Forbidden by Sophia Johnson Page B

him,
before he spoke again.
    “Yet!”

CHAPTER 10
    Yet? Catalin’s eyelids flew high to near
ruffle her brows. He was thinking on it? She shuddered. ‘Twould be
better to be done with now than dread waiting for the first blows
to fall. She grabbed the sheet in her fists and clutched it tight
to her neck.
    Likely he would not be as heavy-handed as her
Uncle Hamon, her only living relative, had been. Though Hamon was
her mother’s brother, he was nothing like that sweet woman had
been. He had been furious when she refused to marry Moridac soon
after her father died.
    Moridac had noted the fading bruises on her
arms when she foolishly wore a wide-sleeved tunic. He shook her
uncle and threatened to flay him did he dare strike her again. So
to heart did her uncle take it, he refused to again accompany her
to Raptor Castle.
    In case Ranald slept, she dared not move. She
caught her breath and edged her head to the side to venture a peek
at him in the dim light. She saw his profile, saw the white of his
left eye shining. Saints! He did not sleep. He stared at the
ceiling.
    Fearful he would feel her gaze on him, she
squeezed her eyes shut and sought sleep. Ha. As if that were
possible. Her racing mind went back over their time in bed. With
that one night with Moridac, she had not the experience to tell,
but she had not expected a monk-turned-man to relish bed sport.
    Ranald had not hesitated to touch her, had
seemed to delight in it. Her body flushed, remembering. Moridac had
not savored each touch like his brother had but had lingered only
long enough to prepare her for him. Soon as he attained his
release, he had moved away. She remembered wanting something more,
but not knowing what it was.
    She knew now.
    Ranald had pleasured her until all strength
had drained from her, so tumultuous had been her release. Judging
from the fervor of his thrusts, his own explosive release, he had
enjoyed their joining as much as she.
    If not for his tonsure, never would she have
believed he had lived as a monk. Her eyelids flew wide again. Could
he have remembered how to make bed-sport from when he was a young
man? Had he practiced? Mayhap he had not been celibate. Were there
women housed in the abbey? By chance, a comely cook? How could she
ask him?
    “Go to sleep!”
    Ranald had not thought a lass could startle
so much she would near fall off the bed. Catalin clutched the sheet
to her forehead and went so still he feared she had stopped
breathing.
    In his mind’s eye, he could see his father
sleeping with a grin spread wide on his face. No doubt gleefully
anticipating telling one and all that the sheets had been snowflake
white. No stains of lovemaking. No telltale red proving the bride
had been untried. Knowing him, he would demand to see Ranald’s
arms, his legs, to spy evidence of a cut.
    He would wear naught but a kilt when he rose,
baring his arms. Would let the kilt ride up his thighs when he
mounted Satin’s Spawn. When he came into the bailey after a bout of
sword practice with Raik, he would strip and rinse at the well.
Naught would show that he was misleading them, for he had chosen
his areas well. For them to be visible, he would have to balance on
his head, his legs widespread to the sky.
    Ah, to deceive Broccin! He burned knowing how
his father had deceived him. He had given no hint Moridac had
sampled his betrothed. His remark of the babe favoring his brother
was dafty, since they were identical twins—except for the unsightly
scars. Likely, Moridac had been the fool and bragged to his
sire.
    He clutched the vial tight in his fist. Once
Catalin slept, he would conceal Hannah’s token at the bottom of his
scabbard. ‘Twas enough room there for the sword to share. While
with Raik, he would empty the vial, crush it and spread dirt over
it. An uneasy thought struck. Had Raik known? He would find out. If
he knew and had not warned him, he would pay for it.
    Finally, the black sky gave way to the
faintest hint of gray. He eased