Forbidden (41 page)

Bloodied steel slammed against bloodied
steel, sending sparks flashing as the blades rasped down to their
hilts. Catalin’s stomach quaked as she watched the combatants jump
back, then strike again. Step by step, Ranald forced Rupert
backward around the circle. Blood stained their arms, their
shoulders. They fought with such fury their weapons near
locked.

Ranald heaved against his opponent, forcing
distance between them. In a flash, he twirled to the right. His
boots sent dust swirling around their knees. He caught Rupert with
a backhanded strike. Rupert bellowed. Blood welled from his right
shoulder, down his arm to his elbow, then across his chest. On and
on they fought. Sweat dripped from their snarling faces, their
shouts near beastly roars.

Tears streamed down Catalin’s face. She held
her hands over her ears. Elyne grasped her shoulders and tried to
pull her away, but Catalin fought her like a wildcat. She couldn’t
tear her gaze from Ranald’s wild face, his eyes as cruel as a
maddened boar’s.

In her horror, she near forgot this was the
same man who had slept beside her for so many months.

The two men were locked together, the veins
in their foreheads and necks swelling with strain. They heaved
apart. Rupert crouched, leaving Ranald’s blade to whistle inches
over Rupert’s head. Rupert’s blade slashed out. Blood flowed down
Ranald’s leg, spreading down to darken his boots. For one quick
breath of time, his leg buckled. Then straightened. Rupert roared
with glee. With both hands, he raised the weapon high above his
head, and started a great downward blow.

Ranald, hands tight around his own hilt and
muscles bunching in his legs and shoulders, swiftly spun left, his
sword singing through the air as he whirled and struck—sending
Rupert’s weapon spinning above their heads to land on the ground.
Two bloodied, severed hands twitched. Finger by finger, they fell
from the hilt.

Rupert’s screams split the air, near drowning
out Catalin’s own. Blood jutted from his arms as he threw himself
at Ranald, his mouth wide, striving to reach Ranald’s neck. Ranald
braced himself and anchored his sword. The force behind Rupert’s
leap drove the blade through his flesh, exiting at his back.

For one horrible moment, Catalin stared at
Ranald standing below, holding the impaled man on his feet with the
strength of his arms. Rupert convulsed against him then went
still.

Catalin crumpled to the floor, unseeing, as
Ranald fulfilled the rest of his vow to Baron Rupert.

The battle was over.

“I can tell from yer snarl that Catalin still
refuses to leave.” Raik gulped down a cup of cold water taken from
the stream at his feet.

“Aye.” Ranald stiffly swung his aching body
from Satan’s Spawn and handed the reins to Finn. “For three days,
she has refused to speak with me. She sends Elyne to carry her
words. Catalin swears she and the bairn will spend their life at
the Convent afore she would let either me or my father near them.”
He wanted to stomp his feet in frustration. “I told her we will
camp in these woods until Hell freezes and Lucifer wears furs!”

“Huh. That will be a goodly time.” Raik
grinned at him.

Ranald snorted. “It had to be. She may harbor
thoughts of traveling to the de Burgh’s. Knowing we watch from
afar, she willna dare leave.”

They had not long to wait after all. That
very evening, Finn tumbled out of a tree in his hurry to tell
Ranald what he had seen from his vantage point.

“My lord, a workman left the convent driving
an empty cart pulled by a mule. I thought he was going for supplies
and near stopped watching when he entered the trees. He disappeared
for a while. Finally, there was movement further to the right. He
had unhitched the cart and is making haste westward.”

“Westward? Toward Kelso?’

“It looked so to me.”

“Raik, keep watch here. Finn and I will
follow to see what mischief he is upon.”

o0o

Late that evening, they arrived at the gates
of Kelso. The workman’s face blanched when Finn joined him and
called out for the gatekeeper to open in the name of Sir Ranald of
Raptor Castle. Ranald trotted his horse to stop behind them and
gestured for the man to precede him through the opening gate. On
seeing Ranald, Brother Octavius sheathed his sword. His face split
in a grin.

“Are you in a spot of trouble then, Ranald?”
He looked at the quaking man and then back to Ranald.

“Aye. We would both seek words with Abbot
Aymer.” On seeing the man’s eyes near pop from their sockets, he
knew he had guessed aright.

The abbot listened patiently to a memorized
plea from Lady Catalin seeking his aid. She knew of the friendships
Ranald had formed at Kelso, and the respect he had for his fellow
monks. She felt confident they could persuade Ranald to allow her
and the babe to live at Hunter Castle under King Stephen’s
protection.

Abbot Aymer listened quietly until the man
was through. He sent him to the kitchens to appease his hunger,
before he heard Ranald’s side of the story.

“Ranald, I cannot believe you
have
changed so dreadfully your wife would flee from you, terrified for
her bairn.”

Ranald’s shoulders slumped. His face filled
with shame.

“I have changed. Greatly. What I feared the
most, I have become. I am as my brother was. As my father
is...”

Ranald went on to tell the abbot of all that
had occurred since he last spoke with him after maiming Baron
Rupert. Dusk had long since fallen when he had his answer from the
abbot.

After sadly hearing his sins in the
confessional, Abbot Aymer listed the penances Ranald must do to
cleanse his soul. After he watched the man who was as a son to him
kneeling at the altar, he returned to his office and called for the
convent messenger.

“You will leave at first light. Brother
Octavius and three of our brethren most familiar with Sir Ranald
will accompany you. Lady Catalin need have no further fear of him,
for they will take her where she and her bairn will be protected
and loved for the rest of their days.”

o0o

“Look, Catalin! Four monks have arrived from
Kelso.” Muriele’s arm was none to steady when she beckoned Catalin
over to the window. “They brought a cart fitted with a pallet and
blankets. For truth, ye have misjudged Sir Ranald. It is not too
late to change yer mind.”

Catalin shook her head, her lips pressed in
determination.

“Oh, saints.” Elyne peered over Catalin’s
shoulder and pointed towards the hills. “There at the edge of the
forest! Ranald looks sorely upset to see them.”

Elyne shook her head. Tears welled as she
watched Satan’s Spawn, her brother in the saddle, dart a short way
down the hill then stop. As agitated as its rider, the horse pawed
the air then thudded down on all four feet. Ranald’s cloak caught
the wind, his hood fell back freeing his dark hair and revealing
the black mask covering his right cheek.

Catalin watched the dejected figure. His
shoulders slumped as he turned and disappeared back into the woods.
She felt no triumph. Only a strange sadness that he had given up
without a struggle. She squared her shoulders and turned to
Muriele.

“Speaking of changing minds, are you sure you
wish to stay here, Muriele?”

Muriele looked around the room, then back at
Catalin. “I will find peace here.” She banished the sadness from
her eyes, and grinned at her friends. “Think of me now and then,
but if anyone ever asks, remember to say the last ye saw of me I
was bouncing along the ground like an uneven ball until the horse
dragged my body into the dark forest.”

“Ladies?” a voice called from outside their
curtained doorway. “Mother Cecelia would have words with you.”

The sister escorted the women to a spacious,
sunny room near filled with the four black-robbed monks. Except for
one large man, they had their cowls lowered over their brows.

Mother Cecelia introduced the women to
Brother Octavius first, then two smaller men as Brothers Cyril and
Ambrose. Brother Octavius introduced the fourth monk, Brother
Gregory, who was observing a week’s vow of silence. His hands in
his sleeves, the monk hesitated before he bobbed his head in
acknowledgment.

“Lady Muriele, I know not how anyone learned
of your plight, but Brother Gregory received a goodly amount of
coins with the wish they be used for your upkeep.” She frowned and
pointed to a blue velvet pouch to her right. “It was written on an
unsigned missive.”

Muriele’s eyes widened as she stared at the
monk’s bent head. Sir Ranald must have sent the dowry to Kelso and
asked for them to deliver it to the convent. “Brother Gregory, I
thank ye with all my heart for bringing it here.” His head bobbed
again, then stilled.

“You are prepared to leave?” Mother Cecelia
asked. “They will take you to Kelso, for you can better be guarded
there. I still fear you are foolish to travel at this time.” She
looked pointedly at Catalin’s rounded body beneath the tunic.

Catalin knew she could not expect the monks
to take her deeper into England. At least at Kelso, she might be
able to persuade a visitor to carry a message to Letia at
Seton.

“Well, now, if Ladies Catalin and Elyne are
ready?” Brother Octavius picked up two black robes and waited while
the women pulled them over their heads and shoulders. “They are
much too big, but once you are in the cart, no one will see their
length. Be careful you do not trip on the hems.” He smiled solemnly
at Catalin. “We must start while the day is clear. Do you have
anything that needs carrying? No? Then let us go straightaway to
the courtyard, my lady.”

It did not take long for Catalin to tell
Mother Cecelia how much she appreciated her kindnesses. As they
made their way outside, they stopped to thank the kind sisters for
their help.

When she hugged Muriele, she wondered if she
would ever see her again. When sadness welled, Catalin was
surprised. Brother Ambrose lifted her into the cart, but Elyne
needed no aid. She gathered the robe from where it swept the
ground, sprang into the cart and sat against the side. They
carefully hid their hair, for no monk would have curly tresses
trailing down his back!

Brother Octavius rode in the lead. The cart
came next, pulled by a handsome gray horse with Brother Gregory
handling the reins. The last two monks trailed behind. Kelso was
northwest of where Ranald and his men occupied the hill. She held
her breath when they needed to pass near them. The Raptor men gave
way, nodding in respect.

Ranald held back, still staring at the
convent. Satan’s Spawn felt his anger, for the beast huffed and
stomped his hooves, fighting him. He sat stiff and unyielding in
the saddle, his body telling of his anger as he watched. A lump
formed in Catalin’s throat, wanting to call out to him. She stole
one last glance, but he was as before, stiff and unyielding. ‘Twas
strange, though, for his men were coming out of the woods onto the
road, forming two lines behind them. From the looks of it, did they
mean to follow them to Kelso?

Brother Cyril confirmed it when he spoke up.
“As you know, Sir Ranald once dwelled at Kelso. He was our
Protector before Brother Octavius had that post. I see he means to
give his fellow monks added protection.”

Her head lowered, she peeked beneath the hood
at the dimness behind them now they were amongst the trees. Aye.
Ranald rode last. He dropped back as if uncertain, twisted in his
saddle and gave one last look behind him. When he faced forward
again, his dark eyes studied the cart. Mayhap she had best turn her
back before he caught sight of a woman’s face instead of a young
man’s.

“Ye look pale and drawn, Catalin. Lay back
and rest.” Elyne grabbed a blanket and rolled it to make a pillow.
She helped Catalin to stretch out on the pallet and slid it beneath
her head. Satisfied, she moved back to lean against the corner of
the wagon.

Catalin sighed and slept. She did not awake
until she heard Elyne’s voice say Kelso was ahead. She pushed
herself up, blinking sleep from her eyes and looked around.
Ranald’s men had pulled so close while she slept that she feared
they would see through her disguise. Kelso, for truth, could not be
far. What goes here? They stopped at a fork in the road. A sign
said Kelso was to the left.

“You will be safe now, my lady,” Brother
Ambrose said as he smiled down at her.

“But, but,” Catalin sputtered, “We are not at
Kelso. You cannot leave us here with Sir Ranald’s men. She looked
back as the men pulled closer, their faces solemn. She grasped
Brother Gregory’s shoulder, for he was turning the horses to the
road on the right.

“Do not! You turn the wrong way. I must go to
Kelso.” She shook his shoulder so hard his cowl fell back.

Raptor’s men murmured and surrounded the
cart. She saw Ranald on Satan’s Spawn picking his way around the
edge of the men to come beside her. Oh Saints. She was going to be
sick. Elyne put her arm around her, making shushing little
sounds.

Oh, God. Ranald was in the deep shadows
beside the cart. Fighting panic, her gaze probed the gloom as she
stared at him. He reached up and pulled off his mask.

“Raik? What goes on here?” She scowled up at
him. No wonder the horse was so restless! He liked no other than
Ranald on his back.

“Did ye sleep well, Catalin? Brother Gregory
was most cautious to avoid every hole and bump that he could.” He
leaned forward on the horse and tapped Brother Gregory on the
shoulder with Ranald’s mask.

A hand reached up to take hold of it—a hand
that bore scars left by sharp blades. Some were still unhealed. He
raised the mask. Hesitated. Then, shoulders squared, he swung
around on the seat with it in his hand.

Seeing his face, a dreadful wave of sickness
made Catalin gag.