Forbidden (42 page)

Ranald’s tortured gaze stared back at
her.

Catalin near lost control. She was as furious
as a child. She screamed every crude word she had ever heard spoken
by men whilst in their cups.

She whipped out her knife and held it
threateningly in front of her. When Raik reached to take it from
her, Ranald motioned him away.

“It is a hateful trick you have played on
me,” she shouted. “I will not let you have this babe.” She waved
the knife in front of her like a banner. “Cast me off and let us
be. Let me make my own way with the babe. I will
not
allow
you to lock it away from people who will love it. I will kill to
protect him from that!”

Ranald felt genuine terror that Catalin would
do herself an injury if he did not calm her fears. His palms
sweated thinking those same fears might cause harm to the bairn
during the birthing. He had much for Catalin to forgive him for and
so little time to plead with her.

“The bairn willna be locked away. It was to
thwart my sire when I said what I did. Ever have I known he hated
me from my first breath. He cast me away when I needed a father’s
love the most. Every hour of every day, I knew I was unloved.
Unwanted. I was so much offal to him. Rubbish he wanted cleared
away.

“When he made it clear he wanted this bairn
because he believes it is Moridac’s seed, it goaded my pain and
jealousy beyond restraint. I wanted
him
to feel the agony
of losing something he loved beyond measure. Though it took a while
for me to work through all this, I knew I could never let ye or the
child go. That is why I refused ye escort to the de Burgh’s. I knew
ye would make yer way to King Stephen. I would lose ye both. I near
went mad with fear when ye disappeared.

“My love, it will be as I first told ye. I
vow before God and man that I will be this bairn’s sire. He will be
my son; she will be my daughter. Ours.”

“How can I trust you speak truth?”
Catalin

“Ye were so easily swayed to think me a
beast,” he whispered. “Because my face sickens ye doesna mean my
soul is the same.”

“You fool! It does not sicken me.” She gave a
loud shriek of anger and grabbed the mask from his hand. She hit
him on the shoulder with it before heaving it into the woods.

Before it had chance to land, shocked
surprise crossed her face. Stiffening, she shifted her feet. She
dropped her knife to grab her belly.

In horror, Catalin stared down at a darkening
stain.

Catalin’s scream split the air as pain
stabbed through her back as sharp as a knife’s blade.

Ranald jumped over his seat and caught
Catalin before her legs folded beneath her. His heart near beat
itself to death against his ribs as he laid her down on the pallet.
Thrusting the robe from her, he pulled her skirts aside to look at
her creamy thighs, fearful he would see her life’s blood staining
them.

He heaved a sigh of thanksgiving.

“Raik. Take the reins and get us to Kelso. My
son has decided on an early appearance.” He looked around at Elyne.
“Pull the pallet to the middle of the cart so I may lean upon it
facing the horse.” He picked Catalin up into his arms and stood
while Elyne did as he said. Cradling Catalin to his chest, he
carefully knelt on the pallet.

“Finn, get in and brace my back. Elyne, get
afore me and help steady Catalin in my arms.” He watched to see
Raik had seated and taken up the reins. “Go, Raik.” Part of his men
thundered ahead of them while the rest rode behind.

“Shh, love, ye will be more comfortable once
we get to Kelso.” He rained kisses on her forehead and pressed his
left cheek to hers. “Only once did a breeding woman stop to birth
her bairn at Kelso, but I learned enough to help ye through this.
And ye will have Elyne to help ye, too.”

“Me? I know naught of birthing, brother.”

“Ye are a woman, are ye not? That is all ye
need to give comfort to another.”

Catalin’s whimpers near unnerved him. Had
Finn not braced his back, he feared he could not have held her
thus. Being on his knees with her in his arms, he swayed and
cushioned their ride so she near floated in his arms.

Sir Kerr rode ahead to have the monks open
the gate before they reached it. As soon as the cart stopped,
Ranald attempted to hand Catalin to Raik, but she held Ranald’s
neck tightly and wouldn’t let go. He soothed her with soft sounds,
sat on his arse and inched his way to the end of the cart so he
could stand on the ground.

Robed men dashed around like they expected
the king to visit. They drew water and put heavy kettles of it over
the cookhouse fires, for some had been with wives and sisters
before death and loneliness brought them to Kelso.

Her scream in his ear sent him running to the
Infirmary. On the torturous ride here, the sounds of the many
horses near drowned her voice out, but the peace and quiet of Kelso
echoed with her shrieks.

Sweat broke out on his brow as he laid her on
the white sheets of the bed closest to the fireplace. He sent all
away but Elyne and the young monk he had been training before he
left Kelso.

Ranald and Elyne soon stripped Catalin’s
clothes from her, while the monk kept his back turned and prepared
potions according to Ranald’s shouted commands. He pulled a clean
sheet over his wife’s naked body and pulled a stool close so he
could hold her hand.

He counted, trying to judge if her pains were
becoming closer or getting further apart.

“Love, can ye tell me what week of the month
it twas when Moridac took ye as his lover?”

Catalin balled up her fist and slammed it
into his face. He jerked back and grabbed his throbbing nose,
surprised. Blood seeped between his fingers.

“I was never his lover. I only tried to be a
submissive wife-to-be because he wished it.”

“Submissive? Ye?” Ranald snorted.

She waved her fist again. Clutching his nose,
he leaned back out of reach.

“What week, love?”

“The last sennight in November. Hannah said
the babe should be born a sennight or so into September.”

“It is the end of August. Do ye think ye can
get him to stay a bit longer?”

Ranald meant it as a jest. Catalin was in no
mood for jesting. He swerved in time to avoid a backhanded splat
across his cheek.

He ran his fingers through his hair, and felt
a shock of surprise at his recently shaved tonsure. Near frantic
for some way to soothe her pain, he placed his big hands on her
belly and felt the changes in it until they became familiar. When
her muscles relaxed, so did his wife. When he felt them starting to
tighten, her face grimaced, her hands clenched. If they didn’t last
too long, she clamped her teeth, but more times than not, she
shrieked loud as a mythical banshee.

“Ye are as loud with yer laboring as ye are
with yer pleasures, wife.”

Catalin was too busy yelling and crushing his
hands to swat at him.

As soon as she quieted, he turned her on her
side. He called out for the monk to give him a salve scented with
lavender. When the man moved away, Ranald bared her back and spread
it there. He rubbed and massaged her muscles, talking low and
soothing, telling her what a beautiful bairn she would hold in her
arms that night. When he felt her tighten, he gripped her hands and
let her pull on him.

“Scrub a knife to cut the babe’s cord. You
will need a clean string or thin strip of cloth to tie around it
first,” Catalin told him between gasps.

He nodded toward Elyne, who hurried to ask
the monk to prepare both. She rushed back, for Catalin’s pains came
more frequently now. Elyne kept busy wiping Catalin’s face with
cold cloths and peeking beneath the covers.

Ranald straddled the bed behind Catalin,
holding her up against his chest in hopes it would ease the
birthing.

“He is not there, Ranald. Should he not be
out by now?” Elyne’s muffled voice asked after ducking beneath the
sheet.

Ranald groaned. “Elyne, have ye never been
with a woman in labor?”

Her head popped back out into the open.
“Once. Aunt Joneta tended a, uh, friend of father’s. I but fetched
and carried. They didn’t want anyone to know she was in the
keep.”

“How could they hide the howls?” Ranald’s
brows rose. “My ears are ringing.”

Catalin snorted.

“Aunt Joneta plied her with whiskey early on
and kept a stick between her teeth to bite on.”

“Well, Hell! That was barbaric. Look again
and tell me if ye see the top of the bairn’s head.”

“Fool! Look for yourself,” Catalin shouted.
Her teeth snapped together as she strained to choke back a scream.
Her head slammed back against his chest so hard he expected to hear
his ribs crack.

As soon as the pain ebbed, he scrambled off
the bed and had Elyne take his place. He threw back the sheets. And
stared.

“Shite! It’s there,” Ranald yelled. “Catalin,
pull on Elyne’s hands and push yer belly muscles down.” He reached
up and cupped his big hands on the dome of her stomach. When it
tightened, he gently pressed downward, aiding the struggling
bairn.

“It comes!” He cupped the little head as it
moved out into the world. “Little one, dinna be feared to greet
us,” he crooned. “Ah, there ye are, lovey. A little more and yer
little shoulders will be free.” He choked back his fear when the
birthing seemed to halt. Then he realized he would have to guide
the other shoulder out. Once he did, he was elated. Following each
scream from Catalin’s throat, the rest of the babe quickly came
forth.

“It’s our son!” He cupped the bairn’s head
and back in his big hand as he inched the little legs free of his
mother. “Elyne, do ye have the knife and cord?” Hearing a gurgling
noise beside him, he glanced up to see the young monk, his face
pale, his eyes squeezed shut, holding them both on a clean
cloth,.

“Tie it, Elyne,” he ordered. She did. He cut
the cord, then turned the bairn to lay, chest down on his big palm
and forearm. The bairn squirmed, its little legs and arms waved as
it gave its first weak squalls. Ranald stared, fascinated, at the
wrinkled red body covered with a yellow and white substance.

He placed the bairn on a bathing cloth and
cleared his little mouth before he laid him atop Catalin’s chest.
Her arms closed around him. Ranald looked at Elyne and shook his
head.

From beneath his monk’s robes, he pulled out
the clothing he’d rescued from the path.

“Do ye not think he needs cleansing?” His
nose wrinkled. “He smells.”

o0o

Catalin awoke, and finding the babe was not
in the crook of her arm sleeping, she screamed, “My babe, my babe.”
She tried to struggle out of bed. Elyne jumped from a stool and
rushed over to her.

“The bairn is all right, Catalin.” She was
struggling to keep her on the bed when Ranald burst into the room,
his eyes wide with fear.

Frightened by the noise, the babe in his arms
squalled and beat tiny fists and feet in the air. Ranald had
proudly been showing him off to Raik and the men who had gathered
outside the Infirmary to croon and make over the little bundle.

Some had been fathers before; others had
never seen a newborn. All marveled that one so tiny could have such
a strong voice.

“Are ye in pain?” Ranald clutched the bairn
to his chest, jiggling it gently up and down. White-faced, he
stared at her swollen middle and gulped. “Dinna tell me another one
is there!”

“Nay. She feared ye had taken the bairn from
her,” Elyne told him.

“Aye, but only to show Abbot Aymer and the
men.” He carefully placed the baby in Catalin’s reaching arms. “Do
ye still fear me so, even though I swore to ye the bairn is
safe?”

Ranald stood back, his eyes stricken, as he
watched his Catalin clutch the bairn to her breast. The tiny mouth
latched onto her nipple and started suckling making soft, greedy
sounds.

“I love ye, Catalin. I always have.”

Her fearful gaze calmed as she watched his
face.

“I love ye too much to have ye living in
fear. But I would have ye safe. If ye canna bear to love a man as
ugly as I, I will provide a safe place for ye and the bairn to
live. I know ye still love Moridac. I canna take his place. I canna
change being unsightly.”

Catalin scowled and gave a very unladylike
huff.

“I did not love Moridac. Nay, that is not
true. I did love him. But in a different way. I knew it was
expected that we wed from as far back as I can remember.” She
swallowed and smoothed her hand over her babe’s head, then looked
him in the eye.

“Did you never note that it was always you
who made me angry? Always you, not Moridac or Raik whom I followed.
Did you not know why I tried to rid you of all those slobbering
women who sought you out?”

“Aye. I kenned ye disliked me even then.”

“Huh! You had best be prepared for me to
dislike you more every day for the rest of your life, then.”
Catalin rolled her eyes at Elyne, who was grinning from ear to
ear.

“Ye are right block-headed, brother.” Elyne
slammed him on the back of his head with her open hand. “For me, it
will take a rare man to earn a love as great as Catalin has for
ye.”

Raptor Castle, Eighteen Months Later.

Catalin held her hand over her mouth to hide
her giggles as Chief Broccin, bent nearly double, took steps so
small he near toppled over. Clutching his finger, Gregory, his
black curls bouncing, stomped around. He chortled and turned his
face upward to watch his grandsire with eyes so alike Moridac’s
that Ranald oft thought his brother’s soul had returned with his
son.

Ranald stood behind Catalin, his chin rested
on her head, his hands splayed across her stomach caressing the
bulge there.

“Do ye think ‘tis twins ye carry? Or do ye
grow a giant here?”