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“And?”

“What is in Scotland should be yours; what is
in Northumbria should be mine.” Catalin scowled up at him. Mayhap
she should have thought twice about this before she spoke. She was
not sure of the expression in his midnight eyes. Perchance it was
surprise that she would assert her rights over her lands.

“Hm. I see yer point. But what was yers in
Northumbria is now claimed by Hamon of Cartington. He holds it, not
ye.” Ranald rubbed his hand over the soft hair filling in his
tonsure. “Since ye believe it rightfully belongs to ye and not me,
I feel no need to wrest it from him.”

He moved his arm and plopped his head back on
the pillow making the ropes creak. He gave a great yawn.

“Since I have no need to plan for battle, I
look forward to sleeping the morrow away.” He stretched, yawned
again. “Good eve, wife.”

“What?” Catalin bolted upright.

“Good eve, wife. ‘Tis sorry I am that I
mumbled.”

Ranald turned away, adjusted his mask so it
would not slide, slid his arm under the pillow and thumped it
around his head.

Catalin jiggled his shoulder and leaned over
him. Her breasts tingled when brushed by the crisp hair of his arm.
She jerked back, embarrassed.

“You can’t let Uncle Hamon rule Hunter. He is
cruel. If they do not cater to his every whim, the Lord only knows
how many people he will beat and maim.”

“I am not a mercenary. I dinna fight other
people’s battles. Only my own.”

“You were the Protector of Kelso. That did
not belong to you.”

“Kelso was my home, was meant to be for the
rest of my life. Of course, I defended it. Go to sleep and stop
yammering.”

Catalin turned away at his cold tone. She
yanked the covers up to her chin, determined not to sidle close to
seek his warmth. Mayhap she should have thought longer on trying to
assert herself. Who would have thought a monk-turned-man would have
such selfish, male beliefs? Would the day ever come when a woman
wed that the man did not seize everything she owned? Surely not
while the earth lasted.

Her mind flitted from one idea to the next.
No matter how she looked at it, she could not allow her uncle to
hold Hunter. When her father lived, he treated all the families
there with kindness. He had been a just baron, was never cruel or
starved out his peasants. Dratted Uncle Harmon! He would not care
if they all died. Her eyes blurred from staring at the ceiling.
Ranald had snored for what seemed a very long time. Was the
midnight darkness showing between the shutters turning to gray?

Ranald was not stirring. Chief Broccin and
the castle knights would expect to meet with him before dawn. Could
he have been serious about staying abed this day? Mayhap she should
awake him.

She tapped Ranald’s shoulder and waited.
Nothing. She tried again. His snores halted a slight bit then
changed tone. Expecting him to awaken, she pretended sleep. She
breathed deep and counted each breath. Got all the way to twenty.
Crud! He did not move.

She drummed her heels on the bed. Nothing.
Sitting upright, she glared down at the sleeping man beside
her.

“Have it your way. I yield! Hunter Castle is
yours.”

“Whack!”

Catalin emphasized her surrender with a thump
on Ranald’s back. Of a sudden, dizziness struck her.

“Ohhh, saints.” She tried to keep from
spewing. She gurgled and slapped a hand over her mouth.

Ranald’s big hand darted out and grabbed the
bread from the bedside table. He turned and shoved it at her, then
took her shoulders to ease her down on the bed.

“Lie back. Take small bites. Have ye not
learned to sit up slowly?”

She glared at him then clamped her eyes tight
and took deep breaths before she brought the bread to her lips.

The way Catalin’s small, white teeth nibbled
the crust, searching out the driest parts, reminded him of a
curious mouse.

He rose and rounded the foot of the bed,
fully expecting what came next. Her eyes flew wide. Her hands
clamped over her mouth. He leaped forward and drew forth the small
bucket, just as her head stretched over the side.

Ranald wiped her face when she was done, and
did as he had the morning afore. But this time, he checked to
assure himself no one was doused with an unpleasant shower from the
window.

“Could ye not try to greet yer husband in a
more pleasant way?”

Catalin peeled the cold cloth back to glare
at him with one eye.

“The gift of Hunter Castle is not a pleasant
greeting?”

“Gift? Huh. It was mine when ye said yer
vows. And I’m pleased ye finally saw the error of yer thinking.”
Ranald shrugged and dressed in quick movements. He left without
again looking at his wife.

Sometime before the next dawn, he would seek
out Aunt Joneta to find what herbs she had stored and what grew in
the castle gardens. ‘Twould be simple enough to make a potion to
ease Catalin’s sickness each morn.

He picked his way around people still
sleeping on pallets in the great hall. Going out into the dark
bailey, he made his way to the warriors’ quarters. He had much to
do before Father Martin rang the bells for Matins at dawn.

He gazed over the snoring warriors to select
those he wanted. Satisfied, he walked amongst them to nudge them
awake.

“Rise. We leave early this day.”

Ranald selected each man he had noted leaving
on yester morn’s patrol. From this time hence, he would ride out
with them. No lord with any pride left his castle’s security wholly
to others. Some men looked at him, reluctance flashing in their
eyes. It was easy to see they doubted what skills a former monk
would have.

His steely-eyed stare was enough to make them
hustle. His barked orders sent them scrambling into their clothing
and reaching for their weapons.

“Meet me at the stable, and be quick about
it, else ye’ll find yerself mucking out stalls.”

He intended to know whether man or beast
roamed the castle’s perimeters each night. Marauding bands studied
an area before they plundered it. Spotting anything unusual could
mean the difference between a village thriving and one that burned
to the ground.

This day, they would leave earlier than
usual, for on his return, he must meet with his sire, Domnall and
Raik to plan on how best to wrest Hunter back.

Ranald, hearing running footsteps behind him,
fingered his sword hilt as he turned to see Finn, still belting on
his short sword.

“I will saddle Satan’s Spawn at once,” he
said as he dashed by him.

“Saddle yer own mount, also. I would have ye
learn what I expect of ye each day.”

Ranald was pleased with the lad. His body was
more muscled than most at his age, and he had sprung from his
pallet ready to ride afore the seasoned warriors.

On gathering in the bailey, Ranald eyed the
leader of the patrol. He had oft trained with Dougald afore going
to the abbey. He beckoned him forward to ride beside him.

“I would have ye show me what ye look for
each day and what ye believe are our weakest areas.”

Ranald set the pace, riding slowly until they
cleared the drawbridge. Once they were far enough away they would
not awaken all in the keep, he quickened their pace. Dougald
outlined the route and the places where he thought Raptor Castle
the most vulnerable. All the while, Ranald’s gaze pierced the
darkness, perusing everything in sight. On entering the woodland
paths, he watched the trees ahead, seeking any signs of rustling
amongst the branches that was more than normal for small critters
and birds.

“I noted the villages looked in poor shape
when we entered Raptor Castle lands a few days past. How long since
the serfs had new thatching and time to redo their roofs?” His
brows near met in a scowl. “I dinna like the looks of them. One
spark and all here would be destroyed,” he remarked as they rode
through a village.

“By my reckoning, it has been a good many
years,” Dougald said. “Chief Broccin says he canna spare them time
from working in the fields to take care of, what he calls, their
petty repairs.”

“Should the village burn, many lives could be
lost. He’ll not have enough workers to tend the fields, the cows or
anything else.”

On hearing hooves pounding outside their
huts, startled men poked their heads out their doorways, oft with a
shovel or rusty scythe clutched in one hand. On seeing it was
naught but the castle patrol riding earlier than usual, they stared
at the horsemen and scratched their nether parts.

The men eyed Ranald from head to feet. He
wore naught but a tartan slung over his left shoulder and belted at
his waist, his broadsword across his back. Some looked aside, no
doubt afeared of his mask. Others stared more boldly as they
studied his shoulders and arms before they nodded. What did their
faces show when he rode past and they spied his back?

Ranald learned much on this early patrol.
First of which was his sire did not take care of the cottagers as
he should. ‘Twas not enough to give protection in exchange for
labor. Near every hut needed repair. The vegetables in their
gardens looked in need of water, only a scrawny goat or two
appeared to give milk, and they had but a handful of chickens for
eggs. Every village was alike in need.

Not so when he approached the curtain walls,
completing their search of the perimeter. Sheep dotted the far
fields while fat, healthy cows grazed in pastures closer-by. Inside
the curtain walls, the dovecotes near swayed with plump birds and
chickens cackled while roosters crowed, though it was barely
dawn.

“Squawk! Squawk!”

A large white hen launched itself off a fence
post as they rode past and perched on Finn’s shoulder.

“Jesu!” Finn sputtered and flailed his arms.
“Get ye gone, ye brainsick bird!” The hen danced and squabbled, its
wings striking the young man in the face as it fought for
balance.

Finn finally leaned over the side of his
horse to shoo the feathered attacker away.

“Yer head be crowned with feathers,” one of
the men yelled. “Best be wary. The rooster’s eyeing ye.”

“Best the rooster be careful, else his
feathers will be stuffing for a new pillow. I dinna doubt a little
boiling, some carrots and onions, and he’ll make a tasty soup,”
Dougald said with a laugh in his voice.

Fat pigs grunted and poked their heads
between the fence slats, followed by squealing piglets. The goose
girls surely had their hands filled tending the large number of
geese they spotted.

Ranald would start setting things aright in
his own lands while he made plans for reclaiming Hunter Castle.

o0o

Catalin stood on the walkway of the gatehouse
barbican, with Elyne beside her. The damp wind tousled her hair
about her face, and she swiped it away from her eyes. She raised
her arm and waved, for Letia had looked back and waved again. My,
how she would miss her friend.

“Dinna fret, Catalin. Once Ranald wrests yer
castle from smelly Hamon, ye’ll spend more time at Hunter.” Elyne
looked down at Catalin and flashed a sunny grin. “Letia will be so
close ye could travel there in a day.”

“If there is a keep left at Hunter.” Catalin
frowned and rubbed her arms.

“Ranald will not destroy anything he is not
forced to.”

“I fear to think what damage fire and
catapults pounding with every bolder from leagues around, will do
to Hunter Castle,” Catalin muttered. “They are my people, my
friends that will suffer.”

“Ye know Ranald isna like Father. Did yer
husband not hand select twelve of our finest warriors to escort the
de Burgh’s?”

Elyne’s unexpected peel of laughter startled
Catalin.

“What do you laugh over? I see nothing to be
merry about.”

“Did ye not see Father’s face? When he argued
with Ranald that we couldna spare the men?” Elyne giggled again.
“He was near to bursting when that egg splattered on his
forehead.”

“That was most strange. Never have I seen a
chicken start laying an egg and suddenly fly through the air like a
hand pushed it!” Catalin started laughing with Elyne.

“Raik said, ‘Ye get better every day,’ when
he threw his arm around Ranald’s shoulder. Know ye what he
meant?”

“Nay. It is a puzzle.” Catalin nibbled on her
lower lip. “I was pleased Ranald left off his planning to bid Letia
and Warin Godspeed. He seems to like them both.”

“Father does not, though.”

“I doubt a man who cannot love his own son
would like many people.”

Catalin winced on remembering the hateful
glares Chief Broccin foisted on Ranald. No wonder bitterness filled
her husband’s eyes.

She had always known her father loved her.
Though he may not have kissed or hugged her like he had her mother,
he found ways without saying so in words.

Mayhap it would be in summoning her to the
stable where the mouser had birthed a new litter, and asking if she
would like one of the kits when the mother cat weaned them. Or,
taking her to a fair and noting if her eyes lingered on any special
thing. If so, it would appear on her bed when Hannah took her above
for the night.

Never once did she feel her sire regretted
her birth, not even on his deathbed knowing his only heir was one
very small woman. He had put his frail hand on her cheek, his voice
barely strong enough to be heard when he spoke. “God blessed me
with you, Catalin. You were the sun in my life.”

o0o

Ranald stood and stretched. He glanced around
the solar, noting the change in the room since his father had
thrown open the door and ordered the women sewing and gossiping
there to hie themselves elsewhere. Catalin and Elyne were not
amongst them. When last he looked, he had seen their silhouettes
atop the barbican long after Letia and Baron de Burgh had left.