Warrior's Bride (29 page)

  The passage Brahan brought them to was not much more than a crevice slashed between two gnarled stone columns of overlapping rock that rose at least forty feet above them. The entrance was covered with brambles and thorn bushes so that it appeared no more than a gap in the mountainside that disappeared into the sheer cliffs below. It took the men several minutes to hack their way through the undergrowth to the opening.

  The chasm was just wide enough to accommodate the breadth of a horse's flanks. The horses balked at entering the darkness, their nostrils dilating, their flanks quivering with undisguised fear.

  "We need torches," Wolf said as he smoothed the gleaming neck of his own horse, trying to quiet it. He understood the animal's terror. He, too, had to fight back a strong revulsion at entering the black maw. But the entrance was all that stood between him and Isobel, and this was a chance he was willing to take.

  He accepted a torch from one of his men and kicked his horse forward into the narrow passage. Torchlight illuminated the slime-covered rock ahead, and the air immediately thickened with smoke. Wolf could feel his eyes start to burn and tear until he passed the narrow entrance and the ceiling lifted, allowing a draft to suck the flames upward.

  The horse beneath him quaked. Wolf urged the animal on into the dark void, illuminating the passage ahead with the golden glow of his torch as the others followed behind. Several times he felt the sides of his legs scrape against the walls of stone, but he kept pushing forward. Far better for his legs to suffer this abuse than his horse's flanks. As long as the beast did not fear getting stuck, they would make it through. Every step took him that much closer to Isobel. Balliol or not, she was his wife.

  A hundred yards ... The air grew heavy and the cloying scent of decay surrounded them as they moved deeper into the bowels of the mountain. Torchlight cast an eerie glow on the dark rock, making the fissures and outcroppings appear almost human one moment, gruesome and beastlike the next. A deathly silence fell over the men, and Wolf knew he must not have been alone in his imaginings. Only the shuffle of the petrified animals across the slick stone could be heard.

  Two hundred yards ... The tension in Wolf’s shoulders and neck screamed for release. Pressure built in his chest. Time seemed to stretch forever before him— the darkness muting all senses to anything other than the stinging pain of his exposed skin, which felt as though it was being sliced into bloody strips.

  Three hundred yards ... four hundred ... five. He stopped counting after a while, falling instead into the rhythm of his heart beating in his own ears. He strained to see in the darkness ahead of the torch's glow. When a spot of white appeared in the distance, he reasoned it must be his own fatigue playing tricks on his mind. Until the splash of white grew as they drew near, and the sky spilled color into the dark void of nothingness.

  He paused between the darkness and the light. How would they know there was no trap set for them on the other side? An enemy could easily strike them down as they emerged from the maw.

  "Wait here, and keep yourselves hidden," he ordered his men. "I want to make certain it is safe. If I do not return shortly, then do not expose yourselves."

  Brahan frowned. "I should go."

  Wolf set his jaw. "Protect the men. I shall return."

  Before Brahan could argue the point, Wolf spurred his horse forward. As he passed through the mountainside and into the light, Wolf gave in to his urge to draw a deep, heather-scented breath of fresh air. Yet the relief he expected to feel escaped him. Instead, the sensation that something else hovered just out of reach stretched his nerves taut.

  Methodically, he searched the outlying areas for danger. When he was certain the area was clear, he went back for his men. One by one they appeared through the passageway. Weariness and relief shadowed their faces and beads of perspiration hung upon their brows. Rivulets of blood ran down their legs as they did his own, proof that the mountain had not been kind to their exposed flesh. All eyes turned to Wolf, awaiting his orders.

  No matter what his senses told him, his eyes gave evidence that his men needed a break. "We will rest a moment before we continue on." Wolf dismounted and encouraged his men to do the same.

  The afternoon sun stretched high overhead, chasing away the last of the morning mist. Evidence that the storm had passed during the night. And still, he could not shake the sensation that something else was wrong. He tensed, his senses on alert, like a beast catching scent on the wind. What was it he sensed but could not identify?

  After hobbling the horses in a grassy area where they could graze, Brahan came to join Wolf. "The men are grateful for the respite."

  "The pass cut off half day's journey. They deserve it."

  Brahan wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand as he studied Wolf’s face. "What's wrong?"

  Wolf kept his eyes trained on the forest beyond. "I don't know exactly, but my senses tell me it's something dangerous and deadly."

  Brahan's frown deepened. "I thought I was the visionary here."

  Again, the eerie sensation crawled along the back of Wolf’s neck, feeling like a deadly spider unleashed from its web. "It has to be Isobel."

  "What makes you so certain?"

  Wolf clenched his fists at his sides. "I am not certain of anything anymore except that Isobel needs me."

  Brahan nodded. "I'll gather the men, and we will ride out." He turned away, but Wolf stalled him with a hand on his arm.

  "Nay." Wolf shook his head. "Let them rest. I'll go alone."

  Brahan's brow rose in question. "Is that wise?"

  "Nay," Wolf said without guile. "But something in my gut tells me to leave, now."

  "All right," Brahan agreed. "The men and I shall follow as soon as we're able."

  With each beat of his heart, the sensation of impending doom intensified until Wolf's nerves were stretched so tight, he wanted to lash out against the pain. "Until then," he called over his shoulder as he raced for his horse. He leapt onto the animal's back and pressed his heels to its sides. The animal sensed the urgency within its master and plunged through the meadow and into the forest.

  Isobel.

Chapter Twenty-six

  Walter knelt on the cold stone floor of the chapel and set his crossbow in front of him. For a long moment he merely knelt there, his hands clasped, staring blindly into the prisms of multicolored light that bathed the altar in hues of blue and green and red.

  He had come here not for himself, but for his brother. He knew his brother much better than most, and he knew that the girl he must now kill had crept into the recesses of Wolf’s much-protected heart.

  His brother would never forgive such a betrayal.

  Walter squeezed his eyes closed, twisting his hands together until pain radiated up his arms. Desperation and anger and fear all coiled together. So much pain, so much deception, so much blood would spill, and for what end?

  Defying his father's orders would only bring certain death—his own. Yet obeying them would bring death as well. "I walk along the blade of a sword," he whispered into the soft silence. He bowed his head, sliding out of desperation and into prayer. He attempted to think of the words, trying without success to make his jaw move properly. It all made so little sense, to destroy a life only to gain another's obedience. Would the control their father held over them ever end?

  "Help me," Walter finally mouthed the words. He hoped the simple words would do, be heard, and a response sent.

  He brought his hands up to cover his face, to physically hold back the eruption of emotion that threatened.

  He needed a solution. He asked for help. He waited for a sign.

  Isobel stood in the center of the dreary and desolate outer bailey, allowing her eyes to adjust to the heavy gloom of the late afternoon. Storm clouds gathered overhead again, as they had since Wolf left two days earlier. She lifted one shoulder in an attempt to adjust the heavy mail biting through her linen shift and into her flesh. She had put on the garment underneath her clothing as she had seen Wolf do. She wanted the protection to go unnoticed beneath her fine gown.

  From deep inside she summoned the courage to see her ruse through. Isobel closed her eyes, and instead of focusing on what was to come, she allowed herself an indulgence in the here and now. She drew in the sweet scent of rain, of the damp earth, of the gorse and heather and granite hills beyond. Different smells than those on the isle she used to call home. Yet these scents crept deep inside. The newly discovered scents of home.

  Her eyes snapped open. Someone threatened her home and the people she loved. She tightened her fingers around the crossbow in her hands, wishing she was twining her fingers with Wolf’s instead.

  She loved him. The realization tumbled through her at the same moment that another rumble of thunder shook the ground beneath her feet. The wind picked up and a chill crept across the bailey. Yet a warm, liquid, honeyed heat spread beneath her skin, warding off the cold.

  She would do anything to keep what she had—a husband, a family, kin. And to make certain nothing else stood in her way, she needed to be honest with all of them. She had to tell Wolf and the others who she was. Even if that meant losing everything, she would tell him the truth the moment she saw him again.

  If she ever saw him again.

  Isobel forced the thought away as she moved through the bailey until she stood fifty paces from the open gate. She had to be strong—now more than ever. Whether the threat came from inside or outside the castle, this position would give her equal opportunity to defend herself while revealing who threatened her newfound kin.

  Isobel drew her shoulders back, waiting. She had sent everyone else into the keep and made them vow to lock and brace the doors. Over their objections, she had persisted until they'd had no choice but to agree, securing their safety. She could place herself in harm's way, knowing that her kin were safe in Wolf’s stronghold.

  Her gaze fastened on the open gate. What would she do, how would she react when she saw her father face to face for the first time? Would she even recognize him?

  A flash of lightning made her start. She gripped the crossbow in her hands, using it to center her nerves. Whether she recognized his face or not, she would recognize other aspects of him—his cruelty, his temper, his deviousness. Her mother had warned her often of those qualities.

  Another rumble of thunder filled the bailey, sounding far away and right on top of her all at once. Again, a moment of unease worked its way into her thoughts. Nature's sounds would cover all noise. There would be no way to hear her opponent's approach.

  Great black clouds choked the sky overhead, smothering what remained of the daylight, pitching the bailey in semidarkness. She should have brought a torch or a lantern, she realized too late.

  Before her eyes could adjust to the dim light, she felt another's presence. To her right, something shifted in the grayness. Before she had a chance to respond, a tall, shadowy figure appeared not twenty paces from her.

  On instinct, she brought the crossbow up to her chest. She had no time to measure the distance or aim with any skill. She released the bolt and hoped it would find its target.

  And just as the bolt took flight, so did she. A force came at her from the right, knocking her off her feet. Her crossbow flew from her grasp as she hit the ground, hard. Pain reverberated up and down her side as the chain mail she wore dug into her flesh. A sea of yellow cloth covered her face as she struggled to fill her lungs, fighting a wave of dizziness.

  A grunt of pain sounded off to her left. A sound that had not come from herself. Had her weapon found its target? She had to find out who it was. She tried to move, tried to crawl out from under the fabric that blinded her and the heaviness that trapped her against the ground, but she could not. Her lungs burned at the effort. She drew in one painful breath, then another.

  As the dizziness receded from her brain, she realized the heaviness on her right side was not of her own making.

  Hesitantly, she reached out. Her hand connected with warm flesh. Isobel gasped, not expecting that.

  "Quiet," a feminine voice hissed close to Isobel's ear. "Make a sound or move and you die."

  The grunting off in the distance became a groan, then a low, unearthly howl that caused the hairs on the back of Isobel's neck to tingle. She lay still despite the pressure on her side that forced her elbow painfully into the rocky ground.

  "I cannot do it!" a male voice cried out, and a single set of footsteps retreated from where she lay, heading back toward the keep. One of the villains was escaping; the other held her trapped. Isobel refused to acknowledge the tightness in her chest. Instead she gathered her strength and with a lunge, forced off the obstruction that held her down.

  She scrambled to her feet, searching the ground for her crossbow. The grayness overhead plunged the bailey in shadow, making it difficult to see anything other than a second gray shape that also rose to its feet.