Seduced (18 page)

"That must have caused a stir."

"Ye dinna know the half of it. When de
Mortimer declared I was his natural child, our old rival Julian
threw his wine goblet against the wall."

"That was not well done."

"Hah! Then King Stephen rose and said he was
planning to give me lands of my own..."

"Lucifer's horns, cousin! Why didna ye tell
me that news earlier?"

"How earlier? I have just told ye who sired
me." Raik frowned. "If ye would stop breaking in on the telling,
ye'd know by now. To get back to my story, Julian was so enraged he
swept a platter of roasted pork to the floor on his right. The
flying meat coated Lady Hadder's delightful breasts in green mint
sauce." Raik wriggled his brows and leered. "Tasty."

"Watch yer back, Raik. Do ye remember the
year old king Henry recognized his illegitimate son Reginald? Made
him Earl of Cornwall?"

"Aye. And Julian asked for his own title and
he refused? He tried to kill the new Earl of Cornwall in jealousy.
The fool. As if that would endear him to Henry."

Ranald nodded. "I dinna blame Henry for
refusing to acknowledge him. Julian's eagle-like nose and full lips
in no way looked like either the king's or his mistress, Emma of
Westnor Tower. Henry declared the widow oft took a brawny archer to
her bed. 'Twas likely Julian was his get."

"'Tis no wonder King Stephen refuses to grant
him lands. He is always at war, trying to wrest an estate from its
rightful owners. The king had him removed from the banquet hall.
The next morn, 'twas rumored he sent him to the Welsh borders."

"Afore ye left, did Stephen make more mention
of land for ye?"

"Aye. He hinted some baron here in
Northumbria was not long for this world."

The door began to open, but Ranald did not
cease to speak. Catalin was the only person who would dare to
interrupt him in his solar when the door latch was down. Ranald
smiled his welcome to her.

"Humpf. I can think of no men old enough to
be near death. Most are fifty years and less. That hardly qualifies
them for one foot in the grave," he said to Raik.

"One foot in the grave?" Catalin came over to
kiss his scarred cheek and smiled at Raik. "What mischief have you
been about, Raik?"

He snorted and tried to look injured. "Why do
ye always think I am in trouble?"

"Oh? You wonder why? Mayhap because you are
the only man I know that got an arrow in his, um, nether cheek? The
only one an irate father chased through the orchard with a hoe. Did
I not hear you were naked at the time?" She grinned at him and
continued, "And do not forget, you were abducted while thieving
cows." His bruised forehead caught her attention. "Did you forget
to duck when an angry lass threw a pitcher at you?"

"Ah, my sweet, 'twas nothing of the like. He,
for once, wasna into mischief."

It took but a short time for Ranald to tell
Catalin of Raik's news. When she learned he might one day be one of
their neighbors in Northumbria, her face brightened. But after she
congratulated Raik, Ranald read worry in the little furrow between
her brows. What thought had caused it? She fretted about someone.
Something.

Warin de Burgh's face flashed in his mind. He
did not speak of it. But his wife's expression answered his
thoughts. Warin was the only Norman whose demise would cause such
sadness to darken her eyes. And to his knowledge, Warin was the
only man who was even slightly unhealthy.

o0o

When night fell, and Ranald and Catalin
retired to their sleeping chamber, tears welled in her eyes. She
got down on her knees before her clothing chest and tossed garments
around like a red squirrel searching for a place to store his
winter's food. Finally, she found what she sought. Instead of
coming to him right away, she put it under her knees until she had
folded and replaced everything back in the trunk. She rocked
backward, retrieved a message and hurried over to him.

"Letia put this inside the package Raik
brought from Seton."

She handed it to him and stood, wringing her
hands, waiting. When he was finished reading, he patted his lap and
she crawled onto it. Putting his arms around her, he nuzzled her
hair seeking to comfort her.

"I thought ye would be pleased yer friend is
to have a bairn of her own."

"I am. Letia will be a wonderful mother. And
she should have a keep full of children."

She straightened in his arms and cupped her
hands around his face.

"She told me the bairn will be born in
June."

"June? Hmm. Nine months from..."

"Aye. When Raik told us about his phantom
lover leaving the scent of lilies on his pillow, I suspected she
might be Letia."

"I thought the same. But I didna believe it
likely she would do such a thing. Did ye not tell me afore that she
and Warin shared a bed? Would he not note when she was missing from
his side?"

"He would have. They have tried to have a
child these past years, but it has never happened. It is too much
of a chance she would be breeding now. Too strange that Warin's
seed would have taken root during the time when Raik was closeted
at Seton."

Snuggling her head back against his shoulder,
she spoke her worries. Her soft breath against his neck distracted
his thinking. When she wriggled, his ever-ready cock sprang to
attention like a youngling reaching for a fruit pasty on a too-high
table.

"She near told me 'twas him by asking I not
make it public knowledge." She sat upright and clutched his
shoulders. "Oh, heavenly saints! The king means to give Raik Seton.
What will become of Letia?"

Ranald snuffled his nose amongst the hair at
her temple. "Mmm, violets and lavender," her murmured. "Raik's
dislike of Letia kept him an arms length from her. If he had been
near enough to her, he would have known she favored lilies. Stephen
has long been Warin's friend. He will not turn his widow out to
find her own way. Raik will only have Seton if he marries
Letia."

"Oh, saints! Ranald?"

"Um?" He was busy nibbling on her ear and
thinking how her skin was as sweet as honey.

"How will we keep this secret from Raik?"

He stopped nibbling long enough to whisper in
her ear.

"By not telling him."

o0o

A sennight later, steady rain had slowed to a
heavy drizzle over Hunter Castle. The practice field was nearly a
sloppy bog. Squires trained under a warrior's watchful eyes, and
knights battled knights. They slammed their boots firmly on the
ground, splashing mud in all directions.

Swords screeched against swords, sending
sparks flying while battle hammers and maces clashed against
shields. Men growled and shouted wicked obscenities while the
squires' voices, shrill one moment then manly the next, sought to
imitate them with their own sinful cursing. Safely on the outside
of the rail fence, hunting dogs barked happily as if the men
performed tricks by their orders.

The noise was as deafening and as violent as
thunder roaring and lightning striking a giant rowan tree, crashing
it to the ground.

The knights honed their skills and shared
their knowledge of surprising feints to bring their swords within
killing range of their opponent. Now and again, a man's foot slid
from beneath him. Ranald, forced to scrabble for balance, came down
on his left knee as his right foot sought firm ground.

He raised his shield to shove his opponent's
blade aside then sprang upright and attacked. He thrust and slashed
with his sword, backing the man ruthlessly toward a muddy puddle,
where one shove with his shield sent the warrior sprawling on his
back. He laughed as heartily as Ranald when Ranald grasped his hand
and near drug him slithering and sliding from the mud.

Raik charged across the back bailey, his face
red with anger. His nose twitched at the rancid odor of dog shite,
horse dung and warriors' piss and sweat. Arriving at the rail
fence, he halted long enough to kick it then vaulted over it.

"Lucifer's shriveled ballocks!"

His furious shout rose above the din. Ranald
ceased laughing and turned a startled gaze to his cousin. He cuffed
his opponent's shoulder, thanking him for a lively bout then
sheathed his sword.

"What has ye in such a temper, cousin?"

Ranald studied Raik's face and motioned
toward the stand of trees at the far left side of the field. Bales
of hay gave the men a place to settle their arses as they caught
their breath. Most times, lasses who stole away from their duties
perched there, confident their taskmasters couldn't see them.

Today, two young women sat with their elbows
on their knees and chins propped on one hand while their other
grasped heavy shawls around their heads. They had stolen away from
the cookhouse, for their food-stained clothing gave them away. Both
ogled a half-naked knight, his face tilted up to catch rain in his
mouth and his arms spread out to the side. Mud trailed down the
muscles of his heaving chest as he caught his breath. The women
barely turned on hearing men approach.

"'Tis best ye turned yer lusty thoughts back
to cookin' the noon meal."

Looking up and seeing Raik, they thought
'twas he who spoke. They nudged each other and giggled, until
Ranald's damaged face came into view. Though he was as muddy as
anyone on the field, when they recognized their master, their eyes
flew wide. As they scrabbled to their feet, their arms flapped like
hens trying to avoid an amorous rooster. They bobbed their head at
Ranald and ran toward the keep.

"Why do ye glare at them so, Raik?"

"You did not see the way they made sport of
me?"

"Made sport? Nay. They nudged each other and
tittered. Lasses always do that when you appear."

"'Twas the way they tittered. They have
heard."

"Heard what, cousin? Ranald's brows met in
the middle of his forehead.

"My cock has deserted me!"

Ranald's gaze dropped to the obvious bulge in
Raik's breeches.

"Looks to me 'tis still there. Not hidden,
either," he teased with a bark of laughter.

Raik's teeth snapped together behind
white-lined lips. Finally, he slowly forced words past them. "Ye
wouldna laugh so if ye were heavy with need and mounted yer wife
only to find yerself go soft as last year's carrots!"

Ranald's grin faded, replaced by a worried
frown.

"One time not pleasuring a woman the way ye
would expect does not mean ye have lost the use of yer rod. Mayhap
the lass failed to spike yer lust?"

"Nay, she did. They did. 'Twas five different
lasses. Two beauties at court and three lasses of our own. Would ye
not worry if after yer cock sniffed betwixt their legs, it couldna
enter? Even though the lass fondles ye and whispers she wants to
lick yer stones?" The last words exploded from his mouth.

Ranald's sparkling, dark eyes deepened to the
color of a ripe Damson plum. "Aye, ye have a problem all right.
When did yer tarse begin to lose its, uh, will to thrust?"

Raik frowned, deep in thought. The frown
turned to a scowl.

"Ever since I was held at de Burgh's keep. I
have lusty dreams about the woman who came to my bed there. Have ye
had dreams where ye can smell?" He waited until Raik nodded. "The
scent of lilies on her bare skin hardens me near to bursting. She
kisses and tantalizes my tarse with her lips, licking and teasing
all the while she's squeezing it. Shite!"

Raik stared down at his breeches where his
cock strained against the cloth like an animal hidden inside fought
its way past the drawstring.

Searching. Rock-hard. And upright.

"Ye swell like that and it fades?" Ranald
looked pointedly at Raik's groin.

"Aye. 'Tis willing and eager to nudge and
sniff at that slick, honeyed cave. Then of a sudden, it shrivels
like a bladder of wine pierced with a blade."

"Do ye find release when deep in yer
dreams?"

"The dreams fade just as I start to spurt my
seed. I wake with a bucking tarse spraying seed near to the
ceiling!" Raik raked his fingers through his hair. His fist knotted
and he tugged at a hank in frustration. "Chamber maids wink at me
when they change my sheets. They
giggle
." He said the last
like it was an obscenity.

"Lasses tittering isna bad."

"It is when they make motions with their
hands. They think I satisfy myself. I have had no need to pump my
cock since I was twelve years of age!"

"Mayhap 'tis because of the women ye swive?
Ye may want more than just any woman beneath ye. Ye need a woman of
beauty with experience at bewitching a lusty male."

"There lies the problem. The woman at Seton
has bewitched me. She has ruined my life."

His face hardened. His lids narrowed till
they nearly closed.

Once he found her, she would pay for it…

As time passed, Letia was no longer ill of a
morn or evening. She swelled big with child, and by Maud's
reckoning, she would give birth the first sennight in June.
Standing on the southern side of the parapet enclosing the Middle
Bailey with Freki waiting patiently beside her, she studied the
herb and vegetable gardens planted below. Everything seemed to
thrive this year.

A soft breeze molded her bright green kirtle
over her expanding belly while bunching her skirts between her
legs. Looking toward the sun, she noted it had already advanced to
hover over the woods to their left. Her stomach growled. The babe
responded, squirming and turning, then giving her a swift kick. She
cupped her belly with her hands, supporting the weight.

"All right, little gobbler. Let me guess.
What will please you the most, hmm?"

"Aruuu?" Freki looked up at her, his mouth
smacking together.

"The black beastie thinks ye ask him," Maud
said. "Come, lovey. From the smells drifting from the cookhouse,
'tis time for the evening meal." She motioned to Giles who had been
talking with one of the guards at the corner tower.