Warrior's Bride

by Gerri Russell

  Mistress Rowley frowned. "Whatever for?"

  Izzy released her grip on the cloth and reached behind her back in an attempt to loosen the ties. She had to get the dress off.

  "Nay, my dear." Mistress Rowley caught her hands, gently holding them between her own. "Your clothing needs to be washed and mended. Besides, the master asked that you change into something more befitting your station as mistress here. You don't want to disappoint him, do you?"

  Izzy pulled out of Mistress Rowley's grasp. A feeling of panic overwhelmed her. She lurched toward the bath and bent to retrieve her old clothing from the floor.

  Mistress Rowley scooped it away first and clutched the garment to her chest. "I cannot allow you to do that. My lord Wolf would blame me."

  Izzy cringed. She had no desire to get Mistress Rowley in trouble and yet she had to see to her own needs. "It is only a dress." Izzy took two steps toward the older woman. "He will understand."

  The woman twisted toward the fire and tossed Izzy's dress into the flames.

  "Nay." She lunged forward, but too late, as the hungry flames devoured the one item of clothing she had brought with her from the isle.

  Mistress Rowley turned toward Izzy. Tears pooled in her gray eyes. "Forgive me, my dear, but you left me no choice. My lord Wolf will have his orders obeyed one way or another. This is for the best."

  Tears sprang into her own eyes as she straightened and turned her back on the fire that consumed the last remnants of her dress. "How do you know what is best for me?" she asked through the tightness that suddenly invaded her throat.

  Mistress Rowley lowered her gaze. "Forgive me, milady. I shouldn't have done that. I beg that you be compassionate in your punishment."

  Izzy's tears ceased. "I shall not punish you." What right had she to punish anyone? As lady of the castle she would soon have every right to see to the discipline of her people. It was a daunting thought. "I am saddened by the loss of my dress. But you need not fear me." She released a soft sigh. "I can understand your reaction. My lord Wolf is more to blame for this situation than you are."

  Mistress Rowley's eyes widened. "Oh, no, milady. 'Tis my fault entirely."

  Izzy lifted her chin. Nothing the housekeeper could say would change her mind. Wolf was to blame. "Thank you for your care this eve, Mistress Rowley. All I wish to do now is rest. Alone."

  "The master bid you to come to dinner."

  "The master is done making demands on me this eve. Tell him I shall not be joining him now, or ever."

  Mistress Rowley shook her head, her expression grim. "He won't be pleased."

  Izzy smiled her first true smile in what felt like a good long time. "He might have forced me to come here. And I might have no choice about marrying him, but I am still in charge of when I eat and with whom I dine."

  The housekeeper hesitated. "He won't like your decision."

  Izzy shrugged and crossed the room to the windows. She tripped on the hem of the new gown, catching herself before she fell to the floor.

  "Goodness," Mistress Rowley exclaimed, rushing to her side. "The dress is too long. I shall have it altered for you."

  Izzy gathered herself, lifting the long skirt away from her feet and offered the older woman what she hoped was a grateful smile. "Nay, please, do not fuss on my behalf. If you have a needle and some thread I would like to fix it myself."

  "But—"

  "Please? Sewing relaxes me. I am quite capable of performing the task."

  Mistress Rowley frowned. "The master won't like his new bride doing such menial work."

  Izzy straightened. "The master's likes and dislikes do not concern me."

  Mistress Rowley released a heavy sigh. "All right, my dear, you win. I'll be back with a needle and thread."

  True to her word, the older woman returned a moment later with a small basket of sewing supplies. She handed them to Izzy. "Sew now, but be forewarned that my lord Wolf can be quite"—she paused, as if searching for the right word to describe the man. "He can be persuasive when he wants to be."

  "I need no persuasion. I simply want to be alone. The last few days have taken a toll on me. Would the master not want me refreshed in spirit as well as in body?"

  She frowned. "I suppose..."

  Before the woman could change her mind, Izzy ushered her to the door. At the portal, the housekeeper stopped and glanced out into the hallway before turning back into the room. "Rest now, for I have no doubt the master will come calling on you."

  Izzy bolted the door when the housekeeper left. What had Mistress Rowley meant? Izzy pressed the heel of her hand against her temple, trying to slow the wild thoughts and emotions racing through her head. So much had changed for her in the last few hours.

  Wolf had claimed her as his bride. He'd introduced her to his mistress, and now he had settled her in his bedchamber.

  She pushed away from the door and began to pace. It was her own fault this was happening. She should have found a more clever hiding spot on the ship, or taken the risk and launched the boat under the cover of darkness, despite her fears.

  Izzy groaned. No matter how hard she tried, she never would have survived the darkness. It was only wishful thinking to believe she could have done anything other than what she'd done.

  She stopped pacing. The real problem lay deep within herself. Somehow, at that first meeting on the

  isle, the man had slipped through her guard. It was that look he had given her—the initial impression of a dark and vulnerable man.

  Wolf vulnerable? The idea seemed almost laughable. Yet she could not quite shake the feeling that she had seen through to the real man for just that one brief moment. It was that impression that refused to leave her brain.

  She released a heavy sigh. Wolf needed her pity even less than he needed her company below stairs. Let him dine with his mistress tonight. Izzy's gaze fell upon the table bearing the slices of fresh apple and the sewing basket.

  Hemming her gown was the very thing she needed to calm her thoughts. She pulled a chair from near the hearth over to the table, then sat. She selected a slice of apple; then, gathering the bulk of the dress in her hands, she settled back into the chair, ready to focus her attention on something more useful than her own worries.

  Even if only for a short while.

  Chapter Ten

  Wolf paced the length of the great hall, clutching the missive from his father in his fist. Send me word by messenger when the deed is done. His father's bold handwriting stared back at him.

  The deed was not done. Wolf crumpled the parchment, then tossed it into the flames in the hearth. He had sent the messenger away.

  Wolf glanced at the table set with an intimate service for two. He had hoped to discuss the matter with Isobel tonight like two civilized beings. He did possess manners, and even a small measure of charm, his mother had often claimed. He had hoped to tap into those reserves tonight with his bride-to-be and perhaps ease her fears, as well as expose her secrets.

  He frowned at the empty stairwell. Where was she? How long did it take for one woman to bathe, then change her clothing and present herself for supper?

  "Wearing a trench in the flagstones?"

  Wolf stopped at the base of the stairs and turned to see Brahan sauntering toward him.

  "You look like a man in need of distraction." Brahan's hand moved to the pouch where he kept the Seer's Stone. "I could tell you how all this will play out." He tossed the Stone into the air and deftly caught it in his palm. "Will she or won't she come down to supper?"

  "Put that away," Wolf growled. "Where women are concerned, I'd rather not know the future."

  Brahan slipped the Stone back into its protective pouch. "Why? Because the Stone might reveal something you don't envision?"

  Wolf glared at his friend.

  Brahan returned a steady gaze, unaffected by the assault. "You are the only one who believes you deserve to be cursed and alone for the rest of your days because of your past deeds."

  The b
arb echoed his very thoughts. "It is a reality, Brahan, one I cannot escape."

  "You've already escaped. Why can't you see that? Walter's release from imprisonment has freed you both from your father's grasp."

  "Has it?" Wolf asked. "Who else could be threatening Isobel's life besides my father? He will stop at nothing to bend me to his will. He binds me with the blood of kin and of strangers."

  "I could tell you who is behind the attacks." Brahan reached for the Stone.

  Wolf stalled Brahan's hand with his own. "Regrettably, I must refuse. Your last prediction still haunts me. I need no further torment."

  Brahan shrugged. "As you wish. I only thought to—"

  "Beg pardon for interrupting, my lord Wolf." Mistress Rowley attempted a hurried curtsy as she came down the stairs.

  Wolf searched the woman's face. "Where is Lady Isobel?"

  The older woman stopped at the foot of the stairs and lowered her gaze to the floor. "She refuses to come down."

  "She what?" Wolf asked, his voice savage with frustration. He cast a sharp glance between Mistress Rowley and Brahan. The housekeeper paled and took a step back.

  "Did she tell you why?" Brahan asked, amusement lighting his eyes.

  "Lady Isobel wishes to be alone," Mistress Rowley explained in a faint voice. "She says she is tired from the journey."

  Anger stirred within Wolf. Anger at himself for caring whether she joined him or not. Anger at her for refusing him. In the privacy of his lair he had convinced himself that it was only her secrets he'd been after. Had he wanted more?

  He clenched his fists. The woman had seeped through his defenses. It wouldn't happen again. He strode toward the stairs. She would dine with him tonight. He would see to that. He took the stairs two at a time. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears as he pounded on the locked door of the solar. "Come to supper."

  A startled thump sounded from within the chamber. "Nay. I wish to be alone."

  "I asked you to join me for supper. Now open this door." He was surprised how calm his words sounded, belying the fury that rippled beneath.

  "Nay."

  "Damn you, woman, I'll not be disobeyed." His resolve snapped and he heaved himself against the door. The barrier remained unaffected by his assault.

  For a long moment there was absolute silence, until the sound of Brahan and Mistress Rowley's footsteps reached his ears. "My lord Wolf, please, have a care for her feelings."

  He heard the words, but they had no effect on him. He hit the door again with his shoulder. Pain radiated through his arm. He clenched his teeth against it.

  "My lord Wolf," Mistress Rowley pleaded.

  He hit the door again with the full force of his body, once, twice, three times. The wood quivered, then the bolt gave. The frame splintered and the door swung open, then slammed back against the wall. He lunged into the chamber, the heat of his blood pulsing through him. His gaze sought her out—a hunter seeking his prey.

  But his prey seemed unimpressed by his attack. She sat in a chair, her feet tucked up under her, with the hem of a leaf-green gown stretched across one hand. Her head was bowed in concentration as a needle dipped in and out of the fabric. She appeared as though she hadn't heard him break through the door. Then he noted the slight tremor of her hands as she pulled the thread through.

  Slowly, she raised her gaze to his. "Is there something you wanted?"

  He strode toward her. "Don't ever bolt a door against me in my own home. I shall not hesitate to show you how much that displeases me if you do." He clenched his fists at his sides.

  Fear drained the color from her face.

  Sweet Mary! She assumed he meant to strike her. He released an irritated growl and clutched his hands behind his back. "You have nothing to fear from me as long as you do as I say." His voice was still tight with anger.

  "I shall not dine with you."

  Wolf glared at her.

  Isobel's fear receded and hot color crept into her cheeks. She glared back, the gaze an unspoken challenge.

  Unsettled by her bold response, he glanced at the half-eaten plate of apples that rested on the table beside her before returning his gaze to her. "I shall spare you this eve, but tomorrow you will dine with me or I shall not be so patient."

  She stared past him to the shattered and beaten door.

  He frowned. All right, so he had not been all that patient this time either. "Do not test me again." He moved past Mistress Rowley and Brahan to the battered door. He turned back to Isobel. "On the morrow, you will attend me at supper."

  She gazed at him, back straight, cheeks flushed. Her eyes reflected a strength of purpose he had not witnessed before. "I heard you, my lord."

  Her words spoke of acceptance, but her gaze still held the hint of a dare. He turned and left the chamber. Once in the hallway, he moved to the darkened staircase to the left of the tapestry.

  A passage to his secret lair. Without another word, he vanished into the shadows of the night like the beast he had just been.

  Chapter Eleven

  Izzy stared at the battered door of Wolf’s solar. In his absence, her anger began to fade, replaced by an overwhelming exhaustion she'd been fighting since leaving St. Kilda. A dull throbbing pulsed at her temples. She ignored it, too tired to do anything else at the moment.

  "The master's not himself tonight," Mistress Rowley said.

  Brahan stood inside the doorway. A dark frown played across his face. "He has not been himself since that last visit to his father. Wolf’s burdens grow heavier by the day, thanks to that man. Does he not realize—"

  "Brahan." Mistress Rowley shot him a dark look. "Let's not be throwing salt into that festering wound. Please, go below stairs and check on Lady Fiona. Heaven knows what mischief she may be up to."

  Brahan's frown deepened, his reluctance obvious. "That woman is definitely one to find trouble where none exists." He turned, then paused to survey the damaged wood. "I suppose Lady Fiona is not the only one who does not take kindly to change," he added. "I'll see that the woodsmith is sent up immediately."

  A pang of remorse stirred within Izzy. None of this would have happened if she had only come down as he had asked. A wave of dizziness swamped her. She closed her eyes, fighting the sensation. It was her guilt that made her feel this way. She had to let it go. Drawing a steadying breath, she opened her eyes and looked at the jagged, splintered wood surrounding the doorway.

  She had expected some reaction from the man when she rejected his offer of supper. She knew he would come. Mistress Rowley had even warned her of that fact. What she hadn't anticipated was his violence or his destruction. It was naive to think of him in any other way than what his name described—dark, untamed, a beast.

  At the thought, the splintered wood suddenly became blurred and unfocused. She blinked hard, and her vision cleared. She stared beyond the doorway to the shadows that flickered and twisted in the hallway. Dark and mysterious shapes like those she had conjured out of the shadows while confined to the darkened tower on St. Kilda.

  Izzy groaned. Such demons did not exist—not in the shadows and not in the light. It was only her mind's response to what had happened here.

  "Are you well, my dear?" Mistress Rowley eyed her with concern.

  Izzy pressed her fingers into her aching temples. She was not well. She had not been well for days now. And she very much doubted she would be well while Wolf confined her to the interior of the castle. Only in the open sunlight did she feel as if she could breathe freely. This open and multi-windowed chamber went a long way toward alleviating the feelings of enclosure that sent her heart racing while inside. But nothing compared to the feeling of fresh air upon her skin.

  Izzy sighed. "So much has happened. Perhaps after I sleep a while I'll feel more at ease." She brought her hands down to settle at her sides. "Would you mind terribly if I asked to be alone for now?"

  Mistress Rowley frowned. "It might not be wise to leave you unprotected now that the door is—"

  "Th
is castle is a fortress. Who could harm me here?" At the skeptical look on Mistress Rowley's face, Izzy added, "I promise to remain on guard."

  "All right, my dear," Mistress Rowley conceded. "I'll close the door as best I can. No doubt the woodsmith will be here shortly to repair the damage. Rest well."

  Izzy waited until Mistress Rowley's shuffling steps carried her from the room before she allowed her shoulders to droop with the weight of her exhaustion. Her claim of tiredness had been no lie. She truly did wish to rest but doubted she would ever sleep in this strange and new place.

  Perhaps if she continued sewing for a while she would find it easier to sleep. Izzy retrieved her needle and thread. With a sigh she realized that she did not want to sew anymore. She set the needle aside, then picked up a slice of apple, only to return it to the tray. Her hunger had vanished.

  A sudden wave of dizziness swept over her again. She clutched at the table until the odd sensation passed. What was wrong with her? She had lived through worse confrontations. Why did this brief altercation with her future bridegroom bother her so much? She returned her gaze to the doorway as the need for fresh air pressed in all around her, until her chest rose and fell in short, sharp breaths.

  The need for air became an all-consuming necessity. She stepped into the hallway and quickly searched the shadows for signs of Wolf. No one lingered about. Moonlight spilled onto the flagstones from a stairwell opposite a large tapestry of men and women engaged in hunting a tiny fox. Terror filled the fox's eyes as he raced across the embroidered canvas. It was how she'd felt tonight—hunted, panicked, terrified.

  She'd managed to find the strength to defy Wolf, but inside she had trembled. Just as she trembled now as she gazed up the stairs. A stairway that led to air. It would be much simpler to go down the hallway back to the great hall, then out into the courtyard to find fresh air. Except that it would take too long. She needed air now.