Warrior's Bride (35 page)

  "I need to speak with you."

  "About your father?" Brahan dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to a waiting stablehand. "We sighted him and his army heading this way. They should reach the castle by nightfall."

  "I know."

  Brahan frowned. "You know?" His gaze narrowed on the small tuft of white at the side of Wolf’s temple. "You used the Stone."

  He nodded.

  "What else did you see?" Brahan's gaze moved beyond Wolf to the keep.

  "My own death by hang—"

  "Nay, that shall not be," Brahan cut in with sudden violence. "Not everything you see with the Stone is the truth. You should know that well."

  "The Stone helped me find Isobel. It foretold your arrival at the same location as Isobel. It showed Grange's death at my hands. ..." He paused, considering.

  "What is it?" Brahan asked.

  "I didn't kill Grange. Isobel did."

  The tension in Brahan's face relaxed, and the corner of his mouth pulled up in a half smile. "As I said, things do not always happen as they are shown. Isobel affected the course of that vision. The course of the future is already altered because of that one thing. The future you saw no longer exists."

  Wolf shook his head. "Perhaps. But you said so yourself, my father heads here now. So some part of the future I saw still exists. Which means I have to assume the worst and take care of certain things before he arrives here for me."

  "We will go to battle." Brahan turned back toward the men. "I shall have them ready before he arrives."

  Wolf caught Brahan's arm, halting him. "No more fighting."

  Brahan's eyes widened. "You will not fight even to save yourself?"

  "I shall not fight him any longer." Wolf released his hold on Brahan. "I am not afraid to die."

  "He has hurt you in so many ways over the years." Brahan's voice was low, barely discernible. "Don't let him hurt you anymore. Consider that you might not be thinking clearly."

  Wolf clenched his fists at his sides. "There is so much more at risk now. So many more people for him to hurt."

  "Isobel."

  "And you. And Walter. And anyone he thinks he can use to control my actions. I cannot allow that to happen again. Do you understand?"

  Brahan nodded as he looked off into the distance. "I don't like it."

  "Thank you, Brahan." Relief rushed through Wolf. "I must ask something else of you as well."

  Brahan's eyes glittered moistly as his gaze slid back to Wolf's. "I would do anything for you if it kept you here with us."

  For a moment, Wolf’s resolve faltered, until he remembered all that was at stake. "Take half the men and half the servants from Duthus Castle and go to Grange's castle. Send half his men and half his servants here."

  "Why?"

  "Crichton Castle will soon be yours. I have drawn up papers for the king to sign, giving you the castle, the lands, and a tide as repayment for your years of service to Scotland."

  "The king will never agree to that."

  "Aye, he will. I intend to make him an offer he can't refuse."

  "You'll give him your life."

  "That's what he's wanted for years."

  Brahan remained silent, his gaze on Wolf. A myriad of emotions passed over his features—disbelief, anger, hope, and finally acceptance—until, with a sigh, he ran a hand wearily through his hair. "As you wish."

  "Brahan MacGregor, I wish things could be different, but that is not to be. I need you and the others behind me if I am to leave Isobel with any sort of peace."

  "There is no sanity in what you ask or what you do now, but I shall do as you ask because you are my friend."

  Wolf nodded his thanks, unable to find the words to express his true gratitude.

  "When do I leave for this castle?"

  "On the morrow," Wolf said. "All should be finished by then."

  Brahan's gaze sharpened. "Don't make it easy for your father."

  "Nothing between us has ever been easy. Why would my own death be any different?"

  "I don't like it," Brahan repeated, his spine as rigid and unbending as the steely look in his eyes. He turned and strode toward the stable to vanish a moment later into the crowd of men who had served Wolf so well.

  One task accomplished. Two remained yet undone.

  Wolf did not have to go looking for Fiona. Instead, she found him.

  The paleness of her face told him something was terribly wrong. "What is it?" he asked.

  "Are you not angry with me?"

  "In truth, aye."

  Red spots of color came to her otherwise pale and bruised cheeks.

  "You've hurt so many people. I still don't understand why."

  "I needed the security Grange's money would give me."

  Wolf felt a moment's anger, but he pushed it away. He needed to keep his self-command intact, to deal with her quickly and move on. "So you became a spy and a murderess."

  Regret lingered in her eyes as she took a step closer. "I'm not proud of what I've become." Only a hair's breadth separated them now. He grasped her arms and set her away, but not before she reached for his sword, pulling the weapon free of its scabbard with a whoosh of sound.

  He reached for her, but she stepped away, out of his grasp. "Give me the sword, Fiona."

  "I shall give it to you if you promise to use it." Her gaze held a challenge.

  "Against my father?" he asked.

  She turned the weapon's hilt toward him. "On me. Take my life as a penance for all the bad I have done to you, to Isobel, to that poor serving girl, and everyone else who has crossed my path in the last score of years. Cut me down, I beg you. I deserve no less."

  She forced the weapon into his outstretched hand, then dropped to her knees, exposing the length of her neck to him. "I beg you to make it quick and clean."

  "Get up," he demanded, his tone harsh.

  She twisted toward him. He saw her face. Saw her eyes. Saw in every aspect of her body the regret that pulsed through her. He also saw grief. "Do it!" she shouted up at him, then choked out a sob.

  Wolf allowed the sword to slide from his fingers. It clattered against the ground as he bent down beside Fiona. On hands and knees, he reached for her slack fingers. "I shall not release you from your own guilt through death."

  He could see the burden of her guilt press down upon her, feel it in the shudder that coursed through her body as tears rolled down her cheeks. "I cannot live—" she sobbed, "with what I've done."

  "Aye, you can, and you will." He reached down and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb. "If you want to make something good of yourself from the bad, I shall give you that chance, but it will not be in death."

  "How do I find that redemption?" She sat back, staring up at him with a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "What can I do?"

  He offered her his hand and pulled her to her feet. "Go to Crichton Castle with Brahan. Help him establish order among Grange's people. You will have ample opportunity to find forgiveness as you train the servants in the proper running of a home."

  She looked skeptical. "That is not enough to make up for all the harm I've caused. I deserve to die."

  "Your death will serve no purpose other than to end your pain. Going with Brahan is a start at redemption, Fiona. The rest you will discover along the way."

  "What makes you think Grange's people will listen to me?"

  Wolf allowed himself a grin. "They probably won't at first. But that will be the challenge, won't it?" More seriously, he added, "Brahan will need your help. Don't disappoint him, and don't disappoint me."

  She nodded. "All right. I accept your challenge."

  "Very well. You will leave for the castle with the others on the morrow. Prepare yourself." Without waiting for a response, Wolf retrieved his sword and headed back to the keep.

  Two tasks done. One left.

  "Walter." Wolf stood at the door of the chapel, as amazed as he was curious at the sight before him. His brother knelt before the altar, his freshly shaven head bent in prayer. His garb had changed as well. He'd exchanged his tartan for a monk's robe.

  "What are you doing?" Wolf entered the chapel.

  "Praying for the salvation of my soul." Walter's eyes were shut and his head rested against his folded hands.

  Wolf knelt beside him. "Why now, when there have been so many other opportunities throughout the years?"

  "Something you said." Walter's voice sounded tight and almost raw, as though he spoke through a wall of restrained emotion.

  "When have I ever said anything that affected you one way or another?"

  Walter's head snapped up. His eyes filled with pain and remorse. "You said I needed to stop letting Father control me. You told me to look for the options in my life." His gaze slid away from Wolf’s to embrace the cross that hung above the altar. "I have searched for peace for so long, I hardly recognized it when I finally bund it right here in this chapel."

  Wolf frowned, confused by his brother's words. "Are you seeking forgiveness, Walter? Because if you are, I forgive you."

  "I need so much more than your forgiveness. I need salvation." Walter returned to his prayers, but not before Wolf caught the determination and passion in Water's gaze.

  "What if I offered you a chance to put that determination into service?"

  "How?" Walter's gaze remained fixed on the cross.

  "Stay here at the castle and serve my people, serve Isobel. The king will arrive soon, and I shall be charged with treason. Everything will be taken from me, unless you agree to step up and assume it all."

  "I shall be punished as well, for failing to kill your wife.

  "You followed father's command. How were you to know that Isobel would be the one to stop you with that bolt to your chest? You've done your duty."

  Walter shook his head. "He will never agree."

  "He will by the time I am through. Now, will you commit to guiding my people? You may focus on their spiritual journeys, if that is what you choose."

  Walter's gaze moved back to Wolf’s and filled with disbelief. "You would trust me to do that? Me?"

Wolf smiled. "Only you."

  "Why?"

  He shrugged. "Who better to understand and guide those who stumble in life than someone who has stumbled as well?"

  "I shall need training."

  "Father MacMurphy will train you. I'll make certain of that."

  Walter's face brightened. "I won't disappoint you."

  "Nay," Wolf agreed. "I don't believe you will." He stood, then headed out the door. All his tasks were now complete. All that remained was to wait until his father arrived.

  At the thought his heartbeat faltered. He was tempted to go back to the chamber he shared with   Isobel and spend the last few moments of his freedom losing himself in her sweetness.

  He started down the hallway to the solar before he forced his feet to stop. He gripped the stone wall for strength, for support. If he went to her now, it would make it that much harder to leave her when the time came. With an effort, he turned around, heading instead for the great hall.

  He still needed to speak with Mistress Rowley. With any luck he would find her there. If not, he would go to the lists and work out his aggressions at the end of a sword.

  Wolf found Mistress Rowley in the hall near the hearth, tending to the needs of the warriors who had battled against Grange's men.

  "How are they?" Wolf asked as he approached.

  "They are well," she whispered, "but they'd be better if they knew their lord would be with them to support them for years to come." She stood, stepping away from the warrior who slept on the pallet near the hearth's warmth.

  Word of his father's arrival had spread quickly. "I cannot stop the king from coming for me."

  Mistress Rowley stood before him, her hands perched on her hips. "Even in their battered condition, many of them want to fight on your behalf."

  "No more fighting."

  "Why?" Mistress Rowley's voice held a hint of desperation. "You've fought him all your life. Why stop now?"

  "Because the man finally did something good for me. He gave me Isobel."

  Mistress Rowley shook her head in dismay. "He threatened to kill her. He tried a time or two, as I recall." She leaned in closer, her gaze narrowing on his face. "Not that you have to explain yourself to me, my lord Wolf, but you had better if I'm to explain your reasons to her once you're gone."

  Blood pounded at his temples. Why did they all have to make this so hard? Did they not see he had no other choice? The king would rise again and again, like a bloody Phoenix, until he killed them all. "If I fight him, he still controls me and Isobel. If I don't, at least she'll be free."