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The day had waned. Aunt Joneta had seen the
men supplied with their evening meal, and servants had cleared
everything away when the men finished.

“Then ‘tis agreed.” Ranald paced around the
solar. “We send men to the countryside surrounding Hunter Castle,
one to every nearby castle to start rumors afloat. They will burn a
field, then pretend they are a traveler who happened by and hid in
the woods when they spied men from the nearest neighboring castle
torch the crop.”

“Aye.” Raik nodded, satisfied. “A word here,
a word there. Soon all will think their neighbor plots against
them. They will be so busy fighting each other, they willna have
time to interfere with us when we lay siege to Hunter.”

Broccin snorted. “Did the monks teach ye to
be devious, Ranald?”

“Nay. I learned from a master of trickery
afore going to Kelso,” Ranald said.

They sat around a table, a parchment weighted
down on the corners filling much of the space. On it, Raik had
drawn simple pictures of streams and hills, villages, forests and
castles. Ranald pulled a stool close and straddled it.

He bent over, took crude wooden spoons and
placed them in a pattern in front of the gatehouse.

“We set up our siege engines within striking
distance of the gatehouse. Ye say we have men well-trained to
accurately gauge the range?”

Domnall grinned. “During summer months, we
move a trebuchet inside the curtain wall then mark targets outside
on the open fields. The men are most adept at sliding the
counterpoise along the beam to adjust the range. Ye’ll see.”

“Down to as small a target as an ailing
rooster,” Raik added.

Ranald raised his brows at that. “Ye have
tried?”

“Nay. Domnall did the deed. He murdered the
little crower.” Raik’s tsk sounded like he thought Domnall a
beast.

A scratch at the door caused them to halt.
They wanted no one to leak what they were planning.

“Enter.” Ranald did not disguise the
impatience in his voice.

Lady Muriele swung the door wide. A servant
entered carrying a tray laden with a large decanter and
goblets.

“Cruddy Lucifer,” Ranald muttered. He
flinched for his mask lay on a small table beside the doorway far
from his grasp. He stalked over to a window, his ruined cheek
toward it.

“It is late in the eve. Ye have closeted
yerselves away all this day. Lady Joneta thought ye might like cold
ale for refreshment.”

Muriele’s voice was as soft and melodic as
birds greeting the sun’s rise. She lowered her eyes, appearing shy
in a room solely of men. When she served everyone at the table, she
filled another goblet. He watched her glide toward him with feline
grace. His raised hand halted her when she was a step away. He
spoke without turning to face her.

“Thank ye.” He reached for the goblet, but
noticed from the corner of his eye that she edged to her left to
better spy his face. “Halt. Ye are close enough.” He snatched the
cup from her hand and turned his back to her.

“Ye are as handsome as Moridac,” she
whispered.

“Go.”

He stiffened and did not turn until he heard
the whisper of her shoes leaving, and a few heartbeats later, the
door closing.

Raik let out a great whoosh of air before
saying, “Would that the lady showed as much interest in me.”

“It is only morbid interest.” Ranald
grimaced.

“Ye’ll not take her to yer bed.” Broccin’s
voice was cold, angry even.

“Best not think of her warming yers, sire,”
Ranald said as he approached the table. “She has placed her trust
in us to protect her. I’ll not see her soiled.”

“Ye’ll not? I am chief here. Till my death,
ye have no say in what goes on at Raptor.”

Ranald’s eyelids narrowed. “Dinna tempt
me.”

On seeing his sire’s mouth drop to his chin,
he had some small satisfaction. He turned back to the table.

“Domnall, send two men inside Hunter Castle’s
curtain walls. If they listen under the eaves of the huts there,
they might glean some bit of knowledge the people wouldn’t freely
speak of.”

“Aye. I know the best men for the job. They
can hear a feather drop on the training ground and are smaller than
most. They can weave their way around in the dark shadows of night
and escape notice.” Domnall nodded and swallowed down his ale.

“What extra training should we have the men
doing?” Raik leaned forward and studied Ranald’s face.

“All warriors should be building their skills
with bow, sword, mace, axe and pick. Double the patrols, Domnall.
That will keep them busy when not working in the training fields.
To build better muscles, they will work repairing the village huts
still in reasonable shape, re-thatch where needed and build new
ones. If that is not enough to make them sweat and build muscles,
they can clear and plant a new field for herbs and vegetables
within the curtain walls.”

“Do ye think to spark a revolt?” Raik tilted
back on his stool and laughed.

“Nay.” Ranald shook his head, his face
serious. “At Kelso, we didna have a minute when we were not doing
something with our bodies. Ye saw the beauty there. We built it
ourselves. Our only rest was during prayers. The work at the abbey
honed my body. Why should our warriors do less?”

The plans they made that day was the start of
all the days to follow for the next two months.

o0o

“Elyne, are the freckles across my nose
unseemly? Is my face so plain it does not stir interest?”

Catalin stopped nibbling on her finger to
look over at Elyne. It was a warm day, and they sat on a woolen
blanket spread beneath the apple trees. “Moridac oft told me I was
comely. Mayhap he did not speak the truth,” she muttered.

“He spoke true, silly. Yer freckles make ye
look like a faerie about to spring into some mischief.” Her gaze
roved over Catalin’s face, searching. “I see naught unseemly about
ye. Yer hair is an unusual shade that brings summer to mind, yer
nose small, yer mouth just right, and yer blue eyes sparkle. What
can ye find wrong about all that?”

Before her sister-by-law could answer, a
stream of warriors returned from their duties dripping with sweat,
looking like it took great effort to put one foot in front of the
other.

Elyne balanced back on her elbows and studied
the men as they trailed past, near dragging their weapons on the
ground. Their barracks stood a short distance away, between the
apple trees where the women sat and the stable.

“Catalin, have ye noted how tired they seem
when returning after a day on the practice field with Ranald?”

“Aye. Look! Look at Sir Dougald. He’s trying
to drown himself in the water trough.” Catalin stared at the man,
wondering how long he could keep his head submerged before he
needed air. “Saints! I counted to thirty before he came up.”

“Raik said last eve that never has he worked
so hard at training as he has under Ranald. We have seen little to
nothing of my brother of late.” Elyne looked at Catalin, a question
in her eyes.

Even if Moridac had thought her comely, his
twin did not seem to find her so. He had not touched her again in
that way a husband should. Last eve, she had fought sleep until way
past the midnight time, until Ranald quietly came into the room,
undressed and eased into bed. She spoke to let him know she was
awake. He did naught but snap at her to go to sleep.

“I know. He does not come to our chamber
until way into the night. He never, uh, awakens me.” Catalin’s face
heated.

“That is kind of him,” Elyne said.

“Hmpf.” Catalin could not stop the sound, for
the more she thought on it, the more she worried.

“Oh. You mean he has not...?”

“Nay. I mean, aye. He has not.” Catalin bent
her knees up under her chin, settled her skirts for modesty, and
wrapped her arms around them.

“Not even...?”

“Oh, he did. That first night.” Catalin put
her forehead down on her knees.

“Well, did he not, uh, enjoy himself?” Elyne
looked up at the tree then down at a small bug struggling to climb
atop a bent twig. “Hmm, I heard him shout. And I thought I heard ye
moaning like ye were right pleasured.”

“Aye. We both were pleasured mightily.”

“And the night ye thought he was dying? Was
that not from his being overexcited? All thought he was having
great bed sport, what with the pillows and sheets strewn across the
floor.”

“He was praying,” Catalin whispered.

“What?” Elyne leaned closer. “I misheard
ye.”

“You heard me aright. Ranald was
praying.”

Elyne snorted. “Sure, and he was. I heard
Raik telling Ranald ‘Dinna waste it,’ and Ranald looked down at
himself then slammed the door.

“Nay, really. I awoke in the night near
freezing. The shutters stood wide. I rolled close to find him, for
we had not enough covers on the bed. Naught but cold sheets greeted
me until I neared the edge of the bed. I threw everything off so I
could peer over the side. I saw Ranald. I thought he was
dying.”

“Why? Did he moan and writhe about?”

Catalin shook her head.

“Clutch his belly, then?”

“Nay. He lay stretched out on the floor. Face
downward, arms out like a bird.”

“Huh? Had he fallen?”

“Nay. He was not hurt at all. He was praying!
No doubt, he was hoping God would help him bear his wife. He finds
me ugly.” Catalin near died of shame.

“Surely ye jest? His eyes follow ye whenever
ye are in sight.” Elyne stared at Catalin and shook her head. “That
does not sound like a man who finds his wife hard to look at.”

“You may see him look, but you do not see the
expression in his eyes.” Catalin puffed a burst of air to dislodge
a curl sliding down her forehead.

“Mayhap ye mistake a look of need for
something else?”

“I would wish so. But, nay. He freezes me
with one glance. If I turn my gaze to another man, he will stalk
over and grasp my elbow. His mouth draws back like he is in pain,
and his look singes all thought of anything else from my mind.”

“Humph. Sounds like a man who suffers from
air in the belly.” She grinned then pulled a long face at Catalin.
“Mayhap ye should offer to rub it for him?”

“I wish it could be so simple. I truly think
he hates me. Why else would a man avoid his new wife?”

Catalin frowned and stared across the grass,
only vaguely aware of the men trailing into the barracks. A flash
of bright green cloth caught her eye. Hm. Muriele’s kirtle. Why was
she coming from the training grounds, a serving girl following her
with a tray? The answer seemed clear, but why had she tended this
duty?

“’Tis Muriele.”

“Aye. Did ye think her someone else?” Elyne’s
brows raised in question.

“Nay. I have noted both Ranald and your
cousin looking at her and talking. Some days ago, Raik laughed and
thumped Ranald on the shoulder. Like he congratulated him for
something. Ranald walked away and Raik near bent double with
laughter.”

“I ne’er thought I would use such crude words
about my brother, but do ye think mayhap he is dipping his wick in
another honey pot?”

“Huh?” Catalin frowned at her. What did she
mean?

“Ye know. In bed sport. Are ye afeared he is
giving some other woman what rightfully belongs to ye?”

Catalin’s breath caught as if Elyne had
dunked her into a cold loch. She barely nodded, thinking it over.
Mayhap that was the cause Ranald didn’t desire her. He was sated
before he came to their bed. How could she fight his having a
leman?

“Ye will have to lure him away from other
interests.” Elyne pressed her lips together, pondering.

Shame overcame Catalin. She knew nothing
about men and what they desired in bed. Best she ask Elyne. She
would have heard and learned more growing up with the three men.
She hesitated, lowered her head and stared down at her hands
grasped tight in her lap.

“If I would lure him to my bed, I must know
what he likes in bed sport. How might I entice him?”

Elyne’s loud gulp alerted her. Before her
words faded, the hair on Catalin’s arms prickled. She knew who
stood behind her.

His words were cold and hard, each one
dropping on her soul like heavy rocks on soft sand.

“Wife, do ye crave a man’s flesh so strongly
ye plot to snare another to yer bed?”

“I await yer answer, wife.”

Catalin’s stomach clenched and her arms drew
her knees even closer to her chin, making herself as small as
possible. She peeked sideways, half hoping she was brainsick and
hearing things. Instead, her gaze met two heavily muscled calves.
Dirt clung to the crisp curly hair there, and a streak of mud
covered one knee down his shinbone. Both strong feet were bare but
for mud coating them to his ankles.

“Which of my warriors have ye picked to grace
yer bed when I leave for Hunter?”

Saints! Ranald’s voice sounded mean. Seeing
his feet shift, she knew he was not going to wait long for an
answer. She took a deep breath.

“None, my lord.”

Drats! Why had she worried that he did not
find her comely? She should be glad. Moridac had been the only man
she wanted to wed. For sure, vanity had pricked her pride, making
her want Ranald to desire her as much as Moridac had. Now look
where that foolishness brought her!

“Then ‘tis someone higher? My captain of the
guards? Cormac?”

“Do not be foolish. I have no interest in Sir
Cormac. I am not even sure which man he is.”

The grass around them started to move like
waves on a lake when the wind was brisk.

“Oh? Then for what reason did ye stare at him
but moments ago.”

“I stared at no one.” Catalin’s anger began
to stir that he so easily thought she would be unfaithful to
him.

“At the water trough. Need I remind ye? Ye
looked long and hard while he splashed water over his chest!”