by Barbara Bard
Ranulf poured the gold into his hand. “If I find ye lied, laddie, I be back fer me gold.”
“I did not lie to you, lord,” James replied, creating a fist around his prize. “I swear on my wife’s head.”
“Guid lad.”
Returning to their horses, Ranulf swung into his saddle, seeing James staring down into his hand at his impossibly good fortune. “Me regards tae yer wife,” he called, then reined his horse around.
Taking advantage of being in a village, Ranulf resupplied his band with salt, beans, flour, dried peas and apples. Loading the sacks onto their horses, he led Donal and Ian out of Spencer to rejoin his band. As the sun stood high in the sky as he reached the top of the hill where the rest of his band camped, Ranulf decided to rest their mounts and depart for Wooten first thing in the morning.
“The coast be a guid three days ride from ‘ere,” Ranulf said, sitting beside one of the fires with Ian and Aswin. “We dinnae want tae kill the horses.”
“I fear these lads be oot robbin’ and thievin’ when we get there, laird,” Ian commented.
“Aye, we takin’ a risk,” Ranulf agreed. “But we hae nae choice but tae try.”
***
Standing upon a rocky outcropping above the beach, the sea wind whipping his cloak, Ranulf gazed down at the small system of caves along the shoreline. Three horses stood within a ramshackle pen near a thicket of thorny bushes and scraggly trees, their manes and tails tossed by the brisk breeze off the sea. “They be tae home,” he commented. “Let us gae pay them a visit.”
Leaving their horses under the watch of three clansmen, Ranulf led the others down a narrow trail that crawled between the rocks and bushes down to the beach. Pulling his sword from its sheath, he observed the numerous tracks around the cave’s mouth, the blackened remains of a fire and a pile of driftwood for burning.
With gestures, Ranulf signaled his men to spread out to either side of the cave entrance, none directly in front of its mouth. He heard voices coming from within the cave, speaking with no alarm, thus he knew their presence had not been detected.
“Chaddie,” he called. “I be Ranulf Thorburn. I nae be here tae arrest ye, jist tae talk wi’ ye and yer chums.”
Silence seemed to echo as the voices ceased to speak. Exchanging a glance with Ian, Ranulf went on. “I hae ten men wi’ me, Chaddie, and I dinnae want tae drag ye oot. I be willin’ tae pay ye guid gold fer yer information.”
“What about?” yelled a voice from within the cave.
“I willnae lie tae ye, Chaddie,” Ranulf said. “I wish tae talk wi’ ye aboot Henry ‘o Whitewood.”
“He is dead,” Chaddie fired back. “It was your brother who killed him.”
“He done hang fer it,” Ranulf agreed, “but he dinnae dae the deed and ye ken it. Come oot and talk, I dinnae wish ye harm, but should ye make me come in there, I wi’ spill yer blood.”
“And you will pay us gold?”
“I swear it.”
“All right, keep your weapons down, we are coming out.”
Gesturing for his men to remain on guard and watchful, Ranulf stepped into the cave’s entrance. From the shadows emerged three men, unshaven and ragged, the man in the front owning a mop of dark curly hair on his head and a scar on his cheek. Chaddie.
He glanced around at the armed clansmen surrounding the cave and lifted his hands in surrender. His companions did the same. “Now you promised, lord,” he said, licking his lips nervously. “Gold for information, and you will not kill us.”
“Right I did, lad,” Ranulf agreed, nodding. “All I be after is what happened the night Henry was killed.”
“All right.” Chaddie lowered his arms. “We were drinking that night, at The Lucky Hog, the three of us and Henry. The Duke’s son, he liked being with us outlaw types. He never robbed nobody, like, but he gambled heavy, see? He owed John Saul a heap.”
“Who be this John Saul?”
“He is the leader of a gang,” Chaddie said. “Now you would not go tell him, we told you this, right? If he found out we talked, Jerusalem would not be far away enough to hide from him.”
Ranulf shook his head. “I would’nae tell him ye told me. Gae oan.”
Chaddie licked his lips again, his eyes flicking around at the watching Scotsmen. “As I said, Henry owed him a heap, he could not stop gambling, see? Always thought he would win, like. We tried to tell him, warn him, to stop, we think John Saul loaded the dice, but Henry would not listen.”
“Ye think John Saul killed him?”
“No, lord, or then he would never get his money. Henry decided it would be easier to kill the old man, see? Inherit the old man’s wealth and pay off Saul.”
Ranulf gaped. “He was gonnae kill the Duke? His oan da?”
Chaddie nodded. “The old Duke is sick, see? No way would the old man agree to pay off his debts, like, so Henry planned to put poison in his wine, make it look like his sickness killed him.”
“That is cold,” Ian commented dryly.
“Aye. But Henry was killed before he did it,” Ranulf said, eyeing Chaddie. “Perhaps it were the Duke tae kill Henry, or have one ‘o his men dae it, and blame me brother.”
Chaddie shook his head. “Doubtful, lord. Henry hatched the plan only a day or two before his throat was cut. He never told anyone, nor did we, but we took off anyway, afraid for our lives. In case he talked, see? Before he died. He was planning to kill a Duke. The Duke’s own son, he would have hanged and us beside him.”
“I cannae blame ye fer runnin’,” Ranulf agreed. “But if Henry talked ‘o his plan tae kill the elder, no one seems tae ken it.”
“That is a relief,” Chaddie replied, grinning a little. “Then maybe we can go back to England and continue our occupations.”
“Jist stick tae robbin’ Sassenach sooth ‘o the border,” Ranulf said dryly. “Or I hang ye meself. Noo, who dae Henry argue wi’ that night? He dinnae ken me brother?”
“No, I do not remember your brother, lord,” Chaddie said. “If he was even there at all. Henry hated the Scots, pardon me, lord, just like his old man.”
“So, who else be there that night?”
“Lord Gilbert of Hargrove.”
Chapter 23
Seated in his private study with his seneschal, Lord Creighton, Henry received the man’s dry reports of tenants’ rents and incomes, crops, and the number of sheep and cattle he owned. Creighton spoke in a monotone, his voice as dull as the information he gave his master. But it was a necessary part of running his duchy, and Henry forced himself to listen without yawning.
He found undisguised relief when a knock at the door resulted in Sir Alban sticking his head in. “Yes?”
“His Grace,” Sir Alban said, opening the door wider, “the Duke of Breedmont has arrived to see you, Your Grace.”
“Ah, show him in, please,” Henry said. “Creighton, if you will excuse me.”
The wizened little man bowed, and stood to the side as the young Duke, William Piermont, walked in. He smiled as Henry rose to take his hand in greeting, and said, “My apologies for arriving unannounced, Your Grace.”
“Henry,” Henry replied, sitting back down and inviting the younger man to take the chair Creighton had just vacated. “Alban, would you mind sending a servant in with wine?”
Sir Alban bowed, and closed the door behind Lord Creighton. “Yes, it is a surprise to see you, William, but no less of a welcome one.”
William Piermont looked eerily similar to his late father, with pale, ice blue eyes and a shock of wheat colored hair. Henry guessed his age to be about thirty, he was tall, but strongly built. He doffed his cloak of light brown wool and wore a tightly fitted leather tunic with his family crest on his right breast.
“I received your message that you wished to renew the alliance you had with my father,” William said.
Henry lifted his brow. “Well, I am glad it brought you here for a visit, but it could have been accomplished through messengers.”
&
nbsp; The door opened to reveal a servant bearing a tray with pewter cups and bottles of wine. Henry waited until he poured for them both and left the room before continuing. “I suspect there is more to this visit.”
William sipped his wine and made an appreciative noise in his throat. “There is, Henry. I received the same request from Gilbert of Hargrove.”
Henry froze. “Did you, indeed? So, the fool does plan to wage war on me.”
“He may be thinking that,” William said, “but King Edward would squash him like a bug. You know as well as I, he will not tolerate war among his nobles.”
“I do not suppose you warned Hargrove of that?” Henry asked, his tone dry.
“I did.”
Sitting back in his chair, Henry sipped from his cup, watching William carefully over its rim. “What did he offer you in return for your alliance, if I may inquire?”
“Chests of gold,” William replied, smiling. “From your coffers, once he marries your daughter and inherits your duchy.”
“I see.”
Adept at hiding his anger, Henry still felt it rise to make him sweat, his grip on his goblet whitening his knuckles. But when he spoke, his voice sounded normal, even to himself. “So, will you accept his most tempting offer, William?”
The Breedmont Duke drank his wine, his eyes calculating. “I have not yet decided, nor have I given him my answer. I came to discuss it with you first.”
“Why?” Henry shrugged, his palm held upward. “It is your decision to make.”
Nodding slowly, William set his cup down and folded his hands in his lap. “Our two families have aligned with one another for a generation,” he said slowly. “My father wished it, and it makes perfect sense to continue it.”
“But there is something you want in return,” Henry said, now suspecting what the man intended. “Chests of gold?”
“Your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Studying the man, Henry pursed his lips, his suspicions correct. William was indeed an obvious choice to marry Catrin, as he came from a powerful family and had not yet married. The thought had crossed his mind more than once to broach the subject himself, as he knew William’s reputation as a man of honor, and he would treat Catrin well.
However, deep inside him, Henry felt he was being maneuvered, and he never liked being manipulated. “That would be a logical move,” Henry said carefully. “Joining our two families, as your father was my good friend, and I hoped you would be also.”
“I am indeed, Henry.”
“Believe me when I say this was an arrangement I had considered.”
William cocked his head slightly. “‘Was’?”
“Yes. Before my son was killed.” Henry steepled his fingers, his elbows on his desk, watching William carefully. “Now Catrin is my sole heir, unless I were to find a fertile maid to marry and sire, hopefully, a son on her. But those days of siring heirs is beyond me, I fear.”
“So, what now?” William asked. “You will permit her to inherit as the next Duchess, unmarried? You know King Edward will marry her to one of his own allies in such a way as to benefit himself should you pass on.”
“I have not yet decided on anything,” Henry replied, calmly. “At times, I am tempted to permit her to choose her own husband.”
“That is ridiculous,” William snorted. “Whom might she wish to marry?”
“Ranulf Thorburn.”
It took a moment for William to recognize the name. His pale blue eyes widened, and his jaw dropped when he did. “Clan chief Thorburn? A Scot?”
Henry shrugged, lazily. “Think of the benefits, William. An alliance with Scotland would end the raids on my sheep, cattle and horses, for they never raid their own. With estates in England, Thorburn could help end the useless wars between our countries and encourage free trading across the border. He is said to be a well respected ruler and has the ear of King Robert. Perhaps in a generation or two, Scotland might even become a vassal state of England through Ranulf and Catrin’s descendants.”
William shook his head. “That is a stretch, Henry,” he said. “A good notion, perhaps, but unlikely. The Scots crave their independence from England more than they crave stealing our cattle.”
“As I said,” Henry continued, “it would be a start.”
“So, Lady Catrin might want this Scot, Thorburn, as her husband?”
“She loves him.”
“Might I ask how that came about?”
“He kidnapped her out of rage for my hanging his brother for Henry’s murder. I recently got her out of Scotland.”
William’s eyes widened. “That Thorburn? You would truly permit Lady Catrin to marry the brother of the man who killed your son?”
“To hear Catrin,” Henry replied, “Thorburn does not believe his brother did it, and Catrin is convinced I hung an innocent man. She says Thorburn is on the trail of the true killer.”
“Surely you are not falling for such rubbish?”
“I am not so certain what to believe any more,” Henry said with a sigh. He sipped his wine. “I thought I knew once, however.”
The Duke of Breedmont stood up and collected his cloak. “I would say you have a difficult decision to make. I will leave you to make it.”
“Will you not stay to supper? You have traveled far.”
William shook his head, smiling. “I will return to my estates, but thank you for your kind offer.”
Henry also stood and offered the young Duke his hand. “What will you tell Hargrove?”
“Nothing.” William grinned, wolfish. “Give my regards to Lady Catrin.”
***
At supper that night, Henry ate with little appetite as he wondered what to tell Catrin. He watched her covertly, her neck bent as she spooned soup into her mouth, her eyes down and her lustrous auburn hair piled atop her head in a neat coil. She is so beautiful, just as her mother was. Knowing she was headstrong and stubborn, he suspected she would not take William’s proposal well.
“Catrin,” he said, getting her attention.
Catrin set her spoon down and wiped her lips on a napkin. “Yes, Father?”
Henry felt unable to meet her eyes, something he had never had difficulty in doing before. “William of Breedmont came to me today.”
“Somehow,” she said slowly. “I believe I am not going to like what he had to say.”
Henry smiled. “You are clever. Yes, he came to ask for your hand to cement the alliance between our two families.”
He watched as the blood drained from the flesh over her face, and he felt a knot grow in his belly. I never, ever, want to hurt her. She is my daughter, but how can I not avoid hurting her?
“What answer did you give him?” she asked, her voice wild, frightened, when little had ever frightened Catrin in her life.
“I gave him no answer,” he said, seeing her relief in her eyes. “I told him I must think this over. If Henry were alive, I would say yes without hesitation.”
“But with him gone,” Catrin said slowly. “You cannot just hand me over to anyone. That would mean handing your duchy over to anyone.”
“I am ill, Catrin,” he said sadly. “I do not know how much longer I have to live. I must see you married before I go.”
“Do not say that, Father,” Catrin said, reaching for his hand. “You are not going to die, not for many years. I will not let you.”
He squeezed her fingers, smiling sadly. “None of us can stop that, child, least of all you. That is why I must say yes to William.”
“No,” Catrin pleaded. “Do not marry me to him, not when I love another. Father, my heart will break.”
Henry shook his head. “I am so sorry, Catrin. Were Ranulf Thorburn not my bitterest enemy, I might consider marrying you to him, as an alliance with Scotland could be beneficial.”
“He is not your bitter enemy, Father,” Catrin cried. “His brother did not kill Henry.”
“Until I have proof, one way or another,” he said, his tone firm, “I intend to
inform William that I agree to his suit.”
“And when you get that proof, I will be married to someone else.”
Henry reached to touch her face with his fingers, only to have her jerk away from him. Tears filled her honey gold eyes, but did not spill down her cheeks. His voice hardened when he spoke.