My Lord Raven (Knights of the Royal Household)

Chapter Thirty

CHAPTER THIRTY

Her pulse slowed. Her eyes drifted shut. Catrin felt deliciously warm in Bran’s embrace. Now the fur coverlet surrounded them, tickling her nose. How she wanted to stay this way forever. How she wanted to forget what must be done.

But it could not be.

Catrin opened her eyes. Bran’s face swam before them and the musky odor of his body mingled with the faint smell of the lavender scented sheets beneath the fur. She stroked his face with a gentle finger. He kissed her once on the cheek, a simple action that tore her heart in two.

“We must go,” she murmured, still dreamy.

“How do you propose we slip away from the king’s guards below in the hall?” A touch of humor lightened his voice.

“Through the secret passage.”

Bran sat up. He searched her face in the gloom. “You speak the truth? ”

Catrin almost said she always spoke the truth, but that lie refused to leave her lips. She nodded instead. “My cousin and I played in the passageway as children.”

“It leads outside the castle?”

She nodded again. “The stable boy, Will, has Merch and Taran and provisions for travel hiding in the woods across the Severn from lower town.”

“ Cariad , you have saved me!” Bran kissed her full on the lips and leapt from the bed. “Quick. We must be away from here so that we can put distance between us and Sir Otto.”

Once more Catrin caught his urgency. She scuttled from the bed while he started riffling through the large chest in the corner of the room.

Bran stood and looked at her. “I must arm myself. I need your help.”

She caught a quick breath. This task had belonged to Rhys. Now it fell to her.

Without a word, she laced the back of Bran’s quilted aketon, the long-sleeved undergarment that reached to his knees. Over that he put on his mail hauberk. He pulled on padded hose. Before she knew it, he stood before her, his mail covered by his plain black surcoat, a sword belt knotted at his waist holding his arming sword. He wore a thick padded arming cap over his mail coif, completely covering his long hair.

When he picked up his shield, emblazoned with a blood-red raven, Catrin saw the vision of the black knight—the same knight who’d ridden against Gilbert in the king’s tourney.

She wavered slightly, thinking of Gilbert and Father and how she had once hated Bran. He must have seen hesitation in her eyes. Believing her to be Olwen, he came toward her quietly and framed her face with his big hands.

“I know not the reason for this change of sentiment,” he said, “but I am thankful for it.”

She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t voice the love she felt. Moreover, she couldn’t tell him the truth. Mesmerized by his beautifully rugged face and the sincerity in his eyes, Catrin simply gazed back at him. Precious moments were lost as they stood together, each absorbed in thought, linked by a fine thread of something akin to love. Finally Bran broke the spell, kissing her hastily and turning from her.

“Dress warmly,” he ordered. “Our journey will be cold and dangerous.”

He didn’t question whether she would go with him. He assumed her loyalty. Guilt once more gnawed at her stomach as she donned an old pair of men’s braes under her woolen gown and surcoat.

Bran had sheathed his long sword, put on his leather gloves, and gathered his great helm under his arm. He stood by the fire watching her. Catrin drew her fur-lined cape over her shoulders and went to her own coffer. She needed one more thing before she left this place that had been her home for such a short time.

“Will you help me?” she asked softly and handed him the silver-encrusted brooch made from red jasper that he had given her.

Setting down his helm and shield, Bran held the brooch in his gloved hand. Was he thinking about what it symbolized? Did he love her as he had cried out in passion? These were questions she was too afraid to ask because she had no right, not being his true wife .

He tugged the cape snuggly around her neck and pinned the brooch there. “Now, what must we do?”

Catrin breathed deeply, gazing at him, longing for what could not be. Then she sighed and stepped back. She crossed to the hearth and opened the squint, looking down on the great hall below. All was dark. The castle slept.

When she turned, he laughed at her, knowing how she had spied upon him. “We all have our secrets, I see,” he said with a sly grin.

Catrin drew herself up like a queen, lifting her chin. “My cousin and I played with the peep hole,” she said and shouldered past him.

Still laughing, he followed her to the wall hanging that secreted the door. “You surprise me all the time, cariad .”

Ignoring him, Catrin tripped the mechanism that opened the door. It yawned before them, cavernous and dark. A draft of cold air filled the room. Somber now, Bran gathered his arms, slinging the shield over his back. He then lifted a torch from the wall and lit it in the fireplace. Holding the light high over his head, he returned to her.

“Lead on, Olwen,” he said. “I trust you with my life.”

Whatever qualms Catrin had, she suppressed them. Having set this drama into motion, she would act out her part. She would follow what fate had laid out for her and hope only for the best.

True to his word, Will had brought the two horses to the hiding place in the woods. He stood at their heads, searching the darkness and stamping his feet because of the cold.

“Well done, lad,” Bran said as he quickly checked the packs of provisions tied across the rumps of the horses. He fastened his long sword to the front of his saddle.

“Thank you, my lord. Meg helped me,” Will answered, eager to give credit where credit was due.

“Aye, but you took the risk of being seen leading the horses out of the castle.” Bran came to Taran’s head, patting the black’s neck. “Take care of my raven while we’re gone,” he ordered, glancing down at the boy, “and keep yourself safe.”

“I will do that, my lord. God be with you.”

After the boy darted away into the darkness, Catrin stood gazing at the castle gleaming in the moonlight high above the Severn. Her thoughts tumbled in disarray, her nerves aflutter. Their escape had been easy. Much too easy. No one had stopped them on the cartway once they had extinguished the torch and slipped out of the cave. In fact, they’d seen no one on their journey into town and across the bridge. Could God truly be on their side?

Bran came up behind her and circled her in his arms, hugging her tight. He kissed her head, giving her an extra squeeze and pulling her against him. She wore no restricting headdress tonight. Just her net crespine bound her hair out of the way. She had pulled up the hood of her cape, but even it did not give much protection from the cold.

“We will win this, my lady.”

She leaned back against his chest, feeling the metal of his mail bite into her shoulders. How could she have dreamed she would be standing like this with him? From the first day on the tourney field, she and Bran had been at odds. Sadly, they still were. Even though they seemed as one in this, she knew the truth, and it hurt her sorely.

“I hope you’re right,” she murmured .

“I won’t lose you.” He hugged her again. “That much I know.”

Bran gave her a leg up and then mounted Taran. Together, they reined their horses away from the Severn and Northbridge Castle, and without a backward glance, headed northwest toward the Welsh foothills.

O’er the next few days, Bran’s knowledge of the land and language stood them well. More oft than not, they rested in the modest cottage of a sheep farmer or made camp in a cave protected from the wind. They traversed obscure pine forest tracks or rutted paths made only for wild creatures, keeping far away from the much-traveled roads.

During the second day’s journey, they crossed the dyke said to be built by the Mercian King Offa. A linear earthwork consisting of a ditch and rampart, the barrier roughly followed the Welsh and English boundary and gave them an open view into Wales. Catrin felt easier, but every loud noise caused her head to jerk for fear Sir Otto and his men had caught up with them.

“We are safe enough now,” Bran told her, riding beside her on the trail when he could.

He reasoned aloud that the king’s close friend would not discover them missing until late the following morning and then only after breaking down the door. By that time they would have gained a good start. In truth, Sir Otto didn’t know their destination or the direction they’d taken. Any move he made would be a guess. And Sir Otto didn’t like to guess.

So it was with confidence that Bran guided them from Northbridge directly toward Rhuddlan, heading through his home terrain in the Dee River valley.

“Isadora went to Shrewsbury,” he said, explaining his way of thinking. “She would journey to Rhuddlan by first going to Chester and then traveling along the coast road. With Richard along, she’d not push her retinue hard.”

“She told me she thinks of Richard’s safety at all times,” Catrin said, reflecting on her stepmother’s denial when she had accused Isadora of murder.

“Then I think all will be well.”

But would it? In silence, Catrin rode the sturdy palfrey, concern clogging her throat. Oft she ignored the beauty of the countryside, the spectacular limestone cliffs rising from the woodland or a lone hawk silhouetted against the bright blue winter sky. She couldn’t forget what had taken place or stop worrying about what was to come.

“You will live to regret this day,” Isadora had told her.

Yet what Catrin regretted most was lying to Bran.

What would she do once they arrived at the castle? Could she gain a personal audience with the king? Or would it be better to see Eleanor? She knew the queen liked and trusted her.

Several days after their escape, they stood beside their horses’ heads atop a small mountain in the Clwydian range. For much of the way, they had walked, forced to lead their mounts. The blisters on Catrin's feet made her wince with each step, yet for the first time, the magnificent view of the snow-capped mountain Bran called Eryri drew her breath away. The high peak, several days’ ride, gleamed in the morning light. To the east, sunlight glittered off the Irish Sea.

’Twas a shame she had been unable to enjoy her first trip into the glorious land that had given birth to her mother and husband.

Their journey wasn’t yet over. They must ascend and descend a series of small mountains, but Rhuddlan Castle and the king were near. As Catrin, leading her mare, followed Bran down the next steep path, she knew her destiny was finally at hand.