Warrior's Bride

by Gerri Russell

  "If your business is done here, then let us be away." She reached for the threadbare wool shawl that hung across the back of a chair, then wrapped it about her shoulders.

  The stranger's features softened before he dipped his head in assent. She thought she saw a flicker of admiration in his eyes, but then it was gone. "Get your things, Lady Isobel."

  "I am wearing all that I own." She straightened her shoulders with pride despite her embarrassment.

  The stranger cursed softly beneath his breath. "Then let us go."

  More out of courtesy than thanks, she said good-bye to her foster father and stepped through the doorway. The stranger followed her across the yard beyond the croft house and into the heather-scented air of early spring.

  Despite her brave words about leaving, her legs quivered as she headed over the ridge that led to the shoreline below. When a three-masted ship came into view, her footsteps faltered. Once she boarded that ship she would leave behind the only place she had ever known.

  What was the rest of the world like? She had often wondered. Now she would have the opportunity to find out for herself. Her throat tightened with both fear and excitement. She had waited her whole life for this moment. Why was it suddenly so hard to take the next step toward the shore? She drew a deep breath, as though it would bolster her bravado. If only she did not suddenly feel so alone.

  The stranger paused beside her. "Come. We must hurry before the tide shifts and we find ourselves stranded."

  "I almost forgot." Pivoting, she ran back toward the house. She gained three steps of freedom before the stranger's hands grasped her waist. Before she could draw a breath, he swept her off the ground and draped her over his shoulder.

  "Put me down," she gasped, and kicked sharply at his gut.

  The stranger barely broke stride and only tightened his grip. She could feel the heat of his hands through her skirts on the back of her calves and across her bottom. A shiver coursed through her. "Please put me down." Her words came out as a whisper.

  He slowed but did not loosen his hold. "So I can have you run away again?"

  "I shall not run. You have my word."

  He stopped and set her down. Annoyance snapped in his eyes. "You have nothing to fear from me."

  "It is madness to trust you." A desperate laugh bubbled up. "I don't even know you."

  "We will be acquainted soon enough when we are wed." He reached out and encircled her wrist, drawing her toward the shoreline once more. "We've a long journey ahead."

  She dug her heels into the loamy soil, forcing him to stop as she cast a glance back at the house.

  He tugged at her arm.

  "Wait."

  "What?"

  "I'd like to bring a small piece of this place with me."

  He frowned. "I thought you said you owned nothing."

  "I don't..." She hesitated. "I mean, there is only this one small thing."

  Once again, his jaw tightened, and she wished that momentary compassion she'd seen in his eyes would return instead. "Can it be retrieved quickly?" he asked.

  At his words, her spirits lightened. "Oh, aye."

  "Fine." He turned back toward the yard.

  She stayed him with her hand. "Let me go alone. I shall be quick."

  After a slight hesitation, he nodded.

  Izzy raced across the open grass. One small item, it was all she needed to make the journey to her new life feel less uncertain. She disappeared around the side of the croft house. No one on the isle would ever know she'd taken it with her.

  At least she hoped not.

  Chapter Two

  Douglas Moraer Stewart, called the Black Wolf of Scotland by his enemies and Wolf by his friends, frowned as the girl disappeared around the back of the house. The woman was annoying, inconvenient, irritating, and more vulnerable than he ever imagined a woman could be. Damn his father and his royal ultimatums. As the king he had every right to demand his subjects do his bidding. As a father he misused that power, asking his sons—even his bastard sons—to perform tasks that went far beyond duty and into abuse.

  The man, be he father or king, had abused Walter and himself for years. At first, Wolf had believed it was because of his father's increasing bouts of dementia, but that theory became harder to hold on to as the years passed.

  As he and Walter had matured, and fought back, their father's manipulations had only grown worse. It was almost as if the more control he lost over his body and his mind, the tighter his grip became on his sons—merciless and unrelenting as it was this day. An ultimatum had been issued: Marry the girl or Walter would die for treason.

  A false charge, but that mattered not to their father as long as it got him what he wanted: the power to play puppet master over his sons. Wolf clenched, then released, his fists at his sides in an attempt to control his frustration.

  In order to save Walter from the hangman's noose, Wolf had come to St. Kilda prepared to retrieve the girl, marry her, then stash her away in some desolate location. His commitment to his father would be fulfilled, and Walter would remain free. Everyone would win— everyone except the girl.

  He had seen the shadows that lingered in her eyes— shadows he recognized from the challenges of his own life. It didn't take much looking to see she had been abandoned long ago. Could he, in good conscience, abandon her again?

  He forced the thought away before it had time to sway his resolve. He would do what he had to in order to keep Walter out of their father's dungeon. If it meant adding further anxiety to the ill-used waifs life, so be it She deserved no sympathy from him, not after all it had cost him to graft her into his own life. Marriage to the girl would at least get her off this isle and away from the people who abused her.

  He narrowed his gaze on the isolated area near the cottage. What was taking her so long? She had promised not to run away, but could he trust her to be true to her word? Impatient to be on his way, he strode toward the cottage. Suddenly she reappeared. With one hand, she clutched her shawl around her thin shoulders. In the other hand she held a woolen sack. Her steps were quick. "Now I shall go peacefully," she said, moving past him, down the hill toward the shoreline.

  Wolf followed her to the water. He opened his mouth to ask what she had hidden in the bag, but his attention moved to the gentle sway of her hips beneath her ragged clothes, and he forgot the question. Her movements were graceful, even somewhat refined. Even so, his future bride looked more like a scrawny, underfed bird than a desirable noblewoman. He turned his thoughts away from the girl as they approached his men. Brahan, Giric, Kenneth, and Fergus all stood watch around the small boat that would take them into the harbor and onto the Ategenos.

  "Is Walter aboard the ship?" Wolf asked when he did not see his brother among the men. He had demanded Walter be returned to his care before he retrieved, then married the girl. He'd been surprised at how easily his father had agreed to Wolf's terms. He still was not sure why his father had done something so uncharacteristic, but Wolf was willing to worry about that later.

  "Aye, Walter is aboard. He returned to the ship to prepare for our departure. Is this the girl?" Brahan MacGregor asked, his gaze running over their new shipmate with surprise. Silky brown hair brushed Brahan's temples, adding a touch of rakishness to his otherwise lean and elegant face. "My lord Wolf, are you certain you want to do this?"

  Wolf frowned at his friend, his confidant, the captain of his guard. A chill morning wind swept across the land dotted with patches of gorse and heather. An omen of change, his mother had always claimed. Wolf stifled a shiver as he held firm to his resolve. "The king has commanded me. Like it or not, it is an order I cannot ignore."

  "And what of my vision?" Brahan glanced at the leather pouch tied to the waist of his red and green tartan. Inside, he carried a small white stone, no larger than his thumb. One side was rounded, the other jagged, and an alpha symbol had been etched across the top. "I have seen it all—your acceptance of his request, your journey, and your death."


  "About my death, you are wrong." Despite his denial, a ripple of unease coursed through Wolf.

  "You would take that chance?" Brahan's voice turned hard, but concern weighed heavy on his face.

  "If it spares my brother's life, aye. I must do whatever it takes to keep Walter safe, to see him freed from our father's manipulative grasp."

  Brahan's frown deepened. "She is not at all like the woman the Stone revealed—"

  "Enough," Wolf interrupted as he grasped Lady Isobel's thin arm and guided her into the small boat that would carry them to the ship. When he released her, she moved to the bow of the craft and huddled down, hugging the sack to her chest.

  The men pushed off, then jumped inside the boat, rowing toward the larger ship in the distance.

  "Something's not right here." Brahan studied the girl with a frown. "The woman in my vision was more refined. Less—" Brahan broke off as he met the full force of Wolf’s annoyed gaze.

  He held out his hand. "Give me that stone. I am done with its magic and its curse."

  Brahan drew back. "Nay."

  Wolf frowned, knowing that Brahan never went anywhere without the Seer's Stone. "Leave well enough alone, my friend, or I shall take that Stone and toss it into the sea."

  "You would do no such thing." A touch of humor lifted Brahan's lips as he folded his arms over his chest and gazed at Wolf. "The Seer's Stone and my sight have been far too helpful to you."

  Wolf's gaze moved to the splash of white hair at Brahan's temple. Each use of the Stone increased the size of the pale streak in his friend's brown locks. "Then do not tempt me," Wolf murmured with a stab of guilt as he turned his gaze back to the girl. An undeniable sadness shadowed her eyes as she gazed out at the water. He closed himself off to the compassion that threatened. His duty called for marriage, nothing more.

  Silence hovered over the small boat as they approached the Ategenos. They pulled up alongside the ship. From this perspective, the three tall masts of the large carrack seemed to reach toward the heavens. A gentle breeze tugged at the unfurled sails and sent soft green waves to lap in an unending rhythm against the sides of the ship.

  Wolf grasped the rope ladder with one hand as it thumped against the wooden hull and reached for the girl with his other hand. "Give me your bag," he ordered more harshly than he had intended.

  She clasped the dirty brown sack tight against her chest. "It stays with me."

  Stubborn and innocent. He frowned. "How do you intend to climb the ladder with that bag in your hands?" Could she not follow even the most simple of instructions? "Give me the bag."

  "I won't give it up." A subtle challenge rang in her tone.

  He grasped her hand, rejecting her dare. "Keep the bag if you must."

  Before she could resist, he pulled her over his shoulder for the second time that day.

  She gasped but did not fight him as he'd expected. He climbed to the deck above, her weight barely tugging at his shoulder, giving evidence of just how thin she was beneath her well-worn gown. He released her as suddenly as he'd swept her up.

  The girl steadied herself against the ship's railing.

  "Captain on deck," Walter shouted. The crew snapped to attention as Wolf strode past them to Walter's side. His brother's face had grown thin, his body gaunt, signs of his stay in the pits of their father's dungeon. What kind of father would do that to a son? One who would do anything to get what he wanted, Wolf reminded himself.

  He'd been a boy of eleven and his father not yet the king. Yet even then the man had many enemies, and he'd used his sons for his own purposes.

  A memory formed before he could stop it He saw himself and Walter, hiding in the shadowed hallway of their mother's cottage. Wolf held his breath for fear of discovery. He listened in silence for a hint as to why their father had come to visit their mother. He had abandoned her as his mistress long ago, and yet today he had come back. Why?

  Cloistered inside the bedchamber, Wolf had his suspicions. This was not a conjugal visit. Nay, he'd seen that look in his father's eyes before—on the day he'd forced Walter and himself to steal horses from the Chattan clan. He gazed through the darkness at his mother's closed door. Something dark and dangerous was about to unfold.

  A heartbeat later, the chamber door flew open and their father strode out, turning his back on his mother's soft sobs. Wolf froze, knowing he should flee, get himself and Walter to safety. Yet he could not wrench his gaze away from his mother's sorrowful face. She sat in a chair, her shoulders slumped. Tears fell from her cheeks onto the hand she held before her—a hand that clutched a small white stone.

  "Come out where I can see you, boys. I know you are there." The man stopped an arm's length from them.

  Wolf stepped out of the shadows, into the light, placing himself between his father and Walter. "What do you want?"

  "You will come with me."

  "Our place is here with our mother," Wolf challenged him boldly. "She needs someone to protect her now that you've abandoned her."

  "You have no choice in the matter," his father said with a touch of irritation. "The deal has been made. My sons for the Seer's Stone."

  "Our mother would never make such a deal."

  "She had no choice either. The Stone is merely a way for her to see her sons, to see how you are faring while you work for me." He shrugged. "Although I doubt she will find the visions peaceful."

  "Why today?" Wolf’s anger flared. "What do you need us for this time?"

  "So many questions." His father smiled faintly. "That is good. Your inquisitive nature will serve you well as my mercenary."

  A shiver ran through Wolf. He met his father's gaze. "We are your sons."

  "Aye. 'Tis every son's obligation to protect their father from his enemies."

  He wouldn't. He couldn't. "We are too young."

  "You are old enough," his father replied. His hand snaked out and grasped Wolf.

  "Run, Walter! Go hide and don't come out until Father is gone." Wolf forced Walter out from behind him, sending him flying toward the door. The man moved to catch the younger boy, but Wolf brought his booted foot down hard on his father's instep.

  The man howled in pain. His grip tightened on Wolf's arm mercilessly. "I'll get that boy yet."

  "Not while I still breathe." Wolf straightened, pushing back his own shock and disbelief. His father would take him away. Turn him into a killer. But he would never touch Walter. Not innocent, softhearted Walter.

  "You've cost me dear, boy," his father's voice held steely menace. "You'll pay for that misdeed for the rest of your life."

  His father had been true to his word. Wolf had paid dearly, sacrificing his very soul. Forced to play the strong arm of his father's rule by reigning terror across the Highlands, imprisoning and murdering those who offended or opposed him, and pillaging the countryside, he'd earned his name as the Black Wolf of Scotland. For years he had done his father's irrational bidding in an attempt to keep Walter safe, until Wolf could no longer silence in his own mind the mournful cries of those whose lives he destroyed.

  He'd extricated himself from his father's grasp by building his own army of faithful warriors. With troops that outnumbered the king's, he'd gained his own freedom.

  And that was when the man had gone after Walter.

  When would it all end? Would this marriage truly put a stop to his father's machinations?

  Wolf allowed his gaze to drift back to the girl. She stood clutching her bag, her gaze connecting with his. A spark of determination flared in the depths of her dark brown eyes. Her gaze said without words that she might be defeated for now, but she was certainly not done with him or having a say in her future.

  Instead of irritation, Wolf felt the corner of his mouth pull up in amusement. She had spirit, at least. He acknowledged her challenge with a nod, then turned back to greet his brother with a clap on the shoulder. "Are we ready to sail?"

  Walter nodded, his expression relieved until he faced the girl. "She gained my freedom?" W
alter's gaze hardened. "If I were you, I'd risk Father's wrath and leave her here."

  Wolf frowned. More than anyone, Walter should understand his choice. "I made a promise. A promise that released you from Father's dungeon."

  "I do appreciate all that you have had to endure on my behalf, Wolf. But why further your own pain? Promise or not, do you truly have to marry the girl?" Walter grimaced with distaste as a shadow moved across his face. "Through her, you will connect yourself to Father again. She's hardly worth it. Such a scrawny little thing."

  Her chin came up as they all appraised her, weighing her against Walter's ill comments. Even so, she remained silent.

  "Enough, Walter. She gained your freedom, that's what's important." Wolf turned the full extent of his irritation upon his brother. "No more comments. And no more excuses. You've been given a new start. Make the most of it."

  Walter's face went pale a moment before he straightened his shoulders. "Thank you for giving me command of the Ategenos. I won't fail you this time. I promise."

  Wolf had heard those words many times before. Perhaps this time Walter would follow through without getting himself into trouble. "I would not have allowed you to act as first mate if I didn't think you could perform the task." Wolf scanned the deck, taking account of what needed doing in order to set sail. "The head winds are picking up. I want to get underway immediately."

  Walter nodded, then began barking orders to winch the small boat to the deck and hoist the anchor. Away from St. Kilda, Wolf would be free to... His gaze sought out the girl. His thoughts vanished at the look of both awe and fear etched on her angular face. She watched the crew as they raised the lateen sails. Once extended, the sails caught the cold rush of wind and the Ategenos eased out of the harbor.

  Tangy salt air brushed Wolf's face, and for a moment he tasted his freedom. He always did in that first rush of sea air. There were no demands he must live up to, no expectations from anyone else, merely the sea and himself, together as one.

  The sails flapped, then filled out as the force of the wind worked upon them. The Ategenos leapt, climbing one swell, falling softly down toward the next. He welcomed again the experience of the ship's rhythms, the creaking of the hull, the rustling of the sails, the humming of the rigging. He drew a deep breath of air, relishing the dewy spray of white water as it broke over the lee rail to caress the deck.