Warrior's Bride (7 page)

  Was her freedom gone forever? Izzy had made a promise not to escape. She squared her shoulders and brought her hands down to grip the railing. A Highlander was nothing if not true to her word. Her mind, her body, her senses might be confused about what she wanted, but her soul knew. Her soul yearned to find a life that would not be shadowed in darkness or hidden behind walls.

  She would find a way toward that end. One way or another, she would be free.

  From out of the shadows of another castle not far away, two men appeared. "Milord." They bowed their heads and waited for him to address them. Lord Grange clenched his jaw. Milord. The word grated on him like a thistle against his flesh. They should address him as Your Grace. They would address him as such before the season turned. As consort to the Balliol heiress, he had every right to the throne. If only the Stewarts did not stand in his way.

  He growled his frustration as he addressed the men before him. “The girl. Where is she? Why isn't your father here to return her to me himself?"

  Aldous MacDonald paled. "She's gone."

  "Where?"

  He shifted from one foot to the other, his discomfort obvious. "A man came to the isle with papers that claimed his right to her as his bride. Papers from the king."

  "The king!” Grange clutched the man's throat, his grip ruthless.

  "We followed his ship," the man rasped out "We tried to overtake them. When we couldn't we—"

  Grange clenched his grip until the man's face turned purple. "One helpless girl is too hard for an entire contingent of men to apprehend?"

  "She has a protector," the second man offered. "A warrior. He's headed to the Black Isle with her, milord."

  Grange released his death grip on Aldous's neck. "And you think that excuses your failure?"

  "Nay, milord." Aldous massaged his neck, his expression filled with fear.

  "We haven't failed you entirely," the younger man said.

  Grange narrowed his gaze. "Tell me."

  "Eldon sent us with information about the Seer's Stone. 'Tis a story your wife passed on to us to tell to her daughter—your daughter—when the time was right" The man trembled as he continued. Served him right to be so afraid. "She told us the Seer's Stone was broken in anger years ago, when the feud over the throne began. One half of the Stone was given to each of the battling descendants in the hope that they would find a peaceful way to unite themselves again."

  "So it is true," Grange snarled at the men. They took a step back. "She deceived me. She knew about the Stone. She might have even possessed half, and yet she never revealed its whereabouts to me, her own husband."

  Hot rage pulsed through him. He curled his fists at his sides, fighting the urge to strangle both men. "Where is the Stone?"

  "We always assumed the girl had it, even though we've never seen it."

  Grange flexed his fingers. "Bring me the girl and that Stone or every member of your clan will suffer my wrath."

  Both men flinched. The younger man's eyes glittered with desperation. "She is well protected, milord. How are we supposed to enter the warrior's castle and bring the girl out without being seen?"

  "I don't care how you do it," he growled. "I want what is mine."

  The Stone. The girl. The crown.

Chapter Six

  They arrived at the cliffs of the Black Isle at sunset. Izzy found it entirely appropriate that the sky was awash with a fiery red glow, making the enormous fortress at the top of the cliffs appear as if it were surrounded by flames. It was a potent reminder that she was entering hell.

  Gold pennants bearing the symbol of a black wolf topped each comer of the castle, leaving no doubt about who resided within. "Duthus Castle," Wolf said from behind her, putting a name to the structure that would be her new prison. And a prison it was. Sentries patrolled the turrets and the walkway at the top of the outer bailey. Armed with arrows, these men would keep enemies out as effectively as they would keep the castle's inhabitants in.

  She shivered.

  The boat is ready to take us ashore." He grasped her arm and gently led her toward the rope ladder they had used to board the ship.

  She hesitated, not ready to surrender to the inevitable. "Mistress Henny?"

  "Your pet is in the boat already with Brahan." A spark of challenge flickered in his bottomless black eyes. He would allow her no leeway. And he had taken her chicken to make certain she followed his command. "The beast will be returned to you once we are safely behind the castle's walls," he said, as though reading her mind.

  Izzy kept her back straight, digging into new depths of strength and resolve she hadn't known she possessed to march forward with Wolf and allow him to lead her down the ladder.

  Brahan sat in the stern of the boat, clutching a writhing brown sack. "Your hen does not take kindly to confinement."

  She cast a dark look at her future husband. "Would you if you were in her place?"

  "I suppose not," Wolf said with a soft chuckle.

  "And our wedding?" she asked.

  "I grant you a reprieve until tomorrow morning."

  Until tomorrow morning. Izzy let the words echo in her head as she sank back into the boat. Her marriage to this man was inevitable, but for the small reprieve she was grateful. It gave her time to adjust to the fact that tomorrow she would be his bride.

  The trip across the small inlet from the ship to the shore at the base of the castle seemed to take but a moment's time. Too soon she found herself escorted up the sea cliff on foot, across the surrounding approach to the gate, then through the massive gatehouse and its protective portcullis.

  Brahan and the other men followed Izzy and Wolf into the outer bailey. The hum of voices, blending with the clanging of metal upon metal, filled the wide, open space. All around her mailed men trained in pairs with their weapons of war. With each group they passed, the men stopped their battling, their weapons sometimes arrested in mid-blow, their gazes assessing her as she marched past, feeling very much like the prisoner she was.

  "Welcome home, milord." A dark-haired knight sheathed his sword and offered the man beside her a bow.

  Wolf stopped. A smile came to his lips. "It is good to be back, Fenwick."

  "Milady." Fenwick greeted her with a hesitant nod. His gaze shifted from her to Wolf, then back again, in a decidedly uncomfortable manner. "Ah, milord, I doona know how tae tell ye—"

  "My love, you are finally arrived," a feminine voice squealed from the far side of the courtyard. "I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw the
Ategenos
approach."

  A female drifted toward them dressed in tawny silk that molded snugly to her narrow waist and pushed her breasts high enough to mound impressively over the bodice. Her soft brown eyes narrowed suspiciously when they lit on Izzy, and her perfectly sculpted lips turned down in a pout. "Do not tell me you've brought more servants into this already overly staffed household. Whatever shall I do with them all?"

  Her cloying perfume overwhelmed Izzy's senses and turned her stomach with its suffocating sweetness. The scent reminded her of standing in the heather patch with no breeze to draw the fragrance across the isle.

  Brahan handed the sack imprisoning Mistress Henny to an older woman. "Take this to the keep. Mark the chicken in some fashion so others know not to harm it in any way. Anyone who tries will have to answer to me." The woman nodded and took the hen away.

  Brahan tossed Wolf a look Izzy did not understand before he strode forward to greet the flawless beauty. "Fiona Kincaid, how good to see you again."

  The woman stopped moving forward to accept Brahan's greeting as he bent over to offer her hand an airy kiss.

  Izzy felt Wolf’s hand slide from her arm. "This day could want for nothing more," he muttered just beneath his breath. His gaze traveled slowly over the woman's hourglass form, coming to rest on the swell of her breasts.

  Izzy smoothed a hand over her old brown gown. No wonder the woman thought her a servant. She looked the part and had played the role for years now.

  The woman's sharp gaze traveled over Izzy from her face, down the length of her willowy form, to her work worn slippers. She was every bit as much a lady as the woman before her, yet she felt more like a dusty moth in the presence of an exotic butterfly.

  Izzy nodded a greeting, which was met with a spark of fury in Lady Fiona's eyes. "You've been gone far too long, my love." She stepped around Brahan with a laugh that tinkled a bit too brightly.

  "Fiona," Wolf said with a touch of irritation, "we need to talk."

  "We can talk later." The woman wriggled closer until the curve of her hip nestled against Wolf’s muscular thigh and pressed up on her toes to kiss his mouth.

  A multitude of wild emotions stirred inside Izzy, taking her completely off guard. Those moments in the water, alone with Wolf, had brought a strange, unreasonable yearning to her soul. What kind of woman was she to long for freedom one moment, then crave a man's kiss the next?

  Regardless of her own confusion, this woman's presence proved Wolf would be true to his word and never want anything more from her besides marriage. Izzy pressed a hand to her stomach, then turned away from the sight of her soon-to-be husband and his mistress. "Brahan, please take me inside. I wish to rest."

  The sound of the surf filled Izzy's ears. She reached out, hoping to connect with something solid. Then Wolf was there, drawing her against his side, sheltered within the curl of his arm. Without so much as a word between them, hope for something more blossomed inside.

  Fiona gasped.

  Izzy turned her gaze to the sky, to the shimmer of nightfall that hung there like a veil, ready to drop at a moment's notice. Wolf’s powerful hands gripped her body, holding her almost possessively. "This woman is no servant, Fiona. She is—" He stopped when Izzy brought her gaze back to his face.

  "She is what?" Fiona asked dryly.

  Despite Izzy's best intentions not to, she looked into his eyes—eyes as dark as midnight. The possession she saw there warmed the core of her in a way she didn't comprehend and certainly couldn't explain. Her breath stilled as she waited for his answer. How would he explain her presence here to this woman? The sound of the surf faded and the night grew silent

  "She is a visitor here. Lady Fiona, may I present Lady Isobel of the Isle of St Kilda?"

  Something inside Izzy twisted, and pain centered in her chest. He would not claim her. The very thought made her ... she hesitated, not wanting to put a name to the emotion. Her legs felt weak beneath her. She found herself pulled even more tightly against Wolf’s side, yet it was Fiona he looked at with the same enchanting smile he had given her upon their first meeting.

  The pain in her chest tightened as she struggled to breathe. Oh dear heavens, what was wrong with her? She was actually jealous of the woman before her.

  Izzy brought her hands up to hide the blush that suffused her cheeks. She pulled out of Wolf’s grasp. "If you will excuse me”. She took two steps toward the keep when she heard Wolf curse, grasp her arm, and shove her forward into Brahan's arms.

  "Brahan," he shouted, his voice sounding unlike his own.

  Startled, Izzy half twisted, turning back toward Wolf. Instead of the anger she expected to see written on his face, pain was reflected there. Her gaze dropped to his chest, to the splash of crimson that stretched across his saffron colored shirt beneath his long, strong fingers. The bolt of a crossbow protruded from his chest.

  Izzy gasped. The sound was swallowed up in a cacophony of sound. "Up on the castle wall!"

  "A lone archer!"

  "Call to arms!"

  Beneath the dying sun, Wolf’s warriors flooded the bailey like the rushing of the tide. In an instant motion, every hand grasped a weapon—claymores, dirks, targes, and axes—surging to defend. A group of warriors formed a ring of protection around herself, Wolf, Fiona, and Brahan, while his men stormed the interior castle wall in pursuit of the traitor who had somehow secreted himself inside the castle.

  Wolf staggered toward her, knocking her fully into Brahan's arms. "Keep her safe," Wolf bit out as he stumbled backward, then fell, hitting the ground hard.

  "Get down, milady," Brahan cried.

  The next moment she was crushed beneath Brahan's big body. Izzy clawed at the dirt, pulling herself free until she made her way to Wolf’s side. Her breath became trapped somewhere between her lungs and her throat as she stared in horror at the crossbow bolt piercing his chest

  Despair welled up, nearly choking her with its intensity. "He is dead."

Chapter Seven