Ranald’s form looked to waver and glow, not unlike heat waves rising from a plowed field in the distance. The knuckles strained white on his fisted hands as Ranald held tight to his soaring temper. Broccin would be lucky to come away from this challenge with only a bit of reddened flesh.
“Ye see, my loving sire, I have naught to lose if ye prove the bairn is not mine.” Ranald scraped one hand over his chin, mulling over his words while still staring at Broccin’s ear. “Why would I wish to claim a son who is not of my seed? To give him first rights to Raptor, leaving my own future son without?”
“Hell’s pests!” Broccin swatted the air around his head. His ear was fiery red and beginning to swell. “How have bees flown so high?”
“Mayhap ye brought one from the orchard on yer clothing? It looks like the small pest has feasted on yer flesh.” Raik tried his best not to chuckle.
“Best ye seek Aunt Joneta for something to soothe it,” Ranald said in an emotionless voice.
“Dinna think this is settled,” Broccin spluttered and stomped over to the landing, his arms flapping like wings as he swatted the air around him. “We will see who has the last word here.”
His voice faded as he pounded down the stairs.
“Interesting.” Raik nodded his head. “So, that is how it was done.”
“What was done?”
Ranald opened his clenched hands, rolled his shoulders and took deep, cleansing breaths, as he relaxed and cooled his anger.
“How ye lit the candles that night in the Infirmary. I wasna as fevered as I thought.”
Ranald’s gaze flickered to him.
Suddenly, Raik laughed.
“Satan’s rotten teeth!” Ranald’s temper had yet to cool to normal. “What do ye find so amusing?”
“Ye.” Raik grinned at his cousin. “Knowing ye, I would be willing to bet not once did ye use yer temper to stay warm on the most frigid nights at Kelso.”
Ranald’s face relaxed. His lips twitched at the corners. Raik laughed all the harder.
“Ye would win.” Ranald shook his head and grinned. “I didna even think of it, since no one prodded my temper.”
“Yer father seems smitten by Satan, the way he is determined to get his hands on Catalin’s child.” Raik shook his head and frowned.
“Aye. He would label the child a bastard in order to keep him close.” Ranald snorted. “He ne’er concerned himself with Moridac or me for years on end, leaving Domnall to fill in the gap as father.”
“Aye. Though, after he threw ye away, he kept Moridac forever in his sight.”
Ranald heaved a sigh then pressed his lips together. He glanced at Raik, then across the curtain walls toward the darkening forests beyond the castle. So many things he wanted to learn about those years he was away. It was best he sought answers now.
“I often felt a pull from Moridac. It was like he called to me, yet he never came to see how I fared.” His chest ached, reliving the loneliness and fear in those early months at Kelso.
“Aye, he called to ye. In his deepest sleep, he would cry out yer name. He grieved over yer separation, got so lean from not eating that the laird near forced food down his throat.”
“Why did he not come to me?”
Ranald turned his head away, his shoulders slumped with the memory of how abandoned he had felt.
“He slipped away more than once. He was near to Kelso one night when Dougald caught up to him. That next morn, the laird sent a letter to the Abbot. When the messenger returned, yer sire made a great show of saying he had word that his second son had died of a fever and was already buried.”
Ranald smacked his hand against the cold stone beside him and fought for calm.
“He has Satan’s own cold heart to claim that a son who still breathes is dead!” His words hissed through near clamped teeth.
Raik snorted. “Heart? Are ye certain he has one? I oft wondered.”
“I heard many tales of Moridac. I could not ken the wild things he did. The men he killed. That he gloried in it?”
“Aye, ye can say he did.” Raik nodded and hesitated but a heartbeat. “Yer brother threw himself into fighting and killing, mayhap with reason. Most times, it was after a rousing argument with the laird.”
Raik frowned and steadied a foot on an open crenelation, then leaned over to brace his arms on his knee. He heaved a regretful sigh before he continued.
“More than once, I came upon him unaware and saw fear flash in his eyes when he looked at yer sire.”
“What had he to fear? My sire loved him since his birth.”
“Likely, he thought if his father could maim and discard his twin like so much offal, he could do the same to Moridac if he displeased him.” Raik raised his brows and studied Ranald’s face.
Ranald nodded.
“Moridac was weak; ye were strong. Mayhap ye were destined to be the second son, because ye could face what life had in store for ye.”
“Nay. Moridac was not weak. He was far more daring than I. ‘Twas he who thought up most of our ventures. We were so much alike. We fed on each other’s strengths.” He lowered his head, then lifted it and glanced aside at Raik. “Had I been strong, I would have returned here after I healed. I was the weak one.”
Raik shook his head.
“I ken yer twin was afeared. In the years growing up together, was it not ye who defied yer sire? Ye who took all the chances, who claimed the guilt to protect Moridac when he got into trouble?”
Ranald grimaced and shrugged. It had been second nature for him to step between his sire and his brother.
“Once he no longer had ye to protect him, he made himself into the image of yer father. The more he became like him, the more the Chief praised him.”
“Ne’er did I think on it that way.” Ranald closed his eyes, picturing Moridac lost and fearful. “Hm. Moridac drank the most when our sire was in a temper.”
“Aye. He did. After they took ye away, Moridac locked himself in the bedchamber ye shared. He let no one in until your father threatened to take an axe to the door.”
“Many times, in those brief spaces between sleeping potions, I felt him calling to me.” Ranald sighed, and his impatient fingers jerked off his mask. “‘Tis nice to feel the air on my face.”
“It is not necessary to use it.” Raik picked up a stone from beside his foot and tossed it far out into the open bailey.
“Mayhap not with men. I have no wish to see the look of horror on Catalin’s face should she come upon me without it.” His fingers shoved through his hair as he lifted his face to the waning sun.
“Ye give her too little credit.”
“Mayhap because I gave her too much before.”
Ranald gave his hair one last tug and shrugged. Both were silent for a space, thinking.
“Ye said ye felt Moridac call to ye those years ago. Did this feeling fade over the years?”
“Aye. Somewhat. Not all. There were times when out of nowhere I would glimpse his face.”
He shuddered, remembering. He had thought himself daft, at the time. Was certain of it that day in December when he heard Moridac’s voice scream his name, begging his aid. Should he ask? He cleared his throat.
“The day he was injured. Were ye there?” His heart pounded, waiting.
“Aye. Not close, though. I heard shouts, horses crashing through the brush and screams. Domnall, Giric and I arrived as Kerr slit the boar’s throat and dragged him off Moridac.” Raik clasped Ranald’s shoulder. “Until he was not able to speak, yer brother begged for yer help, asking ye to greet him and guide his way when he breathed his last.”
Ranald’s eyes stung. He straightened, and as he slid his mask on, furtively swiped the moisture from his eyes. He growled softly, deep in his throat, and nodded.
“Thank ye.” He stopped to clear his husky voice.
Eyes normally as blue as the sky now held a hint of gray as Raik studied Ranald’s face. It was always thus when Raik delved into a person’s thoughts.<
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“What?” Raik asked.
“I understand now.”
“Understand?”
“Aye. My father.”
“Ye do? I expect God shakes his head at Broccin’s thinking.”
“Nay, I dinna ken Broccin, only his anger at Kelso.”
Raik tilted his head, drew his shoulders up and held his hands up.
“Eh? He was in a temper from the moment we left Raptor. Remind me so I can follow yer thinking.”
“Do ye not remember him shouting it was my fault Moridac died? That I should have been there to heal him?”
“Aye. I think I see yer drift.”
“He had to blame me else he must admit it was his fault I was not there.” A glimmer of sympathy pried at Ranald’s mind. “Can ye imagine the guilt, the horror that something ye had done made the passing of a loved one so terrible?”
“That’s the monk in ye talking. I feel no sympathy for him. He earned all the anguish he feels now.”
Ranald shrugged, then straightened and cocked his head to listen as he studied the open field leading to the drawbridge. Two men on horseback galloped out of the far woods toward the castle. The way they leaned forward in the saddle lent urgency to their appearance. He pointed to them and turned.
“Come. Cormac and Duncan return from Baron Rupert’s castle. They are one man short. I dinna see Egan with them.”
Raik followed at his heels as they bolted down the stairway to meet the men clattering through the barbican.
o0o
Catalin could not stop the shivers that shook her. They were more from what Ranald had said than from the cold air blowing on her back. On the last of the wooden steps, Elyne grasped Catalin’s hand and tucked it in the crook of her arm.
“Come, your hand is like ice. It’s turning wet and windy again. A warmed cup of mead will be just the thing to chase the dampness from us.”
“Did you hear what they were fighting over? Do you think he really meant it?” Catalin bit her lip and glanced sideways at Elyne.
“Who meant what? Ranald or Father?”
“Both, really. Either way, I will mayhap lose this child I carry because of one of them.”
Had all in the castle heard Broccin’s yells and Ranald’s responses? No matter where she looked, people peered at her from the corner of their eyes. Even the goose girl found a reason to herd her charges closer. Was she trying to overhear what she said to Elyne?
She stumbled, and Elyne tightened her grip on her arm.
“Lose to one of them? What crazy thing were they fighting over?” Elyne’s head cocked to the side, her brow creased with thought.
“Your father declares that if this babe is proven to be Moridac’s, Ranald and I will live at Hunter Castle, but the child will stay here to be raised by him.”
“What? Moridac’s?”
Surprised, Elyne tripped over her own feet. Had not Catalin grabbed tight to her arm and steadied them both, they would have landed on their bottoms in the dust.
“Aye. Your father says he will prove the child is Moridac’s and will take it from us. But Ranald said if your father names the child a bastard, then Ranald will see it sent to the church.” She gulped and let out a wavering breath.
“Huh! They are brainsick to think such a thing.” Elyne frowned, her eyes puzzled as she pondered the idea. “Sent to the church for what?”
“If it is a boy, he will be given to Kelso and raised to become a monk.”
“What if it’s a girl? Will they still fight over her?”
“Your father cared naught about a girl. Ranald did. He claims a bastard girl child will live at Saint Anne’s Abbey with the good sisters.” Catalin’s last words trailed off like the wind had taken the sound from her. “Oh, heavenly saints. Whoever wins, they will take my child from me.”
“I canna believe Ranald would do such.” Elyne sucked her teeth and shook her head. “By God’s love, how could a man who has lived a life of prayer and healing think of such an evil thing?”
“Because that same evil thing was done to him. He believes it would be a fitting revenge, since your father wants this child so badly. But I will not let them take my babe from me.” Catalin lips pursed with anger and her chin lifted. Afore this child was born, she would make her way to Letia and Warin for safety. They would help her petition King Stephen for protection.
She remained silent as they approached the keep’s entrance, for young and old men alike were gathered around the well flirting with cleaning maids and cook’s helpers who were drawing water. Before he hoisted water to fill the small bucket she clutched, Sir Fergus flourished a bow to a blushing lass. The girl was near stumbling over herself, she was so flustered.
Sirs Giric and Kerr leaned back against the boulder next to the well and watched, smirks lifting the corners of their lips. ‘Twas certain they had been well-sated the night just passed, for neither attempted to favor any of the lasses.
Catalin recognized Sir Kerr as the warrior Ranald had fought with earlier. He looked most pleased with himself, and although his green tunic bore blood stained rips, he wore it as if it were a badge of honor. He bowed with respect, while Sir Giric lounged back and eyed them as they passed. On straightening, Kerr frowned and muttered something to him Catalin could not hear. Giric shrugged and made a slight bow. His probing regard searched her form much as Broccin’s had, and as they went past him, he chuckled as if he had learned a nasty secret.
She quickened her steps, wanting to be away from so much speculation.
“Ada, fetch hot mead to Lady Catalin’s bedchamber,” Elyne called out as they passed her in the hall. “It’s likely she has taken a chill.”
She hustled Catalin up the stairs. Neither spoke until they reached the room and closed the door behind them.
“Oh, Elyne, the wind must have carried Ranald and your father’s voices throughout the bailey, and now their words are being spread to all within the castle walls.”
“They squabble and fight like two hounds over a meaty bone.” Elyne sucked her teeth and pulled a stool over. “Sit. Ye need the rest,” she said as she lightly pressed Catalin’s shoulders down.
Catalin sat, her teeth worrying her lips. What was she to do? Her stomach roiled, and she took a slow, soothing breath and let it out.
“I won’t have it! This babe is not scraps from a table for them to fight over. It is mine. I bear it, not they.”
“Aye, but how will we stop them?” Elyne pressed her lips together, her forehead furrowed in thought. “Hm. When it comes time to start the siege, I shall beg Ranald to allow us to go to Letia’s. I will say we canna trust Father, and yer bairn will be safer away from him.”
“It is a good idea. Once we are at Letia’s, I will persuade the baron to send an escort with me to King Stephen’s court.”
Catalin shuddered, fearing the time when the babe fought to come into the world. She had heard the screams of laboring women; had seen the bloodied sheets. She would have no loving husband anxiously waiting to learn if he had a son, or if it was a daughter. And what would she do if the babe came afore she could get to the English court? She would have to rely on Letia and Warin to protect it.
She squeaked and near jumped off her stool when someone scratched at the door and immediately opened it.
Hannah held the door wide while Ada entered with a tray filled with hot, freshly baked scones and a pot of honey. Beside them was a thick earthenware jug filled with hot mead. A wooden stopper held in the heat. Hannah looked back over her shoulders and pulled the door shut.
“Ada no sooner had the words of your morning sickness out of her mouth afore Broccin was charging out the door. I thought mayhap he would fall over the stairway to the battlements, so fast did he take the steps.” Hannah shook her head as she helped Ada set the food on the small table.
“Aye. The master was near aside himself, he was so gleeful.” Ada sniffed and muttered under her breath while she poured mead into two cups. “He near drove me dafty with all
his questions. I lost track of how many times he asked when yer signs started. I told him again and again! It was a month after ye wed.”
“Knowing my sire, he will ask ye again later to be sure ye say the same. Dinna change yer story.” Elyne took one of the cups and handed it to Catalin. “Drink this, love. There is nothing like warm mead to chase a chill away.”
Catalin cradled the cup close to her face and sniffed the steam. Hannah handed her a scone, but she shook her head. Her stomach would not welcome food now.
Hannah was so aware of her mistress’ feelings that she went over to Catalin’s side of the bed and pulled out the wooden bucket.
“Just in case you have need of it,” she said and beckoned to Ada. They left the two young women alone.
As Catalin took the last swallow of mead, they heard hooves clattering across the wooden drawbridge.
“Umm, Catalin, come look.” Elyne leaned out the bedchamber window, the better to see the man sliding from his lathered horse. “That handsome captain of the guards is below.”
“Cormac? Is he not the man Ranald accused me of lusting after?” Catalin leaned over Elyne’s shoulder to see what so engaged her sister-by-law’s interest.
“Aye. Oh, saints! Hide.” Elyne groaned and jerked at Catalin’s sleeve, urging her downward. “Too late. Ranald spotted us. Does the man have a special sense that warns him when ye are at a window? Likely, he will think ye enamored of the captain.”
“Huh! As if any man would look at a woman as round as a barrel. Even my face looks like a piglet’s.”
“Are ye blind? Ye are more beautiful than ever.”
“Not from this view.” She looked down, then back up and waggled her brows at Elyne.
“Oh, aye. Ye canna see yerself as other’s do.” Elyne shrugged and chuckled. “Ye will have to take my word for it, and mayhap the men who watch yer every move when ye walk into the hall? Especially Sir Giric, Moridac’s friend. He canna take his eyes off ye.”
Unease swept Catalin, for she had noted his interest. Giric was Moridac’s friend, had always been close to his side. They had often thumped each other on the shoulder. Had Moridac told him about seducing her in her bed?
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