My Lord Raven (Knights of the Royal Household)

Chapter Thirty-Two

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“Catrin!”

Oblivious to everything, her mind in a stupor, Catrin heard her name shouted in alarm, and jerked her head up from staring at the muddy road she traveled on foot. A troop of the king’s men galloped toward her. She froze. Sir Otto!

Before the first rider reached her, someone grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the path. She hit the ground with a hard thwack . The mounted knights and yeoman dashed past, not even sparing them a glance.

“Are you hurt?” a high-pitched boy’s voice asked.

Catrin fumbled to right herself amid the jumble of skirts and her long, concealing cape. She managed to sit upright and found herself staring straight into the worried eyes of her half-brother.

“Richard! What are you doing here?”

“I’m going to see the king,” he said, scrambling to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m going to see the queen. ”

“You can’t.” Richard shook his head no, his manner grave. “She is in confinement in Caernarfon Castle.”

Catrin’s stomach sank. Queen Eleanor awaited the birth of her baby away from the rigors of court life. Relaxing back on the heels of her hands, her arms supporting her, Catrin gazed up at Richard. What was she to do now? Eleanor liked her. She would have listened and understood.

Foreshadowing the gentlemanly knight he was to become, Richard extended his hand. Catrin grasped it and let him pull her to her feet. She dusted off her skirts, giving herself time to think.

“How did you get here? We heard Sir Otto went to arrest Bran.”

“That was Sir Otto who passed,” Catrin told him. “I helped Bran escape. He, too, means to go to the king. And Sir Otto means to find him.”

Catrin fought hard to mask her ever-increasing fear. This time, she was sure Sir Otto would bind Bran with chains so he couldn’t escape.

In a daze still, she turned and started toward the castle.

“This way!” Richard grabbed her hand and tugged her off the road. “’Tis safer to go through the fields and the back ways. You’ll be found out if you travel the main road.”

He was right, of course. Catrin let Richard lead her, content for the moment to relinquish control and let someone else be in charge.

As they walked, she thought back to this morning when Bran’s eyes had gone blank. She shuddered at the memory. Did he hate her now? Of course he did.

When Bran had departed, the walls of the tiny cottage had quickly closed in on her as if they moved by a force of evil. Catrin had fought her rising panic, knowing she could no longer abide there. Collecting her cloak from a wooden peg, she had flung the garment over her shoulders and lifted the hood to provide protection against the wind and hide her identity.

Having seen Bran ride toward the coast, she set out in the opposite direction, mindlessly picking her way along the rutted road toward Rhuddlan oblivious to the few passersby.

That was, until Richard miraculously saved her life. She blinked, clearing her vision, and looked down at the serious, would-be warrior who marched along with her in tow.

What had moved Richard to be so bold?

“Why do you go to the king?” she asked.

“Because Mother and Lord Leighton mean to have an audience with Edward about me. They want to take me from Sir Bran. I’ll have no say in the matter.” He looked at her, a defiant glint in his eye. “I am Lord Rothmore now. I should be able to choose where I live, no matter what they say Sir Bran has done.” He dropped his gaze. “I dislike this man my mother plans to marry.”

“I dislike him too,” Catrin acknowledged, glancing up at the opaque sky. “Since he brought father’s body home, I’ve thought Guy de Hastings, Lord Leighton, to be a conniving knave.”

Richard stopped. “You told Mother that, but she did not believe you, did she?”

Anger seized Catrin once more. “I think Leighton is behind Gilbert’s death, and I don’t trust his word about how Father died.” She let out a sigh and glanced away. “Yet I have no proof.”

“I don’t like the way he controls my mother,” Richard said with a frown. “She’s so foolish about him that she does whatever he says. That is why she came for me at Northbridge. Lord Leighton told her to do so.”

Catrin bit her tongue. In her mind, Isadora was just as culpable as Guy. They were in this together. Old enmity died hard, especially one born of childhood fear and sadness. Yet she didn’t tell her thoughts to Richard. After all, Isadora was his mother. Catrin had never known hers but understood how a child loved his own mother—even a malicious, spiteful, domineering woman such as Isadora.

“Leighton made one of his servants travel with us from Shrewsbury,” Richard revealed. “A lackey called Harry with an ugly scar upon his cheek. He didn’t like me much. I had seen him in Northbridge, and he remembered me.”

Harry! Harry was the name she’d heard from her hiding place in the underbrush after the ambush. Was it true this particular Harry, Lord Leighton’s man, was at the castle and disappeared after she’d been wounded? Catrin breathed deeply, trying to tamp down her elation. She only knew the voice she had heard when in hiding. How would she ever prove this was the same man?

She turned to Richard. “How did you escape?”

He shrugged. “Lord Leighton arrived and started arguing with Mother. I simply left the tent. No one noticed.”

“Can you take me close enough to this lackey of Lord Leighton’s without us being seen?” she asked. “Someone named Harry murdered Gwendolyn. If I heard his voice once more, I would know him.”

Richard grinned, enjoying the challenge. “Follow me!”

He led her behind cottages, along fencerows, and through fields. They crossed the river above the castle and came back toward the tent city that had been erected nearby. For all his bookish ways and frail appearance, Richard was more resourceful than Catrin had ever guessed.

Nearing the pavilion that flew the red and gold pennants of the Rothmore earldom, Richard suggested they crouch low. They dashed from tree to tree, bush to bush, much as children playing games. He lifted an index finger to his lips, urging her to be quiet.

Catrin couldn’t help the smile that tweaked the corners of her mouth. Her brother was so full of self-importance at the moment. But this wasn’t a game. She nodded, drawing her eyebrows together, and silently followed the young earl to a stack of chopped wood behind the tent.

They waited, smelling wood smoke and listening to the guttural banter of the men huddled by a campfire. Catrin’s nerves tingled with fear and anticipation. Finally her legs began to cramp from squatting. Just when she thought she could endure no more, Catrin heard a man curse and shout “Harry!”

Two men approached their hiding place. Catrin ducked lower, thoughts of the pain in her legs vanishing. Could they hear her thudding heartbeat?

“You bastard!” A hand slapped flesh. “You told me the Fitzalan wench was dead!”

“My lord, I thought she was.”

Was that Harry’s voice? On pins and needles now, Catrin strained to hear.

“Lady Rothmore tells me she lives and is posing as Olwen de Belleme, wife to Bran ap Madog,” Guy barked. “You lied to me, Harry.”

“Those men you hired told me she was dead.”

Catrin heard the frantic breathlessness in the second man’s voice .

“You lie. Didn’t you tell me you’d seen her body?”

Catrin and Richard exchanged meaningful looks. She clenched her hand in triumph. ’Twas validation to learn Guy had been behind the attack on the road to Clun. If he tried to kill her, then it stood to reason he had slain her brother after the tourney, throwing suspicion on the King’s Raven by starting false rumors.

Why? What had possessed him to do murder so foul? She frowned, knowing his misguided motives were of little matter.

“Find Bran,” Catrin mouthed the words to her brother. “Tell him what we’ve heard.”

Richard nodded, eagerness burning bright in his wide eyes. He stole backward and then turned and slipped away. Catrin watched until he disappeared behind another tent. After a moment, she looked back, hoping to hear what more was being said.

Suddenly, gritty-tasting fingers closed around her mouth and a sinewy arm clamped around her chest. She was jerked to her feet. Her hood fell back. Hot breath, reeking of rotting teeth and the stench of onions, hit her face.

“What do we have here?” her captor guffawed in her ear.

Catrin struggled against him. Searing, all-encompassing fear engulfed her. She had fought like this once. That night so long ago, she’d resisted her attacker, thrashing in the same way, fighting against him.

But that black-cloaked man had been Bran. Something had happened that night. A mighty force was unleashed between them, connecting them, binding them. At that time, she could never envision what was to come.

This was different. Her attacker was one of Guy’s minions. She didn’t need any fortunetelling gifts to know the outcome of this fight would be much, much different.

“My lord!” Holding her around the waist, the man lifted her up. Her legs kicked in the air, and Guy’s man dropped her. Lifting her again and again, he lugged her around the side of the tent. “I caught a spy!”

When the man’s hand slipped from Catrin’s mouth, she let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Two men ran toward them. One was Lord Leighton, his eyes flashing. He backhanded Catrin across the mouth. “Shut up, you troublesome bitch!”

Her head wrenched sideways. She tasted blood. Bastard. She was the daughter of the Earl of Rothmore. He couldn’t do this to her.

Shaking her head to clear it, Catrin righted herself and glared up at Guy de Hastings, Lord Leighton…her enemy.

“Murderer,” she said softly, making the word sound like a curse.

He laughed in her face. “Ah, you have been spying on us.” Guy turned to the other man. “Harry, this is the woman you were supposed to kill.”

“Why did you kill my brother,” Catrin cried. “And my father?”

“You assume much, my lady.” Guy gloated giving her a mocking bow.

“I have no use for liars and murderers,” she spat.

Guy brought his hand up to his chin, making play at studying her. “I don’t know why I failed to discover your true identity at Northbridge,” he mused. “How could I miss the common Fitzalan resemblance, the sharp chin and the beady eyes? ”

Catrin lifted that sharp chin. “Because you thought me dead,” she replied through gritted teeth.

Harry shifted from foot to foot, glancing around uneasily. “What do we do with her now, my lord?”

Guy cocked his head and took his time to study the situation. Then he turned to the much-maligned servant. “Harry, I expect you now must kill her.” He grinned evilly but with a pointed stare at the man. “This time, for good, if you value your life.”

“My pleasure, my lord.”

’Twas like a dream at night, full of wild imaginings and horrible scenes where one twisted and turned in sleep. Harry’s triumphant face reeled before Catrin’s eyes. She felt faint and sick.

At that moment, Isadora rushed from the tent, wringing her hands like a comic version of a frantic mother. “Guy, Richard has disappeared! I heard a scream, and when I looked for him, he was missing!”

Her stepmother faltered when she saw Catrin restrained by one of Guy’s men. She turned a questioning gaze to her lover. “What is she doing here?”

Catrin squared her shoulders, still proud and defiant. “I’m looking for Gilbert’s murderer.” Guy signaled his man to cover her mouth once more. The filthy hand made her gag, and she strained against its confinement.

“Lady Fitzalan is the reason your son has run away, my sweet,” Guy declared, oozing smugness as if to gain favor. “Why else would she be here, ready to play tricks upon you as she did upon the king?”

Isadora marched up to Catrin and wagged a finger. “What have you done with Richard?”

Catrin glared at her stepmother. Why couldn’t she see the evil in this man? Did she not know about his crimes? Why did Isadora adhere to his greedy and evil plans?

“Let her speak,” Isadora ordered, glancing back at Guy.

Guy put his arm around Isadora. “My lady, I think it best Harry and Miles find out what we want to know.”

“Shouldn’t we take her when we see the king?” Isadora asked. “She’ll give us proof Bran ap Madog is a murderer.”

If only they would take her to Edward! Catrin would offer proof and much more.

“My men will bring her later after we have had a chance to talk to the king first. Now go back inside, my dear, and finish your toilette. I’ll be along shortly.” Guy urged Isadora back inside her tent. Once she was out of sight, he jerked his head at the two men holding Catrin. “Take her away! And this time, finish your task.”

Guy would not let her live long enough to talk to the king. Or anyone else. Catrin had no hope now of saving Bran from his ill fate, a fate made unavoidable when her good intentions had gone so terribly awry.