Warrior's Bride

by Gerri Russell

  "Aye, Grange can be a terrifying enemy."

  "Nay." She drew back but would not look him in the eye. "I was so frightened of what would happen once you learned the truth about me. That you wouldn't want me."

  He angled her face toward his. Tears slipped down her cheeks and he brushed them away with his thumbs. "You are my wife." Cupping her cheeks with strong, secure hands, he pressed his lips to hers for a brief, heartfelt kiss.

  "What happens now?" she asked, her voice tremulous. They both turned to look at the sprawled form of Lord Henry Grange.

  Wolf stepped away from her to retrieve Grange's fallen sword, then handed it to Isobel. "The battle is not yet won against Grange's men."

  Isobel accepted the weapon, her grasp firm on the hilt. "I shall do all I can to help."

  He nodded his approval and guided her to the stairs. "I'll go first to cover your descent" A moment later he leaped to the ground, prepared to fight. But the battle had ended. What remained of Grange's men had been rounded up as prisoners. Their weapons lay in a pile at the base of the tree.

  "Stay here," Wolf instructed Isobel. He climbed back up into the tree house, then appeared a moment later with Grange's body slung over his shoulder. He deposited his enemy's corpse at the feet of his men and drew his sword. "Grange is dead."

  A ripple of shocked disbelief spread through the men. "Grange's lands and all his possessions now belong to me as a spoil of war and by virtue of my marriage to his only child," Wolf declared.

  All eyes turned to Isobel. Wolf’s breath caught in his chest at the sight of her. She was magnificent, despite being covered in blood and her gown in tatters. A fire in her eyes said she would never be defeated. She was every inch the avenging queen. Wolf had to force his gaze away from the awe-inspiring sight of her in order to deal with what was yet undone.

  "I offer you a choice for your future. You may either disband and go your own ways with a promise to never attack me or my people again, swear fealty to your king and follow me back to my castle, or if you continue your hostilities, you will die."

  Murmurs spread through the troops as they broke up into smaller units to discuss their options. After several moments, two men, most likely the lieutenants of the groups, came forward.

  "We choose to disband," one man said.

  "Then go, but vow to me that you will travel far beyond these hills and vales."

  "Agreed," they both said in unison before they turned away from the crowd and, taking six other men with them, walked into the woods.

  The others remained. Three other men stepped forward. "If you agree to provide us with shelter and food, we will serve you, my lord," the elder of the three men said.

  Wolf sheathed his weapon, grateful that no more blood would be spilt this day. "Then swear fealty to your king and help me tend the wounded and bury the dead."

  One by one the men stepped forward and knelt before him before swearing their obedience. When they had all pledged their vow, they got to work. As the men worked, Isobel stepped beside him. "How did you know your men would come?"

  Wolf reached into the folds of his tartan, producing Isobel's half of the Stone as well as the piece his father had given him. He held them out to her on the flat of his palm. "You and Brahan are not the only ones who can see into the future."

  Isobel's gaze clung to his face, searching. "Your hair—" With a gasp she reached up, and with trembling fingers, brushed a lock at his temple. "A streak of white in a sea of midnight."

  "A battle mark. Nothing more." He shrugged as he curled his fingers around hers.

  She turned her gaze to his, and Wolf saw the pain in her eyes. "I am sorry."

  "For what?"

  "For endangering you and your men all because of... him." She swallowed roughly, and it took an almost physical effort not to try to ease her hurt with his hands, or silence her with a kiss. She needed this moment to say these things if she were ever to be free of Grange's hold on her life. He understood that need since he'd experienced the same himself with his own father. "The death and destruction he caused can never be repaid," she finally said.

  Wolf reached up and laid his hand against her cheek. "Then do what you can to repair and rebuild by staying with me always as my wife and mistress to my people."

  She turned her face into his hand and kissed his palm. "I'll stay."

  He had just heard pledges from twenty men. Yet this vow from Isobel meant more to him than any other. The sincerity in her eyes reflected what was in her heart. "The others can finish here. Let's get you home." He led her to his horse and placed her on the animal's back before he swung up behind her. He rearranged the folds of his tartan around her bare legs so that they were both wrapped with the warmth his body offered.

  As they set off for home, she settled back against his chest. He folded his arms around her. For a brief, blissful moment, he indulged in their newfound happiness. But in the span of a heartbeat reality returned. "I shall hold you to another promise you made, Isobel."

  She gazed up at him, a spark of challenge in her eyes. "What promise is that?"

  "That you will stay at the castle, no matter what."

  The teasing vanished from her gaze, replaced by fear. "What do you mean?"

  She would know what he meant soon enough. For now, he wanted to live in the moment. "What kind of husband would I be if I didn't want to keep you safe?" He pressed a kiss to her lips, then pulled back to see the fear vanish from her gaze. An urgent hunger took its place.

  Wolf smiled and set his heels against his horse's sides, spurring the animal into greater speed.

  "Are we in a hurry?" she teased.

  "We are if you don't want me to seduce you right here on the back of this horse."

  As soon as they entered the inner courtyard of Duthus Castle, Wolf dismounted, scooped his wife into his arms, and carried her inside.

  Upon their return to the castle, Wolf had stopped by Walter's bedside and been informed that his brother would survive his injuries. Relieved by the news, and encouraged by his staff to see to his own needs, Wolf had escorted Isobel upstairs to the solar.

  Wolf knelt by the hearth, adding a log to the flames. He and Isobel had both bathed the last of the grime and blood from their skin. The remnants from their last battle with Grange were gone.

  Firelight cast a glow over the room, gilding Isobel's soft curves in gold. The reflection of the flames danced provocatively over her breasts, her thighs, on down to her delicate and enticing feet. His wife, his Isobel. She was a survivor. She'd already survived her early years of torment, of abuse and misuse at the hands of the MacDonalds and her own father. And now ... he would ask her to survive once more.

  He would ask her to keep going after he was gone.

  It seemed such a cruel twist of fate that his own father had finally given him a gift so precious as Isobel only to destroy that gift in the end.

  An aching emptiness filled his chest. He'd never really thought about dying before. It was always something that happened to other people. Wolf forced his thoughts to still. He did not want to waste these moments on such dark ponderings. He wanted to revel in the softness of his wife for as long as he would have her.

  As though sensing his need for her touch, Isobel held out her hand. When he joined her at the bedside, she pulled him down beside her. He shifted his body until he cradled her in his arms.

  An amber-gold light caressed her skin. But even the firelight could not conceal the bruise on her cheek. Gazing upon her, he felt heavy inside, weighed down and full of grief at what she had suffered at the hands of her own father.

  He brushed her hair away from her cheek with a feather-light touch, then leaned down to gently kiss her battered flesh. Sympathy and guilt assaulted him in an overwhelming tide, deluging his thoughts, drowning his voice until he could only say, "I love you."

  He whispered the words over and over against her skin as he kissed her throat, her shoulders, her arm.

  At her hands he paused and sat ba
ck. He nestled her hands, with all their gashes and cuts, between his fingers. Slowly, gently, with all the love in his heart, he kissed each wound. They were united in their pain, bound together in their love. He hoped, he prayed his affection would act as a salve and ease the trauma she had suffered.

  She ceased his ministrations, placing a finger beneath his chin, bringing his gaze back to hers. A light mist of tears shone in her eyes. "Never in my darkest times in the tower did I believe my destiny would lead me to you. I feared I would die there alongside my mother. At times I prayed I would."

  A tear rolled from her lashes onto her cheek. "I have no idea what I ever did to deserve you, but I am so very grateful." She tunneled her fingers through his hair with its new white streak. "I love you."

  He caressed her cheek with his thumb, brushing away her tear, before placing a kiss to her eyes, her forehead, her nose, and finally her lips, softening them, taking away her pain. She loved him. Exquisite satisfaction filled him as the words echoed in his mind.

  "You take away my fears," Isobel whispered against his lips. "You make me whole."

  He laid her head against the pillow, her golden hair lying like a halo about her beautiful features. They completed each other, just like the two halves of the Seer's Stone. The Balliol half and the Stewart half, reunited.

  Wolf buried his face in her hair and gently kissed her neck, hiding from Isobel the tension, the anger building inside him. He had finally found a woman who loved him for who he was, a woman who saw into his own heart. He breathed deeply, etching her scent of heather into his memory, storing her essence for that moment when the noose would tighten about his neck.

  He lay there, allowing her strength to flow into him, until his anger faded and he became keenly aware of the soft pulse of her heart so near his own. He tilted his head back, gazing into her face. Desire shot through him so intensely that a groan tremored through his chest.

  Her eyes widened and her lips parted. He stared at her mouth, aching to taste her. He caught her lips. She tasted of warm sunshine and sweet naiveté, as heady a brew as known to man. Against him, she was like a fragile white lily, supple and pliant, adapting and bending as she always did to survive.

  Her breath played on his mouth, and she murmured something as he slid his hands down the satin skin at her sides, molding her flesh to his rampant arousal.

  With a quick intake of air, she released his lips. Desire dilated her eyes. And something more—a look that said she trusted him, loved him, desired him above all else.

  Nothing in his life had prepared him for that look. Nothing. Not her sweet surrender or the heady yearning in her eyes. Beneath his hands, her skin was on fire, burning with her need for him to touch her. And touch her he did.

  He trailed his fingers up the delicate curve of her hips, her waist, and to her breasts, circling her nipples, urging them to taut peaks. He heard her soft moan of desire, felt a responding echo within himself, inflaming his passion all the more.

  He replaced his fingers with his tongue. His mouth fastened on first one breast, then the other, licking, nipping, teasing. Continuing his assault, he kissed the valley between her breasts and dipped lower, to her waist, her belly, her navel, and lower still, until he kissed the softness between her thighs.

  She tensed in surprise, but he allowed her time to adjust to his presence there, until the heat spreading through him also spread through her with his hot, wet kisses. He continued to gently stroke her until she was unable to control either her broken moans or her trembling.

  He circled her with his tongue, then pushed inside her. She thrust against him in response, wanting more, and he could feel the tension building inside her, growing tighter and tighter with each thrust and circle of his tongue. Then, on a broken cry, she arched against him, erupted, surrendering to the dark, whirling pleasure he'd created.

  For a moment he backed away, and she reached for him with hungry hands, urging him upward, over her body. She rose up to meet him, kissing the sensitive flesh of his chest, his shoulder, his mouth. "I want you so much. Please..." she murmured passionately against him.

  In answer to her plea, he urged her back against the bedding and with a groan of capitulation parted her thighs. He tangled his hands in the silken cloud of her golden hair, then cradled her head, drawing her mouth to his once more. "Isobel... my love."

  Her lips parted in unconscious provocation. And he accepted what she offered. With one quick thrust he entered her slick core, his mouth crushing hers, absorbing the sigh of ecstasy that twined in their breath.

  Warmth and fullness. Deep. So deep. He thrust inside her, never wanting to let her go. In and out, he continued to stroke her, holding himself back, wanting her pleasure to soar again before he joined her in that dark and magical place.

  She locked her legs around his hips and rocked with him, until the very essence of her being—her feel, her taste, her scent—merged with his own. Until there was no telling where she ended and he began.

  Unable to hold himself back a moment longer, he guided her hips, thrusting hard, surrendering himself to her hot, wet sweetness, wishing the moment could last forever. But he knew it could not.

  He remained deep inside her, until their breathing returned to normal and the beat of her heart slowed to a steady, even rate. He rose up on his elbows and looked down into her face, memorizing every detail of her passion-filled face before he rolled onto his back, taking her with him, pulling her against his side. She nuzzled against his chest. He lay back and gazed deeply into her dark brown eyes. Why did it take his father's command to bring him to this woman? He should have been searching the seas for her from Brahan's first vision of a fair-haired maiden. They had wasted so much time apart, living lives that were only half-complete.

  She turned toward him, and instantly her passion faded at the look on his troubled face. "What's wrong?"

  With one finger, he swept the dampened tendrils of her hair back from her face, then leaned down and kissed her with great gentleness. "I must ask you to do something for me without question or argument."

  A flicker of unease crossed her face. "That would depend upon what you asked."

  She sensed something was not right and he would no longer hide the truth from her. "I want you to lead my people when I am gone." The raw ache returned to his chest.

  "Gone?" Her face drained of color until only two rosy spots remained high on her cheeks.

  He steeled himself against his need to comfort her. "It won't be long now before my father's guard comes for me."

  "Why?" She looked at him then, as she had never looked at him before, her face a study of conflicting emotions.

  "I've committed treason against the king."

  She sat up, taking the bed sheet with her. "He's your father."

  "You know."

  She nodded. "Fiona told me."

  "Then there are no more secrets between us." He offered her a sad smile as he sat up beside her. "My father is very much like your own. It matters not that we are blood. He will come for me, of that there is no doubt." He took her hand, fingering the jeweled ring he had placed there during their marriage ceremony. "When I gave this to you, I had no idea what you would come to mean to me. Let this ring always remind you of how special you are, how much I love you."

  "They will hang you?"

  "Aye." He closed his eyes against the sudden jarring of his heart. "The king is on his way to do just that."

  "Let us go away. We can go to a remote isle where your father will never find us. I lived that way once; I would willingly do so again if it kept you safe."

  He opened his eyes. "Isobel..." Desperate to remain strong, he stiffened. He heard the misery in her voice, and he would not add to her pain by making her believe they had options they did not. "I cannot run from this. If I do, the king will punish my people instead. He'll put a torch to everything I hold dear. And I couldn't live with myself if that happened."

  "There is nothing I can say to persuade you?"

/>   He shook his head.

  Her resignation mirrored his own as she brought a trembling hand up to cradle his cheek. "How can I help?"

  "When my father arrives, he will strip me of my lands, essentially taking this castle away from you and all who live here." Before she could comment, he continued, "I have a plan, and if it is successful, you will be allowed to stay for what remains of your life. You and Walter will take care of my people."

  "And if your plan is not successful?"

  Wolf drew a deep, shuddering breath. "It will succeed because there is no other way I can peacefully leave this world."

  "We could go—"

  "There is no other choice. Promise me you'll do as I ask and see this through."

  "I'll do as you asked and care for your people."

  "Thank you, Isobel."

  She leaned toward him once more and brushed her lips against his. She lingered there, with their lips barely touching, and in that moment he felt it—the poignancy of her passion and her love. Such innocent seduction would have worked to keep him by her side if only he could stay. But as much as he longed to remain coiled beside her, wrapped in her warmth and her love, he could not.

  Destiny had other plans. "I must go."

  Isobel twisted the bed sheets in her hands. She brought the linen to her chest, praying the action would keep her heart from shattering as she watched her husband gather his clothing. In the silence of the chamber all the joy, the peace, the sense of belonging she had been feeling since her arrival at Duthus Castle vanished.

  As he slipped a fresh linen shirt over his head, the pain and numbness receded and anger took its place. Not anger at Wolf—anger over their inability to find peace or happiness in the lives they had been given.

  "I must leave you now." He fastened his newly woven tartan about himself, then secured his sword at his side. "There are a few more things I must settle before the king arrives."

  Placing a final kiss on her lips, Wolf left the room, so ridden by his own inner turmoil that he did not see the shudder that swept through her body as she curled her fists in the bed sheets.

  Wolf might think he had no other option except to sacrifice himself for his people. But he was wrong. Isobel pushed off the bed and strode to the armoire. She pulled the closest garment over her head and quickly brushed her hair.