Forbidden (19 page)

‘Twas a strange, hot wind that blew Catalin’s
hair back from her face, not the crisp coolness she had felt a
short time afore. Branches overhead began to sway until dried
leaves sprinkled down to snag in her hair.

“Dinna be foolish, Ranald.” Elyne’s voice cut
in. “We were watching Sir Domnall.” She reached up to shove her
brown hair from her eyes and catch a falling leaf. “He kept his
head dunked so long, Catalin but wondered if he might drown
himself.”

“Domnall?” Ranald moved a step closer, his
toes anchoring her skirts to the ground. “Ye scheme to lure a man
near old enough to be yer father? He is far too wise to succumb to
the wiles of a foolish woman.”

“Would that you became as wise as he.”
Catalin grabbed her skirt and tugged, but he shifted his weight
forward to thwart her.

“He also desires to keep his head firmly
above his shoulders,” Ranald added.

“And you call
me
a foolish woman?
What witless thought burrowed into
your
mind and caused it
to leap from my watching Sir Domnall dunking his head to my
scheming to take him to my bed?”

“Witless? Nay. I judge from what I see with
my own eyes.”

“Ha. Then what potion did Muriele slip into
your ale that caused you to form such foolish imaginings about
me?”

“Dinna defame the lass. Ye would do well to
learn a woman’s gentle ways from her.”

“And you would do well to learn knightly ways
from Sir Fergus. Move your foot!”

Was she brainsick? She’d done it again.
Blathering when she should keep her mouth shut. Catalin’s skin
prickled with that strange feeling before lightning struck.

Thunk! An apple fell from branches thrashing
wildly overhead and struck Elyne’s lap. She bolted to her feet and
shook out her skirts, dislodging it.

“Ack! Cruddy Lucifer. It was worm-eaten.”
Elyne studied the rustling grass and trees then looked up at the
sky. Her narrowed eyes scanned Ranald’s face, his lips drawn back
in a snarl.

“Hm. There is no wind behind ye, Ranald, only
in front. Since ye returned, it has become most unruly. Do ye
contr...?”

“Enough!” Ranald leaned down, grasped
Catalin’s wrist and hauled her upright.

Riiip! Her green kirtle parted at her right
shoulder, revealing a sheer smock that did little to hide the
beauty beneath it.

Too late, he stepped back, his gaze fixed on
the creamy flesh of her right breast. His snarl slackened; he wet
his lips before he swallowed. His face tightened in a different
way. A hungry gleam burned in his eyes, much like a hound that
stares at a juicy bone gripped in his master’s fist.

“Let go of me, unless you want the whole of
Raptor to see how
chivalrous
you are, dolt.”

Catalin shook her wrist free from his now
slack fingers. She grabbed the torn material and tugged it to her
neck, then frowned down at the muddy footprint gracing her
skirt.

He reached for her again, no doubt intent on
dragging her off to let her know the full brunt of his anger.

“Ye would call me dolt? Do ye dare prick my
anger anew?”

She gasped, for his nostrils flared, the
muscles in his jaw twitched.

“Ranald,” Raik shouted.

Ranald hesitated, his hand hovering close to
her shoulder. He stopped and swung around to see Raik sprinting
toward the drawbridge, his arm out gesturing for Ranald to follow.
All thoughts of Catalin’s foolish words fled his mind. For the
moment. More important matters than teaching his wife he was not
some callow youth she could lead by a string, needed his
attention.

A man, battered and bleeding, rode through
the gatehouse. His horse stumbled from fatigue, caught his footing
and trudged on. Men ran out of the barracks and surrounded the
horseman, parting to let Ranald and his cousin through.

Ranald reached the man in time to pluck him
off the horse before he fell to the ground.

“Get Domnall from the barracks. Tell him to
meet me ... shite! Meet me in the solar.” Ranald’s long legs near
ran to take the man inside. “Send a man to fetch Aunt Joneta. I
have need of her herbs. Have another bring a fresh pallet to the
solar. I will tend him there.”

Raik pointed to two men, gave them their
orders, and then ran to follow Ranald. He sprinted ahead of Ranald
to open the heavy doors and order everyone out of the room.

“Clear the table, I’ll need to see what we
must deal with.”

Ranald held the man in his arms like he was
naught but a slight child. Once Raik had swiped everything off the
table onto the floor, Ranald placed the injured man there.

“Help me cut his clothing away.” He eyed the
man’s bloody head. Someone had hacked both ears off. “It is Gille,
one of our listeners, isn’t he?”

“Aye.”

They worked together, cutting down the front
of the man’s ragged clothing so they could strip it back.

“More than one man did this damage. Never
have I seen so many bruises. They must have kicked him with their
boots.” Raik sucked his teeth in sympathy.

“What are ye doing?” Broccin’s voice boomed
as he entered the room.

“I couldna take him to the barracks to tend.”
Ranald kept his voice calm, not wanting to startle the injured man.
“In a castle as large as Raptor, there are bound to be spies
amongst the warriors. I dinna want what he says to reach their
ears.”

“Tend him in the stables, then. Horses’ dinna
care what words he speaks. And what matters where he dies, as long
as it is not where I come to take my ease.”

“Gille will be cared for here.” Ranald’s tone
left no doubt he would not allow Broccin to thwart him. “He
sustained these wounds obeying our commands. We can do no less than
care for him.”

Ranald ignored his father’s blustering. His
fingers felt over the man’s flesh, seeking for broken bones. Lady
Joneta hurried into the room carrying a basket filled with vials,
small earthenware pots and small bunches of herbs tied together.
Catalin and Elyne followed, bringing two baskets of clean linen cut
in long strips and rolled to keep them from collecting dust.

“I ordered hot water. It will be here in
short order, Ranald.” Lady Joneta waited while Elyne and Catalin
brought over a small table and placed it handy to Ranald’s hands.
She unpacked her remedies, placing them in orderly lines across one
side of the table, the linen cloths placed according to size on the
rest of the space.

Raik glanced up and saw Catalin’s white face,
her lips pressed tight together. She stared at the man’s battered
body.

“Does he come from Hunter Castle? I do not
recognize him.” Her voice was so low he near had to strain to hear
her.

“Nay. He belongs to Raptor.”

“How can you be sure?” She came closer to
peer around him and gasped when she spied the man’s bloody head.
“What manner of beast would cut off a man’s ears?”

“Elyne, remove Catalin afore she spews over
my back. Raik, clear the room and post a guard at the door. Keep
everyone out but the man bringing the pallet.”

He sighed, his tension easing when all had
been ushered from the room but those he needed. His skills along
with his aunt’s would better the chances the man would live. The
hot water arrived, and with the first basin, they cleansed their
hands until not a speck of grime was on them or beneath their
nails. Raik took charge of dumping soiled water out the window
opening and refilling the basin with fresh hot water.

The man groaned. His eyes opened to stare
fearfully up at Ranald. He twisted and fought, until Domnall’s
voice soothed him.

“Hold still, Gille. We are trying to clean
yer wounds.”

“I thought ye meant to slit me belly
wide.”

Ranald halted. His voice came out slow and
even, with no hint of feeling.

“What happened? Were ye found out?”

“Aye. Found out. The cook’s lass tried to
sneak out last eve. Through the window opening. She stepped on me
head.” He drew in a breath and hissed it out slowly. “She screamed
like I had kilt her.”

“Her father did this to you? He must prize
his daughters high.” Raik voice sounded surprised.

“Nay, ‘twas the guard. Came running. Once’t
they finished with me, they left me fer dead.” He near bit his lips
through when Ranald cleaned filth away from the ragged skin around
his ears.

“Domnall, help him drink some wine. Raik,
roll a cloth tight and give it to him to bite on.”

“Thank ye. I dinna want to shame meself
screaming like a lass.”

Ranald waited until the man downed the goblet
of wine without even taking a breath. Where someone had sliced
Gille’s ears away, Ranald stitched the wound as best he could.

“At first, I kenned the cook would finish
what the guards had thought done. But he knew I was not one of
them. ‘Twas him what helped me on me horse and led it out the
postern gate.” He flinched when Ranald started closing the wound.
“He said he was sorry he couldna help me more.”

“I take it ye heard some bit of news before
ye were found out?”

“Aye. None likes the new master. They call
this Hamon the ‘smelly bastid.’” The man stopped and panted. “All
are afeared. One eve, the hunter drank with the fletcher. Heard
them whisper. He waits fer the day Hamon rises from his lazy arse
and goes into the forest.” He gritted his teeth and could not talk
for a bit.

“Get on with it, man. I dinna want to stay up
all night waiting for yer reports.” Broccin scowled down at the man
and reached out to jiggle his shoulder.

The injured man gasped and blinked. “Aye. The
fletcher gave him an arrow.”

“Hmpf. So he gave him an arrow. What is
unusual about that?” Broccin’s voice sounded impatient.

“‘Twas coated with mandrake and shite and
allowed to dry. If the arrow’s flight isna true and misses his
heart, the poison and a festering wound will make up fer it.” His
voice faded as he went limp.

Ranald felt his neck. The thready pulse
beating there gave him hope.

They worked well together. His aunt covered
the wounds with a healing salve then held pads of linen tightly
over them while Ranald bandaged the dressing into place.

The light from the window had long since
faded by the time they were satisfied all had been tended. Ranald
nodded. He would return to sit with the man after he attended
Vigils in the darkest time of the night.

That should give him enough time to show his
restless wife that though he had been a monk, he was more than
capable of fulfilling her shameful needs.

o0o

“Why would anyone cut that man’s ears off?
‘Tis barbaric,” Catalin splashed cold water over her face, her own
problems forgotten for the moment.

“No doubt he was sent to gather information
by listening beneath window openings.” Elyne held Catalin’s curls
back from her face. “Do ye feel better now?”

“Aye. I hate to admit it, but Ranald was
right when he sent me from the room. Just a little while longer,
and I truly would have spewed down his back.”

“Ye are having trouble with sickness at dawn,
are ye not?” Elyne leaned forward so she could peer around at
Catalin’s flushed face.

“And at eventide, too,” Catalin confessed.
“‘Tis a good thing I have a hearty liking for food, else I would be
naught but a shadow.”

“I thought as much. Father was querying Ada
this morn. It has been a month since ye wed, and he wanted to know
if yer woman’s time had come.”

“Nay. Did you know your father has set Ada to
spying for him?”

“Hmpf. It does not surprise me. Why have ye
allowed her to be yer chamber maid?” Seeing Catalin felt better,
she released the handful of curls and handed Catalin a drying
cloth.

“Hannah and I could tell right from the first
that Ada had no liking for what he ordered. We formed a pact to
feed him words of what we would have him know. By this next dawn,
he will know Ranald’s seed has taken.”

“Um, Catalin?” Elyne lower lip came up to
cover her upper. She hesitated while clearing her throat.

“What is it?” Catalin patted her face dry,
took great care to fold the cloth and place it beside the
basin.

“I never told ye, but I had one of my dreams
before Moridac died.” Elyne’s piercing gaze locked with Catalin’s.
She sat on the edge of the bed and fiddled with her skirts, having
them lay just so.

“One of your dreams? Moridac told me you oft
had dreams you believed were glimpses into the future. Is this one
of them?”

“Aye. It was a sennight before ye arrived at
Raptor.”

“Did it have to do with Moridac?” A horrible
thought struck Catalin. “Oh no, pray do not tell me you dreamed of
his death!”

“Nay. I dinna think I could have stood that,
for I surely would have misread the dream and not have been able to
save him.”

“Well, then, tell me about your dream. Has it
come true?”

Catalin waited eagerly, for she had heard of
women whose dreams came true.

“It was verra dark in my dream, hazy like an
early morn when ye can barely see the barbican? I heard footsteps
outside my door, and when I opened it, I saw my brother carrying
his shoes. I followed him as he walked to yer bedchamber door. He
eased it open and disappeared inside.”

“You dreamt such?” Catalin swallowed, feeling
a flush of shame start from her neck and cover her face.

“Aye. And I heard him talking with ye, though
that wouldna be possible, for the doors and walls are so thick
anyone would have to shout to be heard on the other side.”

“What did he say?”

“It wasna clear, but he was answering ye. I
could hear only his voice. He said, ‘I am going to make pashing net
love’. At least it sounded like pashing to me, though I have never
heard the word. Then he said something like incense and sennight,
and that ye were his, and that ye would have great bed sport
together.” Elyne blushed and twisted her rope girdle into
knots.