Ruthless (37 page)

"After I learned father's arranged betrothal
was a lie, I still knew he wanted me to marry for land and a
fortune. I was waiting for the right time to tell him about
Muriele. There were more pressing matters with raiders, if ye
remember."

"Aye."

"Never has a woman matched me in hunting and
riding. And she was far better at knife fighting than many of my
own men."

"I think your Father would have been
impressed with her. Likely, he would have given his consent."

"Do ye think Feradoch lied because he was in
love with Muriele?"

"Ha! He never loved anyone but himself." When
Magnus was silent, he added, "I dinna believe it happened how they
said. It does not sound like something the lady would do."

Instead of easing Magnus' mind, he had more
questions than ever.

Finally, around the next turn in the hill's
path, they could see over the tops of the trees below. In the
distance, the darkest, most imposing castle Magnus had ever seen,
sprawled within curtain walls that seemed to go on for leagues.

The menacing structure could only be Raptor
Castle.

They spent a fortnight in an alehouse in
Coldstream, learning of the happenings at the nearby castle. It
wasn't until they'd been there long enough to buy everyone ale and
a meal, plus lose a plentiful amount on table games, when people
began to talk freely.

One eve, Sweyn sat at the lone table in their
room, his fingers drumming on the scarred wood. Magnus slouched on
the narrow bed, his legs spread and elbows on his thighs as his
hands slapped the sides of his head in frustration.

"Lucifer and all his warty devils! Everywhere
we go, we arrive too late."

"Why do ye not leave her in peace? By all the
Saints, she is in a convent in Northumbria. If we cross the border
and forcefully take her from there, we will likely start a
war."

Magnus ignored him and switched the
subject.

"Never have I heard of a man as heartless as
Chief Broccin of Raptor Castle." Magnus threw up is arms in
disgust. "He makes Olaf look like a saint."

"Aye. He does. After Broccin beat his son
Ranald and destroyed his face, he threw the dying lad into a cart
and had him abandoned at Kelso Abbey." The muscles in Sweyn's cheek
twitched with disgust.

Magnus thought of the years he had lived
under Chief Olaf and considered himself lucky.

He began to pace the room, slapping his right
hand against his thigh in anger as he spoke.

"The whole countryside must have been shocked
when Chief Broccin's eldest son was killed on the morning of his
wedding. The old bastard wasn't about to lose the thriving castle
and rich honors his daughter-to-be would bring him. Though he
discarded the dying son like so much horse shite, now he wanted him
back. He didn't care that he'd become a monk. It was easy to
petition the Pope for a special dispensation—accompanied with
plentiful gold coins."

"My drinking companion said the monk refused
to leave."

"He had no choice. With the Pope's blessing
and Chief Broccin's army gathered to raze Kelso, Ranald had to
return to Raptor. He left a life of peace to sire Broccin a
grandson."

"Muriele would have been there when he
returned. I'd be willing to bet she took it all in stride." Magnus
could see her quietly adjusting to the changes.

"Were it not for all the turmoil, the lady
could easily have been wed by now and out of your reach. As it is,
Ranald is her protector. He visits her to see she is safe. She'll
never leave the convent. There is also a knight from Hunter Castle
who visits the first day of each full moon."

"She's a canny lass," Magnus said slowly.
"She knew I'd follow and take her back."

"Uh huh. What better place for safety than a
convent?"

Magnus kept silent. His mind worked thinking
on one plan, rejecting it, and then bringing another to mind. He
refused to give up.

"If they are like most convents and abbeys,
wayfarers may enter for the night." Magnus decided how he could
capture her. "We go to Crookham in Northumbria. 'Tis close to the
convent. I will find what I need to enter and spend the night. When
I leave, she will be with me."

His heart sank knowing if his plan worked,
he'd likely be taking Muriele back to a terrible fate. The only way
he could be free of his blood oath was if Feradoch did something
that nullified it.

His shoulders slumped.

No chance there.

Feradoch was long dead by now.

Nine Months Earlier

Muriele's legs were so numb after cradling
Bolt's head all night she couldn't have jumped up and run if
Lucifer himself was astride the horse whose hooves edged ever
closer to her.

Prepared to meet Magnus's vengeful eyes, she
summoned all of her anger and hate over everything that happened
since she first laid eyes on him.

Her gaze met the black eyes of a helmeted
warrior studying her. No cold accusation stared back at her.
Instead, interest and understanding did. His lips smiled, hesitant
at first, then broader.

She shook her head, trying to clear her
thoughts. The man before her was not Magnus, but the leader of a
patrol from Raptor Castle. She knew he was their leader, for while
the rest of the men were alike in their dark clothing, he looked
like fall leaves in the forest with his yellow tunic and red
cloak.

He dismounted slowly and murmured softly to
her.

"Lady, 'tis naught else ye can do for yer
faithful companion."

When she didn't reply, he bowed and started
over.

"I am Moridac, son of Broccin of Raptor
Castle. We will give ye shelter there and our men will return to
bury yer horse. 'Tis likely fitting, for he must have been a most
loyal steed."

He motioned for one of his men to lift Bolt's
head as he took her hands and helped her to rise on cramped
legs.

"Would ye tell me yer name, Lady? Were ye
thrown from yer keep when raiders took it over?"

"Lady Muriele," she blurted without thinking.
She nodded, for he spoke true.

She felt filthy alongside the elegant man who
smelled of sandalwood and spices. He seemed to sense her hesitation
for he tried to put her at ease.

"We will return to Raptor Castle. Lady
Joneta, my aunt, will see to yer care," he said as he mounted his
horse. One of his knights lifted her to sit behind him.

Muriele was too heartsick to make any
protest. She had survived the months it had taken to reach the
border. Perchance someone from Raptor could help her cross over
into Northumbria.

She'd find safety at the Convent of Mary
Magdalen. It stood southeast across the ragged border from Kelso
Abbey. Though she had no money, perhaps her skills would be of
enough use to them to allow her to stay. To avoid Magnus'
vengeance, she would gladly tend the ill, hunt, work in the gardens
or clean floors—whatever it took to be safe from him.

Lady Joneta was a kindly woman. Though
Muriele tried to avoid anyone seeing her back, Joneta glimpsed it
and immediately made excuses to send everyone from the room. She
did not press her to tell her of her life. She brought her a
beautiful kirtle and smock stored away after the Chief's wife had
died.

As if the bath and clothing had been magical,
her confidence returned. When she walked into the Chief of Raptor
Castle's solar, she was once again what she'd been born to, a lady
of breeding.

Chief Broccin's gaze immediately settled on
her, his expression as hungry as a starving man looking at a juicy,
rare side of beef.

The next months, Muriele felt comfortable
with life at Raptor Castle. She made friends easily. Soon after she
arrived, Moridac died in a hunting accident on his wedding day.
Muriele wasn't the only one surprised when Chief Broccin left with
an army and returned with Moridac's identical twin Ranald.

Muriele watched Ranald over the next months
and found he was the most faithful man she had ever met. She didn't
see the disfigured right side of his face repulsive. She and his
wife became fast friends, as did his bastard cousin. When Muriele
saved Ranald's pregnant wife from a certain, gruesome death, he
gave the Convent of Mary Magdalen a fortune to house Muriele for
the rest of her life.

She was happy there, tending the herbal
gardens and the dispensary. Ranald's cousin visited often trying to
get her to marry him, but she always declined. She never told them
from whom she fled, but they knew she was terrified of someone
stalking her.

As always, when evening fell and any
travelers happened to seek safety for the night, she watched from a
hidden spot on the dormitory rooftop. Tonight, when wealthy
strangers came through the gateway, she studied them. The man wore
a bright green tunic and a red cloak with yellow lining and
colorful Saxon clothing. He reminded her of Moridac. His wife rode
behind him. Instead of brazen clothing, her kirtle was fawn
colored. A forest green cloak had a wide hood, which she'd pulled
low over her face to protect her from the night chill. A male
servant followed the proper distance behind them.

Their backs were to Muriele, but from what
she could see in the shadows, the tall man's hair was black as
burnt wood, tied behind his head with a thin length of leather. His
manner and clothing spoke of good breeding. When he swung down from
the horse, he lifted the woman as if she weighed little more than a
child. It was no small feat, for his wife was near as tall as he
was. Muriele imagined the muscles flexing in his powerful body,
making heat streak to her lower belly.

Putting his arm across his wife's shoulder,
he turned to kiss her cheek, showing a full beard cut short.
Something about the strength of his jaw caused her heart to
pound.

She was having fanciful thoughts because she
had long been without real bed sport. But, dream sport she'd had
aplenty. Each morn she awoke with an ache in her heart. In dreams,
Magnus was a tender lover, but before the dream ended, he cruelly
dragged her from the bed to a post in the center of the room. He
tied her hands above her head then called out to someone in the
hall.

Feradoch entered, though he was naught but a
faint shade of himself. He handed Magnus a whip with three tails
and urged Magnus to start her punishment for killing him. To her
shame, she sometimes awoke screaming. Had Feradoch wielded the
whip, she'd have bit her tongue off before uttering a cry.

She shuddered and quietly made her way
through the dark shadows. She was anxious to seek her room before
the sisters could escort the woman into the same hallway housing
women not married to God.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she slipped down
the passageway and entered the peace of her room. 'Twas sparse, for
truth not what she had known all her life. One single cot with a
stuffed pallet, a small table, a wooden stool and a corner table
with a basin and small pitcher of water for washing. A few pegs on
the walls held her meager wardrobe. She had no need of fancy
kirtles, smocks and cloaks. She had only finery enough to dress
appropriately for expected visitors from Raptor.

The Abbess and all within the convent
protected her attempts to remain hidden. Whenever visitors arrived
and she took to her room, the sisters brought food to her until she
came out on her own.

Hearing a light scratch and a whisper on the
other side of the door, she put her ear to the wood. A young girl
working in the kitchen brought her green pea pottage, brown bread
and water for her evening meal. Keeping her face hidden, Muriele
opened the door wide enough to accept the tray. With whispered
thanks, she quickly closed it.

Seeing the loving couple below had sickened
her heart. She forced herself to eat the soup, for she'd regret not
doing so in the morning. After months at the convent, her clothing
hung loose. Whether it was the small portions of food or from the
exercise of working most of the day, she neither knew nor
cared.

Once done, she performed her nightly
cleansing and, after praying on her knees, she slipped naked
between the sheets and thin blanket. Two things she truly
missed—plentiful water to bathe and warmth through the night.

She listened to the night sounds of women
entering their cells to sleep without their mates. Sometimes she
heard giggles. No doubt, an ardent husband was stealthy enough to
find his way to his wife's bed.

She smiled at the happy sounds and though she
had not thought she'd be able to sleep this night, she relaxed and
dozed off. Sometime later, another door whispered closed and she
knew the man had enough bed sport and returned to his own cot.

The bells of lauds heralding dawn had not yet
sounded when, hearing a slight rustle beside her cot, Muriele
awoke.

Before she could scream, a hand clamped over
her mouth. When unyielding fingers dug cruelly into her cheeks,
terror near drove her wild.

"Cease fighting else I'll throttle ye and
leave yer body for the good sisters to find."

Magnus!

Recognizing the cruel voice, she struggled
and fought. He straddled her and sat on her belly to keep her
still. After stuffing her mouth with cloth, he tied a strip around
her head to hold it there.

How could she not have known it was Magnus
last eve when she'd watched the 'loving' couple she'd envied? She'd
ignored the flash of hot excitement that had always sparked through
her when he was near. She'd been celibate for a year and thought it
was because of the stranger's superbly formed body.

Magnus shifted and hauled her out of bed with
his arm clamped around her waist. When he pressed her naked back
against him, his body beneath the soft fabric of his clothing was
iron-hard as it had always been. She kicked backward at his shins,
and then stomped down with all her might on the top of his feet
while she tried to claw the gag from her mouth.