Forbidden

by Sophia Johnson

  Ranald, hands tight around his own hilt and muscles bunching in his legs and shoulders, swiftly spun left, his sword singing through the air as he whirled and struck—sending Rupert’s weapon spinning above their heads to land on the ground. Two bloodied, severed hands twitched. Finger by finger, they fell from the hilt.

  Rupert’s screams split the air, near drowning out Catalin’s own. Blood jutted from his arms as he threw himself at Ranald, his mouth wide, striving to reach Ranald’s neck. Ranald braced himself and anchored his sword. The force behind Rupert’s leap drove the blade through his flesh, exiting at his back.

  For one horrible moment, Catalin stared at Ranald standing below, holding the impaled man on his feet with the strength of his arms. Rupert convulsed against him then went still.

  Catalin crumpled to the floor, unseeing, as Ranald fulfilled the rest of his vow to Baron Rupert.

  The battle was over.

  CHAPTER 33

  “I can tell from yer snarl that Catalin still refuses to leave.” Raik gulped down a cup of cold water taken from the stream at his feet.

  “Aye.” Ranald stiffly swung his aching body from Satan’s Spawn and handed the reins to Finn. “For three days, she has refused to speak with me. She sends Elyne to carry her words. Catalin swears she and the bairn will spend their life at the Convent afore she would let either me or my father near them.” He wanted to stomp his feet in frustration. “I told her we will camp in these woods until Hell freezes and Lucifer wears furs!”

  “Huh. That will be a goodly time.” Raik grinned at him.

  Ranald snorted. “It had to be. She may harbor thoughts of traveling to the de Burgh’s. Knowing we watch from afar, she willna dare leave.”

  They had not long to wait after all. That very evening, Finn tumbled out of a tree in his hurry to tell Ranald what he had seen from his vantage point.

  “My lord, a workman left the convent driving an empty cart pulled by a mule. I thought he was going for supplies and near stopped watching when he entered the trees. He disappeared for a while. Finally, there was movement further to the right. He had unhitched the cart and is making haste westward.”

  “Westward? Toward Kelso?’

  “It looked so to me.”

  “Raik, keep watch here. Finn and I will follow to see what mischief he is upon.”

  o0o

  Late that evening, they arrived at the gates of Kelso. The workman’s face blanched when Finn joined him and called out for the gatekeeper to open in the name of Sir Ranald of Raptor Castle. Ranald trotted his horse to stop behind them and gestured for the man to precede him through the opening gate. On seeing Ranald, Brother Octavius sheathed his sword. His face split in a grin.

  “Are you in a spot of trouble then, Ranald?” He looked at the quaking man and then back to Ranald.

  “Aye. We would both seek words with Abbot Aymer.” On seeing the man’s eyes near pop from their sockets, he knew he had guessed aright.

  The abbot listened patiently to a memorized plea from Lady Catalin seeking his aid. She knew of the friendships Ranald had formed at Kelso, and the respect he had for his fellow monks. She felt confident they could persuade Ranald to allow her and the babe to live at Hunter Castle under King Stephen’s protection.

  Abbot Aymer listened quietly until the man was through. He sent him to the kitchens to appease his hunger, before he heard Ranald’s side of the story.

  “Ranald, I cannot believe you have changed so dreadfully your wife would flee from you, terrified for her bairn.”

  Ranald’s shoulders slumped. His face filled with shame.

  “I have changed. Greatly. What I feared the most, I have become. I am as my brother was. As my father is...”

  Ranald went on to tell the abbot of all that had occurred since he last spoke with him after maiming Baron Rupert. Dusk had long since fallen when he had his answer from the abbot.

  After sadly hearing his sins in the confessional, Abbot Aymer listed the penances Ranald must do to cleanse his soul. After he watched the man who was as a son to him kneeling at the altar, he returned to his office and called for the convent messenger.

  “You will leave at first light. Brother Octavius and three of our brethren most familiar with Sir Ranald will accompany you. Lady Catalin need have no further fear of him, for they will take her where she and her bairn will be protected and loved for the rest of their days.”

  o0o

  “Look, Catalin! Four monks have arrived from Kelso.” Muriele’s arm was none to steady when she beckoned Catalin over to the window. “They brought a cart fitted with a pallet and blankets. For truth, ye have misjudged Sir Ranald. It is not too late to change yer mind.”

  Catalin shook her head, her lips pressed in determination.

  “Oh, saints.” Elyne peered over Catalin’s shoulder and pointed towards the hills. “There at the edge of the forest! Ranald looks sorely upset to see them.”

  Elyne shook her head. Tears welled as she watched Satan’s Spawn, her brother in the saddle, dart a short way down the hill then stop. As agitated as its rider, the horse pawed the air then thudded down on all four feet. Ranald’s cloak caught the wind, his hood fell back freeing his dark hair and revealing the black mask covering his right cheek.

  Catalin watched the dejected figure. His shoulders slumped as he turned and disappeared back into the woods. She felt no triumph. Only a strange sadness that he had given up without a struggle. She squared her shoulders and turned to Muriele.

  “Speaking of changing minds, are you sure you wish to stay here, Muriele?”

  Muriele looked around the room, then back at Catalin. “I will find peace here.” She banished the sadness from her eyes, and grinned at her friends. “Think of me now and then, but if anyone ever asks, remember to say the last ye saw of me I was bouncing along the ground like an uneven ball until the horse dragged my body into the dark forest.”

  “Ladies?” a voice called from outside their curtained doorway. “Mother Cecelia would have words with you.”

  The sister escorted the women to a spacious, sunny room near filled with the four black-robbed monks. Except for one large man, they had their cowls lowered over their brows.

  Mother Cecelia introduced the women to Brother Octavius first, then two smaller men as Brothers Cyril and Ambrose. Brother Octavius introduced the fourth monk, Brother Gregory, who was observing a week’s vow of silence. His hands in his sleeves, the monk hesitated before he bobbed his head in acknowledgment.

  “Lady Muriele, I know not how anyone learned of your plight, but Brother Gregory received a goodly amount of coins with the wish they be used for your upkeep.” She frowned and pointed to a blue velvet pouch to her right. “It was written on an unsigned missive.”

  Muriele’s eyes widened as she stared at the monk’s bent head. Sir Ranald must have sent the dowry to Kelso and asked for them to deliver it to the convent. “Brother Gregory, I thank ye with all my heart for bringing it here.” His head bobbed again, then stilled.

  “You are prepared to leave?” Mother Cecelia asked. “They will take you to Kelso, for you can better be guarded there. I still fear you are foolish to travel at this time.” She looked pointedly at Catalin’s rounded body beneath the tunic.

  Catalin knew she could not expect the monks to take her deeper into England. At least at Kelso, she might be able to persuade a visitor to carry a message to Letia at Seton.

  “Well, now, if Ladies Catalin and Elyne are ready?” Brother Octavius picked up two black robes and waited while the women pulled them over their heads and shoulders. “They are much too big, but once you are in the cart, no one will see their length. Be careful you do not trip on the hems.” He smiled solemnly at Catalin. “We must start while the day is clear. Do you have anything that needs carrying? No? Then let us go straightaway to the courtyard, my lady.”

  It did not take long for Catalin to tell Mother Cecelia how much she appreciated her kindnesses. As they made their way outside, they stopped to
thank the kind sisters for their help.

  When she hugged Muriele, she wondered if she would ever see her again. When sadness welled, Catalin was surprised. Brother Ambrose lifted her into the cart, but Elyne needed no aid. She gathered the robe from where it swept the ground, sprang into the cart and sat against the side. They carefully hid their hair, for no monk would have curly tresses trailing down his back!

  Brother Octavius rode in the lead. The cart came next, pulled by a handsome gray horse with Brother Gregory handling the reins. The last two monks trailed behind. Kelso was northwest of where Ranald and his men occupied the hill. She held her breath when they needed to pass near them. The Raptor men gave way, nodding in respect.

  Ranald held back, still staring at the convent. Satan’s Spawn felt his anger, for the beast huffed and stomped his hooves, fighting him. He sat stiff and unyielding in the saddle, his body telling of his anger as he watched. A lump formed in Catalin’s throat, wanting to call out to him. She stole one last glance, but he was as before, stiff and unyielding. ‘Twas strange, though, for his men were coming out of the woods onto the road, forming two lines behind them. From the looks of it, did they mean to follow them to Kelso?

  Brother Cyril confirmed it when he spoke up. “As you know, Sir Ranald once dwelled at Kelso. He was our Protector before Brother Octavius had that post. I see he means to give his fellow monks added protection.”

  Her head lowered, she peeked beneath the hood at the dimness behind them now they were amongst the trees. Aye. Ranald rode last. He dropped back as if uncertain, twisted in his saddle and gave one last look behind him. When he faced forward again, his dark eyes studied the cart. Mayhap she had best turn her back before he caught sight of a woman’s face instead of a young man’s.

  “Ye look pale and drawn, Catalin. Lay back and rest.” Elyne grabbed a blanket and rolled it to make a pillow. She helped Catalin to stretch out on the pallet and slid it beneath her head. Satisfied, she moved back to lean against the corner of the wagon.

  Catalin sighed and slept. She did not awake until she heard Elyne’s voice say Kelso was ahead. She pushed herself up, blinking sleep from her eyes and looked around. Ranald’s men had pulled so close while she slept that she feared they would see through her disguise. Kelso, for truth, could not be far. What goes here? They stopped at a fork in the road. A sign said Kelso was to the left.

  “You will be safe now, my lady,” Brother Ambrose said as he smiled down at her.

  “But, but,” Catalin sputtered, “We are not at Kelso. You cannot leave us here with Sir Ranald’s men. She looked back as the men pulled closer, their faces solemn. She grasped Brother Gregory’s shoulder, for he was turning the horses to the road on the right.

  “Do not! You turn the wrong way. I must go to Kelso.” She shook his shoulder so hard his cowl fell back.

  Raptor’s men murmured and surrounded the cart. She saw Ranald on Satan’s Spawn picking his way around the edge of the men to come beside her. Oh Saints. She was going to be sick. Elyne put her arm around her, making shushing little sounds.

  Oh, God. Ranald was in the deep shadows beside the cart. Fighting panic, her gaze probed the gloom as she stared at him. He reached up and pulled off his mask.

  “Raik? What goes on here?” She scowled up at him. No wonder the horse was so restless! He liked no other than Ranald on his back.

  “Did ye sleep well, Catalin? Brother Gregory was most cautious to avoid every hole and bump that he could.” He leaned forward on the horse and tapped Brother Gregory on the shoulder with Ranald’s mask.

  A hand reached up to take hold of it—a hand that bore scars left by sharp blades. Some were still unhealed. He raised the mask. Hesitated. Then, shoulders squared, he swung around on the seat with it in his hand.

  Seeing his face, a dreadful wave of sickness made Catalin gag.

  Ranald’s tortured gaze stared back at her.

  Catalin near lost control. She was as furious as a child. She screamed every crude word she had ever heard spoken by men whilst in their cups.

  She whipped out her knife and held it threateningly in front of her. When Raik reached to take it from her, Ranald motioned him away.

  “It is a hateful trick you have played on me,” she shouted. “I will not let you have this babe.” She waved the knife in front of her like a banner. “Cast me off and let us be. Let me make my own way with the babe. I will not allow you to lock it away from people who will love it. I will kill to protect him from that!”

  Ranald felt genuine terror that Catalin would do herself an injury if he did not calm her fears. His palms sweated thinking those same fears might cause harm to the bairn during the birthing. He had much for Catalin to forgive him for and so little time to plead with her.

  “The bairn willna be locked away. It was to thwart my sire when I said what I did. Ever have I known he hated me from my first breath. He cast me away when I needed a father’s love the most. Every hour of every day, I knew I was unloved. Unwanted. I was so much offal to him. Rubbish he wanted cleared away.

  “When he made it clear he wanted this bairn because he believes it is Moridac’s seed, it goaded my pain and jealousy beyond restraint. I wanted him to feel the agony of losing something he loved beyond measure. Though it took a while for me to work through all this, I knew I could never let ye or the child go. That is why I refused ye escort to the de Burgh’s. I knew ye would make yer way to King Stephen. I would lose ye both. I near went mad with fear when ye disappeared.

  “My love, it will be as I first told ye. I vow before God and man that I will be this bairn’s sire. He will be my son; she will be my daughter. Ours.”

  “How can I trust you speak truth?” Catalin

  “Ye were so easily swayed to think me a beast,” he whispered. “Because my face sickens ye doesna mean my soul is the same.”

  “You fool! It does not sicken me.” She gave a loud shriek of anger and grabbed the mask from his hand. She hit him on the shoulder with it before heaving it into the woods.

  Before it had chance to land, shocked surprise crossed her face. Stiffening, she shifted her feet. She dropped her knife to grab her belly.

  In horror, Catalin stared down at a darkening stain.

  CHAPTER 34

  Catalin’s scream split the air as pain stabbed through her back as sharp as a knife’s blade.

  Ranald jumped over his seat and caught Catalin before her legs folded beneath her. His heart near beat itself to death against his ribs as he laid her down on the pallet. Thrusting the robe from her, he pulled her skirts aside to look at her creamy thighs, fearful he would see her life’s blood staining them.

  He heaved a sigh of thanksgiving.

  “Raik. Take the reins and get us to Kelso. My son has decided on an early appearance.” He looked around at Elyne. “Pull the pallet to the middle of the cart so I may lean upon it facing the horse.” He picked Catalin up into his arms and stood while Elyne did as he said. Cradling Catalin to his chest, he carefully knelt on the pallet.

  “Finn, get in and brace my back. Elyne, get afore me and help steady Catalin in my arms.” He watched to see Raik had seated and taken up the reins. “Go, Raik.” Part of his men thundered ahead of them while the rest rode behind.

  “Shh, love, ye will be more comfortable once we get to Kelso.” He rained kisses on her forehead and pressed his left cheek to hers. “Only once did a breeding woman stop to birth her bairn at Kelso, but I learned enough to help ye through this. And ye will have Elyne to help ye, too.”

  “Me? I know naught of birthing, brother.”

  “Ye are a woman, are ye not? That is all ye need to give comfort to another.”

  Catalin’s whimpers near unnerved him. Had Finn not braced his back, he feared he could not have held her thus. Being on his knees with her in his arms, he swayed and cushioned their ride so she near floated in his arms.

  Sir Kerr rode ahead to have the monks open the gate before they reached it. As soon as the cart stopped, Ranald
attempted to hand Catalin to Raik, but she held Ranald’s neck tightly and wouldn’t let go. He soothed her with soft sounds, sat on his arse and inched his way to the end of the cart so he could stand on the ground.

  Robed men dashed around like they expected the king to visit. They drew water and put heavy kettles of it over the cookhouse fires, for some had been with wives and sisters before death and loneliness brought them to Kelso.

  Her scream in his ear sent him running to the Infirmary. On the torturous ride here, the sounds of the many horses near drowned her voice out, but the peace and quiet of Kelso echoed with her shrieks.

  Sweat broke out on his brow as he laid her on the white sheets of the bed closest to the fireplace. He sent all away but Elyne and the young monk he had been training before he left Kelso.

  Ranald and Elyne soon stripped Catalin’s clothes from her, while the monk kept his back turned and prepared potions according to Ranald’s shouted commands. He pulled a clean sheet over his wife’s naked body and pulled a stool close so he could hold her hand.

  He counted, trying to judge if her pains were becoming closer or getting further apart.

  “Love, can ye tell me what week of the month it twas when Moridac took ye as his lover?”

  Catalin balled up her fist and slammed it into his face. He jerked back and grabbed his throbbing nose, surprised. Blood seeped between his fingers.

  “I was never his lover. I only tried to be a submissive wife-to-be because he wished it.”

  “Submissive? Ye?” Ranald snorted.

  She waved her fist again. Clutching his nose, he leaned back out of reach.

  “What week, love?”

  “The last sennight in November. Hannah said the babe should be born a sennight or so into September.”

  “It is the end of August. Do ye think ye can get him to stay a bit longer?”

  Ranald meant it as a jest. Catalin was in no mood for jesting. He swerved in time to avoid a backhanded splat across his cheek.