Forbidden (12 page)

‘Twas near a penance.

He too had practiced deception.

All the years at Kelso he fought his body’s
craving for a woman’s flesh. Had prayed and believed he was a pious
monk. Until anger would shake him when someone sought to prey on
his defenseless brethren. He had relished the fight. Guilt
afterward had made him seek penance.

That first time after the killing was over,
he had gone to the chapel in the dead of night. He had shrugged
from his black robes, his rope belt holding them bunched around his
waist. He gritted his teeth, took the monks’ flagellum and scourged
his back. He used all his force to strike the whip over his
shoulders, down to his hips. Blood ran hot down his flesh.

Prior Godric came into the chapel to pray.
The prior tried to stop him, but could not. Not until Abbot Aymer
arrived, breathless from running with the prior, did he listen. The
abbot’s calm voice convinced him that though Ranald thought to
deliver his own punishment in God’s name, it was not what God
demanded of him.

Nay. He was man. Not a monk. Had been all the
time. His piety had been a lie. Else, how could his pleasure
tonight have been so intense, so ecstatic?

His head sprang up, hearing a strange sound
from across the room. Catalin sat upright, her eyes scrunched
tight, holding both hands over her mouth. He didna puzzle overlong
on it.

“Ye are ill?”

Her eyelids flung open. Distress and fear
warred with each other there. Distress won. She scrambled from the
bed and yanked forth a light wooden bucket from beneath, one most
likely whose normal use was for collecting duck eggs. Her arms went
around it. Hugged it.

“Ohhh.” He heard a splash, a muffled, “I’m
sorrryyy,” quavered from her lips.

He couldna use the bloodstained water in the
basin. He grabbed the half-full pitcher and cloth, grateful the
water had chilled even more during the night. He went over to kneel
on the cold floor by his bride. He slipped his arm around her for
support, dipped the cloth in the water, then held it to her
forehead, her eyes, while she wretched. Once done, he wiped her
face. Shamed eyes asked his forgiveness.

“Ye are better now?”

A slight nod was answer. He pried her arms
from the bucket and set it aside, then rose. Not until her face
flushed did he remember they were both naked as babes. ‘Twas a
wonder his squatting beside her did not send her into a swoon.

“Come. Back into bed with ye.”

He lifted her in his arms and placed her on
the sheet, covered her, then folded the cold cloth over her eyes.
It would help soothe her and shield her gaze from his body.

He poured water into the bucket, sloshed it
around and flung the contents out the window. Too late, he looked
to assure himself no one walked below. ‘Twould not have been a
pleasant way to start the day.

“Stay abed this morn. No one expects a bride
to rise till well into the day.”

“I am so sorry, Ranald.”

The words made him stiffen.

“Did ye not know how babes are made when ye
allowed Moridac into yer bed?”

“Aye. I knew. But I did not know but one time
could make a babe. Letia has been a wife for years, and she is not
breeding.”

“Baron de Burgh isna a young, lusty man. Were
he such, she would have a bairn at her breast afore now.”

Seeing her cringe, he realized he had scowled
at her all the while they talked. He went over to yank a wool
tartan off a peg, slung it over his left shoulder, then bunched the
rest around his waist and secured it with his belt. Instead of
belting his long sword on as usual, he slung the belt over his head
and drew his left arm through it. The sword rode on his back, the
hilt available to his right hand.

He stilled. Listening. Someone crept outside
their door.

“Pretend ye are sound asleep, wife,” he
hissed in Catalin’s ear. He shoved her to her side and arranged the
sheet to look like she had tossed it around in dreaming. He tilted
his sword so as to enable him to sit on the edge of the bed, and
took his slow time putting on his boots. The door eased open,
footsteps neared. He sprang to his feet, his sword halfway out of
its scabbard. He pretended surprise on seeing his sire, and let the
weapon slide back into place.

“What do ye here?” he whispered.

Ha. As if he didn’t know. His father’s gaze
devoured the bed. His eyes squinted to mere slits when he spied the
rumpled sheets, for a bit of red showed there. Ranald, pretending
to be helpful, slipped the top sheet over further to reveal
them.

His sire examined the sheets, then Ranald’s
face. Ranald could near see his father’s mind tumbling over all he
had learned. Broccin’s lips thinned. His brow furrowed. He stared
again at his son, spun on his heels and left the room.

Ranald nodded, his own face formed a grim
smile. He grunted, satisfied. He left the room and was about to
ease the door shut when Hannah stepped out of the shadows. Worry
etched lines beside her lips, her eyes, as she strained to study
his face in the dim light. He gave one sharp nod and left the door
ajar.

His long strides took him below and through
the great hall.

“Ranald!

He ignored his father’s sharp voice.

“Dinna walk away when I call to ye,” Broccin
shouted.

He stopped and turned with measured
movements. He ignored the men who were breaking their fast.

“Dinna think to order what I do. I am not
yers to command. If ye want words with me, ye will have to shout,
for I aim to hone my fighting skills this morn.”

Before Broccin could take his next breath,
Raik came through the huge door leading down to the bailey.

“Ho, Ranald. Ye kept me awake much of the
night. Ye need to change yer bed ropes, else I must sleep further
from yer chamber.”

He slapped Ranald on the back and winked
broadly. The men eating nearby hooted and grinned at them.

“Come on, man. Let us see what skills ye
acquired at Kelso. I should be able to take ye this day, seeing as
how ye spent most of the night, uh, practicing with yer other
weapon.”

“Huh! Dinna count on it.”

They were out and down in the bailey in short
order, both eager to work up a sweat. Ranald sought mental relief
and exhaustion, for with a broadsword in hand, he would not think
on the way his ordered life had changed to one of chaos.

Raik sought pleasure. Wielding a sword and
having a good fight to use it in was all he required of life. For
most of the morn, they stamped and swung, each testing the other’s
skill, until they were running with sweat. Finally, Ranald was
silent no longer and asked what he burned to know.

“What knew ye of Catalin and Moridac?”

He struck out at Raik.

“Knew?”

Raik’s shield deflected Ranald’s strike.

“Aye. Of he and Catalin.”

Ranald raised his sword high, horizontal.
Clang! Raik’s return vibrated through Ranald’s muscled arm.

“Naught.”

“Did he not confide in ye?”

Ranald twisted to the side, out of range. His
mask was shifting, sliding from the sweat streaming down his
face.

“Nay.”

Raik stamped back, pointed his sword downward
to parry Ranald’s swing.

“Only that he burned for her.”

Ranald swiped his arm across his forehead,
repositioning the leather to clear his eye.

“Did he change in any way in the days afore
he was to wed?”

Ranald struck his sword on his shield,
signaling a halt. They both bent over and took great gasps of air.
Raik spied the leather thong that had slipped from his hair. ‘Twas
beneath Ranald’s boot. He flapped his fingers upward, and Ranald
rocked his foot back on his heel, releasing the thong. After
combing his fingers through his hair, Raik secured it back
again.

“What mean ye by change? He said he planned
to keep his tarse inside his breeches when Catalin arrived. Said he
didna want his bride to stumble over him if she walked in her sleep
as Elyne oft does.”

“Did he seem different after she came to the
keep? Confide anything to ye?”

Raik frowned, thinking, his unseeing eyes
showing his mind searching over the hours he had been with Moridac.
He finally shrugged his shoulders, held his palms out and
frowned.

“Ask me plain out, man. I am no good at
guessing.”

“The morning of the hunt.”

Hearing that, Raik looked up, his brows
lifted in thought before speaking.

“He didna look like he had slept much. Looked
right mindless he grinned so much. Never afore did he look the
fool. I thought he had downed more than his usual cups before
hunting. His chest was puffed. He looked about to burst with the
need to gloat. I even asked what pleased him so.”

“Did he tell ye?”

“Naught but that Catalin pleased him
mightily.”

“How?”

“I asked, but he only laughed and spurred his
mount.”

“Good. I dreaded killing ye for keeping
silent.”

Raik’s face went still. He opened his mouth
to speak then snapped it closed it. Shook his head. And burst out
in anger.

“Cursed Satan! The fool. What would have
happened to her had ye not been here? Her uncle would have killed
her for sure.”

“That fat old man Hamon who smelled of
dung?”

“Aye. He beat her when she refused to wed
right after her father died. Moridac threatened to kill him for
it.”

“Best he never again comes to Raptor. He will
leave head down across his mount, his eyes wide but seeing
naught.”

“Ah. Strong words for a monk-turned-man.”

“Aye.” Ranald’s muscles bunched, his sword
lashed out to clang against Raik’s shield.

Raik returned the blow. Ranald nearly didn’t
block it in time.

“By heaven, man, take yer mask off when ye
fight, else ye will take a serious injury. It has slipped over half
yer eye. A man could take advantage and come at ye from that side.”
Raik shook his head when Ranald hesitated. “Never did I think ye
vain, cousin.”

“‘Nay, not that. I dinna want to frighten the
bairns or women who may be about.”

“Whilst we train? We are far from the keep.
No one can see.”

Ranald grunted and slid it up over his face,
for the leather ties were loose. When Raik tilted his head,
studying his face from all angles, Ranald scowled at him.

“‘Twill be an added weapon. Ye near scare the
piss out of me when ye scowl. Put it back on, cousin.” He burst
into laughter when Ranald took a swing at him.

Hearing the sharp clang of weapons nearby,
Ranald glanced around and noted his father training a young knight.
Though he despised the man, he had to admire his finely honed body
and skills. He was as taut and trim as when he returned from the
Crusades. Not far from him, he spied Domnall and beckoned him
over.

“Domnall, I have need of a squire. Which
youth would be best suited?”

“Ah, I wish all requests were so easily
filled. ‘Tis Finn.” He raised his voice and called to the youth he
had been wrestling with. Finn sprang forward, an eager grin on his
face.

“Aye, sir?”

Ranald watched him. The young man did not
flinch on meeting his eyes, did not stare at his ruined cheek. And
mayhap his fiery red hair lent him added temper for a good fighter.
Ranald nodded approval. He circled around him, taking in his strong
arms, his tall stature and well-muscled body. The lad was about
fifteen summers old. He would do.

“Fin, locate Lord Raik’s squire and tell him
to bring his mount, then saddle Satan and bring him to me.”

Finn took off in a run.

“If he can handle Satan, he will do
nicely.”

The three warriors watched sturdy archers
training with longbows in the field alongside theirs. Finn
returned, Satan under control with the young man’s firm hold.
Raik’s squire followed with his mount. Ranald leaned close to
Finn’s ear and gave him an order. The squire trotted off, his eyes
wide, his mouth pursed like he was about to whistle.

Ranald took his time mounting, even flipped
his tartan up and away from his thighs. He felt his father’s eyes
studying him, inching over his arms, his legs. Ranald near smiled,
for his sire looked like he had bitten a cherry so unripe it
shriveled his lips.

“What sight pleases ye, Ranald?”

“The look of a man thwarted.” Ranald guided
Satan to a far corner where he and Raik could hone their fighting
skills while ahorse. What else did his father have spewing through
his sick mind? In a short while, Finn would return, and he would
bedevil his sire further.

o0o

Catalin was still awake when Hannah slipped
into the bedchamber. She went straight to Catalin and, seeing her
eyes open staring at the ceiling, sat on the edge of the bed.

“Oh, Hannah. I was so shamed,” Catalin
wrapped her arms around her old nurse and rested her head on her
shoulder.

“Why, lovey? Was Ranald not able to perform
his husbandly duties?”

“Oh, nay! Had I not known, I would never have
guessed he had been a man of God.” Her face heated until she
wondered if Hannah could feel it through her tunic.

“What, then? Did he suspect, even with the
chicken blood?”

“Is that what it was? I never got to use it.
He knew. Lit a candle and looked at the bed...at me.”

“Then where did the blood stains come from?”
She went quiet. Lifted Catalin’s head so she could see her face.
“Are you hurt?”

“Nay. ‘Tis Ranald’s.” Shame filled her.

“It will not work. Chief Broccin will note
any slashes on his arms, his legs.”

“Not where he placed them. They’ll not be
visible.” Seeing Hannah’s raised brows, she whispered where they
were.

“Clever man.” Hannah fell back on the bed,
cackling. “I would give much to have witnessed what you described.
If you knew little of a man’s sex afore, you know it well now.”