Quinn: A Scottish Outlaw (Highland Outlaws Book 2) (3 page)

Her eyes narrowed on him. “Lord Ravensworth will ask me where I came by news of my family. I will have no choice but to name you as messenger.”

He shrugged. “Worry naught for me, my lady. If I were ye, I would be concerned about my own safety.”

She glanced back at him. There was an urgency in his gaze that almost made her question herself. He must have sensed her falter, because he reached out a hand to her. “Come with me. Please. I don’t want ye getting hurt.”

She looked at his offered hand, then shook her head. “My husband would never hurt me.” She fought to keep the disdain from her voice as she continued. “He is too careful with his possessions.”

She knew he wanted to stop her, but his hand dropped to his side. “I’ll not force ye. I’ll not be the tyrant I’ve warned ye against.”

She stood there for a moment and lost herself in the promise of his words. She was not used to men, holy or otherwise, choosing her will over their own. Despite her wish to remain, she tore her gaze from his and started back down the stairs. Just when she was about to circle out of view, he said, “If ye need me, I’ll be in the great hall.”

She stopped and looked back. “You should just go.”

“You might need me.”

Disobedience was not something to which she was accustomed. She swallowed her frustration. “At least will you go to the stables?”

He hesitated at first but then bowed his head, acquiescing. “Come to the stables then if ye have need, my lady. Bella and Jack would never forgive me if I let anything happen to ye.”

She shook her head. “I do not need you, Brother Augustine. I will never need you.”

Catarina stood outside the massive, intricately carved wooden doors, which led to Lord Ravensworth’s solar. She smoothed her hands over her tunic and fanned out her veils. Then, with a deep breath, she rapped gently on the door. In moments, Sir Matthew, one of Henry’s favored castle guards, appeared and stepped aside for her to enter. In the three years that she had been at Ravensworth, she could count on one hand the number of times she had entered her husband’s solar. Her eyes passed over the carefully hung tapestries. The candles appeared fresh, but she knew that was only because each day servants scraped away the wax drippings and evened out the candles’ height. Henry was above all a stickler for order. He had told her on many occasions that nobility was not found in lavish displays of wealth—it resided in the details, and Henry painstakingly arranged every detail of his world, from her wardrobe to how the stables were cleaned. She rounded the corner and spotted two high-backed wooden chairs facing an imposing, rugged stone fireplace.

She squeezed her fists to keep from fidgeting. “My lord, I have news.”

He did not stand to mark her arrival as he would have done in the great hall nor did he lean over the arm of his seat to glance back at her.

“I did not call for you,” he said impatiently.

His curt response was no surprise. “My apologies, my lord. The news I bring is of the most urgent nature and ill indeed. It cannot wait until our morning meeting.”

Each morning before mass she met him in the great hall where she sat while he paced in front of her, reviewing his expectations for the day, which would include but not be limited to the menu she would give Cook and when she would be allowed to visit her son.

His hand appeared in her line of vision, impatiently motioning for her to come forward. She hurried toward him but froze when she saw who occupied the second chair. Rupert, with a smug smile playing at the corner of his lips, raised his cup as if to toast her coming. 

“Close your mouth,” Henry said. “You look like a simpleton standing there with your mouth and eyes agape.”

She closed her lips and forced her shoulders to relax before her husband could criticize her posture. “I would speak with you alone, my lord.”

Henry shook his head, his dark hair not daring to move out of place. “My brother is here at my request. I have important business that will not be delayed by some feminine whim. Speak now or I will have you escorted back to your rooms.”

Her husband thought little of the opinions of women, a fact he had never tried to conceal. Rupert’s condescending grin widened. Fighting the desire to walk over to where her brother-in-law sat and toss his beer in his face, she squared her shoulders and gave Henry the news as he would have wanted it—direct and to the point. “My father has committed treason and has fled Berwick with my sister.”

She waited for his reaction, but his face remained impassive. The same could not be said of Rupert. He jumped to his feet and thrust a finger in Catarina’s face. “This is an affront to the Ravensworth name,” he hissed.

Ignoring her brother-in-law, she kept her eyes trained on her husband who did not flinch at Rupert’s response. He simply gestured to the chair beside his. “Sit down, Rupert and calm yourself, or I will have you escorted to your room.”

Catarina contained the smug smile she wished to flash at Rupert. She knew she needed to proceed very carefully, and so she kept her eyes demurely trained on the floor in front of her.

“Where did you come by this news?” Henry asked her at length.

“A monk told me in the courtyard.”

“The same monk who arrived at Ravensworth this morning?”

A wave of guilt passed over her, thinking of Brother Augustine’s heroic intentions. Still, she had warned him. She cleared her throat before saying, “The very same.”

“Step aside,” he said to her, and then he stood, calling to Sir Matthew. “Find Brother Augustine, and bring him to me.” Sir Matthew hastened to obey.

“Is there anything else?” Henry said to her. 

She nodded. “Brother Augustine told me the king’s men were likely to come here to search for them.”

He rolled his eyes. “Anything our infant son could not surmise on his own?”

She stepped back and curtsied. “No, my lord.”

“You may leave.”

She deepened her curtsy and turned on her heels and walked calmly from the room. Leaving her husband’s solar unscathed, her concern shifted from herself to Brother Augustine. She knew in her heart that he had only wanted to help, but she could not be certain Henry would regard the monk’s actions with the same tolerance. At that moment, she made up her mind to intervene on the brother’s behalf if need be. She owed him that much for his role in helping her father and sister. She would wait in her chambers while her husband met with the monk. When some time had passed, she would return to Henry’s solar. Having made up her mind, she took a deep breath. She would do her best to ensure that Brother Augustine left Ravensworth in no worse health than when he arrived.

Henry sat back in his chair and stared into the hearth at the writhing flames while he considered his in-laws’ affairs. 

Beside him, Rupert slammed down his fist on the arm of his chair. “I cannot hide my surprise as well as you hide yours or my fury.”

Henry had all but forgotten his brother. After stomaching the assault of Rupert’s grating voice and inciting words, Henry was sorry to be reminded. Shooting his younger brother a reproachful look, he said, “Refrain from abusing my furniture.”

Rupert scowled. “How do you remain calm?”

Henry turned back to stare at the flames before saying, “Because I am not angry.”

Rupert jumped to his feet. Henry glanced up at him. Veins in his hulking neck bulged. “Rupert, you are turning an unattractive shade of purple. Sit down and stop distracting me. I must think.”

“What is there to think about?” Rupert spat. “I told you—remember? I said she would bring disgrace to our name.”

Henry pushed away the finger that Rupert had suddenly thrust in his face but said nothing. He refused to engage his brother’s hot temper.

“You should never have married a half-commoner, I don’t care how beautiful she may be.”

Henry’s shoulders tensed. “Be careful, Rupert.”

Rupert snarled, his hands balled into tight fists. “You are the one who needed to be more careful.”

Henry could feel his calm slipping and how he loathed being angry. It made his head hurt.

“You must turn her out, Henry. Write to the pope and request an annulment. If she had no claim over you, she would now be a without title and connection. She would be nothing.”

Henry’s eyes narrowed. “Then it is fortunate for Lady Ravensworth that she is under my protection.”

“She should be punished for this,” Rupert shouted.

Spittle from his brother’s fuming lips flecked Henry’s cheek. With a scowl of disgust, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a neatly folded linen square. After cleaning his face, he tossed the fabric into the fire. Struggling now to maintain his composure, he looked hard at his brother. “The Lady Ravensworth is pious and obedient. She has fulfilled her wifely duty and provided me with an heir. Moreover, she is not without sound judgment. A man could not hope for a better wife.”

Rupert sneered at him. “You are blinded by her beauty.”

Henry stood, unable to quell the fury his brother’s antagonizing words stirred within him. “I am blinded by nothing,” he snapped. “She is a woman, nothing more, nothing less.”

“Her mother was a Sicilian commoner and a whore for all you know. And now her father is disgraced and an outlaw on the run. Edward will come here and question your wife’s parentage and your judgment for marrying the daughter of an outlaw and a whore.”

Henry scoffed. “Edward will come here and find her family has no welcome with us. Then he will leave.”

“You are a coward,” Rupert seethed. “Cast her aside. The king will no doubt reward your loyalty. You could use this to gain his favor.”

Henry arched his brow at Rupert. “My place at court is assured. It is you who fell out of favor with the king not I.”

Rupert thrust his iron hand in Henry’s face. “Edward discharged me because I lost my hand fighting for England.”

Henry pushed the cool metal aside and stepped forward, a slight smile curving his lips. “I know about your dalliance with the king’s niece—everyone knows.”

Rupert’s eyes widened in shock. He had not known that word of his impropriety had reached Henry. He seized Henry’s shirt. Fury pulsed through him. “It was only one blasted night.”

Henry struggled to break free from his hold, but Rupert was the larger man by far. “I was a soldier,” Rupert bellowed.

“You were weak and foolish and got what you deserved,” Henry sneered.

Rupert released a guttural roar and spun Henry around, slamming him against the stone fireplace, but a sickening crunch stole Rupert’s breath. He froze, his heart pounding his skull. What had he done? He sprang backward, releasing his hold on Henry.  

“I cannot see,” Henry whispered before he fell slack to the ground.  

Unbidden, Rupert’s eyes darted left then right, instinctively searching for a place to hide. But his legs felt like lead as he stood there and watched Henry raise a shaky hand and swipe at the back of his head.

“Oh God,” Rupert groaned when Henry’s hand came forward slick red with blood.

Henry reached out to Rupert with his bloody hand. “Help me.”

Rupert’s eyes bulged. He shook his head, backing away. Henry fought to stand but then fell back again. Blood splattered the stones and began to puddle on the ground. The color drained from Henry’s face.

“My lord.”

The feminine voice pulled Rupert’s gaze toward the door, just as Catarina came around the corner. Her eyes widened the instant before a scream tore from her lips. She rushed to Henry’s side, pulling his head onto her lap. Crimson smeared her white tunic. Rupert backed farther away, his hand locked over his mouth as he watched Henry struggle to speak to his wife, but the garbled words hung incomprehensible in the air. A moment later, a rattled breath fled Lord Ravensworth’s lips as his head rolled to the side.

“No! Henry! No!” Catarina cupped his cheeks to straighten his head, but when she let go, it fell back again to the side. “Please, God. No,” she sobbed, gathering him in her arms.

Rupert could barely discern her anguished pleas above the pounding of his own heart. He couldn’t breathe. It felt as though the room was closing in around him.  How could Henry be dead? Rupert had not meant to hurt his brother. He had just been so furious. In a daze his eyes slowly moved from Henry’s limp body to the blood-stained stones jutting off the hearth. He gagged, choking on the fear lodged in his throat. His hands gripped the sides of his head. He had murdered his brother, a sin for which he would surely die. But how could that be? How could both he and Henry be dead? Who would lead his people? Not Stephen. His carefree ways would bring about the ruination of Ravensworth. Rupert couldn’t let that happen. He could never allow his people to suffer because of a cruel accident.

His eyes darted to Catarina. She sobbed, her red-stained hands gripping Henry’s tunic. Rupert stared at her bloody hands. Henry’s guard would return at any moment. His mind reeled. Raking his hand through his hair, his eyes darted about the room before settling on the iron poker near the fire. A jolt of power shot through his body as he stared at its hard metal length. Then he lunged for it. Holding his breath, he rubbed the blunt tip in Henry’s blood.

“Take this,” he growled, thrusting the poker at Catarina.

She looked up at him, her olive skin now ashen, her eyes stricken with grief. Brows drawn, she reached out, her hand shaking, and clasped the poker.

Rupert backed away. “You should not have murdered your husband.”

Her eyes flashed wide. She looked at the bloody poker in her hand and flung it to the ground. “I…I did not.” Then her breath hitched, and the whites of her eyes stood out in contrast to the bright amber fire burning now with furious hatred as she shoved Henry from her lap. She stormed toward Rupert, her white, embroidered tunic stained red. “You will not lay blame on my head!”

Rupert scurried back. The sound of Henry’s skull cracking against the stone echoed in his mind, but he pushed his guilt aside. Had it not been for Catarina, he and Henry never would have fought. He planted his feet firm on the ground. His shoulders stopped shaking. The coil squeezing his heart released. He narrowed his eyes on the she-devil quaking in front of him. “You killed him. I saw you.”

His words stopped her in her tracks, her eyes growing wider still. “No,” she said, shaking her head violently.

He circled closer, cornering her. “You came up behind him while he and I sat unaware of any danger. Then you struck him with the poker.”

Catarina clutched her arms around herself. “Liar,” she screamed.

He lunged toward her, grabbing her forearms. “Who do you think the world will believe? Me, a knight and defender of kingdoms, or you, the daughter of a traitor and a whore.”

His eyes trailed over the exquisite lines of her stricken face, over the full swell of her heaving bosom as she struggled for breath. Panic claimed her. She was at his mercy. For a moment, he was awash in her absolute vulnerability. Her father was guilty of treason, and now Henry was dead. The woman before him—she who had wrinkled her nose at his advances time and again—was completely at his mercy. He licked his lips. “Or mayhap an arrangement could be made.” He pressed her flush against him. “It is in my power to conceal your crime. It could appear as though your husband’s death was an accident; that is…” He stroked her cheek with his iron hand. “If you agree to be my leman.”

“Do not touch me,” she screamed. 

He thrust out his chest and stared down at her, longing to put her in her place. “I have given you a choice,” he growled. “You can choose death, which
will
be the penalty for killing your husband, or you can choose me.”

She strained to push him away.

“Your struggles only serve to excite me,” he taunted.

He felt her break. She sagged in his arms. “I did not kill him,” he heard her whimper before burying her face in her hands.

Her lavender scent mingled with the iron scent of blood, causing his heart to quicken. “This is all your doing, none but yours,” he said, his voice deadly soft. “You’re a woman, full of deceit, no better than Eve.”

Her head jerked up. Defiant golden brown eyes met his. “Were it not for my son, I would choose death.”

He released her, the thrill of victory upturning his lips into a wide smile, but she kept her gaze downcast. Shoulders curved inward, she slowly shuffled toward the door.

“Where are you going?” he snapped.

She glanced back, a snarl twisting her fine features. “Make your accident happen,” she hissed. “I am now in mourning.”

His eyes narrowed. “You agree to my terms then?”

She turned her back on him. “In one month’s time, I will come to you.”

Despite the coldness of her statement, he felt his member thicken. His gaze followed the stiff sway of her full hips out the door. He savored the sight of her pitiful retreat. Then he turned and stared at his brother’s body, the former Lord Ravensworth. Before Rupert could claim Henry’s title, he first had to account for his death. But how? Raking a hand through his hair, he looked past the hearth toward a heavy tapestry, behind which he knew was a doorway that opened to a steep and winding stairwell. It would be easy enough to loose one’s footing on the narrow stones. Shame came over him then, but he dismissed that knowing truth with righteous contempt. None of this had been his fault. Henry never should have married a lowly born daughter of trouble makers. The fault was hers, and he would see that she was made to pay. She would finally know her place. Swallowing, he reached for Henry’s body, lifting it over his shoulder and started to cross the room when he heard a gasp. Rupert jerked around. Sir Matthew had returned and with him, the monk.