Chapter 5

It was not disappointment she felt, but something else, something she could not yet name, as she realized it was Raven, the moon bathing him in shadows and a pale glow, revealing enough for Abrielle to recognize him, but not enough for her to see clearly the expression on his face. So, her intruder was neither squire nor stranger, and she knew she ought to feel relieved, but she did not.

Caution and propriety dictated she leave his presence immediately, but something else, something far less familiar, kept her rooted to the spot. It was as if the damp evening fog had seeped into her brain, making her forget everything and everyone save the handsome man who was once again watching her with bold, unguarded interest. What strange power did he hold over her that a mere glance or a small curve of his mouth could set her senses reeling this way? The very sight of him should send a betrothed woman scampering for the safety of her chamber; instead Abrielle felt more powerfully drawn to him than ever, her body reacting in the age-old way a woman responds to a man.

He shifted his weight slightly and a shaft of pearl light illuminated the loose, long-sleeved white shirt he wore with his kilt and soft leather boots. "So," he said quietly. "Are ye?"

Are ye? Abrielle frowned in consternation. Was she…what? It was no easy matter to concentrate with one's heart racing and an army of butterflies assaulting from within and she struggled to recall his words to her.

"Disappointed," he prompted before she had to ask. "Assuming, of course, it was your intended you slipped from the warm safety of your bed ta meet with in this…" He glanced around. "This perfectly dark and dank spot for an assignation. I freely confess ta being a poor substitute for the man ye seek, mayhap the poorest ta be found the world over. Perhaps ye've noticed how very little I have in common with the man of your dreams." When she blinked in confusion, he added, "Our gracious host."

Abrielle tossed her loosened hair over her shoulder. "I fear 'tis you who'll be disappointed, sir," she told him.

"Truly?" He ambled a few steps closer, regarding her with deliberation. "I cannot think how, when the heavens above have seen fit to reward my own nighttime rambling with a glimpse of the fairest beauty ever sent to earth."

Though she roiled inside, she feigned control, rolling her eyes in seeming humor. "Indeed you are your father's son, a Seabern through and through. But since there is no one here you seek to impress, you may as well save your pretty words. I was referring to the disappointment you will surely suffer when you realize how very wrong you are. You see, I've no assignation planned for this evening, with our gracious host or anyone else."

He took another step, and Abrielle was very aware that the closer he came, the softer and lower pitched his voice became, and as he moved closer still, she felt a frisson of velvet shivers along her spine. "Are ye so sure ye know me well enough ta know whom it is I seek ta impress?" he asked.

"I am sure I do not need to know you any better than I do," she told him.

"Ah," he said, with an unmistakable trace of amusement. "In that case, my lady, I acknowledge my poor judgment, and can only wonder what causes you ta wander through the keep, dressed so poorly against the chill, and at an hour most happy brides would be sound asleep, dreaming sweet bridal dreams."

Abrielle hugged herself as if she were cold, thankful he could not know how very warm she'd grown these past moments. "I marvel at your intimate knowledge of brides, sir. Speaking only for myself, I could not sleep, and thought some crisp night air might bring those sweet dreams you refer to. In my restlessness, I wandered farther than I intended."

Abrielle tensed as he came closer still, and reminded herself it was past time for her to take leave of him, and assured herself she would soon, but not just yet. She had to ask herself what was wrong with her, for if ever there was a time in her life when she ought to be erring on the side of caution, it was surely now. Instead, with so much at stake, not only for her, but for those she loved most in the world, the troublesome reckless streak she'd shared with her father and had thought she'd outgrown, or at least learned to suppress, suddenly chose to make itself known.

"It is easy ta wander too far in a place such as this," he assured her, now very near, his closeness forcing her heart to beat even more rapidly than before, something she would not have thought possible.

She lifted her chin, vowing she would not let him see her fear, and forced herself to dissemble. "Yes, you're right, I find I'm much further from my chamber than I'd thought. One must cope with one's nerves as best one can, and a wedding causes so much happy anticipation…"

The words nearly stuck in her throat, but she would not have him know the extent of her family's desperation. She had lost much, her dear father, her first betrothed, her safety and peace of mind, even her dreams for the future, and soon even more would be taken from her, but she would not surrender the battered remnants of her pride.

Raven arched a dark brow. "‘Happy anticipation'? Forgive my impertinence, my lady, but I seem ta recall that the last time I saw ye with de Marlé, he was accosting ye. Is it that which inspires such happy anticipation? Or was my judgment also faulty that night at the palace? Mayhap ye were not in need of rescue."

Abrielle bristled, especially at the fact that he seemed to relish every moment of her discomfort. "What happened that night was a…misunderstanding between the squire and myself," she told him. "One since rectified."

His expression changed, becoming harsher, and his voice changed also. It was clearly full of anger, and his tone was deadly quiet, and she took a step back. "A misunderstanding, was it? The squire perhaps misunderstood that he had not yet formally presented for your hand, much less had his suit accepted by your stepfather, and that no agreement had been reached, no bond formed, nor banns published. Did he also misunderstand the fact that he had no better right ta waylay and manhandle ye, ta touch and paw ye…"

Abrielle determined to keep her composure, though the effort cost her dearly, and offered only a shrug and halfhearted murmur. "I believe it was more a matter of the squire simply being too eager."

She could see that the anger she'd heard building in his voice had become etched on his face, turning the already hard lines and angles to granite, as he responded to her words. "I can only hope ye don't truly believe that rubbish, or worse, have it in your head that such ‘eagerness' is normal for a man. An honorable man knows what is his and what is not, and he acts accordingly…no matter how badly he wants—" He broke off sharply. "An honorable man understands there are things in this world worth the waiting."

For no good reason, a warm melting pleasure spread through Abrielle. Everything about him, from the stubborn set of his jaw to the fervor in his tone, revealed that Raven was such a man and she recoiled from the prospect of defending de Marlé to him. She fumbled for a response of some kind, finally settling for a halfhearted obligatory, "I trust you do not mean to imply that my betrothed is not honorable."

"It matters not at all what I think. What matters is what ye think of him."

She looked into his eyes, fully prepared for a knowing gleam and instead finding understanding, and it was too much to bear.

"Oh, for pity's sake," she exclaimed, "if you think so poorly of him, why on earth did you accept his invitation?"

"Ta be honest, I was curious."

"About his motives?"

He smiled sardonically and shook his head. "No. He's not that complicated; his motives were obvious. He wanted me here so he could flaunt his conquest of ye."

She inhaled sharply. She'd had the same thought, but Raven did not have to know that. "The castle is in near proximity to your country," she reminded him. "Perhaps he only hoped to show his goodwill to your King David."

"Then he should have invited King David," he said drily.

"Do you already so regret coming here?"

His hesitation was long, and the tension rising between them was something new and unmistakable. "Nay, my lady, for the chance ta see ye again, I would have braved far worse."

There was no one but her about to hear his pretty phrases, leaving no doubt he meant them for her alone. There was a husky intimacy in his voice that was also all new to Abrielle. Her feelings of uneasiness blossomed into yearning—followed quickly by fierce anger. Surely he knew what he was doing, tempting a woman about to be married.

"Do not speak so to me," she hissed, "or I will know who lacks honor."

She whirled about and retreated, intent on reaching the closest safety, her parents' bedchamber, and not stopping until she did.

Raven followed at a distance, then waited directly outside the heavy door until he detected the sound of the wooden bar being eased into place on the other side. Her safety mattered to him more than it ought, certainly more than was wise.

He ran his hand down his face with a soft groan. Why did he lose all sense of restraint when he was near Abrielle? He'd promised himself he would handle all dealings with her as befit a distant acquaintance.

Then he saw her standing alone in the moonlight, a fairy princess with curls the color of sunrise tumbling about her shoulders, her lithe graceful form more tempting in her soft cotton gown than any woman he'd ever seen dressed in velvet and jewels. And he'd seen his share of women, dressed and undressed; more than enough not to respond to a glimpse of pleasing curve or hint of enticing hollow like a green boy yet to steal his first kiss. Yet somehow simply looking at Abrielle robbed him of caution, and perhaps—as she suggested—a bit of the uncompromising honor he prided himself upon.

God, the woman was right about him, and he despised his weakness where she was concerned. If he were half as smart as he was proud, he would do as he'd sworn before coming and stay as far away from her as possible for the duration of his visit. If he were just a bit smarter than that, he would leave now, in plenty of time before the wedding ceremony itself, which he fully expected to be an exercise in torment. He did not need to see Abrielle before the church doors in her lace and finery to know the sight of her could make his knees want to buckle and slam his heart into his ribs so hard it hurt. Or that seeing her given to de Marlé, before man and God, would make him want to bellow an ancient war cry and steal her away at sword point.

Damn, he should leave tonight, this very moment, he thought, knowing he had no intention of following his own good advice. Leaving would be cowardly and Raven Seabern was no damn coward. Nay, he would stay and give the sniveling squire his petty satisfaction. He would stay and do something that would take more guts than any battle or brawl or beating that went before. He was a royal emissary, trained to keep even the most riotous emotions in check, a skill that in his world could mean the difference between blessed life and certain death; he would stand in silence and watch the only woman who'd ever touched him to his very core, without so much as placing a gloved fingertip on him, marry another man.

THE NEWLY RISINGsun glimmered through the lower branches of the trees lining the hills along the eastern horizon, with its rosy glow tingeing the heavily swirling mists drifting eerily over the marshy terrain that partially surrounded the keep. Within the enclosed courtyard of the well-fortified edifice, serfs with lackluster eyes and cheeks noticeably sunken scurried about in anxious haste as they laid heavily laden trenchers before the hunters. When the trays were whisked away, many of the serfs were seen hurriedly cramming whatever meager scraps were left into their mouths.

More than a score of hunting hounds were creating an underlying cacophony of pleading whines and snarls as they sought to keep close to their masters. A well-placed boot or the heavy end of a sturdy staff evoked sudden yelps and usually sent the dogs scurrying off in every direction, whence they soon ventured forth again to lick up whatever scraps of meat had fallen from overflowing platters being borne by hastening serfs.

Sitting among those whose greed set their minds aflame with various schemes to seize whatever prizes they could pilfer were men of quieter, subtler natures who took the hunt seriously and were confident of their own abilities. Leaving others to their wily wrangling and overloud boasting of past pursuits, these men silently inspected the straightness of their spears and arrows. The pair of Scotsmen was firmly a part of this latter group.

Raven casually honed several spears to a sharper point in preparation for the boar hunt on the morrow. The fact that he and his father knew no one in attendance had been expected. In spite of the fact that his friends in the highlands had been wont to question his rationale for accepting an invitation to attend the nuptials of one who would likely prove a treacherous enemy, Raven hadn't been able to forget the bonny lass he had rescued, nor could he ignore the fierce desire he felt to possess her. She seemed to him a delicate flower whose beauty was beyond measure. To mature into a full-fledged woman, she would have to be gently nurtured, and there was scant chance of that happening in the hands of a fiend like de Marlé. Raven feared she would not long survive under his abuse.

Cedric pursed his mustached lips as he contemplated the blade he had been honing and then elevated his gaze to meet his son's. "We hadn't a chance ta talk of this earlier, so I'll be asking ye now. I warned ye that de Marlé might be craving revenge, and now that I've seen the look in his eyes, I believe it even more so."

Raven glanced at his father. "Ye don't find his sudden camaraderie convincing?"

Cedric snorted. "Lad, would ye mind telling your old da why ye insisted upon venturing inta this trap like some blind beggar?"

Raven bestowed a wry grin upon his parent. "I know ye've na been a widower so long that ye canna admire a pretty face right along with the rest of us, Da. Ye've seen for yourself how bonny the lass is."

"Please tell me ye mean the Lady Cordelia."

"Nay, 'tis Abrielle who's struck her arrow deep in my heart."

Cedric sighed and shook his head. "I was afraid of just that when I saw the keen way you looked at her yesterday, and that's before I took note of the way the lady was looking back. Didna I hear some wild rumor whirling about on the winds that the lass is spoken for? Was that not our reasoning for venturing ta this here keep, ta attend the nuptials betwixt de Marlé and his lady fair?"

The younger man shrugged. "If ye'll remember, Da, I didna ask ta be invited. The good squire did that on his own. It's true I would have preferred the poor lass not be tied ta such a man, but the contract's been signed and I have to accept it." Even as he said it, everything in him roiled in protest. To distract himself as much as his father, he turned to a different subject. "Of course it does make me wonder even more what he's about. It might be far-fetched ta suppose he means ta do us both ill, but then again, 'twould prove interesting. Might be I could add some excitement ta the occasion."

"I'm not sure Abrielle would consider violence breaking out in the middle of her wedding ‘interesting.'" Cedric slowly waggled his gray head. "Aye, ta be sure, lad, ye'd then have a right ta defend yourself. Still, taking inta account the poor man's nearly twice your age and weight and no taller than your shoulders, any altercation ye'd be starting betwixt the two of ye wouldna seem entirely fair ta that brood of vipers he calls his friends."

"Oh, I dinna intend ta invite it, Da," Raven assured his sire. "And the lady has made it obvious she wants no help from the likes of me. Yet I feel…guilty."

"There be no need for that, lad. Ye dinna even ken the reasons she chose such a man."

"Desperation, Da, what else could it be?"

"Whatever it is, 'tis not our concern."

Raven made a noncommittal sound, thinking those words weren't any more convincing coming from his father than they had been when he said them to himself.

AbrIELLE SPENT THEfirst day of the hunt with the women. They'd all gathered to see off the men, cheering and shouting and waving tokens of their affection. She could not help but notice that wherever the two Scotsmen rode, the crowd quieted, as if they did not want to encourage the enemy. Desmond's cohorts took to jeering in a most dishonorable manner, and Abrielle did not want the celebration of her marriage to turn ugly and have someone hurt. When at last Desmond looked at her, she gave him an appealing glance, and with a wave of his hand, he quieted his raucous men. The two Scotsmen rode forth in dignity, but Abrielle knew the uneasy quiet did not bode well. And she saw Desmond glance at her again, his small eyes narrowed.

That night, when the hunters brought back their spoils, it was obvious that Cedric had claimed the honor of bagging the largest and most majestic stag, and would win the first purse. So large was the stag that even Thurstan could not claim another the winner, though Abrielle thought he hesitated enough over the carcasses.

At supper, no one wanted to share the trestle table with Raven and his father. The two men ate heartily as if they had no concerns, but how could they miss the tense resentment from both Saxon and Norman alike? Cordelia and Abrielle exchanged a worried look.

"It is most unseemly that guests are treated so," Abrielle murmured to her friend.

Hesitantly, Cordelia said, "You are not yet the mistress of this keep."

"I know, but these men are behaving as if the Seaberns personally attacked our lands in times past. They're Highlanders, not the men from just over the border. And if a melee breaks out, will that not ruin everything?"

"If it delays the wedding, will you not be grateful?"

"Cordelia!" Lady Grayson gasped, looking around, but no one had overheard them.

"I do not want to delay the wedding," Abrielle said firmly, wishing her stepfather didn't look so despondent as he hunched over his tankard of ale. "But if this will soon be my home, Desmond's friends must understand common decency. Now they are like a pack of dogs, allowing themselves to be all riled up. And if fighting breaks out, do you not think our fathers will feel forced to become involved?"

As Cordelia blanched, Elspeth leaned toward her daughter. "Abrielle, you are correct in your concerns. You and I both know how men can behave when they're past thought. Remember how your late father felt compelled to accept that challenge that took him from us forever."

Abrielle shuddered. "I cannot let that happen again." She rose gracefully to her feet and began to walk across the great hall, stepping through rushes that had not been swept out in months.

Raven stopped eating when he saw Abrielle moving through the raucous crowd. She was like the proud bow of a boat, leaving ripples of quiet in her wake. Such was her beauty that men stopped eating to stare at her, and Raven knew he was no different.

"Close your mouth, lad," his father said with amusement. "Och, soon ye'll be catching flies that way."

Abrielle stopped at table after table, her smile sweet, her melodious voice soothing. They could not hear what she said, but more than one guest gave a last glance at the Scotsmen and sank back onto their benches.

"What is she doing?" Raven murmured, frustrated that he could only watch and wonder.

"Calming her guests," Cedric ventured.

As intent as he was on Abrielle, Raven made a point of also watching de Marlé's reaction. At first, when it seemed Abrielle was coming to join him, the squire's expression was full of pleasure, but as she stopped at more tables along the way, he began glancing at Raven's table with increasing displeasure. Raven did his best to ignore what was going on, but it wasn't easy when he was so captivated by the woman's slightest movement and every hint of emotion that flickered across her face. He couldn't stop looking at her, and every time he did, he wanted to touch her, to hold that wondrous body against his and assuage his need with her softness. He had been unable to wipe her from his mind this last month, and now being in the same keep with her only made his desire stronger. At that moment he was very grateful for the diplomatic experience that enabled him to sit there expressionless, revealing none of the thoughts and feelings rioting inside. De Marlé might seem like an ignorant man, but he was no fool. His cunning was of the malicious sort, and Raven knew that if the other man's glare were a sword, his head would have rolled clear across the hall by now.

To Raven's great relief, Abrielle did not come to his table, but went instead to her betrothed and gave him her sweetest smile. Raven wished he were free to challenge the man for the right to stare into those lovely blue-green eyes. As if sensing his restlessness, his father touched his thigh briefly in warning, and Raven, still as restless, went back to pretending to concentrate on his meal.

Desmond gladly took the hand of his beautiful betrothed and held it high before planting a kiss on it. There were good-natured calls now about the wedding night, and he saw Abrielle's face redden in a virgin's blush.

But he could not forget the way she'd calmed his guests, all for the Scotsmen. His plan to avenge himself against Raven Seabern by parading his bride before him wasn't turning out as he'd planned. True, he knew the Scot still burned for her, but so did every man here, and Raven was doing better than most at keeping his desire submerged.

Worst of all, he saw how deliberately Abrielle kept her gaze from Raven, as if she was afraid to look too close, afraid of what she might feel.

And Desmond could not stand for that. His plans would have to be altered. His nephew Thurstan had men held in reserve in case a show of strength was necessary. It was time to call them into action. An attack by thieves would be more believable than having two healthy men suddenly succumb to poison.

DUSK WAS NIGHas Raven and his father reined their mounts along the far bank of the meandering river some distance from the keep, very near the place where the fast-flowing water rippled over rocky shallows. On this, the second day of the hunt, father and son had glimpsed several boars, none of which had seemed worthy of being pursued, although Cedric had commented that any fresh boar would only improve the castle's menu. With the number of huntsmen wandering hither and yon, in the process making enough noise to send a variety of animals scurrying off to hidden niches, the more commendable game had been difficult to find.

Raven and his father had decided to venture farther afield in the opposite direction, not only to seek their quarry in an area to which others would unwittingly drive theirs, but also, hopefully, to stay out of harm's way from errant arrows and spears. The combination of hilly terrain and fast-flowing streams posed no difficulty for those nurtured throughout their lives within the highlands of Scotland. 'Twas not long before those who trailed in their wake desisted in their attempt and retreated to a more level area of ground closer to the keep.

The sun was sinking beyond the uppermost pinnacles of the lofty trees when father and son found themselves on the trail of a boar that promised to challenge another record. Moments earlier they had descended to an area near a fast-flowing stream where Raven espied the animal scurrying off into a thicket deeply shaded by towering trees. Silently gesturing to his father, he brought Cedric's attention to bear upon the animal's tracks and a freshly broken branch near the base of a larch. Raven leaned from the saddle and, with his spear, brushed aside the lower boughs to reveal an enormous boar, complete with massive curved tusks, taking shelter near the trunk. Immediately an angry squealing rent the silence as the quarry raced forth, leaving the lower fronds swaying wildly in its wake. As the boughs raked his bristly hide, the animal danced aside and thrust about with his tusks in an effort to find his phantom foe.

Very much in a temper, the boar squealed as it charged into the clearing. At its approach, Raven touched his spurs lightly against his stallion's flanks, turning the steed to allow him to face the smaller animal directly. The boar fixed its eyes upon this menacing presence looming before it and snorted threateningly as it began tearing up the ground with its tusks, hurling thick tufts of grass helter-skelter. Then, thrusting back upon its hind legs, it launched itself in a forceful race toward the stallion.

Raven promptly reined his mount aside, allowing the prey to race on past. A moment later, the boar ended its furious charge beneath the wide-spreading boughs of another larch no more than a stone's throw beyond the place where Raven had halted. The lower branches of the towering tree swayed wildly to and fro as the animal tore through them in a vicious temper.

Upon emerging from the lower boughs, the boar rushed forward, only to find the man awaiting him with lance held at the ready. With a mighty thrust Raven sent the spear toward its target, promptly skewering the boar on its shaft. Squealing in agony, the animal twisted this way and that in a frantic attempt to free itself. Gradually its movements slowed and became awkward as it staggered haphazardly in retreat. There, the animal collapsed upon its short legs.

Raven rose in his stirrups, intending to dismount, but from out of nowhere a spear whizzed past, opening a tiny gash on one cheek. Blood drops flew without his notice. Instinct and knowledge gained from his father's relentless tutoring over the years took over and he followed the path of the weapon to where its jagged point lodged in the trunk of a tree. From behind came the splashing sound of riders crossing the stream and he quickly reined his stallion about to face them, eager to do battle with an enemy who attacked without warning or provocation.

Raven looked from the riders back toward the tree and with a quick nudge of his spurs sent his stallion racing in that direction. Without slowing, he grasped the weathered shaft of the brigand's spear and jerked it from the trunk, tossed it briefly into the air to claim a better grip on it, and with its shank firmly in hand, again reined his steed around. His sire turned as well and together they faced the pair of cloaked, helmeted riders spurring their huge, shaggy steeds toward them.

Their thundering hoofbeats seemed to echo through the forest glade as one of them reached behind his back and drew forth a heavy battle-ax. Its bearer lifted the weapon high above his head, and though his dark eyes were barely visible beneath the visor of his crude, battered helm, they fixed unswervingly upon the younger Scotsman.

Drawing the spear back over his shoulder, Raven bided his time, closely eyeing the pair advancing toward him. Cedric sent his own steed racing forward as he sought to intercept them before they could do harm to his son. Upon espying him, the nearest brigand wheeled his warhorse about and dispatched the animal in a straight line toward the elder. Glimmering through the eyeholes of the mask, the gray eyes never strayed from the older man, the brigard's widening, black-toothed grin conveying a grim promise of death beneath the crudely finished headgear as he slowly swung the heavy mace he clasped to and fro.

The elder's gleaming claymore sang richly as it was drawn forth from its scabbard. Facing the oncoming charge squarely, Cedric touched his spurs to his stallion's flanks. Clods of greensward and leaf-matted turf flew helter-skelter as both steeds raced toward each other across the narrow expanse of land separating them. Raising a war cry that widened the eyes of his adversary, Cedric swung his claymore in a circular motion high above his head as he guided his mount merely by the pressure of his knees. The two steeds met, the smaller one easily whisking alongside the huge warhorse as the elder rose in his stirrups. In the next instant, the claymore rang with a note of deathly clarity as it whipped about with a deft stroke, clanging briefly against the crude helmet before separating the brigand's head from his cloaked form.

The heavy mace plummeted from a lifeless hand, but Cedric took no notice of the decapitated body's tumbling descent as he whirled his steed about to see what further assistance he could be to his son. Another moment more, and he would have failed to witness the skewering of the stranger on Raven's spear.

Cedric eyed his offspring for any evidence of injury and, upon seeing none, rumbled in the chiding tones of a parent, "It took ye long enough ta finish off that brigand, lad. Didna I always tell ye ta be punctual in the face of danger?"

Cocking a dubious brow at his sire, Raven gave as good as he got. "I was averse ta shaming ye by finishing off the man afore ye took care of the one ye went after. Besides, if ye'll remember, I had ta retrieve the brigand's weapon afore I could enter the fray."

"Fine excuse ye're giving me," Cedric chided. Though conveying a lighthearted mood, this most recent attempt upon his son's life left him seething with a burning hatred for the man who had invited them for such a diabolical purpose. "Might ye be knowing the names of these beggarly souls we've just killed, laddie? And might ye be explaining your thinking as to the man behind them?"

Dismounting, Raven tied the two shaggy warhorses to a pair of trees, proceeded to remove the helmet from the man he'd killed, then shook his head and shrugged. "I'm guessing they're simple soldiers. Who put them up ta this foul deed is what we'll have ta determine…should there mayhap be a wee chance the culprit is someone other than Squire de Marlé."

Cedric shook his head sadly as he surveyed the carnage. "Betwixt the two of us, lad, I'd say there's no mistaking the wily toad who put this pair up ta killing ye. De Marlé had no reason for inviting us, except ta serve us up as meat for his dogs."

"Aye, that and his preening arrogance." Raven's gaze narrowed. "Still, it's hard to believe even a sorry excuse for a man like de Marlé would be contemplating murder only a day before he's to exchange wedding vows with a woman as fair and winsome as Abrielle."

"Ye shamed him, lad, that ye did, not only by saving the bonny lass from his foul purposes, but by showing him ta be a coward his own mother wouldna own up ta birthing."

Raven smiled. "I canna think it helped him warm ta me when he saw how his betrothed went ta the trouble of quieting an entire hall in our defense at the banquet last eve."

"I saw the look he gave ye and I didn't like it," admitted Cedric.

"But does he question the lass's loyalty so much that he would kill?"

"I'd be more likely to question her eyesight," his father retorted. "The thought of the bonny lass about ta marry that man would make a stone weep."

"So now ye agree she'd have ta be desperate ta make such a choice? If, indeed, he was her choice. I think there's more ta the arrangement than anyone knows, something so dire Vachel had no choice but ta agree ta the match."

"So what do ye intend, seeing as how we're guests of the murdering rascal?" Cedric asked, peering at his offspring speculatively. He waved a hand about to indicate the gory scene around them. "If we stay, we'll be facing more of what we've just encountered."

"And it'll end the same. I speak only for myself, Da, I'll be staying, and past the nuptials as well. If something should go awry, the lass will be needing protection."

"That doesn't mean it has to be your protection," Cedric pointed out.

Raven squashed any further protest with a sideways glance. "I'm staying."

"Ye can be sure de Marlé willna be waiting long ta find another ta kill ye," Cedric warned. "Once we bring back these men, he'll be even more set ta see ta your death."

Raven canted his head thoughtfully for a long moment before meeting his father's gaze. "Whatever comes, I mean ta deliver these men ta the keep ta let him know 'twill take more than two soldiers ta dispense with us. Mayhap the sight of these poor beggars will sour his gut or cause him ta fear for his life. After that, I'll be biding me time, but one way or the other, I'll be having it out with the man. What's between him and his lady may not be my business," he said with another quick glance at the dead men, "but this surely is."

Cedric whisked a knuckle beneath his bushy mustache. "Mayhap the toad'll have a seizure when he sees what we've bagged for ourselves."

Raven snorted in contempt. "I wish he would…a permanent one ta lay him inta his grave. Then the Lady Abrielle would be free."

"Free ta be choosing another, ye mean?" Cedric responded, cocking a brow curiously as he peered at his son.

Raven slowly grinned as he met the elder's blue eyes. "Ye know, Da, ye've always been so clever at reading me thoughts, making me wonder at times why I even bother voicing them."

"Mayhap ye'll be having the same canny sense of your own in a few more years." Cedric harrumphed, as if trying to clear his throat. "Till then, just follow my lead if ye think the matter is worthy, otherwise see ta yourself."

"I intend ta," Raven said, his amusement fading.