Warrior's Bride (21 page)

  The fading sun caught and caressed his features, illuminating his usually dark face with light and tipping his lashes with gold. This man was no beast. Merely a man, caught in the same trap as she herself.

  Would they ever find freedom?

  A noise sounded behind her, breaking the stillness. "It's time to go, milady."

  Brahan bent down beside her.

  She nodded and released her hold on her husband. With the help of two of the other knights, he was lifted bodily onto a horse. Brahan mounted behind him, supporting his body with his own.

  "Help our lady up on her horse," Brahan called back to the knights as he started the journey home.

  "He's awake."

  Izzy stopped raking the hen yard the next morning and turned to see Brahan leaning against the hen house. Over the objections of the other servants, she had insisted on setting the hen yard in order. Her fingers tightened on the rake. "Is he ... well?" she asked, unable to keep the fear from her voice.

  "If you mean did Lord Grange succeed in driving him mad while he tortured him, no, he did not." Brahan pushed away from the wall and came toward her. He stopped beside her and took the rake from her hands. She made an attempt to grab it back. He held the tool farther away, out of her reach. "My lord Wolf is strong. He's been through much in his life. His own father has tortured him in ways Grange could never conceive. I doubt Grange, or anyone else for that matter, could ever break him."

  Relief moved through Izzy. Her father had not harmed her husband. This time. A queer twisting sensation centered in her belly. What would Grange do to Wolf when he learned that the man had married his daughter? She looked at Brahan, then looked quickly away. Had her father told Wolf of their connection? Did he know the truth of who he had married? "Did my lord talk to you about what happened?" she asked Brahan.

  "So many questions." Brahan smiled. "Go ask him yourself."

  She shook her head. She'd sat in the darkness next to his bed last night, but she had not seen him while he was awake and aware of her presence. She wasn't ready for that yet. Not until she could control the way her heart sped up each time he touched her, and not until she could find a way to tell him her secrets without him banishing her in return.

  "Well, that's too bad for our lord Wolf then. Because as of this moment I shall no longer be the messenger between you two. You are his wife, and he is your husband." Brahan frowned thoughtfully. "His injuries are not that severe. I suspect he will be up and walking by the morrow on that leg."

  "That's too soon."

  Brahan shrugged. "He's a fighter, as are you."

  "A fighter?" Izzy averted her gaze to the neat and tidy ground she had raked since the sun first came up. Restless and uncertain how to help her husband, she had fallen back on old habits. Cleaning the hen yard had always cleared her thoughts when she had been on the isle. Yet this morning her thoughts were more confused than ever. "I do not see myself as such."

  "You've changed, milady." Brahan paused. "Forgive me for speaking so boldly, but you are not the same woman we rescued from that isle. You are no longer the maiden trapped in a destiny of drudgery. You are the wife of a great warrior, with opportunities you have yet to even imagine, if you will only reach for what you want."

  What did she want? The possibilities stirred inside her, and a smile came to her lips. The day Wolf had spent with her had made her feel as though she did have a purpose, as if her life and her abilities counted for something. The moments she'd spent with him had made her feel as if she had been asleep all her life and now, suddenly, she'd come fully awake.

  She wanted more of the same. Her smile faltered. If only her secrets did not stand in her way.

  Brahan frowned. "What is wrong? You appeared so radiant for just a moment."

  "There are things that need to be said between Wolf and myself. Things I'm not certain he will understand."

  "Wolf will respect you for telling him the truth." Brahan's gaze narrowed on her face, probing. "And believe me, he will learn the truth. The question is whether he will learn it from you or from someone else. Consider that."

  Color rose in her cheeks. She had already considered that possibility. Would it be better for him to hear the truth of her birth from her, or from his enemy? And once he knew her secrets, what future could remain for them?

  "Do you have so much to consider?" Brahan's voice broke through her thoughts.

  "Nay." Izzy straightened at the sudden realization. She didn't have anything to consider. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain by divulging the truth to him.

  The last traces of doubt vanished. Hope blossomed. "I must speak with Wolf." She started toward the gate when her gaze fell on Mistress Henny, sitting off to the side from the other hens in the yard.

  She turned back to Brahan. "Will you help me?"

  His brow lifted in surprise. "Name your pleasure and it shall be done."

  "Feed the hens."

  Surprise shifted to confusion on his brow. "You want me to feed the hens?"

  "Aye. And do not set a separate place for Mistress Henny to eat as I have always done. If she is hungry, she must learn that it is time to come to the rest of the flock."

  "As you wish, but you'll have to help me, for I know not what chickens ... eat."

  Before he could finish she strolled out of the hen yard, through the gate, and toward the castle, her face aglow with a smile so dazzling he had never seen its equal.

  Brahan smiled himself as he watched her go. She had taken the bait he'd laid out before her. The straggly chicken of a girl they had picked up on St. Kilda was truly a warrior indeed.

Chapter Twenty-one

  Izzy poised her hand to knock on the door of Wolf’s solar. Should she knock? What if he were sleeping? Would he want to be disturbed?

  A soft tap on the wood sent the already ajar door farther open. Odd. If he were sleeping, the door should have been closed. She opened the door a bit more. Instead of silence, the hum of voices greeted her. He was not alone.

  She pushed the door fully open and peered inside. Several people blocked her way. A voice inside the room rose over the others, booming an echo up to the vaulted ceiling. "A message, milord. It bears his seal." The solemn tone was overridden by the sound of the bailiff. "Milord, what mil you do about the poachers?"

  Other voices joined in, one almost indistinguishable from the next in a cacophony of sound. "The menus. If he arrives as he threatens, then what shall we serve?" a shrill feminine voice piped in. "The tenant farmers want to know when they can expect their grain. The portions have been measured, but we need your approval to parcel things out."

  Had her first instincts been correct? Wolf's home appeared to run smoothly, but did that efficiency come from the staff, or from the master himself leading everyone's way? Izzy stepped into the room, curious to know more. Morning light seeped through the stained-glass windows, bathing the room in a glorious splash of blue, green, and reddish gold, highlighting the close to twenty people who crowded next to Wolf’s bedside.

  "Please." His voice rose above them all. "For the love of God, silence!"

  A hush fell over the room.

  "The menus can wait. Give me the letter. The tenants may have their grain, whatever is their fair share. Set the poachers free with a warning that next time I shall not be so merciful. I wish to hear no more. You may all leave."

  "But, milord!" The cry rose up only to be silenced as quickly.

  Izzy could not see the bed, but she could imagine the look Wolf directed at those who had invaded his private domain. A shiver tickled the nape of her neck at the thought. The crowd around his bed thinned and Izzy caught sight of him.

  "Isobel." His voice startled her. Was that a hint of pleasure she heard beneath his words? He sat upon his bed, leaning back against the headboard.

  "Perhaps I should come back later." Izzy stood to the side as the others filtered from the room.

  "Nonsense. I was hoping you would come."

  She remained where she stood, uncertain what to do or say.

  "Your people seem to rely on you for many things, my lord."

  "Some need direction more than others."

  She wanted to ask if she could be of some service. She did not know much about the operations of a castle, but she was capable of performing or overseeing many of the menial tasks involved in keeping a home. After all, that was her entire life on the isle once she'd been freed from the tower. The MacDonalds had seen to that. Yet she was sure doing the same sort of tasks for Wolf and his household would not feel as much of a burden. Still, she hesitated. First she had to tell him the truth of who she was. If by some miracle he wished her to remain, she would willingly offer her assistance.

  "Come here, Isobel." His honeyed voice crept across the distance that separated them and propelled her forward.

  "Do you ever rest, my lord?"

  He frowned. "Need you address me so formally?"

  She stopped two steps short of the bed. "Forgive me. It will take some time to get used to ... everything."

  He sat back against the headboard, his gaze assessing. Only a few days before she would have felt exposed by such a blatant perusal. Now, that unusual warmth curled in her stomach—as it always did when he drew near.

  He held out his hand, wordlessly asking her to take the last two steps forward. She did, and surprised herself even more when she reached for his hand. "I am so glad you are feeling better today, Wolf." She said his name softly, adjusting to the feel of it on her lips. Her fingers seemed cold and clumsy as she joined her hand with his.

  "I apologize that I was not more alert upon our return last evening. I did not realize until this morning that they had taken me to your bed," he said with an apologetic smile.

  "It is your bed, not mine."

  He grunted noncommittally. "Where did you sleep last night?"

  Her gaze moved to the chair near the window.

  "That will never do." He released her fingers and patted the empty space on the bed beside him. "Sit with me."

  She clamped her fingers together in front of her in a futile effort to warm them. "I must speak with you."

  He patted the bedside once more. "Then speak to me from here."

  "It is best that I stay here." If an innocent touch could jumble her thoughts, what would sitting beside him do to addle her brain? She straightened, keeping her chin high. "You will not like what I have to say."

  Wolf remained silent a moment before he patted the bed again. "Sit. You promised."

  She shook her head. "I did no such—"

  He caught her fingers with his. Warmth instantly returned. "You did. In the woods. You promised to be beside me." He offered her a wicked smile. "Your words." He patted the bed once more with his free hand.

  Perhaps she could sit while she spoke with him. She had almost lowered herself to the bed when he stopped her.

  "The other direction." He released her hand and pointed toward the foot board. "I want to look at you. Come, sit."

  Drawn by his plea, she lowered herself to the bed.

  "Still wearing that one green kirtle, I see," he said, his tone more assessing than accusing.

  "It is all I have."

  "Then we will have to remedy that soon."

  She worried her hands in her lap. "There is no need, my lord."

  "There is every need. You are my wife. I cannot have you wearing one dress for the whole of your life. It wouldn't be proper."

  Before she could respond, he swished the hem of her skirt aside to reveal her practical woolen socks and sturdy slippers. "Now," he said as he sat forward and began sliding her slipper from her right foot, "you helped get that trap off my foot in the woods. Let me return the favor."

  She tried to pull away her foot. "These are my slippers, not a trap."

  "Traps come in many forms." His hand was warm and solid on her ankle.

  She struggled against his gentle but firm grip. "I must speak with you, my lord—Wolf." She altered her words at his sharp look. "There are things you need to know about me. Like how I—"

  "—like to relax." He took off her shoes and tossed them one by one onto the floor. Her stockings followed. He clasped her bare feet within his palms and lifted them onto his lap.

  "Why must you constantly do things for others? Will you let no one do a thing for you instead?"

  His hands stilled. "What do you mean?"

  "You need some help around this castle," she stated boldly.

  His expression became serious. "You are right."

  "I am?"

  "Aye. As my wife, you are now in charge of the running of the castle. You will oversee the staff." He smiled. "Do not look so frightened. Fiona is gone and Mistress Rowley will assist you." He reached for a letter he'd set down beside him. "My father is coming to join us. A post-marital visit I want you to prepare a feast and a pageant fit for a ki—" His words stalled and a seriousness she had not noted before came into his dark eyes. "I don't want to talk anymore."