Forbidden (26 page)

If only she could keep the babe there. Snug
and warm, where no one could wrench it from her arms.

Safe from Broccin.

Safe from Ranald.

Ranald set a fast pace, galloping whenever
possible, for Baron Rupert’s lands were only half a day away.
Mayhap if they arrived as night fell, they had a chance Egan still
lived. The baron preferred his
sport
in the evening hours,
for no doubt the anguished wails in the dead of night were a more
potent threat to all who heard them.

“Tell me again what happened.” Ranald lips
thinned as he listened to Cormac retell the last three days for at
least the fourth time.

“The land around the castle is cleared beyond
the curtain walls, enough so that anyone coming from the forest
beyond can be easily seen. We climbed trees on the western side. I
watched the barbican while Duncan studied the rear bailey from high
atop an old oak. Egan noted the fields, for we needed to know when
the workers went in for the night.” He shuddered and glanced back
at Duncan, who took up the tale.

“Aye. I ne’er took my eyes off that hut.
Before we went there, I wondered why the baron used it instead of
his dungeon.” He ran a hand over his face, as if hoping to wipe
what he had seen from his memory. “All could hear what happened if
they dared to anger their lord.”

“Then the hut wasna empty when ye got there?”
Raik’s lips pressed together in a thin line.

“At first it was,” Duncan continued. “Late
last eve, Egan noted an old man weeding the rows of carrots.
Several times, he glanced around at the other workers but kept on
pulling the weeds. The last time, no one else was on the same row.
He dug up two scrawny carrots and slipped them inside his breeches,
hidden from view.”

The muscles in Duncan’s tense face twitched.
“A corner tower guard turned and saw him. He gave an order, and the
next thing we knew, men were dragging the old man inside the
walls.”

“The pour soul didna have a chance,” Raik
muttered.

“Aye. I joined Duncan and Egan once night
fell.” Cormac ground out the words between clenched teeth. “Never
have I heard such pitiful wails. In the darkest time of the night,
Baron Rupert came out of the hut laughing and joking so loud all
could hear, that the old man’s tarse was so small it near
disappeared when he stuffed it into his toothless mouth.” He leaned
to the side and retched, then shamefaced, wiped his mouth.

“We waited until Rupert and his men went
inside the keep. Egan and I were over the wall in a trice, while
Duncan waited at the edge of the woods with the horses. The hut was
empty except for the old man’s body. The fire pit still had hot
embers, so we had no trouble starting the fire. We went back up to
the wall walk, but a sentry saw us and put an arrow in Egan’s
back.

“He fell to the inside bailey. He never had a
chance. The next thing I knew, arrows were flying and the walkway
was swarming with guards. Duncan was below with our horses. I
dropped when I was near halfway down.”

“I suspect the guards put out the fire.”
Duncan scratched the stubble of whiskers on his jaw. “When I looked
back, naught but wisps of smoke drifted on the air.”

“We are a few leagues away.” Ranald motion to
Cormac. “Stay with me. I would have ye take me to the spot where we
can scale the walls. Duncan, fall back and tell the men that when
we are within sight of the castle, keep to the shadows and walk
their horses. I want no warning that we are there.”

Duncan edged his horse to the side of the
path then made his way back down the line.

Ranald tugged off his mask. The ever-watchful
Finn galloped up to take it from him, then handed Ranald the helmet
he preferred when fighting for Kelso. Made in the Norman style, it
was open-faced but for a narrow gold-plated nose guard jutting down
from the rim. His nostrils flared, remembering the added fear his
mangled face caused—the only good thing that came from his
unsightly scars.

“Raik, what think ye we take Dubne, Cormac
and two others to greet Baron Rupert?”

“Sounds like a meeting I will relish.” Raik
patted a dagger hilt protruding from the top of his left boot.

Ranald caught glimpses of the castle in the
distance and held up his open hand, stopping the men. They were far
enough away no one would hear them stand down off their mounts and
lead the horses through the woods to the west of the looming
castle.

When they drew opposite the wall where they
would enter, he whispered to Dougald to take charge. Dougald was to
watch for an arrow shot over the area of the postern gate. At that
time, he was to have five men charge the gate bringing the extra
horses. The rest of the warriors were to defend Ranald and his men
leaving.

Fortunately, the moon was only a sliver and
clouds covered what light there was. Ranald pointed out the men to
go with him and Raik, and they silently ran from bush to bush,
advancing on the curtain wall.

Cormac led them to the corner tower and
silently pointed. Ranald squinted, studying the old wall where the
round tower met the curtain wall. Evidently, Baron Rupert thought
more of his
pleasures
than he did in the upkeep of his
castle.

A hoarse scream split the air. Ranald sucked
in his breath. Rupert would have much to pay for when they met. He
motioned for Cormac to start up the wall. He followed, his hands
and feet feeling for the holds he had seen Cormac use. Soon they
came to an area where he could draw alongside him, so badly did the
wall need repair.

Now and again, one of his men’s feet scraped
the wall when his toehold crumbled, and he heard the faint sound of
a breathed curse.

When they heard the sharp striking of the
guards’ boots on the stone walkway above them, they halted.

“The sick bastid ne’er tires of his games,” a
gruff voice said above them.

“Aye. ‘Tis a shame he doesna slip and slit
his own wrists,” a man answered.

“Shh. Should anyone hear, we wud be doing the
hollerin’.”

“‘Tis time for the changing. I will be right
glad to stuff me ears and hug me pillow this night.”

“Drink with me first. I canna sleep till I
have downed more than a few.” Their voices grew more distant.

Soon, footsteps clamored on the stairway
leading from the ground up to the wall walk, a sign the new guards
had arrived. Ranald pointed at Cormac and then to the left. He
touched his own chest and then gestured to the right. They inched
their heads between merlons and waited. Hearing the new footsteps
fade, they peeked out and saw the two guards’ backs going in
opposite directions.

Not five breaths later, Ranald’s left arm
whipped around a man’s neck, he grasped his head with his right
hand and snapped it so quickly the man had no chance to scream. He
eased him to the ground and saw Cormac had done the same. They
stripped the tunics off the bodies and drew them over their own
heads.

Raik and the other three Raptor men joined
them. Ranald’s head dipped toward a dark corner and motioned for
them to stay. He and Cormac sauntered over to the next two guards,
and soon Raik and the next man had the proper tunics. They in turn
acquired the guards’ clothing for the last two men.

Ranald and Raik boldly started down the
stairway to the bailey. Ranald motioned to Cormac and Dubne to keep
to the shadows as they followed him. The last two men were to stay
atop the walkway and pretend they were guarding it. He and Raik
jostled each other like any other men happy to be at the end of
their day’s work.

The hut was no more than ten footsteps away
to the right of the stairway, with the postern gate to the left.
Anyone looking their way would have seen what appeared to be Baron
Rupert’s guards entering the hut, but leaving the door open. Two
other men entered and quietly pulled the door closed.

Ranald’s gaze scanned the inside of the hut.
The attempts to burn it down the previous night had blackened the
walls, but they were still standing. Foul odors assaulted his
senses, from burnt wood to the heavy, sickening smell of blood and
burnt flesh. A post stood at the center of the room with
crosspieces across the top and bottom to secure a man’s arms and
legs.

His stomach clenched, for never would he have
known Egan. The poor lad barely had strength to moan from what was
left of his face.

“Ho, there! Who gave ye leave to enter?”
Baron Rupert swung around from where he perched on a stool.

Ranald leapt, his arm swung around the
baron’s neck, cutting off his breath. Cormac and Dubne subdued the
other two men, whose only purpose must have been to do whatever
pleased the baron.

Their blood mingled amidst that already
soaking the ground.

Ranald tightened his grip on the struggling
Rupert, depriving him of air until he went limp in his arms.

“Gag the bastard afore I release him.”

Raik tore off the bottom of his stolen tunic
and stuffed it in Rupert’s mouth before tying a strip to keep it
there. Ranald dropped him on the ground and stepped over to
Egan.

Though they tried to be gentle, the suffering
lad cried out with each touch until they lowered him gently onto a
blanket found beside the door.

Ranald removed his helmet and knelt beside
Egan, his hands skimming lightly over his body. His sightless face
jerked back and forth, for his eyes were gone.

“Egan, lad, it’s me, Ranald. I have come for
ye.”

Egan’s throat worked, trying to answer.

Ranald kept speaking in a soft voice as Raik
knelt across from him. His eyebrows rose, questioning Ranald.
Ranald shook his head, nodding to the rest of Egan’s body.

Egan’s intestines protruded, trying to spring
free from a deep gash in his left side. No place on the lad was
without a mark. They had mutilated his nether parts as well. The
lad was dying with each agonized breath.

Ranald rested his right hand gently on Egan’s
forehead and started to pray. He prayed as he had at Kelso when a
soul was soon to enter heaven. And, when the formal prayers were
done, he prayed with all his heart, asking God’s forgiveness for
what he was about to do. Finally, he leaned close, for Egan’s lips
moved.

“Please...hel...”

It was all Egan had the strength to
whisper.

“Aye, lad.” Tears streamed down Ranald’s
face, their paths straight down from his left eye to his chin, but
making a jagged course from the right before finally dropping on
Egan’s chest.

Ranald’s face twisted in anguish as he
reached inside the sleeve of his shirt and drew forth a thin
misericord. ‘Twas used by knights to bring a quick and merciful end
to a suffering life that couldn’t be saved.

“Go to God, Egan. He waits to hold ye in his
arms.”

In a flash, he ended the young man’s
suffering.

o0o

Raik watched Ranald rip off the guard’s
borrowed tunic, and with one last blessing, he covered the body.
Slowly, like a wolf awakening from a long sleep, he stood and
turned, moving one foot and hesitating before he moved the next.
Raik rose to join him.

Ranald’s face looked as hardened as any bread
baked a deep brown and kept for forming into trenchers. His head
swung to where Rupert lay trussed on the floor.

“Tie him to the post. We wouldna want the
castle to think he tired of playing with Egan.” His nostrils
flared, his lip lifted and bared his teeth. Sounds as feral as any
maddened beast came from his lips. He waited, his hands slapping
his thighs.

If Raik had not known Ranald since they were
young lads, he would not have recognized him now. Before him stood,
not the monk-turned-man, but a man who looked never to have seen
the inside of a chapel.

Ranald’s impatient slaps changed as his hands
fisted and drummed against his thighs. Dubne, a knight stronger
than most, held Rupert aloft while Cormac and another man tied his
arms and legs to the crosspieces.

“If he does aught but scream, stop him.”

Ranald freed the baron’s mouth then stepped
back and waited for Rupert to awaken.

“What do ye plan, Ranald?” Raik was truly
curious as to what his cousin would do.

“Did I not vow that one day I would do to him
what he did to others?”

“Aye. That ye did. But do ye not think death
is too easy?” Raik’s mouth set in a grim line.

“Ah, but did I not also say I would make sure
he didna die?” A gleam shot through Ranald’s hooded eyes. He
reached a hand to pull forth a small object—an oiled cloth tied
with a string.

Raik near laughed aloud. What fitting
punishment for a man like Rupert. It would be far worse than death,
for Ranald had brought what was necessary to keep the man’s wounds
from festering and killing him.

Cormac cut and ripped away Rupert’s clothing.
He was no sooner done than Rupert’s eyelids fluttered. Ranald moved
so close his nose near touched the bound man’s. A scream rose from
Rupert, shrill as any lass near scared out of her wits.

“Ah. Ye are a comely man. But yer eyes tell
me you find me fascinating. Ye relish my face, do ye? Would ye like
yer’s to be like it?”

Rupert screamed when he saw Ranald’s dagger
approach his cheek.

Ranald had his answer.

His weapon flashed. Rupert bellowed and
blubbered, trying to call for his guards. Cormac slapped a stick
between his lips, tied a cloth to each end and then knotted it in
back of his head to keep it there. The man could still scream, but
he couldn’t utter any intelligible words. The veins in his temple
were livid ridges, his neck swelled.

Cormac built up the fire, and held a knife
over it, waiting. Ranald worked swiftly on the baron’s face. When
done, he held out his hand for the hot blade. He motioned Dubne to
hold Rupert’s head still while he sealed each wound with it. The
man’s muscles bunched and strained, his body stiffened.