She had hoped to save Logan only to discover she had lost him forever. Daily, hourly over these past six months she had wondered why she had not stayed with him, died beside him, remained with him unto eternity, as he’d pleaded with her to do. Surely the absoluteness of death was far more desirable than the tortured life she now lived. Or so she had thought.
In the dark days that had followed Edward’s recapture of her and his insistence that her Gypsy lover was dead, Kristiana had prayed continually that somehow Logan had been spared. But as the months had passed she’d eventually lost all hope, certain that if he was alive, he would come for her. Finally faced with the truth—Logan was dead—she had at first wanted to die. Only one thing had prevented her from throwing herself from the tower window, ending her accursed existence. Her hand settled on the green velvet overskirt covering her stomach. Gently she caressed her rounded belly. Another life blossomed inside her. And with the instinct of a lioness whose ferocity was unmatched, Kristiana sought to protect her unborn offspring by whatever means possible. Playing the docile, submissive wife to Edward was one ploy she used.
A crispy capon fell upon the empty platter she and Edward shared. “Nourish yourself,” Edward commanded, his cold eyes boring into her. “You’ll not bear me a weakling as a son.”
The threat of tears having subsided, a look of hatred momentarily entered her eyes, but she quickly masked the emotion. Lifting the thing, she tore it apart. A knife wasn’t trusted in her hand, for Edward wisely knew it would have found its way into his black heart long ago. A small piece of the overcooked bird slipped into her mouth.
Fool, Kristiana thought as she chewed the tasteless fare, for the man deluded himself. Although Edward believed otherwise, and Kristiana allowed him to do so, he hadn’t fathered her child. A picture of her handsome Gypsy floated through her mind; eyes of molten gold gazed down upon her. A shiver of delight ran through Kristiana as she remembered his amorous lovemaking. Logan had planted the seed, sparking the new life inside her. He was the sire, not Edward.
“More wine!” Edward shouted. His silver-lipped quaich—a Scottish cup—thumped against the damaskdraped table. “Make haste. My thirst is great.”
Kristiana’s gaze sought that of her Gypsy nurse. From the corner where she stood, Mala’s dark eyes caught her mistress’s. Seeing Kristiana’s slight nod, Mala, who had been allowed to accompany her mistress to Muircairn at the younger woman’s request, lowered the pewter flagon she held and retrieved a new one from the server. Once at the table, she reached between the couple and filled the two-eared wooden cup. Then Mala quietly moved away.
Through lowered lashes Kristiana eyed the shallow vessel. Soon Edward’s hands lifted it to his lips; slowly he drank. Relief surged through Kristiana when the empty quaich found its way back to the table. The secret herbs mixed with the wine would keep her safe for yet another night. Thanks to Mala, Edward had been rendered impotent—had been so since well before the day he and Kristiana were wedded. The memory of that day now made her smile, but it had not always done so.
Nearly a month after Edward had taken her from the cave, and from the man she loved—would always love!—she and Edward had stood before the pale-skinned bishop who had refused Kristiana protection when she’d fallen on the mercy of the Church in Stirling. There in the chapel at Harcourt Castle the pair had exchanged vows, Kristiana’s aunt and cousin looking on. Kristiana had been relieved when she’d discovered them alive and well, but at the time they had been unable to offer her any solace.
At first, despite all signs to the contrary, Kristiana had refused to believe Logan was dead. Repeatedly she’d rejected Edward’s demand that she become his wife, insisting she was already married. Edward’s anger had risen, whereupon Kristiana was presented with three of his men, each swearing the Gypsy was dead.
“I did the deed myself, as was my liege’s wish,” one said, the other two bearing witness that it was so. Then the first added: “He rots in the cave where he fell. It is now his tomb.”
At hearing the words, Kristiana’s heart froze; then hard green eyes had turned on her nemesis. Her voice quivering with cold malice, she’d spat, “You swore on your dead son’s grave you would not harm him. Are you so vile a creature that your own flesh and blood means naught to you?”
A cold smile had crossed Edward’s lips. “Had the child been mine, I would have kept my oath. But the bastard was not of my flesh, but another’s. Take my word for it, pet, your Gypsy is dead. You are free to marry. Consent to be my wife, or your aunt and cousin will suffer a fate like the others.”
Kristiana had understood that he referred to her father, the Gypsies, and Logan. So it had been by the threat to Penelope’s and Letitia’s safety that Kristiana was coerced into marrying Edward.
Once the ceremony was complete, the marriage feast had begun; Edward drank incessantly. For reasons known only to him, during the weeks prior to their wedding he’d been on his best behavior, always acting in a chivalrous manner. But after the nuptials his true character emerged. His lustful gaze had traveled her face and body while pointed comments were leveled at her ears. Then, midway through the festivities, he’d bounded from his seat. Taking hold of Kristiana’s hand, he dragged her to their chamber.
Forcefully he’d stripped her of her clothing, then shoved her onto the bed. She fought frantically to keep him from her, but his strength, she’d learned again, was far superior to her own. Then, showing no tenderness or care, he had tried to mount her when suddenly his whole body had gone limp.
When he fell atop her his weight had nearly crushed her. Startled, she’d lain beneath him for several long moments, wondering what to do. Then, roused into action, she’d squirmed out from under him. At once she’d thought to flee the room, but Edward had not forgotten their last encounter in that very room, for a guard had been placed at the door. So, as she’d lain there beside him, hugging the edge of the bed while listening to his loud snores, her dread had mounted; she’d waited for the time when he would awaken. Mercifully, she’d been spared for a time, for he had slept like the dead the entire night through.
Morning had come, and Edward was no longer drunk. But when he tried to mount her again he found he could not perform. Blaming her for his lack of arousal, he heaped curse after curse upon her head. Angrily he left the room. The half-dozen more times he’d come to her had produced the same results. Finally his male vanity had endured enough. Since the last such occurrence he’d avoided her bed altogether.
Although elated that she’d been given a reprieve, a confused Kristiana had nevertheless wondered what had happened to the man. A month later, when she had seen Mala drop something into her husband’s wine, she had ultimately learned the truth. Her nurse, desiring to protect Kristiana, promptly explained the use of her Gypsy potion, divulging its effects. The two had laughed uproariously until a shout and a curse from the unsuspecting Edward had forthwith calmed their mirth. Ever since the two women had guarded their precious secret, Edward being none the wiser about their pact.
As for the child she carried, Kristiana could only assume Edward thought he’d consummated their marriage on his first attempt. It was when he’d found her relieving the contents of her stomach into a basin that he’d alluded to that fact.
Initially he’d viewed her with a suspicious eye. Noting his hard, accusing stare, she felt fear clutch her heart, for she’d been certain he’d realized the truth: It was the Gypsy’s seed that had found its mark, not his.
Apparently, and to Kristiana’s complete relief, Edward’s male vanity had intervened once more, for he’d snarled, “At least, witch, I didn’t err the first time. Had not your wretched body sucked me dry, there would be others yet to come.” Shortly after the episode Edward had announced that they were retiring to Muircairn Castle. Perhaps the man thought a change of scenery might restore his manhood, but it had not done so. As a result he’d grown even more ill-tempered than usual.
Always cautious of the fact he might erupt, Kris
tiana took great pains to keep herself from falling prey to his anger. Since she barely showed her condition—which, Mala said, was a trait Kristiana shared with her mother—Edward had no idea she was as far along as she was. In a few days over two months hence, Kristiana would deliver. It was then, after the birth, that she feared for her child’s safety. And it was then, once her babe was strong enough, she planned to flee Edward’s grasp. The vile beast!
Just then the outer doors, opposite where Kristiana sat, burst open. On a swirl of mist a cold wind swept through the great hall. The tapestry flapped against the wall behind her, Kristiana shivered through and through. At the same time the revelers abruptly fell silent, all heads turning toward the entry. With a sharp cry Letitia, sitting several places down from Kristiana next to Richard Black, cried out, “It’s the Fox!” She hesitated. “Saints be! The Raven!”
Green eyes followed the path of her cousin’s gaze to espy two men making their way through the crowd. The one she could see fully was quite tall and burly, not small and stealthy like his namesake. He looked more like a bear! No, the appellation of Fox, Kristiana realized, had been given him because of his raiment of long red hair. It sat in wild disarray upon his reared head, a russet beard hiding half of his face. A forbidding frown creased his heavy brow as he pushed the curious onlookers from his path. “Make way,” he ordered surlily.
Had he raised his voice by one degree, the sound would have rattled the glazed windows, and the lofty trusses supporting the roof would have shaken loose years of cobwebs and dust. Then, as Kristiana watched, the large man stood aside. There behind him posed a slightly smaller man garbed completely in black. A heavy wool mantle folded back across his broad shoulders to fall past his narrow waist, the hem hitting the top of his soft leather boots. As Kristiana viewed him she imagined that beneath his leather clothing he was all sinew without an extra ounce of flesh. His entire head was swathed in black leather, and his face remained hidden. This had to be the Raven, she thought, for the stories she had heard over the past several months concerning this great warrior—his notoriety having arisen seemingly from nowhere—met perfectly the description of the man she now viewed, including that of his dour-looking companion.
Next to her Edward propelled himself to his feet The sound of swords sliding from their scabbards sent a chill down Kristiana’s spine. Richard Black moved from his seat to stand firm at Edward’s side while several of Edward’s men blocked the strangers’ progression. “Who gave you leave to enter my home?” Edward asked, outraged by the intrusion.
The one with the mask tilted his head. “I heard you were in need of a few good men,” he said, his voice extremely raspy. “My friend and I have come to offer you our services. If, however, you do not wish to employ us, we shall take our leave.”
Through narrowed eyes Edward watched as the one with the mask flicked his wrist, motioning to his companion. Immediately the pair turned on their heels. With a hardbooted stride they made their way to the door. “Hold!” Edward shouted, but the two men kept walking. “Hold, I say!” Swords drawn, another contingent of Edward’s men blocked the pair’s exit. “Come forth!” the lord of the manor commanded.
Escorted to the table by Edward’s soldiers, the two strangers took a relaxed stance. “Sire?” the man with the mask queried. “Have you reconsidered?”
“Other than your fame—which may have evolved through the utterances of fools—I know nothing about you except that you call yourself the Raven. No, I have not reconsidered. Not yet. Come, we will seek a private chamber and discuss this further.” He turned to Kristiana. “See to our guests.” He left the table.
Kristiana viewed the heavily guarded men as they followed Edward from the room. Her curiosity piqued, she examined why they had presented themselves in such a manner. To her knowledge, her husband hadn’t publicly sought any new men. But then, she never delved into his affairs. She was always too busy trying to keep away from him.
“He’s impressive, is he not?” a feminine voice asked; Kristiana turned to see Letitia had seated herself in Edward’s place. “I heard the Raven has slain hundreds of men. Likewise, he’s—”
“Bedded an equal amount of women,” Kristiana finished for her, having heard the same report. “Take care, Letitia. If he is to stay, don’t become one of his willing victims.”
“Victims?” her cousin questioned, her gray-green eyes blinking rapidly. “You jest!”
Stern eyes settled on the young woman whose ripe young body captured many an eye. Her cousin was highly aware of it, too. “I do not jest, cousin. From all accounts the Raven has left many a broken heart in his path. Possibly a few bastard children as well. He is a warrior, Letitia. A mercenary who moves constantly, always seeking a better wage. His kind never settles for just one woman, nor do such men have marriage on their minds. He cannot be tamed. I caution you, keep yourself from him or you might find yourself in an embarrassing situation. You deserve better, do you not?”
Letitia’s chin tilted. “We shall see whether or not he is the kind who can be tamed,” she said; then, her eyes showing her defiance, she moved back to her own seat.
Kristiana stared after her. The girl was impossible, she decided, hoping for her aunt’s sake—for Letitia’s sake as well—that the warrior would leave as quickly as he’d come. She could only imagine her Aunt Penelope’s reaction if her only daughter found herself with child and with no husband to claim it as his heir.
The woman had already taken to her bed because of Letitia’s trifling ways, the object of her affections being Richard Black. Devastated over her brother’s death and all she had been made to suffer under Edward MacHugh’s hands, Penelope could not endure her daughter’s unrefined manners; but by the same token, she had not the wherewithal to put an end to the girl’s doings. Yet Penelope, through her lack of discipline, should have known what to expect. Flighty and spoiled, Letitia showed little concern for her mother’s emotional state, nor would she ever do so.
Her gaze turning from her petulant cousin, Kristiana looked to Mala. Again their eyes met, and Mala nodded. Knowing her mistress hoped to discover whatever information there was to be had, she took up a fresh flagon of wine and a half-dozen wooden cups, then pivoted on her heel and followed along the corridor Edward had taken.
A short distance down the narrow hallway several men stood watch outside a closed door. “Some refreshment?” she asked, a crooked grin spreading over her aging face. As she lifted the flagon and cups high she tilted her head, crowned in black and threaded with silver. Coaxingly her black eyes questioned. Perturbed that their feasting had been interrupted, the men looked to one another; then nodded in unison. “Gather ‘round, lads,” Mala said, cutting a path between them to position her back to the wood panel. As she poured the sweet red liquid Mala set her attention on the happenings beyond the door.
Edward had seated himself at a long table, Richard Black at his back. His “guests” stood before him, a half-dozen men at their rear. In the dim candlelight he gazed at the masked man who had encroached on his privacy. “Have you names besides Fox and Raven?”
“It can be assumed we do,” the Raven replied in his usual hoarse tone. Its sound seemed to annoy Edward; inwardly the Raven smiled. “But only we know them. And that is the way it will stay.”
Thwarted, Edward snapped: “Why have you come here?”
“It is said you are interested in acquiring more lands. To do so, you will need sound men to assist in your quest. My friend and I are two such men. We require little except good food, a warm, dry place to sleep, a willing wench or two”—he heard his companion chuckle—“and, of course, a fat purse for our skills.”
“And how fat is this purse you expect?” The Raven named his price; Edward leapt to his feet. “I could buy the services of half a dozen men”—his fist thumped the table—“and still have a handful of coins left over!”
The Raven shrugged. “Then you would be wasting your money, sire, for those half dozen would have the mastery
of only one of us,” he said of his companion and himself. “But then, it is your money.”
“Legend does not always lend itself to truth,” Edward countered, his hard gaze pinpointing the man before him. “What you and others have said is yet to be proven in my eyes.”
“I suggest, then, on the morrow, when your men are not so deep into their cups, a contest be arranged with a dozen of your finest. You will see for yourself what your money can buy. In this case, sire, legend is truth.”
Edward studied the Raven. To him, the arrogant vaunter seemed overly impressed with his own worth. “On the morrow it will be,” he said, positive his men would be the victors. Once done, he’d toss the duo’s bodies to the scavengers. Edward looked to the mask. “I trust not a man who does not show his face. Why is it hidden?”
“Lest my opponent—and, of course, all the females who seek the pleasures I offer with my body—wish to die of instant fright, I keep it covered. I have no desire to garner a victory other than with my sword. As for the eager maids, the mystery I create seems to draw them like bees to a flower. My manhood has not suffered.”
The one known as the Fox chuckled; a meaty hand settled on the Raven’s shoulder to shake it. “Indeed it hasn’t my friend. Why, only last week ye bedded four—no, ‘twas five—different—”
“Silence!” Edward shouted, not wanting to hear of the other man’s sexual prowess. Though the desire was there, the ability was not, and the knowledge of his deficiency made Edward furious. Realizing that this man who, by his own admission, was considered a macabre sight could function fully, bedding a new wench at will almost every night, Edward wondered if there was no justice. His jaw set, he glared at the man before him. “Rid yourself of the mask and let me see your face, or you will no longer have the instrument required to dally with yet another maid. Of this I can assure you.”
Deeper Than Roses Page 21
