Forbidden

by Sophia Johnson

  Before her sister-by-law could answer, a stream of warriors returned from their duties dripping with sweat, looking like it took great effort to put one foot in front of the other.

  Elyne balanced back on her elbows and studied the men as they trailed past, near dragging their weapons on the ground. Their barracks stood a short distance away, between the apple trees where the women sat and the stable.

  “Catalin, have ye noted how tired they seem when returning after a day on the practice field with Ranald?”

  “Aye. Look! Look at Sir Dougald. He’s trying to drown himself in the water trough.” Catalin stared at the man, wondering how long he could keep his head submerged before he needed air. “Saints! I counted to thirty before he came up.”

  “Raik said last eve that never has he worked so hard at training as he has under Ranald. We have seen little to nothing of my brother of late.” Elyne looked at Catalin, a question in her eyes.

  Even if Moridac had thought her comely, his twin did not seem to find her so. He had not touched her again in that way a husband should. Last eve, she had fought sleep until way past the midnight time, until Ranald quietly came into the room, undressed and eased into bed. She spoke to let him know she was awake. He did naught but snap at her to go to sleep.

  “I know. He does not come to our chamber until way into the night. He never, uh, awakens me.” Catalin’s face heated.

  “That is kind of him,” Elyne said.

  “Hmpf.” Catalin could not stop the sound, for the more she thought on it, the more she worried.

  “Oh. You mean he has not...?”

  “Nay. I mean, aye. He has not.” Catalin bent her knees up under her chin, settled her skirts for modesty, and wrapped her arms around them.

  “Not even...?”

  “Oh, he did. That first night.” Catalin put her forehead down on her knees.

  “Well, did he not, uh, enjoy himself?” Elyne looked up at the tree then down at a small bug struggling to climb atop a bent twig. “Hmm, I heard him shout. And I thought I heard ye moaning like ye were right pleasured.”

  “Aye. We both were pleasured mightily.”

  “And the night ye thought he was dying? Was that not from his being overexcited? All thought he was having great bed sport, what with the pillows and sheets strewn across the floor.”

  “He was praying,” Catalin whispered.

  “What?” Elyne leaned closer. “I misheard ye.”

  “You heard me aright. Ranald was praying.”

  Elyne snorted. “Sure, and he was. I heard Raik telling Ranald ‘Dinna waste it,’ and Ranald looked down at himself then slammed the door.

  “Nay, really. I awoke in the night near freezing. The shutters stood wide. I rolled close to find him, for we had not enough covers on the bed. Naught but cold sheets greeted me until I neared the edge of the bed. I threw everything off so I could peer over the side. I saw Ranald. I thought he was dying.”

  “Why? Did he moan and writhe about?”

  Catalin shook her head.

  “Clutch his belly, then?”

  “Nay. He lay stretched out on the floor. Face downward, arms out like a bird.”

  “Huh? Had he fallen?”

  “Nay. He was not hurt at all. He was praying! No doubt, he was hoping God would help him bear his wife. He finds me ugly.” Catalin near died of shame.

  “Surely ye jest? His eyes follow ye whenever ye are in sight.” Elyne stared at Catalin and shook her head. “That does not sound like a man who finds his wife hard to look at.”

  “You may see him look, but you do not see the expression in his eyes.” Catalin puffed a burst of air to dislodge a curl sliding down her forehead.

  “Mayhap ye mistake a look of need for something else?”

  “I would wish so. But, nay. He freezes me with one glance. If I turn my gaze to another man, he will stalk over and grasp my elbow. His mouth draws back like he is in pain, and his look singes all thought of anything else from my mind.”

  “Humph. Sounds like a man who suffers from air in the belly.” She grinned then pulled a long face at Catalin. “Mayhap ye should offer to rub it for him?”

  “I wish it could be so simple. I truly think he hates me. Why else would a man avoid his new wife?”

  Catalin frowned and stared across the grass, only vaguely aware of the men trailing into the barracks. A flash of bright green cloth caught her eye. Hm. Muriele’s kirtle. Why was she coming from the training grounds, a serving girl following her with a tray? The answer seemed clear, but why had she tended this duty?

  “’Tis Muriele.”

  “Aye. Did ye think her someone else?” Elyne’s brows raised in question.

  “Nay. I have noted both Ranald and your cousin looking at her and talking. Some days ago, Raik laughed and thumped Ranald on the shoulder. Like he congratulated him for something. Ranald walked away and Raik near bent double with laughter.”

  “I ne’er thought I would use such crude words about my brother, but do ye think mayhap he is dipping his wick in another honey pot?”

  “Huh?” Catalin frowned at her. What did she mean?

  “Ye know. In bed sport. Are ye afeared he is giving some other woman what rightfully belongs to ye?”

  Catalin’s breath caught as if Elyne had dunked her into a cold loch. She barely nodded, thinking it over. Mayhap that was the cause Ranald didn’t desire her. He was sated before he came to their bed. How could she fight his having a leman?

  “Ye will have to lure him away from other interests.” Elyne pressed her lips together, pondering.

  Shame overcame Catalin. She knew nothing about men and what they desired in bed. Best she ask Elyne. She would have heard and learned more growing up with the three men. She hesitated, lowered her head and stared down at her hands grasped tight in her lap.

  “If I would lure him to my bed, I must know what he likes in bed sport. How might I entice him?”

  Elyne’s loud gulp alerted her. Before her words faded, the hair on Catalin’s arms prickled. She knew who stood behind her.

  His words were cold and hard, each one dropping on her soul like heavy rocks on soft sand.

  “Wife, do ye crave a man’s flesh so strongly ye plot to snare another to yer bed?”

  CHAPTER 15

  “I await yer answer, wife.”

  Catalin’s stomach clenched and her arms drew her knees even closer to her chin, making herself as small as possible. She peeked sideways, half hoping she was brainsick and hearing things. Instead, her gaze met two heavily muscled calves. Dirt clung to the crisp curly hair there, and a streak of mud covered one knee down his shinbone. Both strong feet were bare but for mud coating them to his ankles.

  “Which of my warriors have ye picked to grace yer bed when I leave for Hunter?”

  Saints! Ranald’s voice sounded mean. Seeing his feet shift, she knew he was not going to wait long for an answer. She took a deep breath.

  “None, my lord.”

  Drats! Why had she worried that he did not find her comely? She should be glad. Moridac had been the only man she wanted to wed. For sure, vanity had pricked her pride, making her want Ranald to desire her as much as Moridac had. Now look where that foolishness brought her!

  “Then ‘tis someone higher? My captain of the guards? Cormac?”

  “Do not be foolish. I have no interest in Sir Cormac. I am not even sure which man he is.”

  The grass around them started to move like waves on a lake when the wind was brisk.

  “Oh? Then for what reason did ye stare at him but moments ago.”

  “I stared at no one.” Catalin’s anger began to stir that he so easily thought she would be unfaithful to him.

  “At the water trough. Need I remind ye? Ye looked long and hard while he splashed water over his chest!”

  ‘Twas a strange, hot wind that blew Catalin’s hair back from her face, not the crisp coolness she had felt a short time afore. Branches overhead began to sway until dried leaves sprinkl
ed down to snag in her hair.

  “Dinna be foolish, Ranald.” Elyne’s voice cut in. “We were watching Sir Domnall.” She reached up to shove her brown hair from her eyes and catch a falling leaf. “He kept his head dunked so long, Catalin but wondered if he might drown himself.”

  “Domnall?” Ranald moved a step closer, his toes anchoring her skirts to the ground. “Ye scheme to lure a man near old enough to be yer father? He is far too wise to succumb to the wiles of a foolish woman.”

  “Would that you became as wise as he.” Catalin grabbed her skirt and tugged, but he shifted his weight forward to thwart her.

  “He also desires to keep his head firmly above his shoulders,” Ranald added.

  “And you call me a foolish woman? What witless thought burrowed into your mind and caused it to leap from my watching Sir Domnall dunking his head to my scheming to take him to my bed?”

  “Witless? Nay. I judge from what I see with my own eyes.”

  “Ha. Then what potion did Muriele slip into your ale that caused you to form such foolish imaginings about me?”

  “Dinna defame the lass. Ye would do well to learn a woman’s gentle ways from her.”

  “And you would do well to learn knightly ways from Sir Fergus. Move your foot!”

  Was she brainsick? She’d done it again. Blathering when she should keep her mouth shut. Catalin’s skin prickled with that strange feeling before lightning struck.

  Thunk! An apple fell from branches thrashing wildly overhead and struck Elyne’s lap. She bolted to her feet and shook out her skirts, dislodging it.

  “Ack! Cruddy Lucifer. It was worm-eaten.” Elyne studied the rustling grass and trees then looked up at the sky. Her narrowed eyes scanned Ranald’s face, his lips drawn back in a snarl.

  “Hm. There is no wind behind ye, Ranald, only in front. Since ye returned, it has become most unruly. Do ye contr...?”

  “Enough!” Ranald leaned down, grasped Catalin’s wrist and hauled her upright.

  Riiip! Her green kirtle parted at her right shoulder, revealing a sheer smock that did little to hide the beauty beneath it.

  Too late, he stepped back, his gaze fixed on the creamy flesh of her right breast. His snarl slackened; he wet his lips before he swallowed. His face tightened in a different way. A hungry gleam burned in his eyes, much like a hound that stares at a juicy bone gripped in his master’s fist.

  “Let go of me, unless you want the whole of Raptor to see how chivalrous you are, dolt.”

  Catalin shook her wrist free from his now slack fingers. She grabbed the torn material and tugged it to her neck, then frowned down at the muddy footprint gracing her skirt.

  He reached for her again, no doubt intent on dragging her off to let her know the full brunt of his anger.

  “Ye would call me dolt? Do ye dare prick my anger anew?”

  She gasped, for his nostrils flared, the muscles in his jaw twitched.

  “Ranald,” Raik shouted.

  Ranald hesitated, his hand hovering close to her shoulder. He stopped and swung around to see Raik sprinting toward the drawbridge, his arm out gesturing for Ranald to follow. All thoughts of Catalin’s foolish words fled his mind. For the moment. More important matters than teaching his wife he was not some callow youth she could lead by a string, needed his attention.

  A man, battered and bleeding, rode through the gatehouse. His horse stumbled from fatigue, caught his footing and trudged on. Men ran out of the barracks and surrounded the horseman, parting to let Ranald and his cousin through.

  Ranald reached the man in time to pluck him off the horse before he fell to the ground.

  “Get Domnall from the barracks. Tell him to meet me ... shite! Meet me in the solar.” Ranald’s long legs near ran to take the man inside. “Send a man to fetch Aunt Joneta. I have need of her herbs. Have another bring a fresh pallet to the solar. I will tend him there.”

  Raik pointed to two men, gave them their orders, and then ran to follow Ranald. He sprinted ahead of Ranald to open the heavy doors and order everyone out of the room.

  “Clear the table, I’ll need to see what we must deal with.”

  Ranald held the man in his arms like he was naught but a slight child. Once Raik had swiped everything off the table onto the floor, Ranald placed the injured man there.

  “Help me cut his clothing away.” He eyed the man’s bloody head. Someone had hacked both ears off. “It is Gille, one of our listeners, isn’t he?”

  “Aye.”

  They worked together, cutting down the front of the man’s ragged clothing so they could strip it back.

  “More than one man did this damage. Never have I seen so many bruises. They must have kicked him with their boots.” Raik sucked his teeth in sympathy.

  “What are ye doing?” Broccin’s voice boomed as he entered the room.

  “I couldna take him to the barracks to tend.” Ranald kept his voice calm, not wanting to startle the injured man. “In a castle as large as Raptor, there are bound to be spies amongst the warriors. I dinna want what he says to reach their ears.”

  “Tend him in the stables, then. Horses’ dinna care what words he speaks. And what matters where he dies, as long as it is not where I come to take my ease.”

  “Gille will be cared for here.” Ranald’s tone left no doubt he would not allow Broccin to thwart him. “He sustained these wounds obeying our commands. We can do no less than care for him.”

  Ranald ignored his father’s blustering. His fingers felt over the man’s flesh, seeking for broken bones. Lady Joneta hurried into the room carrying a basket filled with vials, small earthenware pots and small bunches of herbs tied together. Catalin and Elyne followed, bringing two baskets of clean linen cut in long strips and rolled to keep them from collecting dust.

  “I ordered hot water. It will be here in short order, Ranald.” Lady Joneta waited while Elyne and Catalin brought over a small table and placed it handy to Ranald’s hands. She unpacked her remedies, placing them in orderly lines across one side of the table, the linen cloths placed according to size on the rest of the space.

  Raik glanced up and saw Catalin’s white face, her lips pressed tight together. She stared at the man’s battered body.

  “Does he come from Hunter Castle? I do not recognize him.” Her voice was so low he near had to strain to hear her.

  “Nay. He belongs to Raptor.”

  “How can you be sure?” She came closer to peer around him and gasped when she spied the man’s bloody head. “What manner of beast would cut off a man’s ears?”

  “Elyne, remove Catalin afore she spews over my back. Raik, clear the room and post a guard at the door. Keep everyone out but the man bringing the pallet.”

  He sighed, his tension easing when all had been ushered from the room but those he needed. His skills along with his aunt’s would better the chances the man would live. The hot water arrived, and with the first basin, they cleansed their hands until not a speck of grime was on them or beneath their nails. Raik took charge of dumping soiled water out the window opening and refilling the basin with fresh hot water.

  The man groaned. His eyes opened to stare fearfully up at Ranald. He twisted and fought, until Domnall’s voice soothed him.

  “Hold still, Gille. We are trying to clean yer wounds.”

  “I thought ye meant to slit me belly wide.”

  Ranald halted. His voice came out slow and even, with no hint of feeling.

  “What happened? Were ye found out?”

  “Aye. Found out. The cook’s lass tried to sneak out last eve. Through the window opening. She stepped on me head.” He drew in a breath and hissed it out slowly. “She screamed like I had kilt her.”

  “Her father did this to you? He must prize his daughters high.” Raik voice sounded surprised.

  “Nay, ‘twas the guard. Came running. Once’t they finished with me, they left me fer dead.” He near bit his lips through when Ranald cleaned filth away from the ragged skin around his ears.<
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  “Domnall, help him drink some wine. Raik, roll a cloth tight and give it to him to bite on.”

  “Thank ye. I dinna want to shame meself screaming like a lass.”

  Ranald waited until the man downed the goblet of wine without even taking a breath. Where someone had sliced Gille’s ears away, Ranald stitched the wound as best he could.

  “At first, I kenned the cook would finish what the guards had thought done. But he knew I was not one of them. ‘Twas him what helped me on me horse and led it out the postern gate.” He flinched when Ranald started closing the wound. “He said he was sorry he couldna help me more.”

  “I take it ye heard some bit of news before ye were found out?”

  “Aye. None likes the new master. They call this Hamon the ‘smelly bastid.’” The man stopped and panted. “All are afeared. One eve, the hunter drank with the fletcher. Heard them whisper. He waits fer the day Hamon rises from his lazy arse and goes into the forest.” He gritted his teeth and could not talk for a bit.

  “Get on with it, man. I dinna want to stay up all night waiting for yer reports.” Broccin scowled down at the man and reached out to jiggle his shoulder.

  The injured man gasped and blinked. “Aye. The fletcher gave him an arrow.”

  “Hmpf. So he gave him an arrow. What is unusual about that?” Broccin’s voice sounded impatient.

  “‘Twas coated with mandrake and shite and allowed to dry. If the arrow’s flight isna true and misses his heart, the poison and a festering wound will make up fer it.” His voice faded as he went limp.

  Ranald felt his neck. The thready pulse beating there gave him hope.

  They worked well together. His aunt covered the wounds with a healing salve then held pads of linen tightly over them while Ranald bandaged the dressing into place.

  The light from the window had long since faded by the time they were satisfied all had been tended. Ranald nodded. He would return to sit with the man after he attended Vigils in the darkest time of the night.