Warrior's Bride (5 page)

  "Someone must."

  "That someone should be you, since you are to be her groom." Brahan's brow arched in question.

  "I have a ship to run and a new course to set. We have no choice but to risk the narrow passage of the Moray Firth in order to reach the Black Isle. Someone obviously knows where we are headed and might have set further traps for us along the way." Wolf turned away and took the stairs up to the aft deck in two strides. His duty was to his ship and his men, not to a woman—any woman. At the table that held his charts, he clutched the sextant in his hand. To sail by sea would add an additional day to their journey, but it would be time well spent if it kept them all safe.

  He forced himself to study the map, but his gaze wandered to the edge of the table and beyond, to the woman who now sat on the edge of the mattress, alone. Her forlorn expression hid nothing—not her seasickness, not her exhaustion, not even the fact that she'd lost everything she had ever known.

  Who was this girl to gain the attention of a king? What about her was worth risking the lives of seamen and a ship? Because he knew the ship that pursued them had been after her. His own enemies would not have been so bold as to attack him in full daylight. Nay, they were more the sort to slink in the shadows, using darkness to their advantage. So who was after the girl?

  She lay curled with her knees against her chest. Every ounce of decency inside him cried out to champion her, to protect her from whatever secrets she carried.

  But protecting her meant caring what happened. And that would be a deadly mistake, for all of them.

 
When fools are summoned, into service at the promise of great gains, death will surely follow
. Brahan's latest vision taunted from the edge of his thoughts. Perhaps the vision had been correct after all.

  Wolf tossed the sextant onto the desktop, giving vent to the feeling of doom. Whose death did Brahan's prediction foretell? Wolf’s? The girl's? Brahan's? Or were they all at risk as fools summoned into service in a king's manipulative game?

  Eldon MacDonald scrambled from the bow of the sinking ship into the last lifeboat the crew had managed to salvage as the hull dipped slowly into the icy black waters below. His cry of despair hung like a death knell in the salty sea air as the girl and her rescuer sailed into the distance. His family would be forever doomed without her.

  Eldon shivered against a sudden chill that invaded his aged bones. Lord Henry Grange would punish all the MacDonalds for this. Why hadn't he told the man of his child's birth from the very first moment?

  Instead, he'd let Lady Grange convince him that her husband would not be pleased to know he'd sired a daughter instead of a son. From the few times he had met Grange previously, he knew the man was capable of dispatching the bearer of such ill news.

  They'd done as the mother had asked, keeping her secret and allowing the child to remain with her while she still lived. For years, the child had quieted her mother's cries. They'd all been grateful for that small blessing. But any blessing had since faded, replaced by danger because of their deceit.

  Desperation had driven them to betray the girl, revealing her existence to her father. They'd needed funds to replenish the stores that the harsh winter had damaged. Without food and the means to grow new crops in the season ahead, his clan would not survive. Damn his son, Aldous, for not waiting until he'd returned to the isle before releasing the girl to the wrong man.

  How the king had learned of and acted upon that information had surprised them all. And because of that mistake, the clan would suffer more unless they did something else, something even more dreadful than betraying an innocent girl.

  A shiver of doom wracked Eldon's body as the crew set the oars and, with coordinated strokes, propelled the small boat back toward the Isle of St. Kilda.

  They had no choice but to bargain with Grange for their lives. They might have lost the girl, but they still had one thing Lord Grange coveted: the secret of the Seer's Stone.

Chapter Four

  The croft house moved, listed, then fell. Izzy moaned softly and hugged the old, threadbare blanket that was her bed, trying to keep herself still. Her efforts were in vain as the cottage shifted yet again.

  "Fear not, little one. It is only a squall."

  Izzy tried to force one eye open at the sound of that familiar voice, without success. "A squall? But squalls are at sea."

  A soft chuckle came from beside her. "You are at sea. Or have you forgot?" Her eyelids fluttered open and she stared up into a sky of white canvas framed by the gray clouds beyond. It took her a moment before she could make out the edges of a sail that had been secured above her makeshift bed to protect her from the rain. Tiny pings of sound hit the cloth in a steady rhythm that matched the tilt and lift of the ship.

  "It is about time you awoke."

  The ship. The man. Izzy turned toward the sound of his voice. He sat on a wooden stool across from her, one leg propped atop the other. He sank his teeth into a hunk of meat.

  At the sight of the meat her stomach clenched. Despite her sudden nausea, she tried to sit up, but the ship dipped crazily.

  "Lie still. You will only make yourself ill once more."

  She sank back against the heather mattress, defeated for now. She brought her fingers up to press against the lump at her forehead. She remembered it all—the ship, the cannonballs, her own confinement and panic. An overwhelming sense of suffocation, bringing back memories of the dark, dank tower, and her many years of imprisonment alongside her mother, had broken her restraint In her panic to escape, she had struck her head on a low-slung beam. Then, once above deck, she'd fallen asleep, exhausted. Izzy closed her eyes, pushing the memory of her panic deep inside herself with other painful memories from the tower.

  This man, this stranger, had freed her from the dank quarters below deck.

  "Are you hungry?" he asked, his tone gruff. She heard a soft shuffling. A moment later, the mattress dipped beneath his weight and the savory scent of roasted chicken touched her senses.

  Roasted chicken.

  Her eyes flew open and she stared at the platter of meat he had set near her bedside. She sat up, ignoring her queasy stomach. "You didn't..." she tried to talk, but her throat felt suddenly dry and thick. "Mistress Henny—"

  "Is perfectly safe." He scowled at her then, no doubt offended by her unspoken accusation. He motioned toward a nearby barrel. "Your belonging is not pleased with her accommodations."

  Izzy turned her gaze to the wooden barrel. "Mistress Henny?"

  He nodded and took another bite of his chicken, regarding her through narrowed eyes that were framed by thick, dark lashes. "You have very little trust in people."

  "I've had little reason to trust anyone in my life." The thumping of a soft body followed by the rustling of feathers sounded against the wooden slats of the barrel. Izzy knew the sound well. The chicken was irritated by her confinement, but safe. Just as Izzy was now.

  "Interesting." He reached out and lightly traced the curve of her cheek. Warm little tendrils of sensation danced beneath the brief touch. His fingertips were callused, his hands large, but his touch was soft as gossamer silk.

  She tensed to pull away, expecting his touch to turn harsh as it always did when Aldous MacDonald touched her. But Wolf's fingers remained light, his eyes searching her own.

  Seconds clicked by before his gaze clouded and he pulled his hand away. In the silence that followed she realized the rain had stopped and the ship had settled into a slow, rhythmic dip and heave. "How long have I been asleep?"

  "Only a few hours this round, but you've been fading in and out of sleep for the last three days," he answered. "How is your head?"

  "Three days?" She brought her fingers up to gently examine the lump that throbbed at her temple. "It hurts."

  He continued to appraise her, but his expression shifted to something darker, more dangerous. "Why would someone send a ship full of men to harm you?"

  Her fingers froze. "Harm me?"

  "Why else would the king send me to keep you safe?"

  Izzy brought her fingers to her lap, fighting the tension that threatened to overwhelm her. "Marriage is no guarantee of safety." Her mother's experience had taught her that much.

  A crooked, bitter smile curved his lips. "Marriage has worked to protect women and trap men for ages."

  Izzy had expected a certain arrogance in his words. Instead they sounded hollow, an echo of a deed that must be done, not something he chose to do. "You do not wish to marry me?"

  "Because of the king's decree, neither of us has a choice in this matter."

  Feeling suddenly confined, Izzy pushed at the down ticking that covered her legs, then struggled to her feet, ignoring the dizziness the motion brought.

  "Where are you going?" he asked, a dark frown pulling down the corners of his mouth.

  She did not answer. She needed space, needed to feel the wind in her face. Only then could she think clearly. On leaden legs she made her way to the railing of the ship. She drew a slow, steady breath, allowing the sharp air to fill her lungs. She closed her eyes and relaxed into the stiff wind as it buffeted her body, tugged at her skirts, and whipped her hair into wild disarray.

  Only in moments filled with sensation did she find release from all her fears. A moment's peace. That's what she experienced now. Yet even as she tried to hold on to the feeling of the wind brushing past her cheeks, Wolf’s words about neither of them having a choice crept into her thoughts, weighing her down.

  Her ankles were no longer bound by shackles as they had been while locked away in the tower. At times she found it hard to remember that. Times such as now.

  Izzy planted her feet firmly upon the deck. Her chains were gone. She was free, and would remain that way no matter what she had to do. Nothing or no one would restrain her again. Away from the isle and the threat of being returned to the tower, away from the MacDonalds, she would decide the course of her own life.

  Bolstered by the thought, Izzy leaned farther over the rail, catching the breeze fully in her face.

  "Can you swim?"

  She snapped her eyes open and turned to find him standing beside her. Anger and fear reflected in the obsidian depths of his eyes. "Nay," she replied, watching as he shuttered his emotions once more.

  "Then I do not have to fear you throwing yourself overboard."

  Izzy frowned not at his words but at the relief that sounded in his words. She could almost believe he cared what happened to her. Almost. "I value life more than that."

  "Good." He took a step back, putting some distance between them. "Because nothing short of death can spare us from our fate as husband and wife."

 
Husband and wife
. This was not a course she chose.

  "When do we arrive at your home?" she asked with what she hoped sounded like nonchalance.

  "Tomorrow evening."

  "And the marriage?"

  "Will proceed that night." He paused, and a shadow passed once again across his face. Had she imagined a reflection of uncertainty there? "Are you disappointed in your bridegroom?"

  "I had hoped for a man who might…”She let her words fade away as his gaze returned to her face. What was wrong with her? What had possessed her to give voice to something so personal? She never exposed herself like that. Had her early years not taught her that others would only use her dreams against her?

  "Love? Is that what you speak of?" A flicker of amusement brought a spark of life to his cold, unyielding eyes. "Is that what you speak of? Such a sentiment plays no role in marriage."

  A stab of disappointment seized her, but she willed it away. He was right. That romantic sentiment was no more than a fantasy created from the fairy stories she'd overheard as a young girl. Love had never been part of any marriage she'd ever witnessed.

  She turned away to stare at the sea, ignoring him. Her reward came a moment later when she heard the soft tread of his footfalls retreat below deck.

  He was gone. But her problem remained. He did not want to marry her any more than she wanted to marry him. If he would not do anything to spare them, then she would. If they would arrive at his castle tomorrow, then that gave her tonight to free herself from a matrimonial trap worse than any tower prison.

  The tower ...

  A feeling of foreboding crept through her. Confinement, darkness, death. Her breath hitched and a familiar panic crept along her nerves until she heard the soft shuffle of feathers from the barrel beside her.
Mistress Henny
. Izzy shook off the overwhelming sensations and moved to the barrel that confined her friend. She removed the wooden lid and scooped the chicken into her arms. It responded with a soft squawk.

  Izzy nestled against the hen's soft, downy feathers, letting her pet's soft coo settle her nerves. There had to be some way to escape this ship. She stared out at the water and frowned.