The Renegade's Heart (9 page)

After he departed, she felt as if she had
awakened from a long sleep. The messenger was being escorted away
by Anthony and Isabella rose from the board. Elizabeth considered
the ribbons overhead and knew she had to tell Isabella what she had
seen.

* * *

Chapter
Four

Murdoch could not sleep. The forest was alive
with Fae and he did not trust them a whit. The gnarled trunks of
the trees around him shifted to become faces with gaping mouths,
laughing at him. He heard the scamper of small feet under the dried
leaves that covered the forest floor and he knew these were not
small creatures of the woods. It was Fae, dancing, laughing,
dueling with pine needles, swinging from cobwebs.

And he was so cold. He was chilled to his
marrow, colder than he might have believed it possible for a man to
be. The tips of his fingers were blue and he could scarce feel his
toes. But the worst of it was in his chest. It seemed that there
was a lump of ice within him, one that was slowly and steadily
freezing his entire body.

He did not have to look to know that the blue
tendril was growing over his skin. He could feel its incremental
progress, and in the darkness of the night, Murdoch was
terrified.

What would the Elphine Queen do with his
heart?

How could he survive without it?

Murdoch lay awake, his hands clenched into
fists, fearful for the fate of the horses, of his companions, of
himself.

He felt the wind still, as if all the world
was holding its breath. Even the Fae in the shadows ceased to
chatter, though they continued to move. When the sky was fully dark
– an impenetrable black overhead, and one devoid of stars – the
snow began to fall. It cascaded in silence over the forest, as if a
white chemise had been cast over the tops of the trees.

It seemed that time had stopped.

Murdoch concentrated on ensuring his heart
did not. He was aware that it labored more heavily than once it
had, and could not purge his mind of the image of his blackening
heart trapped in that crystal orb. He breathed steadily and
regularly, forcing himself to inhale and exhale, all the while
listening for the Elphine Queen.

The breath of the horses made plumes of steam
in the air and the forest seemed wrought of silver and black. The
surface of the river turned to a dark mirror as ice slowly claimed
its surface. Flakes of snow fluttered through the canopy of trees,
slowly carpeting the branches and the ground. Murdoch guessed it
gathered more quickly on the fields beyond the forest, but he did
not rise to look.

He feigned sleep, but his palms were damp
with icy sweat. He heard Stewart pacing and clearing his throat on
the first watch. He listened to the vigor with which Hamish snored
and savored these signs of mortal presence.

Still the cold grew within him, turning his
very bones to ice. He tried to think of hot summer days, of raging
fires, of the golden heat that could be savored before the hearth
at Seton Hall. He tried to remember merry times of companionship
and the feel of a hot meal in his belly.

But what filled his thoughts was the
remembered sight of Isabella’s hair in the sunlight. When she had
leaned out the window, her hair had been unbound and had flowed
over her shoulders like a copper cloud. Touched by the sun, it was
radiant, brilliant, a sight to fill him with wonder.

He recalled the heat of her pressed against
him, the taste of her and the softness of her lips beneath his. He
thought of the spark of intellect in her eyes and the admiration he
had glimpsed in her expression, never mind her passion for
justice.

And to Murdoch’s amazement, the cold
retreated. He seized upon his memories of Isabella – so few as yet,
but he would see that changed – and filled his thoughts with them.
He might have warmed himself fully, but he felt cold lips touch his
ear.

“Hail, lover,” the Queen of Elphine
whispered. “How fares your captive heart?”

The hair prickled on the back of Murdoch’s
neck at her caress and he refused to open his eyes. His heart
seemed to clench, its pace slowing as if it turned to ice within
his body..

Murdoch gritted his teeth. He would not look
into her eyes. He would not surrender. Somehow, he would survive.
Somehow he would foil her scheme.

“You stole it,” he said tightly. “You lied to
me. Instead of giving me freedom, you seized my heart.”

She laughed lightly, her fingertip tracing
little circles on his clothing, circles that reminded him of the
pattern growing on his arm.

Her voice conjured images in Murdoch’s
thoughts, visions of the golden splendor of her hall and the taste
of the sweet golden wine upon his tongue. A treacherous yearning to
experience that Fae court and its joys again began to blossom
within him. It was warm there. His leg had healed there. He had
been merry and at ease, and had savored a thousand pleasures
without remorse.

“Think of this, lover. I have fulfilled your
desire. I let you return home and allowed you the choice.” The
Elphine Queen kissed Murdoch’s cheek, her touch making him shiver.
Her words fed upon themselves, making it seem natural for him to
turn to her again, to look into her eyes. “Surely you have seen
that this realm offers nothing to you.” Her voice dropped low.
“Surely you know now that only I can fulfill all your dreams. Kiss
me, Murdoch, and end this game.”

Murdoch kept his eyes tightly shut. He
reminded himself that the Elphine Queen was a liar. She promised
what she could not give and took what was not her due. She would
cheat him of the gift she had supposedly given, simply to amuse
herself. To release him but compel him to return to her to survive
was no gift.

And her realm and its pleasures was not
real.

She was as unlike Isabella as any woman could
be. Murdoch seized upon his recollection of that fiery maiden, just
the thought sending new heat through his body. Isabella was honest
and true. She was like a beam of sunlight in the darkness cast by
the Elphine Queen.

“What is this?” the Elphine Queen murmured.
“You find something of merit in the mortal realm, after all?” Her
voice became insistent and Murdoch could fairly taste the Fae wine
again. He felt the temptation grow and knew he needed to reject
it.

Isabella was the key.

“You would spurn me, despite all I offer?”
The Elphine Queen moved abruptly, and Murdoch’s eyes flew open in
fear. She stood before him, her hair flowing over her shoulders
like a black river. Her breasts were bare and ripe, her smile
glinted with something that he might once have mistaken for desire.
Her skin was covered with blue whorls and spirals, a pattern that
was echoed by the small cluster on his wrist.

She leaned over him like a thundercloud.
Murdoch averted his gaze. He recalled Isabella’s kiss, how her
passion had awakened, how her touch had snared him.

“I shall leave you as I found you,” the
Elphine Queen said with a hiss of disapproval.

Murdoch felt pain stab in his thigh, a pain
that he recalled well enough. He looked down as the blood flowed
over his leg, soaking his chausses and the ground beneath him. The
cloth tore as he watched, the wound festering with lightning speed.
His skin fairly boiled, infection and illness seething beneath the
skin, stretching it and turning it bright red. He would feel the
fever again, he would sweat and he would have chills, and he would
lose his wits in a snowstorm.

The Elphine Queen watched, her smile cold.
“You were ill. You were mortally ill,” she reminded him. “I saved
you – and I saved you for myself.”

It was true, all true, but Murdoch could not
tear his gaze away from the festering wound. He cried out in pain
as the skin burst and the infection spilled forth. It spewed across
his skin, and he gagged to realize it was filled with maggots
instead of pus.

Murdoch shouted in horror and tried to wipe
the abomination away.

“Choose,” the Elphine Queen instructed, then
in a sparkle of starlight, she disappeared.

As surely as if she had never been.

Murdoch was sitting in the snow, his back
against a tree, his chest so tight that he could not catch a
breath. His fists were clenched, snow between his fingers. His
heart raced, proof that it was yet within his chest after all. He
felt his thigh, incredulous to find it as hale and strong as
ever.

Was he losing his wits?

What if she spoke the truth this time? He
could surrender to her and be a captive of Fae forever, or he could
remain in the mortal realm, but with his old injury restored.
Murdoch remembered the wound that had seen him dispatched from
fighting, recalled how it had not responded to any treatment and
had nearly killed him.

Was he doomed to die?

“What ails you, lad? Nightmares of your time
at war?” Stewart demanded, as he came around the horses. “Or
wherever you were?”

“Something like that,” Murdoch admitted,
heaving a sigh and wiping his brow. He could not see the Fae in the
woods anymore, nor was he quite so cold. He swallowed and pushed to
his feet, unable to resist the urge to look at his wrist.

The swirl had grown bigger.

Isabella, he reminded himself. He had to hold
the maiden in his thoughts.

“I merely had a bad dream,” Murdoch lied,
willing his pulse to slow. He felt disheveled, agitated, fearful,
and that would not do. “It was no more than that,” he insisted, as
if to persuade himself.

“Not the first you have had on this journey,”
Stewart noted, though truly none had been so vivid as this one.
“Tormented by your deeds in France?” His tone was light but Murdoch
knew the older man invited his confidence.

If he shared the truth, Stewart would think
him mad.

“The past is done,” Murdoch said, as if
speaking with force could make it true. “I did only what I had to
do.”

“And war is war,” Stewart said with a nod.
“You would not be the first man haunted by bloodshed and violence,
whether it was by his own hand or not. I doubt you will be the
last.”

Murdoch brushed off his tabard and
straightened it, well aware of Stewart’s curiosity. “I shall not
sleep more this night. Let me take the next watch now.”

“You will not have to argue with me on that.”
Stewart wrapped himself in his cloak, then winced as he tried to
find a comfortable position. “Though I hope to find myself dreaming
of sweet damsels and a thick pallet by the fire.” He smiled.
“Perhaps a belly full of stew and ale. That would suit me
well.”

“Me, as well,” Murdoch agreed. He marched
around the perimeter of their encampment, stamping his feet to warm
them. His leg was fine, a fact that continued to amaze him. Stewart
was soon snoring as loudly as Hamish and Murdoch was truly alone.
He stared through the shadows of the forest at the distant tower of
Kinfairlie’s keep and thought again of the maiden Isabella.

Murdoch closed his eyes, summoned the image
of the lady who warmed his thoughts, and found the terror ebbing
from his mind.

Did she have a special power to drive the
shadows from his thoughts? Was it her nature at root? Or was she
simply not Fae, and thus able to counter the Elphine Queen’s
spells? Murdoch did not know, but he decided – that night as he
stood in silence in the falling snow – that he needed to find
out.

Should the lady Isabella be his salvation,
that might change all.

He thought of what had transpired this night,
considered what the Laird of Kinfairlie might do in retaliation and
checked the hoof of the messenger’s horse once again. And in the
darkness, while his companions slept, Murdoch made his plan.

* * *

“Isabella! Wait!”

Elizabeth raced after her older sister,
chasing her up the stairs from the hall. To Elizabeth’s surprise,
Isabella had gone past the portal to their chamber, as if she meant
to continue to the solar.

“Where are you going?” she demanded. “Are you
so ill that you become confused?”

Isabella halted and turned, irritation
touching her expression before she smiled for Elizabeth. “I thought
you meant to stay at the board for a while. Maybe dance.” She said
this last word with force, as if she would have preferred Elizabeth
to be dancing.

It made little sense that Isabella would
care, so Elizabeth ignored her sister’s mood. So many in Kinfairlie
were irritable of late, after all.

All the same, Isabella’s manner fed
Elizabeth’s uncertainty. She had been so sure that she had to warn
her sister, but now that the Fae king was gone and she had left the
warmth of the hall, she had doubts.

She also had a curious sense that she should
not tell anyone of the Fae king. Indeed, she felt protective of the
moment she had shared with him, the intimacy of his words echoing
in her own thoughts.

But she had to warn Isabella about the
ribbon. “I have to tell you something. Quick, let us go into our
chamber where no one else will hear.”

As always, the prospect of a secret to be
shared made Isabella move more quickly

“Tell me what?” Isabella asked. The pair
stepped into their chamber and Isabella shut the door, leaning back
against it. Their maid Vera had already set a trio of braziers
alight and there was a lantern lit as well. The room was filled
with golden light, and the shutters were closed against the night.
The cold air still seeped into the room, that cursed wind rattling
at the shutters, and Elizabeth shivered.

She dropped her voice to a whisper. “The Fae
came to the hall this night.”

Isabella rolled her eyes. “Elizabeth, you
must forget this whimsy about seeing the Fae...”

Elizabeth was insulted. “It is not whimsy! I
see them and I hear them.”