“Brother Ranald! An army rides from the forests beyond the village,” a portly monk shouted as he ran from the bell tower.
“Could ye spy their crest?”
Ranald frowned. Who would approach the abbey with so many men? Did they seek lodging? Nay, it was too early in the day. And if they brought an injured man, they had no need of such a force.
The monk’s eyes bulged, and he gulped before speaking.
“A black banner with a centered yellow eagle. Its talons are spread for the kill.”
Ranald stiffened. His father’s standard.
“Another standard bearer rides aside it.” The monk glanced uneasily at Raik.
“Shite! The fools.” Raik growled the words through tense jaws.
“Well?” Ranald’s eyes narrowed to mere slits. Cold dread swept through him as he studied Raik’s face.
“A yellow gryphon upon a field of red, its beak stretched wide in a screech,” the monk continued.
Ranald’s saddle creaked as he shifted to contemplate Raik with hot speculation while waves of rage crashed through him and threatened his tight control.
“Why has my father come with an army when he has never set foot in this valley since sending me here? And why do yer own men ride with him?”
“I am sorry, Ranald. Much has happened that ye do not know of. They were to wait until I had time to apprise ye of it. King David requested I bring my men. To assure no harm comes to ye.” Raik’s fist struck his thigh, his lips tightened afore he spoke again.
“Come. Ye must allow yer father entrance. He will explain all.”
CHAPTER 3
Raptor Castle, three sennights earlier.
“Is not Moridac the most comely man in all of Scotland?” Catalin wore a bright smile as she paced the carpeted floor of her sleeping chamber. She glanced at her friend Letia, but she could not keep the worry from her voice.
“Without doubt. Women on both sides of the borders would sigh for a word from him,” Letia responded. She looked hesitant to say more.
Catalin stopped to arrange items on her dressing table, things already neatly placed there. She sighed and chewed at her lower lip.
“Ye need not bide your tongue. Before I came here, I heard the servants whispering of Moridac’s, uh, hunt parties.”
She glanced at Letia before walking over to smooth the bright green bed covers and pat the plump pillow. Turning, she rubbed her arms and looked down at the tips of her shoes peeping from beneath her blue kirtle. Thinking, she rocked back and forth on her feet. They were no parties but a place where young men gathered to drink in excess while tupping women carted from nearby villages.
Letia, sitting beside the small hearth, wrinkled her nose. “Aye. ‘Tis shameful, though it is hard to tell how much truth there are to the tales.”
“I fear they are too true.” She cleared her throat. “Two morns past, I was below in the orchard. An angry villager was in the bailey yelling, claiming Moridac had ruined his daughter.” She stopped, near fearful of repeating what she had heard. “Chief Broccin laughed and threw him some coins. While the man picked them up, Moridac’s father said something strange.”
“What was it?” Letia’s brows rose.
Catalin knotted her fingers together. Her voice was so low Letia leaned forward. “He said the girl served as a lusty filling between his son and him.”
Letia’s eyes widened. “I spoke to Warin of these loathsome, um, excesses. He believes they will cease once you are wed.” She looked down at her lap then up, her eyes filled with sympathy. “If they do not, mayhap you can prevail on Raik to put an end to them?”
“Aye. Moridac is always different around him. Calm, even. And he does not drink overmuch when he’s here.”
“Good. Seek him out if there is a need.” She rolled her brown eyes at Catalin. “Has Old Hannah spoken of the marriage bed?”
Catalin blushed and tugged her right earlobe.
“Uh-huh.” She darted a look at Letia then buried her nose in pink gillyflowers amongst the floral arrangement on the bedside table. Her voice floated out, muffled from the petals. “At first, I didn’t believe what she told me. Until I arrived here.”
“Why here? What changed your mind?”
Catalin plunked down in a chair next to Letia.
“Moridac thrust me into a dark alcove last eve.” Her face burned as if she sat too close to a flame. “When he pressed me against the wall, I felt a hard bulge beneath his kilt.” She squirmed in her seat. “He drew my hand to cover it.”
She cleared her throat, remembering how her heart had thumped. “He whispered what he wanted to do. ‘Twas the same as Old Hannah told me.”
Letia chuckled. “I am surprised a woman so ancient would remember.”
Catalin giggled. “Her eyes near popped from her head. Later that day, I saw her watching the castle steward’s fine arse as he passed by her.”
Letia laughed aloud. “One is never too old to enjoy thinking of bed sport.”
“Uh, Letia? Your Warin is a lordly man. He is still comely even in his advanced years. But are you happy in your marriage?”
“He is a gentle, loving man. I shudder to think of living with some cruel man who would not hesitate to beat me.”
“I love Moridac. Though, when I was but seven years of age, ‘twas Ranald I pined for. Never will I forget hearing a tumult in the bailey. It was the day after my betrothal to Moridac. I stood on a chair to peer out the window opening.” She shook in a violent shudder. “I saw Chief Broccin beating what I believed was a dog on the muddy ground. Not until two men pulled him away did I see it was a young man.”
“That was a terrible thing for a child to witness.” Letia’s lips thinned. Eyes the color of dark earth wet from a summer’s rain, frowned with displeasure.
“Worse yet was learning Ranald was that bloody body they picked up and sloshed in the horse trough. When I asked about him, no one would speak of it. Soon after, Chief Broccin said he had died.”
“I have heard the same.” Letia watched Catalin’s face. “Are you afeared of your new father-by-law?”
Catalin nodded. Her pulse pounded, remembering how a year past he had glared at her and fisted his hands in anger. He looked about to snap her head from her neck. All because she had asked for a delay of her wedding vows as her father lay dying.
“I would not care to cross him. I think his fingers yearn to add my father’s riches to his coffers.”
They had no more chance to talk, for a heavy fist rapped on the door.
“Come out, come out, sweet bride to be,” Moridac’s deep, rich voice called, “else I must break down the door and steal ye away.”
Her betrothed’s speech, usually crisp and clear, was slurred. She glanced at Letia and noted a slight crease between her brows.
“I am coming.” Catalin’s teeth worried her lower lip. She ran her hand over her light blue kirtle, smoothing any wrinkles from it. She had chosen the color to please Moridac, because he oft claimed her eyes were the color of a clear summer sky.
Before she could reach it, the door burst open and Moridac swept her into his arms. His lips were about to take hers when Letia cleared her throat. He took his time letting Catalin free.
“Ah, not one but two lovely lasses.” Moridac swept low in a dramatic bow. His rich, black hair brushed his cheeks. “Such sweetness to the eye is like honey to the tongue.”
Catalin rolled her eyes at him.
“Ye dinna believe me?” He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips. His hot, wet tongue licked over the palm. She yelped and snatched her hand back.
“Aye. Warm, sweet honey.”
Her body heated when his gaze probed the cloth over her breasts. His eyes flashed with hunger and he wet his lips when her nipples hardened and thrust shamefully against her gown.
“Time enough for tasting after you say your vows, Moridac.” Warin de Burgh stepped through the doorway and smiled gently at his wife. “You must be hungered, love. You have no
t eaten since last eve.”
“That I am. Come. Let us go below before Cook sends someone to hunt us down.”
The baron smiled at his wife and motioned Moridac to precede them with Catalin.
Guests had started arriving for the wedding. After her father’s death, Chief Broccin had insisted they hold the ceremony at Raptor Castle. As they descended the stairs, the din of people milling about increased in volume.
Bright banners hung from every rafter above the great hall. As each guest arrived, servants placed the man’s standard on wall brackets, adding to the cheerful colors. In between, picturesque tapestries done in vivid threads described the family history. They gave the room a warm effect. Huge iron candle branches stood every twenty paces, chasing the shadows into the corners.
Servants had set up long trestle tables and benches below the high table. Pewter plates, drinking horns and pitchers of wine waited on white linen cloths. Clay vases of red roses, lilies and rare white heather decorated the tables. Everywhere Catalin looked, flowers appeared. She knew it was Moridac’s doing.
He bent to murmur in her ear, “My lovely Catalin, mine own sweet flower. The finest rose cannot rival the beauty of yer lush, red lips. Mmm, or cheeks like the softest of petals,” he added as his teeth nipped her ear. His tongue lapped over it before he drew back.
Shivers shot to her core. Saints! Was it wicked to feel such excitement? Far from being uneasy about her marriage bed, she looked forward to it. Moridac had found frequent opportunities to kiss and caress her. To her shame, she had responded with eagerness.
Catalin felt anxious with everyone watching her. Did they expect her to act differently because she was from Northumbria? As they made their way to the high table, she saw no familiar faces other than Baron de Burgh, Letia, and Moridac’s family. She was thankful when Elyne, his young sister who had just turned her seventeenth year, came over to hug her.
“Soon I will have a sister to aid me. These lumps of clay that call themselves men are more fit for the stable.” Elyne made a face and dodged Moridac, who reached to pinch her arm. “None of that, brother. Ye wouldn’t like a horn of wine to soil yer green tunic, now would ye?”
“Hm. Ye wouldn’t like to be dunked in the wine vat yerself, would ye?”
Catalin waited uneasily, watching Chief Broccin stalk over to them. His face wore its usual scowl. He seemed to dislike laughter or light feelings whenever he was about, for he never ceased to quell it.
“Take yer seats so we may begin the meal.” He scraped back his chair and sat.
Moridac placed Catalin to his father’s left then took the space beside her. She wished Letia was closer, but she and the baron were to sit on the other side of Catalin’s new father-by-law.
Her mouth watered when servants placed steaming platters of roasted lamb basted with a mint sauce, roast pork, honeyed poultry, roasted filets of whitefish and goose covered with a sauce made from grapes on the table.
Moridac knew her preferences and grinned when he placed the choicest morsels of pork in front of her. She couldn’t help licking her lips. With just a slight motion of her head toward the carrots flavored with honey, he filled the spaces between her meats.
He waved a fistful of hot bread beneath her nose and waggled his brows. She laughed aloud at his silly expression. Broccin’s cold regard stifled her outburst.
Throughout the meal, her husband-to-be was ever courtly, seeing she had the best of each serving and keeping the chalice they shared filled with wine. By the time the sugared fruits and pastries appeared, Catalin feared her stomach would burst.
She jerked in surprise when Chief Broccin blasted a belch worthy of a giant and rubbed his taught belly. As if it were a signal, servants cleared the tables and the entertainments began. A succession of performers took over the center of the room.
Moridac twirled the wine chalice, making Catalin fear it would upend at any time. He insisted she sip each time he drank. Had she not eaten like a veritable pig, she feared she would have been unable to steady herself when she stood to retire.
As it was, her knees were none too firm when she started up the stairs with the other women.
o0o
Old Hannah awaited Catalin within her bedchamber.
“You should be snug abed, not biding your time in these big, drafty rooms, Hannah.” Catalin spoke slowly, for her words did not sound right to her. She threw her arms around the old woman and hugged her.
Hannah clucked her tongue and sniffed. “Too much wine, lovey.”
She expected a scolding, but instead Hannah shooed the servant away and helped Catalin prepare for bed. When she stretched and found they had heated the bed with a warming pan, she sighed with comfort.
“Thank you, Hannah. You have been like a mother to me.”
“Then heed me, girl. Strong wine is for men. It causes them enough trouble. You do not want to find what it could cause a young lady. Sleep now.”
Hannah tucked the covers around Catalin’s shoulders then, as she had done so many times before, gently stroked her hand over the warm, curly hair spilling over the pillow. She pinched out the candles before leaving to find her own pallet in the room provided for personal servants.
o0o
“Mmm,” Catalin sighed and snuggled deeper against the glorious warmth. Had Hannah returned to warm her bed again with heated stones?
Something tickled her cheek. She wriggled her head. It stopped. For a moment. Then a warm tongue stroked her ear; a cheek rubbed against her own. ‘Twas Sport? Had she not left her father’s dog at Hunter Castle?
“What...?” It was far as she got, for a hand clamped over her mouth.
“Shhh, love,” Moridac whispered in her ear.
Of a sudden, she realized what caused the splendid warmth. She stiffened. Stretched tight against her side from head to toe was not a down filled coverlet, but hot, solid man.
Not just a man. A very naked man.
“My lord, you should not be here. You will bring me shame.”
He tapped a finger on her lips and whispered, “No one will ever know.”
o0o
“You have slept overlong, sweetness. ‘Tis time to rise.” Old Hannah bustled around the room, selecting Catalin’s clothing for the day.
Catalin’s lids flew wide. Overlong? What did she mean. She hadn’t slept late, had she? She sat up, winced, then hoped Hannah had not seen. Sun glinted through the window. She blinked, not believing it.
A servant scratched on the door before entering with a pitcher of warmed water. Hannah placed it on the corner table beside the basin, then smoothed a drying cloth near it. Satisfied that all was ready, she came over to the bed and waited until Catalin stood.
“The men were high in their cups when they left for the hunt this morn. The scamp you are to marry celebrated the night through at that lodge in the woods. He was in high spirits when he came back at dawn. Took a lot of teasing, he did.” Hannah poured water into the basin for Catalin to splash her face. “Come along, young one.”
Catalin stiffened. Hannah was staring at her thighs. She glanced down, horrified to see spots of blood. Now the servant was looking at the sheets. They, too, had splatters of red mingled in with some other strange stains. The bed had a musky smell, too. She gulped.
“My courses must have come. I was not prepared,” she stammered. Her heart dropped, seeing understanding in Hannah’s face. She knew better. Catalin’s time never varied. Hannah well knew what happened, judging from the tightening of her lips.
“Aye. ‘Twas the same when your father passed,” Hannah lied. She hurriedly stripped the bed and handed the bundle of sheets to the servant.
Hannah latched the door behind her.
“Well, girl, let us hurry before anyone else discovers this.”
“I’m sorry, Hannah. I should have resisted him.” Catalin’s voice was faint with shame.
“Nay, child. The fault was his. Do not fret overlong.” She lathered a separate cloth and scrubbed over Cata
lin’s legs, while Catalin washed her face. “I do not doubt many of the women under this castle’s roof were tupped before their vows. Should he have made a baby, ‘twill not be known for the wedding is but a day away.”
It was the fastest Catalin had ever dressed in her life
She hurried down to the great hall. When offered porridge and scones, she smiled and said she had already broken her fast. She hoped no one could hear her stomach’s hungry growl.
The thunder of hooves crossing the drawbridge and clattering on the cobblestones distracted her from her worries.
What were the men shouting? She raced to the window, hoping to get a glimpse of Moridac. She did not see him for all the men milling about. They jumped off their mounts and ran toward a group gathered around the entrance.
Chief Broccin had ridden his mount to the very steps. Why?
Hands reached up to him. Not to help him dismount. To take something from his arms. She did not have to see his white, strained face to know.
She gasped. The men carefully handled a bloodstained body. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Moridac!
CHAPTER 4
Back at Kelso Abbey
“Chief Broccin may approach, but dinna open the gate. He will return at once from whence he came.” Ranald’s lips thinned to a grim line. His dark, smoldering look revealed the fury, the hatred, kept banked for so many years.
“Hear him out, Ranald.” Raik’s eyes filled with sympathy for his cousin whose only wish was to be left alone.
For several heartbeats, Ranald sat his mount facing the Abbey gate, as still as if both man and horse were stone. Finally, he shoved the cowl back from his head, for it would interfere should he need to do battle. He did not mask his feelings as he eyed Raik. He fought to control his anger, his emotions. For if he did not, there was no telling what his temper could unleash. He squared his shoulders, stilled all expression from his face and watched the advancing army.
What need had they of so many numbers? A fool’s question. Kelso was on the Scottish Border, and skirmishes happened more often here. He should know. ‘Twas he who had the caring of the broken bodies, the dying men.
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