Warrior's Bride (18 page)

  "Dress yourself." His words were like ice.

  She forced a nonchalant smile. "Funny, you used to tell me that after we satisfied our passion, not before." When she made no move to cover herself, he strode to the bedside and tossed a woolen blanket over her, shrouding the only weapon she had left in her arsenal.

  "You might find her intriguing now, but mark my words, you'll tire of her after you've bedded her once. The girl has no more meat on her bones than her scrawny little fowl. What do you see in her?" she blurted out before she could pull back the angry words.

  "She is my wife."

  He said the words lightly, but she could read the warning in his eyes. She was treading on unsteady ground, yet she could not stop. "She is only yours on paper, Wolfie. I can offer you so much more. I shall not deny that I had hoped to be your bride, but the idea of being your mistress holds a certain appeal as well." She threw back the blanket that covered her and slid one hand down the shapely arch of her hip and down to the creamy flesh of her thigh.

  His gaze did not follow the motion. Nay, his gaze remained fixed on her face. "You will be neither, Fiona. I want you to leave."

  Although not entirely unexpected, the reality of her situation sparked her anger anew. "How could you toss me aside after I gave you everything I had to offer a man?"

  "I gave you protection, Fiona, when you had nowhere else to turn. The rest was freely offered, as I recall. I made you no promises."

  "I've been cheated." She leapt off the bed and rushed him with her fists raised, ready to strike.

  He caught her wrists in his hands effortlessly, ceasing her assault. "Two knights await below stairs to take you to your new home. I have arranged for you to have a cottage in the next village, as well as an income for the remainder of your days or until such a time that you decide to marry again."

  Humiliation and rejection brought a flush to her cheeks. "You think you are done with me? That you can buy me off with pretty promises?" She struggled against his grip. He released her immediately.

  "You know I shall be true to my word."

  She knew that, all right. He would live up to his promises to her just as he lived up to every promise he had ever made. If only she had gotten a promise of marriage, or of faithfulness. But he'd never offered her such words, no matter how hard she had tried.

  "What about the threat to my life? The poisoning? I won't be safe if I leave here."

  Wolf's face remained hard. "We both know those apples were meant for Isobel." He paused. "Will you accept my offer and leave this castle tonight?"

  "I do not stay where I am not wanted," she replied.

  For a moment the anger faded from his gaze and she saw a familiar softness that brought a catch to her throat. "Fiona, you have so much to offer to the right man. But I am not that man."

  Her throat tightened as she responded with a nod, then pulled the blanket he had offered her back up around her body.

  "Dress," he said softly. "I shall have Mistress Rowley pack your things. I shall await you below stairs."

  She nodded once more as he turned and left the room. She'd known this day was coming long ago, before Isobel had ever entered the castle walls. Fiona tucked the blanket around herself and stepped into the silvery rays of moonlight that forced their way through the glass windows.

  She turned her face up into the light, hoping that the ethereal beams would somehow erase the sentimentality that washed over her now. With her previous protector, she had set up the scenario on the beach where Wolf had found her two years ago. She had known Wolf would be there and that his sympathetic heart would never allow him to leave her there. Through trickery she had come to this castle, but once ensconced in Wolf’s household, she had allowed herself to hope for other things. None of those things were a reality now.

  She had played all sides of the men in her life—Wolf, Lord Grange, and even the king—in an effort to get what she wanted. Yet none of those deceptions had brought her the kind of success she truly desired. Which left her only one choice: She had to follow through with her original plan. If she did not, she was as good as dead.

  She released her hold on the blanket, letting it skim down her body until it came to rest upon the floor at her feet. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached for her discarded clothing. She knew what she had to do, and she would do it. Because above all else she knew what it took to survive in this cold, cruel world.

 
Deception and death.
Those were the words that would guide her future now.

  Fiona forced back tears. She straightened her garments and ran her trembling fingers through her tousled hair. She had always wanted something more from her life. Too bad she always took the wrong path toward that goal.

  She had to do what must be done. What that turned her into, she would have to live with for the rest of her life.

Chapter Eighteen

  Early the next morning, the great hall buzzed with activity. At the sound of voices, Izzy quickly dressed, then left the solar, where she had spent the night alone, hoping to catch a glimpse of her husband before he left. Wolf had informed her after they'd returned to the castle the night before that he would be gone with the morning light.

  She knew from their conversation in the tree house that he intended to find Lord Grange. He did not say what he would do when he found the man, and at the time Izzy had been too stunned to ask for details. Now that she'd had time to think on the matter, she did not know which prospect frightened her more: the thought that he might find her father or that her father might find him.

  Perhaps if he hadn't left yet, she could intervene. Racing down the stairs, she wondered what she could say. All night long she'd debated about telling him the truth about who she was. He'd opened himself up to her at the tree house. She owed him the same courtesy, regardless of the outcome.

  "Where may I find my lord Wolf?" she asked a maid who passed by carrying a tray of freshly baked bread for the morning meal.

  "He's gone, milady," she said with a deep curtsy. "He left at dawn."

  Wordlessly, she motioned for the maid to rise, so startled by the show of respect that she could do nothing more. The maid offered Izzy a pleased smile before continuing on her way. Izzy sighed. So much for unburdening herself of the truth. As soon as he returned, she would tell him everything. Until then, however, she might as well learn something about the castle in which she now lived, or if she was truly honest about her feelings, something about the man she had married.

  Because after yesterday, she could no longer believe he was the beast his name implied.

  Suddenly restless and in need of answers, Izzy searched the room. A welcoming fire glowed in the hearth. Contented serving maids shuffled about the hearth, grinding grain into flour on one side of the big wooden trestle table. On the other end of the table, two elderly women kneaded already risen dough in preparation for baking. Other servants bustled to and fro, performing their daily duties, repairing tapestries, stocking wood near the hearth, and replenishing the barrels of ale for the next meal.

  Several warriors sat at trestle tables farther away from the hearth engaged in a game of merrills. For a moment she found herself moving the three wooden pieces along with the players, mentally trying to place the markers in a row while blocking the opponent.

  As the last peg slipped into the hole on the game board, a cheer went up. Izzy recognized the winner as Hiram, the disfigured warrior who had brought her bath when she'd first arrived. In this setting, he no longer appeared shy and uncertain. Among his peers, he commanded their attention as he moved his game piece across the board, exchanging ribald comments with the others. Roars of laughter followed each man's jibes, filling the large hall with a warmth and cheerfulness she had not expected to find.

  The room's occupants acknowledged her presence with a nod as they continued in their work or play. She returned their greetings while trying to disguise her own discomfort. Never had she been so visible before, and she found the attention a little disconcerting. She had tried hard all her life to be no more than a mere shadow while around others. The lack of attention had suited her just fine.

  But things were different now. It was her responsibility to do as Wolf had asked—and care for his people. But how? Izzy glanced about the immaculate chamber. Everyone in the hall had a job to perform or some way to contribute to the care and upkeep of the castle. Uncertainty crept over her. She had been trained by the MacDonalds as a servant, not as mistress of a castle. How would she ever find a way to help her husband here?

  The thought had barely materialized when Brahan appeared at the bottom of the stairway. As soon as he saw her, he made his way toward her.

  Nervously she moistened her lips. He was bound to ask her more questions about the necklace. How could she talk to him about something she didn't understand herself? Desperate to escape that conversation, Izzy scanned the room. That was when she saw him: Walter.

  He sat alone at a table on the far side of the hall. A queer sensation tingled along the fine hairs of her arm. A sign? Was this how she could help Wolf? Ever since she'd first met Walter aboard the
Ategenos
she had sensed awkwardness in his interactions with her. He didn't like her, though she had no idea why.

  Yet Wolf had specifically asked her to help Walter feel more comfortable in his new home. She knew Walter had been imprisoned—an experience she knew all too well.

  She glanced behind her. Brahan had almost reached her. Perhaps she could help Walter in some small way. She hurried to the table where he sat. Whether Walter would accept her intervention or not, he would serve as a diversion from Brahan.

  "Might I sit with you?" she asked in a calm, unhurried voice.

  Walter looked across the table at her. She didn't miss the flash of resentment in his eyes. "I suppose I cannot stop you now that you are mistress of the castle."

  As she sat, she allowed her gaze to move past Walter, to where Brahan leaned against the wall not twenty paces away. His casual pose said he would wait all day for her, yet his expression revealed his true haste.

  Izzy turned back to Walter. "The hall seems very busy today," she said, trying to make conversation.

  He frowned. "So it is." His breath smelled of ale.

  Not the best circumstances under which to have a chat with the man, but she would not turn away from this opportunity. "Can we talk, Walter?"

  "I doubt my brother would want me to talk to you."

  "Why?"

  "Because I have caused him enough trouble already." He thumped his fist on the table. His half-full mug of ale jumped at the violent attack, then clattered against the tabletop once more. All eyes turned her way. Warriors and servants stopped their tasks to appraise the situation. Brahan stepped away from the wall, heading toward her.

  Izzy forced herself to remain calm. Neither of these men would get the best of her. She had dealt with angry and abusive men all her life. If she had to, she could handle Brahan's questions and Walter's anger. "I did not mean to disturb you, Walter," she said in a soothing tone. "You just looked like you could use some conversation."

  "The very fact that you are in this castle disturbs me." He reached for his mug and took a long drink. "The fact that Wolf married you disturbs me even more." He set down the mug. His hand slipped from the table to rest at his belt. "And I hate that our father wants . .."

  A flash of pain entered his eyes before he looked away.

  "You have no idea how guilty I feel," he said.

  Izzy frowned. "Guilty over what, Walter?"

  His gaze lit on her once more. Instead of guilt, hatred hardened his eyes. His fingers left his belt, and before she could react, a dagger embedded in the wood a mere whisper from her fingers. She snatched them back against her chest. In the space of a heartbeat, Brahan, along with seven of the warriors, surrounded the table, each with their sword drawn.

  "Move away from the table, Walter," Brahan said, his voice a deadly calm.

  Izzy hugged her fingers to her chest in an effort to hide their sudden trembling. Eight long and lethal-looking swords pointed at the man opposite her. Walter merely sat back in his chair and hoisted his mug, as if he had not a care in the world.

  The dagger before her vibrated with the force of Walter’s blow. Perhaps she had been wrong about knowing how to deal with men such as Walter. Anger and aggression she was used to, violence she was not.

  "What's going on here?" Mistress Rowley forced her way through the warriors surrounding the table. One look at the swords and her eyes widened in horror. "Put your weapons down."

  Instantly, the whisper of metal sheathed in leather filled the silence that had crept over the hall.

  "What is the meaning of all this?" Mistress Rowley continued.

  "Walter attacked her," Brahan said, his voice low and dangerous.