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“Cormac? Is he not the man Ranald accused me
of lusting after?” Catalin leaned over Elyne’s shoulder to see what
so engaged her sister-by-law’s interest.

“Aye. Oh, saints! Hide.” Elyne groaned and
jerked at Catalin’s sleeve, urging her downward. “Too late. Ranald
spotted us. Does the man have a special sense that warns him when
ye are at a window? Likely, he will think ye enamored of the
captain.”

“Huh! As if any man would look at a woman as
round as a barrel. Even my face looks like a piglet’s.”

“Are ye blind? Ye are more beautiful than
ever.”

“Not from this view.” She looked down, then
back up and waggled her brows at Elyne.

“Oh, aye. Ye canna see yerself as other’s
do.” Elyne shrugged and chuckled. “Ye will have to take my word for
it, and mayhap the men who watch yer every move when ye walk into
the hall? Especially Sir Giric, Moridac’s friend. He canna take his
eyes off ye.”

Unease swept Catalin, for she had noted his
interest. Giric was Moridac’s friend, had always been close to his
side. They had often thumped each other on the shoulder. Had
Moridac told him about seducing her in her bed?

She slapped her hand over her mouth and raced
to the other side of the bed. ‘Twas the first time since taking
Ranald’s potions that she had felt so ill. She plunked down on the
floor and grabbed the bucket, curling her legs around it.

“Oh,” she gasped, then gurgled and tried to
take deep breaths. It did not seem to work.

Elyne knelt beside her and grabbed the
tumbling red curls back from Catalin’s face, clucking in sympathy
for her plight.

“Ugh. I dinna think I care to have bairns.”
She held the handful or hair high as she rose on her knees to reach
for the ribbon dangling from Catalin’s hair. She made short work of
re-tying it. “There. That will hold you while I get a wet
cloth.”

“A wet cloth? What do you on the floor,
Elyne?”

Catalin groaned hearing Ranald’s demanding
voice coming closer with each word, until she saw his leather shoes
rounding the edge of the bed. Elyne jumped up and rushed over to
the water basin in the far corner.

Ranald squatted in front of Catalin. His
tunic rode up high on his thighs. Catalin’s gaze traveled from
hairy calves, up past strong, solid knees, even higher to thick,
muscled thighs.

And beyond.

‘Twas the
beyond
that shocked her
mind off her plight and turned it to anger.

Catalin sputtered and gurgled. Ranald huffed
and snorted, then leaned forward on his knees, pulling his tunic to
hide his manly attributes, mumbling all the while.

“Must ye gawk at a man’s sex?”

“Ha. You have no shame. You welcomed Lady
Muriele’s gaze pawing over your flesh.” Catalin’s words snapped
sharp as a whip, bringing a scowl to his face.

“I have no time for such foolish talk.”

Elyne crept up behind him and placed a
well-aimed foot on his arse. He tottered forward.

“If ye canna be of help, Elyne, go to yer
chambers.”

“I aim to please, brother. Here. Catalin has
need of this.”

Splat! A wet cloth plopped over his head down
to his chin. Water sloshed over his face, trickled beneath his
mask, and a stream traveled a chilly trail down the back of his
neck.

“Lucifer’s fetid breath!” So loud was his
curse that the wet cloth puffed out with each word. He slung it
off, nearly displacing his mask.

A giggle from Catalin drew his attention.
There sat his wife, the bucket cradled between her legs, her eyes
round as an egg yolk and a hand over her mouth trying to stifle her
mirth. Elyne stood beside her, a basin of water cradled in her
arms, grinning.

What was best? Rant and scream his outrage at
Elyne, or leave the room with what little dignity he had left? He
chose the latter, for truth to tell the truth, he deserved the
dunking. He rose to his feet and stalked over to his clothing
chest. ‘Twas fortunate a black tunic was the first thing that came
to hand. He grabbed it, slammed the lid down and was out the door
before either woman could speak.

“Jesu, Ranald. Did ye forget to take off yer
clothing afore ye bathed?” Raik stood, a hand uplifted, for he had
been about to seek entrance.

“Make yerself useful, cousin.” Ranald threw
the dry tunic over Raik’s raised arm, then stripped off his wet
clothing and dropped it at his feet.

“Er, Ranald? Ye might want to cover yerself
with as much haste as ye stripped.” Raik’s laughing eyes looked
beyond Ranald’s back in the dim corridor.

Ranald jerked his head around to find Aunt
Joneta standing there, her hands on her hips, shaking her head.

“Shame on ye, Ranald. Is that any way to go
about? I see more of yer bare arse than I see of ye clothed.”

Feeling like a chastised youth, Ranald yanked
the black tunic over his head and fought to find the opening. He
pulled and tugged, until suddenly Raik’s hand came through the
cloth and waggled his fingers. He groaned, realizing he was
fighting his way through a sleeve opening.

Aunt Joneta’s tsk was so loud it would be a
wonder if she still had teeth left firmly in her jaw. By the time
he had the tunic settled on his shoulders, Ranald’s dignity was
nearly trampled to dust.

“For truth, Raik, there is much to be said
for living in an abbey,” Ranald muttered.

“Hm. Name something.”

“The absence of people everywhere ye
turn.”

“By people, ye mean women, do ye not?”

Ranald had already started down the circular
stairway leading below. He looked back over his shoulder and
grimaced at Raik.

“Aye. Elyne near dumped a basin over my head,
and I forgot all I went in there to say.”

“Mayhap ye can tell Hannah or Ada what ye
wished?”

Ranald nodded and glanced around the hall as
they hurried through to the doorway. Neither woman was there.

They clattered down the outer stairway to the
keep, his eyes searching for the women amongst the warriors
assembled there awaiting them.

“Ah, Lady Muriele is closest. She will have
to do.”

He motioned with his hand for her to come to
him. Finn strapped Ranald’s short sword around his waist and his
broadsword on his back where he could reach up and draw it for
battle.

“Go to my lady wife and tell her to keep
within the castle grounds. I go to Baron Rupert’s lands to avenge a
great wrong.”

“And when should I tell her to expect your
return?”

“When she sees me, of course,” he
muttered.

He flexed his arms and moved his shoulders to
see that all felt right before he turned to her. Her worried look
surprised him.

“I canna help but ask, sir, if you have a
word of comfort for your lady wife? ‘Tis likely an increasing woman
needs assurance you will return safely.” Lady Muriele frowned up at
him.

Ranald shrugged and glanced up at the keep’s
windows.

“She has no need of words. Do ye think my
battle skills so puny I canna overcome a man whose only combat is
against helpless men trussed like pigs for slaughter?”

Would Catalin truly worry about him taking an
injury? Or would her real fear be of facing his father alone with a
babe born before it’s time, proving it Moridac’s?

He shook his head as he took the reins from
Finn and sprang onto Satan’s back. Raik, mounted on Storm, trotted
over as Ranald started to ride off. About a horse length away, he
twisted around in the saddle and looked upward. He glimpsed
Catalin’s face at the window before she darted back out of
sight.

Swinging Satan around, he faced the Lady
Muriele, scowled and jabbed a finger at her. “Tell Lady Catalin to
stay away from window openings.”

As they rode past the line of warriors,
Ranald gestured to visibly tired Sirs Cormac and Duncan to join
them at the head of the line as they galloped over the drawbridge
and out into the open field beyond.

His gut twisted thinking of young Egan who
had scaled the walls to burn down the torture hut at Baron Rupert’s
castle. No sooner had he set it ablaze and near gained his freedom,
than guards discovered him.

o0o

Catalin peered out the window as Ranald
prepared to leave. He glanced around the courtyard, searching for
someone. She pressed her lips together seeing him nod, as if
pleased he found the one he sought.

“Why, he has beckoned Lady Muriele to him!
Drats! He seeks her out more times than he does me.”

Clouds of dust rose from the men and stomping
horses milling about. It was a wonder the warriors did not sustain
crushed legs when their horse sidled away from another, only to
come too close to one on its other side. The creak of their leather
saddles and harnesses, the clanking of swords against shields, the
clatter of hooves on the cobblestone paths all lent an air of
urgency.

“What could they be talking about?” Elyne
propped her head on Catalin’s shoulder and stared down at the
warriors restraining their mounts as they waited for Ranald.

Catalin’s teeth grated together. She had best
stop the foolish habit or they would be naught but mere stubs.

“The nerve of him. He forever grouses at me,
accusing me of looking with favor upon other men. He is the one
openly toying with another woman.”

“What could they be yammering about?” Elyne
pursed her lips as she watched. “Hmm. Lady Muriele seems vexed. She
looks to be arguing with him.”

“Oh saints. Duck.”

As Elyne ducked, Catalin moved quickly to the
side of the opening where he could not see her. She hugged the wall
and peeked around it to see below.

“He started to ride off and then turned and
pointed at her. He said something more. She looks surprised,
doesn’t she? I wonder what it was.”

Catalin glared down at the woman. As Ranald
galloped to take the lead, she leaned out to watch. She couldn’t
take her eyes off his back as the horsemen clattered over the
wooden planks of the drawbridge. Though she could no longer see
him, she kept watch until the warriors cleared the bridge and came
out into the open land beyond. She did not move until they were out
of sight in the woods beyond.

“Did ye know Ranald planned to ride out
today?” Elyne’s brows creased as she studied Catalin’s face.

“Nay. Why did he not tell me?”

“Uh oh. Mayhap that was why he sought ye out.
No doubt the sopping cloth on his head washed all thoughts from his
mind.” Elyne giggled. “My poor brother. Did ye see his
surprise?”

“Surprise? More likely he was stunned.”
Catalin smiled, remembering Ranald’s face.

“He has been from the company of women far
too long. He does not know what to make of us.” Elyne grinned at
her. “I was ready to run. Afore he went to Kelso, he would have
chased me down and dunked my head in the horse trough.”

“I feared he would strike out in anger, but
he did not.” Catalin shook her head, puzzled that he held his
temper. “Had I done such to Uncle Hamon, no doubt I would soon be
covered with bruises.”

“Ranald would ne’er strike a woman.

“Mmm.”

Catalin was not so sure he would not. More
than once, his eyes had smoldered with anger when he stared at her.
His hands had tightened to fists, too.

She hugged her belly, shielding it. Even a
light blow could have a terrible affect on her babe. The thought of
Ranald lifting his fists against her made her shudder in fear. She
squeezed her eyes tight and forced her mind to remember the youth
he had always been. He teased her but was never unkind. For truth,
he could not have changed so terribly that he would harm a woman,
much less an unborn child.

“Elyne? The pennant. ‘Twas not Raptor
Castle’s. I did not see your father ride out. The page flew the
black eagles on the yellow silk.”

“Aye. The twin’s banner. And the men. In full
battle gear.” Elyne’s eyes widened. “‘Tis no special patrol. They
ride expecting to fight.

Catalin frowned and chewed her lip. Where was
Ranald going?

“‘Tis not to Hunter Castle. They could not
take it with so few men.”

“Nay, they wouldn’t be so brainsick.” Elyne
narrowed her eyes, thinking. “I didn’t see Sir Giric. Mayhap I can
find out from him.”

Elyne’s skirts flew behind her as she went
out the door.

Catalin rubbed her arms, trying to warm them
as emptiness filled her. Raptor Castle no longer felt secure.
Turning, she stared at the foot of the bed. It was far too big for
one person. Why, it was ample enough for three, so large Ranald
easily kept space between them when they slept.

He avoided her by day, rising early and
riding with the patrol before the sun even thought of rising. He
returned only to disappear into the far practice area for the rest
of the day and did not come back to the keep until darkness
fell.

Most evenings, he sent her up to bed with a
stern nod of his head and a finger pointing to the stairwell. He
did not join her in the big bed until she slept. If she by chance
rolled too close and touched his hot skin, he flinched and moved
nearer the edge.

Did he dislike anyone touching his scarred
back?

Or was it her he avoided even in sleep?

The other evenings truly puzzled her the
most. The evenings when Ranald’s eyes grew hot and stormy, and he
did not take his gaze from her. No stern nod then, but a firm hand
on her back guiding her up the stairwell and hurrying her into the
room.

Her clothes were so speedily taken from her
that they near flew across the room, their breeze blowing the flame
from the candles. He surrounded her with his heated body, falling
with her onto the bed. Those nights, he made love to her with wild
abandon, his heart thudding against her own.

For days afterward, he avoided her even
more.

She dreaded being between the cold sheets
alone. How many days would he be gone? She shuddered and wrapped
her arms around her stomach, getting comfort from holding it.