Joanna Fulford

  ‘I know.’

  She hesitated. ‘I pray that I will give you a son but...’

  ‘That will be as God wills. The point is we are going to have a child.’

  ‘Many children I hope.’

  ‘Well then, what need to worry whether the first is a boy or a girl?’ He put his arms round her and drew her close. ‘It is a blessing I once thought never to have.’

  ‘And I.’

  ‘You have nothing to reproach yourself for.’

  ‘It means so much to know that it wasn’t my fault.’

  In that moment he glimpsed the extent of her pain and her fear and they moved him deeply. So too did the knowledge that, for a while at least, he had contributed to that, allowing doubt to govern his behaviour. It shamed him to think of it. The woman is always to blame. His jaw tightened as the words came back to haunt him.

  ‘I’m so sorry, sweetheart.’

  She looked up quickly. ‘For what?’

  ‘For my former behaviour towards you. I cannot think of it without disgust.’

  ‘You have not ill used me.’

  ‘Not in the ways you are thinking of perhaps, but in all others.’

  ‘Not so.’

  ‘It is so, starting with my near rape of you beside that river, and ending with a series of clandestine trysts in a hay barn.’ He shook his head. ‘It could not be considered knightly behaviour, by any stretch of the imagination.’

  ‘You took a chance that most men would have shunned.’

  ‘I took advantage.’

  ‘It has worked out in the end.’

  ‘That doesn’t make me feel any better about it.’

  ‘Let’s not dwell on the past, Ban. We have so much to look forward to.’

  He kissed her gently. Before they could truly look forward the present menace must be dealt with. Her revelation tonight only made it more pressing. Their child would have its inheritance no matter what. After that he would devote himself to being a better husband.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Work began on the harvest, and most of the inhabitants of Glengarron, saving only the very young and the very old, were busy in the fields, the men cutting the grain, the women binding and stacking sheaves. As each field was cleared the gleaners moved in, collecting what had been dropped or missed, so that nothing was wasted. Even the children helped. Gradually the granaries began to fill. People smiled as they worked, knowing that the year ahead would be a year of plenty.

  Isabelle would have volunteered her services to help but Ban refused to hear of it. ‘You are with child. Heavy work is out of the question.’

  ‘Other women do it.’

  ‘You are not other women. You are my wife. Besides, harvesting is no work for a lady.’

  ‘And yet I have done it in the past.’

  ‘Maybe so, but you’re not doing it now.’

  ‘Very well. If you feel so strongly, then I won’t.’

  His gaze locked with hers. ‘I know you won’t.’

  ‘Arrogance hasn’t entirely deserted you, has it?’

  Ban bit back a smile, enjoying her. He knew he ought not to push this any further but the temptation was suddenly irresistible.

  ‘I am your husband and I will be obeyed.’

  Isabelle folded her arms. ‘I will obey, in this case, because I can see your reasoning.’

  His eyes glinted. ‘You will obey in every case whether you see my reasoning or not.’

  ‘Or?’

  ‘Take the consequences.’

  ‘Why, you arrogant, overbearing...’

  ‘Arrogant? Overbearing? Then I’d best do what I’m accused of.’

  Before she had a chance to anticipate him he seized hold of her, drawing her hard against him in a fierce embrace. His mouth, slanting across her, was hard, demanding, forcing her head back in a searing kiss that left her breathless. Isabelle struggled ineffectually, her hands against his chest making no more impression than a sparrow’s wings. Though still annoyed she could not be indifferent to him. His passion now was deliberately provoking but it excited her as well. She burned in the embrace even while she fought it. He held her until she capitulated. Panting she could only stare at the face looking over hers.

  ‘Let me go, Ban.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Let go, villain.’

  ‘I detect unwifely defiance here which must be answered.’

  Without warning he swung her off the ground and into his arms before striding back the way they had come. Isabelle’s struggles made not the slightest impression. She was taken to their chamber with the utmost ease. Then he kicked the door shut behind them and carried her to the bed, depositing her on it and following her down. Understanding his intent, Isabelle struggled harder as annoyance vied with desire. In moments her wrists were pinned, her body pressed down into the coverlets by his. Then his mouth was on hers again, gently this time, though no less insistent. Familiar warmth kindled along her skin and her body gradually relaxed beneath him as she returned the kiss. Then he drew back a little, looking into her face.

  ‘That’s better.’

  She was about to deliver a blistering retort when she saw his grin. Her eyes narrowed as realisation dawned. ‘You did that on purpose, didn’t you?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And I rose to the bait.’

  ‘Beautifully.’

  It drew a reluctant laugh. ‘I should know better by now.’

  ‘Aye, you should.’

  For a second or two they surveyed each other in silence. Then she tested his hold. It didn’t budge.

  ‘Ban?’

  ‘Isabelle?’

  ‘Are you going to let me go or not?’

  ‘Not,’ he replied.

  * * *

  Having been refused permission to help with the harvest Isabelle turned her attention to sewing clothes for her baby and assisting Ashlynn with household chores. She enjoyed the other woman’s company and valued their developing friendship. After being so long without sympathetic female companionship it was precious. In spite of keeping herself occupied, Isabelle could not overcome a sense of foreboding as harvest drew to a close. When it was done the men would ride for Castlemora.

  Ashlynn too was unwontedly sombre. ‘No matter how many times I see Iain ride off to fight I always feel nervous.’

  ‘Damn Murdo. I wish the murdering brute would drop dead of heart failure or fall from his horse and break his neck or choke at table.’

  ‘Any one of those would be an ideal solution.’

  ‘It isn’t going to happen though, is it?’

  ‘Probably not.’

  ‘I want Castlemora to be regained and I want my brother avenged, but I wish it could be done without loss to Glengarron.’

  ‘It will be done with the minimum of loss to Glengarron,’ replied Ashlynn. ‘Iain will see to that.’

  Isabelle pondered the words later, hoping with all her heart that they were true. While Ban kept her abreast of their plans in general terms, he hadn’t gone into detail and certainly hadn’t mentioned strategy, but then it probably hadn’t occurred to him. Most men would consider it an unfit topic for a woman’s ears. She smiled to herself, imagining his response if she were to ask. Not that she would ask. In a man’s world such a question would be regarded askance or with amusement.

  * * *

  As the afternoon wore on she tired of sewing and laid it aside. Some fresh air wouldn’t come amiss and with luck she might meet up with Ban and exchange a few words. However, that proved harder to do than she had hoped for when she sought him out it was to discover he had ridden to the village with some of his men. No one knew when he might return. For a while she hesitated but then it occurred to her that she could walk towards the village herself. It was no more than a mile distant. The day was fine. She would find him there or perchance might meet him on his way back to Dark Mount. The more she thought about it the better it seemed. There could be no objection if she went attended so summoning Nell to acc
ompany her she set out.

  It was a pleasant walk and the sweet fresh air lifted her spirits. The path wound round the crag of Dark Mount and thence along the glen parallel to the burn. With the hillside purple with heather it was a bonny sight. Below it golden stubble stood in the fields where the reapers had been working. Soon it would be burned off and the strips ploughed again or left fallow, depending on requirement. To her right a stand of trees marched down the slope and across the track to the burn. It was a pleasant place providing dappled shade, a welcome contrast to the bright sunlight. As they walked Isabelle scanned the way ahead for any sign of her husband or his men, but the track was empty. Her mind leapt ahead to his coming. He would be surprised to see her there but then he would stop and dismount, sending his men on ahead. Then they would walk together and she would tell him about her day and ask him about his.

  She was so preoccupied with these thoughts that at first she did not see the horsemen in the trees, or the one who detached himself from the shadows and rode out to block the path. With a sudden jolt she registered his presence, thinking for a moment it might be her husband. A closer glance undeceived her. With a horrid chill of realisation she took in the dark clothing, the shaven head, the scarred face with its close-trimmed beard and, finally, the bow in his hands with the arrow aimed towards her. She heard the sharp intake of breath from Nell as the woman stopped in her tracks. The dark gaze swept over them both and came to rest again on Isabelle. Summoning all her courage she faced him.

  ‘What do you want, Murdo?’

  ‘You, Isabelle.’

  ‘You know I’ll never agree to that.’

  His expression sent a shiver through her. ‘It makes no difference. What is to stop me carrying you off now and doing what I wish with you after?’

  ‘You have the power,’ she acknowledged, ‘but it avails you naught since I would take my own life rather than submit to the dishonour you describe. After that how long do you think you could escape the wrath of Glengarron?’

  ‘I care nothing for Glengarron.’

  ‘And yet it has cost you dear.’

  ‘A price I am willing to pay to get you back.’

  ‘I was never yours and so cannot be won back by threats or promises. You slew my brother.’

  ‘Hugh was a fool. He got what he deserved.’

  ‘Who are you to say what men deserve?’

  ‘He was in my way. I removed him.’ His lips curved in a cynical smile. ‘I take what I want, Isabelle.’ He raised the bow. ‘Now I shall ask you for the last time: will you return with me to Castlemora?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Then if I cannot have you no one else will.’

  Her throat dried. However, she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. Instead she lifted her chin. ‘You are indeed a brave man thus to waylay two unarmed women.’

  He ignored the gibe. ‘You will die first and then the upstart who married you.’

  Her heart thumped. He was well informed but then her marriage was common knowledge and no doubt common talk hereabouts. For a second she wondered about telling him she was with child but just as quickly decided against it. If he knew of the child it would likely fuel his wrath.

  ‘You gain nothing by this, Murdo.’

  ‘I will gain my revenge.’

  ‘Let us go.’

  ‘No.’

  The word was softly spoken but carried a chilling malevolence. She searched his face for any sign of compassion but found none. He meant it all right. Frantically her eyes sought some possibility of rescue but saw only the shimmer of heat on the still land.

  Murdo nodded. ‘There’s no escape this time, Isabelle, for you or your traitorous companion.’

  He drew back the bow string and the arrow flew. Nell cried out. For a brief moment she was quite still, then her body slumped and she fell, the feathered shaft buried deep in her breast. Isabelle screamed, falling to her knees.

  ‘Nell!’

  With sick horror she saw the staring glassy eyes and knew that her companion was beyond help. She looked up at Murdo.

  ‘Murderer! Coward!’

  Grief mingled with fear and she rose slowly to her feet. Murdo took another shaft from the quiver and nocked it to the string.

  ‘Farewell, Isabelle.’

  The bow creaked. Instinctively she flung herself sideways and the arrow whistled past, expending itself harmlessly in a tree. Isabelle waited for no more. Picking up her skirts she ran, heading into the cover of the wood, dodging among the trunks, her heart pounding in wild terror. Another arrow whistled past, hitting the tree ahead of her. She gasped and fled on. The slope grew steeper. Hampered by her skirts she stumbled and fell. From behind she could hear the sound of voices and hoofbeats that announced pursuit. Murdo was going to kill her as he had killed Nell. Panic crowded in. She fought it. Panic was his ally. She wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Scrambling to her feet she fled on up the slope, tripping on roots and jutting rocks, ignoring the branches and twigs that slashed at her. A hundred yards further on she paused, breathing hard, the blood thumping in her head.

  Another arrow thudded into the earth just ahead of her. She knew then that Murdo was playing with her. He was an excellent marksman and if he missed it was because he meant to. He intended to draw this out a little to punish her. No doubt it pleased him to see her fear. Did he hope to have her at his feet, weeping and pleading for her life before he sped her at last? The thought stirred anger and hatred anew. Never would she give him that satisfaction. Pausing for an instant to look wildly around her she saw the horsemen coming through the trees. Ahead of her on the edge of the wood was open ground. If she tried to escape that way they would have her very soon. She must keep to the trees. It was her only hope now. In her mind she saw Ban’s face. He was in the village. He did not know that his wife was in mortal danger and he would not come to her rescue this time. They would never meet again in this life and she would never have the chance now to tell him how much she loved him. He would never see their child born. She swallowed hard. Behind her she heard a man shout. They had seen her. In desperation she turned and ran.

  The cantering hooves came nearer and nearer. Desperate now Isabelle raced on through the trees but her luck deserted her for she ran out into a small clearing that removed all cover. Three horsemen burst out of the wood some fifty yards away, cutting off her route. She spun round to see two more barring her retreat. Up beside them came a powerful bay horse. Its rider reined to a halt. Her stomach lurched. For a moment or two Murdo surveyed her with quiet satisfaction, a faint smile curling his lips. She could only watch in helpless horror as he unslung the bow from his shoulder and drew another arrow from the quiver.

  ‘I told you, Isabelle, that you’d never escape me.’

  ‘You won’t get away with this, Murdo.’

  ‘No? And who will prevent it? Your noble husband?’

  ‘He will hunt you to the ends of the earth. There will be nowhere for you hide.’

  ‘I shall not hide,’ he replied, ‘and he knows well enough where to find me. All I need to do is give him the reason.’ He levelled the bow.

  Isabelle shivered. Still she could discern no trace of pity in his face, only a remorseless intent to kill. In horrified fascination she saw him draw back the string, heard yew creak as the bow took the tension. In vain she tried to throw herself out of its path; then cried out as the arrow buried itself in her side. She fell to her knees, one hand clutching the protruding shaft. The wood was silent all around her. Somewhere she heard a horse snort. Then she became aware of a shadow blocking out the sun and a bay horse filled her line of vision. She slumped to the ground before its hooves. The rider looked down at her for a moment, a second arrow aimed at her heart. Closing her eyes she struggled against the pain. Whatever happened she wouldn’t beg. It would be over soon enough.

  Murdo surveyed her closely but after that first cry of pain she made no sound. His face registered grudging admiration, silently acknowled
ged her courage, realising then she would not plead for her life. Slowly he slackened the tension on the bowstring.

  ‘Death will not come quickly, Isabelle, not until the barb is drawn. Time enough for you to remember me.’

  From the trees a man’s voice called out. ‘Riders approaching, my lord!’

  He took a last look at the woman on the ground before him. ‘Farewell, my lady. It is good to know that your last thoughts will be of me.’ Then he turned the horse’s head and spurred away. In less than a minute he and his men were lost to view.

  Isabelle heard the echo of the departing hooves and then how the silence washed back after. The clearing was still. Even the birds were quiet now, as if they knew death was in their midst. Once she made to rise but the pain knifed through her body and she fell back with a gasp, her face pale as bleached linen while grass and shrub and sky lurched crazily through her line of vision. She closed her eyes again until the sensation of sickness faded a little. She was going to die here in this glade. Now that it was imminent she was not afraid of dying, only of never seeing Ban again, never feeling his arms around her or his kiss on her lips. He would never know how much she loved him. She ought to have told him when she could. Once she had thought he might die and leave her. Now, ironically, it was she who would leave him. She didn’t want to but the pain was great, a burning ache in her side. Murdo had intended her to die a lingering death. It was why he had not fired the second arrow. She had not known till now how deadly hatred could be. Yet love was stronger. Somehow she must see Ban again. Pushing herself on to one elbow she tried to rise once more. Icy sweat beaded her brow as pain stabbed afresh and she cried out from the agony of it. The patch of blood on her gown grew wider. Gasping, throat parched, she sank back into the grass while sky spun and then receded, drawing away to a mere pinpoint of light before darkness closed around her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ban held his horse to a steady canter. His business in the village had been concluded to everybody’s satisfaction. He just wished his own affairs might so end but there was still the matter of Castlemora to be resolved. In order to live free of threat he had to defeat Murdo. The man was like a thorn in the flesh. It festered there and would continue to do so until it was removed.