Forbidden (5 page)

Broccin’s jaw went slack when Ranald gained
the saddle in a flash. Satan reared. Ranald did not budge. His firm
hands and legs let the horse know the man was master, not the
beast. Satan again stamped up and down with his forelegs. Ranald
ignored him.

Each maneuver the horse tried, Ranald
countered, until it shook and snorted then threw its head up and
pranced. Regal. Proud. As if he deemed the black-robed man on his
back worthy of him.

“Cover yer face. ‘Tis as unsightly as the day
I sent ye here.”

“Nay, Broccin. Ye dinna like the design ye
created? ‘Tis a shame. Ye worked so hard at it.”

“Yer fault. In yer drunken state, ye could
have ruined a fine stead.”

“Ah, yes. Yer mount was far more valuable
than yer son. There is another problem ye are forgetting.” Ranald’s
cold regard made Broccin twitch.

“What?”

“Are ye not afeared Moridac’s bride will bolt
with one look at her new husband-to-be?”

“’Tis yer problem—not mine. Mayhap ye should
blindfold her afore ye ram betwixt her legs.” Broccin’s laughter
rang out as he rode toward the men waiting in the field beyond.

With Domnall riding beside him, Ranald led
Satan through the opened gate and stopped. He twisted around, his
hand rising in a farewell gesture to the men who ran behind them,
waving.

Chief Broccin waited at the head of the long
line of warriors facing them. Raik and the king’s man were behind
him.

“Take your place, Ranald.” Domnall motioned
with his chin for him to pull alongside the waiting Chief
Broccin.

Ranald cantered over, knowing whether he
liked it or no, he must show the warriors of Raptor Castle that he
took his rightful place as their lord’s heir. He drew in beside the
man he despised, expecting to hear more hate spewing from his
lips.

Instead, Broccin pulled a folded banner from
inside the neck of his tunic and shook it out. Two shiny black
eagles flew on a field of yellow; a red bar diagonally divided it.
A waiting squire attached it to his pole and bobbed his head at
Ranald, before pulling even with the other standard-bearers, their
colorful banners cracking in a stiff breeze.

“‘Twas
his
design,” Broccin
muttered. “He said ‘twas for the two of ye separated by death.
Should have been yer death. Not his.” Broccin kicked his mount into
action, heading for Raptor Castle.

o0o

“I know no more than you, Letia.” At Raptor
Castle, Catalin wrung her hands and paced back and forth at the
foot of her bed.

“Moridac’s twin Ranald has lived at Kelso
Abbey all this time? I cannot understand why Chief Broccin said he
died so many years ago.”

Catalin blinked, clearing her eyes of the
smoke from candles lit around every corner of the room. Since
Moridac’s death, she could not stand the gloom on cloudy days.

“Aye. ‘Tis what he claimed. It does not seem
right that a man would declare his son dead if he was not. I fear
some terrible secret lies behind it.”

Catalin’s stomach heaved. She forced it back.
‘Twas worry and fear that caused it.

“Letia, did he give any hint about Ranald
when he sent notice to you?”

“Nay. His missive bidding our return took us
by surprise. He said only that he wanted ample witnesses for a
wedding betwixt his long absent son and you.”

Hannah, ever close of late, brought a cold
cloth and wiped Catalin’s face. “You should eat more, child.”

“I cannot keep it down. Every time I start to
eat, Chief Broccin watches me with a strange look of glee. I fear
he is brainsick.”

“More likely too much wine.” Letia grimaced
with disgust and ran angry fingers through her dark brown
curls.

“Late on the night before last, I heard the
grinding of the portcullis rising. Mayhap twenty warriors escorted
a messenger from King David.”

Catalin pressed the cold cloth to her face
and breathed in the soothing lavender oil Hannah had sprinkled on
it.

“Could you make out who led the escort?”

“Nay. It was too dark. But before dawn even
lightened the sky, Chief Broccin hammered on my door with his sword
hilt.” Catalin moved the cloth to her neck. “Afore I could don my
robe, he burst in and announced there was to be a wedding. In three
days. He was going to fetch his son. He waggled his finger at me
and laughed. I think he had been in his cups all night. A short
time later, he rode out with a large company of warriors.”

“When we arrived, Warin was surprised to see
he had left behind only men enough to patrol the walls.”

“Aye.” Catalin increased her pacing, worry in
each footstep. ”If he rode to fetch his son, why would he need an
army?”

Letia shook her head, as puzzled as her
friend.

Even as she did so, a bagpipe announced an
arrival. Catalin and Letia ran to gape out the window as Chief
Broccin’s army approached the castle gates. The barbican guards
ordered the drawbridge lowered, the portcullis raised. Their chains
screeched in the evening air.

They watched the men thundering into the
bailey. As they approached, Catalin’s heart rang in her ears. Which
man was Ranald? Surely, she would recognize him. When she last saw
him, he was Moridac’s mirror image.

“Moridac’s standard flies. I see it. But
where is Ranald?” Catalin rubbed her eyes and leaned further out
the window to study the faces milling below.

“It is too dark to make him out,” Letia
decided. “They have not lit the torches for the evening.”

“A monk rides alongside Chief Broccin. Do you
think he comes to perform the vows?”

Catalin was secretly pleased, for she had
much to confess. She did not want to speak of it to the priest here
at Raptor Castle. The man seemed much afeared of the castle’s lord.
No doubt, should Chief Broccin ask, the priest would tell all.

“Oh, Catalin. Is Ranald the knight riding
alongside Sir Domnall? I can see no more than part of his face
beneath his helmet. It is most comely.”

“Nay...” She stared and finally made out the
face. “’Tis Raik, Ranald’s cousin. We must have missed him.”
Catalin shivered and pulled her light robe across her chest.

“Why would his father not give you a day or
two to meet each other? To have a wedding the day after he arrives
seems hasty.” Letia frowned, but seeing how upset Catalin appeared,
went over and hugged her.

“Time enough on the morrow to see your
husband.” Hannah urged them away from the window and pulled the
shutters closed.

A maid scratched at the door, guarding a
candle’s flames when Hannah opened it.

“Baron de Burgh said I was to see ye to yer
bed, my lady, and to tell ye he would be late,” she told Letia.

Letia held a dainty hand to cover her mouth
and yawned.

“Do not fret, Catalin. After all, the two
were twins. I’m sure you will see no difference between them when
you meet.” Letia crossed to the open door. “Rest well and do not
worry.”

o0o

Catalin sat on the side of the bed, her feet
dangling above the floor. She ran a hand through her tousled hair.
Her eyes burned for sleep yet it would not come. She slid off the
bed. Her toes gripped the rug, enjoying the feel as she walked over
to take a cloak off the wall peg. She slid her feet into her shoes
then bent over to pull the ties tight.

One hand on the wall steadied her as she
crept down the back stairwell. Mayhap if she sat in the gardens for
a short time, she could relax her fears and sleep. She eased the
door open and slipped out into the night. Rounding the side of the
keep, she headed for the terraced gardens.

The sweet perfume of roses drifted with the
night air. That Raptor Castle boasted such a lovely display of
flowers startled most visitors. Catalin was used to it. The lord’s
sister Joneta was responsible. She was so unlike her brother. He
was rude. Uncouth, even. Lady Joneta was quiet. Gentle. She oft
looked at him as if she puzzled over what he did.

Catalin looked up at the cloud-wrapped sky
and took a deep breath. Gravel crunched beneath a heavy foot.
Startled, she looked toward the sound. A cloud drifted away from
the moon, letting enough light filtering through an apple tree’s
leaves for her to see a robed man stood beneath it, his hands
clasped something dark close to his chest, yet he seemed in prayer,
his head bent.

A tonsure. It was the monk who had ridden
beside Chief Broccin. Relief flooded her. Since the night Moridac
had come to her bed, she had yearned to confess her sin. God would
surely punish such a misdeed. Had that been why he had taken
Moridac from her? How could she speak her vows on the morrow with
such a weight on her chest?

She hurried down the path, afeared the monk
would fade into the darkness before she had chance to speak with
him.

Ranald sought peace in the garden, walking
beneath the swaying branches of the trees, the rustling leaves
giving voice to the slight wind. He had prayed long over his
brother’s tomb, had begged God to forgive Moridac of his sins. He
prayed to Moridac, too, told him how he regretted he had no chance
to be here with him, to mayhap help him. And if he could not, to
ease him from this life. His tears had mingled with his words. His
throat still ached with wanting to sob like some weakling of a
woman.

His head jerked up. His eyes probed the
shadows. A woman’s graceful steps barely disturbed the stones, but
it was enough to announce her. He whipped his cowl up to cover his
head and hide his face in its shadows.

He moved to stand in the deep gloom where a
thin shaft of moonlight split the darkness in front of it. He would
see who hurried to him with such purpose in her stride.

“Please, I could not sleep. May I speak with
you, Brother?”

He recognized Catalin at once, though she had
changed much since last he saw her. Not everything, though. Some
things had stayed the same. Curly hair the shade of a fading red
sunset was as unruly as when she had skipped and scampered across
the bailey, chasing first one piglet then another, trying to catch
the squealing babies. Freckles trailed a path across her cheeks,
crossing over a dainty nose. Her lips were full, pink, even in this
gloom.

What had changed most was her spindly body.
She had been all arms and legs beneath her flapping gowns. Now, her
face looked pleasingly round, hinting that her body was no longer
skinny but plump.

“...talk to a priest...Moridac...confess.” He
startled, realizing Catalin had been speaking, though he had heard
little other than his brother’s name.

“I am sorry, mistress. What is it ye wish
from me?” ‘Twas easy to look down at her, yet keep his face
hidden.

“Has Chief Broccin brought you here to speak
the vows this next morn?”

“Aye.”

‘Twas the truth, though she thought he would
be doing the asking—not the answering.

“Chief Broccin has said I would not have time
to talk with a priest before the ceremony, but I cannot marry with
such sin on my conscience.”

He heard Catalin take a quavering, deep
breath as she stared up at him, her eyes probing the gloom.

“Will you hear my confession?”

Ranald gave thanks the clouds again hid the
moon, for could she see, she would note his alarm. That she wanted
to confess didn’t surprise him. Most brides did so before they were
to wed. What had she said about Moridac? About sin? He
shuddered.

“My child, I canna hear your confession. ‘Tis
the dead of night.” A lame excuse, but it was all he could think of
at the time.

“I do not understand.”

“Confessions should be made in the
confessional, not amongst the apple trees.” She would never believe
such a thing. Most castle chapels did not have the small enclosed
stalls.

“Is it not more fitting? Amongst all God has
created, not closed within something built by man?”

Nay, Catalin had not changed overmuch. She
was still stubborn and ready to argue, even with a man of God. Ah.
But he was no longer a man of God. He had only to tell her the
truth.

But not all of it.

“Aye, I believe God would prefer the outdoors
as His house. I am sorry, Lady, but I canna help you. Just this
last day, I was told by my abbot I could no longer hear
confessions.”

Catalin stilled. He could see her mind
examine all her knowledge, seeking a reason for such a thing. Her
look kept darting to Moridac’s black hunting shirt clasped in his
hand. No doubt, she caught his brother’s scent that still lingered
there, a scent they had shared. Juniper and spice.

“Oh.”

She shifted from one foot to the next. Her
head bobbed up. Her eyes tried to pierce the darkness.

“You have committed a sin? What offense is so
great? You did not take a life else Chief Broccin would not bring
you here. The next worse is breaking your vow of...” Her voice
trailed off.

He had no need of light to see her blush.
‘Twas clear the vow she decided was so forbidden to break was
celibacy.

Her head shot back down. A playful breeze
bared Ranald’s toes. She tilted her head and stared. His toes bent,
gripping the grass. He smoothed his hand down his robes, covering
them. ‘Twas foolish of him to feel exposed.

“Mayhap ye should seek yer bed, Lady, afore
someone notes ye are gone?

“Aye.” She nodded and halfway turned then
twisted back. “‘Tis his shirt,” she blurted.

“Aye.”

“What are you doing with it?”

“I sought to pray for Moridac’s soul. Having
his shirt aids me to feel close to him as I pray.”

His hand tightened around it, pressing it to
his chest.

Catalin remained silent, mulling his words
over while her eyes probed the shadows. Finally, she gave a brief
nod.

“I am pleased you are here. And about your
vows? Mayhap it is strange, but ‘tis a comfort knowing someone such
as you also has a shameful secret.”