Forbidden (38 page)

“Will ye come with us, Catalin?” He looked at
his squire, who stood at the tent opening. “Finn, I would have Lady
Catalin wear yer cape. Hamon’s men are used to seeing ye beside me,
so they willna note her.”

Before he finished speaking, Finn had handed
him the cloak, and Ranald settled it about her shoulders. He pulled
the hood up to cover her hair, then leaned back and studied
her.

“Aye. It will do.” He glanced at the edges
bunched on the floor and shook his head. “Once ye are on the horse,
no one will note it is too big for ye.”

“Ha! They will note if she does not ride
astride.” Broccin frowned. “Lass, do ye think ye can handle
it?”

“Astride? I would relish it.” The idea
appealed to her, for she had oft thought men looked far more
comfortable than women on a horse.

Soon after, they had mounted and were slowly
weaving their way around the village of tents. Men scurried about
in every direction, readying for the days work. Others must have
worked throughout the night, for they had piled so many mounds of
heavy rocks and debris high behind each siege engine that she
wondered if they left any stone in the ground.

Ranald was seeing his father in a different
light. He appeared relaxed and looking forward to these next days.
He surprised Ranald with his jovial and bracing greetings to
warriors as they passed.

His sire fretted over Catalin’s exposure to
any danger. He had even attempted to help him lift her onto Finn’s
saddle. Ranald did not allow it. She had needed to hike her
clothing high beneath the cloak in order to straddle the horse, and
his wife’s creamy thighs were for no other eyes than his. After he
adjusted the stirrups, she looked as comfortable as any lad in the
saddle.

By the time the first rays lightened the sky,
Ranald had led them across the field facing the chapel window.
Without pointing or looking directly at the castle, Catalin
described where they would find the crypt window.

“Hm. Had ye not pointed it out, I doubt I
would have noted it was a window and not two guarded arrow slits
close together.”

“Is that not a drain? There in the shadows of
the corner?” Excitement sounded in Chief Broccin’s voice.

“Aye. We will make a great show today of
being unsure of where to aim our efforts.” Ranald rubbed his chin
and grinned at his father. “We could pretend a great dispute and
come to blows over it. Think ye we could be convincing?”

“Ha! That will be an easy performance.”

“Aye. I judge it should take the better part
of two days to prepare for Hunter’s fall. We must draw much of
their defense to another area, so when we are ready, the men can
climb undetected at night. Once they enter and disable the guards
at the gates, they will open them for us.” Ranald’s face set with
resolve. “Come, Catalin. We return to the tent. While ye describe
the keep and grounds, Cormac will draw the route the men must take
once they are within.”

Already the newly stoked cooking fires sent a
haze of smoke over the endless rows of tents. As they made their
way, he gestured to Raik, Cormac, Dougald and Fergus to follow
them.

The sun was high long afore he was satisfied
his men could find their way around Hunter Castle in the dark,
which was precisely what he intended.

Seeing Catalin hide a small yawn and blink
sleep from her eyes, he ordered her to bed.

When the sun again set, they would force out
Baron Hamon.

“Psst. Wake up,” Elyne hissed in Catalin’s
ear that next night then jumped when Catalin’s arm flew out, almost
toppling her to the floor.

“Saints, Elyne. You near scared me into the
next world.” Catalin pushed up from her side and stared at Elyne.
“Is aught wrong?”

“Nay. Not unless ye canna get yer wits
together so we can leave.”

“Leave?” Catalin blinked and tilted her head,
not sure she was awake and not still dreaming she was locked inside
a strange room and heard men fighting and screaming on the other
side of the door. The steady thunder of the siege engines gave her
the reason for the dream.

“Ranald has stepped up the bombardment at
Hunter. Sir Giric said we must leave while Ranald and Father are
staging a great fight over which end of the castle to attack.”

Catalin shivered and hugged her arms around
her body. Now the time to leave was upon them, she feared what
would happen if they did not succeed in getting to Letia’s without
pursuit. She gulped and clamped her teeth together. Now was not the
time to become weak-kneed. She must stiffen her spine and protect
the little body growing within her.

Hurriedly, she pulled on a heavy beige smock
and deep green kirtle, dark enough not to stand out in the
moonlight. She had finished lacing her shoes and knotting a ribbon
around her hair when she heard Sir Giric speaking outside her tent.
He softly called to them.

“Make haste! I have sent your guard on an
errand and told him I would keep you safe until he returns.” He
kept his back to the tent flap, his head turned to the side so they
could hear him. “Make your way to the back end of the camp and step
within the first ring of trees. Men and horses are awaiting
there.”

“We are ready.” Catalin grabbed her cloak
around her shoulders and pulled the hood low over her face.

“Now,” Giric hissed. He opened the flap only
wide enough for them to slip through then pointed toward the line
of trees in the distance. “Hurry. Dinna talk.”

Catalin started off at a fast pace, feeling
more confident with Elyne close behind her. Keeping to the shadows,
they skirted the row of tents. She near shrieked when a man coughed
so close to her she thought she smelled his sweat. She thrust her
arm backward warning Elyne, for the man was relieving himself
behind his tent. While his back was turned, they tiptoed backward
and scurried away.

Never did she think it would be so hard to go
unnoticed when all should be asleep. But when several warriors
slept within the same tent, she could hear a man thumping the hard
ground and grousing at another for snoring so loudly it kept him
from his slumber.

Catalin frowned and kept glancing behind
them. Was that other than Elyne’s footsteps following? She pulled
Elyne close, her fingertips on her lips. She probed the darkness
but saw only shadows. She hoped clouds, owls or anything other than
man caused them.

Had they been able to take a straight path to
their destination, they would have been there in a flash. Having to
dart in and around, sometimes going back further than they
progressed, Catalin despaired of reaching the horses and men afore
someone found them.

Some time later, Elyne whispered in Catalin’s
ear, “I dinna see them. Do ye?”

“Mayhap we entered the woods beyond where
they await us?” Catalin wished her heart would slow its pounding so
she could hear something other than it in her ear.

“Hsst! Halt yer blabber. Ye will draw every
man in the camp,” a man grumbled. “Hurry. There is but one spare
mount. Ye must be ahorse afore Sir Giric arrives.”

Not recognizing the voice, Catalin was
uneasy. Elyne did not hesitate. She put an arm around Catalin’s
shoulders and they followed the shadow in front of them deeper into
the woods. Four men waited at a small clearing, their hands patting
horses’ necks and whispering into their ears to keep them
quiet.

One man led a mount to Elyne, and she swung
up to straddle the saddle as easily as any man would. In what
looked like modesty, she jerked her cloak about her to cover her
legs. But Catalin, seeing Elyne’s hand steal to pat her thigh, knew
Elyne assured herself that her knife was firmly strapped in
place.

She bit back a gasp when someone grabbed her
elbow. It was Sir Giric. Where had he come from? She had not heard
even a leaf move, much less a man’s feet. He led her behind a tree
where he had tethered his horse. In silence, he mounted while
another man boosted her up to him.

It seemed forever before they were far enough
from the camp that only faint sounds reached them. It was slow
going at first, but whenever they broke out onto a level area, the
men gave their horses leave to lengthen their strides to eat up the
ground.

Catalin sat as straight and as far from Sir
Giric as was possible, which wasn’t very far. Her nose wrinkled
with distaste, for stale sweat was not her favorite scent. It was
unkind of her. The men were fighting a battle to take back her
castle. They had no time for baths and fresh clothing, and too,
they were aiding her and the babe. She rolled her eyes. She was an
ungrateful wretch.

o0o

When had she fallen asleep? And why had they
stopped? She soon found out when two men came crashing through the
trees, pulling a figure that was fighting, scratching and kicking
like a vicious cat.

“Idiots! Barbarians!”

Was that a woman’s voice? Though raised in
anger louder than Catalin had ever heard it, she knew the cornered
cat was Lady Muriele.

“Shite! Bite me again, witch, and I’ll rap ye
alongside yer head!” The man pulled back his hand, threatening her
with his fist, then brought it to his mouth to suck clear the blood
oozing from crescent wounds.

“Dinna dare strike her! That is the Lady
Muriele ye are threatening.” Elyne’s cold voice stilled the man in
his tracks.

“Lady, what are you doing here?” Catalin
couldn’t believe Muriele had left Ranald and the camp to follow
them.

Lady Muriele jerked her arm at the same time
she kicked the man’s shins. He dropped his hand from her like she
was a hot ember. Catalin fought a grin seeing her swat the side of
her cloak like she meant to brush his touch from it. With the
murderous look in her glare, undoubtedly she would have liked to
skewer him.

“I followed ye, of course. I have long looked
for a chance to go deeper into England.” She smiled up at Elyne.
“When I saw ye slip from the tent, I guessed what was afoot. I took
a horse and started out after ye.”

“You stole a horse?” Sir Giric’s eyes widened
with admiration.

“Not stole. Borrowed. ‘Tis a trade for my
horse left at Raptor.” She nodded, making an end to the queries.
“Now do ye not think we should set out again? Where do we
head?”

“To Seton Castle and the de Burgh’s.” Catalin
could only imagine the uproar when morning showed not only two, but
three, women missing from the camp. “Hurry, we must be very near
Seton. We should be within the gates and hidden before they search
for us there.”

“Seton Castle?” Muriele narrowed her eyes and
studied Sir Giric’s face. “Should ye not have turned south by now?
Ye have been riding directly west. I kenned de Burgh’s was to the
south?”

“Heh! You know little of direction, Lady.”
Sir Giric jerked a finger at her. “Get on your horse.” His squinted
eyes shot sparks at her. “Your
stolen
horse. And keep your
mouth shut.”

Catalin saw a look pass between Muriele and
Elyne. Elyne’s lips thinned. She stared Catalin in the eye, and
then looked pointedly up at the sky. As they started out, Catalin
pretended to peer behind Sir Giric to see they all followed. A
quick glance proved the sun at their backs. Had they been going
toward Seton, it would have been slightly to their left.

She had not long to worry over it. In less
than a league, she noted the men scanning the forest around them
then glancing over their shoulders. Sir Giric held up a hand,
bringing them to a halt. When she would have spoken, he covered her
mouth and shook his head. He pointed to the woods around them, and
they quietly melded into the trees.

He motioned to the wiry man Muriele had
bitten and then at a tree. The man was up it in a flash and down
again in short time, his face pasty. He glanced at the women. Moved
close to Sir Giric. Had Ranald discovered their absence?

Wondering, Catalin swallowed. Would Ranald be
able to control his rage? He might hold his hand with her, but the
men would surely feel the bite of his sword. She studied their
faces and saw raw fear. She did not want to be the cause of their
deaths.

“Sir Giric, leave us here. We will await Sir
Ranald. Mayhap you can disappear and circle around to return to
Hunter. We will tell him we left on our own.”

“Aye. Dinna fight my brother. He will be in a
rage and willna listen to reason,” Elyne added.

“Lady, it is not Sir Ranald who picked up our
scent.”

“Oh, saints! Chief Broccin?” Catalin
shivered.

“Nay, Lady. I wish it were so.” Sir Giric
swallowed and kicked his horse into action, crashing out of the
woods and back onto the path in a full gallop.

“Baron Rupert is stalking us!”

o0o

Giric’s lips pressed into a thin line. He
tightened his left arm around Lady Catalin to hold her more
securely.

“Baron Rupert? He heads toward Seton Castle?”
Lady Catalin shouted close to his ear. “Surely we can safely reach
there afore he can venture close?”

“Nay, Lady.”

Regret filled his soul that his greed for a
vast ransom would end with this comely woman in Rupert’s hands. No
doubt, he would take glee in ridding her of the bairn then sending
it to the Black Raptor. Rupert had suffered from Sir Ranald’s hands
before, but after such a monstrous deed, for certain the bastard
would die an agonizingly slow death.

Giric’s only prayer to save the women was to
distance themselves enough from the pursuing baron that he could
send the women ahead to seek sanctuary at the nearest habitat while
he and his men fought to the death.

Aye, they were dead men riding now. By late
day, they would have spent their blood on English soil. The men
could not allow the baron to capture them. Once they could no
longer fight, it was best to slit their own throats or throw
themselves on their opponent’s blade.