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His heart twisted. He blamed himself for
having accepted the lad’s wish to join the men at Rupert’s castle.
He had said he was the most agile of the lot and could make his way
over any wall or through any maze of hazards. And he had. The least
Ranald could do was to look after his widow and child. He would
find a way.

The first thing he could do would be a
kindness to the widow. He did not want her to see her beloved as he
was now. He turned to Raik at his elbow, and drew him aside but a
few paces.

“Seek Elyne and Catalin. Have them take
Egan’s wife to her dwelling.”

“She will want to prepare her husband’s body
for burial.” Raik raised a brow, hesitating.

“No loving wife should see her husband in
such a state of horror. I have tended many a man for burial. Go
through Moridac’s finest garments and bring clothing for a fitting
tribute. Her last sight of him willna be the terrible thing she
would see now.”

Ranald watched as Raik went over to Catalin
and Elyne and whispered to them. Both women sprang forward, and in
speedy fashion, they whisked the woman and child off, leading her
to the men’s barracks, where a corner tower housed the men who had
families. Raik turned and bounded up the stairs to the keep, intent
on carrying out Ranald’s second request.

It took but a short time for the men to carry
the body to the solar and to ask Aunt Joneta to assist him. By the
time she fell in step with him, he had heard her order adequate
warm water, soap kept for esteemed guests and drying cloths.

“Ye prefer no other eyes see the lad?” She
nodded as she asked, not expecting an answer.

They entered the solar, and before they
uncovered the body, he sent everyone but his father and Aunt Joneta
from the room. Once the supplies and Raik returned with the
clothing, they bathed the body. Before Ranald and Aunt Joneta set
to stitching and closing all gaping wounds, they cleansed all
traces of blood away. Never had he worked so hard to make a man
presentable for burial.

His sire surprised him by remaining silent.
When Ranald repaired the gap in Egan’s side, his sire turned on his
heels and fled. Ranald glanced up, and seeing Raik nod, knew the
wound reminded Broccin of Moridac’s injury.

As they were clothing the lad in Moridac’s
finery, he acknowledged a voice filling the room that had been
there from his first touch on the battered body. The voice
hesitated for a beat, then resumed. Ranald had unconsciously been
singing the prayers for the dead.

They clothed the body in a pale blue shirt,
beneath a long, two-toned suede tunic, one side a brilliant blue,
the other as light as the sky in spring. A seamstress had decorated
the tunic with crosses done in colorful threads in opposite color
of blue on either side. Soft stockings covered his feet. Raik had
gone to the lad’s home and brought his shoes, for they were smaller
than most.

Clean black hair crowned the pale, peaceful
face. All the wounds were sealed. Ranald’s work on his face was so
skilful no one would have known Egan had been sightless before
death.

“We can do no more,” Ranald said as he stood
back. “Have them bring in the carrier.”

Raik opened the door to allow men to carry in
a flat board with three wooden rods protruding from either side.
They transferred the body to it, and at Ranald’s nod, carefully
made their way to the church.

Ranald gazed at Raik, then down at his own
clothing. “Am I as unsightly as ye?”

“Hm, now, if that which ye call unsightly was
ten times more, then I would say aye. Ye need a good bath, cousin.”
Raik rolled his eyes. “Come to think on it, ye may need more than
one.”

Hearing someone approach behind him, Ranald
turned.

“Ahem.” Finn cleared his throat, fidgeting
from one foot to the other, his hands behind his back. “Lady
Catalin has already ordered a hot bath for ye.” He brought his
hands forward and handed Ranald his mask. He had freshly cleaned
it. “If ye no longer wish me to be yer squire, I ken it would be no
more than right.”

“Nay. ‘Twas not yer fault I did not remove my
helm before we came to the drawbridge. I canna wear them both.” He
reached over and took the mask. “Go join the lasses. I noted cook’s
daughter with a special look in her eye on seeing ye. Be
gentle.”

Ranald strode from the room and climbed the
stairs. Outside his bedchamber, he took a deep breath and stiffened
before he thrust the door wide.

“Would you like me to stand betwixt ye and my
brother? He looked to be in a sour mood.” Elyne glanced sideways at
Catalin as they returned across the bailey after tending the new
widow until her family arrived from the village.

“Sour mood? It is not me who needs
protecting. If you stand between us, it will be to protect your
prideful brother.” Catalin kicked a stone for added emphasis.

“Truly? Prideful? In what way?” Elyne laughed
at Catalin’s scowling face.

“That fool mask he has worn since returning
home.”

“Ye dinna think he has need of it?”

“Need? It’s naught but vanity. All these
months I thought he must be frightful beyond thinking.” She kicked
out again, thinking it was but a small stick in her path. “Ow!
Lucifer’s ba...” She hopped up and down. Her words cut off. She
near repeated a curse Ranald muttered afore dawn one day when he
rammed his bare foot into the edge of his clothing chest.

“Ye were not affrighted? I heard ye gasp when
ye saw him.”

“Hmpf. The smell of blood was so strong I
thought he had sustained an injury.”

“Aye. I feared so too.”

“I was not truly honest afore,” Catalin
blurted.

“Oh. So you did find his face, uh, terrible?”
Elyne’s voice was low, with hints of disappointment.

“Not at first. His scars were not the cause.
Seeing blood splattered over his flesh did turn my stomach. What
made my heart cringe was the utter ruthlessness of his face. He
looked at me with such anger and disgust.”

A puff of wind blew over the terraced
gardens, wafting the sweet smell of roses and honeysuckle to them.
She took a deep breath, hoping to dampen the anger building in
her.

“And did you note how he looked from me to
Lady Muriele? He’s in love with her.”

“What? Ye read that from a look?” Elyne’s
brows shot up.

“Aye. From the look! His face lost that taut,
mean way he scowled at me. It softened. He did not turn from her.
Oh, no! He let
her
look him full in the face! He never has
allowed me to.”

Catalin stopped in her tracks. She did not
like this strange feeling. If her words came from someone else, she
would have accused them of being jealous. It was not possible. She
did not love Ranald. Had only followed through with the wedding to
save her child. How could she be jealous?

Catalin took another step, then stopped again
and shook her head. But if she were not jealous, would she not be
gently shoving him in the beauty’s direction to satisfy his manly
needs?

Wouldn’t she? She had her answer. She kicked
the ground again.

“Crud!”

Hearing Elyne chuckle, she frowned over at
her and decided it was best to keep her tongue clamped behind her
teeth, as these Scots were fond of saying. She squared her
shoulders and thrust out her chin. She beckoned the first servant
she spied.

“Have heated water and the big bathing tub
brought to Lord Ranald’s bedchamber.”

“Aye, mistress.” The servant bobbed and
started off.

“Um, wait.” Catalin touched the woman’s
shoulder, and she stopped and turned. “Best they bring extra water.
It’s likely he will have need of it.”

She sighed and watched the woman turn and
take several steps to do her bidding. Mayhap he had not eaten? She
followed the servant and grabbed her shoulder again.

“Yes, me lady?”

“Food. Tell cook to prepare a platter of the
capons we had at the noon meal, some fresh bread, cheese and wine.”
She tilted her head and thought of what else had been on the table.
“Fruit. Apples and pears.”

Why did the woman not hurry to carry out her
requests? Catalin looked at her and raised her brows.

“I thought mayhap ye were nae done with yer
lists, me lady.”

“That will be all, thank you.” Catalin felt
heat rise to flush her face.

“Um, ye are really angry at him, aren’t ye?”
Elyne dared to grin. “Do ye plan to push his head beneath the water
and drown him? Nay? Mayhap ye will kill him with mouthfuls of food,
then?”

Catalin sniffed. “He had an odor. I hate the
smell of blood, and I could smell it above horse sweat, leather and
metal.”

“Oh, aye. He must be clean when ye feed him
to death, right? A fitting end for a man who looked mean.” Elyne’s
laughter floated out behind her when she strolled over to Joneta,
who had beckoned her.

Catalin hurried off to their bedchamber, for
she wanted to be there to see they placed the tub near a brazier of
coals. Though the weather had been warm of late, inside the keep
was always as cold as a winter’s day outside.

She waited by the window opening and spied
the men carrying Egan’s body to the church. She had the servants
place the tub where she wanted it, and made sure they had brought
an ample supply of hot water.

Maids brought the food she had ordered. She
arrayed it on the table, appreciating the delicious aroma wafting
from the warmed capons and the hot bread.

Ranald’s savage mood would ease once he had a
hot bath, warm food and wine, wouldn’t it?

Heavy footsteps approached the door.
Hesitated. Mayhap it was not Ranald?

The door jerked open. Aye, it was Ranald. And
from the looks of him, he was still in a fury over her supposed
horror. He spied her standing there and jerked up his hand to stab
a finger at her.

“Get out!”

“Nay!”

Catalin steeled herself to defy him. His
angry words felt like a solid presence, for their force pushed at
her shoulders much like his hands buffeted her there.

“Ye dare defy me?” Ranald’s eyes narrowed,
his nostrils thinned, as he took a threatening step toward her.

Catalin swallowed and set her feet firmly,
for the closer he came, the more she felt his force.

“I do not defy. My duty as your wife is to be
here. Your bath is waiting, and I doubt you had aught to eat or
drink this past day.”

“Ah. A bath.” Ranald stalked another step
closer. “Why do ye flinch? Do ye fear me, or is it the odor of
blood that is not to yer liking?”

“Nay, I do not.” Catalin swallowed and gazed
down at her feet, unable to look him in the eyes when she lied.

“Nay? Nay to which? Fear me or the odor of
blood?”

Her head jerked up at the sound of his voice,
so quiet, near a purr and far more menacing than any shout. Had he
been a wild animal stalking her, he could not have looked more
menacing. Oh, aye, she feared him. The name Black Raptor well
suited him. If his black clad arm rose to smite her alongside the
head, it would be like an eagle’s capture of a field mouse in his
talons.

“Well? Do ye not have an answer?” Ranald’s
eyes shot heated sparks, his lips jerked as he stalked ever
closer.

Catalin’s heart tripped. Aye, she feared. She
feared so much she could not move. His eyes pinned her, waiting for
his answer. Ever she had heard not to let a wild animal scent your
terror. But how could one not? His nostrils flared. He knew, as
surely as a beast would know.

“It is the blood,” she near shouted.

Ah, it was better the odor she hated than
that she feared he would hurt her.

Ranald stopped in his tracks. His eyes
narrowed. He turned his face slightly to the right, the better to
see her more clearly with his left eye without the mask narrowing
his vision.

Catalin’s face blanched, and had the blood
that left it been freed of the veins holding it, it would have
drenched her yellow tunic. There was one way to find out what she
feared most, him or his bloodied garments.

He braced his legs apart, grabbed the hem of
his tunic and whisked it over his head. His eyes bored into the
fabric as it sailed across the space between them and thudded
against her chest. Without hesitation, she caught it.

Nay, she didna fear blood. He watched her
eyes widen with horror when she noted his bloodstained chest. Her
gaze searched. Did she seek wounds? When she found none, she
clasped a hand to her lips, no doubt to keep from screeching.

“Aye. Ye fear me. Would ye hear from my lips
what horror I have done this past eve?” His voice was near a
whisper.

He watched Catalin struggle to swallow. He
held her eyes with his gaze, not allowing her to look away. If she
found him so loathsome when looking upon his face below in the
courtyard, then she had best know all of him.

“Ye dinna answer again, so I take it as an
aye.” He moved his hand in a slow, circular motion over his body.
“So much blood, I dinna ken where one man’s started and another’s
ended.” His breath hitched, remembering. “Young Egan didna bleed
much, for Rupert’s attentions had near drained the lad’s body.”

Catalin’s hands fisted tightly around the
foul tunic.

“Now, Rupert. Hm, he is another matter.” He
tilted his head again. “The streaks near my shoulders? ‘Tis his. I
thought mayhap he was envious of my father’s work, the way he
stared at me. I obliged him.”

Catalin moved back one small step. He
advanced the same measured step forward.

“Dinna worry. He will heal nicely and should
not scar overmuch. I was most careful that no dirt fouled his
wounds.”

Why would she not leave? He wanted to scream
at her to leave before he spilled his mind of all the things he had
done.

“I wanted Rupert to carry the same wounds he
had carved into the young man’s flesh, but we couldna chance such a
lengthy visit. Too, I needed to keep him alive, always to remember
my tender ministrations.”