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“Do you think they would not guess when you
stared at me all eve with looks near to loathing?” Her tone was
every bit as irate as his.

Ranald’s hand shifted from her elbow to clamp
around her upper arm. The way he propelled her through the doorway
and up the stairwell, all would think he was impatient indeed to
have his wife abed. No doubt, if they glimpsed his face, they
wondered if his intent was to ravish or to throttle her.

Hannah was in his chamber, preparing their
bed for the night. Ranald paced the room while she placed warming
stones wrapped in wool cloths between the sheets, far down on his
side and higher for Catalin’s own.

Catalin’s face heated when Hannah came to
draw her kirtle over her head. Ranald spoke, sounding close behind
her.

“It is a strange outfit.”

Catalin felt a slight tug and knew he
fingered the garment.

“The gown feels of sturdy cloth, yet yer
smock is so light it near has no weight. They dinna seem well
matched.”

She read the disapproval in his voice.

“They were not meant to be. I needed to mend
the yellow kirtle I had donned with it.”

Ranald dropped his hand, his gaze bored into
her own.

“No doubt when ye made haste to gawk out the
window. What happened? Did ye fight over who was to get the best
view?” His lip near lifted in a snarl.

His eyes widened when Hannah giggled like a
young lass. “No one shoved harder than I. ‘Twas the most
magnificent feast these eyes have had for many a year.”

A flush started at Ranald’s hairline and
spread down his neck. Before he spoke again, he retreated to the
far side of the room.

“All within sight saw Catalin, wife for but a
day, staring like a dairy maid well-used to spying nakit men.”

“Nay, not like a dairy maid. Like a wife who
knows little of her husband,” Catalin blurted out.

Seeing his back stiffen, she clambered up the
two steps beside the bed and slipped between the covers. Why
couldn’t she keep her unruly mouth shut? Her feet searched for the
comfort of the warm stones. She rubbed her toes over them, all the
while regretting Hannah had no reason to linger.

“I placed wine and bread beside the bed, in
case ye should hunger during the night.” Though Hannah addressed
Ranald, Catalin knew she supplied the bread to settle Catalin’s
stomach.

“I am sure my wife will be glad of it, should
this day’s food not set well with her. Ye may seek yer bed
now.”

Though his voice was quiet, sarcasm laced the
words, knowing Hannah knew why she had spewed that morn. ‘Twas wise
Hannah kept her lips sealed and left the room, for the tension
sparking from him felt near enough to set light to a candle.

Ranald stalked around the room, nipping out
each flame. She heard his clothing rustle as he removed and folded
them like he had done the night before. Not all men were as
careful. Her father had thought naught of leaving his clothing lay
where he removed them, and Elyne had warned that Moridac left his
clothes strewn from the door to the bed each night.

She held tight to the bed frame, for Ranald’s
weight dipped the feather bedding, making it rock on its ropes when
he stretched full out on it. She waited. Held her breath, expecting
him to reach for her. He did not.

In the dim light with his black hair against
the pillow and the left side of his face toward her, he looked so
like Moridac resting there that she held her breath. His eyes were
open. He did not remove his mask. Could that ruined side be so
horrible? Last eve, he had not allowed her to touch him. Most
likely, it was the same as his back, though worse.

“Close yer eyes.” Ranald’s words were sharp,
weighted with feeling. “Yer stares have probed me enough to last a
lifetime.”

She went totally still. Stopped breathing,
even. When she realized it, she eased her breath out slowly so he
would not hear. When next she inhaled, it was deep. His scent
drifted to her, shooting a hot stab to her stomach. Not of pain. It
was more like the heat that spread down to her belly when he kissed
her last eve.

Though her heart had tripped with fear of his
anger while climbing the stairwell, now her body yearned for his
touch. She had not felt this way after Moridac’s lovemaking. He had
been intent on his own release, while Ranald had savored her,
taking time to see she had pleasure too.

She shifted, restless now. The sheet teased
nipples that had hardened further with each breath she took. How
could a man smell so good when he had bathed with harsh soap at the
well? She eased an arm up to her nose. Sniffed. She could barely
tell her own soap had left the scent of sweet violets.

“Lucifer’s pointy horns!”

Catalin near startled off the bed.

“Will ye stop sniffing and squirming? Ye’re
like a wriggling worm.” Ranald sat up, thumped his pillow, turned
his back to her and settled on his right side.

Catalin stiffened, her limbs at an awkward
angle, for she was about to turn over. She did not dare move now.
How could she go to sleep? She was not the slightest bit sleepy.
Strange. All day, ‘twas all she wanted to do and could not. Huh!
Most likely, she would be awake when the sun next decided to
rise.

o0o

Ranald burned with need. Knowing Catalin lay
beside him hardened his tarse and made his ballocks ache. Then,
too, there was her heady scent. She must like it herself, for he
had heard her sniffs, seen her hold an arm to her nose.

Mayhap he should not have bellowed at her.
Now she was so stiff he could feel her even more. His mind turned
back to last eve. She had not been stiff then. No. Her body had
yielded wherever he touched. Warm. Hot, even. Her belly had
quivered when he caressed her there, had raked his fingers through
her springy curls below. And her core? Like liquid fire when he had
eased his shaft within, not stopping until he was seated all the
way.

Cruddy Lucifer! He was afire. He gritted his
teeth, stared at the ceiling. Catalin’s light puffs of air told him
she had found sleep faster than anyone he had ever known. Funny.
She had been the one who was restless, while he had been exhausted,
needing respite before the morrow. He had many plans to make. A
castle to besiege. And all he could think about was his blarsted
tarse staring up at him.

Excited. Pleading.

How quickly he had lost control of his body.
Had he ever ruled it, or had he fooled himself? He sucked his
teeth, disgusted. How could he lust after her? After a woman who
likely grew his brother’s seed in her belly? It was sick.

He eased from the bed, padded to the window
and pushed the shutters wide. Storm clouds hid the moon and the
damp air held a hint of frost.

He stretched his bare body face down on the
floor. His arms spread and legs stretched out as he had on Kelso’s
stones. His skin quivered, shrunk from the cold.

Good. ‘Twas fortunate his tarse minded the
cold. Mayhap, now he could keep his thoughts on his prayers.

o0o

Catalin awoke curled in a tight ball, feeling
much colder than when she had gone to bed. Last eve, Ranald had
pulled her close in his sleep, shared his warmth. It drew her now.
Perhaps she could ease over to him? If she used caution with each
move, he would not awaken.

She inched her right arm and leg across the
cold sheets, then rolled as slowly as a cook turning a spit while
roasting a leg of lamb. Hm. She reached out, fluttered her hand
under the covers so as not to disturb them, trying to sense his
heat. It was a huge bed. Though he did not want to touch her,
surely he did not need to sleep so near the edge. She eased over
one more turn. Still no enticing warmth. The sheets there were near
cold as ice. She felt again. Her head lifted, her neck stretched.
She frowned, seeing naught but bed covers.

No one rested beside her.

She sat up. Stared around the room. ‘Twas
empty. A cloud moved, baring the moon. Something was on the floor.
She threw off the tangled covers and crawled closer to peer
down.

Ranald lay sprawled like he had sustained a
mortal injury.

“Saints help me. Ranald! He is dying!” Her
screams echoed against the walls.

She scrambled over the side of the bed,
tumbling pillows onto the floor. She drew in a great gasp of air
and yelled again.

Ranald sprang upright, kicking pillows aside
as he grasped her shoulders and gave her a shake.

“Woman, are ye dafty? Stop yer caterwauling,
else ye will wake all in the keep.”

Catalin’s breath left in a heavy whoosh. Her
husband stood before her, bathed in moonlight. She grasped her
throat and stared. Her toes curled, and she began to hop like she
danced on hot coals.

Ranald cocked his head and peered at her. Two
perfect, full globes adorned with rosy tips bobbed and swayed in a
most delightful way. Beckoning him. He tore his gaze from her, and
dropped his hands like she scalded him. He was near losing the
control he had prayed so long and hard for.

“Why do ye hop so? Do ye have to piss?”

“The shutters. They are open to the night,
and the floor is like ice.”

“Ranald!” Raik’s voice. His fist pounding on
the door.

“Cruddy Hell. Ye’ve waked the keep.”

Ranald sucked his teeth and trod over to the
door. Without paying heed to his naked flesh, he threw it open and
bellowed.

“What?”

Whether it was the force of his yell, or the
sight of his body, or mayhap both, the crowd gathered there
thinned. He heard Elyne’s laugh trailing down the hallway. From the
corner of his eye, he saw Muriele’s doe-like eyes peer, in one
long, appreciative journey, over him before she ambled away, her
hips swaying beneath her robe.

“I heard Catalin scream that ye were dying,
cousin.” Raik’s lips split in a grin, his eyes gleamed with
laughter when he glanced in the room. “Were ye fighting her for the
pillows? Yer bed is a mess.”

Ranald looked back over his shoulders. Saw
the bed. But that wasn’t where Raik’s eyes dwelled. His wife stood
there, her flaming curls spilling over her face, her creamy
shoulders, while she held a pillow before her to cover her
nakedness. Her bare feet vied with each other to see which one
could leave the floor the fastest. He felt his blood heating,
knowing what hid behind that pillow.

“Does she need to piss?” Raik’s brows
rose.

“Nay. Cold.”

“Dinna waste it.”

“Waste? Waste what? Ye speak in riddles.”
Ranald scowled to let his cousin know he was not pleased to stand
there in the doorway for all to see, bare-arsed, while listening to
senseless talk.

Raik’s downward gaze explained his words.

“Shite!”

The ardor Ranald had thought to freeze into
control had sprung to life again. All his good intentions fled with
one quick glance at his nakit wife. He slammed the door in Raik’s
face and cursed again on hearing his burst of laughter.

In less than two full days, his wife caused
half the keep to see him unclothed. Twice. His skin heated
remembering Muriele’s eyes studying him. She had not turned her
gaze away, shy of seeing him. Nay. She had lingered. Had looked her
fill.

Where was Catalin? She was standing close-by
but a breath ago. His gaze darted to the bed. The lump in the
covers must be her, for he could see the sheets shaking from across
the room. His long strides took him to the window. He slammed the
shutters together and latched them tight.

He was used to living in the abbey where men
disciplined their bodies and did not seek a fireplace. Mayhap he
had been thoughtless to let the fire die out and the night air
in.

Catalin carefully shifted to give Ranald room
when she heard him moving close-by. She shook all the harder after
leaving the spot she had worked so hard to warm and found icy
sheets.

She turned her back to him and clamped her
teeth together, striving to still their chattering. On hearing him
put more peat on the banked fire, she sighed with relief. After he
worked over it for a while, Catalin finally noted a faint light
through the sheet she had pulled over her face.

A cold blast of air hit her when Ranald
lifted the covers to get back into bed. It didn’t last long, for he
turned toward her, hooked his arm around her waist, and pulled her
close.

Warmth radiating from his skin was pure
bliss.

“Are ye never still? Wiggle yer arse again,
and I’ll give ye a pinch ye’ll long remember.”

‘Twas not an idle threat. It was not his way.
She stilled. Now, more than ever, she felt his shaft, hard as
tempered steel, nestled against her buttocks. It, too, was
blessedly warm.

“I cannot help it. I have always liked a warm
bed. Both nights you have banked the fire and thrown open the
shutters.”

“They’re closed now.” He pulled her tighter
to him.

“Husband?”

“What now?” His heavy sigh ruffled the hair
on the back of her neck.

“I will not permit you to destroy Hunter
Castle.”

“What?

“Hunter Castle. And my villages. You are not
to destroy my people’s lives. They have little, and what there is,
is precious to them.”

“I well understood the word destroy. It is
not what I asked about.” His body shifted as he rose on his elbow
to stare down at her. “Explain this ‘my’, wife.”

“Hunter Castle is my home, as Raptor is
yours.” She twisted her shoulders so she could frown up at him.

“Nay. Raptor Castle is not mine. Chief
Broccin rules here. But did we not wed this past day? Aye or nay,
wife?”

“Aye. You know we did. What has that to do
with it?”

“There is no ‘my’ for a woman. Ye held Hunter
Castle only until ye wed. What was yers is now mine. It is
my
Hunter Castle.”

“But, you are a Scot. I am of Saxon stock.
Your land is in Scotland. My land is in Northumbria.”