by Lily Baldwin
“Mothers and daughters often do. I had the privilege of having two sisters.”
“Had the privilege?” she said.
A pang of regret filled his heart. “My youngest sister, the youngest of all my siblings, was also killed during the massacre.”
Her eyes widened. “Quinn, I am so very sorry.”
“Me too,” he said.
She turned onto her side and pulled her knees in to her chest. “We argued that day,” she blurted. “My mother and I. We argued the very day King Edward invaded. She had been wearing her hair uncovered and unbound for days. I accused her of trying to start a scandal to ruin my chances at a good marriage.” She shook her head. “My mother was common. I did not have the fair skin favored at court. Despite my family’s wealth, I doubted, and rightly so, my ability to make a prudent match.” He glimpsed unshed tears the instant before she cast her gaze downward. “It was because of our argument that my mother sought solitude and left for market on her own that horrible day.” She was quiet for several moments before she once more met his gaze. Tears wet her cheeks. “I have never told anyone about that, not even my sister.” Her voice cracked, and she became very still.
He longed to pull her into his arms and rock away her misplaced guilt. “Her death was not yer fault,” he said softly.
A sad smile curved her lips. “I know that,” she said, swiping at her wet cheeks. “I have always known that. But there is a difference between knowing something and believing it. I never forgave myself.” She shook her head. “I think that is why I agreed to marry Henry. I knew he would take me away from Berwick, away from my father’s grief. I believed that since I could not forgive myself, that I would have to settle on forgetting.” She absently pulled at a loose thread on the sleeve of her tunic. “And I suppose I did. I was all too happy to disappear from the world, enclosed within Ravensworth castle for the rest of my days.” Her voice broke again. “It was a decent life.”
He crossed to where she lay and stretched out on the other side of Nicholas, resting his head in his hand. “A decent life? Forgive me for saying so, but ye can do better than a decent life.”
She shook her head. “After everything that has happened, how can you say that to me? How could anyone ask for more in a world so full of wickedness?”
“Ye don’t ask for more,” he said. “Ye seize it, and it’s because of life’s hardship that ye don’t wait—ye may not have a lifetime to get it right.”
“I thought I had it right.”
“Hiding away in Ravensworth Castle is clearly not yer destiny.”
She raised her head. “What is my destiny?”
“That is for ye to decide. What is it that ye wish for?”
Her eyes fell on Nicholas. “For him to survive all this.”
Quinn reached across Nicholas and squeezed her shoulder. “Yer son will live, my lady. I promise ye.”
“You promise?” she whispered, tears once more filling her eyes.
He nodded. “Aye, I do, but that is yer son’s destiny. What is yers? Ye must have some secret longing.”
She shook her head. “If I do, I have not told myself.”
Just then Nicholas stirred. Quinn smiled and whispered, “Mayhap this journey will reveal the workings of your heart along the way. For now, just close yer eyes, my lady, and try to rest. We dare linger only a few hours more.”
She laid her head down, resting now on the crook of her arm. “What of yourself? Do you not require rest?”
He sat up. “I will stay awake and keep watch. When we reach a safe place, that is when I will rest.”
“Is there such a place?”
A sideways smile upturned the corner of his lips. “There’d best be, or else I’m going to be mighty tired.”
Chapter Ten
Stephen sat at the high dais in what should have been Catarina’s seat. His shallow breaths filled his ears as he fought to block out Rupert’s voice. Even now Rupert stood in Henry’s place, addressing the Ravensworth castle guard.
“Catarina Redesdale is the daughter of an outlaw and a whore,” Rupert said, his voice booming.
Stephen’s stomach twisted. He clenched his fists to keep his hands in his lap when all he wanted to do was cover his ears and scream his protest to anyone who had ever loved Catarina. He refused to believe her capable of the wickedness Rupert described, and yet, his eyes had seen the bloody poker and his own brother’s broken skull.
“She killed my brother, our lord and master, in cold blood,” Rupert shouted, his words echoed throughout the great hall. “But she did not act alone. The Gospel of Matthew warns us of monk’s like Brother Augustine. Matthew said to beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.”
Stephen slunk lower in his seat as members of the castle guard shouted slurs against Catarina, including some of Stephen’s closest friends—Jarrett, Aldwin, and even Edgar who had professed on several occasions to being secretly in love with the lady of Ravensworth.
“This wolf was sent to us by none other than Catarina’s father, the former Lord Redesdale—a man guilty of treason and a coward running from the law.” Rupert pulled back his sleeve and thrust his bandaged arm beneath Stephen’s nose. “I have felt the sting of his claws.” He then held up his arm for all to see. “The very claws that stole one of our finest knights, your brother at arms, Sir Matthew Archard.”
The hall erupted with fresh jeers from the guard.
“And worst still, the she-devil and her wolf have kidnapped the heir of Ravensworth, my nephew, Nicholas.”
Stephen straightened in his seat at the mention of Nicholas. He looked sidelong at his brother’s bandaged arm. How could he deny Rupert’s truth? He witnessed the murders and suffered injury for his attempts to intervene. How could Stephen deny Catarina’s role when Nicholas was missing? His hands gripped the sides of his head against the fire of doubt burning his heart.
“Your lord will be avenged. Nicholas will be returned. Because I will hunt down Catarina and her monk and bring them to stand before King Edward.” Rupert’s promise was met with passionate support from all of the Ravensworth knights.
At that moment, the doors in the rear of the hall swung wide. Stephen’s chest tightened as Jasper, the castle dog handler, and his four bloodhounds entered.
“Come forward,” Rupert said eagerly. He stepped from the high dais and met Jasper in the middle of the great hall.
“These are your finest?” Rupert asked, looking over the dogs.
“Aye, Sir Rupert,” Jasper answered.
Rupert stiffened and narrowed his eyes. “I am your lord now. Just as you are master over these mutts so too am I master over you.”
“Forgive me, my lord,” Jasper said.
Although Jasper spoke words of repentance, Rupert did not feel satisfied. There was an arrogance in the dog handler’s bearing most unfitting a serf. But then again, if his animals proved worthy, Rupert might be more forgiving. The dogs sat, alert but quiet, at Jasper’s feet. “They appear docile,” Rupert said, gesturing to the hounds. “I want animals trained to attack as well as track.”
Jasper reached down and scratched one of the hounds behind the ear. “This is Molly. She follows my command. The others follow her. If I command Molly to attack, ye can be sure she will.”
Rupert looked down at Molly. She was a black and tan with brown eyes, droopy jowls, and long ears. “What is the command to attack?” Rupert asked.
Jasper gathered the leashes, shortening their length before he said, “Finish it.”
“Finish it,” Rupert whispered to himself. Then he reached down to pet Molly, but she snarled and bared her teeth at him.
Rupert smiled. “Yes, I think they will do nicely.” Then he looked Jasper hard in the eye. “Do not disappoint me,” he said, before turning on his heel and returning to the high dais. His eyes settled on Stephen. He shook his head and looked out across the hall to his men. “Look at how my poor brother mourns He
nry’s passing. Will we allow his murderers to go free?”
The men pounded their fists on the table, calling for action.
“Will you stand with me, brother?” Rupert said for Stephen’s ears alone. But Stephen’s eyes remained downcast. “For Henry,” Rupert insisted.
Stephen sat back in his chair. His face was drawn, his eyes red. “Do you swear upon all the sacraments that you speak naught but truth?”
Rupert clamped his hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “You know I do.”
Stephen slowly stood. “Then I have no choice but to stand with you.”
Rupert’s confidence grew. He grabbed Stephen’s arms. “Thank ye, brother, for that is what we are, and nothing is more important than brotherhood.”
Chapter Eleven
Quinn and Catarina came to the edge of a large field. New shoots of wheat strained to touch the darkening sky.
“’Tis the gloaming hour,” Quinn said. “But not to worry, my lady. You will sleep under a roof this night.” He pointed to a neat line of cottages on the other side of the field. “There lies Rùnach. Home to dear and trusted friends.” He grabbed her elbow and pulled her through the field. “Mind the new plants,” he said.
Two days ago, Catarina would have turned her nose up at the sight of such poor accommodations. But having spent the previous night fleeing for her life through narrow tunnels and spiny forests and, in the light of day, gleaning little sleep on the hard forest floor, her heart lightened as she watched smoke curl up from the thatched rooftops. She could not have imagined a more welcoming sight. And most importantly, a warm place for Nicholas to rest and some much needed milk.
Lightning slashed the darkening sky. A shift in the air cooled her face as ominous clouds gathered overhead.
Quinn fanned out his cloak, shielding Catarina and Nicholas the instant before the first, big drops fell. “Quickly,” he said, taking her elbow and jogged her toward the cottage on the far left. He rapped on the door and swung it wide, not waiting for an answer.
Catarina glimpsed an open room with a warm fire in the center and several people sitting at a table in one corner. The sight of strange faces drove her to hide behind Quinn who startled her when he threw his head back and whooped.
Quinn could not have been more surprised or happy to see two of his younger brothers, Rory and Alec, sitting at the table.
“Quinn!” Rory beamed, jumping to his feet and hastening to the open door.
Quinn pulled Rory into a fierce hug. And gestured for Alec to come closer. He grabbed Alec by the back of the neck and pressed their foreheads together, just for a moment not wishing to make Alec uncomfortable. “’Tis good to see ye, brothers,” Quinn said. Then his glance darted around the small room. “Where are Jack and Ian? Where’s Bella?”
“Where do ye think?” Rory said. “They’re on the run. Jack plans to lead them to the Isle of Colonsay.”
“Colonsay!” Catarina blurted behind him.
Quinn turned, drawing Catarina to his side. “But that is so far away,” she said.
“Nay, ‘tis not so far, not really.”
Quinn looked to Rory for support, but his younger brother’s gaze was already occupied, pursuing Catarina’s shapely curves.
Quinn resisted swatting him upside the head. “Keep yer eyes to yerself, Rory.”
Rory smiled, looking entirely unrepentant. “Can I assume then that yer mission was a success?”
“Somewhat,” Quinn said. “This is Bella’s sister, Lady Catarina.”
Quinn rolled his eyes as Rory bent in a low bow. “My lady,” he said.
At that moment, Nicholas, who was snug beneath Catarina’s mantle, started to cry, causing Rory to falter. Quinn pulled back the draping fabric, revealing Nicholas to the room. “A baby?” Rory said, his eyes wide. “Bella did not mention a baby.”
Quinn threw up his hands. “That is precisely what I said.”
Catarina clutched Nicholas even closer while she eyed the large men surrounding her. The one called Rory was too gorgeous by far, even more handsome than Quinn, although until she saw Rory she would not have thought that possible. His black hair curled to his shoulders. His blue eyes shone beneath thick, black lashes, and he had a smile that trapped your gaze. Straightaway, she did not trust him. She had met men like Rory at court—rogues every one of them, intent on nothing but exploiting women for their own pleasure. Alec, on the other hand, could not have seemed more different than either Quinn or Rory. He wore his straight hair very long down his back. His eyes were black like Quinn’s, but their guarded depths somehow appeared darker, as black as the new moon. Even now he watched her. A shiver shot up her back beneath the weight of his heavy gaze.
“Foolish men,” a woman’s voice erupted from the other side of the room. “Trust ye fine gentlemen to stand about like dolts while a lady and her sweet babe shiver in the doorway, dripping wet.”
Quinn wrapped his arm around Catarina’s waist and ushered her into the room to stand by the fire. Pulling the wet mantle off her shoulders, he gestured to the other woman. “My lady,” he said. “This is Freya.”
Catarina smiled at Freya who dipped in a low curtsy in reply. “My lady.”
Freya was as lovely as a summer blossom with creamy golden skin, bright green eyes and rich dark hair. “Rest, my lady,” Freya said, leading her away from the fire to one of the now empty chairs at the table. Then she bent at the waist and pulled back the linen to better see Nicholas’s face. “Aww,” she cooed. “He is adorable.” A fresh cry burst from Nicholas’s trembling lips. “Allow me to tend him for ye.”
Catarina smiled, passing Nicholas into the crook of Freya’s welcoming arms. “He needs milk and fresh linens.”
Freya bobbed up and down, soothing the infant with a gentle croon. Then she turned to Rory. “Stop gaping at the lady’s beauty and be useful for once. Fetch me some goat’s milk.”
A sensual smile curved Rory’s lips. Before taking his leave, he bowed first to Freya then to Catarina.
Quinn rolled his eyes again before pulling two chairs over to the fire. He motioned for Alec to join him while Freya helped Catarina.
“So then ye do not ken how Jack and Bella fair?” Quinn whispered.
Alec shook his head. “With Edward’s men likely hot on their heels, he spent little time in camp. He came only to warn us about what had happened and to tell us his plan to take David and Bella to Colonsay. As the birth home of our father, he trusted they would be welcomed there.”
“What of Ian?” Quinn said. “Where is he?”
“Ian offered to take Jack’s wee lassies by wagon separate from Jack.”
Quinn considered Jack’s lassies. They were a pack of five orphaned girls ranging in age from just four to eleven. After the Berwick massacre, hundreds of Scottish children had been orphaned and exiled from what had become an English city overnight. Quinn and his brothers had placed dozens of children with families and dozens more awaited new homes, relying on the generosity of monks. Jack looked upon his lassies as if they were his very own children. He never could have left them behind, but he also never would have run with them—to do so would only put them at risk. Quinn smiled then, thinking of his youngest brother, Ian, coming to the rescue. Ian was the best and biggest of them all with the truest heart and the fiercest temper. With Ian as their guide, Quinn did not doubt the children would find their way to Colonsay. Quinn looked across the room at Catarina, laughing with Freya as they both smiled down at Nicholas’s wriggling hands and legs.
“Yer holding something back,” Alec said.
Quinn closed his eyes not wanting to face the complex truth just yet. At length, he sighed. “Events at Ravensworth did not unfold as expected.” Then he proceeded to tell Alec about Rupert’s unspeakable crimes.
“He will hunt for her,” Alec said, confirming Quinn’s worst fear.
Quinn drew a ragged breath. “I ken.”
“Ye cannot risk taking her to Colonsay, not until ye’ve proved her innocence.”
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Quinn nodded. He knew that too, but then he thought once more about Jack’s lassies and something he hadn’t considered struck his heart.
“Ye know ye can’t run with a baby,” Alec said, guessing his thoughts.
Quinn sagged in his chair and closed his eyes. “It will break her heart.”
Alec shrugged. “Better a broken heart than for Rupert to get his hands on the rightful heir to his ill-gotten title.”
“How do I tell her?”
“If ye do not wish to be the one, I will tell her.”
Quinn sat up and shook his head. “Say nothing, Alec. Ye’re too hard. I will tell Catarina when the time is right.”
“There is no right time to tell a mother she must leave her child behind,” Alec said, his voice flat.
Quinn leaned his head back against the wall. “Aye, but some moments are better than others. Let her rest. Ye must sense the horrors of her last days. Give her this time to garner strength of spirit. She feels safe here. Let that continue.”
Rory returned and brought a jug of milk to the women.
Quinn looked around then, noticing for the first time that Freya’s brother was absent. “Where is David?”
“He is running messages for the Bishop but is expected to return sometime early morning,” Alec replied.
“’Tis why we are here,” Rory said, joining them. “The Bishop has asked us to aid David. Scottish nobles are trying to rally the people.” Rory’s eyes glinted. “A new army is forming.”
“I see. So ye’re here to help the Bishop, and all this while I thought ye came here to convince Freya yer not the rogue we all know ye to be,” Quinn said.
The MacVie brothers had first met Freya and her brother, David, five years before on the outskirts of Berwick after the massacre. Freya and David had managed to escape, but their parents were both slain. Freya had only thirteen years at the time. But Jack had found them a new home in Rùnach with an elderly couple who had lost their three children to influenza. Sadly, the couple had recently passed away but had left their cottage to their adopted children.
