Surrender Read online

  Afore they left his solar, Chief Broccin had swilled wine as if fearing never again would a drop pass his lips. That he'd led him to the room the mysterious Ranald used when he visited, told Graemme he thought favorably of him. Else, mayhap the man was so sotted his thinkin' was muddled? Humph. The more probable reason was because it was farthest from the stairwell leading down to the keep's exit.

  His future father-by-law might drink enough to topple men equal to his weight, but even so, he ne'er faltered about wedding his daughter to a man who would take her so far away. He was generous in his dowry for Elyne and, in turn, was shrewd in demanding a promise of dower lands in the south for her. Graemme had long earned his way and had coins and jewels enough to find a small manor close to Raptor Castle that would meet her father's qualifications.

  Sprawled on the bed, he flexed his muscles and stretched again, feeling tension ease as he did so. Mayhap fashing over his problems that kept his eyes from sleep was a good thing or he wouldn't have noted the door latch easing up. 'Twas the midnight hour by his reckoning. He pretended sleep, but his right hand stole slowly to the bed's side till his fingertips touched his sword propped there. Mayhap the rumors of the castle's haunting were true? The rushlight beside the stairwell was strong enough to highlight a ghostly image framed in the doorway. Were he a superstitious man, his knees would be knocking together. Peering between near-closed lids, he took his time studying the hideous wraith. The form wore a covering from head to toe. Its material was so thin he could see tangled hair falling over a white face heavily streaked with blood.

  The eyes staring at him from behind the hair were wide and rimmed with such a large circle of black they appeared to be in hollow cavities. The ghostly crone carried a small iron pot in her left hand, holding it in front of her. By the sounds of clanging against the inside walls of the vessel, she stirred a steaming liquid with a ladle far too big for the purpose.

  He pressed his lips tightly together when she uttered a muted cackle, no doubt softened to keep the chief from awakening. He pretended to startle from his sleep and sat upright in bed.

  "What ghastly creature is this?"

  "I be the murdered crone of Raptor, dead these many years and rotted in me grave," came a high-pitched, quavering whisper.

  "What tragedy brings ye to leave yer restin' place?"

  "To warn ye that if'n ye dinna ride forth at first light, the curse of Raptor will fall upon ye!" She cackled again, a little louder this time.

  "What is this fearsome plight ye speak of?"

  "If the sun falls upon ye within the castle walls, ye will sicken. Green slime will spew from yer lips, yer arse will spurt vile shite like water crashing o'er rocks in a swollen stream..."

  Her eyes must have adjusted to the darkness, for she hesitated and blinked at his sex displayed between his legs on the white sheet. "Um, and yer tarse will wither like the smallest carrot from two years past!" She thumped the ladle around in the pot, stirring away.

  "I canna order the guards to raise the portcullis and lower the drawbridge. I must awaken the Chief." He took a loud, deep breath as if ready to bellow for Chief Broccin.

  "Nay! Rest the night. Be first to leave Raptor when darkness turns gray!"

  "If ye spare me, I will be in the bailey afore first light."

  The crone hesitated, unsure how to deal with an agreeable man. Finally, she nodded.

  "I be off to seek me grave, then."

  She made a slow turn and walked so smoothly back through the doorway she appeared to float. He almost chuckled aloud when she closed the door slow and easy so as not to make any sound. He fell back on the bed, a grin splitting his face. His bride would have much cleaning up to do afore she could seek her bed and sleep.

  Elyne hurried two doors down and slipped into her room. At first, she felt elated that she had blocked another betrothal attempt. But in the space of a heartbeat, disappointment took hold because Graemme so easily gave in. Of all her imaginings, she had not taken him to be a fearful man. Why, she had prepared to chant gibberish and do other ghoulish things to impress him.

  After carefully removing the veil and folding it, she poured the kettle's hot water over the cloth waiting in the washstand's basin. While it cooled, she took off the old, torn chemise, wadded it into a ball and shoved it in the corner of her clothing chest. She sighed as she rubbed heather-scented soap over the wet cloth until it was properly sudsy before scrubbing her face. It took several rinses and a lot more soap before she cleansed her skin of the charcoal around her eyes and the cherry goo pasted from her hairline down to her chin.

  The Highlander gave in so easily it was near an insult. Ye dimwit! The truth is, he didna think ye worthy of chancing a few aches in his belly. Hah! Much less the loss of his manly parts. Even her brothers as young boys prized those dangling pieces of flesh. When playing in the woods, they would taunt her because they could piss against a tree while she needed to crouch down behind a bush for relief.

  And grown men? They preened in front of women when an obviously hardened tarse nudged their kilts like a ram's horn. Bleh! Mayhap they pilfered a sausage from the cookhouse and strapped it to their belly? She grimaced. With such thoughts, she might never enjoy another plump, juicy sausage.

  What was she huffing about? She should be relieved she could go to bed and not worry about saying any silly betrothal vows on the morrow. A grin came to her face as she dumped the stained water out the window opening. She'd best sleep now, for she wanted to rise early and gloat when she watched the weak nithing of a Highlander waiting with his friends to escape the castle walls.

  The black of night began to lighten to gray when Elyne woke. She scrambled out of bed and scampered across the cold floor to peer out the window. Graemme and his friends, Colyne and Brian, were ahorse and waited at the barbican as the gatekeeper prepared for the day's coming and goings. When all was prepared, the three near galloped over the drawbridge and across the clearing into the wooded path beyond.

  'Twas good to know she was done with another simpleton. If ever she found a man courageous enough not to believe in an old crone's curses, she would gladly welcome him as a worthy husband.

  She hopped back in bed and regretted having sent the dog to the stables to spend the night. Why did she feel a need for the comfort of a warm body next to hers?

  o0o

  Too soon, Ada entered, setting peat in the fireplace and lighting it. Elyne pulled the covers over her head, still sleepy from keeping herself awake till so late last eve. She waited until Ada stopped bustling around the room and came over to stand beside the bed.

  "Come, lass. I warned the Highlander but he paid me no heed. The crone must have been more convincing!" Ada stopped and winked at her. "The Chief said I was to see ye went down to break yer fast with him and the Highlander when he arises."

  "For certs. I am most anxious to start the day." She smiled brightly, hardly holding back her glee anticipating her father's face when Graemme didn't appear.

  She hurried donning a pale blue smock with a deeper blue gown.

  "Yer hair is in a rat's nest!"

  "I worked hard to make it appear unkept for many years." She smiled back at Ada, but the smile faded when she learned how much it hurt undoing her handiwork.

  "Did the crone leave yer unwanted guest properly affrighted?"

  "Aye. His horse was in full gallop by the time its hooves struck the middle of the drawbridge afore dawn. Like all the rest, the Highlander was a weakling."

  She and Ada enjoyed a laugh. By the time she was ready to go below, her stomach was grumbling. She was so hungry she would eat everything in sight!

  Even sausage.

  She stopped near the foot of the stairwell and leaned forward to peer into the great hall. Colorful banners hung above from every rafter. Done in vivid threads, generations of women had sewn picturesque tapestries on the wall opposite the fireplace to record the family history. They gave the room a warm effect. The far wall was bare except for a standard ten p
aces on either side of the fireplace. Her father's black silk with a yellow eagle, its talons spread for the kill, hung from a bracket to the left. To the right fluttered a yellow silk with two black eagles, a red bar dividing them. Looking at the two standards, one and all knew the harshness of the Raptor men. Throughout the room, huge iron candle branches chased the shadows into corners.

  Servants had set up long trestle tables and benches below the high table. A snowy linen cloth covered the chief's table while pewter plates, drinking horns and pitchers of wine awaited the diners. Where Elyne normally sat, a colorful arrangement of wild flowers stood in a tall earthen vase.

  Large bowls of cooked apples soaked with honey and nut sauce stood at each end of the table, with platters of hard cooked eggs, pigeon pie, sausage and cold roast veal between them.

  Such a lovely, cheerful mood. Too bad Father was going to be disappointed without the guest of honor. The Chief stood with his back to the great fireplace, Aunt Joneta was to his one side, Domnall at the other. At least seven castle knights laughed and talked with them, their backs to her. All were dressed in white shirts, their kilts neatly folded and strapped around their waist with heavy leather belts, then draped over their shoulders and held there with crest pins.

  As she started to enter the great hall, the little dog streaked into the room, outsmarting a stable boy trying to catch him. Elyne stopped to enjoy the funny dog's bow-legged run as he headed straight for a warrior wearing black tassels knee-high on his boots. At the last moment, the wicked little thing launched into the air and latched onto the nearest black cords in mid-flight. His forward momentum nearly skidded the relaxed warrior's foot from under him.

  "Satan's arse!"

  His gaze snapped downward. No doubt thinking to rid himself of the pesky creature, he shook his foot. When the dog did not let go but snarled and tried to shake its prize, he bent and gently forced the dog's mouth open then picked it up. Husky laughter rolled from his chest when he held the scruffy bundle at eye level and studied it. Could the fool not see it was a dog?

  She glimpsed his profile and caught her breath. It could not be! With her own eyes she had seen Graemme leave with his two companions afore dawn!

  "I take it this misbegotten varmint belongs to Raptor's knotty-pated crone?"

  For certs, 'twas him. She recognized the deep voice that made her think of warm, dark honey flowing over hot bread.

  "What makes ye think so?" Chief Broccin scowled down at the dog.

  "He is as ill-shaped and hapless as the crone. No doubt the two have knocked themselves senseless wandering throughout the castle of a night."

  Ohh, she'd show him how senseless she was! She eased herself back up several steps, and once sure they couldn't see her, she signaled a passing servant. Once the girl came, she told her to send Ada to her room. Elyne twirled on the steps and raced back to her bedchamber.

  When she descended the stairs a short time later, she could hardly keep a grin of anticipation off her face.

  Chapter 5

  "Nay, not the crone's. 'Tis Elyne's," Broccin grumbled and gave the dog a disgusted look. "The day she rides off with ye, I will kick his scrawny arse into the woods and let the wolves chew his bones."

  Surprised to learn his bride-to-be favored the small dog, Graemme put it on the floor. Stranger yet was the chief's reluctance to turn the cur out while his daughter was yet here. This ill-shaped bundle with his misshapen back legs made him appear to squat so he could shite.

  He looked down at it and shook his head. Hopefully, Elyne would not request they take the dog. Though she may be a bit lonesome at first. Perchance he should allow her maid to accompany them? He would think on it.

  The strange dog seemed fascinated with his leg, for now it had locked its front legs around his calf and was...

  "Satan's crossed eyes!"

  The dog humped Graemme as if he was the hottest bitch in the castle. He jerked his foot off the floor and shook his leg, but the wiry little devil hung tight, grinding away.

  "Do not! Ye will hurt him," Elyne called out.

  She swayed and dodged people as she ran across the room. When she skidded to a halt beside him, Graemme turned and raised his brows. Elyne scowled back.

  "Ye didna leave?"

  "A-a-aye, I did," he slowly drawled his reply. He straightened his leg again and held it off the floor. The dog held on. Humping and sliding down Graemme's boot. He ended scrunched up at his ankle. "This...this creature? Ye have a fondness for it?"

  "I do."

  "I would ken last eve's crone havin' a dog such as this. But my future bride?"

  She glared at him but when the chief spoke, she couldn't give him the scornful answer he deserved.

  "The crone? She visited ye and yet ye didna flee?" He shook his head and struck Graemme's shoulder with his fist. "Ye will make a worthy son-by-law!"

  "I am not afeared of a crazy old crone's threats. 'Tis not possible to cause such dire misfortune simply by saying it will happen."

  "Mayhap ye should have listened more closely, Sir Graemme." Elyne bent over to pick up the dog, for he had exhausted himself and released Graemme's leg.

  At the same time, Graemme leaned down to adjust his boot.

  "Our vows will be said afore Sext at midday," he murmured for her ears alone.

  "Humph. If ye are still hale and hearty." Elyne turned her back and put the dog down.

  "Stop fashing around with the stinking dog so we can eat."

  Broccin's growled words drifted behind him as he made his way to the high table.

  Graemme was only too glad to sit, having been up way afore dawn. He had dallied at the last moment, feeling a tinge of sympathy for the girl whose father cared so little to whom he married her. He sent Colyne and Brian off to check the village and surrounding countryside for news of his brother.

  He flushed when the Lady Joneta leaned around her brother to make mention of the flowers close to Elyne's hand.

  "Elyne, Sir Graemme came across a field of wild flowers. Are they not lovely?"

  Elyne's eyes widened. She looked at the colorful flowers and then at the hardened warrior sitting beside her. This man had taken the time to pick flowers? She swallowed her surprise.

  "They are lovely, indeed. Thank ye."

  As Ada and two of cook's helpers hurried through the doorway carrying steaming bowls of porridge, Elyne felt a stab of regret. Just a stab. Not enough to change her mind. While the servants served the other diners, Ada smiled and set a bowl down in front of Graemme.

  "Ah, porridge. 'Tis healthy to start each day with gruel."

  "A little milk?"

  Elyne handed him the small pitcher setting close to her hand. He nodded his thanks and doused the porridge with it. She watched from the corner of her eye as he started eating.

  She put her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle when her father leaned forward to say something to Domnall. While his back was turned, the dog had stretched tall and took a quick lap of the chief's porridge. It scampered back at the last moment.

  "He lives dangerously, as does the crone," Graemme said with a tinge of menace.

  Elyne knew it was no idle comment but a warning. The rest of the meal passed quickly, for everyone was too intent on enjoying the fare to spend time talking. All went well until Graemme glanced down and saw the little dog sitting on his hind end, begging.

  "Well, now. Yer legs do ye some good after all, Squat."

  "Squat?"

  "Aye. To call him 'dog' is unfair to the hunting beasts in the castle. Even when walking, he looks to be squatting to sh…, uh, 'tis a fitting name."

  Elyne snorted. It was fitting, but she wouldn't admit it.

  When Graemme fed Squat a bit of pigeon pie, she did not object.

  When he gave him a small slice of sausage, she kept silent.

  When he scooped out a small spoonful of leftover porridge, she near jumped out of her chair.

  Squat's long tongue lapped over and around the spoon before she could
stop him. She bumped into Graemme's arm, hard. She reached down and grabbed the spoon from him before Squat could put his tongue to it again.

  "Ye are gawkie, Lady?"

  "I am never clumsy. I thought to keep the dog from chewing the spoon. He is foolish enough to think he can eat wood."

  "He looks to eat little of anything that would put meat on his bones." Graemme looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Does his mistress neglect feeding him because she's so busy prowlin' around at night to spy on nekid men?"

  "His mistress does not prowl around looking at men."

  "Aye. She does."

  She snorted and frowned.

  "Did ye forget hidin' in the tree while I bathed?"

  "I wasna hiding to spy on yer bath!" Her face heated as if she was standing close to a steaming pot of porridge.

  "And what of the crone who came into my room?"

  "So? I dinna know what the crone saw."

  She had an urge to fan her face with her fingers. For truth, he must be taking wicked delight in her discomfort.

  "Me. Nekid. On the bed. She stared. I think she feared she would miss something."

  "I dinna think so. One nekid man is much alike another."

  She had always thought so. Until last eve. There had been little light in his bedchamber, but what there was filtering into the room, she could not miss his splendidly bronzed skin against the white sheets. Never did she think to see any man as finely made as he. Why, she had near forgotten what she had gone there to say. She started to squirm in her seat and planted her feet so close to each other that she couldn't move. It was a trick she'd learned when she didn't want her father to know he'd caught her in a lie.

  "I hope ye will rid yerself of sneaking around afore we wed. My brother does not take kindly to women who are loose with their favors."

  Graemme shifted on his seat. His stomach was beginning to rumble and gurgle much like someone who had not eaten in days. He cleared his voice, hoping no one else could hear the disgusting sounds his belly was making. 'Twas harebrained. With all the people in the room talking near at the same time, you could hardly hear yourself think, much less hear someone's guts talking.