He watched the cart as it made its way into the village, where Alain promised to find a wet nurse. If not, goat’s milk would have to do. Then Logan waited. An hour later the man returned with the implements that had been requested of him. After the things were hidden in the trees, both men went their separate ways.
Having entered unseen through the gate by which he’d left, Logan made his way along the inner yard. As he headed toward the hall in search of Sebastian he glanced up at Kristiana’s shuttered window. Filtered light flowed through the cracks in the boards, and he wondered how she fared. “Soon, my love, we’ll be together again. This I promise you.” His golden gaze fell away, and he entered the hall.
At dawn Kristiana awakened from her drug-induced sleep. Through ponderous eyelids she gazed around her room. A peat fire burned low in the hearth, its meager light reflecting off the worsted wall hangings covering the damp stones. In one of the three chairs she espied Penelope, the woman’s soft snores rising throughout the room. Remotely Kristiana wondered why her aunt was there.
Listening further, she became aware that a cold rain fell upon the land. Tears of despair, she thought distantly, her brain befogged by her lengthy sleep. The depressing grayness of the day seemed to parody the heaviness inside her chest, yet she could not fathom what had made her feel so dispirited, so listless. It was as though she’d lost all desire to live.
Drawing a shaky breath, Kristiana stretched; her weighted hand smoothed over her now-flat belly. At once her mind registered the difference. Her eyes searched the area again. No cradle sat in the room, no soft mews filled her ears. Where could her child be?
Stillborn. Strangled. Bury the Gypsy bastard before morn.
Like a great wave the vaguely remembered words washed over her; her throat grew taut. No! It cannot be. A heartrending sob tore through her lips as tears suddenly filled her eyes to stream over her cheeks.
Hazy memories spun inside her head, becoming clearer and clearer. Kristiana drew breath shallowly. Feeling as if she’d suffocate, she stumbled from her bed. Twice she fell to her knees before forcing herself to the window. Please, God, she prayed, let it have been a dream.
The closed shutters broke free. As great gulps of damp air filled her lungs she fought to deny the verity of her loss. Her child, the last link to her beloved Logan, the wee babe she had tried so desperately to save from Edward’s hand, couldn’t be dead. It couldn’t.
Anguished eyes combed the gray landscape. What it was she sought she couldn’t say, but something had driven her to this spot. Then her searching gaze froze.
There, beyond the castle wall, on a not-too-distant hill, stood a lone man. The rain beat heavily on his jerkincovered back; a pick rose and fell in his hands. His hooded head was bent low, his attention to the ground.
The tool sliced into the soggy ground, deeper and deeper. Once the loose chunks of earth were cleared with a shovel, the man stepped aside to reveal a small wooden casket. With little effort the thing was lifted and placed in the hole. After the wet earth was tamped over it, a small stone was set atop the barren patch of soil.
Clinging to the sill, Kristiana watched as the man reclaimed his tools, then he strode off toward the village below. Her senses twirled crazily as her head shook in negation. “No!” Kristiana sobbed in denial, but her mind confirmed it was true: Her babe was dead.
At the sound of her niece’s forlorn cry Penelope awakened in time to see Kristiana crumple to the floor, her wails of sorrow filling the air.
14
The sun slipped beyond the horizon, marking the end of another day. From her window Kristiana, a mere whisper of her former self, stared at the hillside where her infant son lay buried. As always, her gaze was drawn to the small gravestone.
No words had been said over the child, no priest had been allowed to offer the Lord’s blessing. Told by Mala the babe had been buried, Edward had simply nodded his head. Cold and unfeeling, he’d refused Kristiana’s request to visit the site, where she wished to offer at least one prayer. “You will keep to your room,” he’d ordered, frigid blue eyes upon her. “Neither you nor anyone else shall go near that hill. The heathen bastard deserves no petitions. By my own words he’ll forever be damned to the fires of Hell.”
To enforce his edict Kristiana had been held under lock and key, a guard set at her door. Her room had become her prison.
Slowly Kristiana looked away from the small grave to gaze out over the window ledge at the courtyard below. Where once her heart dwelled a weighty stone now hung. Life had no meaning. As a result she’d attempted several times to cast herself from this spot, wanting sweet death to claim her. Clutched in its arms, she would have no thought, no grief, no pain, no memories of her golden-eyed Gypsy or of the wee son she had lost.
As she surveyed the hard ground beneath her window she considered the times she’d gained the courage needed to complete the deed and end her life. Leaning forward, ready to toss herself from the ledge, she had suddenly been thrust back by some unseen force. Frightened by its intensity, Kristiana had quickly taken hold of her senses. Then, as her wide gaze scanned the area, she’d noticed each time that the Raven stood nearby.
Now, in the dimming light, she saw that he lazed in the shadows just opposite her position. Whether from the yard below or from high on the castle walk, he forever seemed to keep his a vigil. Masked by leather, the Raven’s eyes remained hidden to her, but she knew he watched over her continually, much like a hawk. Even at a distance he habitually tormented her. Forlornly she knew not why.
With one last glance at the hillside Kristiana sighed heavily, then pulled the shutters closed and turned away from her window. Sleep remained the only panacea for her pain. After stripping off her clothing she lay naked atop the small oak linenfold bed. A light cover thrown over her, she prayed fervently for the brief quietus to overtake her, desiring more than anything the relief it gave.
Once the aged wood panels had blocked Logan’s view of Kristiana, he strode across the yard toward the spot where Alain waited in his cart. “Tonight. Watch for the lantern’s swing. It is then we shall move.” The words said, Logan walked toward the doors of the hall.
Frosty gray eyes contemplated the man clad in black, then they swung toward the smithy. His cart wobbled off through the gate toward the village, his haste far greater than usual. The portcullis lowered, its iron-capped spikes meeting the hard earth. The heavy gates swung to, and the drawbar was set back in position. His suspicions piqued anew, Richard Black followed the Raven into the hall.
“Alain awaits the signal,” Logan said once he’d seated himself next to Sebastian. He grabbed a pheasant from the platter and stripped a leg from the overcooked bird. “Pray, friend, the men have enough impetus to overpower their opponents.” His hard gaze turned toward Edward, who sat at the head table, Richard Black now at his side. “Whether we rise as victors or fall to defeat, one thing is assured-tonight MacHugh will die.”
Sebastian grunted in agreement. “We are fortunate the bastard has two dozen fewer men.”
“Aye,” Logan agreed, his gaze still on Edward. By Logan’s orders the raids had stopped briefly, but when they had started anew it had been with a vengeance. This time, however, it was not sheep or goats that lay dead in the field, but twenty-four of Edward’s men. Their watches had been cut short by the quick slice of a blade across their gurgling throats, their unseen executioners disappearing into the night. Unknown to Edward, the peasants he’d recruited from the village to replace his fallen warriors now stood in the field ready to do battle against the one they most despised. “And in a few hours he will have fewer men still,” Logan added, looking at Sebastian. “At three hours past midnight it will begin.”
The stars being his timekeeper, Logan was thankful it was a cloudless night. He prayed it would remain so. Then, turning his head, he caught sight of Mala. Her dark eyes watched him. Detecting his slight nod, she picked up a fresh flagon of wine and moved his way.
“Then it is toni
ght,” she whispered, her hand reaching first for Sebastian’s shallow cup.
“Aye,” Logan said. “The moon is dark, and I am ready.”
“Her door is locked and guarded.” The Fox’s filled quaich settled onto the boards. “It will not be easy to free her.”
“I’ll see to her release,” Logan said quietly, then he gave the hour. “Just get her aunt and cousin into the passageway and wait for me there.”
Mala started to lift the Raven’s squat cup when another hand grabbed hold of it. “I’ll see to his needs,” Letitia stated, her tone superior. “Attend to the others.” The girl watched as her cousin’s nurse worked her way down the table, filling the empty drinking vessels as she went. By means of several day’s practice in perfecting her manners Letitia had finally been allowed from her room, but only after she’d promised Edward she’d comport herself as a lady. Watching herself carefully, she’d kept to her pledge, though it had been done with great difficulty. “Might I see to any other needs?” she asked the one in black, his topped quaich returning to its former position near his hand.
“All is well,” Logan rasped, “but should I need anything, I’ll let you know.”
Her hands ached to touch the man, but thinking herself a lady now, Letitia retrained her lowly desires. Instead she hoped to draw his interest by pretending disinterest in him. After all, it was the male who favored the chase, the female his quarry. Offering him a courteous smile—one which was not too cool or too engaging—she squared her shoulders. With her normally undulating hips held in check she gracefully walked toward the head table.
“She still thinks she can catch yer eye,” Sebastian said near Logan’s ear. “I wonder what the poor wench will do once she discovers it is her cousin who holds yer heart.”
Logan shrugged. “It is of no consequence. Other than her being a relative by marriage, she means naught to me.”
“Perhaps not. But as churlish as the girl is, she could set herself to caterwaulin’ loud enough to wake the entire castle. When ye lead her from the place, take a rag with ye in case ye need to stuff it in her mouth. Better to gag the shrew than to find yerself dead.”
“Aye,” Logan agreed, now wishing the spoiled Letitia had set her eye on someone else.
Her attentions had been tolerated—encouraged, in fact—when he’d hoped to cause his wife misery, but now the girl presented a problem. Undoubtedly Letitia was enamored more of the Raven’s legend than of the man himself. He pitied her for not having set her sights higher. Yet in some ways he felt responsible for helping fashion her fantasies. No doubt she hoped to have the Raven as her suitor, possibly her lover. But the illusions were mostly of her own making, and when his true identity was finally known he would have nothing to offer except his apology. Certain his words would be met with much squabbling, Logan decided to take Sebastian’s advice. Indeed, a gag might be in order.
His thoughts of Letitia clearing, Logan said: “While we wait let’s replenish our bodies. We’ll need added strength for what is to come.” Eagerly he and Sebastian ate the fare sitting in front of them. Replete, they consumed little wine. After nearly two hours of idling away their time Logan looked to his friend. “We’d better tend to our beds.” The two men rose from their seats, their strides carrying them toward the door.
“They leave,” Richard said, having watched the two from the moment he’d entered the hall.
Edward’s gaze tracked the pair. “Let’s see where they are headed.” At a brief distance he and Richard followed. Stopping at the hall’s entry, the two men watched while the Raven and the Fox passed through the portal leading to their quarters. “Send one of the men to watch their door. When we are certain they are asleep we’ll make quick work of them.”
“Aye,” Richard replied, “and once rid of them, I’ll wager the raids cease altogether.”
“We shall see,” Edward said, then he strode back to his place at the head table.
The stars were fixed; the hour had come. Like cats in the night Logan and Sebastian rose on silent feet to opposite ends of the battlements. Having left their quarters only moments after entering them, they’d hidden in the shadows at their appointed posts, where they waited.
Now, situated on the darkened stairs just below the wall walk, Logan quietly set the lantern he held at his feet, then waited for the guard directly above him to turn away. Cautiously he peered over the stone ledge. At once he saw his chance.
In a trice he was on the man. From behind, a honed knife sliced across the guard’s throat; Logan propped the lifeless form against the crenel. Then it was on to the second of the six he had to fell.
As he approached, the man swung around; Logan straightened from his slinking crouch, the knife quickly concealed behind his back. “Good eve,” he said on a whisper as he moved ever closer. A white smile shone through the black mask. “A beautiful night, is it not?”
Before the confused guard could respond, the knife thrust forward, cutting hard into the man’s gut. With a lift the blade was pulled free; the sightless man slumped against his executioner.
After the second sentry was braced at the hole in the battlement, where it appeared he still kept watch, Logan crept onward. In short order three others found themselves slumped against the crenels, unseeing eyes staring out over the blackened landscape.
As he made his way toward the last of his quarry Logan glanced across the way toward Sebastian. Aided by the torchlight, he saw his companion had made fast work of five of the six he was to dispose of and was now headed toward the last of the lot.
Smiling to himself, for Logan thought all had been accomplished with the greatest of ease, he turned his gaze forward; instantly he froze.
There before him stood his final adversary. His sword drawn, the man faced him fully. “So,” pronounced the guard, who was nearly twice Logan’s size, “the Raven stalks the night, and with a knife in his hand.”
At a quick swing of the man’s blade the bloodstained knife was struck; it flew from Logan’s hand. Fortunately he still had all his fingers.
“I’m sure MacHugh will be interested to learn you’ve been sneaking about. Head yourself toward the steps,” the man ordered with a wave of his sword.
“As you wish,” Logan said on a rasp, pretending to comply.
Having turned slightly, he promptly spun forward. Lunging at the startled guard, he grabbed the hand holding the sword. The two grappled as feet whirled on the narrow ledge in a dance of death.
The guard, his strength far superior to Logan’s, soon pressed him to the battlement, the sword settling between them; His hands caught the man’s wrist, holding it fast. Logan watched as the sharpened blade inched ever closer to his neck. His power was fading, and Logan realized his next breath might be his last. At once the blade met the leather banding his throat, then Logan felt the press of cold steel against his skin. Eyes closing, his mind focused on his arms. Valiantly he held the blade at bay. With a grunt the man leaned into him, and Logan felt certain this was the end.
Thoughts of Kristiana and his son twirled through his mind. Then his opponent’s rigidly held sword faltered. It slipped from his fingers to fall upon the stones between them, just missing Logan’s toes.
Gazing over the shoulder of the man who’d suddenly gone limp against him, Logan stared into Sebastian’s smiling blue eyes.
“The knave forgot about the Fox,” he said with a soft chuckle as he wiped his knife on his sleeve. “He should have remembered we go as a pair.”
“I’m glad we do,” Logan replied, Sebastian’s large hands pulling the man’s weight from him.
Once the final guard was placed at the crenel like the rest, Logan and Sebastian converged on the fore wall of the castle, standing just above the village.
“The odds have improved,” Logan said. “With a dozen more of Edward’s men gone, we should be better matched.” Along the way he’d retrieved the lantern from its spot on the steps. He struck a tinder and lit it, then handed it to Sebastian. “Giv
e the signal while I unbar the gates.”
“Godspeed,” Sebastian said, his large hand meeting Logan’s shoulder. “I’ll meet ye at the entry to the passageway.”
As Sebastian leaned over the castle wall, swinging the lantern in a wide arc, Logan descended the stone steps, heading first to one postern gate, then to another. Should the fierce fighting reach the castle itself, the unlocked portals might allow his men entry. He prayed they remained undiscovered.
The main gatehouse was left untouched, several guards still dozing safely inside its towers. After the last postern was unbarred Logan fled into the moonless night. Stealthily he moved toward the hidden door, leading to the passageway and to his beloved Kristiana.
A soft pallet at her back, a star-frosted sky above her, Kristiana felt the caress of a light summer’s breeze upon her bare skin. A campfire crackled nearby while crickets and night birds called in the distant wood. The thrum of a far-off lute played in her ears, men’s voices singing a gentle chorus telling of days gone by.
Slowly her eyes fell shut. When they opened again her gaze met that of molten gold. The fire within those wondrous orbs set her soul ablaze. Hands reached up to touch the errant curl falling across a wide brow. Her fingers stretched to thread through the rich, black hair atop a noble head. Eagerly they glided to the nape of a strong neck, and she urged the handsome face above her ever closer to her waiting lips.
Replete in the sweetness of her dreams, Kristiana nestled closer to her pillow, desiring the fantasy to continue.
Logan climbed the last several steps inside the passageway. With the torch placed in its holder, his hand hit the lever. In the dead silence the scrape of the concealed door sounded like a huge boulder skidding down a high hill.
His breath held deep in his lungs, he stepped into the alcove. When he touched the lion’s head, the door closed. He waited a moment, his eyes adjusting to the sudden blackness, then he peered around the opening.
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