Forbidden (31 page)

She gulped again, no doubt hoping he had said
all he would reveal.

“Would ye like to know the last carving that
sent blood dripping to my elbows...?

He did not need another word. Catalin spun
and near flew to the door; her hand clutched the latch. He sprang
forward and was behind her when she tried to jerk it open. He
slapped his hand over hers on the latch, held it closed. He pressed
himself against her back and nuzzled his lips at her ear

“Aye. Ye fear me,” he whispered. “I knew it
was so when ye caught the tunic.” He squeezed his eyes shut, sighed
and opened them again. “Ah, Catalin. Rupert is Lucifer himself. Had
I been a comely man, a man still with Moridac’s face, ye would not
have flinched on hearing what justice I meted out.”

He stepped back from her, moved her aside and
took the tunic from her slack hand. With a mighty heave, he slung
the door open.

“Go!”

Catalin wanted to run, but she did not. Not
until the door slammed behind her. Elyne’s bedchamber was only two
rooms away. Without asking leave, she burst into the room most
likely looking like a brainsick woman from the surprise on Elyne’s
face.

“Saints! Catalin, ye near startled me out the
window.” Elyne’s hand was at her throat.

“Elyne,” Catalin halted and held her hand
over her trembling lips hoping to still them.

“What is it? Ye look like ye have seen a
ghost.”

“Nay, not a simple ghost. Mayhap the specter
of a man bent on living up to his ruined face. Though, from the
agony in his eyes, he is fighting it.”

Catalin held on to that flicker in the deep
blackness of Ranald’s eyes. The look of torment.

“I canna believe Ranald would ever do
anything near as vile as Father’s cruelty.” Elyne shook her head,
frowning.

“You have been amongst everyone below. Are
they not whispering of the terrible things they claim he has
done?”

“Terrible? Aye, mayhap if done by a man like
Rupert who takes joy in them. Nay, all are bragging that
their
Black Raptor is a cunning master. They say that when
word of his vengeance spreads, never will another man dare to anger
him.”

“He spoke to me of the horrors he has done,
of the blood spilled by his hands.”

Catalin’s flesh tingled, still feeling his
soft breath on her ear when he accused her of flinching from him in
fear.

“Ranald heard the gasp I uttered when I saw
his face beneath the helm. Elyne, my horror was from knowing what
terrible hate had caused his father to ruin him so.”

“Aye, I knew. But he didn’t see the look of
scorn ye aimed at Father.”

Catalin frowned, trying to put her feelings
in words. “Ranald and Moridac were so comely that had they not been
male, all would deem them beautiful.”

Elyne laughed and nodded. “More than once, a
lad teased me saying I was the spotted hen and the twins were
peacocks. Especially Moridac with his love of bright colors!”

The sharp noise of a door slamming and the
striking of booted feet in the hallway startled them. Catalin knew.
Ranald was leaving. Had he time to bathe and eat? Mayhap one, but
not the other. She opened the door and stepped out of the room in
time to see his black cape billow behind him as he plunged into the
stairway’s darkness.

Inside their chamber, both window shutters
stood wide. A crisp breeze fought the foul odors lingering in the
room as smoke made its way out into the night.

“What burns here?” Elyne stared at the
brazier standing close to the window. “Ah. His tunic. Weighted down
with hot coals.”

“’Tis likely he would never want to wear it
again.” Catalin knew that had he not destroyed it but asked to have
it washed, afterward she would have packed it deep at the bottom of
his clothing chest in hopes it would forever stay unworn.

“He didn’t eat.” She frowned at the table.
Not a bite was gone, nor had a drop of wine passed his lips.

Hearing voices below, she almost leapt to
peer down into the darkening bailey. Finn was leading Satan to
Ranald, who stood speaking with Raik. The wind lifted their words
now and again.

“Did he say aught to ye about leaving?” Elyne
turned to study Catalin’s face.

“Nay.” Her nape tingled, instinct warning
her. She jerked back from the opening.

Satan stomped and snorted, the way he did
when Ranald mounted. She waited until she heard the sharp clop,
clop, clop of Satan’s hooves on the cobblestones before she dared
look again. Ranald’s cape flew behind him as he disappeared through
the barbican.

When Satan burst out on the other side onto
the drawbridge, Ranald’s cape billowed wide on either side. For
truth, it appeared like the wings of a giant black bird that sat on
the steed’s back.

o0o

Ranald pushed Satan hard, riding into the
night. It was fortunate the only dangerous part of the ride was the
forested lands west of Raptor. He traveled them before true
darkness fell. The rest of the way to Kelso, the land was near
clear of hazards.

After dawn, he heard other horsemen and
thought it wise to leave the road. He walked Satan over to wait
behind the sheltering trees. He listened to the boastful talk of
men returning to their cottages after carousing all night in a
village east of Castle Douglas. They seemed peaceful enough.
Nonetheless, he thought it wise to bide his time until they were
far ahead before he mounted Satan and continued.

He ignored the black clouds and steady
drizzle that fell all morn. Mayhap he was a coward to run from
Raptor. He could have made his confession to Father Martin, but it
would not do. The priest was far too timid from years of dealing
with the laird. Ranald didn’t want to brush off his sins as if they
meant naught. If he asked if he was doomed to suffer the agonies of
Hell when he died, Abbot Aymer would tell him the truth.

Through the night, his mind had stumbled over
all he wished to confess to the abbot. He didn’t know which misdeed
to speak of first. He had no sooner decided to relay the events in
the order they happened, than he spied Kelso Abbey looming against
the black sky.

Rain had darkened the walls surrounding the
abbey, making it mysterious and forbidding.

To Ranald, it was a beckoning refuge.

o0o

“Catalin, ye have been pacing the wall walk
near most of the morn. Ye don’t even blink yer eyes. Peering at the
woods beyond won’t make my foolish brother appear.” Elyne sighed
and patted Catalin’s shoulder.

“Drats! He has been gone three days. You are
a fine one to tell me not to worry. Whenever I come atop the
barbican, you have been here with me all but for a wee bit of
time.” Catalin made shushing noises and patted her stomach. “The
babe is not sleeping much this day.”

“Could it be because his mother is standing
overlong?” Elyne grinned down at her. “Come, Cook made blueberry
scones. She knows how ye like them hot out of the oven so the
clotted cream ye pile on them drips over yer chin. She says ye near
purr when ye lick yer lips.”

“Cook is as fanciful as the lot of you,”
Catalin grumbled. She caught herself, for she near flicked out her
tongue to wet her lips thinking of the hot scones.

Wind flirted with their skirts as they went
down the stairs into the bailey, blending Elyne’s forest green
kirtle with Catalin’s sunny yellow. Catalin took a deep breath,
savoring the scent of pines sweetening the air. She made a face
when the wind fell, for the odor of the stable boys carting horse
droppings away was most pungent on warm days.

She ambled for another few steps, stopped and
looked aside at Elyne. “Have you noted the size of Ranald’s
bed?”

“Aye. It’s most ample.”

They stopped to watch children laughing and
chasing a squawking chicken away from the well. Elyne jumped aside
when its flapping wings lifted it near as high as their waists as
it flew between them. Catalin grinned and flicked off a stray
feather stuck on her skirt.

“If I lie across it and stretch my arms above
my head, my fingers still do not reach the other side.”

“Aye. Ranald must feel swallowed in it. From
what he has said, a monk’s pallet is meager.”

“He has talked to you of Kelso?” Other than
the herb garden, not once had he mentioned his surroundings at
Kelso to her.

“Aye. He said his bed was a wood frame with
slats, covered with a straw-stuffed pallet. The room had a small
table and stool, and a peg or two on the wall to hold a cloak and
mayhap a wide-brimmed hat to shield their tonsures during
summer.”

“Hm. Did you note Ranald’s head?” Catalin
sidestepped to avoid treading on the tail of a scrawny dog sunning
himself.

“Aye, of course. How could I not. His shaved
pate was there for all to see.” Elyne grinned at her.

“I meant the color of it. It was a glowing
brown like his face. I do not think he bothered much with a hat.”
Catalin frowned, and looked daggers at the ground as she walked.
“All those years, he saw no need to wear a mask.”

“How did ye know?” Elyne’s eyes helped ask
the question.

“Ada learned it from the tanner. He and the
armorer made the mask. They said both sides of his face were golden
brown. She told Aunt Joneta, who then told Hannah, who in turn told
me.”

“That does not seem strange to me. A man
would not feel the need to hide from other men.” Elyne
shrugged.

“He does not hide from Lady Muriele. He met
her eyes after giving me a look of scorn. He let her gaze at his
face without even so much as a flinch.” Catalin clamped her lips
together and swallowed a curse.

“Hm. Mayhap he feels naught for her and does
not care how she sees him.”

Catalin reached for the handle on the massive
door of the keep, only to have a man’s arm snake around her to pull
it wide. She glanced over her shoulder to see who it was.

“Thank you, Sir Kerr.” Catalin nodded at him
as she passed through. Kerr continued on, heading for the stairwell
leading below to the storage rooms.

“There you be, lovey.” Hannah bustled over in
the great hall and peered down at her face. “You look pinched. Too
much standing in the wind and not enough food in your belly, that’s
what it is. Sit yourself down and rest while I fetch those scones
you favor.” She turned and was gone, walking as fast and agile as a
woman half her age.

Catalin wanted to stretch her arms and yawn,
but did not. Sir Giric and several men came in behind them,
buffeting and jostling each other to benches alongside the wall.
Giric called for a servant to bring them ale, his slurred words
sounding as if he had already had several cups too many.

Elyne frowned and led Catalin over to the
fireplace, where several chairs occupied the cleared space before
it. The men were talking, their voices muted. Catalin’s flesh
prickled. Every time she glanced up, Sir Giric smiled at her. Was
it her fault? On his first smile, she had hesitatingly returned it.
Did he believe she was seeking his attention? She lowered her head
and kept it there until Hannah returned with a tray of hot
blueberry scones, clotted cream and cold milk.

Catalin rose, pretending it was only to save
Hannah having to serve her, and went to the round table between
them for her repast.

“Here you go, lovey. You feed that wee one
now else he will give your belly a proper kick.” Hannah brushed her
hands together, ridding them of crumbs before hustling from the
room.

Catalin took her scones and milk and chose
another chair, its back to the men. She was glad when the men
lowered their voices to a whisper.

“Do you think a babe can taste what a mother
eats?” Catalin eyed her fingers dripping with blueberry-stained
clotted cream and licked them. She tilted her head at Elyne and
waited for her answer.

“I dinna know. Does he wiggle with pleasure
like ye do when ye eat something ye like above all else?”

Catalin’s brows rose. “I do not wiggle.”

“Aye. Ye do. And ye licked yer fingers just
moments ago, too. Like a contented barn cat after feasting on a
plump mouse.”

“Did not.” Catalin sat motionless,
concentrating to feel the bairn’s movements. Elyne’s gasp drew her
attention at the same time a man’s words seeped in.

“Giric, did ye ever hear of a monk cutting
the ballocks off a man? Then holding the bloody balls afore the
man’s eyes?” The man’s voice sounded deliberately loud and clear.
“I heard Rupert near choked on his tongue, trying to scream. It’s a
shame I wasna there.”

“Aye,” Giric answered. “He did what Rupert
has done to many another. Ha! It was most fitting.”

“Our Chief’s son earned being dubbed the
Black Raptor. Not a man in fifty leagues will dare anger him.” The
bearded warrior rubbed his hands together. “I’m right glad to
follow him.”

Catalin swallowed and near choked. She held
her breath, staring at Elyne. Did the man say what she thought she
heard? She shook her head. Ranald could not do such a thing. Could
he? Even these rough men, whose deeds she never wanted to hear
about, seemed in awe of Ranald.

Mayhap they were wrong. Should she confront
them and demand to know where they had heard such?

“Come.” Elyne held out her hand, urging
Catalin to rise. She glared over at the boisterous warriors. “Ye
men should nae be talking of such where a lass can hear.”

Sir Giric rose and came to stand beside
Catalin. He offered his wrist to her. “Come, my lady. I would
escort ye from the sounds of such crudeness.”

Catalin placed her hand on his sleeve, the
warmth of his flesh beneath soothing to her cold fingers.

“Thank you, Sir Giric.”

Catalin hurried her footsteps, wishing she
could cleanse her mind of all she had heard. At the door, she
nodded her thanks and dropped her hand from his arm. As she and
Elyne passed an arrow slit on their way up the stairwell, chills
chased down her back. Was it from the stiff breeze passing through,
or was it learning of Ranald’s cruelty?