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“Hm. I have heard others speak of Raik
staring at a man until the fellow did what he vowed he would not
do. I thought mayhap he spoke so quietly none could hear.” Catalin
wondered if he sensed they spoke about him, for he turned halfway
in his saddle. His intense blue eyes stared into hers and he smiled
before he turned back to face forward.

Catalin took a deep breath of pine-scented
air and shivered, for it reminded her of Ranald’s exciting
scent.

“I look forward to spending these next days
in the open.” It had rained late in the night, but the dawn was
clear with nary a cloud to mar the crystal blue sky. She glanced
down and patted her expanding middle, for the babe had awakened
early and seemed as excited as she.

“Uh huh. I hope we feel the same tomorrow,
and the next day, and the next.”

And those next days passed without any
untoward incidents. It was as if Ranald had swept all problems
away, leaving them clear passage to Hunter Castle. That last day,
Catalin lifted her face to the sun. Mayhap the beauty of the day
was a sign that all would go well. Several leagues later, they rode
out of the forest to see softly rolling hills in the distance with
beech and rowan trees mingled with the pines covering them.
Shimmering waterfalls interrupted the swaying green branches now
and again. What most brought a smile to her lips was the sun
turning droplets in the cascading water’s mist into sparkling
jewels. Water crashing at the foot of the hill added to the roar of
the rapids.

Catalin tilted her head and listened to
thunder in the distance, yet the sky showed not even a hint of
clouds. She first noted it earlier when they stopped to water the
horses. It had been thus for the last league or more. A storm
approached. She watched the sky for the streak of lightning that
should soon follow.

Nothing. The heavy forest thinned as they
drew near Hunter. They rode out onto a grassy area, providing a
clear view of the sky near the edge of the forest. Yet another boom
sounded. This time, the sky did show the change. Her brows near met
in the middle as she studied it. Dust? Or smoke? Why, it must be
both!

The more fool she. It wasn’t thunder but the
sound of battle, though she had never before heard it. She shivered
knowing her home was under siege. Dratted Uncle Hamon! She would
like to ring his hateful neck for putting the people of Hunter
Castle in such dreadful straits.

In the distance ahead, a sea of white
surrounded Hunter Castle’s lands. The white turned into a village
of tents lined in neat rows like streets. Every third row ended
with a larger tent, a banner flying above it.

She recognized Ranald’s tent from afar. The
yellow silk banner caught the wind and flew as if the raptors took
flight on their own.

Far enough away that the castle archers were
unable to pick off the men operating them, trebuchets battered the
tops of Hunter’s curtain walls. After each toss of the trebuchets,
catapults filled with heavy stones harassed the men left standing
there. Great clouds of dust and smoke rose over the grounds.

Sitting closest to the front lines of tents
was what looked to be a large storage area for provisions. The
constant stream of warriors coming and going afforded protection
for it. Up and down the rows, men built cooking fires, and sturdy
women took pots from the carts and preparing food.

Now and again, she saw a familiar face and
stopped to ask if they needed help or if they fared well. Hannah
near jumped out of the cart when she spied an old friend. The woman
walked alongside, chattering and laughing up at Hannah, her hefty
bulk swaying with each step. It struck Catalin that her old nurse’s
eyes lit with laughter for the first time in many months.

Hannah and her friend aided Catalin when they
reached Ranald’s tent. Finn and Raik’s squire carried in two small
chests Catalin had brought with her. One held clean kirtles and
underclothing; the babe’s supplies filled the other.

Inside the tent flap, she skidded to a halt
and gawked around her. She had expected a dirt floor, a rude frame
with a pallet atop for sleeping, and perhaps a small table with
stools set around it.

Instead, carpets covered the floor. At back
and to the right stood a bed ample for two filled with a thick down
mattress. Pillows and wool blankets, and animal skins for extra
warmth, covered it. More animal pelts were at the foot and sides of
the bed. Against the back wall to the left, Finn placed the two
chests alongside Ranald’s own.

A good-sized table held two large pewter
plates, mugs and a heavy iron candleholder. A pitcher filled with
cold water, beads of moisture covering its sides, stood to one
corner. In the middle was an earthenware platter filled with bread,
cheese and cold meat. Instead of stools, two chairs stood on either
side. At the center of the tent, a stout pole added support to the
roof.

She stared, dumbfounded.

“Ye are pleased, Lady?” Finn’s face split in
a wide grin.

“You have done a wonderful job, Finn. Thank
you.”

“Not me, Lady. Sir Ranald ordered every
comfort we could provide.”

o0o

Daylight was near gone when Finn brought the
evening meal. As he readied the table, she sighed and stood, her
cloak slung over her shoulders, to peer out the tent opening. Was
that Ranald? Talking with Lady Muriele? It was not a lover’s
meeting. Aunt Joneta stood behind the lovely woman. Whatever it
was, he was denying her something, for he shook his head. Lady
Muriele’s shoulders slumped, but she nodded and returned to her
tent. When he strode over to Catalin, she was pleased.

“Wife, how fared ye on yer journey?”

Ranald’s gaze lacked warmth as he scanned
down her form then searched her face.

“It was as pleasant as possible. The Chief
provided a comfortable cart.” She fidgeted, sensing the bitter
resentment her words had caused the last time they spoke. Ranald
had spent a lifetime knowing he came up far short of Moridac in his
father’s eyes. Why had she been so foolish as to compare him to his
twin?

“How did you fare with Hunter’s villagers?”
From the people she had seen and talked to, Ranald had been
exceedingly kind, going out of his way to soothe her people.

“Ye need not fear for them, Catalin,” Ranald
helped her to sit across from him. “I met with them and offered
safe passage if they wished to leave. I made it clear I had no
intention of burning their homes, but I did intend to oust Baron
Hamon.”

“How many left? Did you advise them to go to
Letia’s?”

“I had no need. They pledged loyalty to me.
The women and older men supply us with water and do other chores.
The young men put their backs to supplying stones and debris for
the siege engines. It frees more of Raptor’s men to fight.”

Catalin near sighed with relief. She eyed
Ranald as he wolfed down his food. From what she could tell, the
blood splatters over his form were not his own. They finished the
tense meal with polite questions and equally polite answers between
them. Ranald nodded formally when he left and returned to the
field.

o0o

For a fortnight, the steady thump of siege
engines at dawn awakened her. The dullness of the days made them
endless. Long after Catalin slept each night, Ranald quietly
entered the tent. Exhausted, he slid into bed. If she awoke and
started to speak, he put his fingertips on her lips and fell into a
restless slumber. When she awoke the next morn, he had long since
gone.

One evening, she tossed and turned, unable to
get comfortable, until she fell into an exhausted sleep. She knew
not what roused her, for the night sounds were no different. The
steady drone of men talking, laughing and arguing as men do, was
all too familiar now. She paced the tent then went to look
outside.

She spied Ranald riding toward her. The way
he sat his saddle betrayed his fatigue. Unfortunately, Cormac
called to him and the two turned their horses back toward Hunter
Castle looming in the night sky. She returned to bed and had every
intention to remain awake, but her body finally demanded she
sleep.

Catalin dreamt, of all things, about Ranald’s
handsome toes as they had been that day she assisted with his bath.
But this time, as she admired them, they turned into bars in a
window.

A window that was the key to Hunter Castle’s
defeat.

Catalin jolted awake in that false darkness
before dawn. She closed her eyes, picturing the bars in her dream
and remembering where they were. More than once she had sought
solitude in the crypt below the chapel where her beloved mother and
father rested, for Uncle Hamon was fearful of the dead and never
once entered there.

Ranald has asked if she knew of any weakness
in Hunter Castle. She looked over at his pillow. No dent showed
that he had found his way there. She fumbled around on the fur rug
to find her shoes. Wrapped in a cloak, she stepped out of the tent.
The guard snapped to attention.

“Lady Catalin, is aught wrong?” His eyes were
stretched wide, no doubt fearful she was about to give birth.

“Please seek out Sir Ranald and tell him I
must speak to him.”

“Aye, Lady. He is with his sire.” The man
started to turn.

“Wait. Chief Broccin is within the camp?”

The man nodded. “The Chief arrived late last
eve. They have been closeted together since.”

Catalin nodded, and he started out in a trot
toward Raik’s tent. His banner now flew with a dark one alongside
it. No doubt, it was Chief Broccin’s yellow eagle that flew on the
black silk.

She hastened with her dressing, for her
father-by-law was bound to come with Ranald. No sooner had she
pulled her kirtle over her head than Hannah and Ada burst into the
tent.

“Lovey, are you in pain?” Hannah took hold of
Catalin’s shoulders and studied her face for signs of stress.

“Nay, it’s not the babe.” Before she could
speak further, Ranald’s voice sounded outside the tent.

“Ye canna enter until I find what Catalin
needs. I willna allow ye to make her more fearful than she already
is.”

“Me? Ye are the one likely to set the tent
aflame with yer temper.” Broccin snorted, but did not try to
enter.

Ranald burst into the tent and eyed her from
head to toe. “Wife? What caused yer call for me? Are ye in, uh,
distress?”

Catalin shook her head, frowning. She looked
at him as carefully, for even with naught but candlelight, she
noted the dark circle under his left eye. No doubt, the masked eye
gave the same evidence of a lack of sleep. He looked beyond tired.
Her gaze probed over his body for blood or new injuries. Blood
there was, though thankfully, still not his own. Her heart squeezed
knowing after she left he might sustain a serious injury. More than
likely, he would make light of his wounds and might not receive the
proper care in time.

The corners of his mouth twitched the
slightest bit. “Aye, we are both as we last saw each other, though
are ye sure ye have not stuffed a pillow beneath yer clothing for
the bairn to lie against? He seems to grow even at a blink in
time.”

“And you look as if you have neither slept
nor eaten this past sennight.” She turned to Hannah and Ada. “I am
sorry they awakened you, but before you return to your rest, would
you have food sent?”

“No need. I didna hear screams of labor,
Ranald,” Chief Broccin said as he entered the tent, “so I sent a
lad to bring food enough to break our fast. Catalin, ye are well?”
He stepped aside to allow Hannah and Ada to pass through.

“I am most healthy, my lord.” She nodded at
him. It was strange, but Chief Broccin, though he looked tired,
appeared happier and more relaxed than she had ever seen him.

“Were ye frightened that ye called for me?”
Ranald’s gaze again searched her face for signs of pain.

“Nay. You once asked if I knew of a weakness
in Hunter Castle. At the time, I did not recall any. Your toes
teased my memory, but I could not understand why until I had a
dream tonight.”

“You dreamt of Ranald’s toes?” Broccin
snorted with a surprised laugh.

“It was seeing light between them when I
bathed his feet.” Catalin heat spread over her cheeks, for the men
pulled long faces to keep from grinning. She wrinkled her nose at
them. “They reminded me of the crypt beneath the chapel. The rising
sun threw five shadows across the room, for there is a window set
high in the wall with five bars guarding it.”

“In what area is this crypt, and how high?”
Ranald’s eyes lit with interest.

“The chapel is on the third floor of the
keep. It is easy to see. The window is in the shape of an arch; a
stone cross near fills the space. The crypt lies directly beneath
it. The window is very near the corner.”

They stopped talking when Finn and a servant
hurried in with ale, platters of bread, cheese, hard cooked eggs
and apples. Once they left, Ranald filled a pewter plate with ample
amounts of each and shoved it in front of Catalin.

“Eat. Now, those bars. We would need ropes
tied to horses to dislodge them. I dinna think we could do that and
not be seen.” Creases formed between his brows as he thought.

“You would not need ropes. I have stood there
atop a bench to look out over the hills. One day, I lost my balance
and grabbed the bars. They wiggled. The stone around them was
beginning to crumble.”

“Could they have...?” Chief Broccin’s eyes
were alight with interest.

Catalin shook her head, silencing him. “No
one will have noted it. Since my parents’ deaths, only I ventured
to pray there. Uncle fears crypts. He even refused to see the stone
likeness of my father atop his tomb.”

Ranald and his father talked and planned in
between bites of food. Judging from the way Ranald rubbed his belly
and stretched after he’d eaten the last bite, he was well
satisfied.