Warrior's Bride

by Gerri Russell

  He slid his hand from her chin to encompass her waist. The pressure of his hands increased as he lifted her closer to his mouth. The air was suddenly too still, the bird too silent, even the rhythm of the sea had settled into stillness as though the waves were afraid to interrupt.

  "Are we agreed?" he asked.

  Her body trembled. Her thoughts grew faint, aware only of his mouth hovering above her own. A simple nod would bring her lips in contact with his. Afraid to do anything more, she released a breathy, "Aye."

  Never had she felt so sharply in tune with the world around her, yet dazed and disoriented at the same moment. Slowly, she brought her hands up to rest upon the bunched muscle of his chest. His heart beat thickly beneath her palm.

  His hands tightened at her waist and he lifted her toward his mouth. Her eyelids fluttered closed and she held her breath, waiting for the brush of his lips against her own.

  He lifted her higher, then higher. She snapped her eyes open to find herself suspended, her head above his. In the next instant she was swept from his grasp and unceremoniously dumped into the boat that had come to rescue them.

  Her cheeks flamed and she dipped her head to avoid Walter's curious gaze. "You are a lucky woman," he said with a scowl as he tossed her a thick woolen blanket, then turned back to the others, who hauled Wolf into the boat.

  The world around her resumed. And with it a bone- chilling cold weighed down her limbs, making her feel heavy and weak. The soft pulse of the waves caressed the hull of the boat. A bird screeched overhead. The breeze stirred, plucking away the last vestiges of madness. Her lips tingled with unfulfilled promise. She bit down, fighting the sensation, and brought her gaze to his.

  His face was still, his dark eyes shuttered. He reached for the blanket Walter had tossed at her and settled it about her, brushing her shoulder with his hand. Izzy flinched as if touched by fire.

  He reached for a second blanket and wrapped it around himself. "I hold you to your promise."

  "As I hold ... you to yours," she said through chattering teeth.

  He studied her face as though searching for something, then bowed his head politely and moved away toward the back of the boat.

  Moments later they reboarded the Ategenos, and Wolf kept his distance. He occupied himself with shipboard tasks, from checking the maps and charts on the aft deck to barking orders to his crew. Whenever he happened to be near her, he offered her a civil nod but nothing more.

  Izzy leaned against the port railing, staring at the outline of the shore just beginning to emerge on the horizon. It was almost as if that one moment in the water where barely a breath had separated their lips had never happened. Heat came to her cheeks at the memory. She had wanted to kiss him.

  Had her mother not warned her of such things? Marriage was just the beginning of a long, tormented path to madness. Izzy pressed her hands against her heated cheeks. She should heed her mother's warnings. If her reaction to Wolf’s nearness were any indication, she would find herself trapped as her own mother had been, with no hope of release.

  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," W
olf 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

  Over a maelstrom of shouts and thundering footsteps, Izzy crouched beside Wolf’s body. Gray darkness shadowed his face. It was the same look that had settled across her mother's face at the moment of her earthly release— a release from the torment her marriage had brought her.

  He was dead. With his death came her own release from marital commitment. The thought left her a little hollow and sad. Because she had never reached out to him in l
ife, she reached out now in death as a show of her regret.

  He lay so still, his face a pale reflection in the golden torchlight that lit the outer bailey. He did not seem so dark or villainous now. She brought trembling fingers up to his brow to brush aside an errant lock of his dark hair. "I’m so sorry you had to die."

  Wolf’s eyes snapped open, his gaze unfocused, wild. Then something shifted. He turned his head to stare at her with uncanny intent, his look calculated and in control. "Do not count your blessings so fast. It will take ... more than a bolt to slay me."

  Izzy snatched away her hand, as unsettled by his miraculous recovery as she was by the army of warriors flooding the bailey. "But..."

  He gained his feet with the bolt still protruding from his chest.

  "But how?" The words were a mere whisper of sound.

  He grasped the crossbow bolt and yanked it from his chest. The iron tip bent unnaturally to the left and was covered with a smattering of bright red blood. "Scottish mail is like its warriors—strong and unyielding. It hurts like the bloody blazes to be shot, but I shall live." Silence descended around them despite the chaos in the outer bailey as his men continued their hunt for the lone archer. "As will you." The fierceness faded from his expression as he looked down at her. Possession clearly reflected in the depth of his dark eyes.

  Unsettled by that one look even more than his unexpected resurrection, Izzy dropped her gaze to the rapid rise and fall of his chest. A hint of silver glittered through the hole the bolt had created in his linen shirt. He had not been wearing mail on the ship. Why did he think he needed such protection once he returned to his own castle?

  "That bolt was meant for you."

  With this second attack, no longer could she deny that her father knew she lived. Her identity had been discovered, and this man had almost paid for that secret with his life.