by Barbara Bard
One of them, a big man wearing chain mail under his leather jerkin, loomed over them. “What is your business?” he asked, his voice sounding like a hound’s growl.
“I need to see Saul,” Marden replied. “I want to sell him this girl.”
“Saul does not buy women. Be off with you.”
Marden grinned. “He will want this one.”
For a long moment, the man studied them both, and Catrin thought he intended to toss Marden out onto the street. Instead, he asked, “Name?”
“Marden Johns.”
“Wait here.”
Turning, the big man walked behind the bar and disappeared into a room beyond. Glancing around at the few drinkers, Catrin suspected this was less of a tavern catering to locals and travelers as it was a base for John Saul’s illegal operations. The men inside appeared to be well armed and experienced fighters, similar to Black Charlie’s gang of brigands. These men, too, eyed her with speculation, and she felt a shiver of fear course down her spine.
The big man returned and gestured for Marden and Catrin to follow him. Dragging Catrin with him, Marden crossed the room and took her with him into the back room. The big man closed the door and leaned against it, his arms folded across his broad chest. Lit with a few candles, the room held little save a few chairs and a couch covered by hides.
A man lounged at his ease on the couch, drinking from a mug, and looking Catrin up and down. Marden bowed to him as though he were a lord, and Catrin met his eyes stare for stare. John Saul was an ugly man with a bald head and a scraggly thin brown beard. His brown eyes, sharply intelligent, seemed to appraise her from a pock marked face.
“Marden,” he said, his voice like gravel. “Who is this woman you bring to me?”
“The Lady Catrin, Henry of Whitewood’s sister.”
Saul sat up straighter. “Is this true?” he asked her.
Defiant, Catrin’s chin rose and she said nothing. The outlaw chief grinned, his teeth brown and chipped. “Only a high-born lady would behave so. Welcome, My Lady.”
“How much will you give me for her, Saul?” Marden asked. “With her, you can collect what you are owed by ransoming her to the Duke. She is worth a great deal to you.”
Saul’s eyes shifted, and suddenly, she knew Marden had made a big mistake. “You mean you did not bring her to me as a gift, Marden?”
The man flushed. “I mean no offense, Saul. You know I respect you. I am in desperate need of gold so I can escape this country and the Duke’s sheriffs.”
“What is she worth to you?”
Saul stood, and walked toward them, lightly, on the balls of his feet like a natural fighter. He wore only a dagger on his belt, but no sword. Marden watched him come, his eyes wide with a hint of anxiety.
“I – I think twenty gold pieces will do it,” he replied.
That, and the gold in her saddlebags would enable Marden Johns to escape into a very lucrative future, Catrin knew. Glancing sidelong at him, she could see him thinking the same. But would Saul agree? Returning her eyes to him, she found him watching Marden, not her. His hand rested dangerously on the hilt of his dagger.
“That is a great deal of money,” Saul said, pacing around them. “Perhaps you might consider taking less.”
“Surely that is a small price,” Marden said, turning his head to watch Saul. “She will fetch you thousands from the Duke.”
“So sure, are you? His Grace of Whitewood refused to pay Henry’s debt. Maybe he will also refuse to ransom his daughter.”
“She is his heir, now.”
Pausing to pick up and finger a tendril of Catrin’s hair, Saul examined in, then continued pacing. “He knows he can beget other heirs.”
Marden shook his head. “He is ill, and likely to die soon.”
“Hmmm. I wonder how you happen to know that.”
“Henry told me. That is why he thought to hasten the Duke’s death, gain his inheritance and pay you.”
Catrin sucked in her breath. Henry planned to kill Father? No, no, he has to be lying. Eyeing Marden sidelong, she sought the telltale signs of a liar at work but did not see them. No, Henry would not do that? Would he?
“Yes. Henry’s demise was most unfortunate for me.” Saul stopped behind Marden and Catrin felt the man stiffen beside her. Sweat trickled down the side of his face, making her wonder if he had just realized what his greed brought him.
“I will make you an offer, Marden,” Saul said at last, still behind the man. “You brought me the girl, and I will let you walk out of here with your life.”
Take it, fool. Catrin watched Marden’s expression as it shifted between fear and greed. Surely, he knows who has the upper hand. Without trying to make it obvious, Catrin edged away from him, putting distance between them in case Saul did what his eyes told her he would do.
“But, Saul –”
Marden got no further. In a move so swift, Catrin could hardly follow, Saul plunged his dagger into the side of Marden’s throat and back out. His eyes wide with shock, Marden’s hands went to his throat, dark red blood gushing from the wound. His mouth working, he turned as though to plead for mercy from Saul, to beg him to undo what he did. Saul merely stared at him, no emotion at all in his flat brown eyes.
“Get him out of here and let him bleed in the street.”
The big man, forgotten until now, grabbed Marden under his arm, and dragged him from the room with the ease he might haul a toddler to a spanking. Blood spattered on the floor in their wake, and Catrin felt sick, her belly in knots, as she stared down at the droplets. Saul paused to look her in the eyes.
“He might have lived if he had not been so greedy,” Saul told her.
Not replying, even if she knew what to say to that, Catrin set her jaw to help fight the nausea and her fear. “There is a bag of gold in his saddlebags,” she said, “that he took from me. Take it as payment of my brother’s debt and let me go.”
“So, he had what he needed and still demanded more.” Saul shook his head. “Marden Johns should have known better. He should have known me.”
“My father may pay to get me back,” she said, “then he will hunt you down, and destroy you and your band. Perhaps you should think about taking what you can and leaving things be.”
Saul nodded thoughtfully. “That may well be true. But one cannot kill what one cannot catch.”
Pulling out a cloth from his pocket, he cleaned the blade of his dagger and sheathed it. Bending, he used the cloth to wipe up Marden’s blood from the floor, then tossed it aside. “I have eluded your father’s men for years,” he said. “I believe I can continue to do so for many years to come.”
“Not if you make him angry,” Catrin replied, surprised at the calmness in her own voice. “Ransoming me will no doubt do exactly that.”
“I still am not worried,” Saul replied, shrugging. “This land has so many places to hide, and the gold you will bring will help me set up again somewhere else.”
The big man returned, opening the door but Saul’s voice stopped him from entering.
“Check their saddlebags and bring me whatever of value is inside.”
Retreating, the man shut the door again.
Catrin said nothing as Saul returned to his hide covered couch but watched him as closely as he watched her. Long minutes passed as they stared at one another, Catrin determined to not drop her eyes. The door opened behind her as the fellow returned and dropped the leather pouch of gold into Saul’s hand. Only then did he look away from her.
Untying the drawstring, Saul poured the coins out onto the couch beside him. “Marden really was a fool,” he commented dryly. “A greedy, greedy fool.”
“Do not make the same mistake,” Catrin advised.
“This is only about half of what your brother owed me,” Saul said, scooping the gold back into the bag and standing. “Thus, you will remain my guest until I am paid in full.”
Chapter 26
Ranulf eyed Chaddie speculatively, the sea wind whip
ping his cloak around his legs. “Be ye suggestin’ Gilbert ‘o Hargrove killed the Duke’s son?”
Chaddie shook his head. “No, but they did argue that night. I myself cannot imagine Lord Gilbert killing him, they were friends.”
“Can ye think ‘o who else may wish Whitewood dead?”
Chaddie glanced at his companions. “Only Saul, lord. He may have gotten frustrated enough to slit Henry’s throat, but I find it unlikely. He would not want to kill his money source.”
“Where might I find this John Saul?”
Licking his lips, Chaddie looked at his friends again, and asked, “You swear on your honor you will never tell him how you found out?”
“Oan me honor as a laird.”
“In England,” Chaddie answered, still clearly nervous, “there is a village south of Linfield called Bearstow. It is not much, but there is a tavern there that Saul owns. You can most probably find him there, but he keeps well-armed bodyguards around him at all times.”
Pulling nine gold coins from his belt pouch, Ranulf gave each of them three. “Remember, lads,” he said. “Dae yer thievin’ sooth o’ the border.”
Chaddie knuckled his brow, grinning. “We will, lord.”
Gesturing for him clansmen to follow him, Ranulf left the caves and the outlaws, and climbed back up the steep hill. “So, noo we ride fer England,” he said to Aswin, pulling his stallion’s head from the thin grass. “’Tis a guid thing Catrin be safe with her da.”
“Ye mean tae ask fer her hand, laird?” Aswin asked, swinging up onto his horse.
“Aye, I dae,” Ranulf replied, mounting. “Once I hae the name ‘o the true killer. I dae think it be this John Saul. He dinnae soond like a man wi’ much patience.”
***
Riding as hard as he could without breaking the horses down, Ranulf led his band south for three days. Skirting Linfield, he found the village of Bearstow lying in a shallow valley. Few sheep grazed in the pastures, and even fewer fields appeared to have been tilled for crops. Topping a ridge, he reined in, his clansmen halting in a loose half circle around him.
“Whet ye think we wi’ find in there?” he asked Ian and Aswin, who had halted their horses to either side of his.
“That nae be a normal village, laird,” Aswin said, pointing toward the few peasant huts in the distance. “Me thinks it be the lair ‘o the bandit chief.”
“If that be right,” Ranulf replied. “Then we may be in fer a fight if this John Saul nae be in the mood fer conversation.”
Turning in his saddle, he studied his men, pondering his strategies. “Nae doubt they oot number us,” he said finally. “Five wi’ me. The rest ‘o ye take cover in the buildings there. If ye hear fightin’, come lend a hand.”
Following the top of the ridge until he found a safe way down, Ranulf cantered down the hill. Seven clansmen split off, and trotted toward the out buildings at the edge of the village. With the others, Ranulf slowed his mount to walk down the narrow dirt track that led through the town, eyeing the armed men who straightened from their indolent poses as they rode past.
“Village ‘o cutthroats,” he muttered.
The only tavern bore a painting of a grape cluster over the door, the village market was little more than a blacksmith shop, a wheelwright and cobbler. The rest of the tiny buildings were simple huts.
“Keep yer blades loose, lads,” Ranulf warned as he guided his stallion toward the lone tavern. “Donal, stay wi’ the horses.”
A swift glance up and down the street informed him the watching men remained where they were and had not advanced to try to surround them. “Perhaps they ken a fight wi’ us wi’ get bloody,” he muttered, handing his reins to Donal, who remained mounted and watchful.
Opening the door to the tavern, Ranulf entered, peering through the dim structure. A central hearth fire burned, and only a few men sat inside at the tables tossing dice. Tallow candles gave off a stench as he walked further in, his four clansmen at his back. The dice players stood up at the sight of them, all bearing large, two handed swords at their hips.
“I be lookin’ fer John Saul,” Ranulf said, resting his hand on his own sword.
“You found him,” said a voice directly in front of him at the same time a woman cried, “Ranulf?”
Whirling his head to his right, he saw a woman rise from a table in the shadows, long lengths of auburn hair cascading down her shoulders. As she stumbled into the light, he recognized Catrin’s honey gold eyes. He took no time to wonder how she got to this god forsaken outlaw lair.
Ranulf did not hesitate.
His sword spun into his hand and he leaped forward, intercepting the bald, bearded man who charged toward Catrin. Catrin dodged his outstretched hands, ducking behind Ranulf in a swift move that he had no doubt just saved her life. The firelight glinted off the razor edge of the knife in the bald man’s hand.
Slowly backing Catrin into the safety of his men, Ranulf raised his sword toward the fellow’s throat. That fellow took a few steps away, his expression furious, his lips thinned and pale. He had five men behind him, their blades out and ready, but he was armed only with the dagger.
“Funny tae find ye in this oot ‘o the way place, lassie,” he commented, never taking his eyes from the men in front of him.
“Yes, well, it is a bit of a story,” Catrin replied from behind him.
“It appears the Lady Catrin has a friend,” said the bald man said., sneering. “But unfortunately, she stays here.”
“Ye be John Saul?”
“I am. Who the hell are you?”
Ranulf grinned, inclining his chin briefly. “I be Ranulf Thorburn, and this lass wi’ be leavin’ wi’ me.”
Saul’s brown eyes widened. “As in Kyle Thorburn?”
“Me brother. Hanged by the lass’s da fer a murder I think ye committed.”
Scoffing, John Saul snapped, “I did not kill Henry of Whitewood, damn your eyes. He was worth too much alive for me to take him to the moors and cut his throat.”
“Then who dae kill Henry?”
“I believed it was your brother, Thorburn,” Saul grated, making a gesture toward his men.
The outlaws at his back spread out, preparing to fight. Drawing his dagger, Ranulf pushed the hilt behind him and into Catrin’s hand. “Me brother dinnae kill Whitewood,” he said, tensing himself for battle. “I came here tae ask ye, civil like, aboot the matter, and find me lady in yer clutches. Whet ye be doin’ wi her?”
“She is my security,” Saul said, advancing slowly, flipping the dagger in his hand, holding by its tip. “Her father will pay her brother’s debt in order to have her back.”
“Not whie I live.”
Saul’s lip curled. “Then die.”
In a lightning move, Saul threw the dagger straight at Ranulf. Prepared for the throw, Ranulf flung his sword up in an arc, and slapped the knife out of midair. It fell to the rushes. In that split second, Saul’s men swarmed out from behind him and attacked. A huge man, grimacing, targeted Ranulf while the others engaged his four.
Parrying a two-handed strike, Ranulf fought to keep himself between Catrin and the outlaws. He caught a glimpse of Saul trying to edge around the mass of fighting men, but the big man tore his attention away and he was forced to keep his eyes on the fellow who was determined to hack his head off.
“Lass,” Ranulf gasped, throwing the man back. “Saul. He be comin’ fer ye.”
“I see him.”
Using two hands on his sword hilt, Ranulf chopped at the other man’s blade, turning it aside, trying to strike past his guard. While the big man was strong, Ranulf was faster, and pressed hard against his steel. Feinting at his enemy’s unguarded left, Ranulf switched strokes before his blow landed when the fellow turned his blade to counter it. Ranulf’s sword sliced through leather and flesh of the outlaw’s belly.
Grunting, twisting, the man ignored his bleeding wound, trying desperately to chop Ranulf’s head from his neck. His sword already there, Ranulf’s ba
ck stroke deflected the blade, and the tip slashed the man across his cheek. Roaring, the big man charged.
Waiting for it, ready, Ranulf raised his sword over his head and twisted his body to the side in the same movement. Going too fast to stop, his own weight a detriment, the brigand tried to slow himself and turn. Ranulf’s brought the edge of his sword across the back of his neck, snapping his spine, and almost taking the fellow’s head off.
