The Renegade's Heart (33 page)

He wanted to love her every night for the
rest of his life. And this deed made him determined to triumph, to
ensure that he survived the curse of the Elphine Queen, to offer
for his lady and keep her from any shame. He wanted to defend her
for years to come, to savor her and to love her.

Every day and night of his life.

Murdoch drove himself deep within Isabella,
watching the flush rise over her breasts, watching her nipples grow
tight and dark, watching her lips part and her eyes shine. He
touched her with greater insistence, wanting her to find that
release before he spilled his own seed. He saw her stretch for the
roof, heard her gasp, felt her harden once again beneath his
touch.

And when she cried out in ecstasy, Murdoch
rolled her beneath him in one smooth gesture. She instinctively
wound her legs around his waist and he felt snared by this woman
and her touch.

Even better, there was nowhere else he
yearned to be.

Murdoch caught her nape in his hands, bracing
his weight on his elbows, and kissed her deeply. It took only three
strokes for him to explode with a pleasure beyond any he had ever
experienced before.

For there was no woman who could ever hold a
candle to his Isabella.

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

Murdoch had told her the truth. Isabella laid
beneath him, running her fingers through his hair as he slumbered
against her. His face was buried against her neck, his breath soft
on her throat, his seed warm inside her. Even as he dozed, he still
braced his weight above her.

Protecting her.

Even from himself.

Isabella closed her eyes and hoped that
Murdoch’s seed took root within her. She would be glad to bear his
child, but she would be more glad to bear that child with him by
her side. She could not lose him, not now. It would be unjust to
find such a treasure as the magic between them, only to have it
stolen away.

Still there was the matter of the Elphine
Queen. Isabella bit her lip as she recalled that gruesome orb.

It seemed that the wind outside the cottage
grew in intensity, as if it would rip the thatched roof free and
reveal them to her gaze. Isabella had a sense the Elphine Queen
knew her power had been diminished, that she had found a rival, and
that she did not appreciate the change. The fire flickered on the
hearth as it had not before, and Isabella eyed the hole in the roof
overhead for the smoke. Did she see a great eye, filled with
malice, within the darkness framed there?

She eased from beneath Murdoch’s weight,
leaving him to doze. She wondered when he had last slept in
confidence of his own safety and guessed he would have need of
every measure of strength for the challenge before them.

She found a blanket on the far side of the
cabin and spread it over him. There was a pail of water, as well,
and Isabella certainly had need of a wash. There was a bracket to
hold a kettle over the fire, and she used both to heat the water.
She washed the blood from her thighs with care, so lost in her
thoughts that she did not realize that Murdoch had awakened and was
watching her.

She was reassured to see how blue his eyes
were.

When he smiled at her with undisguised
satisfaction, her heart leapt.

“Are you sore?” he asked softly.

Isabella shrugged off his question. She
smiled. “I believe it was well worth the exchange. Have you slept
of late?”

He shook his head and rolled to his back,
stretching like a great cat. “Not well since the new moon. If I am
to slumber, I will do so after the next one.” The notion seemed to
make him impatient, perhaps with the unwelcome reminder of the
challenge he faced. He cast aside the blanket and rose to his feet.
He strode to her side, lifting the cloth from her fingers and
rinsing it in the warm water.

He washed her back for her in silence, then
pressed a kiss to her nape. The intimacy put a lump in Isabella’s
throat; his next words made it larger.

“I thank you, my Isabella,” he said quietly,
his lips moving against her flesh. “You have surrendered more to me
than was my right to take.”

Isabella turned to face him. “Do you regret
it?”

His smile was devilish. “How could I regret
such splendor?” Again he wound a tendril of her hair around his
finger, his eyes gleaming as he kissed it. “And you?”

Isabella shook her head and his smile
broadened. “Tell me about it.”

He arched a brow, but she knew he
understood.

“How were you captured? What was the realm of
the Fae like? How were you released?”

Murdoch wrung out the cloth, then began to
wash himself with a concentration the task did not deserve. “You
should don your chemise. Something changes in the wind and I would
not have you cold.”

It was not just the wind that changed, for he
seemed newly pensive. “Will you answer me?”

Murdoch’s gaze locked with hers, his
intensity making Isabella’s heart leap. “You deserve no less,” he
said with quiet force. “But be warned that you may not like the
tale when it is told, my Isabella.”

* * *

Murdoch dressed with impatient gestures,
donning only his chausses and his chemise. Isabella pulled on her
own chemise, her expression watchful. He checked but her kirtle and
their cloaks were still sodden. He wrapped the blanket around her
shoulders and urged her to sit on the pallet before the hearth.

The fire did not need to be fed, the blaze as
robust as when they had arrived. That was a potent reminder that
they had stepped outside the mortal realm for this night. Where was
the Elphine Queen? Murdoch had to reason that the man who had
admitted them to the cottage had cast some spell that sheltered
them. He doubted it would last past the dawn and would ensure that
they left well in advance lest they be trapped.

He opened the door a slight increment and
looked out into the wild fury of the night. A storm ripped over the
land, a storm that would surely have killed them both had they not
found this shelter. Murdoch could hear the angry thrash of the sea.
He shut the door and bolted it, glad that the smith’s blade was yet
buried in the threshold.

He turned to find Isabella watching him
intently.

“I rode out from Seton Manor five years ago,
in the spring, to join the campaign in France. I did so expressly
against the will of my father.” He moved back to the fire and
Isabella took his hand, drawing him to sit beside her on the
pallet.

“Why would you defy your father?”

Murdoch sighed. “We always argued, my father
and I. My mother died when I was ten, but she always said that he
and I were too much the same, that he saw a mirror of himself in
me. As you might imagine, when we disagreed, he did not care for
the reflection. Either our thoughts were as one, or we were
arguing.” He sighed. “I am a younger son, and my older brother,
Duncan, is as different from me as a man might be. He is quiet and
contemplative, more like our mother.” Murdoch fell silent then,
overwhelmed by his memories and his regret.

Isabella pressed his hand, once again adding
light to his darkness. “Tell me of your father.”

“After my mother’s death, my father did not
show so much care in his holding and his responsibilities. We had
numerous crops fail. Seton Manor commands a holding that is less
than prosperous, for the land is hard to till and the climate is
less than encouraging. It is beautiful, though, and the forests are
filled with game. It is a comparatively small holding, but one that
can be coaxed to provide for those who live upon it – and there are
those who would live there, independent of hardship, simply because
its beauty speaks to the soul.”

“Like you,” Isabella guessed and he smiled at
her.

“It touches my heart. It was my mother’s
legacy and she loved it, too. When she passed away, I think my
father could not see the beauty without her. And so the fortunes of
the holding faltered. There was bad luck, to be certain, but he
also refused to act as once he might have done. He refused to
choose
.”

“What could he have done?”

“There is a spring not far from Seton Manor,
upon the land held by my father and my mother’s father. And this
spring has been reputed for centuries to possess healing powers.
People have come from all over Scotland to bathe in its waters and
have left tokens and prayers. There is a stone there, one erected
by a laird centuries past, and etched in a language we now longer
read – it has been popular for as long as that. There is an old
power there, although I did not believe it when I was younger. The
church, of course, does not approve of such pagan shrines, much
less the powers attributed to them, and over the centuries, the
popularity of the spring has faded.”

“But I walked there one day, thinking of the
difficulties facing our holding, and I realized that dubious crops
were not new at Seton Manor. Those pilgrims must have sustained the
people of Seton Manor in the past. I had the idea that my father
could build upon the spring’s reputation, to restore the finances
of the holding using a similar mechanism. I suggested to him that
he buy a relic, a Christian relic, one associated with healing, and
install it in the chapel of Seton Manor. I thought we could create
a new center of pilgrimage based upon the reputation of the old.
Together, they might create great cures.”

“My aunt said this was done throughout
England and Scotland, that pagan sites were turned to Christian
ones.”

Murdoch nodded. “The idea was that of a pope,
not mine, but I thought it a good one. My father, however, would
hear none of it.” He winced. “He insisted that the sole source of
religious relics in all of Scotland was the Lammergeier family,
that they were sorcerors and thieves, and that he would never
bestow so much as a penny into the coffers of such a family. We had
a tremendous argument, for I believed that he was simply stubborn –
and that his people would suffer for it. There was no seed for
planting, nothing in the granaries, and people were hungry. Even
the creatures of the forest seemed to be less plentiful that
winter. My father, however, would not relent. His suspicions of
your family ran deep.”

“And your brother?”

“He took my father’s side.” Murdoch looked
down at his hands. “We argued violently at the new year, and many
harsh things were said between us.”

“You defended my family,” Isabella
murmured.

Murdoch flicked her a look. “I would see no
one condemned by rumor alone. It seemed to me to be prejudice based
upon nothing at all, and irrational.”

Isabella leaned against him with obvious
satisfaction.

“In the end, I told my father that if he
would not see to his duties, then I would. And I departed the next
morning, over his objections, to pledge my sword to the Earl of
Buchan. With him, I joined some six thousand other men who fought
for the Dauphin as mercenaries in France. Others had made that
journey and gained land, holdings, wives, and fortunes. I thought
to do the same. I thought that if my fortunes held, I might save
Seton Manor – despite my father’s attitude. At the very least, I
might gain a future of my own, for we all knew that my brother
Duncan would inherit Seton Manor. It is not a sufficiently rich
estate to support two.”

Murdoch took a deep breath. “I saw much on
that journey, much I would have preferred not to see. In May of
1420, we occupied the city of Melun for the Dauphin, holding it
against Henry V of England. The astonishing thing was that King
James of Scotland, long the prisoner of the English kings, rode
alongside Henry’s commanders in that battle. He appeared, pennants
flying and standards unfurled, allied with the English.”

“I heard of this,” Isabella said.

“It was a shock to find ourselves fighting
against the man who is our own king. It was more a shock that Henry
triumphed that day – and all the Scotsmen captured within the walls
of Melun were hanged as traitors.” Murdoch swallowed. “James did
not speak in their defense.”

He stared into the fire, still haunted by
that day. “And so it is that one sees how a man’s alliances will
change based upon who provides his fare, or who has the most to
offer to him overall. I was not the only one heartsick at this
event. The subsequent spring, we triumphed over the English at
Baugé, on Easter Sunday. I was sorely wounded for I was stabbed in
the thigh. When the wound festered, the Earl of Buchan gave me
leave to return home, that I might see my home and family one last
time.”

Isabella frowned, her gaze falling to his
thigh in confusion. “But you have no scar.”

“Not now, for it was healed.”

“A festering wound? Should you know how to
heal such an injury without leaving a scar, I would gladly hear of
it.”

Murdoch smiled. “You will. Easter was early
that year, and I made good speed in returning home, perhaps because
I traveled only with Zephyr and a palfrey, perhaps because I was so
ill that men took pity on me. I found passage on a ship bound from
LeHavre to Dundee, a Templar ship sailing in pursuit of the first
fleece of the year. And then I rode north, intent upon arriving
home before spring’s full flower. I was fevered by then, but the
Templars had been kind to me, and perhaps Zephyr recalled the
way.”

“And what happened when you arrived home?”
Isabella prompted when he fell silent again.

“I never arrived there.”

He did not touch her, simply stared into the
fire as she watched him. His thoughts filled with the memory of his
ignorance and his foolish trust. “I reached a valley near Seton
Manor. I recognized it well. On that day, even in my state, I was
astonished to find the valley desolate and quiet, utterly devoid of
people. Now, I wonder if my isolation was but a glamour, another
trick of the Elphine Queen.