Forbidden

by Sophia Johnson

  Never did she think it would be so hard to go unnoticed when all should be asleep. But when several warriors slept within the same tent, she could hear a man thumping the hard ground and grousing at another for snoring so loudly it kept him from his slumber.

  Catalin frowned and kept glancing behind them. Was that other than Elyne’s footsteps following? She pulled Elyne close, her fingertips on her lips. She probed the darkness but saw only shadows. She hoped clouds, owls or anything other than man caused them.

  Had they been able to take a straight path to their destination, they would have been there in a flash. Having to dart in and around, sometimes going back further than they progressed, Catalin despaired of reaching the horses and men afore someone found them.

  Some time later, Elyne whispered in Catalin’s ear, “I dinna see them. Do ye?”

  “Mayhap we entered the woods beyond where they await us?” Catalin wished her heart would slow its pounding so she could hear something other than it in her ear.

  “Hsst! Halt yer blabber. Ye will draw every man in the camp,” a man grumbled. “Hurry. There is but one spare mount. Ye must be ahorse afore Sir Giric arrives.”

  Not recognizing the voice, Catalin was uneasy. Elyne did not hesitate. She put an arm around Catalin’s shoulders and they followed the shadow in front of them deeper into the woods. Four men waited at a small clearing, their hands patting horses’ necks and whispering into their ears to keep them quiet.

  One man led a mount to Elyne, and she swung up to straddle the saddle as easily as any man would. In what looked like modesty, she jerked her cloak about her to cover her legs. But Catalin, seeing Elyne’s hand steal to pat her thigh, knew Elyne assured herself that her knife was firmly strapped in place.

  She bit back a gasp when someone grabbed her elbow. It was Sir Giric. Where had he come from? She had not heard even a leaf move, much less a man’s feet. He led her behind a tree where he had tethered his horse. In silence, he mounted while another man boosted her up to him.

  It seemed forever before they were far enough from the camp that only faint sounds reached them. It was slow going at first, but whenever they broke out onto a level area, the men gave their horses leave to lengthen their strides to eat up the ground.

  Catalin sat as straight and as far from Sir Giric as was possible, which wasn’t very far. Her nose wrinkled with distaste, for stale sweat was not her favorite scent. It was unkind of her. The men were fighting a battle to take back her castle. They had no time for baths and fresh clothing, and too, they were aiding her and the babe. She rolled her eyes. She was an ungrateful wretch.

  o0o

  When had she fallen asleep? And why had they stopped? She soon found out when two men came crashing through the trees, pulling a figure that was fighting, scratching and kicking like a vicious cat.

  “Idiots! Barbarians!”

  Was that a woman’s voice? Though raised in anger louder than Catalin had ever heard it, she knew the cornered cat was Lady Muriele.

  “Shite! Bite me again, witch, and I’ll rap ye alongside yer head!” The man pulled back his hand, threatening her with his fist, then brought it to his mouth to suck clear the blood oozing from crescent wounds.

  “Dinna dare strike her! That is the Lady Muriele ye are threatening.” Elyne’s cold voice stilled the man in his tracks.

  “Lady, what are you doing here?” Catalin couldn’t believe Muriele had left Ranald and the camp to follow them.

  Lady Muriele jerked her arm at the same time she kicked the man’s shins. He dropped his hand from her like she was a hot ember. Catalin fought a grin seeing her swat the side of her cloak like she meant to brush his touch from it. With the murderous look in her glare, undoubtedly she would have liked to skewer him.

  “I followed ye, of course. I have long looked for a chance to go deeper into England.” She smiled up at Elyne. “When I saw ye slip from the tent, I guessed what was afoot. I took a horse and started out after ye.”

  “You stole a horse?” Sir Giric’s eyes widened with admiration.

  “Not stole. Borrowed. ‘Tis a trade for my horse left at Raptor.” She nodded, making an end to the queries. “Now do ye not think we should set out again? Where do we head?”

  “To Seton Castle and the de Burgh’s.” Catalin could only imagine the uproar when morning showed not only two, but three, women missing from the camp. “Hurry, we must be very near Seton. We should be within the gates and hidden before they search for us there.”

  “Seton Castle?” Muriele narrowed her eyes and studied Sir Giric’s face. “Should ye not have turned south by now? Ye have been riding directly west. I kenned de Burgh’s was to the south?”

  “Heh! You know little of direction, Lady.” Sir Giric jerked a finger at her. “Get on your horse.” His squinted eyes shot sparks at her. “Your stolen horse. And keep your mouth shut.”

  Catalin saw a look pass between Muriele and Elyne. Elyne’s lips thinned. She stared Catalin in the eye, and then looked pointedly up at the sky. As they started out, Catalin pretended to peer behind Sir Giric to see they all followed. A quick glance proved the sun at their backs. Had they been going toward Seton, it would have been slightly to their left.

  She had not long to worry over it. In less than a league, she noted the men scanning the forest around them then glancing over their shoulders. Sir Giric held up a hand, bringing them to a halt. When she would have spoken, he covered her mouth and shook his head. He pointed to the woods around them, and they quietly melded into the trees.

  He motioned to the wiry man Muriele had bitten and then at a tree. The man was up it in a flash and down again in short time, his face pasty. He glanced at the women. Moved close to Sir Giric. Had Ranald discovered their absence?

  Wondering, Catalin swallowed. Would Ranald be able to control his rage? He might hold his hand with her, but the men would surely feel the bite of his sword. She studied their faces and saw raw fear. She did not want to be the cause of their deaths.

  “Sir Giric, leave us here. We will await Sir Ranald. Mayhap you can disappear and circle around to return to Hunter. We will tell him we left on our own.”

  “Aye. Dinna fight my brother. He will be in a rage and willna listen to reason,” Elyne added.

  “Lady, it is not Sir Ranald who picked up our scent.”

  “Oh, saints! Chief Broccin?” Catalin shivered.

  “Nay, Lady. I wish it were so.” Sir Giric swallowed and kicked his horse into action, crashing out of the woods and back onto the path in a full gallop.

  “Baron Rupert is stalking us!”

  o0o

  Giric’s lips pressed into a thin line. He tightened his left arm around Lady Catalin to hold her more securely.

  “Baron Rupert? He heads toward Seton Castle?” Lady Catalin shouted close to his ear. “Surely we can safely reach there afore he can venture close?”

  “Nay, Lady.”

  Regret filled his soul that his greed for a vast ransom would end with this comely woman in Rupert’s hands. No doubt, he would take glee in ridding her of the bairn then sending it to the Black Raptor. Rupert had suffered from Sir Ranald’s hands before, but after such a monstrous deed, for certain the bastard would die an agonizingly slow death.

  Giric’s only prayer to save the women was to distance themselves enough from the pursuing baron that he could send the women ahead to seek sanctuary at the nearest habitat while he and his men fought to the death.

  Aye, they were dead men riding now. By late day, they would have spent their blood on English soil. The men could not allow the baron to capture them. Once they could no longer fight, it was best to slit their own throats or throw themselves on their opponent’s blade.

  At the top of the rise, he jerked his horse to a frantic halt. Standing in the stirrups, he studied the ground ahead, than dared to have a glimmer of hope for the women. He jumped down, snatched Lady Catalin off his horse and tossed her up behind Lady Elyne.

  “A monastery or an abbey
is ahead at the base of the next rise. Clamp your legs as tight as you can to the horses’ sides, else you will become unseated in a gallop. Stay hidden alongside the trees. No matter the reason, do not stop! Once close to the gates, scream to alert them.”

  Lady Catalin’s stricken face showed a moment of panic before she nodded and set her lips in determination. He slapped both horses’ rumps sending them on at a swift pace, then spun and leapt atop his own mount. With any luck at all, the baron would not see the two horses following the tree line. Pray God, he and his men could hold Rupert long enough for them to escape.

  Huh. It was strange to pray for one’s own death. Mayhap he would take the baron with him to meet Lucifer.

  In Hell.

  o0o

  Catalin clung to the horse like a burr. Her arms around Elyne’s waist ached with strain. Once they were hurtling down the hillside, Elyne bent close to her mount’s neck. Catalin leaned with her. Wind tore off their hoods and freed their hair. She feared for the babe with each pounding leap the horse took. Muriele inched up alongside. It was the first time she had ever seen the cool beauty’s face in other than calm repose. Her lips drew back in a snarl near as fierce as Ranald’s. She dared a glance backward and saw a lone horseman galloped toward them.

  One of the baron’s men! The devil’s beast likely didn’t need him in the fight but sent him to capture women instead. She swallowed to keep from spewing down Elyne’s back.

  The horses must have sensed their terror, for their strides lengthened until they near flew across the level ground. Elyne and Muriele started screaming at the same time. At first she thought someone had circled around and was about to attack them. She darted a glance backward and added her screams to the others. Ahead loomed what had to be a house of God, for she made out a cross atop the gateway.

  They shouted and waved one arm. They made as much noise as possible and prayed someone would notice. Oh, God! No one would open the gate in time! The distance between them and the man galloping in pursuit slowly closed.

  She glimpsed his face. And wished she had not.

  Had she thought Ranald looked cruel when angered? Though the thunder of the horses’ hooves drowned out other sounds, this lout surely gnashed his teeth and snarled as loudly as a greedy beast.

  Was someone on the small tower over the gate? Aye! It looked like a man ringing a bell and people scurrying about.

  For God’s love! Open the gate. There! It started to move. They had at least twenty horse-lengths to reach it. Time slowed. Near stopped. When their horses’ hooves left the ground, they seemed to float at a standstill. She shot another look back.

  Oh, my God! So close. He was sure to overtake them before they reached sanctuary.

  Muriele, too, kept glancing back. Why did her mount slow? The horses had been nose to nose. What happened? She edged her horse closer. Her mount’s nose was now alongside Elyne...then at their mount’s rump...now his tail. Muriele dropped behind.

  But five more lengths to go. Catalin’s heart thudded and leaped. The gate was wide enough now for one horse to enter at a time. They hurtled on toward it. She dared to check on Muriele.

  The beauty had hiked her skirts up around her waist, baring her thighs. Her hand reached to whip a wicked blade from a sheath strapped there. For truth, the devil pulled alongside her. He reached out a burly fist and grabbed Muriele’s hair. He twisted it around his wrist. When he jerked on it, he nearly ripped her off her horse.

  Lord Jesus, help her! Catalin lost sight of them as their horse streaked through the opening gate. Women yelled and male voices shouted. Then Elyne jolted the horse to a stop and pried Catalin’s arms from her waist and eased her down into caring hands.

  Elyne turned the horse, her dagger gripped tight, and raced back out the gate, avoiding three running men in flapping black robes. Catalin’s voice caught on a sob as she started to run toward them, but someone grasped her shoulders and stopped her.

  She covered her mouth to stifle a scream. Muriele, her long legs locked around her rearing horse, clung to its mane with one hand. The man was not finding it easy to yank her to his horse.

  “She witch! Mother of Satan!” He shouted and let his reins go to strike her head with his fist. The motion turned his chest to Muriele. Both his arms raised and he tried to force her from the horse before the running men could reach them.

  “Agggg!”

  Blood arched high in pulsing spurts. Red soon splattered Muriele’s lovely, pale hair and face. Blood covered her chest and arms. His hand fisted tightly in her hair. Both toppled to the ground. Muriele’s foot fell free of the stirrup. His foot remained firmly lodged, his twisted boot wedged in the stirrup iron. The horses shied, their eyes rolling, their mouths wide. Screaming, as panicked horses do. Her mount bolted away. His horse, its eyes rolling and its ears laid back, jerked then leaped to pull forward.

  Catalin twisted and pried the fingers from her shoulders that held her back. She ran, grabbed her skirts high about her knees as she followed Elyne.

  The horse pulled away. Elyne leaned forward on her horse’s neck and galloped after it. The monks chased after them, their swords raised. The horse drug the man, Muriele’s hair tangled and caught in the dead man’s glove. Even in death, he held her prisoner. Elyne caught up to the horse and made frantic grabs for the reins. Catalin gasped. Muriele’s hands rose. One went to her head to grab her hair. Sun flashed against steel as the dagger rose.

  The blade flashed back and forth, stopping when she bounced from her back to her side then back again. Suddenly, with one desperate swipe, she cut her hair free. The horse, still dragging the man, screamed and raced onward. With crazed eyes, it often looked behind then galloped faster back toward the hill.

  Elyne, seeing Muriele had freed herself, leapt off her mount as the monks caught up to them. The men yelled for her to get back on the horse. Two monks lifted Muriele up to her waiting arms.

  “Baron Rupert pursues us,” Elyne shouted before she prodded her mount toward the gate. “Run!”

  Catalin turned and hurried back through the gateway, watching over her shoulder to assure herself the others were still safe. She did not pay heed to anyone around her, only those following. She wrung her hands watching as Elyne’s horse galloped through the portal. The monks, their black robes lifted to their knees, soon ran through to safety. The heavy gates clanged into place.

  Her pounding heart filled her chest, near closed her throat. She watched an old man help the monks to place a heavy wooden bar across the gate. Two younger men hurried to a platform on the right side of the door where another heftier bar waited. They struggled to lift and slide it within the iron holders, while the old man guided it. Fear made it seem like it took forever, but she knew they had done it swiftly.

  o0o

  “Never have I seen so much blood.” Catalin took slow, even breaths, and settled her stomach as she cleaned the dagger in a basin. The water quickly turned red. Muriele had held tight to her weapon until Catalin had coaxed it from her hand. “I thought it was hers.”

  “Aye. I did also.” Elyne settled a blanket closer around Muriele’s shoulders.

  This was a rare room for a convent, more spacious than most. Carpenters had built two wooden frames and laced them with strong rope. Pallets stuffed with feathers rested atop, covered with a sheet and a wool blanket. Two smiling but silent women had brought in an extra pallet and linens and placed it near Muriele’s bed.

  “Muriele’s blade found his throat.” Catalin glanced at the unconscious woman. “Had she not struck at the right time, he would have carried her away.”

  “Aye. And if she had not chopped at her hair, she would be dead or Baron Rupert’s prisoner.” Elyne reached for the cleaned weapon, a white cloth in her hand, and dried it.

  “Drats! How dared Brother Hugo say she must do penance for killing the lout! The man would have killed her!” Catalin scowled. When the babe kicked hard and used his elbows to help him move around, she patted her heaving stomach. “S
hh. Quiet, love. All is well.”

  “Men dinna like women to take a hand in their own protection.” Elyne slid the dagger into the sheath before she tucked it under Muriele’s pillow. She smiled up at Catalin. “She always places it there at night.”

  “Elyne,” Catalin beckoned her close to whisper. “Did you know of Muriele’s back before today? Someone has taken a lash to her. And not more than a year ago. The scars are bright pink, not faded like Ranald’s.” She chewed the corner of her lips as pity flooded through her.

  “Nay, I did not. She shared the chamber with Aunt Joneta. Aunt hovered in front of her when Muriele changed clothing in the tent. I will wager it’s the reason she always carries a blade.” Her eyes narrowed in thought. “Whoever thrashed her is the one she fears.”

  Elyne’s scowl was so much like her brother’s that Catalin smiled. “So many cuts and bruises to add to her misery. She will be sore for a fortnight or more.”

  Catalin sighed and looked around the room. The good sisters had wanted Muriele to stay in the Infirmary, but Muriele herself had objected, insisting she room with her friends. The word had tugged at Catalin’s heart.

  A small table with two stools stood beside the door. The robed women had brought them a hearty vegetable soup for their evening meal, along with freshly baked bread, cheese, apples and cold milk.

  The sisters had everything they needed to sustain them. A large vegetable garden, an herbal garden, orchards with fruit trees, a dovecote, pigsty, cows, goats, and sheep were within the outer walls. Chickens squawked and pecked their way across a grassy area. They provided a plentiful amount of eggs, and those that did not, added variety to the table.

  “Oh,” Catalin wailed and tears welled.

  “What is it? Are ye in pain?” Elyne rushed over to her, putting a hand on Catalin’s elbow to help her to the bed.

  “Nay,” Catalin blinked and swiped her hand over her eyes. “I just remembered the babe’s clothing. I brought a small bundle sewed inside my cloak. It must have worked free.”