Forbidden

by Sophia Johnson

  She slapped her hand over her mouth and raced to the other side of the bed. ‘Twas the first time since taking Ranald’s potions that she had felt so ill. She plunked down on the floor and grabbed the bucket, curling her legs around it.

  “Oh,” she gasped, then gurgled and tried to take deep breaths. It did not seem to work.

  Elyne knelt beside her and grabbed the tumbling red curls back from Catalin’s face, clucking in sympathy for her plight.

  “Ugh. I dinna think I care to have bairns.” She held the handful or hair high as she rose on her knees to reach for the ribbon dangling from Catalin’s hair. She made short work of re-tying it. “There. That will hold you while I get a wet cloth.”

  “A wet cloth? What do you on the floor, Elyne?”

  Catalin groaned hearing Ranald’s demanding voice coming closer with each word, until she saw his leather shoes rounding the edge of the bed. Elyne jumped up and rushed over to the water basin in the far corner.

  Ranald squatted in front of Catalin. His tunic rode up high on his thighs. Catalin’s gaze traveled from hairy calves, up past strong, solid knees, even higher to thick, muscled thighs.

  And beyond.

  ‘Twas the beyond that shocked her mind off her plight and turned it to anger.

  CHAPTER 20

  Catalin sputtered and gurgled. Ranald huffed and snorted, then leaned forward on his knees, pulling his tunic to hide his manly attributes, mumbling all the while.

  “Must ye gawk at a man’s sex?”

  “Ha. You have no shame. You welcomed Lady Muriele’s gaze pawing over your flesh.” Catalin’s words snapped sharp as a whip, bringing a scowl to his face.

  “I have no time for such foolish talk.”

  Elyne crept up behind him and placed a well-aimed foot on his arse. He tottered forward.

  “If ye canna be of help, Elyne, go to yer chambers.”

  “I aim to please, brother. Here. Catalin has need of this.”

  Splat! A wet cloth plopped over his head down to his chin. Water sloshed over his face, trickled beneath his mask, and a stream traveled a chilly trail down the back of his neck.

  “Lucifer’s fetid breath!” So loud was his curse that the wet cloth puffed out with each word. He slung it off, nearly displacing his mask.

  A giggle from Catalin drew his attention. There sat his wife, the bucket cradled between her legs, her eyes round as an egg yolk and a hand over her mouth trying to stifle her mirth. Elyne stood beside her, a basin of water cradled in her arms, grinning.

  What was best? Rant and scream his outrage at Elyne, or leave the room with what little dignity he had left? He chose the latter, for truth to tell the truth, he deserved the dunking. He rose to his feet and stalked over to his clothing chest. ‘Twas fortunate a black tunic was the first thing that came to hand. He grabbed it, slammed the lid down and was out the door before either woman could speak.

  “Jesu, Ranald. Did ye forget to take off yer clothing afore ye bathed?” Raik stood, a hand uplifted, for he had been about to seek entrance.

  “Make yerself useful, cousin.” Ranald threw the dry tunic over Raik’s raised arm, then stripped off his wet clothing and dropped it at his feet.

  “Er, Ranald? Ye might want to cover yerself with as much haste as ye stripped.” Raik’s laughing eyes looked beyond Ranald’s back in the dim corridor.

  Ranald jerked his head around to find Aunt Joneta standing there, her hands on her hips, shaking her head.

  “Shame on ye, Ranald. Is that any way to go about? I see more of yer bare arse than I see of ye clothed.”

  Feeling like a chastised youth, Ranald yanked the black tunic over his head and fought to find the opening. He pulled and tugged, until suddenly Raik’s hand came through the cloth and waggled his fingers. He groaned, realizing he was fighting his way through a sleeve opening.

  Aunt Joneta’s tsk was so loud it would be a wonder if she still had teeth left firmly in her jaw. By the time he had the tunic settled on his shoulders, Ranald’s dignity was nearly trampled to dust.

  “For truth, Raik, there is much to be said for living in an abbey,” Ranald muttered.

  “Hm. Name something.”

  “The absence of people everywhere ye turn.”

  “By people, ye mean women, do ye not?”

  Ranald had already started down the circular stairway leading below. He looked back over his shoulder and grimaced at Raik.

  “Aye. Elyne near dumped a basin over my head, and I forgot all I went in there to say.”

  “Mayhap ye can tell Hannah or Ada what ye wished?”

  Ranald nodded and glanced around the hall as they hurried through to the doorway. Neither woman was there.

  They clattered down the outer stairway to the keep, his eyes searching for the women amongst the warriors assembled there awaiting them.

  “Ah, Lady Muriele is closest. She will have to do.”

  He motioned with his hand for her to come to him. Finn strapped Ranald’s short sword around his waist and his broadsword on his back where he could reach up and draw it for battle.

  “Go to my lady wife and tell her to keep within the castle grounds. I go to Baron Rupert’s lands to avenge a great wrong.”

  “And when should I tell her to expect your return?”

  “When she sees me, of course,” he muttered.

  He flexed his arms and moved his shoulders to see that all felt right before he turned to her. Her worried look surprised him.

  “I canna help but ask, sir, if you have a word of comfort for your lady wife? ‘Tis likely an increasing woman needs assurance you will return safely.” Lady Muriele frowned up at him.

  Ranald shrugged and glanced up at the keep’s windows.

  “She has no need of words. Do ye think my battle skills so puny I canna overcome a man whose only combat is against helpless men trussed like pigs for slaughter?”

  Would Catalin truly worry about him taking an injury? Or would her real fear be of facing his father alone with a babe born before it’s time, proving it Moridac’s?

  He shook his head as he took the reins from Finn and sprang onto Satan’s back. Raik, mounted on Storm, trotted over as Ranald started to ride off. About a horse length away, he twisted around in the saddle and looked upward. He glimpsed Catalin’s face at the window before she darted back out of sight.

  Swinging Satan around, he faced the Lady Muriele, scowled and jabbed a finger at her. “Tell Lady Catalin to stay away from window openings.”

  As they rode past the line of warriors, Ranald gestured to visibly tired Sirs Cormac and Duncan to join them at the head of the line as they galloped over the drawbridge and out into the open field beyond.

  His gut twisted thinking of young Egan who had scaled the walls to burn down the torture hut at Baron Rupert’s castle. No sooner had he set it ablaze and near gained his freedom, than guards discovered him.

  o0o

  Catalin peered out the window as Ranald prepared to leave. He glanced around the courtyard, searching for someone. She pressed her lips together seeing him nod, as if pleased he found the one he sought.

  “Why, he has beckoned Lady Muriele to him! Drats! He seeks her out more times than he does me.”

  Clouds of dust rose from the men and stomping horses milling about. It was a wonder the warriors did not sustain crushed legs when their horse sidled away from another, only to come too close to one on its other side. The creak of their leather saddles and harnesses, the clanking of swords against shields, the clatter of hooves on the cobblestone paths all lent an air of urgency.

  “What could they be talking about?” Elyne propped her head on Catalin’s shoulder and stared down at the warriors restraining their mounts as they waited for Ranald.

  Catalin’s teeth grated together. She had best stop the foolish habit or they would be naught but mere stubs.

  “The nerve of him. He forever grouses at me, accusing me of looking with favor upon other men. He is the one openly toying with another wo
man.”

  “What could they be yammering about?” Elyne pursed her lips as she watched. “Hmm. Lady Muriele seems vexed. She looks to be arguing with him.”

  “Oh saints. Duck.”

  As Elyne ducked, Catalin moved quickly to the side of the opening where he could not see her. She hugged the wall and peeked around it to see below.

  “He started to ride off and then turned and pointed at her. He said something more. She looks surprised, doesn’t she? I wonder what it was.”

  Catalin glared down at the woman. As Ranald galloped to take the lead, she leaned out to watch. She couldn’t take her eyes off his back as the horsemen clattered over the wooden planks of the drawbridge. Though she could no longer see him, she kept watch until the warriors cleared the bridge and came out into the open land beyond. She did not move until they were out of sight in the woods beyond.

  “Did ye know Ranald planned to ride out today?” Elyne’s brows creased as she studied Catalin’s face.

  “Nay. Why did he not tell me?”

  “Uh oh. Mayhap that was why he sought ye out. No doubt the sopping cloth on his head washed all thoughts from his mind.” Elyne giggled. “My poor brother. Did ye see his surprise?”

  “Surprise? More likely he was stunned.” Catalin smiled, remembering Ranald’s face.

  “He has been from the company of women far too long. He does not know what to make of us.” Elyne grinned at her. “I was ready to run. Afore he went to Kelso, he would have chased me down and dunked my head in the horse trough.”

  “I feared he would strike out in anger, but he did not.” Catalin shook her head, puzzled that he held his temper. “Had I done such to Uncle Hamon, no doubt I would soon be covered with bruises.”

  “Ranald would ne’er strike a woman.

  “Mmm.”

  Catalin was not so sure he would not. More than once, his eyes had smoldered with anger when he stared at her. His hands had tightened to fists, too.

  She hugged her belly, shielding it. Even a light blow could have a terrible affect on her babe. The thought of Ranald lifting his fists against her made her shudder in fear. She squeezed her eyes tight and forced her mind to remember the youth he had always been. He teased her but was never unkind. For truth, he could not have changed so terribly that he would harm a woman, much less an unborn child.

  “Elyne? The pennant. ‘Twas not Raptor Castle’s. I did not see your father ride out. The page flew the black eagles on the yellow silk.”

  “Aye. The twin’s banner. And the men. In full battle gear.” Elyne’s eyes widened. “‘Tis no special patrol. They ride expecting to fight.

  Catalin frowned and chewed her lip. Where was Ranald going?

  “‘Tis not to Hunter Castle. They could not take it with so few men.”

  “Nay, they wouldn’t be so brainsick.” Elyne narrowed her eyes, thinking. “I didn’t see Sir Giric. Mayhap I can find out from him.”

  Elyne’s skirts flew behind her as she went out the door.

  Catalin rubbed her arms, trying to warm them as emptiness filled her. Raptor Castle no longer felt secure. Turning, she stared at the foot of the bed. It was far too big for one person. Why, it was ample enough for three, so large Ranald easily kept space between them when they slept.

  He avoided her by day, rising early and riding with the patrol before the sun even thought of rising. He returned only to disappear into the far practice area for the rest of the day and did not come back to the keep until darkness fell.

  Most evenings, he sent her up to bed with a stern nod of his head and a finger pointing to the stairwell. He did not join her in the big bed until she slept. If she by chance rolled too close and touched his hot skin, he flinched and moved nearer the edge.

  Did he dislike anyone touching his scarred back?

  Or was it her he avoided even in sleep?

  The other evenings truly puzzled her the most. The evenings when Ranald’s eyes grew hot and stormy, and he did not take his gaze from her. No stern nod then, but a firm hand on her back guiding her up the stairwell and hurrying her into the room.

  Her clothes were so speedily taken from her that they near flew across the room, their breeze blowing the flame from the candles. He surrounded her with his heated body, falling with her onto the bed. Those nights, he made love to her with wild abandon, his heart thudding against her own.

  For days afterward, he avoided her even more.

  She dreaded being between the cold sheets alone. How many days would he be gone? She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her stomach, getting comfort from holding it.

  If only she could keep the babe there. Snug and warm, where no one could wrench it from her arms.

  Safe from Broccin.

  Safe from Ranald.

  CHAPTER 21

  Ranald set a fast pace, galloping whenever possible, for Baron Rupert’s lands were only half a day away. Mayhap if they arrived as night fell, they had a chance Egan still lived. The baron preferred his sport in the evening hours, for no doubt the anguished wails in the dead of night were a more potent threat to all who heard them.

  “Tell me again what happened.” Ranald lips thinned as he listened to Cormac retell the last three days for at least the fourth time.

  “The land around the castle is cleared beyond the curtain walls, enough so that anyone coming from the forest beyond can be easily seen. We climbed trees on the western side. I watched the barbican while Duncan studied the rear bailey from high atop an old oak. Egan noted the fields, for we needed to know when the workers went in for the night.” He shuddered and glanced back at Duncan, who took up the tale.

  “Aye. I ne’er took my eyes off that hut. Before we went there, I wondered why the baron used it instead of his dungeon.” He ran a hand over his face, as if hoping to wipe what he had seen from his memory. “All could hear what happened if they dared to anger their lord.”

  “Then the hut wasna empty when ye got there?” Raik’s lips pressed together in a thin line.

  “At first it was,” Duncan continued. “Late last eve, Egan noted an old man weeding the rows of carrots. Several times, he glanced around at the other workers but kept on pulling the weeds. The last time, no one else was on the same row. He dug up two scrawny carrots and slipped them inside his breeches, hidden from view.”

  The muscles in Duncan’s tense face twitched. “A corner tower guard turned and saw him. He gave an order, and the next thing we knew, men were dragging the old man inside the walls.”

  “The pour soul didna have a chance,” Raik muttered.

  “Aye. I joined Duncan and Egan once night fell.” Cormac ground out the words between clenched teeth. “Never have I heard such pitiful wails. In the darkest time of the night, Baron Rupert came out of the hut laughing and joking so loud all could hear, that the old man’s tarse was so small it near disappeared when he stuffed it into his toothless mouth.” He leaned to the side and retched, then shamefaced, wiped his mouth.

  “We waited until Rupert and his men went inside the keep. Egan and I were over the wall in a trice, while Duncan waited at the edge of the woods with the horses. The hut was empty except for the old man’s body. The fire pit still had hot embers, so we had no trouble starting the fire. We went back up to the wall walk, but a sentry saw us and put an arrow in Egan’s back.

  “He fell to the inside bailey. He never had a chance. The next thing I knew, arrows were flying and the walkway was swarming with guards. Duncan was below with our horses. I dropped when I was near halfway down.”

  “I suspect the guards put out the fire.” Duncan scratched the stubble of whiskers on his jaw. “When I looked back, naught but wisps of smoke drifted on the air.”

  “We are a few leagues away.” Ranald motion to Cormac. “Stay with me. I would have ye take me to the spot where we can scale the walls. Duncan, fall back and tell the men that when we are within sight of the castle, keep to the shadows and walk their horses. I want no warning that we are there.”

&nb
sp; Duncan edged his horse to the side of the path then made his way back down the line.

  Ranald tugged off his mask. The ever-watchful Finn galloped up to take it from him, then handed Ranald the helmet he preferred when fighting for Kelso. Made in the Norman style, it was open-faced but for a narrow gold-plated nose guard jutting down from the rim. His nostrils flared, remembering the added fear his mangled face caused—the only good thing that came from his unsightly scars.

  “Raik, what think ye we take Dubne, Cormac and two others to greet Baron Rupert?”

  “Sounds like a meeting I will relish.” Raik patted a dagger hilt protruding from the top of his left boot.

  Ranald caught glimpses of the castle in the distance and held up his open hand, stopping the men. They were far enough away no one would hear them stand down off their mounts and lead the horses through the woods to the west of the looming castle.

  When they drew opposite the wall where they would enter, he whispered to Dougald to take charge. Dougald was to watch for an arrow shot over the area of the postern gate. At that time, he was to have five men charge the gate bringing the extra horses. The rest of the warriors were to defend Ranald and his men leaving.

  Fortunately, the moon was only a sliver and clouds covered what light there was. Ranald pointed out the men to go with him and Raik, and they silently ran from bush to bush, advancing on the curtain wall.

  Cormac led them to the corner tower and silently pointed. Ranald squinted, studying the old wall where the round tower met the curtain wall. Evidently, Baron Rupert thought more of his pleasures than he did in the upkeep of his castle.

  A hoarse scream split the air. Ranald sucked in his breath. Rupert would have much to pay for when they met. He motioned for Cormac to start up the wall. He followed, his hands and feet feeling for the holds he had seen Cormac use. Soon they came to an area where he could draw alongside him, so badly did the wall need repair.

  Now and again, one of his men’s feet scraped the wall when his toehold crumbled, and he heard the faint sound of a breathed curse.