by Barbara Bard
Catrin dug her heels into his ribs. “Heyaww!” she screamed and gave him his head.
The stallion hit a gallop the instant his rear quarters hit the ground. As though shot from a bow, he took off at a dead run, forcing the crowd to scatter or be trampled. Over the drawbridge and out onto the moors he galloped, Catrin bent over his neck.
Ranulf ran amidst the crowd to the drawbridge and over it, watching in awe as the stallion raced over the heather, Catrin clinging to his neck. He knew the beast had not run away with her out of her control, for he galloped in circles, straight lines, up a hill and back down, across the moors to all but vanish in the distance.
A moment later, he galloped hard back toward the castle, close enough for them to see Catrin lashing him with the reins, demanding more speed, more power. The pair flashed past them in a blink of an eye, vanished past the castle only to return a few moments later.
“I suspect I just lost me a diamond necklace,” Ranulf muttered as Catrin pushed the horse into a run straight toward them.
At the last second, as the crowd scattered again like chickens, fearing she would run them down, Catrin reined the stallion in sharply. He slid a good twenty feet on his hind quarters, slung low and leaving wide furrow in the dirt.
Ranulf noticed the stallion sweated white foam on his neck and chest while Catrin’s breathing had not raised a whit.
“Hand me a bow,” she demanded. “Arrows.”
Obedient, Ranulf handed up her bow and quiver of arrows. Hanging the quiver on the pommel of the saddle, Catrin reined the panting stallion around and ordered over her shoulder, “Set up the targets.”
She kicked him into a run again as the crowd, and Ranulf, stood gaping. At last, Ranulf gestured. “Ye heard the lady.”
Grooms ran to move the straw dummies from inside the bailey to a spot on the outer wall, then hustled to get out of the way. In the distance, Catrin galloped the stallion in a wide arc, and came back, angled perpendicular to the castle wall.
Ranulf held his breath, and suspected the silent crowd did as well, as Catrin dropped the stud’s reins on his neck and raised the bow. An arrow nocked, she sent it hurtling into the first dummy squarely in its heart. Her hands a blur, she sent the second into its heart, but missed the third.
Ranulf sucked in his breath, staring. Unbelievable. While her third arrow missed the target’s heart, it was securely lodged in what might have been a man’s throat. “I wi’ be a mangey dog,” he said.
The crowd erupted into cheers, whistles, and yells as Catrin trotted the now complacent stallion back to the drawbridge. She sat in the saddle, frowning at her miss. “I am out of practice,” she commented.
Glancing at Ranulf, she patted the stallion’s sweaty neck and commented, “If you let me ride more often, I can practice more. Then next time, I will not miss.”
Grinning, Ranulf walked over to her, rubbing the tired horse’s muzzle. “Me Lady, ye can practice that any time ye wish.”
She nodded gravely, handing him her bow and quiver. “While you fetch me my prize, I need to walk this mean bugger out.”
Twitching her reins, Catrin walked the stallion away and back toward the moors, the crowd still watching her with awe and amazement. Ranulf gestured for a servant.
“Bring me jewelry cask.”
As the man ran off to do his bidding, Ranulf watched Catrin ride slowly, her reins loose, on a horse no one but him had been able to ride. And even he had been thrown from the stallion a few times, been kicked, bitten, and trampled. Had anyone been willing to wager, he would bet that bugger would never offer to bite or kick Lady Catrin. He knew no one would accept his wager.
From the south, he saw movement over the hills. Horses. A bunch of them. In the distance, Catrin stopped the stallion to also watch, but he knew it was Aswin and Duncan returning from escorting the Earl of Hargrove to the border. Obviously not much alarmed, Catrin continued to cool the bugger out, riding him at a simple, quiet walk.
Aswin rode toward him, staring over his shoulder at Catrin. “Be that the Sassenach lady on yer mean bugger?”
“Aye.”
“Ye serious? How she ride that hell-boon beastie?”
Flicking his hand toward the arrow riddled target dummies, Ranulf said, “Wi’ more skill then ye and I combined.”
“Nay.” Aswin’s jaw dropped. “Ye be ‘avin’ me oan.”
Ranulf shook his head. “Ye be careful nae tae cross her when she got a bow in her hand.”
Catrin trotted the black back across the drawbridge as Aswin, Duncan and the others dismounted in the bailey to care for their tired mounts. All eyes stared as the stallion, sweat dried to a salty crust on his hide, stood as quiet as any child’s pony. Catrin rubbed his neck, then negligently cocked her leg over the pommel. Meticulously, she adjusted the folds of her skirts to hang decently, then Catrin eyed the assembled clansmen, servants and villagers with feigned shock.
“What?” she asked, her innocent eyes wide. “You have never seen a Sassenach on a horse before?”
Ranulf chuckled, walking back toward her and shaking his head. “Ne’er dae they see a sight like a lass riding’ and shootin’ better than any man. Scots or Sassenach.”
Gesturing with his arm for the crowd to disperse and return to their duties, he held his hand up to assist her down from the saddle. She slid gracefully down, her hands in his, her honey gold eyes upturned to meet his, smiling a secretive little smile.
“Do you have my prize?” She asked sweetly.
“Aye.”
He had selected from his wooden casks of jewelry a necklace studded with diamonds, interspersed with rubies, and a large teardrop diamond hanging from the bottom. Catrin’s eyes widened at the sight, her tiny smile gone.
“That.” She swallowed hard, then tried to speak again. “That is – gorgeous. Fit for a queen to wear.”
“’Tis said that an auld queen ‘o ancient days wore this tae her coronation. This be in me family fer generations.”
Catrin, upon reaching for the priceless gems, snatched her hand back. “I cannot take it.”
“Ye earned it, lass.”
“No, no,” she said, taking a step back. “Not a family heirloom. Surely you have something – less sentimental. Or important.”
Taking her hand, Ranulf pressed the necklace into it, and closed her fingers over it. “I wish tae have it, Catrin.”
“Ranulf,” she whispered, her eyes pleading. “I must not.”
“’Tis yers noo.”
Picking up the black stallion’s reins, Ranulf walked him toward the stables, leaving Catrin to stare at the magnificence in the palm of her hand.
***
After Catrin withdrew to her chambers, Ranulf took Aswin and Duncan into his private apartments to dine and talk. “I hae an errand fer ye lads,” he said, pouring ale from a pitcher into three cups.
“I pray it be tae follow Lady Catrin,” Duncan said, chuckling. “That there be a foin task. Fer a Sassenach, she be a prize.”
“Nay,” Ranulf replied, gulping his ale. “I be tasked wi’ watchin’ the lady. I need ye lads tae return tae England.”
“Whet fer?” Duncan asked. “There be nothin’ there ye need, Ranulf.”
“There be answers.”
With Aswin doling out hot gravy to pour over roast pork, Ranulf tore off a chunk of bread and dipped it into the savory stuff. Munching it, he went on, his mouth full. “I need tae ken who truly killed Lady Catrin’s brother. I cannae go meself.”
Aswin shook his head. “Nay, ye cannae. But why ye need tae ken it? It be doon wi’.”
“I must clear me brother Kyle’s guid name,” Ranulf replied, salting his slab of pork. “Me da be a broken man o’er this, lads, me brother hanged fer a crime he ne’er commit.”
“And if ye find oot?” Duncan asked. “Whet then? Make peace a’tween yerself and the Duke ‘o Whitewood?”
Ranulf nodded. “Perhaps. If it be possible.”
“Aye,” Aswin agreed. “Ye
took the man’s bairn, laird. Unless ye plan tae keep her until she nigh pass ‘o auld age, she belongs wi’ her da.”
Duncan laughed. “Ach, there be yer revenge, Ranulf. Marry the lass. Listen tae the auld man’s screams ‘o remorse all the way tae the Orkneys.”
“Aye,” Aswin said, his eyes hard on Ranulf’s. “Marry the Lady Catrin. She be a guid match fer ye and nae better revenge fer yer brother than that.”
Chewing his meat, Ranulf shook his head. “I keep that in me head, but I ne’er take the lass against her will.”
“She be yer wife then, laird,” Aswin said. “The lass dae seem tae like ye. She may be agreeable tae the notion.”
Ranulf laughed. “She ne’er be agreeable to marry me. She dae believe I cut her brother’s throat. Nay, I keep the notion in me mind, but fer noo, I wish ye tae go tae Linfield, in England.”
“And then?” Duncan asked, lifting his cup of ale to his mouth.
“Be discreet, and keep yer heads doon,” Ranulf replied. “I heard whispers of friens ‘o Henry the younger being aroond. Find them. Ask them whet happened, who it be that he argued wi’ before he be killed.”
Aswin nodded. “As ye say, laird. I be willin’.”
“Guid, lad,” Ranulf said. “Get yer rest, as ye be leavin’ in the marnin’.”
Chapter 10
“Wid ye care tae go ridin’, lass?” Ranulf asked, a few days after she won the diamond and ruby necklace.
Catrin smiled. “May I ride the mean bugger?”
Regretfully, Ranulf shook his head. “Though I ken ye can handle him, I hae another bugger ye may like. A coorser wi’ spirit and speed.”
Glancing down at the dress she wore, Catrin said, “Just let me change first.”
Returning to her chambers where her maids busily cleaned, removed the old ashes from their hearth and laid down fresh wood, and cared for her now growing number of clothes. She brushed out her rich auburn hair and braided it into a thick cord that fell to her waist. Clad in a plain grey gown, she went down to the bailey.
After her feat with the stallion and the archery contest with their laird, Catrin noticed the men at arms and servants of the castle treated her with as much respect as they did Ranulf. She received short bows, curtseys, knuckled brows and warm smiles wherever she went. Her maids leaped at the chance to do her bidding, and the populace called her ‘me lady’, even behind her back.
She was no longer the Sassenach wench.
Though, she wondered if her presence had truly been accepted among the fanatic Scots, Catrin slowly warmed to them as well. Despite the accents and how they showed their laird deference, she found them not unlike her servants in her father’s castle, or her father’s retainers. As she did at home, she spent time talking with them, and considered the time well spent.
Ranulf waited for her with an escort of five clansmen wearing brigandines and short steel bonnets, holding the reins of two horses. His men, already mounted, were armed with swords, daggers and held long pikes in their hands. Ranulf himself was girt with his huge, two handed sword and wore his own light armor.
Catrin eyed the arms with a raised brow. “Are we headed into battle? If so, might I have a bow and quiver of arrows? I would not wish to miss out on the fighting.”
Ranulf laughed and gestured toward the horse she was to ride. “I dare any man tae best ye at archery, Me Lady. But, nay, we jist be cautious. E’en Scotland hae brigands and highwaymen.”
Catrin gazed at the horse he selected for her. A tall and stocky chestnut stallion with four stockings and a white blaze, his broad chest and stout legs spoke of endurance. Liking the flash of intelligence and spirit in his huge brown eyes, Catrin accepted the reins with a nod of satisfaction.
“I must admit,” she said, as Ranulf tossed her into the saddle, “you do have a fine eye for horses.”
“As dae ye.”
The chestnut pawed the ground with his front hoof as though asking to run as she gathered the reins and found her stirrups. He danced under her, yet did not try to wrest control from her as the mean bugger had. Ranulf vaulted atop his mount, a big bay with the same lines as her chestnut and led the way across the drawbridge.
Cantering side by side with Catrin, the escort behind them, Ranulf headed north toward the broad lake. “Ne’er asked ye,” Ranulf said. “How ye came tae ride and shoot as ye dae.”
“I started riding before I could walk,” she answered. “Though my father disapproved, my brother, Henry, taught me much. Once he discovered I had a natural eye for sighting down a bow, he encouraged me to ride and shoot at the same time. He thought it a lark.”
“And because ye be guid at it, ye kept practicin’.”
“Exactly,” Catrin replied, gazing out at the rolling moors, the sun glinting silver off the lake’s surface. “I kept driving myself to greater achievements, to challenge myself to get better.”
She smiled. “As the daughter of a Duke, there is not much for a lady to do. There is only so much needlework to be had.”
“Ye ride and shoot better than most warriors,” Ranulf remarked, chuckling. “Nae side saddle, neither.”
Catrin rolled her eyes. “I refused to ride in a side saddle,” she snapped. “A foolish and dangerous contraption. Let other ladies crack their skulls when they fall off. Such is not for me.”
Riding over the moors, Catrin observed the flocks of sheep and herds of cattle, watched over by young men armed with sticks and dogs. Small stone huts, bothies, stood ready to shelter weary travelers. Upon reaching the edge of the huge lake, they dismounted to let their mounts rest and drink from the crystal clear water.
One of the clansmen stood watch upon a low hill as Catrin and Ranulf, the rest of the men nearby, sat on dead logs at the water’s edge to eat the food packed in the saddlebags. Catrin watched eagles and ospreys diving for fish in the lake and sighed with contentment.
“Your land is very beautiful,” she said, gazing up at the blue sky. “I think I am now understanding your attachment to it.”
“The land be in uir blood,” he answered, gesturing with a chunk of bread. “We belong tae it as much as it belongs tae us.”
Catrin nodded. “I can see that. It is almost as if the land knows you.”
“It dae, lassie.”
Finished eating, Catrin folded her arms around her knees. “You talked of spirits. What did you call them?”
“The sidhe.”
“And you can see them?”
Ranulf nodded. “There be one sittin’ jist tae yer left, a wee water sprite.”
Catrin jerked her head and shoulders around, peering at the rocks, the gravelly shore. “I do not see anything. It is – evil?”
“Nay, lass,” he answered, gazing to her left. “Tae see the sidhe ye must be ‘o Scottish blood. And be born wi’ the sight. It be curious, lass, nae wishin’ ye harm.”
“But there are evil sidhe.”
He nodded. “Some be large enough tae dae ye real harm, but most be mischievous creatures. Jist tae cause ye naggin’ problems but nae true harm.”
“I see.”
Giving up trying to find the water sprite Ranulf saw, Catrin turned her gaze up toward the high peak west of them. She narrowed her eyes, thinking she saw movement up there. Ranulf followed her gaze, turning, then asked, “Whet? Ye see somethin’?”
“I thought I did,” she replied. “Perhaps it was simply a deer.”
“Donald,” Ranulf said. “Take a look.”
With a salute, the man selected mounted his horse and rode up the hill toward the rocky pinnacle. Small stones clattered down the hill, dislodged from his mount’s hooves to fall into the lake with wet splashes. Trying once again to see the sidhe Ranulf spoke of, Catrin kept watching the spot he had previously stared, and still saw nothing. She heard him say, “It be gone, lassie.”
Glancing at him, Catrin found him frowning. “What is wrong?”
“I dinnae,” he said. “It vanished, like it sensed trouble.”
At th
at instant, yells erupted from behind the rocky peak above. The sounds of steel clashing against steel floated down, and Donald’s horse galloped, with an empty saddle, back down the incline.
“To arms!” Ranulf yelled. “Oan yer horses! N00!”
Grabbing Catrin, he flung her up and into the saddle with the ease he might show in throwing a rag doll. She landed awkwardly atop the chestnut, who stamped and snorted, sensing battle. She set herself upright and fit her boots into the stirrups, gazing up toward the peak as mounted men crashed down the hillside, swords in their hands.