Forbidden (27 page)

He moved calmly from Rupert’s face down and
around his thrashing body. It would have pleased him to copy every
horror Egan had received, and had they been at Raptor, he would
have. Even so, he took precious time to stitch an occasional wound
that bled too freely or gaped too wide. He didn’t want the man to
have ease in death.

Before long, the baron fainted.

Ranald shuddered at what he was doing. Each
time he faltered, he envisioned Egan’s young body covered with the
bloody tunic and steeled himself to finish. He had but one last
thing to do.

He stood back. His jaw jutted, determined.
His teeth clamped tight. Waiting.

“I didna think ye could do it.”

Ranald flinched at Raik’s words and drew in a
long, slow breath. What he had so feared was happening. He had
changed much in these last months.

Raik’s gaze studied Ranald’s hands. When he
looked back up, Ranald noted the blue of his eyes had deepened and
tinged with dark gray. Ranald answered their unspoken question.

“Aye. Were this any other man, I could not.
The bastard deserves no less than he gave.”

Ranald’s skin prickled. Bile threatened to
choke him. He stiffened his spine and swallowed. He wished to be
leagues away from this place, never to see it again.

“We must be gone afore the sky lightens.” He
took a deep breath and stepped forward to finish what he had
promised he would do.

Rupert awoke, biting the stick so hard it was
a wonder it did not crack in half. Ranald held his bloodied hands
close to the man’s eyes, so he could see what Ranald held
aloft.

Rupert sucked in a breath and gurgled in
disbelief. His eyes told Ranald all he needed to know. He stared
with fascinated horror, shaking his head back and forth, trying to
convince himself he saw wrong.

“Aye, Baron Rupert. Ye are as ye made Egan
and so many other men these past years. But ye should thank me and
be grateful I didna take yer tarse, as ye did the old man.”

He waited until Rupert’s garbled sounds
quieted. His eyes bulged, reminding Ranald. He held his blade close
to the outer tip of Rupert’s left eye. He blubbered and jerked in
horror.

“Nay, dinna worry. Ye took young Egan’s eyes,
but I want ye to have yer sight. Each day ye live, ye will know the
stares of others when they look upon yer face. And, too, ye will
wish to admire my handiwork on yer nether parts. I have stitched
yer wounds and packed herbs there. The wound will heal nicely.”

“I still think you should slit his throat,”
Cormac muttered.

“Too easy.” Ranald tilted his head and stared
into Rupert’s eyes. “When yer men find ye, ye are to order this hut
burned to the ground. Should ye live to walk again and ever torture
another man, I will return when ye least expect it. When I finish
with ye, ye will have no eyes, no hands, no tarse.”

Ranald threw what he had in his hands onto
the coals. Grimacing with disgust, he wiped his hands on his
clothing.

“Dubne, take our poor lad across yer
shoulders and let us be gone from this hellish place.”

Raik wrapped Egan in the blanket and helped
sling him over the big man’s shoulder. Ranald edged the door open
to peer out the crack. He couldn’t believe his luck. It was as if
the devil had deserted Rupert. They eased out of the hut and moved
to stand in the shadows.

The two Raptor men left on the walkway spied
them. One notched an arrow and shot it in the air. They pretended
to take their time coming down the stairs.

Raik and Cormac subdued the guards at the
postern door and pulled it open. The sound of hooves pounding the
earth alerted Rupert’s men patrolling above. Amidst the shouts and
clamor of guards racing down the stairs, Ranald and the men raced
out the door then slammed it shut behind them.

Seeing two sturdy branches lying close-by,
Cormac and Ranald seized them and shoved the edges under the door,
seating them so firmly that if anyone tried to open the door they
couldn’t without a struggle.

They sprinted as fast as their legs could
take them. Six men galloped toward them leading their horses.
Arrows whooshed through the air, but none did more than tear a
tunic or nick a bit of skin on a man’s arm. ‘Twas a half-hearted
response from the confused castle guards. Trained to stop raiders
from entering the castle grounds, they were confused on seeing men
in Rupert’s colors leaving. Dougald’s archers harried the guards
while Ranald’s men leapt into their saddles.

Astride Satan, Ranald slapped Finn’s horse on
the rear, making sure the lad went on ahead. At the edge of the
clearing, he held back, waiting until each man passed him and
entered the woods. Dubne had slung Egan’s body across his lap, and
holding him with one arm, he urged his horse to a gallop. As soon
as he passed, Ranald spurred Satan and followed.

They rode hard to distance themselves from
their pursuers. Little by little, the sounds of drumming hoof beats
and shouts of uncertainty faded. Raptor Castle’s men slipped away
as if swallowed by the black night.

o0o

Catalin worked hard to avoid Lady Muriele
after Ranald left, for the woman seemed determined to have words
with her. She was equally determined not to let her near.

At the noon meal, Lady Muriele sat to the
right of the Chief Broccin and Lady Joneta. From the corner of her
eye, Catalin noted now and again the beauty leaned forward and
tried to catch her eye.

She sighed and pushed food around on her
trencher. Could it be the babe was draining her good nature? Every
time she saw the beautiful woman, she longed to dump a pitcher of
sticky mead over her head.

“Do ye not feel well?”

Elyne, sitting beside her, leaned forward to
peek at her face.

“Um. Well enough.”

Catalin stabbed a sliver of pork like she
needed to kill it before she took a bite, then scooted it from one
side of the sopping trencher to the other.

“I thought ye loved pork. It’s why I asked
cook to prepare it today.” Elyne’s brows quirked. “Ye have lost yer
taste for it?

“I do love pork. Since Sir Giric told you
Ranald was riding to that horrid Baron Rupert’s, I have been too
angry to eat,” she muttered.

“Angry? But why? Rupert is a cruel man who
needs a sample of what he has dealt out. If I read my brother
aright, Ranald is the perfect man to teach him.”

Catalin’s unladylike snort turned curious
gazes in her direction.

“What was that about?” Elyne grinned at
Catalin’s scowling face.

“The perfect man? Saints alive, Elyne. Ranald
was a monk. What does a monk know of warfare?”

This whole day, wherever she walked, she
overhead someone speaking of the hideous things accredited to
Rupert. What if the baron captured Ranald? He wouldn’t be able to
defend himself properly.

“Did he not tell ye?”

“Tell me? Must I forever ask ‘what’!?”

Saints help her. She was near ready to
scream. Her stomach churned with worry. Ranald had not spent these
last years training for battle. He’d been locked away in a dismal
abbey, most likely spending his days on his knees. And all because
of the hateful wretch seated beside her who called himself Ranald’s
father.

Wherever she turned, she felt Broccin stare
at where her breasts thrust against the top of her kirtle. Such
calculating looks, too. Like he weighed her flesh beneath the
cloth. Thank the saints her skirts were loose and he could not see
her expanding middle. The gleam in his eyes made her flesh crawl.
She wanted to slam her eating knife into his thigh.

She fingered the knife, near tempted to use
it. She looked down at the muscular leg so near her own. Humph. The
blade would surely break before it pierced his thick skin. Mayhap
that stony hide was why he had survived battling the Turks.

“...why they called him The Protector.”

Elyne leaned close to tap Catalin’s nose with
her forefinger.

“Ye didna hear a word I said, did ye?”

“Aye, I did. Who is a protector?”

“Was, not is. Ranald.”

“Ranald? He was the protector of what?”

Elyne rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“If ye want the regard of my brother, ye will
have to sharpen yer wits. Now, pay heed to what I say. Border
abbeys are favorite targets for raids from across the border. There
is always someone ready to risk their life for the riches found in
abbeys.”

“Why would a man risk his soul stealing from
God’s places?” Catalin shrugged her shoulders.

“Greedy men will do anything to have their
hands on the coffers of coins and jewels given to an abbey as
gifts, or by men seeking favors from the church. Huh! Father would
have sent a goodly amount of coins with Ranald to Kelso.”

“Ranald was not a warrior. He is only now
learning to be one. He was a monk. Monks do not wear swords or heft
broadswords.”

“Aye, not usually. But did ye expect a monk
to have the muscles and hardened body my brother has? He did not
get that way by kneeling in prayer or by digging in the gardens.
All these past years, he defended Kelso. He is well used to
fighting and holding his own with sword and shield.”

Catalin frowned, thinking of Ranald at
Kelso.

“Elyne, if Ranald defended Kelso with his
fighting skills, is it not likely he could have killed someone? I
cannot imagine they would allow him to do such.” Catalin grimaced,
wondering what penance they would give a monk in the
confessional.

“It’s different. Ranald was defending God by
protecting the abbey. Crusaders take lives. It’s not considered the
same as murder.” Elyne sighed.

“That is what we believe. I pray God feels
the same way.” Catalin, very much worried that mayhap God was not
pleased with the way men defended him, shifted uneasily in her
seat.

Lady Joneta rose, crooking a finger at the
servants, signaling it was time for them to clear the tables.
Catalin had been so engrossed in her worries she had not noted the
large bowls of fruits and cheeses. Her stomach grumbled, reminding
her she had not eaten enough to feed the small babe nestled beneath
her heart. She grabbed a pear before a servant could whisk it
away.

“Lady Catalin, I have need of words with
you.”

Catalin jerked her head to the side, her eyes
narrowed. Oh, Saints! Muriele. She had not seen the woman approach.
A rush of heat flooded her face. Her hand tightened, her fingers
dug into the ripe pear. From the wary look on the lady’s face, was
the beauty intent on telling her she also carried a babe? Ranald’s
babe?

If it was so, Ranald could easily denounce
his wife and gain his freedom. Freedom to marry a woman whose babe
was truly his and would inherit Raptor Castle and all its lands.
Sticky liquid dripped from her fingernails mangling the succulent
fruit.

Muriele’s soft voice finally caught her
attention.

“...speedily as possible.” Lady Muriele
looked concerned as she watched Catalin’s face.

“Mmm. Sorry. I could not hear. The fools are
so rowdy I can barely hear mine own thinking.”

Catalin did not feel it was truly a lie, for
the men were playing Hot Cockles in the far corner. The rough game
would surely do someone a serious injury one of these nights.

“Nay, I spoke too softly. Sir Ranald had to
leave before he could talk to you. He wished me to tell you not to
worry about him. He needed to correct a wrong at Baron Rupert’s
castle. He wanted to assure you he will return as speedily as
possible.” Muriele shifted her feet and clasped her hands behind
her back.

“He wished me not to worry?” Catalin’s heart
lifted. Her fingers around the pear lightened their strangle
hold.

“Aye. And he was concerned for you. He added
that you were to take care around window openings, for fear you
might do yourself or the babe some harm.” Lady Muriele cleared her
throat and looked about to move away.

“Ranald said all of that?”

He had not seemed concerned for her safety
when he berated her about gawking at men.

“Mayhap not in those exact words. He was in
such a hurry to ride out that he may have said more than I can
recollect.” Lady Muriele gave a shy smile.

“It was most kind of you to tell me.”

Advancing footsteps behind them made Muriele
glance over her shoulder. Chief Broccin was charging around the
table, a determined look on his face.

“Good eve,” Lady Muriele whispered.

She slipped around Catalin and Elyne. Her
hasty strides took her across the room and out the doorway into the
shadows of the stairwell. He hurried in pursuit until Lady Joneta
stepped out of the shadows of the stairwell. Lips pressed together,
she stared him dead in the eye before she turned to follow the
young woman.

Curious, Catalin watched the laird. He halted
in his tracks and scowled at where they disappeared. He muttered
under his breath and whirled on his heels to join the rowdy men
across the room.

“Hmm. It was nice of her to relay his words.
I didna ken Ranald talked long enough to say so much.” Elyne tapped
her finger on her chin.

“Oh.” Catalin’s shoulders slumped. She dumped
the mangled pear on the nearest tabletop and stared at her gooey
hands. She looked around for something to wipe them dry. The ewer
and basins for washing before the meal had long since gone. Naught
remained but her own clothing. She sighed and used her skirts.

‘Twas foolish of her to have been pleased on
hearing Lady Muriele’s words. What was the matter with her? Why
should she care if Ranald thought to send words of comfort? It
wasn’t as if he loved her, or if she loved him. If she lost her
heart to him, he would break it again by not loving her back. A
deep sigh slipped out before she had sense enough to stop it.

Elyne hugged Catalin’s shoulders.

“I’m sure she relayed his message correctly,
Catalin, now I think of it. We could not see his lips clearly. He
likely talked fast being he was so pressed for time.”