His Stolen Bride BN (35 page)

He sighed, longing for Averyl. Had he pushed her away foolishly, without cause? Had
he endured wretched months of icy loneliness when he could have basked in the warmth
of her love?

Either way, he must rid his soul of Averyl, before the pain he felt at her absence
killed him.

“’Tis sorry I am, Mother. I knew not the truth.”

Suddenly, wind whisked across his face, seeming to carry Diera’s hauntingly familiar
scent.

He whirled about, swearing he would find her there, so strong was her presence. Yet
he saw nothing but a barren February winterland, white snow clinging to leafless trees.

“Mother?” he called, feeling her with him still, despite the fact his eyes told him
differently.

As quickly as the wind had come, it left, replaced by the bite of the cold dawn. Drake
tingled with a certainty that Diera had both listened to his words and forgiven him.

From the nearby gardens, he retrieved a few flowers that had survived the winter chill,
and laid the snow-capped blossoms across her grave.

He knelt before the simple wooden cross and prayed to God to look favorably upon his
mother and allow her past the gates into His Kingdom. He asked forgiveness for his
own wayward actions, including those to come. Most of all, he prayed for Averyl’s
future happiness and safety.

But now ’twas time to kill his brother—or be killed.

* * * * *

Minutes later, Drake shook Firtha awake.

“What— Who…”

“Shh,” Drake whispered. “I’ve no time to talk. Murdoch has Averyl.”

The maid sat up. “Aye, he is using her to trap ye.”

“I know. Where does he keep her?”

She hesitated. “The gatehouse.”

Drake’s mouth fell agape. “In the dungeon? Upon my word, I will kill him! She is far
too delicate—”

“Praise be ye ken that!”

“I do, which is why we must not waste time. If you can, see her. Tell her I will not
leave her again, not to Murdoch.”

Firtha nodded. “I will find a way. Now, ye hiv to worry how to free her. Do ye hiv
a plan?”

“Beyond luring Murdoch to his death, nay. But I will. Know you how Averyl fares so
far?”

“Our Lord Dunollie haes more desire to find ye than bed her. She eats and sleeps alone.”

“Thank God,” he muttered. “But still, I must tread carefully.” Drake rose to pace.
“Christ’s oath, I want to free her, regardless of the danger. I want to cause Murdoch
pain for the hurt he has done her.”

Firtha took his hand. “Ye are in love, Drake.” When he would have protested, she held
up her hand. “Ye ken that, I hiv no doubt. Admit it now, whilst ye can.”

He wrenched away. “All I feel now is regret for Averyl’s pain and hate for Murdoch.”

“Ye love ’er,” Firtha insisted, “e’en if ye don’t like it.”

He tried to ignore the burning in his chest as the acknowledgement of Firtha’s words
loomed. Aye, fool that he was, he loved Averyl. Six months away from her had changed
naught in his heart…except that the pain of their separation forced him to admit the
truth.

Still, he could never tell Averyl he needed her like food, like water. He could give
no one, least of all her, the key to his soul. She could destroy him with it. She
had cause now.

After bidding Firtha farewell, Drake wound through the underground tunnels and emerged
from Dunollie, mind racing. He scarce paid attention to the moonlit path.

Though he could not tell her of his love, Drake worried about Averyl in Murdoch’s
dungeon. The fiend plotted to rape her, while forcing the man she had professed to
love to watch.

When he had imagined revenge, Drake had never expected to destroy anyone but Murdoch
and, perhaps, himself. Seeking this renegade justice had cost Averyl her freedom.
And Drake had no illusions; before this mad state of affairs played itself to the
end, his revenge could well cost Averyl her life.

He cursed. Wondering about her while he laid this death trap for Murdoch, knowing
Murdoch had struck and threatened her, all of it stabbed pain in his gut, his heart.

Aye, no doubt anymore. He did love her. Mayhap he had from the start of her captivity,
for she’d always drawn him.

And ’twas clear Averyl believed that she loved him. No woman he knew, even Firtha,
would be forgiving enough to set aside her pain and fury over a man’s abandonment
at her greatest hour of need and still return to Dunollie to wed a monster in exchange
for her lover’s freedom.

Had he ever been loved that selflessly? Nay, even his father had conditioned his love
to ensure obedience. He had been a good man, but one who demanded his wishes be met.
Had that been the reason his parents had known no harmony? Had his father commanded
a submission his mother refused to yield?

Had he mistaken their darker emotions and their consequences as love all along?

Not certain how to answer that question, Drake felt the minutes tick by like centuries.
He marched his way through the tunnel, praying he could find some way to extricate
Averyl from Dunollie without harm. He could not bear the thought of repaying Averyl’s
loving deed with Murdoch’s cruelty.

The small, dank space of the tunnel finally gave way to the moonlit night. Drake inched
up to ground and edged along the outer curtain wall to avoid detection by Dunollie’s
guards.

Instead, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

An alert determination, along with fear, coiled in the pit of his belly as he whirled
to his attacker.

Instead, he saw Kieran. Aric stood just behind him.

“What in damnation—” he began.

“We thought you were in Dunollie’s dungeon,” Kieran said. “Did you escape?”

Drake frowned. “Nay, Murdoch did not have me.”

Kieran and Aric exchanged glances. “He lied.”

Drake nodded. “He has Averyl in his dungeon now and plots to use her to lure me to
my death.”

“’Tis as we feared,” said Aric, his voice a low rumble, “We must save her and return
to England.”

“After I give Murdoch the slow death he deserves.”

Aric grabbed his arms. “Averyl must come first, you dimwitted dolt.”

Drake might have pointed out that Aric began to sound like Gwenyth if the situation
were less serious. “And she shall.”

“With haste,” Aric added with force.

Kieran nodded. “Unless you want your babe born in Dunollie’s dungeon.”

Drake’s gaze whipped back to Kieran, who stood with wide arms crossed over his chest,
looking unyielding and angry. Had he just said…

“Babe?”

“Aye, in April.”

“But…Averyl? I knew naught—”

“Because you abandoned her, swiving swine. And I am furious enough with you to push
a battering ram through your miserable gut. You punish her for Diera’s cruelty—”

“Kieran,” Aric warned.

It fell upon deaf ears.

“Think you Averyl would take one of your family to her bed to spite you? Can you imagine
such a deed from her?” Kieran hissed. “If you say you can, I will punch you.”

Stunned, Drake said naught. But his spinning mind considered the question over and
over. Nay, he could not imagine such a thing. But when his father had first fancied
his mother, he doubtless never imagined such an event, either.

“Let us consider Averyl’s safety now, hmm?” suggested Aric.

Drake was all too willing to turn his mind to her rescue. “You and Kieran free her
from the dungeon and meet me by the tunnel entrance in the upper bailey. I will show
you its location when we get inside.”

“And what will you do?” Kieran scowled.

“What I came here to do—kill Murdoch.”

“Hellfire! Can you forget this revenge for once? It will be the death of you!”

“If I forget it, what will happen?” Drake whispered as furiously as discretion allowed.
“Murdoch will hunt me, hunt her. We will know no peace, no life, no future as long
as he wants to see her as his wife and me in my grave. Even after Averyl turns eight
and ten, he may lose his fortune but not his power with the clan. He and everyone
I have known all my years will stalk me until I hang from a rope by the battlements.”

Aric, ever calm, separated him and Kieran. “If this is your wish, we will follow it.
What is your plan?”

For the next hour, they debated the possibilities, drawing sketches in the dirt, arguing
over the best strategy. As dawn broke, they formed a solid plan.

Drake only hoped Averyl did not lose her life, nor he lose his friends, in the process.

Drake crept into the quiet of Murdoch’s chamber. His guards were nowhere in sight.

Finally, now, revenge would be his.

Aye, but it had cost him life with Averyl, the babe she would bear—and his heart.

Pushing the thought away, he stared at his sleeping half brother as moonlight spilled
through the windows bared to the coming dawn. And he hesitated. Why had he never been
as close to the brother with whom he shared blood as he had with the warrior brothers
of his heart, Kieran and Aric?

He frowned. Like the biblical Cain slew Abel, Drake readied to kill his brother, too.
Suddenly, he wondered if his father would be disappointed. And why he felt naught
but dread.

Drawing from the anger he’d gathered during his life, Drake swallowed and drew his
blade. Still he hesitated, uncertain.

Murdoch woke suddenly and opened his eyes.

Slowly, he focused on Drake. Their gazes locked.

“You!” Murdoch’s eyes bulged with recognition. “’Tis hoping I have been you would
come for your death, my brother.”

Fury tightening his gut, Drake shook his head. “No one here will die but you and ’twill
be by my hand!”

Murdoch spit in his face. “You will prove nothing but your own bloodlust if you kill
me.”

“The clan already believes me dangerously mad, thanks to you. I have naught to lose
by ending your worthless life.”

With that, Drake charged Murdoch, who rose from bed clad in his braies and hopped
to the floor. With a flash of an arm, Murdoch grabbed his own blade from the nearby
trestle table.

Cursing, Murdoch charged, lunging with gritted teeth. Drake sidestepped the oncoming
blade, then thrust at his half brother. The short blade missed its mark by a breath.

Before Murdoch could recover, Drake rushed toward him and took a wild stab at his
chest. Murdoch jumped from the knife’s path and scrambled across the room.

“Where is your warrior’s training now?” taunted Murdoch.

Drake knew his anger was building dangerously, had felt it from the moment Murdoch
awakened. He drew in a breath, seeking calm. He found only Murdoch’s sneer dominating
his gaze.

Murdoch grinned. “How will you feel when I make your wife mine and take her to my
bed? And I will, even if her belly is ugly and swollen.”

A spark of an image, Averyl tied to Murdoch’s bed, swept through his mind. Anger exploded
in Drake’s veins, and he gripped the knife tighter. By hell, the fiend deserved to
die.

“You will never know,” vowed Drake.

Attacking Murdoch once more, Drake growled at the man as he shifted in the shadows.
His blade made contact with skin. Murdoch howled as his cheek bled onto his bare chest.
He reached up to swipe the blood away, retreating.

The blood only gladdened Drake.

“Bastard!” cursed Murdoch.

Before he could move, Drake lunged again. Murdoch backed into a bench beside the fireplace.
It crashed to the wooden floor, deafening in the early-morn silence.

A thick, still moment passed. Drake looked back to Murdoch, who lifted his blade again.
Raising his own in answer, Drake made ready to fight once more.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway.

“Guards!” called Murdoch.

Fear sliced through Drake like a claymore through flesh. If the guards came, he would
be caught. His revenge would be incomplete. They would slay him instantly.

He would never see Averyl again.

“Soon,” he promised, sheathing his knife and darting out the door.

Two guards rushed down the hall. Drake elbowed one, who groaned in pain. Whirling
about, he punched the other in the face. Then he ran, blood pounding in his ears,
his body burning for air, until he reached the tunnel.

There stood Aric and Kieran.

And Averyl.

The air completely left Drake, and his heart pumped faster at the sight of her, though
he had ceased running. She looked bedraggled and tired, her ill-fitting gown torn
and hanging off one shoulder. Her rounded belly nearly disappeared beneath her tent
of a gown.

Relief, joy, an urge to possess her, all rushed warmth through his body. Drake dashed
toward her and drew her into his arms. With an unsteady hand, he brushed the pale
curls from her face. With the other, he felt their child growing.

“How do you fare, my wife?” His voice sounded thick.

Averyl looked at him, confusion and yearning tangled in that hazel gaze he had missed
so for six months. He understood her emotions and felt connected by their touch.

Before she could answer, Kieran spoke up. “Drake, greet her later. The guards are
searching the bailey now.”

Whirling around, he saw Kieran was right. Reluctantly, he released his wife but clutched
her hand in his.

“Kieran,” he said, “go first. Scout the tunnel for guards.”

With a nod, Kieran jumped into the ground and disappeared.

“Drake, you next. I can fight the guards. You are exhausted. Take your wife and go.”

“Nay, ’tis my fight. Go down and see Averyl safely out.”

Drake squeezed her hand again. She squeezed in return.

“Send her down. I will catch her.” And with a reluctant sigh, Aric disappeared into
the narrow opening.

“Follow Aric,” he commanded Averyl, releasing her hand. “Hurry!”

Nodding, she sat at the opening and began to ease herself down with caution. But her
swollen belly caught on the rim. Grunting, she tried to squeeze through, but Drake
could see she was stuck.

He knelt, frantically digging at the lip of the tunnel to widen it. ’Twas to no avail;
mud and rocks continued to slide into place, preventing Averyl from escape.