My Lord Raven (Knights of the Royal Household)

Chapter Thirty-Three

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The powerful hooves of the black stallion pounded the road toward Rhuddlan. Bran felt the strong equine muscles move between his legs as he urged the horse faster and faster. He was hardly aware of Richard riding pillion behind him. The boy’s thin arms encircled Bran’s waist and his cheek pressed against his surcoat and mail hauberk.

Catrin awaited them at the Rothmore pavilion with evidence of his innocence. How strange. He could scarce think of the woman he had wed as Catrin. Richard openly called her by her real name now, although at Northbridge he had called her ‘Olwen.’ Even then the boy had known her identity. She was his half-sister, after all.

“You must forgive her,” Richard had pleaded, running a hand over his close-cropped hair. “She only wanted to help Olwen and find Gilbert’s murderer.”

Bran reserved judgment. He had already heard Catrin’s story and was not sure he had it in him to forgive her.

The rocking movement of the horse jarred Bran’s body and blurred his vision. Seen through the sights of his visor, the road ahead was oddly straight. ’Twas as if there was only one path to take—no deviation from his purpose to vindicate himself and bring Guy de Hastings to justice.

Yet he wore no blinders. He knew the victories in life were not so easily won. Life was full of starts and stops, twists and turns, mountains and valleys. One must make the best of what life dealt.

With Catrin’s testimony, Bran now had the power to clear his name. The irony was not lost on him. Catrin Fitzalan, in part, created his trouble when she falsely married him.

Thinking her Olwen, he had been prepared to accept her as his wife. How did he know he would grow to love her?

As Taran’s hooves ate up the ground, Bran pictured her face contorted in agony from the arrow wound and later pale from infection. He saw her head thrown back in laughter and heard her soothing voice as she read to Richard. Once more, he felt her hair clutched between his fingers and her legs wrapped around his hips. He heard her cry out when he held her in his arms and then shudder with satisfaction.

Catrin had risked her life to help him escape from Sir Otto. ’Tis time for you to merely watch and wait and to put your trust in me , she had said to him. He had believed in her then, and she had not let him down.

Perchance she still was not letting him down. She had told him the truth, hadn’t she? She loved him enough to risk his hatred and to forewarn him so he would not walk into a trap.

Did she have any idea how valiant she was?

“There’s the tent!” Richard yelled in his ear.

Bran slowed the horse, and they approached the Rothmore pavilion at a brisk walk. Taran blew hard and bobbed his head, prancing and begging for another run. The servants recognized Richard riding behind the black knight. Drawing together and chattering among themselves, they stared as Bran guided the horse through them and around the back of the tent.

“Catrin!” Bran called out, tasting her true name for the first time upon his lips.

“She was there.” Richard pointed toward the woodpile. “Now she’s gone.”

The first inkling of fear crept through Bran. He returned to the front of the pavilion, and a groom came to stand at the horse’s head.

“I’ll find my mother.” Richard slid from the saddle and dashed inside the tent.

Trying to curb his impatience, Bran forced himself to relax in the saddle. He felt like Taran, who was champing at his bit.

“Sir Bran, they’re gone!” Richard rushed out of the tent. “My mother’s maid Kate was huddling in the corner. She said my mother and Lord Leighton have gone to see the king.”

Bran looked down, resting his forearm on the high-peaked pommel of the saddle. “What happened to Catrin?”

“Kate was going to the latrine when she saw Harry, the one I told you about, and another Leighton man drag Catrin toward the forest. Yonder.” Richard turned and pointed.

Bran’s apprehension grew. “Catrin did not go willingly?”

Richard flushed white from his own fear. “The maid said the men held her captive.” He gulped a breath. “Sir, Kate would not lie. She hates Lord Leighton too. She’s very scared. ”

“Stay here.” Bran’s stomach clenched and his grip tightened on the reins. “I’ll go after her.” He jerked the horse’s head around. The groom jumped sideways just as Bran dug his spurs into Taran’s sides. The big black leaped forward into a full gallop.

How dare Leighton harm his wife? The man was more bastard than he, for all his fine upbringing and lineage. Since that time in France when Bran had bested him at a tourney, Guy de Hastings had loathed him. If that were his motive, then the man surely was a spineless fool.

As Bran rode, something inside him altered. Fear now mixed with fury. Catrin was in danger. Clearing his name no longer held any import. All he thought about was Catrin, the woman he had claimed as his. He would get her back.

Or he’d die trying.

The two men stopped long enough to bind Catrin’s hands behind her back and gag her mouth with a foul rag. Harry stole the jasper brooch and hid it in his clothes, and then he stripped Catrin of her fine fur cloak and concealed it under a log.

“I’ll return for that later,” he told the other man.

“Let’s pleasure ourselves.” Harry’s companion smirked and ran his grubby hand roughly up and down Catrin’s arm, licking his chops like the cur he was.

“Nay, we must kill her quickly.”

“Stab her here and leave her body for the wolves.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed as he studied Catrin. She shot back an irate glare, vainly kicking out at him with her riding boot .

“Stabbing is too good for the likes of her. She’s evaded me twice.” Harry rubbed his chin. “I have always been partial to drowning.”

Both men chuckled, sending chills down Catrin’s spine. Harry’s fingers bit into her arm. She winced. They laughed again and jerked her forward, forcing her to walk between them along a rocky path.

If only Bran would come. Sadly, if Richard found him, he might not want to save her. She had shattered his hard-won trust, betraying him in the worst way by denying him his dream of land and power. Glancing at the gray sky threatening snow, she felt death near.

Yet there were worse things than death. Loss of loved ones. Loss of honor. She was not afraid to die for what she believed. She knew full well if given the chance, she would again switch places with Olwen. She would marry the King’s Raven once more to save her cousin.

Nevertheless, regret filled her soul. She would die without wiping away the look of empty disappointment from Bran’s eyes and without telling him of her love.

The first flake of snow touched her nose. She lowered her head, and the tiny bits of cold hit her lashes. Bran . She loved him with all her heart. Silently, she told him of her love. Silently, she willed him to find her and make everything right. Her mind swirled with a longing so deep and poignant it threatened to overcome her ability to concentrate. She stumbled.

“Bitch!” Harry wrenched her arm, and pain knifed through her.

They kept walking. Her wrists grew numb. Her mind grew blank except for the words Bran, I need you that she repeated over and over silently .

When they broke the cover of the oak and ash, they headed directly toward the riverbank. The walls of the Edward’s towers stood in the distance, but they were alone in this clearing. No one stirred. ’Twas a secluded place for murder. Her body would wash down the river and sweep into the cold, churning waters of the sea. Catrin shivered, but not from the cold.

Suddenly, the ground shook with the thunder of galloping hooves approaching fast from the direction of the castle. Catrin heard the chink of armor and the heavy breathing of a straining destrier. She jerked up her head.

Bran! She fought to cry his name, but the gag prevented it. Hope and horror filled her. The black knight in full battle charge was a terrible sight.

Both of her captors were common lackeys in the employ of Lord Leighton. Catrin knew without horses or proper mail and carrying only short swords, they were at a great disadvantage against a mounted knight. The men knew it too. The second man dropped her arm and bolted for the cover of the trees.

Bran veered from his course and bore down on the fleeing man. He was virtually standing in his stirrups. With his mighty war sword raised high above his head, its blade burnished like a mirror, Bran swung from his hips with a great sweeping motion and sheared off the villain’s arm with one powerful stroke. Blood spewed from the wound. The man screamed in death agony and fell to his knees.

The shock of the blow didn’t unseat Bran. He yanked Taran around in full stride and spurred the horse once more toward them, descending upon Catrin and her captor like an avenging angel.

Harry was wiser. He stepped behind Catrin, pulling her hard against his chest with one arm and held the blade of his sword to her throat.

“Frightened, my lady?”

Catrin squirmed in his grasp. Surely, he could feel her fear. She bent her knee and kicked back at his leg with her heel. She found her mark.

“Bitch,” he growled, jerking her against his chest and knocking breath from her lungs.

Kill me , she wanted to cry out. Go ahead. Then Bran will certainly kill you .

Taran, his sides heaving and his nostrils flaring, skidded to a stop in front of them. Bran sat immobile on the stallion’s back. Watching. Waiting. The silence was profound.

“I will kill her,” Harry swore, his grip on Catrin growing tighter.

“You hide behind a woman’s skirts?”

Harry answered the quiet taunt with an insult of his own. “If I had my longbow, you’d be dead where you sit in the saddle.”

“I have seen your marksmanship,” Bran snarled, his voice sounding far away behind the visor of his great helm. “Your aim is not true. You seem to prefer a knife in the back to honorable combat.”

“Spoken like a true bastard.”

Catrin swallowed when she heard Harry’s slur. She remembered full well how important Bran’s name was to him.

Keeping his body rigid and controlled, Bran pointed his bloody sword at them. “Let my wife go, and I’ll let you live.”

Catrin stared at Bran in disbelief. He had called her his wife. She longed to see behind the obscuring visor of his great helm. To read what was in his eyes. Did he really consider her his wife? Or was that a slip of the tongue?

“You dare not fight me fair,” Harry goaded. “You, who call me coward are no better, Welshman.”

Deliberately, Bran sheathed the huge war sword in the scabbard tied to his saddle. “You deserve no respect, Saxon, for you stab men in the back and shoot women from afar. Yet I will fight you any way you want.”

In one swift movement, Bran swung his leg over the pommel of the saddle and dropped to the ground. Even wearing mail, he was agile and quick. Stepping away from Taran, he drew from his belt his shorter arming sword. “Now fight me on the ground, if you dare.”

Harry cursed under his breath. He gave Catrin a rough shove, sending her sprawling toward Bran, who lowered his guard to keep her from falling. He caught her in his arms. At that moment, Harry struck, springing forward with his sword high over his head.

Bran shoved Catrin aside. She fell like a sack of grain. When she looked up from the frozen ground, she realized Harry’s first blow could have split her skull in two. Instead, Bran was nimble and swift enough to counter his attacker’s move. Now the two men were locked in a deadly battle. Their grunts and the sounds of their clashing swords spoiled the pristine winter tranquility.

Catrin rolled over on her side, her hands still bound behind her back, and propped herself up on an elbow. Breath rushed through her lungs. Fear clouded her vision. Watching the man she loved in deadly combat, she fought back tears and sent a quick prayer skyward, promising penance if he won.

In a quick move, Bran leapt aside, turned and slashed downward with his flat-bladed sword. Harry deflected the blow with his weapon and whipped around to strike again. Bran ducked out of the way, regaining his stance, and turned to confront his opponent. Harry rushed forward. Bran raised his sword. Swinging from the shoulder, his arm and weapon straight, Bran hacked his blade downward.

The blow caught Harry above the collarbone. The man screamed as he fell forward, blood gushing from the death wound in his neck.

Catrin jerked her eyes away from the grisly scene. Silence returned. Except for Bran’s heavy breathing, all was quiet.

“That’s for killing Rhys,” Bran said softly. “And for wounding Catrin.”

He called her by her real name! She turned to look at him, and her heart did a gradual roll, disbelief flooding her. Bran slowly walked to where she lay. He stood over her much as he had stood over the dead man, his surcoat marked with blood, his arming sword now pointing down by his side. His visor masked his face and eyes. He remained fearsome, tall and majestic.

Bending down on one knee beside her, he placed his sword flat on the ground. Then he reached toward her and gently lowered the gag from her mouth.

“Thank you.” She gazed upon his visor. “You saved my life.”

Wordlessly, he leaned across her and untied her hands bound behind her back. Catrin shook them free, feeling the tingle of blood rushing once more through her fingers. He stood and offered his hand. She accepted it, and he gingerly pulled her to her feet.

They faced each other in silence. What was Bran thinking? He had battled for her, much like one of King Arthur’s legendary knights. Had he also forgiven her? She cried out silently for answers. Would he not raise his visor so she could at least discern something from the look in his eyes?

Suddenly the hush was broken by the deep, throaty kraa of ravens circling overhead. Scavengers. Birds of death . Catrin’s skin crawled, and she turned her face away from Bran, sickened with sadness and despair.

“They will not hurt you, my lady.” His words of assurance were muffled behind his visor.

“Only those you love have the power to hurt you,” she murmured, unable to look at him.

“I had once thought the only thing important to me was a land and property. A son to carry on my name, mayhap.”

Catrin dared glance at him. Bran had removed his helm and stood with it under his arm. He had also pushed back his mail coif and padded cap so that she could see his black hair plastered to his scalp. His face was smeared with grit. Yet his eyes were bright and fierce with passion.

“I am sorry I have ruined your dream for you.”

“I am like the raven.” Bran turned his gaze to the black birds silhouetted against the gray sky.

Catrin held her breath. What did he mean?

“When ravens choose their mates,” he said tenderly, now taking a step toward her, “they do so for life.”

Catrin swallowed, mesmerized by the idea. Bran placed his helm on the ground beside his sword. Then, lifting a gloved hand to her cheek, he stroked it tenderly.

“ Cariad ,” he whispered. “When we said our vows, I chose you as my wife, my helpmate. I would gladly become a poor knight again if you will remain my wife now and forever. ”

She pressed her cheek against his hand, feeling its warmth and strength. “My lord, are you serious?”

“Aye, Catrin. I have never been more serious in my life.”

Suspended in the moment, she accepted the love vibrating between them. “Oh, Bran,” she said, sighing. “You are my white knight.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “You fill your head with too much romance, cariad .”

Did he know her so well? She smiled up at him, suddenly shy. “You would do well to learn more of courtly love.”

“Why? I have all the love I want here. I need go nowhere else.”

He kissed her then, full on the lips, his hands on her waist, pulling her close to him as if he would never let her go.

Catrin took his beard-roughened cheeks between her hands, forcing him to look at her. “I will be with you,” she promised, “through the good times and the bad. Forever.”

“I can ask for nothing more, my dear wife. I love you.”

“And I you.”

Suddenly, the clank of mail, the shouts of men, and the thud of horses’ hooves reverberated down the valley. Catrin caught her breath.

“Sir Otto,” Bran muttered without glancing over his shoulder.

“Run!” she urged, knowing he would not.

He shook his head. “’Tis time for justice to be served.”

Together, they turned to face the oncoming troop. Bran’s hand closed around hers, and Catrin knew his love would always protect her.