by Barbara Bard
“I will inform William of Breedmont that I accept his proposal.”
Chapter 24
Catrin steeled herself. She had to escape her father’s castle and return to Scotland. With Henry planning to marry her to William of Breedmont, whom she would have been delighted to marry had she not fallen in love with Ranulf, she must leave that very night. After dismissing her maid, she packed spare clothes, brushes, combs, jewelry, and some gold and silver coins into a leather bag. Catrin then sat on the edge of her bed, waiting for the castle to settle into sleep.
Just before darkness had fallen, she had inspected the outer walls of the castle. Just like Ranulf’s, there were irregular stone blocks creating a dangerous stairway down with hand and foot holds. Not wanting to alarm the guards on the walls by dropping her bag from her window to the ground, Catrin tied it across her back with a hank of rope.
Drawing a deep breath, she slid out the window like an eel, and found her first steps downward. Her window was not nearly as high as her room in Scotland, and she all but scampered down the wall as easily as a squirrel. Crouching in the shadows to ensure she had not been seen or heard, Catrin gazed around to get her bearings.
Linfield lay due west of the castle, and she quickly found the road leading to it. Though the gates there would be closed for the night, she had but to wait until dawn and walk in with the other peasants and merchants waiting to go in. She knew exactly where to steal a horse from.
“I will leave coins for it,” she muttered to herself, gazing around into the dark, making sure she was not being followed or stalked. Deliberately wearing dark woolens, she walked lightly as to make no sound, and suspected someone would need to all but step on her to know she was there.
The night was chilly, with a light wind blowing off the moors, but her cloak and walking kept her warm enough. Within a couple of hours, she found the lit street lamps in Linfield glowing beyond the wooden palisade.
Finding a spot behind a low hill near the wall, Catrin sat there, partially shielded from the wind, waiting for the dawn. Cursing herself for not bringing food as her stomach rumbled, she wondered if she would be recognized if she purchased food from a street vendor. Without an armed escort, and her hood pulled down, Catrin thought she might pass unremarked or unremembered.
Yawning, she stood up as the first flush of dawn tinged the eastern horizon pink and walked around toward the gate. There, her cloak’s hood pulled up over her head to conceal her face, she hoped she looked like a poor peddler with her pack on her back. Joining the line waiting to walk into the town, Catrin kept her head lowered and listened to the voices around her. None paid her any heed at all.
The gates opened. Shuffling in, Catrin walked straight down the narrow avenue, making the street vendors her first target. With copper coins, she purchased a hot meat pie and devoured it for breakfast. Then, as the street filled with people, she grew too nervous about being recognized, and shuffled down the lane toward the stable belonging to one of the town’s inns.
Peeking in, she found no one about the place, but heard voices floating to her from the back. From the sounds, the grooms were busy devouring their own breakfast before beginning their daily work. A saddled horse eyed her curiously, its bridle hanging from the pommel. Standing on her tiptoes, Catrin peeked into the bulging saddlebags.
“Praise God,” she muttered as she found it packed with food supplies. No doubt, the horse’s owner was about to embark on a long journey. “Well, so am I.”
Leaving a gold coin where the horse had been tied, Catrin quickly bridled the horse and led it from the stable. A rapid glance under the horse informed her it was a mare. “Good girl,” she muttered as she mounted. “You are a nice mare, eh?”
Riding down the street, Catrin wondered if the gate guards would recognize her as one who just walked in and now rode out. Watching them closely as she approached, she found them more interested in who was entering the town, not leaving. Breathing a deep sigh of relief, Catrin nudged the horse into a canter once clear of the town.
Galloping across the moors, Catrin gazed east toward her home, the Duke’s castle. “Forgive me, Father,” she said. “I cannot marry Breedmont. I am going back to Scotland and Ranulf. Perhaps one day you will understand.”
***
To get the best out of the gallant mare, Catrin trotted up hills, and cantered down, often dismounted to walk and give the horse time to rest. She paused often to give her water and grazing, munching on the unknown traveler’s stores. Delving inside the saddle bags, she found spare clothing, a very sharp dagger in a sheath, and a pouch full of gold crowns. “My apologies, fair traveler,” she said, grinning. “I left you one piece of gold for the horse, and you gave me several in return. Not exactly fair, but what is truly fair in this world?”
Knowing her father would have begun the hunt for her, and would guess she headed north into Scotland, Catrin speculated on how to vanish into the rolling moors. A place where a rider could easily be spotted from one of the many high, rocky pinnacles that marked them. Deciding to follow a shallow valley that ran roughly northeast, she hoped anyone riding hard on her tail would ride straight north and pass her by.
That night, she sought shelter in one of the many bothies found on the Highlands and Lowlands, a stone shelter with a stout door and wood for a fire ready to hand. A streamlet nearby gave them both a source of water, and Catrin held the mare’s bridle as she grazed.
Watching the sun sink into the west, she wondered where Ranulf was. “Have you found my brother’s killer yet?” she asked the glittering stars. “I am guessing no, or you would have ridden to my father to make your peace with him as you swore to do.”
But even if she could not find him in this desolate landscape of the northern English moors, she knew she could find refuge in his castle. Upon riding there, she knew she would find safety among his clan until he returned. Hoping she eluded her father’s men, she tied the mare’s bridle to a ring in the bothy’s wall and walked up a nearby hill.
“Heaven’s mercy,” she murmured.
Gazing toward the Northwest, Catrin saw numerous fires that indicated a very large camp. Knowing her father’s men at arms could not cross into Scotland, she knew she must still be in England. Feeling relieved she had angled her course away from straight north, she realized that had she not done so, those men would have caught her.
Returning to the bothy, she rubbed the mare’s nose and went inside. Building a fire in the hearth, she ate food from the saddlebags, then lay down, using her cloak to cover herself.
She was asleep almost instantly.
***
A man’s voice outside the bothy woke her instantly.
“Hello, in the bothy.”
An English voice. Alarmed, Catrin frantically opened the saddlebags and found the traveler’s dagger and pulled it out. Throwing her cloak over her shoulders, she clasped it at her throat, then readied her saddlebags for instant departure. The mare still wore her saddle, but Catrin had loosened the girth the night before.
“Hello?”
Cautiously opening the door, Catrin peeked out. A man stood near the door, the reins to his horse in his hand. Her mare still stood where she had been, tied to the ring, unmolested. The man smiled upon seeing her and raised his hands to show no weapons.
“Good morning, fair damsel,” he said. “I mean you no harm.”
“What do you want?” she asked, displaying the knife while still shielding herself behind the door.
“I have no food,” he said. “I saw the smoke from the chimney and hoped that another traveler like myself might have enough to share.”
Catrin looked him up and down. He wore ragged clothing, a thin wool cloak, and his boots had holes in them. His shaggy black hair hung in oily coils to his shoulders, but his brown eyes were bright and lively. Unshaven, he appeared unarmed, and his horse’s ribs showed through its dull coat. “What is your name?” she asked.
“Marden Johns of Linfield,” he replied. “I ha
ve fallen upon hard times, and travel to Scotland.”
Catrin froze. She knew that name. Her brother, Henry, spoke of his friend, Marden Johns, a man who lived in the town of Linfield and one who he often helped. She recalled Henry telling her about his friend in the months before he died. She opened the door wider.
“Yes,” she said slowly. “I have food to share. But I will keep my weapon out, and we eat outside.”
Marden bowed. “All I can ask.”
Making sure he sat before she did, Catrin kept her back against the wall of the bothy, and tossed him dried meat, bread, shriveled apples from her saddlebags. By the way he devoured the food, like a starved wolf, she guessed part of his story was correct.
“How did you, er, fall upon hard times?” she asked, munching on dried meat and cheese.
“My patron was killed,” he answered, his mouth full of bread. “The Duke of Whitewood’s son.”
“He was your patron?”
“And my friend.”
“What happened?”
Marden shrugged. “I do not know the details, but he was found with his throat cut, and a Scotsman blamed. He, Henry you see, helped me with money sometimes. He also spoke of killing his father to gain his inheritance.”
Catrin choked on a wedge of cheese. “He what?”
“He told me himself,” Marden continued, watching her curiously. “He owed money to an outlaw, needed the money badly, but his father refused to give it to him in order to pay his debts. So, when he died, I feared for my life from the Duke’s men. I have been wandering ever since. My food and coins ran out weeks ago.”
Catrin’s hunger vanished. Her brother wanted to kill their father for his inheritance? While she wanted to scoff, to disbelieve, she could not. Henry had been behaving rather strangely in the weeks before he died, but to owe vast sums to an outlaw? How could he?
“Could it be that this outlaw he owed money killed him?” she asked.
Marden shrugged, still scoffing the food as fast as he could. “It is quite possible, as this particular fellow would not long tolerate being defied. But then, if he murdered Henry, he would not get paid.”
“How could Henry get so deep into debt?”
“Gambling.” Marden eyed her, amused. “You are his sister, are you not? I thought you looked familiar, and your questions confirm it for me.”
Catrin closed her cloak more tightly around her, growing worried. “Yes. How did you know?”
“Your brother pointed you out to me once,” he replied. “Few could forget your beauty.”
“I see.”
“Where might you be bound, My Lady?”
“That is my business.”
Marden smiled, munching on a strip of dried meat. “Fair enough, I suppose. If you are traveling North, might we do so together? For safety, of course, as well as your well stocked saddlebags.”
Catrin hesitated. “I do not think so. I will give you food, enough for a few days, at least. But I ride alone.”
Marden bowed. “Thank you for that. One day, perhaps I can repay your kindness.”
Digging food and some silver coins from her bags, Catrin gave them to him, but kept the bag of gold hidden. She had no doubt he would rob her in his desperation. “I hope that will see you through to wherever you are going.”
She stood up when he did, keeping the dagger in her hand, making it clear she would and could defend herself if necessary. Marden merely bowed again, and placed the food in his own saddlebags, then swung into his saddle. “My Lady.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Catrin watched him ride away toward the northwest until he was out of sight. Repacking her things, she led her mare to water and grazing, tightening the saddle’s girth. She then put out the fire, restocking the firewood for the next traveler to use the bothy. Closing the door, Catrin walked out of the stone hut and headed toward her horse.
A sharp blow to the back of her head knocked her flat to the ground. Dazed, half conscious, she peered over her shoulder, trying to rise with her hair in her face, as Marden dropped the rock he hit her with. He chuckled as he bound her hands in front of her with stout leather thongs.
“I wonder how much John Saul will pay me for you?” he said. “Henry of Whitewood’s own sister. How lucky am I?”
Chapter 25
Her head aching with a savage pain, Catrin watched through dull, incurious eyes as Marden searched her saddlebags and found the pouch of gold. Grinning, he tossed it up and down in his hand. “You are making me a very rich man, My Lady. No doubt, Saul will ransom you back to your father and thus regain the money he is owed.”
Unable to think straight, much less fight, Catrin offered him little resistance as he heaved her up into her saddle and tied her hands to the pommel. Her head spinning, she thought she would vomit up the food she had eaten as Marden swung upon his own horse. She observed him grinning at her, and tried to raise some defiance, but could barely summon enough energy to remain upright.
“I am still terribly curious as to what the Duke of Whitewood’s daughter is doing out on the moors alone,” he said, his tone conversational as he nudged his mount into a trot, pulling Catrin’s alongside him. “Running away, perhaps?”
Even if she wanted to answer him, she would not have, as her head spun too sickeningly for cohesive thought. Working saliva into her mouth, she spat in his direction, making him laugh again.
“Now that is not very ladylike,” he said. “Tsk.”
Half listening to his cheerful chatter about what he planned to do with the gold Saul was certain to pay him for her, Catrin’s head finally cleared enough for her to recognize they now traveled south. She wondered if Marden knew her father’s men hunted for her, and surmised he would assume it, even if he did not know exactly where they were.
As though reading her mind, Marden said, “I suppose the Duke is out hunting for you, My Lady. Naturally, we will avoid them, as I am sure you have no wish to return home just yet.”
He laughed to himself. Though her head still pounded, the feeling of nausea had passed, and Catrin’s thoughts grew clearer. Unobtrusively, she studied him, searching for a weakness, something she could exploit at the right moment and escape. However, she saw nothing useful, and he had her dagger thrust through his belt, thus she could not cut her bonds. Perhaps he will make a mistake when he stops for breaks to rest the horses.
Marden watched her almost as closely, as though expecting her to try to fight him and escape. When he did stop at streams to let the animals drink and graze, and to eat food, he did not let her dismount. Her hands still bound, she ate the meat and bread he gave her, drank the water from a cup, all while still in the saddle. After, he tied her hands to the pommel again, ensuring she could not throw herself off the horse and escape.
“Henry loved you, you know,” Marden said as they rode. “Admired you. Said you were as strong as any man.”
Catrin refused to answer or speak to him but had no choice except to listen to his almost nonstop chatter.
“I liked your brother,” he continued, as though not expecting her to respond. “Generous man, he would have made a splendid Duke. Had he not caught the gambling sickness, that is. But once that grabbed hold of him, well, that was about the end of him. Sooner or later, he would have gotten the knife. And he did.”
Saul must have killed him. If he could not get his money from Henry, then that would be the next step, as an example to others. But if what Marden said was true, and that her brother planned to kill their father, then John Saul’s killing of Henry made no sense. Her brother would have the money to repay his debts once he inherited their father’s wealth.
Catrin remembered Henry’s strange behavior in the week or so before his death. Getting drunk every day when he usually drank only small amounts, often angry for no reason, arguing with their father. Perhaps it was the pressure Saul put on him to drive him thus. She still found it difficult to believe an outlaw could influence the son of a Duke so, with all the power a Duke wielded. That may
be why this John Saul had him killed – because Henry threatened to destroy him with our father’s men at arms.
Marden eyed her sidelong. “What are you thinking about, My Lady?”
Catrin ignored him.
***
Late the following afternoon, Marden and Catrin rode into the tiny village of Bearstow. It had no wall around it and thus no gate guards, but armed men lounged along the street, watching them ride past. A few local peasants walked in the market square, also watching the strangers with curious eyes. Marden rode toward a single story tavern bearing a sign with purple grapes on a green vine, but no name.
Dismounting in front of the place, Marden tied both horses to rings in the posts, then pulled Catrin down. Seizing her by the arm, he pulled her through the doors into a fair sized common room. Lit only by a central hearth, which gave off too much smoke, Catrin saw only a handful of men at the tables, playing dice and drinking ale from pewter mugs.
