Forbidden

by Sophia Johnson

  Catalin wanted to stretch her arms and yawn, but did not. Sir Giric and several men came in behind them, buffeting and jostling each other to benches alongside the wall. Giric called for a servant to bring them ale, his slurred words sounding as if he had already had several cups too many.

  Elyne frowned and led Catalin over to the fireplace, where several chairs occupied the cleared space before it. The men were talking, their voices muted. Catalin’s flesh prickled. Every time she glanced up, Sir Giric smiled at her. Was it her fault? On his first smile, she had hesitatingly returned it. Did he believe she was seeking his attention? She lowered her head and kept it there until Hannah returned with a tray of hot blueberry scones, clotted cream and cold milk.

  Catalin rose, pretending it was only to save Hannah having to serve her, and went to the round table between them for her repast.

  “Here you go, lovey. You feed that wee one now else he will give your belly a proper kick.” Hannah brushed her hands together, ridding them of crumbs before hustling from the room.

  Catalin took her scones and milk and chose another chair, its back to the men. She was glad when the men lowered their voices to a whisper.

  “Do you think a babe can taste what a mother eats?” Catalin eyed her fingers dripping with blueberry-stained clotted cream and licked them. She tilted her head at Elyne and waited for her answer.

  “I dinna know. Does he wiggle with pleasure like ye do when ye eat something ye like above all else?”

  Catalin’s brows rose. “I do not wiggle.”

  “Aye. Ye do. And ye licked yer fingers just moments ago, too. Like a contented barn cat after feasting on a plump mouse.”

  “Did not.” Catalin sat motionless, concentrating to feel the bairn’s movements. Elyne’s gasp drew her attention at the same time a man’s words seeped in.

  “Giric, did ye ever hear of a monk cutting the ballocks off a man? Then holding the bloody balls afore the man’s eyes?” The man’s voice sounded deliberately loud and clear. “I heard Rupert near choked on his tongue, trying to scream. It’s a shame I wasna there.”

  “Aye,” Giric answered. “He did what Rupert has done to many another. Ha! It was most fitting.”

  “Our Chief’s son earned being dubbed the Black Raptor. Not a man in fifty leagues will dare anger him.” The bearded warrior rubbed his hands together. “I’m right glad to follow him.”

  Catalin swallowed and near choked. She held her breath, staring at Elyne. Did the man say what she thought she heard? She shook her head. Ranald could not do such a thing. Could he? Even these rough men, whose deeds she never wanted to hear about, seemed in awe of Ranald.

  Mayhap they were wrong. Should she confront them and demand to know where they had heard such?

  “Come.” Elyne held out her hand, urging Catalin to rise. She glared over at the boisterous warriors. “Ye men should nae be talking of such where a lass can hear.”

  Sir Giric rose and came to stand beside Catalin. He offered his wrist to her. “Come, my lady. I would escort ye from the sounds of such crudeness.”

  Catalin placed her hand on his sleeve, the warmth of his flesh beneath soothing to her cold fingers.

  “Thank you, Sir Giric.”

  Catalin hurried her footsteps, wishing she could cleanse her mind of all she had heard. At the door, she nodded her thanks and dropped her hand from his arm. As she and Elyne passed an arrow slit on their way up the stairwell, chills chased down her back. Was it from the stiff breeze passing through, or was it learning of Ranald’s cruelty?

  Reaching her bedchamber, she hurried Elyne through the door, and for the first time in her life here at Raptor, shut the door with such force it made a hearty slam.

  “I do not know which man is the most fearful, your father or your brother. For certes, I cannot trust either one. I must persuade Ranald to send me to Letia’s afore Hunter Castle’s siege.”

  “What if he says nay? Ye must have a plan in case he denies it.” Elyne paced around the room, shaking her head. “I canna ken Ranald being so brutal, though truth be told, were I a man I would not think it harsh. Rupert’s cruelty is well known.”

  “Sir Giric seems most courtly. Do you think I could trust him to escort me to Letia’s should Ranald refuse? I cannot stay here with the laird.”

  “Hmpf. I dinna trust Father either. He tore Ranald from the abbey solely to be a husband to ye. He required his seed for an heir.” She sighed and shook her head. “I think if the babe is a girl, Father wouldna keep Ranald from doing as he promised. He would still need him to, umm, plant another seed. Hopefully a male child the next time.”

  “It’s disgusting. I am naught to them but a breeding mare hopefully carrying a lusty stallion.” Catalin climbed the two steps to the side of the bed and plopped back on it, her arms outstretched, hitting the bedding in anger. “Be most careful of any man’s attentions, Elyne. And if he declares his undying love and prevails with his words that it is right and proper to lie with you before the vows, kick his randy arse from the...”

  Oh, Saints! Had Elyne noted she spoke of Moridac? Hearing Elyne clear her throat, she had.

  “Mayhap ye should drop a hint to Sir Giric and see if he would chance helping ye? It may not be possible to ask his aid once the siege plans are set in motion.” Elyne sat on the edge of the bed.

  It was two stressful days later afore Catalin chanced to be close enough to Sir Giric that she did not look to be seeking him out.

  o0o

  Fortunately, the weather cleared soon after Ranald left the abbey and turned Satan’s Spawn toward Raptor Castle.

  He thought long and hard over Abbot Aymer’s advice as he rode for home. The abbot had been hesitant at first, but then confided to Ranald that once he too had been married to a beautiful woman.

  One lone night, he and his men had ridden out to drive raiders from burning a close-by village. It had been naught but a lure for his enemy to steal into his keep and abduct his wife. He would gladly have paid any ransom to have her back, but it was not to be. His sweet love had fled from her abductor and tumbled down the stone stairway, breaking her neck.

  On learning of it, he had gone on an orgy of killing for which he spent the rest of his life doing penance.

  No doubt, the abbot meant Ranald to take a different lesson from his story, but Ranald decided a cautious man kept his wife where he could see her. He did not trust his father, and truth be told, he knew it was best he not allow himself to love Catalin.

  His brow furrowed, his eyes squinted, thinking on it. It was with some surprise when he noted the frightened looks of an old man and his son pushing a small barrow of peat. They scurried so close to the slope bordering the road they near tumbled into the muddy ground alongside. Not until the lad’s whisper of “Raptor” floated to him did he ken why. Hmpf. He must be growing a thicker hide, for it didn’t bother him.

  Later that day when he arrived at the keep, he had reason to think himself wrong. He was still batting the dust from his tunic as he entered the great hall and found his wife so close to a man she looked about to embrace him.

  CHAPTER 25

  “Sir Giric, you will be richly rewarded for your help.” Uneasy, Catalin stepped back a pace. She did not care for the triumphant gleam in his regard on hearing her proposal.

  He quickly shuttered his eyes and advanced a step, so close now his leg brushed against her skirts. She edged away again.

  “I dinna seek rewards for helping a beauteous lady.”

  His hand stole around to her nape and stroked slowly down her back. She near jumped out of her kirtle.

  He grunted after her elbow rammed his ribs. She glared at him, before again moving to put distance between them.

  “Keep your hands to yourself, sir,” she hissed through her teeth. Her fingers flexed, wishing to strike out at him. “I do not seek a man for any purpose other than safe escort to King Stephen’s court. It is best you understand that.”

  Giric, his hands held high, waved them ba
ck and forth before clasping them behind his back. “Forgive me, Lady. I meant no disrespect.”

  Huh. His eyes told her different. They edged from her face to her breasts thrusting against her kirtle. What ailed the man to look on an increasing woman with such interest? She frowned, realizing the boisterous room had quieted.

  She stretched her neck to peer around his formidable body. Her gaze collided with Ranald’s scowl. Framed in the doorway, her husband appeared larger than life with his head held high, his squinted eyes and firm jaw leaving no doubt of his displeasure at seeing her talking with another man. Drat him. His mind leapt to conclude she had sought Sir Giric’s company. Well, saints, it was true. But not for the purpose of, of, um…certainly not for the purpose Ranald thought.

  She stared down at her shifting feet. Ack! What was she doing? Looking guilty, that’s what. She flung her head up and squared her shoulders. She had naught to feel guilt about. Protecting her unborn babe from two foolish men determined to take it from her justified her intent to flee her husband.

  She pasted a wifely smile on her face. Mayhap Ranald would agree to see her to Letia’s for safety, whilst he proceeded with the siege of Hunter Castle. She would far prefer it.

  She watched him walk, nay, not walk, it was more like stalking with the fierce expression on his determined face, toward her. People parted before him, giving him a clear path. How could so large a man move with such grace? His broad shoulders filled his long-sleeved, black tunic. No cloth could hide the powerful muscles beneath it.

  His clothing did conceal much, though. ‘Twas like his face, one side so comely she fought the urge to stroke her fingertips over it, while the other side was dangerous, hidden. His body was the same. Her mouth went dry thinking of his beautiful, muscled chest dusted with crisp, black hair narrowing over the hard slab of his belly. In the dark shadows of their room, she had trailed her hands down the bunching muscles of his back, over all the crisscrossed scars there. Her fingers had traveled down to grasp his buttocks, loving the restrained power as they flexed and relaxed with his thrusts.

  Oh, saints. Heat filled her. The plump juncture of her thighs throbbed and dampened. She shifted her feet again, near crossing her legs. Mayhap he would only think she’d had too much to drink and needed relief.

  Ranald stood in front of her, his scowl every bit as mean as before, but his head tilted in question. Well, Hell. Had he known what she and Sir Giric had been talking about? For truth, his hearing could not be as keen as the raptor people called him.

  “You are well, husband?” Catalin’s voice squeaked when his strong fingers grasped her elbow. They softened as he hauled her from Giric’s side up against his own.

  “I am well. And ye, wife? The bairn thrives?”

  Did he suffer an infection? His body heat was feverish. He had left the keep after sending her from the room when he bathed. Mayhap he had sustained an injury not yet healed. She tilted her head back to study his face.

  His stony gaze bored into Sir Giric’s eyes. Saints! If a look could be felt, the young knight would have bruises around his eyes every bit as dark as from a fisted hand. Why, Ranald’s high body heat was anger. If she did not know better, she would venture to think he was jealous.

  “Ranald, where have ye been?” Elyne came close to buffet her brother on the shoulder, turning his attention from Sir Giric.

  Catalin watched the knight slip away, making haste to leave the room. More fool he, if he thought Ranald did not note. He did. His nostrils flared and his narrowed gaze followed the man until he disappeared from sight.

  “Away.” Ranald looked at Elyne, his voice thoughtful.

  “Aye. We knew that since ye were not here. Ye have become a man of few words.” Elyne grinned up at him.

  “Ye asked. I answered. What more needs be said?” Ranald’s left brow arched.

  “Well, now, ye could say ye were hunting, or that ye were riding Satan’s Spawn and fairies lured ye to their fern castle and had their way with ye. Or ye can tell us where ye truly went.” Elyne pinched his arm. She laughed in surprise when she could not grasp his firm flesh.

  “Kelso.” He nodded at Raik, who came up in back of Elyne. “All was well with Egan’s burial?”

  “Aye,” Raik answered.

  Elyne rolled her eyes at Catalin. “One word answers must be a sickness caught by men. Father Martin’s mass was most soothing, Ranald. All seeing Egan laid out for viewing said he looked to be asleep. His widow was much comforted for she had feared to look upon him until Catalin assured her he looked most peaceful.

  “Did that not mean, aye, all went well with Egan’s burial?” Ranald peered down at Elyne. A slight twitch showed at the corners of his mouth.

  “True.” Elyne nodded, her face serious.

  “Come?” Catalin shrugged from Ranald’s side and held her hand out to Elyne.

  “Surely.” Elyne stuck her tongue out at Ranald as she and Catalin made their way over to sit with Joneta and Hannah.

  o0o

  “All weapons have been gathered and counted?” Ranald asked as he nodded toward the solar door and started towards it.

  “Aye. The armorer and his helpers have been busy from sun up to sun down. The squires have worked like busy ants to check hauberks, shields, chain mail and helmets. The men have seen all swords, axes, picks, daggers, maces, hammers and other weapons sharpened. The blacksmith’s hammers ring out well into the night.”

  “The men using crossbows and longbows? Have the archers been practicing? I want no arrows wasted by landing short of their man.” Ranald frowned, thinking of the distance needed to reach men atop the battlements. The defenders had the advantage of added height.

  Sir Domnall answered as Ranald strolled into the solar. “Aye. We’ve crossbow bolts aplenty. Cormac has the archers going over every inch of their bows for cracks, splinters or chips on the notches. They gathered arrows together in bundles of twenty and five. Dinna be surprised if chickens, geese, and anything else with a feather, squawk and scurry away on sight of the fletcher.”

  Ranald near smiled at the picture.

  Chief Broccin hitched up his belt around his still-trim middle, straddled a stool and reached for an apple amongst the fruit piled at the center of the table. “Angus has seen that all horses have adequate shoes. Ye best check that beast of yer own.”

  “Lady Joneta and I are going through the storage rooms with Cook,” Brodie, the man who took charge of the food when they were away from the keep, said. “We will have ample supplies. The harvest is plentiful this year and the vegetable gardens are flourishing. We should be able to replenish supplies as we need them.”

  “That leaves battering rams and trebuchets.” Raik frowned. Pulling the unwieldy siege engines was the most difficult part of any battle preparation. He paced the solar like a hound impatient for the hunter to set him free.

  “Aye. The oxen are fat and healthy. It’s about time they earned their food.” Broccin grunted and took a large, crackling bite of the apple. Juice ran down his chin, and he scrubbed it away with the back of his hand. As he chewed, his calculating gaze studied Ranald like he tried to search his mind.

  “What?” Ranald was tired of people’s gazes on him. He would welcome the dark of his bedchamber.

  “Yer wife?” The laird took another bite, talking as he chewed. “Have ye questioned the little spitfire about Hunter Castle’s layout? She has only to see me and she darts around a corner, her red hair and bright clothing looking like one of those barn cats with all shades of color on their backs. She takes off like she’s running before the hounds.” He wiped his chin on his sleeve.

  “And ye wonder why?” Ranald could not believe the innocent look his father returned in reply.

  No doubt, Catalin feared his sire would prove the bairn a bastard. He would not allow his father to make him a fool by having one and all know his wife presented him with his brother’s get.

  They sat there in the solar going over all the battle preparations. Darknes
s had long since fallen by the time they assured themselves that all men and equipment, and what they needed to sustain them, was accounted for.

  Ranald stretched, relieving his stiff muscles. He thought with longing about the luxury of a hot bath. He shook his head. Last year at this same time, he wouldn’t have thought twice about bathing with cold water.

  He must be getting soft.

  o0o

  Catalin eyed the buckets setting close to the fireplace. She’d had the servants build a small fire, for she knew Ranald did not like a warm room. Whilst he had been away, she had enjoyed the lit fireplace, for the sheets were too cold for her to sleep comfortably without his big body to heat them.

  She twisted her fingers together. While he besieged her castle, what if he refused to allow her to leave Raptor? She’d almost made herself dizzy darting around corners avoiding his father. In the great hall, she hated the laird’s calculating stare at her swelling breasts. Could a person judge when a babe would be born by the growth of a woman’s breasts? Ada said he was forever asking questions about her.

  Saints! How had Ranald entered the room without her hearing his footsteps? He looked as surprised as she.

  “Catalin, I thought ye would be asleep and snoring by now.” Ranald looked hesitant, his hands resting on the belt holding his scabbard. He glanced around, his eyes widening when he spied the tub and steaming buckets of water.

  Was that a look of pleasure? Had she for once done something to please him?

  “I thought it likely you would be tired from your travels. Too, you spent a deal of time with your father planning the siege.” For truth, any time spent with Chief Broccin would tire the strongest of men.

  Could he hear her heart pounding when she moved close to him? Hopefully not. Why did his mere presence make her blood race, her nose flare to catch the familiar scent of juniper and spice mingled with leather?