Forbidden

by Sophia Johnson

  Catalin tilted her head and listened to thunder in the distance, yet the sky showed not even a hint of clouds. She first noted it earlier when they stopped to water the horses. It had been thus for the last league or more. A storm approached. She watched the sky for the streak of lightning that should soon follow.

  Nothing. The heavy forest thinned as they drew near Hunter. They rode out onto a grassy area, providing a clear view of the sky near the edge of the forest. Yet another boom sounded. This time, the sky did show the change. Her brows near met in the middle as she studied it. Dust? Or smoke? Why, it must be both!

  The more fool she. It wasn’t thunder but the sound of battle, though she had never before heard it. She shivered knowing her home was under siege. Dratted Uncle Hamon! She would like to ring his hateful neck for putting the people of Hunter Castle in such dreadful straits.

  In the distance ahead, a sea of white surrounded Hunter Castle’s lands. The white turned into a village of tents lined in neat rows like streets. Every third row ended with a larger tent, a banner flying above it.

  She recognized Ranald’s tent from afar. The yellow silk banner caught the wind and flew as if the raptors took flight on their own.

  Far enough away that the castle archers were unable to pick off the men operating them, trebuchets battered the tops of Hunter’s curtain walls. After each toss of the trebuchets, catapults filled with heavy stones harassed the men left standing there. Great clouds of dust and smoke rose over the grounds.

  Sitting closest to the front lines of tents was what looked to be a large storage area for provisions. The constant stream of warriors coming and going afforded protection for it. Up and down the rows, men built cooking fires, and sturdy women took pots from the carts and preparing food.

  Now and again, she saw a familiar face and stopped to ask if they needed help or if they fared well. Hannah near jumped out of the cart when she spied an old friend. The woman walked alongside, chattering and laughing up at Hannah, her hefty bulk swaying with each step. It struck Catalin that her old nurse’s eyes lit with laughter for the first time in many months.

  Hannah and her friend aided Catalin when they reached Ranald’s tent. Finn and Raik’s squire carried in two small chests Catalin had brought with her. One held clean kirtles and underclothing; the babe’s supplies filled the other.

  Inside the tent flap, she skidded to a halt and gawked around her. She had expected a dirt floor, a rude frame with a pallet atop for sleeping, and perhaps a small table with stools set around it.

  Instead, carpets covered the floor. At back and to the right stood a bed ample for two filled with a thick down mattress. Pillows and wool blankets, and animal skins for extra warmth, covered it. More animal pelts were at the foot and sides of the bed. Against the back wall to the left, Finn placed the two chests alongside Ranald’s own.

  A good-sized table held two large pewter plates, mugs and a heavy iron candleholder. A pitcher filled with cold water, beads of moisture covering its sides, stood to one corner. In the middle was an earthenware platter filled with bread, cheese and cold meat. Instead of stools, two chairs stood on either side. At the center of the tent, a stout pole added support to the roof.

  She stared, dumbfounded.

  “Ye are pleased, Lady?” Finn’s face split in a wide grin.

  “You have done a wonderful job, Finn. Thank you.”

  “Not me, Lady. Sir Ranald ordered every comfort we could provide.”

  o0o

  Daylight was near gone when Finn brought the evening meal. As he readied the table, she sighed and stood, her cloak slung over her shoulders, to peer out the tent opening. Was that Ranald? Talking with Lady Muriele? It was not a lover’s meeting. Aunt Joneta stood behind the lovely woman. Whatever it was, he was denying her something, for he shook his head. Lady Muriele’s shoulders slumped, but she nodded and returned to her tent. When he strode over to Catalin, she was pleased.

  “Wife, how fared ye on yer journey?”

  Ranald’s gaze lacked warmth as he scanned down her form then searched her face.

  “It was as pleasant as possible. The Chief provided a comfortable cart.” She fidgeted, sensing the bitter resentment her words had caused the last time they spoke. Ranald had spent a lifetime knowing he came up far short of Moridac in his father’s eyes. Why had she been so foolish as to compare him to his twin?

  “How did you fare with Hunter’s villagers?” From the people she had seen and talked to, Ranald had been exceedingly kind, going out of his way to soothe her people.

  “Ye need not fear for them, Catalin,” Ranald helped her to sit across from him. “I met with them and offered safe passage if they wished to leave. I made it clear I had no intention of burning their homes, but I did intend to oust Baron Hamon.”

  “How many left? Did you advise them to go to Letia’s?”

  “I had no need. They pledged loyalty to me. The women and older men supply us with water and do other chores. The young men put their backs to supplying stones and debris for the siege engines. It frees more of Raptor’s men to fight.”

  Catalin near sighed with relief. She eyed Ranald as he wolfed down his food. From what she could tell, the blood splatters over his form were not his own. They finished the tense meal with polite questions and equally polite answers between them. Ranald nodded formally when he left and returned to the field.

  o0o

  For a fortnight, the steady thump of siege engines at dawn awakened her. The dullness of the days made them endless. Long after Catalin slept each night, Ranald quietly entered the tent. Exhausted, he slid into bed. If she awoke and started to speak, he put his fingertips on her lips and fell into a restless slumber. When she awoke the next morn, he had long since gone.

  One evening, she tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable, until she fell into an exhausted sleep. She knew not what roused her, for the night sounds were no different. The steady drone of men talking, laughing and arguing as men do, was all too familiar now. She paced the tent then went to look outside.

  She spied Ranald riding toward her. The way he sat his saddle betrayed his fatigue. Unfortunately, Cormac called to him and the two turned their horses back toward Hunter Castle looming in the night sky. She returned to bed and had every intention to remain awake, but her body finally demanded she sleep.

  Catalin dreamt, of all things, about Ranald’s handsome toes as they had been that day she assisted with his bath. But this time, as she admired them, they turned into bars in a window.

  A window that was the key to Hunter Castle’s defeat.

  CHAPTER 29

  Catalin jolted awake in that false darkness before dawn. She closed her eyes, picturing the bars in her dream and remembering where they were. More than once she had sought solitude in the crypt below the chapel where her beloved mother and father rested, for Uncle Hamon was fearful of the dead and never once entered there.

  Ranald has asked if she knew of any weakness in Hunter Castle. She looked over at his pillow. No dent showed that he had found his way there. She fumbled around on the fur rug to find her shoes. Wrapped in a cloak, she stepped out of the tent. The guard snapped to attention.

  “Lady Catalin, is aught wrong?” His eyes were stretched wide, no doubt fearful she was about to give birth.

  “Please seek out Sir Ranald and tell him I must speak to him.”

  “Aye, Lady. He is with his sire.” The man started to turn.

  “Wait. Chief Broccin is within the camp?”

  The man nodded. “The Chief arrived late last eve. They have been closeted together since.”

  Catalin nodded, and he started out in a trot toward Raik’s tent. His banner now flew with a dark one alongside it. No doubt, it was Chief Broccin’s yellow eagle that flew on the black silk.

  She hastened with her dressing, for her father-by-law was bound to come with Ranald. No sooner had she pulled her kirtle over her head than Hannah and Ada burst into the tent.

  “Lovey, are you in pa
in?” Hannah took hold of Catalin’s shoulders and studied her face for signs of stress.

  “Nay, it’s not the babe.” Before she could speak further, Ranald’s voice sounded outside the tent.

  “Ye canna enter until I find what Catalin needs. I willna allow ye to make her more fearful than she already is.”

  “Me? Ye are the one likely to set the tent aflame with yer temper.” Broccin snorted, but did not try to enter.

  Ranald burst into the tent and eyed her from head to toe. “Wife? What caused yer call for me? Are ye in, uh, distress?”

  Catalin shook her head, frowning. She looked at him as carefully, for even with naught but candlelight, she noted the dark circle under his left eye. No doubt, the masked eye gave the same evidence of a lack of sleep. He looked beyond tired. Her gaze probed over his body for blood or new injuries. Blood there was, though thankfully, still not his own. Her heart squeezed knowing after she left he might sustain a serious injury. More than likely, he would make light of his wounds and might not receive the proper care in time.

  The corners of his mouth twitched the slightest bit. “Aye, we are both as we last saw each other, though are ye sure ye have not stuffed a pillow beneath yer clothing for the bairn to lie against? He seems to grow even at a blink in time.”

  “And you look as if you have neither slept nor eaten this past sennight.” She turned to Hannah and Ada. “I am sorry they awakened you, but before you return to your rest, would you have food sent?”

  “No need. I didna hear screams of labor, Ranald,” Chief Broccin said as he entered the tent, “so I sent a lad to bring food enough to break our fast. Catalin, ye are well?” He stepped aside to allow Hannah and Ada to pass through.

  “I am most healthy, my lord.” She nodded at him. It was strange, but Chief Broccin, though he looked tired, appeared happier and more relaxed than she had ever seen him.

  “Were ye frightened that ye called for me?” Ranald’s gaze again searched her face for signs of pain.

  “Nay. You once asked if I knew of a weakness in Hunter Castle. At the time, I did not recall any. Your toes teased my memory, but I could not understand why until I had a dream tonight.”

  “You dreamt of Ranald’s toes?” Broccin snorted with a surprised laugh.

  “It was seeing light between them when I bathed his feet.” Catalin heat spread over her cheeks, for the men pulled long faces to keep from grinning. She wrinkled her nose at them. “They reminded me of the crypt beneath the chapel. The rising sun threw five shadows across the room, for there is a window set high in the wall with five bars guarding it.”

  “In what area is this crypt, and how high?” Ranald’s eyes lit with interest.

  “The chapel is on the third floor of the keep. It is easy to see. The window is in the shape of an arch; a stone cross near fills the space. The crypt lies directly beneath it. The window is very near the corner.”

  They stopped talking when Finn and a servant hurried in with ale, platters of bread, cheese, hard cooked eggs and apples. Once they left, Ranald filled a pewter plate with ample amounts of each and shoved it in front of Catalin.

  “Eat. Now, those bars. We would need ropes tied to horses to dislodge them. I dinna think we could do that and not be seen.” Creases formed between his brows as he thought.

  “You would not need ropes. I have stood there atop a bench to look out over the hills. One day, I lost my balance and grabbed the bars. They wiggled. The stone around them was beginning to crumble.”

  “Could they have...?” Chief Broccin’s eyes were alight with interest.

  Catalin shook her head, silencing him. “No one will have noted it. Since my parents’ deaths, only I ventured to pray there. Uncle fears crypts. He even refused to see the stone likeness of my father atop his tomb.”

  Ranald and his father talked and planned in between bites of food. Judging from the way Ranald rubbed his belly and stretched after he’d eaten the last bite, he was well satisfied.

  “Will ye come with us, Catalin?” He looked at his squire, who stood at the tent opening. “Finn, I would have Lady Catalin wear yer cape. Hamon’s men are used to seeing ye beside me, so they willna note her.”

  Before he finished speaking, Finn had handed him the cloak, and Ranald settled it about her shoulders. He pulled the hood up to cover her hair, then leaned back and studied her.

  “Aye. It will do.” He glanced at the edges bunched on the floor and shook his head. “Once ye are on the horse, no one will note it is too big for ye.”

  “Ha! They will note if she does not ride astride.” Broccin frowned. “Lass, do ye think ye can handle it?”

  “Astride? I would relish it.” The idea appealed to her, for she had oft thought men looked far more comfortable than women on a horse.

  Soon after, they had mounted and were slowly weaving their way around the village of tents. Men scurried about in every direction, readying for the days work. Others must have worked throughout the night, for they had piled so many mounds of heavy rocks and debris high behind each siege engine that she wondered if they left any stone in the ground.

  Ranald was seeing his father in a different light. He appeared relaxed and looking forward to these next days. He surprised Ranald with his jovial and bracing greetings to warriors as they passed.

  His sire fretted over Catalin’s exposure to any danger. He had even attempted to help him lift her onto Finn’s saddle. Ranald did not allow it. She had needed to hike her clothing high beneath the cloak in order to straddle the horse, and his wife’s creamy thighs were for no other eyes than his. After he adjusted the stirrups, she looked as comfortable as any lad in the saddle.

  By the time the first rays lightened the sky, Ranald had led them across the field facing the chapel window. Without pointing or looking directly at the castle, Catalin described where they would find the crypt window.

  “Hm. Had ye not pointed it out, I doubt I would have noted it was a window and not two guarded arrow slits close together.”

  “Is that not a drain? There in the shadows of the corner?” Excitement sounded in Chief Broccin’s voice.

  “Aye. We will make a great show today of being unsure of where to aim our efforts.” Ranald rubbed his chin and grinned at his father. “We could pretend a great dispute and come to blows over it. Think ye we could be convincing?”

  “Ha! That will be an easy performance.”

  “Aye. I judge it should take the better part of two days to prepare for Hunter’s fall. We must draw much of their defense to another area, so when we are ready, the men can climb undetected at night. Once they enter and disable the guards at the gates, they will open them for us.” Ranald’s face set with resolve. “Come, Catalin. We return to the tent. While ye describe the keep and grounds, Cormac will draw the route the men must take once they are within.”

  Already the newly stoked cooking fires sent a haze of smoke over the endless rows of tents. As they made their way, he gestured to Raik, Cormac, Dougald and Fergus to follow them.

  The sun was high long afore he was satisfied his men could find their way around Hunter Castle in the dark, which was precisely what he intended.

  Seeing Catalin hide a small yawn and blink sleep from her eyes, he ordered her to bed.

  When the sun again set, they would force out Baron Hamon.

  CHAPTER 30

  “Psst. Wake up,” Elyne hissed in Catalin’s ear that next night then jumped when Catalin’s arm flew out, almost toppling her to the floor.

  “Saints, Elyne. You near scared me into the next world.” Catalin pushed up from her side and stared at Elyne. “Is aught wrong?”

  “Nay. Not unless ye canna get yer wits together so we can leave.”

  “Leave?” Catalin blinked and tilted her head, not sure she was awake and not still dreaming she was locked inside a strange room and heard men fighting and screaming on the other side of the door. The steady thunder of the siege engines gave her the reason for the dream.

  “Ran
ald has stepped up the bombardment at Hunter. Sir Giric said we must leave while Ranald and Father are staging a great fight over which end of the castle to attack.”

  Catalin shivered and hugged her arms around her body. Now the time to leave was upon them, she feared what would happen if they did not succeed in getting to Letia’s without pursuit. She gulped and clamped her teeth together. Now was not the time to become weak-kneed. She must stiffen her spine and protect the little body growing within her.

  Hurriedly, she pulled on a heavy beige smock and deep green kirtle, dark enough not to stand out in the moonlight. She had finished lacing her shoes and knotting a ribbon around her hair when she heard Sir Giric speaking outside her tent. He softly called to them.

  “Make haste! I have sent your guard on an errand and told him I would keep you safe until he returns.” He kept his back to the tent flap, his head turned to the side so they could hear him. “Make your way to the back end of the camp and step within the first ring of trees. Men and horses are awaiting there.”

  “We are ready.” Catalin grabbed her cloak around her shoulders and pulled the hood low over her face.

  “Now,” Giric hissed. He opened the flap only wide enough for them to slip through then pointed toward the line of trees in the distance. “Hurry. Dinna talk.”

  Catalin started off at a fast pace, feeling more confident with Elyne close behind her. Keeping to the shadows, they skirted the row of tents. She near shrieked when a man coughed so close to her she thought she smelled his sweat. She thrust her arm backward warning Elyne, for the man was relieving himself behind his tent. While his back was turned, they tiptoed backward and scurried away.