Deeper Than Roses

by Charlene Cross

  Chastise her with words of caution, he thought, but physical abuse—never! Whether with child or not, she did not deserve such ill use. The cowardly bastard, he maligned silently, wanting to beat the man into the ground with his own fists.

  His anger barely controlled, Logan sprang to his feet and came away from the bench. “It is time, sire, that the contest begin,” he rasped loudly, striding to the head table. He stopped directly before Edward, unseen eyes projecting their hatred. “Make your men ready for their defeat.”

  “More likely it will be yours,” MacHugh replied, a cold smile spreading across his lips. “Are you prepared to die?”

  “When it is time, I will face it squarely. I have no fear of death, for I have seen it more than once. But today is not the day of my demise. Your men, on the other hand, will want to make use of a confessor lest their way into Heaven be forever barred.”

  Edward chuckled. “We shall see, Raven, who is in need of a confessor.”

  “Ten minutes, sire, in the lower bailey—the Fox and I shall be waiting.”

  Taking a quick look at the silent Kristiana, her face slowly bruising, he turned and made his way to the door. Sebastian met him there. “Are ye still of the mind she went to his bed willingly?” the man asked in a low voice.

  His jaw clenched, Logan did not respond. His hurt ran too deep.

  Edward’s hand clamped around Kristiana’s wrist “Come, wife,” he said, pulling her from her seat. “We shall watch the knave’s death together.”

  On wooden legs she walked beside the man, his harsh fingers biting into her flesh. They paused when he called to his men. The ones selected to fight donned their armor, then the dozen raised their swords in salute. Through the doors of the great hall she was guided out into the courtyard; a cloak somehow found its way over her shoulders, protecting her from the deep chill of the morning air.

  Oh, if only it were Edward who was meant to do battle with the Raven, she’d pray for the latter’s victory. Once given, she’d applaud gleefully as the scavengers picked the loser’s bones clean. Ultimately Edward would fall, and Kristiana wanted more than anything to witness the event. If it was simply done today, how joyous she would be. But she knew the time was not now. More’s the pity, she thought, desiring to spit upon his grave.

  Crisp air filled her lungs as she stood in the sunlight, the first to shine on her in days. The heavy mists, having descended on the land the night before, had lifted; hoarfrost remained in their place. Delicate white crystals that looked to have been spun by fairies overlaid the castle grounds, and to Kristiana, Muircairn resembled a magical kingdom. All it needed was a fine lord and lady to make the setting perfect. Briefly she thought of Logan and herself. But sadly she knew the dream of their ever sharing in such a fantasy or ruling over its magnificence was lost to her, for Logan was dead, and at Edward’s command. Soon the beauty of this mystical scene would be marred by the shedding of yet more blood; Kristiana’s heart ached at the thought.

  From across the courtyard the Raven and the Fox strode toward the waiting group. Helmed, claymores in hand, the pair appeared ready to slay all who stood in their way. “Are these the unlucky souls you’ve chosen to die?” the Raven asked once he’d met Edward face-to-face.

  “They are the men who will prove whether or not the legend is true,” Edward responded. “It is yet to be seen who will live and who will die.”

  The Raven’s lips tightened, showing his frustration. “You will lose a dozen men to gain two of equal skill. Do you not think it would be better to end the contest with the drawing of first blood? At least then you will have made an acquisition. If it is to the death, your combined strength will remain the same. What say you, sire? First blood only?”

  A short laugh erupted from Edward’s lips. “You sound, Raven, as though you are searching for a way to escape this little competition. Like a strutting cock, perhaps you’ve crowed too loudly. Do you now realize your boasts have made your life worthless?” Edward waited, but the man didn’t answer. “No, Raven,” he said finally, a cold smile extending across his lips. “You’ll not avoid your fate. You will stand and fight. The contest will be to the death.”

  “Then so be it,” the legendary Raven rasped. “And when done, by your own oath, our bargain is met. Agreed?”

  Confident his men would make short work of this gloating braggart and his hulking friend, Edward grinned. “Agreed. In fact, I’ll even give you a few coins extra. Now prove yourself.”

  The flat edge of the Raven’s claymore met the front of his black helm. “As you wish.” Then he and the Fox swung away from Muircairn’s laird.

  Having discerned how Kristiana, who was held close to Edward’s side, had stiffened when he’d mentioned the word “oath,” Logan thought of the cave and of another promise MacHugh had made. Deceit and Edward were synonymous. That Logan knew well. As for Kristiana, the discovery had apparently come too late. He’d pleaded with her not to trust the man, but she’d refused to listen. As it was, Logan pitied her. And yes, deep down he still loved her. But he would never forgive her for what he deemed her betrayal. Never! he vowed, hoping he’d live to gain his revenge. Not just on Edward, but on his faithless wife as well.

  He thrust Kristiana from his mind. A fierce fight lay ahead of him, and if he hoped to win, he could not be burdened with thoughts of her. To that end, as he and Sebastian strode to the center of the frost-laden courtyard, he whispered, “The ground is slick. Take care, my friend, that your footing is sure.”

  “As if we didn’t have enough to worry about,” Sebastian grumbled in a low voice, his feet treading the slippery soil with great attention, “we can expect to find ourselves flat on our asses, a blade rammed through our guts. What a boggle ye’ve gotten us into. Should we live, ye’d better be settin’ yer feet at a full run, for I’ll be lookin’ to trounce ye soundly. Cause an old man to suffer apoplexy, will ye?”

  Logan snorted. “Old? Ha! You’re as strong as a bear and as cunning as a fox. Yet you mew like a wee kitten stuck in a tree. Take heed. The frost might work to our advantage. At least, that is what I hope. Remember, there are no rules by which we fight. Just make certain we win.”

  An acknowledging grunt met Logan’s ears as he and Sebastian entered the circle of men. Back to back, the pair faced their foes, six men each. Claymores braced, Logan and Sebastian stared into their opponents’ eyes one by one. Behind each harsh glare returned to them lay unequivocal fear. The legend of the Raven and the Fox ate at their souls; they doubted their own skills.

  Then, at a second glance, Logan thought he recognized three of the men as those left behind in the cave. After narrowed eyes studied the trio he decided they were indeed his executioners. “They quake in their boots,” he said, his soft words rising over his shoulder.

  “Aye,” Sebastian returned. “The same as I.”

  “Begin!” Edward shouted.

  Claymore held firmly in two hands, Logan tensed, ready to do battle. Eyeing his opponents carefully, he was convinced he knew their strategy. “Warn me if they charge,” he said for Sebastian’s ears alone, “then move to your left.”

  “Two cometh!” the man growled in return.

  “The same,” Logan called; in unison he and Sebastian vaulted aside.

  Feet sliding on the icy ground, the four rushing men, two having once held Logan’s arms outstretched, skidded into one another. With a thud and a grunt they all tumbled backward. The hard earth met their armor-padded spines; dazed, they lay prostrate. In quick order Logan’s and Sebastian’s swords found their marks.

  Four more raced toward them, and the Raven and the Fox spun around to meet their attack. As steel struck steel behind him, Sebastian’s heavy breaths echoing in his ears, Logan braced his claymore against the onslaught coming his way. Three potent blades converged; the force of it knocked Logan off balance. His feet slipped and he went to his knees.

  The huge claymore held level to the ground, Logan tried to press the ominous swords that bore down o
n his upward and away. At the effort hot pain shot through his injured shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he emitted a low growl. Thoughts of the cave once again came to mind. By sheer will alone Logan’s fading strength renewed itself. Inch by inch, his blade held fast, he lifted himself from the ground to meet his opponents eye to eye once again.

  At a shove of the claymore Logan’s assailants fell back. Clumsy feet erred, and the two hit the frozen earth. With a jab and a swinging slice the pair breathed their last.

  Turning, he saw Sebastian skewer his antagonist, the last of the second wave of four. Now the Raven and the Fox faced the final tetrad. Soon the contest would be done.

  Driven by his own panic, his honed blade aimed at Logan’s heart, one man thoughtlessly dashed forward. Under an experienced hand the claymore deflected the oncoming steel; with a hard thrust Logan’s blade sliced deep into the man’s belly.

  As Logan faced his final adversary—the one who had beaten him to his knees in the cave—the clang of hard steel rose behind him. Seconds later a death cry erupted; another wailed forth. Glancing over his shoulder, he noted Sebastian lived. “Come hither,” he ordered, wanting the odious deed to be finished, this part of his revenge complete.

  Distinct terror etched the man’s face; his whole body trembled from fear. A whimpering cry fled his mouth, and the man tossed his sword aside. It skittered over the ground. His knees met the earth, his lips begging for mercy. No longer threatened, Logan lowered his blade. Despite the injuries he’d suffered, his life almost ended as a result, he could not slay an unarmed man.

  Just then Edward strode into view; the discarded blade found his hands. “Coward!” he shouted, the sword swinging parallel to the ground. The kneeling man blinked, then his severed head rolled across the frozen earth. The thing slid to a halt at Kristiana’s feet.

  She had kept her eyes averted through the entire fray, but its repugnance now stared her in the face. Though at once glad to see Logan’s death had been partially avenged, she was quickly overpowered by the horror of it all. Bile surged to her throat, and on a small cry she spun on her heel and fled the courtyard. Secured inside, she leaned against a wall for support. Her face drained of its blood, and her body shook uncontrollably. With a long, jagged gasp she forced air into her lungs, desperately trying to repress her urge to vomit.

  As she did so, an image of her father’s demise spun through her head. A vision of lifeless bodies strewn across a Gypsy camp leapt to mind. And Logan—what terrible outrage had he suffered before he’d met his end? Dear God! she thought, tears welling in her eyes, a sob rising in her throat. Will these abominations never end?

  Needing to find a wet cloth and a steadying drink, Kristiana pushed herself from the cold stones at her back. Her feet set a fast course for the kitchen. Once there, she sipped some wine and washed her face, then became occupied with instructing the staff on the preparation of the evening meal. Half an hour later, when all had been attended to, she left the kitchen via the narrow passage that led to the rear stairs.

  She climbed the winding stone steps, their centers worn smooth by a century’s worth of feet, yearning to find the sanctuary of her own room. Her emotions trembled within her, and her body felt exceedingly weak, for the shock of seeing yet more blood had been more than her mind could endure. Rest, she thought as she placed her foot on the top step. Perhaps with sleep the day’s abominations would be blotted from her mind.

  Her eyes downcast, Kristiana advanced the few feet toward the arched doorway leading out into the corridor and the row of apartments, one being hers. But before she could step through its opening she found her path blocked. Startled, she gazed upward. There stood the Raven!

  “Get thee from my path,” she commanded, stumbling back a step. “Then take yourself from here. This is not the barracks.”

  His lips slowly spread into a smile. “You act, fair lady, as though you’re frightened of me. Is that true? Does fear now course through your veins?”

  He stepped toward her, and Kristiana tripped backward four paces; her heart hammered in her breast. “Stay away from me,” she cried, but he kept advancing.

  A wall was at her back, the stairs to her side. Eyes wide, she turned, ready to flee. A pair of hands hit the wall with a forceful slap as sinewy arms blocked her escape. Trapped, Kristiana fell against the stone barrier. Her back clinging to it, she faced him fully, only to hear his chuckle. Her gaze jumped to his mouth. At once she was mesmerized. Familiar, yet different, she thought briefly, viewing it in the dim light. Quickly she shook her head.

  “Do you fear me?” he asked again, his hard, lean body slanting toward her. “Or is it yourself you fear? You gaze at my lips as though they intrigue you. Do you perchance wish to feel their mastery?”

  “No!”

  Low laughter escaped his throat. “You lie, fair lady.” His face lowered toward hers. “For your gaze says otherwise.”

  Abruptly Kristiana closed her eyes; her head whipped to the side. Then, as the Raven’s body pressed itself fully against her, visions of a forest and a golden-eyed Gypsy leapt into her mind. Her heart remembered the night Logan had chased her through the wood, the night he’d confessed his love to her. “Don’t!” she pleaded on a sob.

  His lips met her cheek to gently trace the slight bruise left by Edward’s hand. Blatantly his hips ground against her own. Feeling the evidence of his manly desire, Kristiana stiffened, then she trembled with fear. “Why?” the Raven questioned, his hot breath near her ear. “Do you not like what I’m doing to you?”

  “No!” she moaned.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you repulse me,” she spat, pushing at his solid chest. The smell of leather and sweat filled her nostrils, but they were not overly offensive to her. It was the odor of death that turned her stomach, for dried blood splattered his clothing. “Let me free!” She thought of the head rolling to her feet; her stomach lurched violently. “Please free me! I’m going to be sick.”

  The Raven stepped aside, then with her hand over her mouth Kristiana broke through the opening and ran down the corridor toward her chamber. A hoarse chuckle rang in her ears as she burst into her room and headed toward the basin, where her stomach expelled its contents. While she retched the upper hallways seem to echo the derisive laughter. Kristiana covered her ears.

  From beyond the open doorway Letitia gloated over her cousin’s misery. Smiling, she strode down the hallway, going in search of the Raven. She’d seen only part of what had happened, but it was enough for her to decide that the man needed a companion. Letitia hoped to meet his need.

  12

  From her window Kristiana watched the two combatants in the otherwise deserted courtyard below. Engaged in a mock fight, the Raven and the Fox faced each other. Claymores swung with ease, blades meeting with a forceful clang. As steel edges sliced free of each other a chill shivered down Kristiana’s spine.

  Her gaze riveted to the Raven, a remote corner of her mind registered that his moves were highly skilled. Lithe of body, he wielded the huge sword with seemingly little effort, his powerful strokes discharged with an inarguable masculine grace. Consciously Kristiana was aware of none of this, for her concentration was on how much she despised the man. Through narrowed green eyes she glared her discontent.

  These past five weeks had been no worse, she imagined, than the constant tortures of Hell. Were she of his gender and a warrior of equal status, she’d call him out. With a sure blade she’d gladly slice him from navel to neck. But then, if she were such a man, he’d not be chasing her throughout the castle, backing her into darkened corners. His strong, muscular arms would not trap her, nor would his hard, sinewy body fit itself to hers, his hips moving suggestively, his arousal making itself known. Kisses would not rain down on her face, his tongue teasing her tautly held lips. No whispered words would flow into her ears, his hot breath fanning her cheek as he issued an indecent proposal or two. Nor would the remembrance of those heated words, coupled with the sound of his sedu
ctive yet taunting laughter, torment her day and night.

  As though it had been conjured from her thoughts, his familiar laughter met her ears. Peering down on the Raven and the Fox, Kristiana saw that their friendly competition was finished. Hands grasped the other’s forearms in a show of goodwill, then the two men turned, intent on entering the hall. A smile abruptly traced the Raven’s lips. It spread wide, touching the leather at both sides of his mouth. His claymore rose to meet the center of his helm. When it had lowered he bowed deeply. “Fair lady,” he called up to her once he’d straightened, “I am gladdened by your womanly interest. Apparently you do not find me as repulsive as you’ve claimed.”

  Her mouth agape, Kristiana stumbled back from the window. Angered she’d been caught studying him, she first cursed his parentage, then called herself a fool!

  Undeniably the man frightened her, his boldness filled her with revulsion. But, oddly, he intrigued her as well. The mystery he evoked as the legendary Raven certainly captured feminine notice. And like the other women in the castle—especially Letitia—Kristiana found her interest piqued. But the knave was not to be trusted. Moreover, he was very dangerous. Yet it seemed only she knew it to be true, for everyone else inside the walls of Muircairn Castle gazed upon him in reverent awe. Everyone, that was, except Edward and Richard Black. And, of course, herself.

  A picture of the masked rogue leapt into her mind; Kristiana closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Why did the man persist in pursuing her, baiting her at every turn? It was as though he held some sort of grievance against her. What injury she’d caused him she was unable to say, unless it had to do with their bargain. Had she not feared the consequences, she would have betrayed that pact, reporting the Raven’s undesirable advances to Edward; but she was committed to preserving Letitia’s safety. However, her silence was not kept for her cousin’s sake, but for that of her aunt.