Warrior's Bride (32 page)

  He saw something on the ground—a somewhat battered crossbow. He picked it up. The one Isobel had carried? Wolf stood and turned back toward the keep.

  "Wolf?"

  He stopped and swung back toward the closed portcullis at the sound of a familiar voice. Fiona clutched the iron bars between her delicate fingers, looking as though the very act of standing upright was more than she could bear. Her yellow velvet gown was torn and filthy, her hair a wild tangle of grime and leaves. A gash surrounded by an angry blue bruise marred her temple.

  "Fiona?" He signaled to the tower guards to raise the portcullis. The grinding of metal filled the air as the gate rose slowly upward.

  Fiona released her grip on the bars and swayed on her feet, though she remained upright. When the bars cleared a path, he moved to stand before her. "What happened?"

  Her blank gaze focused on his face and fear rooted in his chest "He took her away."

  "He took who?" he asked, already knowing what she would say.

  "Isobel." Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Grange has her."

  Every fiber of his being became alert "Where?"

  "I do not know." Her tears came all the harder now, as she fell to her knees. "I tried to help her. You have to believe me."

  Fear and confusion twisted inside him. He didn't know what to believe. He stared off into the distant trees. Was this just another trap? Or did Grange truly have his wife? If so, where Walter had failed, Grange could easily succeed.

  Emotion forged by fear and something else he still refused to acknowledge beat against his breastbone, demanding to be heard. He'd kept it prisoner for too long, refused to acknowledge its importance in his life, denied its softness, its power... its effect on every breath he drew.

  "I must find her," he vowed.

  Fiona nodded as she slumped forward. Wolf caught her as she slid into unconsciousness. He lifted her into his arms with a curse and carried her limp body back to the keep. Any information she might have would remain untapped. Once inside the hall, he deposited Fiona on a nearby pallet.

  Isobel could be anywhere. And if she were with Grange, he had no time to waste. Brahan and the others would return to the castle soon and would help him search the forest for his wife. But soon he might be too late for Isobel. He needed to do something now.

  He hurried toward the stables. With a fresh horse and a little luck he would find her. He secured a horse and leapt onto the animal's back. As he did, a stab of pain shot through his left leg, and he remembered what his father had slipped inside his boot. He reached for the Stone, clasping it between two fingers.

  If only Brahan were here. He could use the Stone to locate Isobel. Wolf rolled the Stone's smooth surface between his fingers. What was it his father had said? His own family had had the ability to see into the future at one time with the help of the Seer's Stone. That only half the Stone remained was why Brahan's visions had never been very clear or predictable. Yet some of those visions had been true.

  But at what cost to Brahan? Wolf pictured the streak of white hair that marked Brahan's temple—a visual reminder of the drain each vision had upon his life's essence. And Isobel... she experienced periods of desperate cold after each of her visions. Again, a token paid for the use of the Stone.

  Wolf cupped the Stone in his palm, then held it against his own forehead. Using the broken Stone to foretell the future came with a toll—a toll he would willingly pay if it helped him find his wife. The time for caution had passed. It was time to be reckless, to take risks as he had taken last night against his own father, to trust what his heart told him.

  He closed his eyes and cleared his thoughts. "Show me Isobel," he whispered into the wind.

Chapter Twenty-eight

  Grange's hand cracked across Isobel's cheek with such force she flew backward and hit the forest floor. She gasped, trying to catch a breath.

  "Where's your husband and that Stone?"

  "I don't know." Isobel shook her head, trying to clear it of fear as well as the ringing pain of Grange's blow to her cheek.

  "Don't lie to me." He bent down and effortlessly lifted her onto her feet. "I'll get that Stone one way or another." His voice was misleadingly gentle.

  "You already have the one my mother—" Agony rocked her as Grange struck her again.

  "I need them both to get what I want."

  The forest whirled, then blurred before Isobel's eyes. "I'll never help you."

  He struck her again.

  She swayed on her feet. She would never reveal the knowledge about Wolf or the Stone. What could he possibly do that would be worse than what he'd already done to her mother and herself? "I'd rather die than help y—"

  Pain exploded against the back of her eyes, and she hurtled down into a welcome darkness.

  "Come on, wake up. My patience grows thin. You've been unconscious for the better part of the day."

  Isobel slowly opened her eyes to find Grange gazing down at her.

  "Very good. You are awake. I had feared I had done you some grievous physical injury. That would never do. I need you awake and able to interpret"

  "Interpret what?" she whispered past the dryness in her throat. As her vision cleared she stared above her, realizing with a surge of panic that the colorful canopy overhead was not the filigreed lacing of tree branches, but the dappled glass canopy of Wolf’s tree house. She tried to sit up, yet could not because her wrists and ankles were bound to the floorboards.

  A prisoner once more.

  Early evening light crept through the windows, casting a deep golden glow about the room and reminding her of the time she had come here with Wolf. She clung to the good memories. She had to, or she would be overwhelmed by the terror and despair closing in around her.

  Grange smoothed back the hair from her temple. "Poor little dear. You're frightened."

  She forced back a shiver, refusing to give him the satisfaction. He wanted her fear; she could see that knowledge in his expression. Her fear gave him power over her. And she would never give in.

  "You should be scared." He trailed his fingertips over her bruised cheek, leaving pain in their wake. "Until you give me what I want, I shall not stop." He reversed his caress over her cheekbone, pressing more firmly this time. She bit back a cry of agony.

  "Now, let us get back to the matter at hand, shall we?" He sat back on his heels and studied her. "Where can I find your husband and his half of the Stone? And do not lie to me this time."

  "I don't know where he is. That's the truth." She struggled against her bonds, allowing her fury to burn what remained of her despair. "Only a seer could tell you such a thing," she snapped at him, realizing a moment too late what it was she had said.

  A glint entered his dark eyes. "I couldn't agree more." He reached into his tunic and withdrew her half of the Stone. "I have wondered if you possess the same abilities your mother once claimed she did."

  Isobel couldn't speak. Her throat refused to function as he knelt beside her. She instinctively began to struggle against the bonds holding her tight against the floor. He leaned in closer, pressing the Stone into her forehead. "Where is the other half of the Stone?"

  Isobel shuddered and closed her eyes, holding back the tears that threatened to spill over onto her cheeks. She was alone and helpless, and nothing she could do would stop her father from using her in this way.

  She opened her eyes on a gasp as he pressed the Stone cruelly into her flesh. His cool, unfeeling gaze searched her own, watching her fear, feeding on it.

  Isobel forced herself to look beyond him, at the colored spheres of glass that dotted the ceiling. Wolf’s creations. The light glinted off the glass, sending prisms of color dancing on the walls of the room.

  In the light she found comfort; Wolf was here with her.

  Her eyelids drifted closed, yet the colors remained. Red mixed with orange, green mixed with blue, until a palate of color and light surrounded her mind and she felt no fear.

  "Where is the missing half of the Stone?" Grange's voice intruded into her thoughts. "Tell me what you see."

  A shiver wracked her body as the edges of her mind faded and an image appeared. The warmth of her flesh seeped from her with each pulse of her heart. Her skin tingled with a thousand pinpricks. Numbness settled into her limbs.

  The image strode toward her framed by a smattering of trees in the distance. Nay, the image did not stride toward her, he ran. The lean lines of his body extended and contracted with the grace and strength of a wild beast.

  A frigid chill washed over her, slowing her breathing, draining the life from her limbs. She relaxed into the vision, no longer able to fight the drain of the Stone's forces on her body, her mind, or her soul.

  The image of the beast sharpened. His long, dark shape elongated and became upright, until he ran on two legs—powerful legs encased in black leather boots that failed to conceal sinuous muscle.

  Chain mail lay beneath a black leather tunic that covered his upper body. Over that, he was dressed in a tartan in the new design she had helped the weaver create. The scabbard at his waist held a long and lethal sword. A warrior, not a beast drew ever closer in her mind.

 
Wolf.

  A burst of light flashed in the room. Despite the bone-crushing chill that immobilized her, Isobel turned toward it. Wolf filled the doorway, his broad frame slashing the beam of sunlight into hazy, dust-laden streamers.

  With what remained of her rational mind, Isobel marveled at how lifelike her visions had become. The smell of bay soap and mint, and a distinctive male fragrance she remembered as Wolf’s own touched her senses, evoking a smile. Even the scent of him transcended time and space to bring her comfort.

  She released a satisfied sigh, no longer afraid of the place the vision had taken her. Perhaps her mind knew she needed to see this man more than she needed to reveal the location of Brahan's stone.

  "Is this what you seek?" Wolf’s voice sounded from the doorway. The image held up his fingers, revealing a small white stone.

  "The other half of the Seer's Stone." The pressure on her head lessened. A soft thunk sounded close to her ear, and pinpricks of warmth replaced the numbing chill. Grange scrambled to his feet. A wild gleam flashed in his eyes.

  "Set her free and it is yours."

  Her mind, her body hung suspended somewhere in the room, yet not quite all there either. This was no vision. Wolf had come for her.

  "You are safe, Isobel." The cloudiness that had gripped her mind receded as Wolf's voice filled the room.

  He moved, shifting the play of shadows and light, hiding his features in a wreath of darkness. Yet her senses told her what she could not see—a quaver sounded in his voice and tension hung suspended in the room. He cared for her, whether he'd spoken the words or not.

  "Give me the Stone, and then you can have the girl," Grange said, drinking in the sight of the Seer's Stone.

  "Cut her free."

  "Give me the Stone."

  A muscle jerked in Wolf’s jaw. "Take it." He tossed the Stone high into the air. Grange made a wild leap for his treasure. Wolf dove toward the ground. He rolled effortlessly across the floor and came to his feet wielding a dagger. He slashed the bindings at her feet and wrists.

  Familiar dark eyes glittered with brilliance as he gazed down at her. "You came for me."

  "I promised to protect you." He drew her to her feet, then released her immediately, positioning his body in front of hers, shielding her from Grange.

  Her legs were shaky and weak, and it took all her effort to remain standing. Warmth centered in her belly, chasing away the chill from her vision.

  "Now that you have what you want, leave." Wolf’s voice was as sharp as the steel of his blade.

  Grange had caught the Stone and now twisted back around. The light from the open doorway behind him glinted off his ready sword. "I'll not leave until I have everything I want." His gaze moved past Wolf to Isobel. "The Stone does me little good without a seer."

  Wolf raised his sword, every instinct tuned to the danger, every muscle in his body tensed.

  "That sword will do you no good. My men have you surrounded." Grange preened. "You played right into my trap."

  Isobel stepped back to the open window and glanced below. True to his word, Grange's troops surrounded the base of the tree. Her heart leapt.

  "To leave here alive, you'll have to go through me and my men." Grange's eyes blazed hatred.

  "Then so be it"

  Isobel dimly heard their conversation. All her thoughts focused on how to keep her husband alive. She scanned the room, hoping against hope that she'd see something she had missed before—a weapon, a means of escape, something, anything to help their situation. Nothing came to her. The only weapon she had at her disposal was herself and her abilities.