Forbidden (39 page)

At the top of the rise, he jerked his horse
to a frantic halt. Standing in the stirrups, he studied the ground
ahead, than dared to have a glimmer of hope for the women. He
jumped down, snatched Lady Catalin off his horse and tossed her up
behind Lady Elyne.

“A monastery or an abbey is ahead at the base
of the next rise. Clamp your legs as tight as you can to the
horses’ sides, else you will become unseated in a gallop. Stay
hidden alongside the trees. No matter the reason, do not stop! Once
close to the gates, scream to alert them.”

Lady Catalin’s stricken face showed a moment
of panic before she nodded and set her lips in determination. He
slapped both horses’ rumps sending them on at a swift pace, then
spun and leapt atop his own mount. With any luck at all, the baron
would not see the two horses following the tree line. Pray God, he
and his men could hold Rupert long enough for them to escape.

Huh. It was strange to pray for one’s own
death. Mayhap he would take the baron with him to meet Lucifer.

In Hell.

o0o

Catalin clung to the horse like a burr. Her
arms around Elyne’s waist ached with strain. Once they were
hurtling down the hillside, Elyne bent close to her mount’s neck.
Catalin leaned with her. Wind tore off their hoods and freed their
hair. She feared for the babe with each pounding leap the horse
took. Muriele inched up alongside. It was the first time she had
ever seen the cool beauty’s face in other than calm repose. Her
lips drew back in a snarl near as fierce as Ranald’s. She dared a
glance backward and saw a lone horseman galloped toward them.

One of the baron’s men! The devil’s beast
likely didn’t need him in the fight but sent him to capture women
instead. She swallowed to keep from spewing down Elyne’s back.

The horses must have sensed their terror, for
their strides lengthened until they near flew across the level
ground. Elyne and Muriele started screaming at the same time. At
first she thought someone had circled around and was about to
attack them. She darted a glance backward and added her screams to
the others. Ahead loomed what had to be a house of God, for she
made out a cross atop the gateway.

They shouted and waved one arm. They made as
much noise as possible and prayed someone would notice. Oh, God! No
one would open the gate in time! The distance between them and the
man galloping in pursuit slowly closed.

She glimpsed his face. And wished she had
not.

Had she thought Ranald looked cruel when
angered? Though the thunder of the horses’ hooves drowned out other
sounds, this lout surely gnashed his teeth and snarled as loudly as
a greedy beast.

Was someone on the small tower over the gate?
Aye! It looked like a man ringing a bell and people scurrying
about.

For God’s love! Open the gate. There! It
started to move. They had at least twenty horse-lengths to reach
it. Time slowed. Near stopped. When their horses’ hooves left the
ground, they seemed to float at a standstill. She shot another look
back.

Oh, my God! So close. He was sure to overtake
them before they reached sanctuary.

Muriele, too, kept glancing back. Why did her
mount slow? The horses had been nose to nose. What happened? She
edged her horse closer. Her mount’s nose was now alongside
Elyne...then at their mount’s rump...now his tail. Muriele dropped
behind.

But five more lengths to go. Catalin’s heart
thudded and leaped. The gate was wide enough now for one horse to
enter at a time. They hurtled on toward it. She dared to check on
Muriele.

The beauty had hiked her skirts up around her
waist, baring her thighs. Her hand reached to whip a wicked blade
from a sheath strapped there. For truth, the devil pulled alongside
her. He reached out a burly fist and grabbed Muriele’s hair. He
twisted it around his wrist. When he jerked on it, he nearly ripped
her off her horse.

Lord Jesus, help her! Catalin lost sight of
them as their horse streaked through the opening gate. Women yelled
and male voices shouted. Then Elyne jolted the horse to a stop and
pried Catalin’s arms from her waist and eased her down into caring
hands.

Elyne turned the horse, her dagger gripped
tight, and raced back out the gate, avoiding three running men in
flapping black robes. Catalin’s voice caught on a sob as she
started to run toward them, but someone grasped her shoulders and
stopped her.

She covered her mouth to stifle a scream.
Muriele, her long legs locked around her rearing horse, clung to
its mane with one hand. The man was not finding it easy to yank her
to his horse.

“She witch! Mother of Satan!” He shouted and
let his reins go to strike her head with his fist. The motion
turned his chest to Muriele. Both his arms raised and he tried to
force her from the horse before the running men could reach
them.

“Agggg!”

Blood arched high in pulsing spurts. Red soon
splattered Muriele’s lovely, pale hair and face. Blood covered her
chest and arms. His hand fisted tightly in her hair. Both toppled
to the ground. Muriele’s foot fell free of the stirrup. His foot
remained firmly lodged, his twisted boot wedged in the stirrup
iron. The horses shied, their eyes rolling, their mouths wide.
Screaming, as panicked horses do. Her mount bolted away. His horse,
its eyes rolling and its ears laid back, jerked then leaped to pull
forward.

Catalin twisted and pried the fingers from
her shoulders that held her back. She ran, grabbed her skirts high
about her knees as she followed Elyne.

The horse pulled away. Elyne leaned forward
on her horse’s neck and galloped after it. The monks chased after
them, their swords raised. The horse drug the man, Muriele’s hair
tangled and caught in the dead man’s glove. Even in death, he held
her prisoner. Elyne caught up to the horse and made frantic grabs
for the reins. Catalin gasped. Muriele’s hands rose. One went to
her head to grab her hair. Sun flashed against steel as the dagger
rose.

The blade flashed back and forth, stopping
when she bounced from her back to her side then back again.
Suddenly, with one desperate swipe, she cut her hair free. The
horse, still dragging the man, screamed and raced onward. With
crazed eyes, it often looked behind then galloped faster back
toward the hill.

Elyne, seeing Muriele had freed herself,
leapt off her mount as the monks caught up to them. The men yelled
for her to get back on the horse. Two monks lifted Muriele up to
her waiting arms.

“Baron Rupert pursues us,” Elyne shouted
before she prodded her mount toward the gate. “Run!”

Catalin turned and hurried back through the
gateway, watching over her shoulder to assure herself the others
were still safe. She did not pay heed to anyone around her, only
those following. She wrung her hands watching as Elyne’s horse
galloped through the portal. The monks, their black robes lifted to
their knees, soon ran through to safety. The heavy gates clanged
into place.

Her pounding heart filled her chest, near
closed her throat. She watched an old man help the monks to place a
heavy wooden bar across the gate. Two younger men hurried to a
platform on the right side of the door where another heftier bar
waited. They struggled to lift and slide it within the iron
holders, while the old man guided it. Fear made it seem like it
took forever, but she knew they had done it swiftly.

o0o

“Never have I seen so much blood.” Catalin
took slow, even breaths, and settled her stomach as she cleaned the
dagger in a basin. The water quickly turned red. Muriele had held
tight to her weapon until Catalin had coaxed it from her hand. “I
thought it was hers.”

“Aye. I did also.” Elyne settled a blanket
closer around Muriele’s shoulders.

This was a rare room for a convent, more
spacious than most. Carpenters had built two wooden frames and
laced them with strong rope. Pallets stuffed with feathers rested
atop, covered with a sheet and a wool blanket. Two smiling but
silent women had brought in an extra pallet and linens and placed
it near Muriele’s bed.

“Muriele’s blade found his throat.” Catalin
glanced at the unconscious woman. “Had she not struck at the right
time, he would have carried her away.”

“Aye. And if she had not chopped at her hair,
she would be dead or Baron Rupert’s prisoner.” Elyne reached for
the cleaned weapon, a white cloth in her hand, and dried it.

“Drats! How dared Brother Hugo say she must
do penance for killing the lout! The man would have killed her!”
Catalin scowled. When the babe kicked hard and used his elbows to
help him move around, she patted her heaving stomach. “Shh. Quiet,
love. All is well.”

“Men dinna like women to take a hand in their
own protection.” Elyne slid the dagger into the sheath before she
tucked it under Muriele’s pillow. She smiled up at Catalin. “She
always places it there at night.”

“Elyne,” Catalin beckoned her close to
whisper. “Did you know of Muriele’s back before today? Someone has
taken a lash to her. And not more than a year ago. The scars are
bright pink, not faded like Ranald’s.” She chewed the corner of her
lips as pity flooded through her.

“Nay, I did not. She shared the chamber with
Aunt Joneta. Aunt hovered in front of her when Muriele changed
clothing in the tent. I will wager it’s the reason she always
carries a blade.” Her eyes narrowed in thought. “Whoever thrashed
her is the one she fears.”

Elyne’s scowl was so much like her brother’s
that Catalin smiled. “So many cuts and bruises to add to her
misery. She will be sore for a fortnight or more.”

Catalin sighed and looked around the room.
The good sisters had wanted Muriele to stay in the Infirmary, but
Muriele herself had objected, insisting she room with her
friends.
The word had tugged at Catalin’s heart.

A small table with two stools stood beside
the door. The robed women had brought them a hearty vegetable soup
for their evening meal, along with freshly baked bread, cheese,
apples and cold milk.

The sisters had everything they needed to
sustain them. A large vegetable garden, an herbal garden, orchards
with fruit trees, a dovecote, pigsty, cows, goats, and sheep were
within the outer walls. Chickens squawked and pecked their way
across a grassy area. They provided a plentiful amount of eggs, and
those that did not, added variety to the table.

“Oh,” Catalin wailed and tears welled.

“What is it? Are ye in pain?” Elyne rushed
over to her, putting a hand on Catalin’s elbow to help her to the
bed.

“Nay,” Catalin blinked and swiped her hand
over her eyes. “I just remembered the babe’s clothing. I brought a
small bundle sewed inside my cloak. It must have worked free.”

Her shoulders slumped, thinking of the lovely
little garments and blanket Elyne had helped her to sew.

Catalin hugged herself and shook her
head.

“All of this is my fault. Ranald refused to
send me to Letia’s saying it was too near Rupert’s lands. I near
hated him for it. Never did I experience such danger as we were in
today. He tried to spare me from that.”

“Aye. But ye could not know Sir Giric didn’t
intend to take us to Letia’s. Too late, I kenned he was planning to
hold us for ransom.” Elyne shuddered.

Catalin studied the drawn face on the other
bed. How could she not have seen the blond was such a caring woman?
She squeezed her eyes tight in shame. It was because of her sinful
jealousy.

“I am so weary my back aches.” Keeping the
blanket wrapped tightly around her, she stretched out on the
bed.

“Sleep, Catalin. All will be well on the
morrow.”

“What?” Ranald’s shouts that next noon were
loud enough to wake the dead sprawled in a sea of red before him.
“Why did ye not tell me sooner?”

Anger contorted his face. Finn stepped back
as if frightened Ranald meant to strike out at him.

“Ye were fighting Baron Hamon and I couldn’t
disturb ye. I carried news of yer victory to yer tent. The guard
thought the lady slept later than usual and did not want to disturb
her.”

“Where has he searched?” Ranald tried to calm
his rising fear. Catalin must be with his sister, grousing to Elyne
of how he had refused her bid to go to Letia’s.

“I checked with Lady Joneta.” Finn backed up
another step. “Lady Elyne is also missing,” he gulped and near
whispered, “and Lady Muriele.”

“Lucifer’s moldy arse!”

Hearing Ranald’s shouted curses, Chief
Broccin grinned and stepped around the carcass of a horse.

“What goes here?” His voice boomed above the
din and turmoil normal after ending a battle. He waited, his lips
turned grim at Ranald’s answer. “Begone, for God’s sake. Find her.
If she isn’t within the camp, send word before ye leave.” He
turned, and seeing Raik come through the doorway of the keep,
whistled shrill and loud. “Take Raik and as many men as ye need.”
He looked over at Finn. “The pup can bring word back to us when ye
find her.”

Ranald knew he had no need to check the camp,
for after questioning the guard, he knew that she... Huh! Not only
she but Elyne and Lady Muriele had gone with Sir Giric and four men
who were also missing.

Two foot soldiers had seen Sir Giric ride out
into the woods, and pointed to the spot. By the fading light,
Ranald studied the ground. Booted footprints, along with smaller
ones from the women, showed in the damp earth. He and Raik started
out, taking a dozen of Raptor’s best warrior with them.

They rode hard and stopped only to study the
ground and trees by torchlight. Ranald set a steady pace, confident
their prey had kept to the road. At a fork leading south toward
Seton Castle, they lost the trail and backtracked. Pain, sharp as a
knife’s blade, struck Ranald’s heart. Every sign pointed
east...skirting Baron Rupert’s land.