Forbidden Page 11

  “Love, he does not blame ye. Father’s greed tore Ranald from Kelso as surely as he thrust him there.” Elyne smoothed Catalin’s hair back from her cheek.

  “Nay. He hates me. He was a monk, not a warrior. Now he will be forced to fight. Mayhap even to kill. And all because I am wealthy.”

  She tried hard not to wail. She despised weakling women. She had felt near tears for sennights now. All she seemed to do was pity herself. She would cry until her meals came up. Little good crying did, though. It did not even make her thin like Letia.

  The women settled down to their mending. Every now and again Catalin glanced up to spy one of them looking into space, a grin on her lips. How she wished she could be that carefree again. The afternoon passed so quickly they did not notice until the sun’s light was not enough for them to sew by.

  They were folding the mended garments into neat piles, when the door burst open. It startled her so much Catalin dropped her yellow kirtle. She bent to retrieve it and glanced toward the doorway. Ranald stood there. He bestowed a look upon her that made her flinch. Had he known they had talked about him?

  “If ye are through hanging out the window, it is time ye come below.” He swung his gaze to Letia. “Lady, yer husband requests yer presence. He would come himself, but he trained hard and the stairs are many.”

  “Of course. We will come right away.” Letia frowned on hearing Warin had been training.

  “Come, wife.” Ranald’s stiff nod added to the command quickened Catalin’s steps.

  His lips tightened when he swung his gaze to study his sister. “Elyne. Do ye ken how foolish a lass is to stare at nakit men’s flesh? All at Raptor could see yer grin. A warrior might mistake yer interest and think ye are not a maiden.”

  “Ha! ‘Tis common at Raptor to see men unclothed. Often they come from hunts and strip in the rain to wash blood from their bodies. If men dinna wish to display their wares, they should keep their clothing about them,” Elyne retorted.

  “I had reason, Elyne. But what ye did may someday cause ye grief.”

  Catalin wished she had not raced to the window earlier. Had not stood there and stared, for shame and anger flashed in Ranald’s eyes. And she knew why he had bared his flesh. To declare, though not in words, to his sire and the world that she had been pure.

  When he touched her elbow, she did not need urging to follow beside him. She felt that strange static in the air around him that she had felt before. What caused it? Tension? Anger? Most likely a heaping of both.

  Ranald did not press Catalin to his side, for the scent of her skin kept him from prudent thoughts. He needed to know his wife. Not in the way he had known her the night just passed. Far more than that. If he was to forge any kind of life here at Raptor, he had to accept the fact he wed to his bother’s... what? Moridac’s love that he couldna wait but a few days longer to possess? Had he seduced her, or had she tempted him? He needed no mystic to tell him Catalin had loved Moridac, or that she loved him still.

  His twin had been the one to take all, whether it was the finest sword, the best clothing or a lass who held Ranald’s interest. He had proved over and again that as first born, though by only a matter of a few breaths, he could command it all.

  Had Catalin seduced Moridac? He didna want to think too closely on why she chose to study his and Raik’s bodies. It churned doubts about her through his mind. Never had he thought to marry, but now that Broccin had forced him to take a wife, he wanted what every man wanted.

  A pure bride. One to bear his heir.

  He had neither. Should the bairn be a boy, it would be Moridac’s heir. His sons to come after would not hold Raptor Castle.

  Mayhap that was a good thing.

  Ranald’s skin burned, though not from the sun. The looks cast his way when they entered the hall near singed the clothing from his body. When had women become so bold?

  “Ho, Ranald. Yer frown is enough to scare magpies away. Do ye think to break Catalin’s bones?” Raik glanced pointedly to where Ranald’s fingers dug into her soft flesh.

  Ranald fingers sprang open like he had grasped a staunch thistle.

  “Forgive me, wife. I was deep in thought.”

  Catalin visibly swallowed and nodded. Her right hand twitched and half raised to no doubt rub her red skin then fell back to hide in the folds of her kirtle. He stared at the yellow smock peeking between the slits of the brown kirtle. So used to seeing and wearing plain, black habits, each new color was something to study. And admire. On women. He glanced at Raik’s bright attire.

  “Ye have changed, Raik. I thought the array of clothes in Moridac’s chest colorful, but they pale alongside yers. Crusaders biding their time at Kelso sometimes mentioned in their travels seeing birds with many brightly colored feathers. Do ye copy them?”

  “Do ye not see how the lasses canna move their eyes from me? They are drawn to color like a bee to bright flowers.” Raik waved his arms out at his side, mimicking wings lifting.

  “Heh.” Ranald looked to see Catalin had moved out of earshot. “‘Tis more likely they remember yer nakit body shining in the sun. They now picture that which is beneath yer plumage.”

  “Ah, there is that! Now, which one shall I favor this night? The alewife’s black-haired daughter carrying a pitcher” He winked broadly at her. She tripped and near spilled ale on her skirts. “A might clumsy, do ye think? Or will it be the chandler’s sister?”

  Ranald’s gaze strayed across the room to settle where Raik looked. For truth, the woman was most comely. Her hair was the color of wheat; her eyes a soft, light brown. She was a bold one, for she eyed him as closely as he did her. Surprise was his first thought, for surely she looked far too fine to be a workman’s get? The closer he studied her, the more he puzzled that she was not a gentle woman.

  “Nay, not the one ye are slavering over. I mean the chestnut-haired lass serving her. The tall sheave of wheat ye study is Muriele. Your father’s ward. She is a mystery, though. Raiders slaughtered her family, and she was left without a protector. Lady Muriele sought sanctuary here.”

  “What is the mystery?” Ranald frowned. “Ye know from whence she came, and how she arrived. What else is there to know?”

  “Ah, what else. Hmm, I have oft thought Chief Broccin sought to make her his leman. But Moridac hinted she was about to grant him that status, in exchange for protection from yer sire. The mystery is, whether she will be able to fend off another feint on her body by the Chief or if she still seeks a protector.”

  “Moridac would take advantage of a helpless lass?” Ranald shuddered thinking of how wicked his family had become. “It is sinful my sire would misuse a woman in his care.”

  Though Ranald had heard of how his twin had changed, how could he have preyed on a gentle woman? He shared the same blood as Moridac, the same body, skin. All alike. Their stride had been identical, they savored the same foods, knew the same joy when they trained and rode. Even their tempers were similar, fast to burst forth and hard to control. Sometimes they had joked about having twin brains.

  How long would it be? Before he became what Moridac had been?

  How long? He feared it would be all too soon.

  “If ye looked at me like that, cousin, I would have my hand on my dirk. Ye are scaring the lass, though until yer scowl, she was gazing at ye from head to toe, likely picturing yer naked body at the well.”

  Raik’s words jolted him, for just then Muriele appeared to draw in on herself, making herself smaller. She dropped her head low and stared at her hands in her lap. He tried to relax his jaw, for it ached from having clamped it so tight. His hands had fisted, too. Feeling a sharp pinch, he startled and looked around. Elyne stood there, awaiting his attention.

  “For all that is holy, brother, ye look about to pound yer fists on someone’s nose. Look around ye. Half the men here look afeared ye will lash out at them.”

  Ranald studied the room. For truth, many uneasy glances flashed his way. Women had turned their faces, while
some men sidled away to stand in the shadows of the walls. What had them so wary?

  “Are they used to outbursts of temper, or is my face so ugly, so hard to look upon, that the slightest frown makes it fearsome?”

  “Nay, yer face is far from ugly. The mask adds mystery. Afore yer scowl, women were eyeing ye like a hungry bird spotting the first worm after a long, frozen winter.” Elyne grinned up at him.

  “Hm, that statement makes me envious.” Raik laughed. “No doubt the worm they hunger for lies beneath yer tunic.”

  “Huh! Ye’ll not find yer pallet empty this eve either, cousin.” Elyne shook her head at him. “Aye. ‘Tis more likely ye’ll have little space left to lie on.”

  “I can suffer that.” Raik’s grin made him look like a hungry wolf.

  “But, ye say the slightest frown, Ranald? Ha. What makes yer face fearsome is the way yer eyes are near squinted shut. The way ye stare. And, too, when ye snarl, yer lips do look right mean.” She ended her description with a chuckle and hugged his arm before leaving to join Catalin, standing with Letia and Baron de Burgh.

  He watched as Elyne strode away and noted several knights admiring his sister. One hard glare from him turned their gazes elsewhere.

  Catalin darted a glance his way. Doubt clouded her blue eyes. Her smiles were forced. She chewed her lips before quickly looking away.

  Ah. No doubt, she worried what evening would bring.

  She read his mood well.

  CHAPTER 12

  “Yet.”

  Catalin jumped hearing Ranald voice. Saints! He was not there. The word but echoed in her mind with such strength she had thought he spoke in her ear. He had said he would not thrash her. Yet. Had she angered him so much today he had changed his mind? Her cheeks flinched. How would she fare if he struck her? Uncle Hamon had dealt her more than one blow, near breaking the bones in her face.

  Ranald’s fists were much larger. His body, too. He held far more power than her piggish uncle.

  She near bit her lips raw. She could not stop looking at him, either. He moved with such stealth. She feared he would suddenly appear and lift his hand before she had time to protect her face.

  Heaven’s above! He would not stop staring at her. She dropped her head to study her shoes peaking beneath her kirtle. She took deep breaths, squeezed her eyes tight, and tried to picture being in a quiet place with no one around.

  Raik’s voice calling Ranald intruded, and of a sudden, the prickling attention of Ranald’s regard left her. Her breath escaped in a whoosh.

  o0o

  Ranald thoughts dwelled on every look, word and motion of Catalin’s, filling him with doubt. She had best be wary. His blood seethed. ‘Twas truth. How could he ever trust her?

  Granted, as the monk in the garden, she had sought to confess her sins to him. But in their bedchamber, she should have confessed to him, the man. Aye. Her lie was letting him believe she was a virgin still.

  Had she done it before? When he destroyed the small vial of chicken blood Hannah had provided her, he had thought hard about that.

  Hearing Raik move beside him, Ranald brought his thoughts back to the hall.

  “Ho, cousin. Catalin does not look the happy bride. She noted yer interest in Muriele. Mayhap she fears ye will take over where Moridac left off?”

  “Do ye forget I was a monk until a few days past?”

  “Oh, aye, I remember well. Still, ye have many years to make up for. And ye had a twin. That twin was a man of the earth, one in need of much female flesh. As ye were before going to Kelso. Mayhap she fears ye will hasten to have all the pleasures ye missed while ye were celibate?”

  “Dinna talk daftie.”

  “Tsk. Ye’re scaring the lass into the next world, ye know. She thinks yer scowl is meant for her.” Raik chuckled, put his arm around Ranald’s shoulders and urged him over to where Broccin had already settled with Domnall. Baron de Burgh sat across the table from him.

  Catalin ignored him now and darted glances at his father. Broccin’s steely black eyes stared at her body, no doubt looking for some sign that Moridac’s seed had taken. ‘Twas enough to make anyone uneasy, even a lass so brash she would marry a man she feared in order to protect her bairn.

  o0o

  Catalin had watched Ranald with his cousin. The two seemed taken with Muriele, for they stared and talked, not doubt, of how beautiful she was. Could Ranald be interested in her? Catalin had heard talk about Muriele and Moridac. Had heard hints that he wanted her. The woman had seemed most distressed when he died. So much so that Catalin had noted it even in her own grief.

  Ranald’s gaze often left the tall, willowy woman to fix on Catalin. She felt his anger clean through to her bones as he approached her.

  Such a look was enough to make chill bumps creep over her arms. He had most likely thought all this day on how marrying had torn his life asunder like a winter’s storm ripping trees from the forests. And all because of her.

  “Do ye oft gaze at nakit warriors when they wash at the well?”

  Catalin near jumped from her skin. Ranald’s voice was so cold, so condemning. It stirred her anger.

  “Only when they display themselves so freely.”

  Heaven help her. Why had she blurted that out? Her temper of late had flashed at the most unusual times. She grabbed a handful of grapes in a dish nearby and popped them into her mouth. Mayhap that would give her time to think before speaking.

  “Display myself? Ye knew as well as I, my sire would suspect foul play. It was needed that he saw no wounds on my flesh.”

  All the defiance went out of her. She gulped the last of the grapes down, meaning to apologize. Too late, for Broccin demanded Ranald’s attention.

  “Once Catalin shows to be increasing, I expect ye to lead a foray across the borders. The time is ripe, for King Stephen’s barons are angry and rebellious. They fight amongst themselves and are oft gone from their own lands to gather and bicker like dafty eejits.”

  Ranald skidded two chairs over to the table and waited for Catalin to sit before he spoke. “‘Tis truth then? Henry forced his barons to swear an oath to Empress Matilda after she married Geoffrey of Anjou, but many went back on it?”

  “Aye. Men dinna like swearing to rally behind a woman.” Raik leaned his hip against the table and crossed his arms. “Hmpf! What was Henry thinking? No woman can rule a castle, much less a country.”

  “The day will come when you will see more women doing such.”

  Catalin grinned hearing Letia’s words. Raik was in for a surprise.

  “Nay. Never. They have not the brains or skills to command men.” Raik stiffened, near bristled with disapproval.

  “Best not think so, Raik.” Baron de Burgh chuckled then drew his wife down to sit on the arm of his chair. “Afore we married, Letia’s father lay near death. He couldn’t lift his arms much less give commands. Letia took charge, demanding much from the men.”

  “Why did they listen to a woman? Were the warriors so spineless?” Ranald jaws squared.

  “She is an expert archer, and her men respected her skills. She kept her father’s dire straits secret and gave commands as if she passed on his orders to the men. No one else knew she held the castle alone.”

  “Why did she not wait and petition the king for aid?” Ranald asked.

  “It was needful she protect her lands before anyone found out. King Henry’s bastard, Julian, had long coveted that which is hers. She knew he had spies amongst the workers. If he had learned of it, he would have besieged the castle.

  “Did Julian not find out?” Ranald eyes narrowed as he studied Letia.

  “Aye. He did. But by then she had sent for my help.”

  “Enough chatter. Do ye forget? I asked ye a simple question, Ranald.” Broccin slammed his tankard of ale on the table. “Will ye raid across the border?”

  “And I will give ye a simple answer: Nay.”

  “Nay? How can ye say ‘nay’?”

  Broccin shot to his feet, his
face livid. Ranald rose to face him.

  “Catalin’s own lands are across the border, though they are nearly on it. We sit at table with Baron de Burgh. The lady Letia is Catalin and Elyne’s closest friend. Do ye forget they, too, live across the border?”

  “Once they return home, they are fair game. Mayhap even before they reach there.” Broccin’s eyes gleamed through narrowed lids, his elbows on the table, his fingers laced with his forefingers tapping his lips.

  De Burgh steadied his wife on the armrest as he eased to his feet.

  “You seek to threaten me? While I am a guest in your keep?”

  Never once did he take his eyes off Chief Broccin. And never once did his hand leave the shaft of a short sword riding low on his belted waist.

  Across the room, knights who had come with the baron rose, their hands fingering their own weapons.

  Ranald bolted to his feet. “Never will Raptor Castle’s men threaten yer land, Baron. I am lord over Hunter Castle, Catalin’s home. It lies close to your own Seton Castle. My men at Hunter will ever be ready to aid ye.”

  “Ye may be lord over Hunter Castle, but Hamon of Cartington declared the castle is his by right of possession and as the only male of the family.”

  “How can he say ‘tis his? He is not of my line.” Catalin’s face lost all color. “He is my mother’s brother, not my father’s.”

  “Did ye not hear afore? By right of possession. When last ye came here, he moved his men in with yers before the dust settled behind your escorts. The men either swore allegiance to him or were thrown in the dungeons until they relented.”

  Broccin rubbed his hands together, gleeful there was reason for another battle.

  “Can he not be made to leave by King Stephan?”

  “Dinna be dafty, girl.” Broccin scowled at Catalin. “Had King Stephan cared, he would have already acted. Moridac and I had planned to leave with enough men to make Hamon shite his breeches when he saw us approach...”

  “How long have ye known, Broccin?” Ranald interrupted.