His Stolen Bride BN (38 page)

“I pity you,” Drake said finally. “I once believed you bedded my mother to hurt our
father, but I know you did such to get his attention. ’Tis jealous you were.”

“Ach! I simply made certain you did not receive money and power you were not entitled
to as his mere bastard.”

Again, Drake restrained the urge to wet his knife with Murdoch’s lifeblood. “My parents
were married upon my birth.”

“After you were conceived. Such hardly counts.”

“It clearly does or you would not fear that I could seize your position as chief.
But ’tis certain I am that money was only a part of your reason you saw our father
murdered.” Drake leaned toward Murdoch, daring him to refute the claims he was about
to make. “You were jealous of the time I spent with Lochlan and tried to kill me,
rather than winning him yourself.”

Murdoch reached up to push at Drake. “You know nothing.”

Drake remained firmly planted over Murdoch’s prone form. “You insisted that being
first born should make you more loved, and he disagreed,” Drake said, tone taunting.
“So you discarded him before he could disown you.”

The sunlight glinted silver to his right suddenly. Catching sight of the hidden dagger
in Murdoch’s hands, Drake moved to contain the threat. Behind him, Averyl gasped loudly.
Gripping his half brother’s wrist and forcing it to the ground, he looked back at
his wife.

“Nay,” he heard Kieran warn. “He will only hurt you.”

“Or use you to kill Drake,” added Aric.

Drake cast his gaze to her, hot, searing, intent.

“Stay away,” he warned, then looked back to Murdoch. “While I finish this feud—for
good.” Cold, stark rage filled his every nerve. He directed a killing glare to Murdoch.

Gripping Murdoch’s sweat-damp hair in his hands, Drake shoved him against the damp
green grass. Upon Murdoch’s grunt, he pressed the knife harder to his half brother’s
throat.

“I have lost patience, you wretch,” he growled, “you can tell me how you had our father
killed. How did you arrange it?”

“I would rather go to hell.”

Drake’s eyes narrowed. “I vow I will send you there soon.”

Drake’s fingers trembled with the need for revenge. “You deserve to die for what you
did to our father.”

“Lochlan’s heart was revoltingly soft,” Murdoch hissed. “He loved flea-ridden kittens,
that half-English bitch he called wife, and you.”

“Who did you pay to kill him?” Drake demanded, losing patience.

Murdoch opened his mouth, to lie, Drake felt certain. Fury sizzling through his blood,
he sank the sharp of his blade just under his half brother’s skin, just enough to
draw blood.

“Tell me now,” he demanded. “Or you die in seconds.”

“Drake, nay,” Averyl called.

Keeping Murdoch pinned to the ground with his blade, he turned back to Averyl. The
stranger beside her took hold of her shoulder and kept her from the fight. Drake looked
again at the unruly dark hair, the lean build, the gray eyes. He had seen this man
before. Aye, he had. ’Twas dark then, and a battle ensued. His mind racing, Drake
searched his memories until the truth hit him.

The stranger touching his wife had killed his father.

“You!” he barked, fury pulsing so hard it stung him. “You killed my father. Release
my wife!”

Around him, the crowd gasped. Whether ’twas over the announcement of the murder’s
identity or Averyl’s married state, he knew not and cared not.

“My cousin Robert?” Averyl asked. “How can that be?”

Drake frowned at her question.
Her cousin?
Had a Campbell killed Lochlan all along, and not Murdoch?

Before he could release Murdoch and charge the guilty stranger, Aric and Kieran grabbed
him and dragged him into the circle, beside Drake and Murdoch. Averyl followed.

As they came closer, Drake continued to stare at the man. But his mind told him naught
different. This man had stabbed Lochlan to death.

“You killed my father,” he said slowly, that truth dawning over and over in his head.

Robert tired to jerk away, but he was no match for Kieran and Aric’s hold. Resignation
crept across his face. He flinched, sounding suspiciously as if he whimpered. “I did.
At Lord Dunollie’s order.”

“Dear God,” Averyl whispered as the crowd gasped again, then fell eerily silent.

Gaze whipping back to Murdoch, Drake turned in time to see denial spread across the
chief’s face.

Drake cut him off with a curse, a new fury consuming him. Rock-hard tension gripped
his entire body. “Robert spoke true, did he not, Murdoch?”

His half brother said not one word.

“Such would explain Robert’s unexpected presence here,” Averyl offered into the silence.
“My father distrusted him, and ’tis doubtful he would have sent the scoundrel to see
after me. He is here at Murdoch’s bidding.”

Mother of God, to hear of such evidence stunned him.

“’Tis a lie!” said Murdoch finally.

“’Tis he who speaks lies.” Robert pointed to the fiend who shared his blood. “Murdoch
coerced me. He promised me Campbell land he would own after wedding Averyl. In exchange,
I killed his father.”

Drake growled, restraining himself from killing the loathsome wretch.

Averyl gasped. “That is why you offered to wed me? That land?”

Robert nodded. “But your father refused me.”

“You have no funds. Your clan cast you out.”

“And the murder of a good man was the only way you thought to win back your land?”
Drake challenged, ready to kill.

“He held the knife, aye,” began Aric, “but remember who ordered its thrust.”

Wallace approached Drake and stayed his blade with a hand. “Indeed, Robert Campbell’s
confession is enough to convince me that you are innocent, Drake.”

“That is not true!” Murdoch insisted. “Drake did it! Do not believe the words of a
Campbell.”

“We both know he spoke true,” Wallace contradicted quietly. “For I have long wondered
if Drake could kill his own father.”

“Robert Campbell lies,” Murdoch ranted on.

He turned crazed eyes on Drake and let loose a primal scream, his expression a bloodthirsty
snarl. The small blade in his hand gleamed cold and merciless in the sun as Murdoch
raised the weapon and charged.

“Die, you bastard!” Murdoch shouted at Drake.

Drake watched in horror as his half brother lifted the knife in his grasp. As if in
slow motion, Drake pushed Averyl out of the blade’s path, then turned to his half
brother, dirk in hand. He scrambled away from Murdoch, trying to avoid danger and
swung his own blade at the exposed skin at Murdoch’s neck.

Drake watched Murdoch surge closer, trying to attack, even as he avoided the blade
at his throat, but ’twas too late.

The little silver dagger sank to the hilt into Murdoch’s neck.

Blood gushed from the wound, staining his armor. A moment of shock registered in Murdoch’s
dark eyes before they glazed over and he slumped to the ground, dead.

Silence, stillness enveloped the field for a few moments.

Then Drake heard Averyl gasp as if from a distance, as Duff and the others raced forward.
Some seized Robert Campbell, calling for the dungeon. Drake regained himself and approached
his brother, hate and regret beating in his heart.

He took the small blade from Murdoch’s limp hand.

’Twas finally over.

Anguish carved into him like a dull knife. Beside him now, Averyl’s hazel eyes misted
with tears. Drake somehow resisted the odd urge to cry himself.

He moved to her side. He took her cold cheeks between his hands. “’Tis over,” he choked.
“You are safe.”

She put a hand to his cheek as a tear trailed its way down her face. “As are you.”

“Drake?” Aric asked, his face quiet with concern.

His answering smile was both sad and hopeful. “All will be well here. And Kieran,”
he addressed the Irishman, “forget your earlier offer. Averyl has no need of it.”

As Kieran laughed, Drake turned, wanting to be away from here, away from death and
the disillusionment life had shown him today. “Come with me.”

Averyl responded to his weary tone with a nod. He needed her now. Her gentle understanding,
her quiet touch. Her. Not just for now, but forever.

He glanced at her trembling profile, unable to discern her thoughts. She’d once said
she loved him. Did she still?

* * * * *

As long as he loved her, she would stay by his side, Averyl decided, savoring the
feel of Drake’s hand enveloping hers. Yet after what he’d been through today, could
she expect him to consider such a matter? Nay, but soon, the subject must arise. And
then, if he could not admit any feelings for her, she would go. For living with an
intimate stranger and raising her child with a father unable to express his love was
unacceptable.

Before they could find privacy, Wallace sought Drake. “The clan has decided. You are
free to lead, as you should have been since your father’s murder. ’Tis sorry I am
I doubted you.”

Drake released her hand to shake Wallace’s. “I accept.”

When Wallace turned away, Drake silently led her into Dunollie, far from the blood
and memories. Duff and the other sentries followed them as far as the middle bailey,
telling all what had transpired.

Within moments, a crowd of clansmen and servants began to gather about Drake, offering
their humble apologies, most claiming they never believed him guilty at all. Drake
seemed to accept their words with a distracted nod. Averyl wondered at his thoughts.
Where they of Lochlan? Of Robert? The future?

Drake continued to lead her toward the keep, shedding the joyous crowd of his clansmen
behind. Averyl wondered at his thoughts, his intent. Her stomach tightened with uncertainty.
Did he want her with him now, or should she give him time to grieve alone? Or did
he think on their marriage and whether it should continue?

As they climbed the narrow stairs, her heart beat rapidly in the tense silence. She
cast her apprehensive gaze to Drake. His frown revealed naught of his thoughts, his
feelings.

Once inside the solar, he sat on what had once been his father’s four-poster bed with
a weary sigh, wincing at the open lashmarks crisscrossing his skin. Quietly, Averyl
rose and found a servant in the hall to fetch a bucket of warm water.

Drake said naught while they waited, only stared at her with unreadable eyes. Though
Averyl wished for an answer regarding her future, their future, she made no comment,
knowing he had today been through a hideous ordeal.

The water arrived. Bucket in hand, she approached Drake, who continued to watch her
in thoughtful silence.

“I can have a servant wash me,” he said without tone. “The wounds are ghastly, I know.”

She shook her head. “I will tend your injuries.”

Averyl turned his back to her and applied the clean, wet cloth to his wounds. He hissed
in a sharp breath.

“I will make a poultice to help in the healing,” Averyl offered.

“You know the duties of a wife well,” he commented.

Averyl frowned. “’Tis something I have been trained for since I learned to talk. Did
you expect different?”

Drake tried to shrug, cursing when he aggravated the open wounds on his back. “I knew
not what to expect. Our marriage has not been…common.”

“That is so,” she answered, then swallowed. Was he trying to say something, or nothing
at all?

“I am certain if your father could see you today, he would be proud.”

Averyl leaned around Drake until her face hovered mere inches from his. “So would
yours.”

Wearing a tense frown, complete with closed eyes and a clenched jaw, Drake nodded.
Averyl could see the emotion he fought now that his ordeal was over and he had been
restored to the clan and made their leader.

Still, his triumph would never bring back his father, nor repair the torn brotherhood
between he and Murdoch.

“What had you planned next?” he asked.

Averyl felt her heart plummet from her stomach to her toes. His tone told her that
he was letting her go. Without hesitation. Without regret.

She stood behind him, stunned, though she had half expected such. She must not cry.
She would not cry! He could never know how completely he had broken her heart. Revealing
such a fact ’twould only humiliate her further, while such knowledge would mean little,
perhaps nothing, to him.

She cleared her throat. “I had thought to return to Abbotsford. After all, my people
need me.”

Drake hesitated, pausing to rub the bridge of his nose as if fighting off pain in
his head. “Have you given no thought to staying here? You cannot mean to travel with
the babe’s time so near.”

“’Twill be no difficulty,” she murmured, her heart shattering as she laid the wet
rag aside and dried his torn flesh gently with another cloth. “On the morrow, I will
go home.”

“Stay. The babe will need a father. I need a wife, for I know naught of running a
castle this size alone. And if war breaks out, I may not be here to ferret out those
loyal to Murdoch. I will need your help with that in my absence.”

Sudden hope made Averyl lightheaded. He wanted her to stay? Then she realized he had
spoken of naught except the practical. She pursed her lips. “What say you?”

Standing, he faced her and took her hand in his. “That we should be married, in the
church this time. That you should stay by my side as my wife, my chatelaine, the mother
of my children.”

Averyl’s heart raced as she asked the question her heart screamed to have answered.
“Why?”

“I explained. You need a protector. I need a helpmate. We will soon have a child.”

All of it true, but he’d said naught of love. Averyl could not ignore that fact. Fighting
a new wave of angry tears, she pulled her hand from his grasp.

Drake frowned. “If you worry about Abbotsford, do not. I once vowed to give you funds
to repair your keep, and I will.”

She wanted to fling his offer back in his face but could not. The people of Abbotsford
would not starve because of her stubborn pride. “I thank you, as do my people.”