw him, and the atmosphere changed. Once again, they were serious as the laughter disappeared immediately.

Kit peered up at the quiet that descended over the kitchen. Her gaze found him as he leaned against the frame, watching her. She smiled at him while continuing to chop vegetables. Marcus didn’t want to address how her smile made his gut flip. He crossed his arms and remained silent.

The servants, after a while, picked up the conversation, again. He supposed it was because he didn’t seem angry or upset with them. It wasn’t as carefree as before, but they tried, and for that reason, he kept his expression blank.

He couldn’t begin to explain how relieved he was by the fact Kit was still there and hadn’t run off. Now, he wanted her to come to him.

She would come to him.

She would look at him, again, then walk over to apologize and explain what she was doing.

He was wrong, for she did no such thing. Kit glanced over at him, and he beckoned with a jerk of his head. She dismissed him and proceeded to have a conversation with the old woman, Edith.

Stunned by her arrogance, Marcus wanted to roar at her. He took a deep breath and said, “Katrina.” When she looked at him, he crooked his finger at her.

One eyebrow rose, and he swore amusement filled her eyes. “What do you want? I’m busy helping with dinner.” She focused back on her conversation with Edith and the food she chopped.

Her audacity shocked him. Marcus stood up straighter and commanded, “Katrina, come hither. Come to me. Now.” She lifted her head and narrowed her gaze. At the sight of her eyes getting full of rebellion, he declared to her in a loud voice. “You will come to me. Now.”

She scrutinized him then shook her head. “If you want me to come over to you, you may ask nicely, Marcus. Or you can come to me if you wish to speak to me. Quit yelling. God, man, you are scaring your help.” She said her piece quickly.

His mouth nearly dropped open in shock. The nerve of her. Marcus strode over to her with a fierce glower on his face. Servants scrambled out of the way. Unfortunately, he knocked over a little girl who stood by the corner of a table. She glanced at him, her face scrunched up, and she started to cry. Not a quiet one but a loud, lusty wail.

At the first cry, Kit glanced between him and the child as if she expected him to help the child up. When he just stood there, scowling down on the child, she huffed. Kit ran over to the girl, picked her up, and turned her head away from Marcus. Kit frowned at him herself, matching him glower for glower. She handed the child over to her mother, who tried unsuccessfully to calm and quiet her before Kit faced Marcus, once more.

“Why are you so insistent on making everyone scared of you?” Her eyes flashed like a sword as the sun glinted off it.

“You would dare challenge me? When I tell you to come to me, you will obey. Do we understand each other?”

She propped her hands on her hips with a snort. “You’re damn right I’d challenge you. When you scare a little girl just because I didn’t jump to your beck and call, I’ll do more than just challenge you. I’ll resist even more. I’m no dog, Marcus. You would do well to remember that.”

He noticed a drawn out quality to her voice. She was furious with him. Not because he had yelled at her but because he didn’t show enough concern for the little girl.

Katrina was a defender of those less fortunate. Grudgingly, he saw her point but wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of admitting that. He was lord of this castle, and the sooner she learned that, along with her place, the sooner things could go back to normal. Marcus met her flashing eyes, and he grabbed for her arm.

Nothing but air. She had a habit of moving very quickly, and he didn’t like it.

He reached for her arm, again. Despite catching her, he noticed the look in her eyes. It was almost a warning. Something like, If I didn’t want you to touch me, you wouldn’t. He steered her out of the room. She had the mettle to look over her shoulder and say goodbye to the kitchen staff.

Marcus dragged her into the hall and pushed her up against the wall. He took several deep breaths as he struggled to hold onto his fraying temper. “What were you doing in there? Why didn’t you tell me where you were going? Why didn’t you tell me you spoke French?”

Kit straightened, smacked his hand from her arm, and glared right back at him. She snapped back, “I didn’t think I had to tell you anything. You said I was a guest. Has that changed, now? Am I a prisoner, slave, or something worse?”

He didn’t speak, and she continued, “For your information, I was hungry, and since no one told me where you were, I went to find something to eat. I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t run away. Look, I give you my word that, until I find my friend, I will not willingly leave. Am I to be kept under lock and key? I can work. I don’t mind helping out, here and there.” She huffed. “Well, what is it to be?”

He mulled over what she’d said and didn’t like how her words made him uncertain. So, being Marcus, he reacted how he always did, without thinking. “What good is your word? You are a woman, even if you don’t dress like one.” There was no way she could possibly mistake his meaning.

A woman’s word was no good.