Forbidden

by Sophia Johnson

  “Aye. I feared so too.”

  “I was not truly honest afore,” Catalin blurted.

  “Oh. So you did find his face, uh, terrible?” Elyne’s voice was low, with hints of disappointment.

  “Not at first. His scars were not the cause. Seeing blood splattered over his flesh did turn my stomach. What made my heart cringe was the utter ruthlessness of his face. He looked at me with such anger and disgust.”

  A puff of wind blew over the terraced gardens, wafting the sweet smell of roses and honeysuckle to them. She took a deep breath, hoping to dampen the anger building in her.

  “And did you note how he looked from me to Lady Muriele? He’s in love with her.”

  “What? Ye read that from a look?” Elyne’s brows shot up.

  “Aye. From the look! His face lost that taut, mean way he scowled at me. It softened. He did not turn from her. Oh, no! He let her look him full in the face! He never has allowed me to.”

  Catalin stopped in her tracks. She did not like this strange feeling. If her words came from someone else, she would have accused them of being jealous. It was not possible. She did not love Ranald. Had only followed through with the wedding to save her child. How could she be jealous?

  Catalin took another step, then stopped again and shook her head. But if she were not jealous, would she not be gently shoving him in the beauty’s direction to satisfy his manly needs?

  Wouldn’t she? She had her answer. She kicked the ground again.

  “Crud!”

  Hearing Elyne chuckle, she frowned over at her and decided it was best to keep her tongue clamped behind her teeth, as these Scots were fond of saying. She squared her shoulders and thrust out her chin. She beckoned the first servant she spied.

  “Have heated water and the big bathing tub brought to Lord Ranald’s bedchamber.”

  “Aye, mistress.” The servant bobbed and started off.

  “Um, wait.” Catalin touched the woman’s shoulder, and she stopped and turned. “Best they bring extra water. It’s likely he will have need of it.”

  She sighed and watched the woman turn and take several steps to do her bidding. Mayhap he had not eaten? She followed the servant and grabbed her shoulder again.

  “Yes, me lady?”

  “Food. Tell cook to prepare a platter of the capons we had at the noon meal, some fresh bread, cheese and wine.” She tilted her head and thought of what else had been on the table. “Fruit. Apples and pears.”

  Why did the woman not hurry to carry out her requests? Catalin looked at her and raised her brows.

  “I thought mayhap ye were nae done with yer lists, me lady.”

  “That will be all, thank you.” Catalin felt heat rise to flush her face.

  “Um, ye are really angry at him, aren’t ye?” Elyne dared to grin. “Do ye plan to push his head beneath the water and drown him? Nay? Mayhap ye will kill him with mouthfuls of food, then?”

  Catalin sniffed. “He had an odor. I hate the smell of blood, and I could smell it above horse sweat, leather and metal.”

  “Oh, aye. He must be clean when ye feed him to death, right? A fitting end for a man who looked mean.” Elyne’s laughter floated out behind her when she strolled over to Joneta, who had beckoned her.

  Catalin hurried off to their bedchamber, for she wanted to be there to see they placed the tub near a brazier of coals. Though the weather had been warm of late, inside the keep was always as cold as a winter’s day outside.

  She waited by the window opening and spied the men carrying Egan’s body to the church. She had the servants place the tub where she wanted it, and made sure they had brought an ample supply of hot water.

  Maids brought the food she had ordered. She arrayed it on the table, appreciating the delicious aroma wafting from the warmed capons and the hot bread.

  Ranald’s savage mood would ease once he had a hot bath, warm food and wine, wouldn’t it?

  Heavy footsteps approached the door. Hesitated. Mayhap it was not Ranald?

  The door jerked open. Aye, it was Ranald. And from the looks of him, he was still in a fury over her supposed horror. He spied her standing there and jerked up his hand to stab a finger at her.

  “Get out!”

  CHAPTER 24

  “Nay!”

  Catalin steeled herself to defy him. His angry words felt like a solid presence, for their force pushed at her shoulders much like his hands buffeted her there.

  “Ye dare defy me?” Ranald’s eyes narrowed, his nostrils thinned, as he took a threatening step toward her.

  Catalin swallowed and set her feet firmly, for the closer he came, the more she felt his force.

  “I do not defy. My duty as your wife is to be here. Your bath is waiting, and I doubt you had aught to eat or drink this past day.”

  “Ah. A bath.” Ranald stalked another step closer. “Why do ye flinch? Do ye fear me, or is it the odor of blood that is not to yer liking?”

  “Nay, I do not.” Catalin swallowed and gazed down at her feet, unable to look him in the eyes when she lied.

  “Nay? Nay to which? Fear me or the odor of blood?”

  Her head jerked up at the sound of his voice, so quiet, near a purr and far more menacing than any shout. Had he been a wild animal stalking her, he could not have looked more menacing. Oh, aye, she feared him. The name Black Raptor well suited him. If his black clad arm rose to smite her alongside the head, it would be like an eagle’s capture of a field mouse in his talons.

  “Well? Do ye not have an answer?” Ranald’s eyes shot heated sparks, his lips jerked as he stalked ever closer.

  Catalin’s heart tripped. Aye, she feared. She feared so much she could not move. His eyes pinned her, waiting for his answer. Ever she had heard not to let a wild animal scent your terror. But how could one not? His nostrils flared. He knew, as surely as a beast would know.

  “It is the blood,” she near shouted.

  Ah, it was better the odor she hated than that she feared he would hurt her.

  Ranald stopped in his tracks. His eyes narrowed. He turned his face slightly to the right, the better to see her more clearly with his left eye without the mask narrowing his vision.

  Catalin’s face blanched, and had the blood that left it been freed of the veins holding it, it would have drenched her yellow tunic. There was one way to find out what she feared most, him or his bloodied garments.

  He braced his legs apart, grabbed the hem of his tunic and whisked it over his head. His eyes bored into the fabric as it sailed across the space between them and thudded against her chest. Without hesitation, she caught it.

  Nay, she didna fear blood. He watched her eyes widen with horror when she noted his bloodstained chest. Her gaze searched. Did she seek wounds? When she found none, she clasped a hand to her lips, no doubt to keep from screeching.

  “Aye. Ye fear me. Would ye hear from my lips what horror I have done this past eve?” His voice was near a whisper.

  He watched Catalin struggle to swallow. He held her eyes with his gaze, not allowing her to look away. If she found him so loathsome when looking upon his face below in the courtyard, then she had best know all of him.

  “Ye dinna answer again, so I take it as an aye.” He moved his hand in a slow, circular motion over his body. “So much blood, I dinna ken where one man’s started and another’s ended.” His breath hitched, remembering. “Young Egan didna bleed much, for Rupert’s attentions had near drained the lad’s body.”

  Catalin’s hands fisted tightly around the foul tunic.

  “Now, Rupert. Hm, he is another matter.” He tilted his head again. “The streaks near my shoulders? ‘Tis his. I thought mayhap he was envious of my father’s work, the way he stared at me. I obliged him.”

  Catalin moved back one small step. He advanced the same measured step forward.

  “Dinna worry. He will heal nicely and should not scar overmuch. I was most careful that no dirt fouled his wounds.”

  Why would she not leave? He
wanted to scream at her to leave before he spilled his mind of all the things he had done.

  “I wanted Rupert to carry the same wounds he had carved into the young man’s flesh, but we couldna chance such a lengthy visit. Too, I needed to keep him alive, always to remember my tender ministrations.”

  She gulped again, no doubt hoping he had said all he would reveal.

  “Would ye like to know the last carving that sent blood dripping to my elbows...?

  He did not need another word. Catalin spun and near flew to the door; her hand clutched the latch. He sprang forward and was behind her when she tried to jerk it open. He slapped his hand over hers on the latch, held it closed. He pressed himself against her back and nuzzled his lips at her ear

  “Aye. Ye fear me,” he whispered. “I knew it was so when ye caught the tunic.” He squeezed his eyes shut, sighed and opened them again. “Ah, Catalin. Rupert is Lucifer himself. Had I been a comely man, a man still with Moridac’s face, ye would not have flinched on hearing what justice I meted out.”

  He stepped back from her, moved her aside and took the tunic from her slack hand. With a mighty heave, he slung the door open.

  “Go!”

  Catalin wanted to run, but she did not. Not until the door slammed behind her. Elyne’s bedchamber was only two rooms away. Without asking leave, she burst into the room most likely looking like a brainsick woman from the surprise on Elyne’s face.

  “Saints! Catalin, ye near startled me out the window.” Elyne’s hand was at her throat.

  “Elyne,” Catalin halted and held her hand over her trembling lips hoping to still them.

  “What is it? Ye look like ye have seen a ghost.”

  “Nay, not a simple ghost. Mayhap the specter of a man bent on living up to his ruined face. Though, from the agony in his eyes, he is fighting it.”

  Catalin held on to that flicker in the deep blackness of Ranald’s eyes. The look of torment.

  “I canna believe Ranald would ever do anything near as vile as Father’s cruelty.” Elyne shook her head, frowning.

  “You have been amongst everyone below. Are they not whispering of the terrible things they claim he has done?”

  “Terrible? Aye, mayhap if done by a man like Rupert who takes joy in them. Nay, all are bragging that their Black Raptor is a cunning master. They say that when word of his vengeance spreads, never will another man dare to anger him.”

  “He spoke to me of the horrors he has done, of the blood spilled by his hands.”

  Catalin’s flesh tingled, still feeling his soft breath on her ear when he accused her of flinching from him in fear.

  “Ranald heard the gasp I uttered when I saw his face beneath the helm. Elyne, my horror was from knowing what terrible hate had caused his father to ruin him so.”

  “Aye, I knew. But he didn’t see the look of scorn ye aimed at Father.”

  Catalin frowned, trying to put her feelings in words. “Ranald and Moridac were so comely that had they not been male, all would deem them beautiful.”

  Elyne laughed and nodded. “More than once, a lad teased me saying I was the spotted hen and the twins were peacocks. Especially Moridac with his love of bright colors!”

  The sharp noise of a door slamming and the striking of booted feet in the hallway startled them. Catalin knew. Ranald was leaving. Had he time to bathe and eat? Mayhap one, but not the other. She opened the door and stepped out of the room in time to see his black cape billow behind him as he plunged into the stairway’s darkness.

  Inside their chamber, both window shutters stood wide. A crisp breeze fought the foul odors lingering in the room as smoke made its way out into the night.

  “What burns here?” Elyne stared at the brazier standing close to the window. “Ah. His tunic. Weighted down with hot coals.”

  “’Tis likely he would never want to wear it again.” Catalin knew that had he not destroyed it but asked to have it washed, afterward she would have packed it deep at the bottom of his clothing chest in hopes it would forever stay unworn.

  “He didn’t eat.” She frowned at the table. Not a bite was gone, nor had a drop of wine passed his lips.

  Hearing voices below, she almost leapt to peer down into the darkening bailey. Finn was leading Satan to Ranald, who stood speaking with Raik. The wind lifted their words now and again.

  “Did he say aught to ye about leaving?” Elyne turned to study Catalin’s face.

  “Nay.” Her nape tingled, instinct warning her. She jerked back from the opening.

  Satan stomped and snorted, the way he did when Ranald mounted. She waited until she heard the sharp clop, clop, clop of Satan’s hooves on the cobblestones before she dared look again. Ranald’s cape flew behind him as he disappeared through the barbican.

  When Satan burst out on the other side onto the drawbridge, Ranald’s cape billowed wide on either side. For truth, it appeared like the wings of a giant black bird that sat on the steed’s back.

  o0o

  Ranald pushed Satan hard, riding into the night. It was fortunate the only dangerous part of the ride was the forested lands west of Raptor. He traveled them before true darkness fell. The rest of the way to Kelso, the land was near clear of hazards.

  After dawn, he heard other horsemen and thought it wise to leave the road. He walked Satan over to wait behind the sheltering trees. He listened to the boastful talk of men returning to their cottages after carousing all night in a village east of Castle Douglas. They seemed peaceful enough. Nonetheless, he thought it wise to bide his time until they were far ahead before he mounted Satan and continued.

  He ignored the black clouds and steady drizzle that fell all morn. Mayhap he was a coward to run from Raptor. He could have made his confession to Father Martin, but it would not do. The priest was far too timid from years of dealing with the laird. Ranald didn’t want to brush off his sins as if they meant naught. If he asked if he was doomed to suffer the agonies of Hell when he died, Abbot Aymer would tell him the truth.

  Through the night, his mind had stumbled over all he wished to confess to the abbot. He didn’t know which misdeed to speak of first. He had no sooner decided to relay the events in the order they happened, than he spied Kelso Abbey looming against the black sky.

  Rain had darkened the walls surrounding the abbey, making it mysterious and forbidding.

  To Ranald, it was a beckoning refuge.

  o0o

  “Catalin, ye have been pacing the wall walk near most of the morn. Ye don’t even blink yer eyes. Peering at the woods beyond won’t make my foolish brother appear.” Elyne sighed and patted Catalin’s shoulder.

  “Drats! He has been gone three days. You are a fine one to tell me not to worry. Whenever I come atop the barbican, you have been here with me all but for a wee bit of time.” Catalin made shushing noises and patted her stomach. “The babe is not sleeping much this day.”

  “Could it be because his mother is standing overlong?” Elyne grinned down at her. “Come, Cook made blueberry scones. She knows how ye like them hot out of the oven so the clotted cream ye pile on them drips over yer chin. She says ye near purr when ye lick yer lips.”

  “Cook is as fanciful as the lot of you,” Catalin grumbled. She caught herself, for she near flicked out her tongue to wet her lips thinking of the hot scones.

  Wind flirted with their skirts as they went down the stairs into the bailey, blending Elyne’s forest green kirtle with Catalin’s sunny yellow. Catalin took a deep breath, savoring the scent of pines sweetening the air. She made a face when the wind fell, for the odor of the stable boys carting horse droppings away was most pungent on warm days.

  She ambled for another few steps, stopped and looked aside at Elyne. “Have you noted the size of Ranald’s bed?”

  “Aye. It’s most ample.”

  They stopped to watch children laughing and chasing a squawking chicken away from the well. Elyne jumped aside when its flapping wings lifted it near as high as their waists as it flew between them
. Catalin grinned and flicked off a stray feather stuck on her skirt.

  “If I lie across it and stretch my arms above my head, my fingers still do not reach the other side.”

  “Aye. Ranald must feel swallowed in it. From what he has said, a monk’s pallet is meager.”

  “He has talked to you of Kelso?” Other than the herb garden, not once had he mentioned his surroundings at Kelso to her.

  “Aye. He said his bed was a wood frame with slats, covered with a straw-stuffed pallet. The room had a small table and stool, and a peg or two on the wall to hold a cloak and mayhap a wide-brimmed hat to shield their tonsures during summer.”

  “Hm. Did you note Ranald’s head?” Catalin sidestepped to avoid treading on the tail of a scrawny dog sunning himself.

  “Aye, of course. How could I not. His shaved pate was there for all to see.” Elyne grinned at her.

  “I meant the color of it. It was a glowing brown like his face. I do not think he bothered much with a hat.” Catalin frowned, and looked daggers at the ground as she walked. “All those years, he saw no need to wear a mask.”

  “How did ye know?” Elyne’s eyes helped ask the question.

  “Ada learned it from the tanner. He and the armorer made the mask. They said both sides of his face were golden brown. She told Aunt Joneta, who then told Hannah, who in turn told me.”

  “That does not seem strange to me. A man would not feel the need to hide from other men.” Elyne shrugged.

  “He does not hide from Lady Muriele. He met her eyes after giving me a look of scorn. He let her gaze at his face without even so much as a flinch.” Catalin clamped her lips together and swallowed a curse.

  “Hm. Mayhap he feels naught for her and does not care how she sees him.”

  Catalin reached for the handle on the massive door of the keep, only to have a man’s arm snake around her to pull it wide. She glanced over her shoulder to see who it was.

  “Thank you, Sir Kerr.” Catalin nodded at him as she passed through. Kerr continued on, heading for the stairwell leading below to the storage rooms.

  “There you be, lovey.” Hannah bustled over in the great hall and peered down at her face. “You look pinched. Too much standing in the wind and not enough food in your belly, that’s what it is. Sit yourself down and rest while I fetch those scones you favor.” She turned and was gone, walking as fast and agile as a woman half her age.