Forbidden

by Sophia Johnson

  Her shoulders slumped, thinking of the lovely little garments and blanket Elyne had helped her to sew.

  Catalin hugged herself and shook her head.

  “All of this is my fault. Ranald refused to send me to Letia’s saying it was too near Rupert’s lands. I near hated him for it. Never did I experience such danger as we were in today. He tried to spare me from that.”

  “Aye. But ye could not know Sir Giric didn’t intend to take us to Letia’s. Too late, I kenned he was planning to hold us for ransom.” Elyne shuddered.

  Catalin studied the drawn face on the other bed. How could she not have seen the blond was such a caring woman? She squeezed her eyes tight in shame. It was because of her sinful jealousy.

  “I am so weary my back aches.” Keeping the blanket wrapped tightly around her, she stretched out on the bed.

  “Sleep, Catalin. All will be well on the morrow.”

  CHAPTER 31

  “What?” Ranald’s shouts that next noon were loud enough to wake the dead sprawled in a sea of red before him. “Why did ye not tell me sooner?”

  Anger contorted his face. Finn stepped back as if frightened Ranald meant to strike out at him.

  “Ye were fighting Baron Hamon and I couldn’t disturb ye. I carried news of yer victory to yer tent. The guard thought the lady slept later than usual and did not want to disturb her.”

  “Where has he searched?” Ranald tried to calm his rising fear. Catalin must be with his sister, grousing to Elyne of how he had refused her bid to go to Letia’s.

  “I checked with Lady Joneta.” Finn backed up another step. “Lady Elyne is also missing,” he gulped and near whispered, “and Lady Muriele.”

  “Lucifer’s moldy arse!”

  Hearing Ranald’s shouted curses, Chief Broccin grinned and stepped around the carcass of a horse.

  “What goes here?” His voice boomed above the din and turmoil normal after ending a battle. He waited, his lips turned grim at Ranald’s answer. “Begone, for God’s sake. Find her. If she isn’t within the camp, send word before ye leave.” He turned, and seeing Raik come through the doorway of the keep, whistled shrill and loud. “Take Raik and as many men as ye need.” He looked over at Finn. “The pup can bring word back to us when ye find her.”

  Ranald knew he had no need to check the camp, for after questioning the guard, he knew that she... Huh! Not only she but Elyne and Lady Muriele had gone with Sir Giric and four men who were also missing.

  Two foot soldiers had seen Sir Giric ride out into the woods, and pointed to the spot. By the fading light, Ranald studied the ground. Booted footprints, along with smaller ones from the women, showed in the damp earth. He and Raik started out, taking a dozen of Raptor’s best warrior with them.

  They rode hard and stopped only to study the ground and trees by torchlight. Ranald set a steady pace, confident their prey had kept to the road. At a fork leading south toward Seton Castle, they lost the trail and backtracked. Pain, sharp as a knife’s blade, struck Ranald’s heart. Every sign pointed east...skirting Baron Rupert’s land.

  Ranald pushed harder, following the tracks left by Sir Giric’s and six other horses. Soon after the sun of the new day reached the noon hour, Ranald saw what near made him howl with fear. The ground showed where horsemen left the woods to the left and followed them.

  Before the sun started to dip, they came upon Sir Giric. And his men. From the looks of it, they had fought long and hard. They had taken many more with them than they themselves numbered. Ranald and his men searched the carnage, frantically grabbing fallen men and turning their faces upward, seeking Baron Rupert. His body was not amongst them. Sir Kerr, his face white, gently carried Sir Giric’s body and laid it beside the Raptor bodies on a grassy clearing. Once Ranald found the women, he would send men to bury them.

  “Ranald!” Raik called from the path on the other side of the dead men. “Mayhap Giric and his men doubled back to meet Rupert. Ahead are more tracks. Further on, they dinna lead back to Rupert’s.”

  They threw themselves on their mounts and followed the road for at least a league, where they saw evidence of another stop. Not ten steps on the other side of it, Ranald spied a small bundle beside a tree. He recognized one of the bairn’s blanket, for he had watched Catalin sew its seams one night not long past. Tied tightly within was baby clothing. His chest ached so much he could barely draw breath. He closed his eyes and crushed the bundle to his chest. It neither stilled the terrible pain there, nor quieted the rage that near boiled the blood in his veins.

  He saw where two horses had followed close to the tree lines. One horse carried two, from the look of the prints. Heavier riders had kept to the path.

  Someone had pursued the women.

  He shoved the bairn’s clothing beneath his hauberk. No need now to study the ground, for no bushes or trees appeared disturbed beside the road. Suddenly, something crashed and thrashed through the trees to their left. The resounding calls of a distressed horse spurred them toward it. There in a thickly wooden area, a massive brown warhorse fought to free itself. A body wedged between two trees held it tight.

  How in heaven’s name had it gotten there? Ranald could only guess the terrified horse had fought so mightily to rid itself of the body hanging by the stirrup that it had reared, tossing the corpse high. It had landed, wedged between the trees. The horse reared again then lunged forward. A pop and a sickening wet sound followed as the leg ripped away from the corpse. Raik grabbed the flying reins and fought the horse, until Dubne grabbed the bridle and pulled its head down.

  “Follow us once ye have freed it,” Ranald shouted as he led Satan’s Spawn through the trees and back onto the road. He didn’t envy Raik’s squire having to remove the mangled leg from the stirrup. The corpse was not one of their own, for a quick scan of the area had shown fragments of Baron Rupert’s colors.

  They raced ahead until they burst out of the wood at the top of the hill. He brought Satan’s Spawn to a halt and studied the valley below. In the distance stood the gleaming white walls of the Convent.

  Milling the ground in front of it was Baron Rupert and his men. He quickly counted thirty men plus Rupert.

  Hmm. One man for each of the squires. The seasoned warriors would take two or three. He would handle four.

  Baron Rupert belonged to him.

  He had a promise to fulfill.

  His lips quivered and lifted at the corners, baring his teeth. A growl rumbled from his stomach, up through his chest and gained sound as it left his lips. He nodded. Pleased.

  ‘Twould be a fair fight.

  CHAPTER 32

  Catalin spooned broth past Muriele’s scratched lips. She flinched seeing her in such pain. Not many places on the woman’s body were clear of scrapes, cuts and bruises.

  Hearing sounds of scurrying women and the bell atop the gate, Elyne had gone to see what was happening. She hurtled into the room, gasping for breath. Horror contorted her face, making Catalin’s skin crawl with fear.

  “Baron Rupert camps outside the gates. Mother Cecelia denied him entrance. Thank the good Lord the monks agreed. Lofty-nosed Brother Hugo is new to the area and is a returned Crusader. He brought an injured knight to Kelso and was on his way back to King Stephen. He offered to hear the good sisters’ confessions. Brothers Norbert and Clement abide at Kelso.”

  Muriele held up a bruised hand. “Are you sure it is Baron Rupert, and not, some, uh, Highlander who crossed the borders?” She swallowed and her lovely blue eyes clouded over with terror.

  “Nay, I have no doubt ‘tis Rupert. A red ‘R’ is emblazoned on their tunics.”

  Why, Muriele’s face lost some of its fear. How strange. Who could be more feared than Rupert? Catalin stared at the wall, for something about the last two days seemed familiar, like she should know of it. She turned on the stool, the better to see Elyne’s face.

  “How many men does the baron have with him?” She held her breath awaiting the answer.

  “Thirty. I co
unted myself.” Elyne’s brows raised, her eyes questioning. Slowly, their expressions changed. Catalin knew she, too, remembered her dream of not too long ago.

  “That pox-riddled Lucifer! Why did my most fearsome dream have to come true?” Elyne shouted.

  She fisted her hands and waved them in the air. Spying the other stool close-by, she kicked out at it. It crashed against the wall. Eyes blazing in anger, she looked around, searching. She snatched a pitcher of water and raised it high, then stopped and lowered it, shamefaced. Carefully, she set it back on the table.

  “Uh, what dreams?” Interest wiped the fear from Muriele’s eyes.

  “Elyne sometimes has seeing dreams,” Catalin murmured low.

  “Stupid dreams is what I call them,” Elyne spluttered and rolled her eyes in disgust at the ceiling. “They are cause for more mirth than anything else. But this one terrible dream is happening now.”

  “Mayhap it is only slightly alike?” Muriele looked hopeful.

  “Nay. A knight and his men were taking us to King Stephen, but someone chased us.”

  “Well, now, that is different. I believe Sir Giric meant to take us elsewhere.” Muriele nodded.

  “Aye, but he brought us to a secluded place. Much like this convent. And thirty knights led by a scar-faced man threatened to besiege the convent.” Elyne stopped to take a deep breath.

  “Hm, would that not be Sir Ranald?” Muriele quirked her brows.

  “Nay. He hovered overhead as an eagle big as a man...” Elyne gulped and looked at Catalin. “Our only chance will be if that part of the dream stays the same.”

  “Baron Rupert’s threats become more dreadful each time he opens his mouth.”

  Catalin stood on the narrow outer wall’s walkway surrounding the convent and cautiously peeked around a merlon.

  Unlike a castle’s battlements, these merlons were set close together. They had built the battlements more for appearances sake, for a convent should have no need of such protection.

  “After the way Brother Hugo lectured us, never did I think to admire him. He seems fearless. Brother Norbert looks uneasy handling a sword.” Catalin said in a quiet voice.

  “Brother Clement recently took his final vows. He says he learned to wield a sword under their last Protector.” Elyne crooked her finger for Catalin to lean close. “He near sang Ranald’s praises. I didna tell him the Protector was my brother and yer husband.”

  Catalin turned her head to smile at Elyne. Seeing something from the corner of her eye, she jerked her head back to peer through the opening.

  “Look! Something black flashed atop the hill where we came down.”

  Elyne leaned close to gaze over Catalin’s head. “Aye. Saints help us! I hope it’s not more of Rupert’s men.”

  They held their breath as they watched what looked like a column of ants, two abreast, coming down the hill. They were not the only ones interested.

  Rupert’s men shouted and pointed behind them, fear ringing out in their voices.

  When the baron turned and spied the advancing horsemen, he stared, frozen. The riders galloped toward them, the chain mail on their hauberks glinting in the sun. Only the leader wore a black cloak. The wind played with the edges, lifting it in the air.

  Baron Rupert cursed and drew his sword, laying it flat out against the backs of the unfortunate men who were close. They formed two half-circles, ten men each, between Rupert and the advancing warriors, and one half-circle behind him.

  Catalin gasped. For truth, the feared predator galloping toward them, his black cape spread like wings gave life to the name Black Raptor. She held her breath watching Ranald charging forward as if he flew. His men behind him formed an ever-widening arrowhead as they charged on the wind. They looked like giant birds of prey flying behind their leader.

  The three monks watched over the gate, no doubt waiting to see if Rupert greeted the advancing men as friend or foe.

  They didn’t have long to wait.

  Before Catalin could brace herself not to flinch, the clash of a joined battle rang in her ears. Never had she witnessed fighting to the death so close to hand. The noise was deafening, steel striking steel, steel striking shields, men screaming and warhorses stomping and trumpeting.

  All were sounds more ominous than the thudding of catapults or trebuchets, for it was men joined together.

  She jammed her knuckles between her teeth to keep from crying out. Raptor’s horsemen attacked the outer rings guarding Rupert, close enough now that she could make out the knights Kerr, the courtly Fergus, Dougald, the near-giant Dubne, Brodie, Duncan and Cormac.

  Ranald’s presence was unmistakable.

  “Jesu! Look behind them.” Elyne pointed at three specs gathering size as they raced toward the Raptor warrior’s backs. “Raik and another! But why are they only now coming, and why do two horses with empty saddles follow Raik?”

  “Is that not the lout’s horse that pulled him and Muriele away? And Muriele’s borrowed mount? How strange! They follow Raik like dogs after their master.” Hearing a deep voice scream, Catalin hugged her belly and returned her gaze below.

  Thank the blessed Saints! Ranald forged ahead, his aim easy to see. Only fools engaged him. Those that did soon fell. Two of Rupert’s men bolted away. They might as well have stayed and fought, for they did not see Raik until too late.

  Why had she not noticed the gates opening? Brother Hugo and the one called Clement rode out. The gate slammed tight behind them. There were no protective circles now. Every man had an opponent. Catalin could no longer tell friend from foe. When she thought she could stand no more, the fighting decreased until only Baron Rupert and Brother Clement faced each other.

  Ranald and Raptor’s men surrounded them and held back as they watched Brother Clement battle the baron. When Rupert’s sword flew to land in the dirt in front of Satan’s Spawn, all motion stopped.

  “Rupert, do ye recognize yer opponent?” Ranald’s voice rang out. “The monk who bested ye is a man ye once tortured. Brother Clement? I would have ye stand back now. Ye have taken vows at Kelso. Dinna stain yer soul with his death. I made a promise to this instrument of Satan’s that I’m sure he remembers. I intend to fulfill it now.”

  Clement nodded and backed his horse to stand beside Satan’s Spawn.

  “Shite-eating coward! Ye would kill an unarmed man?”

  Rupert’s spittle flew with his shouted words.

  Ranald ignored him. He thrust his sword into its scabbard, freeing his hands. He unfastened his cape and dropped it to the ground beside his horse. With slow, precise movements, Ranald removed his helmet and let it fall onto the cape. His blood splattered face was bare for all to see.

  “Take off yer helm,” he ordered Rupert. When he did not move, Ranald added, “Ye wish the tip of my sword to do it for ye?” He shrugged. “Ye will likely lose yer nose.”

  Ranald leisurely swung down from Satan’s Spawn. In the deadly quiet, his sword shrieked as he again drew it from its resting place. He stared through hooded eyes at Rupert’s helmet. As he stalked toward the mounted man, it appeared to shimmer with heat.

  Rupert yelped and yanked it off. When he threw it from him, Ranald slowly squatted to pick up Rupert’s sword.

  “Now. Get off yer horse,” Ranald ordered as he rose.

  Rupert swung to the ground, cursing and keeping an eye on Ranald.

  Ranald’s lips twitched, baring gleaming white teeth.

  “I found what remained of Sir Giric. If he had not held ye back, ye would have killed my wife. My son.” A vicious growl rumbled from his throat. “It’s time I carry out the promise I made ye.”

  He sliced through the air with Rupert’s sword, testing it, then stilled, studying him.

  “Catch!”

  Ranald tossed the sword to him.

  Catalin could not say who looked the more frightening. Baron Rupert’s face wore near the same scars as Ranald’s, only the baron’s were still red and puckered. The two men looked like starving b
easts snarling and stalking each other, waiting for the kill. All they lacked was spittle foaming from their lips.

  Blades clashed together, the sounds ringing out on the cleared battleground as they fought. They circled and struck, each taking the other’s measure. Sweat traced a crooked path down their scarred cheeks.

  Catalin’s glaze remained glued to the two figures—one side of each man’s face very much like his opponent’s. Ranald’s contorted into a savage visage. But Rupert’s? Evil clung like a haze around him. She swallowed back bile each time she looked at him. Rupert roared when Ranald drew first blood, though with all the cuts and blood staining their clothing, Catalin did not know where the new wounds had opened.

  Bloodied steel slammed against bloodied steel, sending sparks flashing as the blades rasped down to their hilts. Catalin’s stomach quaked as she watched the combatants jump back, then strike again. Step by step, Ranald forced Rupert backward around the circle. Blood stained their arms, their shoulders. They fought with such fury their weapons near locked.

  Ranald heaved against his opponent, forcing distance between them. In a flash, he twirled to the right. His boots sent dust swirling around their knees. He caught Rupert with a backhanded strike. Rupert bellowed. Blood welled from his right shoulder, down his arm to his elbow, then across his chest. On and on they fought. Sweat dripped from their snarling faces, their shouts near beastly roars.

  Tears streamed down Catalin’s face. She held her hands over her ears. Elyne grasped her shoulders and tried to pull her away, but Catalin fought her like a wildcat. She couldn’t tear her gaze from Ranald’s wild face, his eyes as cruel as a maddened boar’s.

  In her horror, she near forgot this was the same man who had slept beside her for so many months.

  The two men were locked together, the veins in their foreheads and necks swelling with strain. They heaved apart. Rupert crouched, leaving Ranald’s blade to whistle inches over Rupert’s head. Rupert’s blade slashed out. Blood flowed down Ranald’s leg, spreading down to darken his boots. For one quick breath of time, his leg buckled. Then straightened. Rupert roared with glee. With both hands, he raised the weapon high above his head, and started a great downward blow.