True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse (5 page)

Garrett thought of the perfect solution, just as the guard raised a hand.

The pelt. He would wait until the pelt was cured. He would send it to her as a gift, and she would seek him out. He would meet her in the glade again, apologize, win her trust and love.

And then, with her hand in his, he would conquer this most daunting challenge.

“Hoy, there!” shouted one guard, and the other turned to look.

Garrett plunged back into the protective shadows of the forest. He sensed the second guard’s confusion.

“Who do you hail?” demanded the second guard.

“There was someone approaching. I am certain of it.”

The second guard laughed. “And he has vanished into thin air, as quickly as that?” He laughed again. “Do not think you can convince me to jump at shadows on this night, just to see yourself amused. I am not so readily misled as that.”

But Garrett heard the first guard’s uncertainty and knew he would not forget what he had seen very soon. It was hard to care, though, for each step into the forest quieted the chaos a little more and soothed away his agitation.

By the time Garrett reached the curing wolf pelt, he was calm again.

If disgusted with his own weakness.

There in the stillness of the forest, he pledged to himself that he would see his maiden’s trust repaid somehow.

*

He did not come.

Annelise sat at the board, overwhelmed with disappointment.

Her champion did not appear. He sent no word.

Her hunter had lied to her.

She had heard Breac report to Murdoch that there was naught amiss at the glade, even though the men had tried to keep their voices low. Her face had burned then, out of surety that Murdoch thought she concocted a tale of her defender. She had yearned for the hunter to arrive then, but there was no sign of him.

Not then. Not later.

The meal was served, savored and cleaned away. There were a few songs, then the fire on the hearth burned low. Isabella tried to hide her exhaustion, but the babe was tiring her greatly. The candles were gutted.

Annelise could not believe it. He had not come.

Murdoch looked between the two sisters, then rose to his feet. He offered his hand to Isabella with a smile that seemed too bright. “My son demands your rest, my lady,” he said and the company smiled with affection.

Annelise excused herself, rose to her feet, and fled to her room. She hoped Isabella did not come to her on this night, because she did not want to talk about her disappointment.

She had been a fool, and the only mercy was that she had surrendered no more than a kiss to the hunter.

*

Annelise dreams.

She is in the glade, the dappled sunshine touching her shoulders, the stillness of the sacred place filling her with tranquility. She hears the faint trickle of water, the leaves stirring overhead in the breeze, the melody of birdsong. She prays for strength and boldness, for audacity and a change in her fortunes.

She hears a stealthy footstep.

Had the silence surrounding her not been so complete, she would not have noticed the minute sound.

She hears a snarl.

She pivots in time to see a wolf leaping toward her, teeth bared and eyes wild. She throws her hands up before herself, for it is too late to run. She braces herself for the wolf’s attack, then screams when its weight lands against her. Its teeth rip at her throat and she fights, even as her own warm blood flows. The wolf shreds her flesh from her bones even as she struggles to survive, and Annelise knows she has met her end.

As she falls to the ground, she looks into the shadows of the forest. She is seeking some sign of the hunter, but instead she sees a second wolf, a wolf as white as the new snow. That creature is watching her, with eyes of clearest blue, and to Annelise’s astonishment, the white wolf is weeping.

Annelise awakened, heart pounding, and stared around her quiet room in confusion. The night was still but dark, for the moon was new. She could hear the goats bleating in the pen and someone snoring in the hall below. She exhaled shakily and unclenched her hands, feeling how her nails had dug into her palms.

She was safe.

Because the hunter had saved her.

Why the nightmare, then? Did she relive her fright, or was the hunter himself in danger?

And what of the white wolf? Had it been in the glade as well? If so, she had not seen it. How could a wolf weep? She had never heard the like, even in old tales.

Annelise could make no sense of it, though she laid awake all the night struggling to do so.

*

“All you must do, Andrew, is watch me and learn,” Orson declared. The two knights rode side by side as the shadows grew long, Orson’s squire behind them. “It is the simplest of matters. My uncle wishes an alliance with Kinfairlie, but has no more children of his own. The Laird of Kinfairlie yet has two unwed sisters. I will wed the elder, then you can follow my example and wed the younger. That feat will please your father just as much as mine will please my uncle.”

“The Laird of Kinfairlie dismissed us from his gates,” Andrew felt obliged to observe. “I fear he does not approve of your plan.”

“He is merely protective of his sisters,” Orson insisted, his confidence unshakable. “And that Elizabeth is a finely wrought creature, to be sure. You will be a lucky man to claim her hand.”

Andrew only trusted himself to nod. Buxom and pretty, Elizabeth was ripe enough to feed every lewd thought he might have had. Andrew had plenty such thoughts. He had considered the merits of Elizabeth on several nights already—two of them in particular—and was much encouraged by Orson’s confidence that he might make her his wife.

“But you chose not to pursue her,” Andrew said.

“I know a barricaded portal when I see one,” Orson replied. “Nay, she will be last to wed, and I must move with haste. I need a bride immediately to show my uncle my
subservience
.” He wagged a gloved finger at his companion, who did not dare to laugh at the very idea. “And truly, I believe it may serve me very well to wed the older one.”

“Why?”

“She must be plain. Murdoch Seton wed the one younger than this Annelise.” He grimaced. “And they say her hair is red.”

“She might be ugly.”

Orson laughed. “So the Laird of Kinfairlie will be indebted to me for wedding her. I believe it could turn much to my advantage to take the elder plainer one.”

“Save that you will have a plain wife.” Andrew winced. “How will you get a son upon her?”

Orson shook his head with mock disappointment. “Andrew, Andrew, I could get a son upon a sow if it were to make my fortune, and this Annelise can do that easily. Simply watch how the old man opens his coffers, once I return with the alliance he most desires. My future will be secured.”

“A title?”

“At least one, with a castle, to be sure. Perhaps he will give me Bamburgh. I could argue a case for ensuring that my beloved is close to her family.”

Bamburgh! Andrew stole a glance at his companion, but Orson was utterly confident. In fact, he seemed to be considering what changes he might make to that holding.

“Percy!” Orson roared at his squire. The boy hastened forward on his palfrey. “Where is the gift? I want to see it again. I need to remind myself of my generosity.”

“The gift, sir?”

“The gift for my intended.”

Percy continued to look blank.

“The necklace!” Orson bellowed. “The string of amethyst beads, alternated with pearls and garnets.”

Percy paled. “But that was the lady Ermengarde’s gift…”

“Ermengarde!” Orson was clearly shocked. He pulled his destrier to a hard halt, almost falling out of his saddle as he turned to face the boy. The stallion fought the bit, much displeased with such treatment, and began to stamp. Orson, a most competent horseman, held the reins tight and continued his conversation with Percy. “You gave it to Ermengarde?” His tone was so incredulous that Andrew feared matters had gone awry.

And Percy would pay.

Percy licked his lips, perhaps sensing the same thing. “You, you said it would look well upon her…”

“That is not the same as saying it was
for
her! Do you know how much that necklace cost me, boy?”

“But, but, but she came to the stables before we left, and she asked if I had a token for her from you, and you had just said how it would look so well upon her…”

Orson flung down his reins, leapt from the saddle and stepped in front of the palfrey. It was an admirable feat, done with grace. Orson seized the palfrey’s reins and glared at his squire. “Get down,” he commanded, his voice dark with intent.

It was all very familiar to Andrew.

Percy was shaking as he slipped from the saddle, and he fell to his knees before his knight. Orson removed his leather gauntlets with care, a gleam of anticipation in his eyes. “I am sorry, my lord. I misunderstood. I, I will return and retrieve it from her…”

“And she will never part her thighs for me again. No, that will not do. Lift your head, Percy.” The boy did as he was bidden and Orson slapped Percy across the side of his head with his leather gauntlets.

The boy winced but kept his chin up.

Orson’s lips tightened, then he slapped Percy again from the other side. Harder. Again, Percy showed unexpected fortitude. He kept his gaze lowered, but did not fall to the ground to beg or try to flee.

“You are unrepentant.” Orson flicked a glance filled with consideration at Andrew. “You think you have done right.”

“I I, I am sorry to have misunderstood you, sir. In truth, I thought your scheme most clever.”

“What scheme?”

“You always favored the lady Ermengarde, my lord, and the gems will suit her well.”

“And what do I care about that?”

“I had assumed, sir, that you wished her to tell her husband of your loyalty and good service in your absence.” Percy risked an upward glance when Orson remained silent. “I thought it a scheme to ensure your own advancement in Lord Rothen’s favor, sir, and a clever plan at that.”

Orson blinked and looked into the forest, slapping his gloves idly against his own palm. “It was, of course, my original scheme,” he said and Andrew knew that to be a lie. He turned a cool smile upon Percy. “We are close to Seton Manor. I do not wish to be further delayed, despite your error. Find me a gift, Percy, or I shall be compelled to beat you senseless and leave you to the wolves.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Andrew knew as well as Percy that Orson greatly enjoyed the beatings he administered. In truth, Orson was the ideal companion, for his tendency to petty violence made most people assume that Andrew was the more noble and honorable of the pair. Few guessed the darkness in Andrew’s heart.

The boy fled down the road, looked left and right, then leapt into the forest. His terror might have been comical if Andrew had not seen Orson in a fury before. Andrew thought it might be wiser for Percy to continue to run rather than return empty-handed, but he kept that thought to himself.

The older knight sighed as he considered the height of his saddle, then shrugged. “Wretched boy. He is never around when I need him.” He turned a considering glance upon Andrew.

But it was Orson who had taught Andrew not to ever step below his station. Taking the role of a squire for this particular knight was a mistake Andrew would never make and showing obeisance to any man was out of the question. Andrew remained in his saddle.

“I doubt he will be long,” he said.

Orson laughed, then turned a cold glance upon Andrew. “What gift do you imagine Percy will find in these woods? We have traveled beyond civilization, Andrew. If he is lucky, he will be devoured by wolves quickly.”

Andrew was surprised. “You do not mean to wait for him?”

“Of course not.”

“You knowingly sent him to his demise?”

“I did no such thing. I assigned him a
quest
. If he fails, due to a lack of resourcefulness, honor or character, there is little I can do about the outcome.”

“But you pledged to train and defend him when he became your squire.” Andrew was intrigued. He knew Orson to be petty and selfish, but had never thought his companion knight quite so wicked. Had he infected the other knight without intending to do so?

“And he pledged to serve me faithfully. It seems to me that he is the one who broke the agreement.” Orson appeared to have no remorse in this choice, beyond regretting some inconvenience to himself. He looked up and down the road, but no mounting block had miraculously appeared. He peered down the road toward the manor, but his expression revealed his opinion of the merit of walking. “How unfortunate that you sent your squire away.” Orson glared at Andrew. “Why
did
you send Bart away? He had only just arrived.”

“With the tidings he brought, I had to send a message. There was no one else to take it.”

Orson pursed his lips. “I suppose he will return to you in due time.”