The Highlander's Lady Knight

by Madeline Martin

  Finding Lady Isolde through the mix of veils, hoods and felted hats seemed a near-impossible task. Until Pip went bounding off into the sea of people.

  “Stop, Pip,” Alan exclaimed as he took off after the dog.

  Cormac reveled in the brief moment of silence with the two gone and was once more reminded of the braies invading his arse. What was the point of wealth if it made someone so utterly miserable?

  Alan came into view in the near distance, along with Pip, who sat at a woman’s feet and gazed up at her with adoration.

  Lady Isolde.

  She wore her long hair coiled into a delicate gold caul dotted with pearls. Her gown was a lovely sky blue that accented her fair, flawless skin. She beamed down at Pip with a sweet expression of joy that curved at her full lips to reveal two straight rows of teeth.

  She glanced up when he arrived and inclined her head. “Sutherland.”

  “Good morrow, Lady Isolde.” He offered her a smile he hoped came across as charming as his brother’s. Being a twin, he knew it looked good on Graham. On him, however, it felt rather foolish.

  “We washed Pip for you.” Alan beamed at her, clearly seeking her approval.

  “Aye, I saw earlier.” Color rose in Lady Isolde’s cheeks. “Earlier, I mean, when he ran toward us moments ago.”

  The woman at her side, a comely brunette in simpler clothes, nodded.

  “We can walk to the stands together.” Cormac offered Lady Isolde his arm. “I’ll join ye in watching the parade.”

  She stiffened and did not take his proffered arm.

  “Ask her,” Alan mouthed from behind Lady Isolde.

  Cormac bit the inside of his cheek to keep from rolling his eyes. “If ye’d allow me to join ye, that is.”

  She hesitated, then opened her mouth and paused again. “Aye,” she said at last and slid her hand into the crook of his arm. “Are you not jousting today?”

  “I’m no’ here to joust.” Cormac navigated the crowd of people and tried to use his body to prevent her from being jostled.

  She tilted her head up at him. Sunlight streamed over her face and made her blue eyes glow, reflecting flecks of pale green in their depths. “Why are you here, then?”

  “At the joust?” He edged them around a tall man who lumbered onward without any haste.

  “At the tournament,” she replied.

  To find ye. To wed ye and steal ye from the man who never deserved ye.

  “To find a mercenary.” He slid a look at Alan.

  Alan straightened beside him and gave a wide, beaming smile.

  Cormac suppressed a groan and irritably shifted his attention from the unwanted mercenary who had weaseled his way into a job.

  The crowd squeezed into the small area funneling them toward the stands. Lady Isolde shifted closer against Cormac’s side. “Then you’ll be leaving soon?” she asked. “Now that you’ve found a mercenary, I mean.”

  “Nay, I dinna plan to,” Cormac answered, nonplussed.

  “He’s fighting in the melee for his clan on Friday, my lady,” Alan piped up.

  Cormac narrowed his eyes, but Alan nodded encouragingly in an apparent effort to help Cormac come up with a sufficient excuse to remain at the tournament.

  “The melee.” Isolde lifted her slender brows. “I hear it will be filled with strong competition.”

  “You’ve heard that because Cormac is the best,” Alan supplied.

  This time, Cormac scowled at the man he’d just hired and might soon let go.

  Alan put up his hands and fell back a step, finally going quiet.

  Cormac caught sight of Brodie Ross in the crowd and the desire to protect Lady Isolde tightened through him. There was no question in his mind that Brodie had seen them as well. Brodie glared at Isolde’s hand tucked against Cormac’s arm, his anger palpable.

  Cormac ignored his rival intentionally and led Lady Isolde into the wooden stands where her maid sat to one side of her and he at the other, along with Alan, while Pip lay at her feet. A stream of knights then entered amid a bellow of cheers as the sun glinted off their polished armor and the banners around them rippled in a rainbow of color.

  After the parade of knights came Lord Yves once more as he and another man made an announcement welcoming them all to the tournament, followed by a list of rules and the blaring of trumpets. Two knights readied themselves on opposing sides of the stretch of land in front of the stands and the joust began.

  Several moments later, Lady Isolde turned her face away as the men raced toward one another, their lances locked firmly in their grips. One smashed into a knight in an explosive impact that showered both riders in splinters of wood. Lady Isolde gave a little start and closed her eyes.

  “Do ye no’ like the joust?” Cormac asked.

  Lady Isolde kept her gaze from the field. “Nay. ’Tis too violent. I cannot abide by the weapons or men being struck by them.” She shivered.

  “Yer brother doesna share yer disdain for such things.” Cormac glanced around in the stands to see if the earl was in attendance. “I’m surprised he’s no’ here. He seemed eager for a fight this morning.”

  “He doesn’t care for formal events such as these.” Lady Isolde’s face shifted in Cormac’s direction. “You saw my brother this morning?”

  Cormac nodded. “Aye, I practiced a few rounds with him. And he issued a challenge.”

  The field in front of them was cleared and the next pair of men began to prepare for their joust.

  Lady Isolde lifted a slender eyebrow upward. “What did you think of his skill?”

  “He’s a skilled fighter,” Cormac replied. “His moves are deft and executed well.”

  “What else?” she pressed.

  He shifted in his seat, suddenly leery of saying more.

  She gave him a coy smile that teased at something in his chest. “Are you holding something back?”

  Cormac swallowed. “I feel he could benefit from more physical strength.”

  She frowned, evidently offended.

  An ache at his temples thundered to life. Why in God’s teeth did he have to be so terrible at wooing women?

  “Do you think he can prevail with this challenge he issued?” she asked.

  This time he considered his reply before opening his mouth. “I hope so. After all, the challenge is for yer honor.”

  5

  Isolde’s face went hot at the mention of her honor and its need to be protected. When she’d been playing the part of Gilbert, she hadn’t once considered how she would react to knowledge of his challenge from her own perspective.

  Now, however, it mortified her to have something so private be aired so publicly.

  Sutherland shifted in his seat. “I’ve made ye uncomfortable.”

  Nay, I have.

  “It isn’t you.” Isolde shook her head. “I…forgive me, I fear I cannot watch another joust. If you’ll excuse me…”

  “Aye, of course.” He got to his feet to help her to hers, which she acknowledged with a polite nod of thanks.

  “Sit down,” someone hissed from behind Isolde.

  Sutherland shot a glare over his shoulder, and whoever had been complaining went quiet. Isolde moved quickly to avoid blocking anyone else’s view.

  In truth, she enjoyed tourneys. The jousts were always her favorite, filled with excitement, uncertainty and fascinating rivalries. It was curious how such rivalries began. Some started with the simplest misunderstandings that turned friends to enemies, some were borne of violence, and others still dated so far back in time no one could remember the origin.

  Isolde went down the stairs with Matilda behind her and paused behind a column near the stands to watch as the two knights collided into one another. The lance of the knight closest to her shattered against the chest of his opponent, shoving him back with such force, he was thrown from his horse. Isolde clapped at his victory. Not only had he won the round, but he had also won the other knight’s horse.

  Before Isolde could
be drawn into another round of jousting, she and Matilda quit the tournament fields and swiftly strode toward the Rose Citadel. It was not yet noon, and already her day had been trying.

  She quickened her pace as they neared the tents. Even with Matilda at her side, Isolde knew well to avoid the tented area where the knights were roughened by competition and made bold by inflated bragging.

  A hand shot out and clamped around her arm, pulling her into the shadows.

  Another man, a blond-haired Ross brother, locked Matilda in his arms and put a dirk to her throat.

  “If ye scream, Garret will slit her throat.” Brodie’s voice rasped in Isolde’s ear, his breath sour with ale.

  Isolde forced herself to remain still.

  Brodie spun her around, his eyes narrow slits of hatred. “I saw ye making a fool of me with the chieftain of the Sutherland clan. Did ye pressure yer brother to challenge me?” He scoffed. “Honor, indeed. I’ll make sure there’s no honor left to salvage.”

  His free hand roughly grabbed her hips, and she knew well what he meant. She could fight him off, she knew. Matilda, however, was not so well-trained.

  Isolde took some comfort in the dagger strapped to her belt. If she could discreetly grasp the hilt, she could throw it at Garret and injure him, then attack Brodie. It was the best option to keep Matilda safe while protecting herself as well.

  Her fingertips hadn’t even had time to crawl toward the dagger when Brodie heaved a grunt and jerked to the side with her still clutched in his arms. She crashed to the ground in a bone-jolting slam. It wasn’t the first time in her life she’d been thrown hard enough to knock the wind from her lungs. Hugh had taught her well, and that included landing hard blows when necessary to teach her basic skills for survival. As a result, she was comfortable with keeping her wits about her in combat.

  She yanked the dagger from her belt and scrambled upright, away from Brodie, with the blade pointed in his direction. The effort was not needed.

  Sutherland sat atop Brodie and pulled his arm back to slam into Brodie’s face. He had no need of her aid. But Matilda…

  Isolde spun on her heel to find Garret frozen with indecision. Before she could step toward her maid to help, a snarling beast raced toward Isolde and planted himself in front of her as a wiry man tackled Garret to the ground.

  Though half the Highlander’s size, Alan nimbly forced the larger man into the dirt and put a dagger to his throat, his usual congenial expression coldly devoid of any emotion. “If it weren’t for Sutherland’s order not to kill you, you’d be dead.” Alan jerked his hands at Garrett’s shoulders. “Especially since you are a man who would try to take advantage of unprotected ladies.”

  Pip growled again and took a menacing step toward Garret as if backing the mercenary’s claims.

  The fleshy smack of a fist striking skin came from behind Isolde, where Sutherland and Brodie fought.

  Brodie grunted. “Leave us be, Sutherland. I’ve no qualms with ye.”

  She glanced over her shoulder to where they wrestled on the ground.

  “I have qualms with ye assaulting a lady.” Sutherland drew his arm back to strike again.

  “She’s my betrothed.” Brodie writhed under Sutherland, trying to free himself from being pinned to the ground. “What I do with the lass is no’ any of yer concern.”

  Sutherland’s fist smashed into Brodie’s nose, which gave a sickening crunch. Brodie howled in agony, and Sutherland finally pushed himself off the other man. He didn’t wait to ensure Brodie was still down.

  Instead, he immediately went to Isolde. Sutherland hovered near her, as though uncertain if he ought to reach for her. In the end, he folded his arms awkwardly over his chest and leaned in close, protective proximity of her.

  Isolde couldn’t help the flash of disappointment. Part of her craved those strong arms wrapping around her, keeping her safe. Giving her comfort. Another part of her, admittedly a much smaller part, knew it was inappropriate to wish for such intimate nearness with him.

  “Were ye injured?” Sutherland asked.

  “Nay.” She looked to her maid, but Matilda shook her head, her hands clutched together over her chest.

  Sutherland’s squared shoulders didn’t lower. “Alan, release the bastard. Let him help his brother to a healer.”

  Brodie cursed from where he lay on the ground, hand cupped over his bleeding nose. Alan pulled back from Garret, who scrambled to his feet and raced over to Brodie.

  “Ye’ll pay for this, Sutherland.” Brodie’s words were muffled by his bloody hand at his face.

  Sutherland didn’t deign to acknowledge the threat. He kept his gaze fixed on Isolde, concern evident in his dark green eyes. She was struck once more with how handsome a man he truly was, with his square jaw now scraped clean of whiskers and a straight nose.

  “May I walk ye to the castle?” he offered.

  This time, Isolde didn’t hesitate. Her fingers slid into the strong warmth in the crook of his arm. A tremor rattled through her body, one swept by a wave of emotions: the fear for what could have happened, the relief for emerging unscathed, the appreciation for Sutherland’s assistance and the apprehension for what would come in the future. Her knees were soft beneath her weight, and it was all she could do to keep from allowing herself to melt against the support of his solid body.

  “Mayhap it isna my place to say this…” He spoke in a slow, careful tone. “But I dinna think yer betrothed is worthy of ye.”

  Heat singed Isolde’s cheeks. “I never agreed to marry him.”

  She stopped when they reached the entrance of the castle. “I’m fine from here. Thank you for your aid.”

  His brow furrowed, and she knew he was not yet finished with their conversation. “Is this why yer brother challenged Brodie over yer honor?”

  She looked away. A row of red banners rippled in the wind like forked tongues. “Thank you for bringing me to the castle—”

  “I’d like to speak with Lord Easton,” Sutherland said.

  “You may find him bantering among the men preparing to joust, though he will not be participating himself. It never was his sport.” She inclined her head, cutting off the conversation before Sutherland could pry any more. “Good day to you, Sutherland.”

  He offered no further protest. Isolde and Matilda climbed the stone staircase to their private chambers. Only then did Isolde allow her legs to collapse. She flopped onto her mattress and put a hand over her racing heart.

  “Are you well, my lady?” Matilda asked.

  Isolde stared up at the green linen trappings hanging over the bed. “After the fight tomorrow, we need to be prepared to leave.”

  “I’ll have everything at the ready,” her maid assured her.

  But the tension did not drain from Isolde’s shoulders. Not when Sutherland had injected himself so completely into her mind, not when so much was riding on the fight tomorrow. And certainly not when fear nipped at the back of her mind, plaguing her with terrifying doubt.

  After Cormac had defeated Brodie, he’d sent Duncan and Lachlan to keep an eye on the brothers while Alan went to glean gossip from the ranks. Following an unsuccessful attempt to locate the Earl of Easton, Cormac had taken the time to bathe in the chilly loch. Even as he made his way to the Rose Citadel that night for the feast with Alan and Pip, his hair was still slightly damp, but his body was invigorated with the chill of the water, and all the remnants of travel swept away.

  Additionally, he was more confident in where he stood with Lady Isolde’s favor. Or at least, more so than he had been previously. Alan had once more proven his worth in obtaining invitiations for them into the castle that evening, a feast meant only for the castle guests and special attendees by invite-only. Cormac navigated through the crowd of tournament attendees and scanned the head table, seeking out Lord Easton. Cormac’s inability to locate the man left him vexed. Who would betroth their sister to such a man as Brodie Ross from the first? And why was Lord Easton now issuing a challenge o
ver Lady Isolde’s honor? And why was he so damnably hard to locate?

  Cormac meant to unearth the answers to his questions that eve, for he knew somehow in doing so, he would identify the key to Lady Isolde’s heart. Or mayhap such a thought was simply him hoping.

  His gaze fell upon Lady Isolde, and Pip scampered off in her direction.

  Alan gazed after his pet. “You keep him tonight. He’ll get finer eating in the hall than outside with the servants.” He winked. “Besides, he’s your dog.”

  Cormac opened his mouth to reply, but then Lady Isolde’s gaze went from Pip up to search the sea of people. For him. She was looking for him.

  Cormac nodded. “Remember what we discussed.”

  Alan was to seek out any information he could find on Brodie Ross. Or any of the Ross brothers. The jousters had provided no information of use, and Duncan and Lachlan had not found any serviceable information either.

  Alan straightened, like a soldier who’d been issued orders. “Aye, I’ll uncover what I can.”

  Cormac nodded at the man and wound through the Great Hall to where Lady Isolde sat at the high table.

  “May I sit with ye?” he asked. In truth, he would have just sat down, but Alan had informed him it was preferable to give a lady a choice in the matter. “Please.”

  “Aye, ye may.” Lady Isolde smiled up at him, a beautiful glowing expression that lit the darkest regions of his soul. God’s teeth, the lass was so bonny.

  Pip had already taken a place under the table at her feet, his eager brown gaze lifted in expectation of any food that might fall to him.

  Cormac sank onto the bench beside her. Immediately a serving wench approached with a tankard of ale for him.

  He glanced about, finding naught but an old woman with feathery white hair at Isolde’s other side. “Where is Lord Easton this night?”

  Her smile faltered. “Most likely taking his meal in his private chamber. He is not one for feasts.”

  Steaming plates of food were set before them, great platters of venison and fowl along with more bread than Cormac had ever seen before in his life. He could only imagine delivering such a bounty of food to his own people.