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“Aunt Joneta!” He jumped up, his mouth agape
on seeing her angry glare.

Muriele scrambled to her feet and stepped
between them. His aunt halted, looking surprised the young woman
was not in distress.

“I am sorry, Lady. Sir Ranald demanded to
know what I would have done if he had accepted my offer.”

The stricken look faded from his aunt’s eyes
and relief spread over her face. Her pent-up breath escaped in a
great whoosh as she dropped the heavy stick.

“I feared I had been wrong when I told
Muriele you would aid her, Ranald.” She raised a shaky hand to wipe
it across her sweating forehead.

“Ye knew Lady Muriele would plead to be my
leman? What game do ye play?” He shook his head. “Aunt, how could
ye?”

Annoyed that they had tricked him, he scowled
and glared down at her discarded weapon. “Huh! Ye meant to hit me
over the head with that?”

“Only if you took advantage of Muriele’s
offer.” She grimaced. “And I would only have whacked your arse to
make you let her be.”

His left brow rose. His mouth twitched.
“Would that not have aided a rutting man?” He shook his head,
ridding the thought from it. “Ye are both making my head ache. What
was this about? Make haste with the telling. I dinna have time to
waste.”

Muriele shifted her feet, looking ashamed. “I
had to know if you were as honorable as I thought and as Lady
Joneta told me. The quickest way was to find if you were easily
swayed by lust.” A blush swept over her creamy cheeks and spread
down her neck. “What I told you before was true. I had to flee my
home. I fear those who threaten me will comb all of Scotland until
I am run to ground.”

“Ye expect me to protect ye from an unknown
force?”

Ranald eyed the beauty. She had said she was
without family. Was she fleeing a lover? A cruel husband? Someone
who would not cease hunting for her until she was back in his
possession. The thought made him pause.

“Is it yer husband ye seek to escape?” If so,
he would have no choice but to release her to him if he found
her.

“Nay. I have no husband.” She shook her head,
her gaze not wavering from his eyes. “Ye must cross the border. I
have heard Lady Elyne and I are to accompany yer wife.”

“How have ye learned of this so quickly?”

His aunt chuckled and smiled at him. “More
than a few people heard you argue with Catalin last eve, Ranald.
Those who did have told the rest.”

Cruddy Lucifer! Did the entire castle know
each time he had words with his wife? As vocal as Catalin was in
her pleasure, they for certain knew when he swived her. Mayhap he
should move their bedchamber to a remote area. Like atop the wall
tower that housed the supplies and weapons. By night, it would be
most private.

“I would ask yer help once we cross the
border.” Fear lurked in the depths of Muriele’s eyes as she twisted
her fingers into knots. Her quivering lips made her appear even
more vulnerable. “I plan to seek refuge in a convent where no one
would dare follow me.”

“Jesu! A convent? What bug worms its way into
a woman’s mind that makes her beg lodging with the good sisters? Do
ye think ye will live a life of plenty? Ye must have an ample dowry
to enter there else ye will be scrubbing floors, cleaning pig sties
and grubbing in the earth squashing worms.”

He doubted Catalin had not known of Muriele’s
plight when she mentioned biding with the good sisters. If he had
correctly read his wife’s expressions when sighting Muriele, she
had no sisterly love for this slender beauty. They were as unlike
as a spitting wild cat and a sleek white wolf, though both leapt to
do battle when danger threatened.

“If it meant I would be where no Highlander
could ever find me, I would joyfully do so.”

Muriele’s chin thrust out, her face
determined, as she stood tall and squared her shoulders. She had
changed before his eyes from helpless lass to a warrior woman ready
to take up a sword and flay it about her—should she have need. He
sighed and turned to Joneta.

“Ye shielded her from Moridac? And now
Father?”

“Aye, Ranald. Though it is my brother who
proves most persistent. After ye take Hunter Castle back from
Smelly Hamon,” Joneta’s eyes twinkled saying the name, “it would
take no great effort to provide Muriele with an escort to the
nearest convent.”

She nodded and smiled as if he had already
agreed to their plan.

He shook his head and glared back, showing
them he didn’t like their wily stunt and his was the final say.

“The Sisters of Mary Magdalen lies south of
Hunter between it and de Burgh’s Seton.” Ranald rubbed his chin,
thinking.

“Why, it would take only a day once we are at
Hunter.” Muriele’s eyes brightened like some inner sun had risen
behind them.

“Hmpf. For truth, a most treacherous day’s
travel. One needs to take a roundabout way around Baron Rupert’s
lands to reach the convent. It’s why I sent twelve of our own men
to supplement de Burgh’s escorts when they returned home.”

Shadows faded the light in Muriele’s eyes as
her shoulders slumped. That glimmer of fear lurking in their depths
broke through again.

“I didn’t say I would not see ye safely
there, Lady. Once all has been set aright at Hunter and I can spare
a goodly escort, I will see ye settled at the Sisters with an ample
dowry. Ye won’t have to pinch worms for yer keep.”

Her reaction pleased him, for hope lit her
face again. What could this comely woman have done to cause a man
to hunt her like a wild animal?

“Thank you, Sir Ranald.”

Before he thought to fend her off, Muriele
sprang forward and placed a hearty kiss on his cheek, near knocking
off his mask in her eagerness. He jumped back like she had bit him.
His hand covered the mask as he swiftly settled it into place. All
the while, his left eye glared at his aunt. The kiss was not his
doing, in case she thought of retrieving the branch and whacking
him with it.

“Enough of wasting my time. If I dinna see to
the men, there will be no army crossing the border once we get
word, no siege will start and certainly no escort to any
convent.”

He frowned and looked each woman in the eye,
pausing a moment doing so. Noting by their hesitant faces that they
had grasped his message, he nodded and strode away grumbling about
annoying women taking up his much-needed time.

o0o

“Monday?” Catalin could not believe Elyne.
“We leave in less than two days, yet your brother said not one word
of it until now!”

Catalin kicked a shoe so hard it slammed
against the just-closed door. She jumped when it crashed back open
and Ranald stood there, his hands propped at his waist, scowling at
her.

“If ye would rather indulge yer anger than
prepare to leave, I am sure Father would be glad to have company
these next months.”

“Could you not have told me yesterday? Or
even earlier today? Or were you too busy rutting with Lady Muriele
amongst the apple trees to think of it?”

Ranald’s cold stare was like adding tinder to
a blaze that had started after seeing him stride from the darkness
of the trees brushing dirt, leaves and twigs from his knees. A
scant two heartbeats later, Lady Muriele had appeared.

Catalin’s nostrils thinned; her hands
clenched.

“Moridac would never have flaunted his leman
in front of his wife,” she yelled.

A heated force, much like someone’s hands on
her shoulders, pushed her back until she near staggered.

A bestial growl rumbled from Ranald’s chest.
Eyes narrowed with contempt, he spun and stalked out of the
half-opened door. The force of its slam made Catalin’s ears
ring.

Ranald’s boots striking the steps gave
warning of his anger as he stormed down the stairwell.

Anger sizzling through Ranald’s veins sent
waves of tension so strong its energy would shove tables, make
chairs fly against the walls or, God forbid, might even direct
itself against Catalin herself.

His temper had not cooled by the time he
burst out into the courtyard swarming with soldiers, horses, carts
and even oxen.

Ahead of Ranald’s every step, dust rippled in
waves and lifted into the air. Feathers flew about as fowls
squawked in fright, flapping their wings and taking great running
leaps to escape him. Buckets toppled, and as they rolled, the
splashing water formed muddy rivulets. Startled horses, their eyes
rolling in fear, stomped and shied away until their surprised
riders brought them under control.

Ranald heard only blurred sounds. When a
hound yipped and sprang out of his path, he took note of footsteps
pounding behind him.

“Hold, Ranald. Hold!”

Ranald stopped. Squeezed his eyes tight.

“What has ye in such a fury ye near destroyed
all in yer path?” Raik’s ready grin spread across his lips, but his
eyes flashed concern.

“Naught that would keep me from my duty.”
Ranald’s eyes hardened; his mouth set in a grim line. He scanned
all around him, taking note of the turmoil and uneasy glances cast
his way.

Cormac left his position in line and rode
over to him, a question in his eyes.

“Start out,” Ranald ordered. “I will join ye
soon.”

“Aye, sir.” Cormac whirled his destrier, its
great hooves stamping as he led it to the head of the column
winding toward the barbican.

Ranald studied the line passing before him to
see everything was as it should be. Wagons filled with food,
supplies and equipment for building a tent village, rolled ahead of
others filled with weapons and armor. Sturdier wagons lugged
battering rams, and finally, fatted oxen slowly tugged wagons laden
with sections of trebuchets and catapults they would assemble at
the siege camp. Foot soldiers marched beside and between them,
ready to lend a hand. To the rear of the long row, mounted warriors
waited to file in, their spirits high as they looked forward to a
good brawl.

“‘Twas right kind of King Stephan’s subjects
to be fighting amongst themselves.” Ranald rubbed the back of his
neck, easing his tense muscles.

“Aye. Our men did a thorough job of pricking
their tempers.” Raik grinned and nodded toward the moving line in
front of them. “Cormac, and the men needed to set up the siege
camp, will soon pass the heavy equipment. Dubne will guard the oxen
and keep them moving.”

“That leaves Father and Domnall to protect
Raptor, though Lucifer himself knows Father is feared enough no one
dares venture close.” Ranald gave a wry smile.

Hearing Finn clear his voice, he turned to
find him and another squire waiting to help him don his battle
gear. He nodded and leaned over for them to pull on his heavy
hauberk. Once it was in place, he stood tall and rolled his
shoulders to help settle it more comfortably around his body.

Ha. As if comfort was possible while wearing
mail. He hooked his thumb beneath the mask, lifting it off. He
handed it to Finn then slipped the helmet over his head. Holding
the nasal guard and the back of the helmet, he adjusted it before
nodding his satisfaction.

Ranald had gone to their bedchamber to tell
Catalin he would lead this first siege party.

His cousin could tell her instead.

“Make sure the women are ready to leave
before dawn on Sunday. Dinna let them dally and delay ye.” Ranald
turned his face aside.

“I thought ye set out to tell Catalin
earlier? Surely she didn’t say anything so worrisome it pricked yer
temper?”

Ranald snorted. “I had not the chance to tell
her. And would ye not be angry to find ye came up lacking when yer
wife compared ye to...” He stopped the words he had not meant to
say. Looking down, he noted Raik’s surprised expression and
scowled.

“Tsk. Do ye forget I lack a wife,
cousin?”

His mouth set in a grim line, Ranald jerked
his sword belt so it would not hinder his mounting. “If Catalin
wants to think the worst of me, she is a fool. I dinna easily abide
fools.”

The stable master handed him Satan’s reins.
As soon as Ranald swung up into the saddle, he began to relax. This
was where he belonged. Where everyone accepted him for what he was,
for what he could do. He was away from foolish women and their
prying eyes.

“See ye leave on time.”

Ranald jerked his head in a nod to Raik and
led Satan’s Spawn over to Dougald patiently waiting at the passage
through the barbican. Soon they had galloped over the drawbridge
and into the cloud of dust kicked up by the advance army. As he
passed them, Ranald’s critical eyes scanned the men and supplies
trailing across the land beyond the curtain walls. He and Dougald
fell in with Cormac behind the standard-bearer flying Ranald’s
snapping yellow banner with the twin black eagles.

o0o

Before dawn fully arose two days later,
Catalin glanced up at the walkway over the barbican. Chief Broccin
was not pleased to see her leave, though he had provided her with a
small cart with brightly colored cushions and thickly padded seats.
She had thanked him for his thoughtfulness and assured him she
would fare well riding in it. She waved at him, for he had seemed
truly worried over her.

Elyne sat opposite her, her face uplifted as
the sun sent its first weak rays over a distant mountain. Lady
Muriele rode in another cart bigger than the first, carrying
Hannah, Aunt Joneta and Ada. Thick cushions and padding covered the
two benches along its sides. Stacked on one end were blankets
aplenty for their comfort.

“If Father could have kept ye at Raptor, he
would have done so.” Elyne grinned at her. “It isn’t often that I
have heard Raik yell as loudly as Father.”

“Aye. With each breath, your father’s words
softened until they faded away. You were standing close. What did
Raik say that convinced him?”

“He didn’t speak. He went very still; not a
muscle moved, not even in his face.” Elyne frowned and tilted her
head, looking puzzled. “He stared into Father’s eyes so long I
didn’t know how he kept from blinking. Father relaxed and said Raik
should not set too fast a pace, for it would cause ye discomfort
and harm the babe.”