After all sight of them was gone, she stared into the inky night. Cold air stung her face. Gripping her robe around her shoulders, Letia wiped wet tears from her cheeks. As she turned, her shoulders slumped and her feet stumbled on her way to the bed. She crawled between the bed covers and pulled them close to her face.
Curled in a ball, she clasped her hands over her mouth to muffle her sobs.
Soon, shamed tears wet her pillow.
Letia huddled in the bed, listening and fearful. Freki's voice rose again and again. The moisture-laden air pulsed with it. Such a threatening cry. Long, guttural barks slowly rose to menacing howls. 'Twas a sound not heard since she had treated the beast.
"Ahwhoooo!" Freki's fury started when the men rode with Raik across the drawbridge and onto the forest path. She raked her fingers through her hair, listening. The dog barked three times then uttered that beastly, mournful sound. Chill bumps prickled her arms. Her skin crept with foreboding. Did the beast warn that Raik would die?
She stared above at the bed's canopy and clasped the ends of her pillow against her ears. Her swollen eyelids burned. Squeezing her lids together, she hummed loudly trying to muffle the frightening sounds. After what seemed near the whole night, Freki gave one last, resounding bark and quieted. Warin and the men were clattering over the drawbridge, returning.
She waited to hear her husband's footsteps approaching the room. Just this past morn, she had learned he spent the hours before she returned to their bed above in the chapel, his knees on the hard marble floor, his back bent in prayer. He could not bear to be near the room where another man provided the heir he was unable to give her.
The door swung inward, bringing with it the manly scent of leather as Warin entered. She scooted to the edge of the feather mattress and rose to her knees, reaching out to him.
"Beloved," he whispered as he drew her up to fold his arms around her. "Are you harmed?"
"Nay. Raik did naught. He tried to pull me to a shaft of moonlight. I was so afeared he would learn it was me who deceived him that I screamed."
He sat, moving her to his lap.
"It is done, now. He is gone. You must put him out of your mind as if he was never here." He rubbed his hand down her back, soothing her.
"How badly is he injured?" She chewed her bottom lip and blinked hard to clear her mind of the puzzled look in Raik's eyes.
"No more than a bad fall from a horse. Much less than a battle hammer slammed against his head."
"Will he awake?" She shuddered and leaned back to watch his face. Though she feared Raik, she would not want him to have sustained a permanent injury because of her.
"He will." He hugged her tight as he rocked her back and forth. "No doubt his head will pound like battering rams attacking the barbican gate."
"Saints help us. What if he cannot move?"
"Ah. You worry for naught."
She rested her head against his shoulder and sighed. "You have done all you can to see to his safety."
"Aye. We chose a path where Ranald's patrols travel each day. Should he find riding painful, he will wait quietly until the men come by."
She heaved a sigh of relief. "His cousin will fix a potion to ease his head." If her teeth worried her lower lip much longer, it would be raw come the dawn.
Letia leaned back and studied his face in the dim candlelight. Dark circles under his eyes and lines etched around his mouth told how tired he was.
"Come, Warin." She crawled off his lap and patted the bed beside her. "Dawn comes too soon. Let us rest while we can."
He stood and pinched out the candle on the bedside table. She heard the rustle of his tunic and breeches as they fell to the floor. The mattress dipped as he stretched out beside her. She curled against his side and pulled the covers up to their chins. His overnight whiskers scraped against her hand when she patted his cheek. He sighed and kissed her palm, then gripped her hand against his chest.
Soon, his breathing quieted. His muscles relaxed. He slept.
She could not sleep, though. Freki had long since quieted.
Fearful thoughts of a furious Raik returning to Seton, seeking revenge kept her wide-eyed and restless.
CHAPTER 15
"Shite!"
Pain lashed through Raik's skull making him wonder if his brain was likely going to explode from it. Squeezing his eyes shut, he willed the pounding to lessen. His hands explored around him. He wasn't on a bed. Had he fallen to the floor and struck his head? He slid his fingers over the ground, patted it then picked up something. He wasn't on a wooden or stone floor, for certes. What he had plucked was grass, not rushes.
Sun warmed his lids. He peeked through thick lashes. Dolt! He groaned and pressed his palms against his temples. He used his hands to help turn his head away from sunlight that streamed through a gap in the canopy of leaves overhead.
"Where in Hades...," he muttered.
Sure as Lucifer had moldy horns, he was not in Seton's keep nor was he within the castle walls.
He cracked his lids wider. So. A forest. A horse nickered. A wet nose nudged his cheek. Storm. Tied to a tree just far enough away that it wouldn't step on him but could reach him with his head outstretched.
What had happened?
He closed his eyes. Tried to piece his memory together. He went backward to the time someone had tried to rearrange his head.
The woman. His eyes closed again, pressed tight.
Someone had come into the room after she screamed.
Afore that, he had clasped her in his arms and dragged her from the bed. He had intended to learn who his supposedly dream lover was in the flesh.
Ah. Earlier than that, he had poured out the wine. For truth, they had drugged him. Deceived him by dreams. No doubt, it was the reason for the headaches he awoke with each morn.
Not today's pain, though.
They had tricked him.
He had tricked them.
Now they had tricked him again.
Did they think he would awake—he felt over his body, felt his clothing, his weapons—fully clothed and become so rattled he wouldn't be able to piece it together?
Who was she? Why had de Burgh been so angered over his tupping a woman in his keep? She had come to him. He had not hunted her down.
Hunted! Not yet. But he would. His teeth bared in a snarl.
His groin stirred. Even now, he wanted her.
Wanted her and needed to learn why she had come to him in secret.
He started to turn to the left but felt something wedged against his side. A flask. Hm. Thoughtful of them. He pulled out the cork and sniffed. Water. He dribbled it between his lips then splashed his face. Waited a moment more then carefully rolled to his side and pushed up with his hands.
He sat, cross-legged, his elbows on his thighs. Held his head, waiting for the dizziness to pass. It seemed like forever before he was able to stagger to his feet and peer about.
Jesu! His eyes opened wide. Had he killed the men sprawled no more than five paces away?
Nay. Their drawn knives had no blood on them. Arrows protruded from their chests. His gaze searched around him. He saw nothing that was not ordinary.
Someone had protected him.
He snorted. Nice of them, wasn't it? Lips pressed together, he tried to mount Storm. Thrice, his leg failed to raise him in the stirrup. Best he should walk for a while.
After a goodly distance, the muffled sound of horse's hooves on the forest floor drifted to him. He stopped. Listened. They were heading away from him. Likely 'twas whoever had left the water and stood guard over him throughout the night.
He silently thanked the man, or men, for their kindness.
Finally, he pulled himself atop Storm. His horse must know how badly his head hurt, for he walked slowly. Carefully. No matter how slow, he would reach Hunter Castle with plenty of daylight to spare.
o0o
"Raik! Shite, man! Where ye been?"
Raik clutched Storm's saddlebow when a huge warrior
cuffed his left shoulder. As it was, he near tumbled back over Storm's haunch. He squinted and saw one of Ranald's men he'd persuaded to raid Warin's cattle with him. He expected the other two would be right behind him
"Jesu, Dubne! Ye forget we are not all near giants like ye."
"Aye, ye are a bit scrawny." He eyed the bandage gong across Raik's chest where the shirt hung open. "What's with the lassie-wrap around yer shoulder?"
"Stitches."
"Oh, aye, I guessed such. How came ye by them? Some English lass bite ye for yer tarse bein'...?" He held up his hand, his forefinger bent and pointing downward.
Raik snorted. He shifted in his saddle to watch two other men come crashing through the woods onto the path.
"Hey, pretty boy, where ye been hidin'?" A handsome warrior came close, ready to slap Raik aside the head. Raik winced and held up his arm.
"Keep yer fists to yerself, Fergus."
"Shite, man! Do ye know how long Ranald has had us searchin' for ye?" He grumbled, though his eyes smiled.
"Aye. Where in Hades have ye been?" The third man's gaze searched over Raik's face. "Ye disappeared that night and we couldna find a trace of ye."
"Long tale. Food first and enough ale to bathe in."
Christ. He stifled a groan. He must look as bad as he felt, judging from glances passing between the men. But Ranald's potions would bring him back to normal. Mayhap his brain would stop banging from one side of his skull to the next like eggs whipped about afore cooking.
They rode in quiet companionship out of the forest into the clearing around Hunter Castle. He ground his teeth together to stifle a groan at the sharp echo of the hooves striking the cobblestones leading through the long barbican and out into the bailey.
Stiffening his back, he sat tall in the saddle as men shouted greetings to him from the wall walkways and inside the bailey. He hoped he didna have as much trouble getting off Storm as he had rising into the saddle.
'Twould be disgusting if he stumbled about like a drunken lout.
Ranald was running toward him. Laird Broccin, too. 'Twas always surprising to see the old laird not fighting with his son. He stood in the saddle and waited for just a breath, then kicked his right stirrup free. Hades! He was stiff. Sore. He swung his leg over Storm's haunch and lowered himself to the ground, careful not to jar himself on landing.
"So, cousin. Ye decided to come from hiding?"
Ranald's black-clad arm went around Raik's shoulders. It looked like a friendly hug, but Raik felt the support he offered and was grateful for it.
"Something like that."
"The next time ye sneak in and steal three men to go raiding with ye, ye had best return with the cattle to make it worth their while," a gravelly voice said beside him. 'Twas Laird Broccin, Ranald's father.
Catalin hurried over and, after an appraising look at Raik, handed her small son over to her old nursemaid. She turned to Raik and beckoned with her hand. "Come to the solar. You look to need a hot bath, food and drink."
As the men entered the keep, she called out swift orders to the servants. Glancing again at Raik's face, she slipped around her husband to walk ahead of them, slowing their pace.
Raik sighed. He was grateful for that. Ranald's wife had sensed his need to go slowly. No one would note he was climbing the stairs like an old man, not sprinting up them as was his custom. With her swelling stomach, they would think he moved as if his feet were too heavy to lift only to keep from crowding her.
"Catalin, yer blue kirtle and that apple red smock beneath are sure more pleasing to the eye than Ranald's black garments. Do ye think he will ever wear aught but monk's black?
"I try, Raik. Just this past sennight I sewed a blue tunic of the same cloth and a shirt colored the lightest blue of the sky at dawn." She chuckled and glanced over her shoulder at Ranald. "He has yet to wear it."
"Tis too beautiful to grace the practice fields, love." Ranald's dark, purplish eyes laughed back at Catalin. "Would ye have it splattered with unsightly red?"
"Ha. I would not have any of your clothing splattered with red, and well you know it."
Broccin cleared his throat. "A bit of blood does not ruin a garment, woman. Ye should not try to weaken the man. Make him cling to yer skirts and he will scuttle back to Kelso Abbey, afeared to do aught but pray."
Catalin nodded thanks to Ranald's squire when he swung open the solar door and they entered.
"Humpf! Not likely, Laird," she said.
Inside the room, she lovingly ran her hand down Ranald's scarred face. "I do not think he will crave solitude again." Her fingers lingered to rub softly over her husband's firm lips. She sighed and blinked.
She turned to the squire and smiled. "Ask cook to send our meal to the solar. When you return, bring clothing from Sir Raik's chest." The young man was near out the door by her last word.
Raik groaned and eased himself down on a stool. "Ranald, what have ye for a blinding pain in the skull?'
"Depends on how ye came by the pain, cousin. Did ye over-drink? Did ye tumble from yer horse? Or has yer head come in contact with an angry fist?"
"Hm. I think 'twas a sword hilt, or maybe a piss pot."
Soft fingers plied through his hair, searching over the flesh of his skull. He knew 'twas Catalin. Her light violet scent told him so.
"Ah, Ranald, here."
Her fingers withdrew, replaced by Ranald's warm touch.
"Mmm. A lump bigger than the one Fergus gave ye that year ye snuck into his bed and swived the lass awaiting him."
"Raik. Shame on you." Catalin giggled behind him.
"Why? The man is far too handsome. On top of that, he has such pretty manners. 'Twas well worth the lump to hear him cursing and railing in front of the lass. It shocked her more than finding out it was me betwixt her legs and not him."
He watched as men brought buckets of hot water to the bathing tub standing in the corner of the solar. Servant women made eyes at him as they placed large drying cloths on a stool near it and lingered overlong. No doubt they hoped to be told to bathe him.
Catalin checked the water's heat and nodded at them.
"That will be all."
Never had he thought he'd be relieved to have three pretty lasses sent from the room. His brow creased. Strange. Desire had not tightened his groin when their greedy eyes probed over him. He padded over to the tub, hesitant about disrobing afore Catalin.
Broccin grabbed a stool and brought it close, then grinned at Raik.
"Near tore the clothes off ye with their eyes, they did. I tried to sate their hunger whilst ye were gone. Ranald near scorched my tarse off with that devil temper of his. I dinna want his eyes sending their fire to me precious parts again."
Catalin rolled her eyes and nodded toward the steaming tub.
"Wrap a cloth around your waist and get into the tub, Raik."
She kept her back to him as she busied herself with packets of herbs and jars of ointments, preparing what they needed for his wound.
"Do ye feel the need of sleep, or will somethin' to ease yer headache do?" Ranald asked. He turned Raik to face the light streaming through the window and studied his eyes.
"Yer eyes change like they are meant to do. 'Tis safe if ye require rest."
"Nay. I slept soundly."
He stood and removed his shirt with Ranald's help. After his last garment dropped to the floor, he secured a drying cloth around his waist.
Water splashed when he stepped into the tub and leaned back against the wooden rim. Catalin gently placed a folded cloth pad behind his neck then removed the bindings around his shoulder.
"Who closed your wound? I thought only Ranald could pull flesh together in such a neat way." Catalin sounded surprised as she carefully began removing stitches from Raik's flesh.
"Baron de Burgh's haughty wife."
"Letia? Why did she not tell me? Had she told me so when I sent a missive asking if they had seen you, we would not have worried."
"Does anyone e
ver know what is in that foolish woman's mind?" He accepted a cup from Ranald, peered into the contents and sniffed. "What is in it? I will never drink wine again unless I see it poured and know what floats beneath the surface."
"Hm. 'Tis naught but herbs to ease yer head pain. Tell me what adventures ye have been about."
"Warin brought me to Seton after his man injured me. I heard him chide the fellow, saying I was not to be harmed." He took several swallows of wine, not minding the taste of the herbs. "I expected to awaken in the dungeons…like you warned me. Instead, I found myself in a large bed within the keep."
"Ye are fortunate Warin is a kind man. Had it been anyone else, they would have shackled ye in a cell. Who cared for ye?" Ranald asked.
"Lady Letia and the old woman Maud took care of my wounds. His lady surprised me that she knew any womanly traits, much less how to sew stitches with such skill."
"They treated ye well?" Ranald asked.
"Aye. But they kept a guard at my door. The man refused to bring my clothing or allow me to leave the room."
"Humpf. I can understand why," Catalin said, smiling down at him as she picked up a cloth and soaped it.
"Oh? For what reason, then?"
"No doubt the baron feared you would cause trouble amongst the men of his keep if the women took to climbing into your bed." Catalin tilted her head when Raik frowned.
"Ye let a lone guard stand between ye and where yer coc.., er, yer tarse leads?" Broccin flashed his daughter-by-law a mischievous grin.
Raik snorted. "I was not without bed sport."
Catalin carefully washed the new scar while the two men talked. Raik would have thought she was not listening, but he knew she did.
"Warin allowed the women to revel in yer skillful hands?" Ranald's voice sounded like he held back a laugh. "No wonder ye took yer time returning to Hunter."
"Nay, not women. One woman alone."
"Ah. Who was she? A lonely widow no one else could satisfy but ye? Was she comely?" Broccin's eyes glittered with interest.
"I dinna know. I never saw her." Raik muttered.
"How could ye tup a woman and not see her? Were yer eyes bound?" Broccin rocked back on his stool.
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