The Raven noticed how the man’s gaze had come to rest on his crotch. Slowly he looked to his partner. At seeing his friend’s nod, he said, “I do not relish being separated from such a vital part of my anatomy, sire. So if you insist, I will show my face. But I warn you, it is not a pretty sight to behold.”
Edward watched as the leather thongs that secured the mask came loose. “Step closer,” he commanded, picking up the candle resting on the table in front of him.
The Raven complied, then slowly peeled one side of the mask upward, away from his sinewy neck. His eyes steady on the man, he revealed one cheek and noted the revulsion on Edward MacHugh’s face. The mask lifted further, exposing more of the hideous scar, MacHugh turned away.
“By the saints, cover yourself!” Edward ordered, his eyes averted. “What hellish thing caused such a deformity?”
“Flaming oil cast over a castle wall. I was one of the unlucky souls who stood in its way, but not directly,” the Raven rasped, swift hands tying the leather mask into place. “It splashed off the shoulders of the man beside me, hitting my face and torso.”
“And the others?” Edward inquired.
“Dead,” the Raven responded, the last knot completed. “As I would be had not my friend here torn away my helm, breastplate and mail shirt with his bare hands. Once I had been freed, the flames were no longer a threat.”
Edward looked at the big man’s hands. Old scars striped their flesh, seeming to confirm the story, but they looked nothing like the other man’s face. Seeing it again in his mind’s eye, Edward shuddered anew. “And your voice?” he asked once he’d recovered.
“I imagine some of the hot oil slid into my throat when I screamed, scalding it. When I could talk again this was the sound that came forth.”
Sharp blue eyes carefully studied the pair. ‘The fact you survived gives testimony to your strength.” Edward moved around the table. “Come, we will rejoin the others. You may eat and refresh yourselves, then my liege man will show you to your quarters in the barracks. On the morrow you can prove your skills.”
“Agreed,” the Raven said, “except for one thing,”
“And what is that?”
“The Fox and I require an apartment of our own.”
Edward snorted. “Too good to sleep with your fellow warriors?”
“Fear of defeat might make the others uneasy. To ensure we live through the night, and every night thereafter, we request our own chamber.”
“And why every night thereafter?” Edward inquired, convinced there would be none. “What threatens you then?”
“Revenge,” the Raven stated. “Should any live, their vanity will suffer greatly after their defeat. It is a small thing, but we are entitled to a good night’s rest after a long day of fighting. That is one of the terms for our service to you.”
“Granted,” Edward said, “if you defeat them.”
“Count on it, sire,” the masked one said, his hoarse laughter filling the air. “Now let us sup.”
Edward watched as the two men turned, then signaled to allow them passage. The pair walked through the doorway, one of their guards having opened the panel. At Edward’s nod his men followed.
“Beware, sire,” Richard said close to Edward’s ear. “Don’t trust them too easily.”
“I won’t, Richard. They will have to earn my faith. That’s if they survive tomorrow.”
Black chuckled. “Unlikely, milord. Very unlikely.” Then he and Edward quit the room, heading for the great hall.
When the lord of Muircairn Castle returned to his place he was astounded to see that the two newcomers had installed themselves at the head table. Biting his tongue, he sat next to a stiff Kristiana. “What is it, wife? Have our new guests given offense?”
Yes, but it is mainly you who offends me. She had wanted to say those words, but instead she smiled politely. “No, my husband. Your guests are my guests.”
From the corner of her eye she saw that the one calling himself the Raven had suddenly rotated his head her way. Through the slits in his mask he gazed at her. Or so she thought, for she couldn’t see his eyes. Why did he look at her so? she wondered. The intensity of his stare made her nervous, and Kristiana wished the stranger and his burly companion would take their leave.
“I will attend to their needs,” she finished, fighting her urge to fidget, “if that is your wish.” She saw Edward’s nod, then turned her gaze to her nurse. Having returned only moments before the others, the woman stood in her former place; Kristiana motioned to her. “Mala,” she said when the woman had reached her side, “give these men food and wine.” With surprise, Kristiana noted that her voice had been quite steady. “Make certain they want for nothing. And fill my lord’s cup. It is empty.”
From his position two spaces away from Edward the Raven spoke: “Thank you, fair lady. Your generosity is greatly appreciated.” After the Gypsy woman handed him his filled quaich he raised it high in salute. “And to you, sire. May our alliance be advantageous.” He drank deeply, then lowered the squat cup from his lips, the only part of his face visible. Again his eyes were trained on MacHugh’s bride.
Sensing his concentration on her, Kristiana tensed. “Milord,” she addressed her husband, “might I be given permission to see to my aunt?”
Edward gazed at her briefly. “Go, but return shortly.”
“I grow tired, dear husband. Once I have seen to my aunt, I ask I might be allowed to retire.”
He studied her, heeding the dark circles beneath her eyes. “Then find the comfort of your bed, if that is what you want.”
“Thank you,” she said, rising from her chair.
The instant she’d stood fully the Raven’s quaich slipped from his hand to hit the table. Wine splashed over the rim, but he caught the shallow vessel before it spun to the floor. “Clumsy of me,” he rasped. “I beg your forgiveness.”
Kristiana ignored the apology and made her way toward the stairs. As she climbed the stone steps, her back held regally straight, a shiver traced her spine. An intense gaze watched her progress, she was certain. Equally so, she knew it was shaded by leather.
The black mask hit the stone floor with a hard slap. “The faithless bitch!” The words erupted with force; a wooden stool flew across the small, dismal room, a foot having kicked it. Striking the wall, the stool splintered and fell to the floor in pieces.
“Go easy on the furnishings. Their worth might be deducted from our wages.”
Fiery gold eyes riveted themselves to the large man who stood halfway across the room. “Did you not see?”
A heavy frown marred Sebastian’s brow. “Yes, I saw. She’s with child.”
“She’s with child,” Logan mimicked in a whiny voice. “Is that all you can say?”
“Other than that ye act like a coddled youth with a drippy nose, what would ye have me say?”
“Coddled youth—drippy nose!” Logan’s anger flared. “She carries my greatest foe’s child in her body. Do you expect me to take that lightly?”
“Did ye not bed her?”
The remembrance of the night he and Kristiana had shared filled Logan’s mind. He could still feel its magic. “Yes,” he admitted, wiping the scene from his memory. “But she is far too small. The babe cannot be mine.”
“Perhaps not, but there remains the possibility.”
“Damnation, Sebastian, stop defending her! The child is not mine!”
With a shrug Sebastian moved to the younger man’s side; his meaty hand leveled on Logan’s shoulder. “Sit,” he ordered; then he noted his friend’s questioning stare. “Do ye want this scar removed?”
“Yes. It annoys me.”
“Then sit.”
Logan flopped into the massive wooden chair situated in the middle of their austere quarters. Arms resting along the rough supports, he gazed up at Sebastian. “You seem not to care that my wife has cuckolded me.”
Sebastian’s thumb worked along the edge of the tinted and hardened wax covering
Logan’s cheek. “Ye know not the circumstances by which she conceived. The poor lass might have been violated.”
Logan cast a jaundiced look upon him. “If that be so, why then has she not killed herself? And why does she call the one who despoiled her ‘dear husband’?” He gave Sebastian no time to answer. “I’ll tell you why! She takes the path of least resistance, her loyalty fluctuating at every turn. In the cave, when given the option, she preferred life with Edward to sharing death with me.”
A heavy eyebrow arched over one of Sebastian’s blue eyes. To Logan it implied the man believed that, under the circumstances, very few would have chosen otherwise. Bent on maligning his unfaithful wife, Logan ignored Sebastian’s expressive look.
“While my people were slaughtered like sheep in a field, she was hidden in the cave, held safe in my arms,” Logan said, a quaver in his voice.
Fighting back his tears, he closed his eyes and thought of the injustice of their deaths, especially his aunt’s and uncle’s. His fury rose. For months the burden of their demise had weighed heavy upon his heart, for he’d believed himself careless in his protection of them. None of it would have happened had he been more cautious. But in the last hour, seeing Kristiana alive and well—and with child!—he had readily shifted the blame to her. Damn her! He should have given her over to Edward at the first. Then all would be right, his people still filled with the vigor of life.
Eyelids parted; anger had driven the tears away. “While I was held captive, she went free,” he continued, frigidity in his tone. “As I was beaten to my knees by an unyielding blade she held fast to my oppressor. But worse yet, as I barely clung to life she dallied with the bastard in his bed. My bed, actually! For all here is rightfully mine.” Remotely he felt the edge of the fake scar roll upward between Sebastian’s forefinger and thumb. “Oh, I have endured much,” Logan stated, his anger growing colder. “But it is nothing compared to what shell be made to suffer.” The man jerked the wax. “Yow!” Logan cried, nearly leaping from his seat as the false scar ripped free; his hand covered the side of his pain-shot face. “Damn your hide!” he gritted between his teeth. “You could have warned me.”
“Ye were too busy complainin’. Something about sufferin’, I think.” Biting back a grin, Sebastian held the mock scar high. “Ye were right about the mask and MacHugh’s wantin’ to see yer face, but pray ye didn’t need this anymore.” Brows furrowing, Sebastian inspected it closely, then looked at Logan’s face. “Sorry, laddie, but half of yer eyebrow seems to have stuck to the thing.” He shrugged. “With luck, it will soon grow back.”
By a flick of his wrist he tossed the hair-sprinkled object into the flames burning beyond the hearth. The melting wax popped and crackled briefly, then bled over the clumps of sizzling peat. Shortly it was consumed.
“As for yer bride, if ye are sure she has turned her affections to MacHugh, ye had best be forgettin’ her and puttin’ yer mind to reclaimin’ yer birthright,” Sebastian counseled as he moved to the door, making sure it was secured, “or ye’ll be losin’ both.” The bolt tested, he strode to the cot. “As for me, I desire some rest.” His clothes fell away, and he lay upon the rickety rope-strung bed topped with a rush-filled mattress. “A dozen men,” he grumbled. “Are ye startin’ to believe the myth we created about ourselves? If so, ye must be daft!”
His thoughts temporarily veering away from Kristiana, Logan smiled. With the aid of all the Gypsies who wandered Scotland, his own kumpania being only a small segment of the whole, word of a great warrior had passed from the lips of peasant and laird alike, spreading quickly throughout the land. Were it not for his people, he would not have breached the heavily guarded walls of Muircairn Castle and lived. For their help he was thankful.
“No, my friend,” Logan said, “I do not believe the legend of the Raven and the Fox. However, our opponents might. If they stand in awe of our fabled opposites, they are bound to err. It is up to us to take advantage of those mistakes.”
Sebastian snorted. “Against a dozen of Edward’s finest? They had better be naught but fumblin’ fools!”
“Pray they are,” Logan stated, stripping off his clothes. “With prowess and cunning we shall take the advantage. Remember, Fox, when we fight there will be no rules.”
“Aye, Raven. And let us hope good fortune shines upon us tomorrow, and that we live to see yet another sunset.”
Extinguishing the candle that sat atop the small wooden table positioned between the two beds, Logan lay upon his cot. “Good night, friend,” he said, only to find his words met by Sebastian’s snores. Then, as he stared at the ceiling, firelight dancing softly across the aged stones above him, he thought again of Kristiana.
From the moment she had left him his heart had been filled with the memory of her. Through his raging fever and debilitating weakness, caused by loss of blood, his mind had envisioned her constantly. She’d been with him night and day, her luminescent green eyes gazing down on him, their sweet promise giving him encouragement to live. That and Sebastian’s care, plus a mixture of herbs left by the few surviving Gypsies before they had scattered afield, had been the reason he’d survived.
The herb potion had restored his strength, and with it came the determination to reclaim his bride. Through the long days, as he and Sebastian battled with their swords, preparing for the time when Logan and Edward would again come face-to-face, he’d worried over Kristiana’s fate. He worried that she’d grown thin; that bruises marred her face, and—yes—he worried that she’d been defiled! Most of all, he worried over whether she still lived.
Slowly the months had passed; then, once the word had been spread about the Raven and the Fox, Logan was at last ready. First he and Sebastian rode to Harcourt Castle. There he’d learned of the marriage, and that Edward and his bride had moved on to Muircairn. Straightaway he and Sebastian had come here, where he’d thought to find his sweet Kristiana only a shadow of the beauty he’d last seen. Bruised, battered, her spirit broken—yes! But never had he expected to find her as she was.
Her face unblemished, her bearing had been regal and cool. Her soft, endearing words had announced her fidelity to her new husband, bigamist that she was! Such a show of devotion to Edward—his greatest enemy—had nearly felled Logan. But when she’d risen from the table he’d felt his heart stop. Recovering from the shock, his anger had nearly blazed out of control.
As he thought of that moment Logan’s gaze narrowed on the ceiling. Liar! his mind screamed, for despite her utterances, her love had been false. Otherwise she would never have turned to Edward with such ease. The knowledge devastated Logan; his aggrieved heart hardened to stone. Her deceit must not go unpunished, he decided coldly. For all he had borne—the fear, the agony, and the worry over her plight, alongside the wounds inflicted upon him by the loss of his people—she would be made to pay. By her own fear he would exact his revenge.
His jaw clenched in anger, Logan lay endlessly awake, formulating his plans of reprisal. At the same time, halfway across the castle, Kristiana lay in her own bed, crying herself to sleep as she did nightly. Had the walls not been so thick, their rooms so far apart, he might have heard the soft whimpers and realized her tears were for him, the man she thought was forever lost to her. But stone and distance separated them—as did the potency of Logan’s wounded pride—and neither was aware of the pain the other was made to suffer.
11
The next morning, before the revelers were astir, Kristiana descended the steps. She had arisen well before dawn, and her hunger now drove her to the great hall. She could not remember having been this desirous of food before, but then, she’d never been with child. The wee babe had become more active; the tiny flutter she’d once felt had grown into a decided kick. An abrupt roll and a sound thump met the inside of her belly; surprised by its force, Kristiana stopped her descent.
Her hand settled below the jeweled chain girdle and over the inverted V where the blue velvet of her outer dress met the gold floral brocade of h
er underskirt. Desiring comfort over style, she’d long ago given up her farthingale, for the petticoat had become more of an encumbrance than an enhancement. Given the tightness of her clothing, in a matter of a week or so she’d be left with nothing to wear. It was time she loosened her gowns’ seams.
When the babe settled a smile lit her face. “We’d better get you something to eat,” she whispered. On a light tread she quickly made her way down the remaining stairs.
At the same time that her foot touched the rush-covered stone floor a hoarse chuckle hit Kristiana’s ears. Like an arrow her gaze shot toward the sound. There, at a lower table, angled to the right of the one at the head, sat the Raven, Letitia positioned by his side.
Raspy laughter erupted again, followed by Letitia’s tinkling giggle. The girl leaned toward the man in black, her full breasts pressing against his leather-clad shoulder, then she turned to nearly drape herself across his lap. His hand rose; partially gloved fingers threaded through her dark hair. When they’d found the back of her head he urged her face closer, aiming it toward his own.
Green fire sparked in Kristiana’s eyes. “Letitia!” she snapped with fury.
Startled, her cousin jerked back from the object of her affection; wide eyes stared over his shoulder. The Raven, on the other hand, slowly turned his head toward the voice. “Good morn, fair lady,” he rasped, his lips breaking into a cordial smile. “You have risen earlier than the rest. Please join us, and we will break the fast together.”
Kristiana ignored his invitation and turned her gaze to Letitia. “Your mother needs your assistance in dressing. She wishes to eat in the hall this morning. Take yourself to her side and attend to her needs.”
Letitia’s petulant mouth drew into a tight line. Huffily she slid from the bench and came to her feet. Shoulders squaring, she glared at Kristiana. “Very well. I will do as ordered. But I will not be long.”
Playful fingers trailed over the Raven’s broad shoulders, then Letitia swayed off toward the stairs. Watching the man, Kristiana had noted how his attention fixed on the girl’s hips when all at once he appeared to be looking at her.
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