Forbidden Read Online Free Page B

the
damned gates. I have orders from King David that concern yer sorry
arse.”
    Ranald’s throaty snarl and the harsh rasp of
his sword leaving its sheath answered his father. Though all else
was still, wind began to stir and lift dirt and leaves into
ever-increasing circles in front of Ranald as his horse stamped
closer to the gate.
    “Brother Ranald.”
    Ranald felt Prior Godric’s serene presence
nearby and the soft tug on his frock. He looked down to find he
stood close.
    “My son, allow Chief Broccin to enter.” The
prior fingered his cross, his eyes gentle with sympathy when they
looked into Ranald’s.
    “Aye, Ranald. ‘Tis best to get it over with.
He’s not about to leave.”
    Sweat trickled down Raik’s temple. His jaw
looked tense, too. What had he to fear? Ranald’s stomach churned in
dread.
    He slapped his sword back into its scabbard
then nodded at the gatekeeper. The man’s hands shook so badly it
took several tries before he could free the lock and push the door
halfway open. Broccin shoved through and rode to the center of the
courtyard. He did not dismount in one smooth motion as was his
custom, but laboriously climbed from his saddle.
    Ranald stayed by the gate until Raik’s two
men and Domnall entered, along with a man attired in the king’s
livery. Ranald nodded and the gate clanged shut again. He rode over
to where Brother Octavius waited and dismounted.
    “After ye have secured their weapons, please
see the men outside are given ample water. Ask if anyone needs
aid.” Ranald spoke quietly to the monk who had worked with him for
the past five years. He handed his own sword to the young novice
beside him.
    As he strode over to the group waiting in
front of the abbot’s house, he watched the prior greet his father.
His sire had not changed overmuch. Truth, his temples were gray and
bitterness had etched lines beside his lips. His eyes had dimmed
somewhat, no longer as piercing dark as before. He was tall, his
muscles lean...a body much like Ranald would have when age crept up
to meet him.
    Raik stood, his posture stiff with
displeasure radiating from every inch of his body as he, too,
stared at Broccin.
    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