Forbidden (4 page)

The prior was a slight man below average
height, and he could not see over the warriors around him. When he
stood on the third step, his faded blue eyes found Ranald’s. A
delicate hand withdrew from the white sleeves to beckon him
forward.

“Come, Abbot Aymer awaits you all.” Prior
Godric motioned Chief Broccin, Raik and the king’s messenger to
follow him.

Ranald frowned. The abbot had expected this
visit? Why had he not warned him of it?

Raik strolled beside Ranald. Neither spoke as
they followed the prior through the arched doorway, down the south
arcade leading around the abbot’s cloister gardens.

The open bays that faced the cloister were
designed to look like huge arched windows with elaborate stonework
latticed in the opening. Ranald watched Broccin greedily assessing
everything, even gauging the wealth of the vaulted stone ceilings
with their intricately carved patterns.

The men’s boots striking the stone floor were
foreign to this soothing place. Ranald grimaced and peered out into
the cloister garden. At its center stood a marble fountain. Water
flowed from a pitcher held in the hands of a stone monk and
collected at the basin below. A bird fluttered to rest on the stone
shoulder, its wings spread wide to catch the sun’s rays. Benches
surrounded the basin.

Lush flower gardens decorated the big square.
He inhaled, enjoying the mixture of honeysuckle, roses, lavender,
sweet violets, hyssop—too many scents for him to separate.

How many nights had he sat here with Abbot
Aymer, his quiet words and prayers soothing Ranald’s soul? He
disliked his father seeing any of it.

Too soon, they reached the abbot’s private
offices. Sending a silent prayer for God to help him hold his
temper, Ranald steeled himself to relax. Whatever his father
wanted, he would have none of it.

Abbot Aymer waited patiently for everyone to
enter his study. Books lined each wall and a heavy carpet covered
the floor. Close to a large window stood a massive oak table,
cluttered with work. Beside it, a brace of candles sat unlit, for
the day was clear.

Prior Godric waited for everyone to take a
seat then motioned to a lay brother who stood in a corner with a
pitcher of wine and enough goblets for all. When he had served
everyone, he retired. Prior Godric stood beside the door, his hands
again thrust inside his sleeves. Ranald remained standing beside
the abbot’s chair, seeing to his protection.

“Mayhap you will tell me of your quest, Chief
Broccin,” Abbot Aymer started. He got no further before Broccin
interrupted.

“I have come for my son, nothing more.”
Broccin glowered around the room as he downed his wine.

“Your son is at Raptor Castle. You declared
his twin dead to you many years past. ‘Twas printed on the missive
attached to his litter when he arrived.” The abbot leaned back in
his chair and waited quietly.

“Dinna be a fool...”

Ranald was swift. He loomed threateningly
over his sire. “Do not speak in such a tone, else ye will find
yerself outside the gate.” His tone was quiet. Deadly quiet. Only a
fool would not have heeded the threat in it.

Broccin bolted up. His face turned purple,
his eyes bulged in instant anger.

“Ye dare threaten yer father?” He shoved
Ranald hard, thinking to knock him to the stones as he had so many
times in the past.

Raik’s man shot to his feet, ready to
intervene should Ranald have need of it. He did not.

Ranald hadn’t budged; he hadn’t swayed.
Broccin may as well have shoved a carved statue. Instead, a force
pushed the Chief backward until the backs of his legs brushed his
chair. He looked startled, for Ranald had not touched him.

When Broccin sat, Raik’s man quietly resumed
his seat.

“Please, Brother Ranald. I take no offense.
Come. Stand beside me again.”

Ranald reluctantly did as the abbot asked,
though he did not relax his guard.

“Chief Broccin, be good enough to explain why
you wish Brother Ranald to come to Raptor Castle. Is it for some
family ceremony ye wish him to officiate?”

Broccin snorted. “Aye. A ceremony. ‘Tis for a
wedding.”

“And whose wedding would this be?” The abbot
tilted his head, curious as to why he would need one of his
monks.

“His own.” Broccin glared at Ranald and sat
back in his chair.

“What? Are ye daft? I canna marry. If ye want
heirs for Raptor Castle, Moridac will provide them.” Ranald watched
his father like he was a strange, talking creature.

“Moridac is dead.”

Ranald’s hands fisted, his nails cutting into
his palms as he leaned forward and braced himself on the edge of
the desk. Pain shot through him hearing the words scream through
his head. The doors burst open and slammed shut with a sharp bang
while shutters beat against window openings then stilled. He
couldn’t control his grief much less rein in the turmoil it
created.

He should have known. ‘Twas why he had felt
Moridac’s presence these past weeks. He had thought ‘twas because
his twin still mourned for his lost brother. But nay. ‘Twas Moridac
trying to tell him he was gone.

The abbot gripped Ranald’s hand and held
tight, sending comfort. Broccin, Domnall and the king’s man looked
around them, puzzling what had caused the sudden chaos. Not Raik,
the abbot or prior, though. Ranald straightened and locked his body
rigid. He refused to show any feelings. His father would feed on
it.

“He died, and ‘tis yer fault.” Broccin’s
voice grew to a shout. “Ye should have been there to heal him the
way ‘tis rumored ye do here.”

“How could I have been? Ye are the one who
abandoned me here, telling one and all I no longer lived.” Ranald
flinched and longed to be alone to grieve.

“What happened to your son, Chief Broccin? I
had heard he was a healthy, strong man. Like his brother.” The
abbot strove to quiet the anger sizzling in the air.

“A hunt. Just a day afore his vows were to be
said. He died in my arms three sennights ago.”

Ranald was shocked to see tears dampen his
father’s lashes. Hurt filled him, for his sire had shown neither a
look of sadness nor regret when he had lain near death.

“I am sorrowed by my brother’s death.” A
dull, empty ached gnawed at his heart knowing his hopes of one day
seeing Moridac walking through the abbey entrance was forever a
lost dream. “I will say prayers daily for his soul.”

“I don’t want yer prayers. I want yer body at
Raptor’s church to wed Catalin of Hunter Castle. She was set to
marry my son, and my son she will marry, though not the one she
lusted after. Ye will return with me.”

Ranald looked at Raik, and from his
apologetic expression, he knew there was more to it. For what
reason did King David send Raik as his protector?

“I canna marry. I am a
monk
. Dinna
ye ken? I have taken vows of celibacy.” Ranald spoke slowly, as if
instructing a child.

“Aye. Ye took vows. They are broken now.”
Broccin smirked when he said it.

“I have broken no vow.”

“Ye had no need. I must have heirs for Raptor
Castle. Ye will provide them. Ye are no longer a monk.” Broccin
snorted. “Have not been for the sennight it took the missives to
reach me.”

Ranald’s lip curled with disgust looking at
his father. Was the man brainsick? Then he remembered Raik’s
mention of King David and turned to him with raised brows.

“By what means is this?”

“Since Chief Broccin has no other sons, if he
dies, the title devolves to you. Raptor Castle is vital to the
safety of Scotland.” Raik cleared his throat. “A castle without a
lord is fair prey for a siege. King David does not want it to
change hands. He petitioned the Pope. With ample incentive, the
Pope granted a special dispensation.”

Raik nodded to the king’s representative, who
laid a sealed parchment at the abbot’s hand.

Everyone stilled as the abbot broke the seal
and unrolled it. He smoothed it out on the desk and leaned forward,
as close as he could get his failing eyes to the words.

Ranald’s stomach churned, hoping there was
some flaw the saintly man could find. His hopes dimmed when sad
eyes peered up as he thrust the parchment at him.

His world of peace descended into the chaos
of Hell. All in the time it took to read the Latin written
there.

This was his home. His work was here. His
peace was here. He wouldn’t leave.

Slapping his hand atop the parchment, he
straightened. “I may no longer be a monk, but I choose to remain
here. If King David fears for Raptor Castle, let him appoint
another lord. I dinna want it. I willna take it.”

“Fool,” Chief Broccin shouted. “Whether ye
like it or no, ye’ll go. I thought ye’d be stubborn. ‘Tis why an
army awaits outside the gates. Return with me, else I’ll raze this
abbey to the ground.”

Raik and his man bounded to their feet, along
with the king’s representative. Prior Godric hurried to stand on
the other side of the abbot.

“I will not allow it, Chief Broccin.” Raik
ground out the words between clenched teeth.

“Mayhap ye will try. Do ye forget? We
outnumber ye. How much damage, how many lives will bleed their last
in trying to thwart me?”

The abbot stood, his hands upraised.

“Enough. We will settle this quietly, with
the dignity God’s house deserves.” He rang a small gold-plaited
bell setting on the corner of his desk. A novice immediately
appeared.

“Please show these men to their quarters for
the evening.” He turned to them and smiled. “When it is time,
someone will come to direct you to the dining hall. After lauds on
the next sunrise, Ranald and I will give you our answer.”

The prior opened the door wide. He and Raik
hung back, making sure Broccin exited without causing any
additional problems. Before Raik left the room, he turned to
Ranald.

“I am sorry, cousin. I was to be given time
to talk to ye and Abbot Aymer. Chief Broccin was not to arrive
until two days hence. I should have known he would do something
rash.”

Ranald, his mind burning with emotions,
nodded then turned away. The door quietly closed behind him.

Cold seeped through to Ranald’s bones. He
ignored it. His body ached; his muscles screamed. Stretched wide
like a human cross on the chilly marble, he paid no heed. His
forehead pressed hard onto unyielding stone, he prayed into the
night. Through each liturgy of the hours, all within Kelso Abbey
prayed with him. For him.

His heart filled with dread of leaving this
place. Within Kelso, he could subdue his demons. He did not want to
join the secular world. Doing so, how could he keep from becoming a
beast like his sire? Or a slave to pleasure like he had learned his
brother had become?

Aye, visitors had carried stories of Moridac.
They had not known they spoke of the monk’s brother. He knew of
Moridac’s drunken orgies held at a hunting lodge deep in the
forest. And of his brutal fighting and cruelty.

Broccin thought he had stilled the talk, but
men spoke of Moridac’s eyes gleaming, his lips spread in a smile
when he fought to the death. Over trivial things that meant nothing
to him. He seized every chance to prove he was his father’s
son.

Though Ranald knew of these things, he still
loved Moridac as his twin had been when last he saw him. Nothing
could change that. What could change was himself, given enough time
in that outside world with Broccin. It was his greatest fear.

The abbot and he had talked into the night.
He knew he could defy his father, wanted to, even. But Broccin
would wreak havoc in a few short hours should Ranald resist. And he
must not defy an order from King David.

He had checked one last time on the
Infirmary. Prior Godric, with Ranald’s advice, had assigned the
young monk who had worked the longest with him taking care of the
sick and injured to become the next Infirmarian. The prior assured
Ranald he would send word to him should they at any time need his
help.

Footsteps drew near. It was time to rise.

He pressed his ruined cheek to the floor’s
coldness and tightened his body. It was as if he hugged the stones
he had knelt upon too many times in the past to count.

A soothing hand brushed his temple. “My son,
the time draws near for you to ride.” Abbot Aymer waited while
Ranald rose to his knees, crossed himself and stood.

o0o

When he walked out into the fog-filled
courtyard, Broccin, Raik and the others already sat their mounts.
Domnall held tight to a magnificent black horse’s bridle. The horse
stamped, threw his head about and tried to rear as Domnall led
him.

“Moridac oft said this horse was too much for
him. He believed you would have tamed him, had you lived. He didna
ken you were here at Kelso,” Domnall said.

Broccin rode over, a smirk on his face.

“Meet Satan’s Spawn. Yer brother named him. A
fitting mount to make a fool of a man who spent his night sprawled
like a dead raven in front of an altar. No doubt ye’ll be
splattered on the cobblestones once ye mount.”

Ranald let the words flow through the air,
ignoring them. Brother Octavius handed him the belt, sword and
scabbard given to Brother Ranald by a grateful knight. He fastened
them around his waist before turning to kneel and kiss Abbot
Aymer’s ring. He took one last look around and blinked, seeing all
the monks and laymen gathered there to see him off.

He cleared his throat, took hold of Satan’s
bridle and murmured to the horse. The beast jerked and strained.
Ranald, his muscles rippling in his arms, kept him still. Again and
again, he stroked down the shiny black head and long neck then
rubbed between the beast’s eyes, all the time talking and soothing
him. Bit by bit, Satan quieted. He danced one last sidestep, shook
his head to show he had the last word then stilled.