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Chief Broccin’s cold regard crept over
Ranald’s skin like mice scampering and hunting for a crumb in every
crevice of a floor.

“Did yer bride scream at the sight of ye when
ye crept into bed?”

“Nay, she admired yer handiwork.”

“Humph! I wouldna be surprised if that lance
betwixt yer legs never rose to do its duty.”

Ranald quirked his brow at his sire, lifted
his tartan from the bolder and belted it on in short order.

“Hm. Did ye not note the new pennant this
day?”

“New pennant? I gave no permission for
another’s standard to fly!” Broccin’s head jerked up. He noted the
sheet hung so the stains were evident. Anger, red and shiny as a
summer sunset, mottled his face. The veins in his neck bulged.

Ranald was facing the well, his father’s back
to it. He narrowed his eyes until all he could see was a filled
bucket resting on the well’s ledge. He breathed deep. Held his
breath.

Cold water splashed down Broccin’s hips. He
jumped forward, cursing.

“By Christ! Where’s that boy! I’ll bloody his
nose for splashing me!”

“It wasn’t the lad’s doing. He long since has
left. Ye admired my night’s handiwork with such awe ye backed into
the bucket. Best ye have someone fetch dry clothing. Yer wet
breeches cling so tight it’s apparent ye have a boil on yer
arse.”

Ranald turned away, stamped into his boots
and glanced to see Raik was also finishing, though his movements
were clumsy. It was nigh impossible for Raik to latch his belt, for
he held one hand clasping his mouth, his eyes alight with
mirth.

“Come, cousin. I dinna know about ye, but
after last eve’s labors and this day’s workout with ye, I am
hungered enough to eat a boar.” Ranald cuffed Raik on the
shoulder.

Raik, his head tilted back, grinned like a
fool. Ranald followed his gaze to see Catalin, with Elyne and Letia
peering over her shoulders.

He frowned. His bride was near nakit! Though
she clutched a butterfly yellow garment around her, it had slid
from her shoulders leaving the soft swell atop her breasts bare to
everyone’s eyes.

It would seem she enjoyed peering at bare
flesh as much as Letia. Letia he kenned, for she was not a new
bride. Catalin and Elyne should have closed their eyes and turned
from the window. He would have words with his sister about it.

And Catalin? His mouth tightened. He stared
at her, putting his displeasure in his look. Why had she not turned
on seeing nakit men before her eyes? Why had the sight not shamed
her?

Did she relish it? Was she so used to it?

Sharp spears of doubt pricked his mind.

Catalin gasped as Ranald’s dark gaze bored
into her. She had earned her husband’s added displeasure for
certain. Though it was too late, she jumped back, stepping on
Letia’s toes, for being the tallest, she had stood behind Catalin
and Elyne.

“Ow, Catalin. For one so small, you have a
heavy foot.”

“I sense my brother is none too pleased with
us, for I too felt his anger.” Elyne grinned. Wide. “But it was
worth it, dinna ye think?”

“Your cousin takes my breath away, Elyne,”
Letia said. “And, Catalin? You did not tell us Ranald has such a
wondrous body.”

“Aye. Never have these old eyes seen anything
so, so...” Hannah seemed for a loss for words. “When he bent over
to shed the water on his legs...!”

Ada did not have to speak more. Her smile
said it all.

“Anyone so fortunate to lie with either man
will be well-pleasured.” Hannah rolled her eyes upward and let out
a huge sigh. “Oh, to be a young lass. Though Ranald is taken, I
would greet that Raik with my skirts hiked high did he come through
my door at night!”

That set the women to laughing.

“Help me, Hannah. Run grab the first thing
that comes to hand from my chest. I would dress before Ranald
should chance to return here.”

While the women talked, Catalin clutched her
smock around her. She breathed a sigh of relief when Hannah
returned carrying a kirtle that was the lightest hint of brown. It
would have to do.

“My brother and Raik are much alike in body,
yet one’s skin is as dark as the bark of a tree, the other golden.
Though his robes hid him from the sun, Ranald must oft have been
without them,” Elyne said. “He is white, uh, below. Likely he wore
some sort of braies with less cloth than usual.”

Ada chimed in. “During the feast last eve, I
heard a servant say Sir Domnall told another the monk was also
Kelso’s Protector.”

“Did you note the scars covering Ranald’s
back? They even curve to his sides.” Catalin perched on the edge of
the chair and rocked back and forth.

“Though he lowered his face when he turned
for his sire, the sun streaked his cheek. I could see…”—Letia tried
for the right words to describe what the glimpse had hinted
at,—“different types of skin are there. Raised like his back,
though I do not see how?”

“Moridac told me he didna believe his twin
could ever heal. The whip’s tip had caught and pulled, tearing his
flesh. Though Joneta tried, it was such agony for him, she couldna
clear all of the damaged flesh from his wounds.” Elyne shuddered
and rubbed her arms.

Letia’s brow knit, looking as if she viewed
the vision deep in her mind.

“I caught just a flash before he tucked his
head down. His eye is intact, of course. Three, mayhap four,
stripes crossed from his nose and across his cheek and neck.”

“Aye.” Hannah put in. “I would have noted
more, but the way his, uh, rod swung, I fixed on it.”

Ada fanned her face. “I never got my sight
higher than the waist on either man. The muscles lodged there were
the ones I noted.”

“Often, when Father hacked his way through
the Crusades, I prayed somehow he would suffer in turn.” Elyne’s
face was grim with distaste for her sire.

“Ranald will always hate me for having to
enter the world again. He spied us looking. I should not have done
it. He was angry.” Catalin curled on the chair, one hand cupped her
neck beneath her chin.

“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.