PHANTOM BRIDE
Connie C. Scharon
Cover design by Seth Scharon
Copyright © 2013 Connie Coles Scharon
All rights reserved.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. This book is the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes without written consent.
Other Books by this Author
Enchanted Lover
Enchanted Lover is an engaging story set against the misty backdrop of 1300’s Scottish Highlands. It is a tale of passion and politics, intrigue and sorcery. Connie weaves the complex emotions of her fiery characters as skillfully as a colorful tartan. Castle drama and backdoor deception mirror the bedroom theatrics between Asilinn and Jared as their family-inherited hatred morphs into grudging lust and then love to unite their warring clans. A true bodice ripper of a romp. If you read this before you retire for the day, do not expect to use the bed for sleep!
D.C. McLaughlin
Author of “Deadly Conversations”
Dedication
This book is dedicated to the Year of the Book Group, especially Demi and Laura, who led us all into publishing. None of this would have happened without you.
To Michael, Seth, and Amelie, my family, without whom I could not enjoy life—I love you all.
To Lisa, who has supported all of us through this adventure.
And for Vickie, who fell in love with Liam the moment I put him on the page—this one is for you!
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Coming Soon
About the Author
Prologue
Scottish Highlands, October 30, 1314
The wind swept down from the Highlands chilling Devon Dunsmore Forbes to the bone, but it wasn't the restless wind that made her quiver. A black-garbed figure made his way to her side as she followed behind her husband's casket. Bryce Forbes grabbed her elbow sending shards of pain through her burned flesh. Sobbing, Devon tried to pull away, but Bryce refused to let go.
“Milady, you weep as if you truly mourned his passing,” he whispered against her veiled head.
The ever-moving air whipped her thick, black veil, threatening to tear it from its fastenings and expose her tear-streaked face. She tried to step away and his grip tightened in silent warning. Devon forced her arm limp until Bryce relaxed his hand and the throbbing pain subsided.
The funeral procession reached the gravesite and lowered the coffin into the ground. Sea air buffeted the mourners as they listened to the endless eulogy by the good friar. The words hung in the air around Devon never quite piercing the dark wall of cloth that kept their eyes from her.
Devon's father wedged himself between Devon and her tormentor, moving to circle her with his arm when the funeral concluded. Snatching the handful of earth handed to her, she obediently tossed it onto the coffin. Her mind flashed back to the flames—the smell of burning flesh as Frazer turned into a fireball of flame. She had committed a sin against God and man—she would surely burn in eternal hellfire.
They were moving now, slowly making their way back to the carriage. God give me strength to make it through this day, Devon silently prayed, sending the same litany to the heavens with each painful step she took. Her father moved forward to help her into the coach. Devon eased against the velvet-cushioned seat, careful to avoid any contact to her tender upper back. She closed her eyes, desperately trying to block out her surroundings. If only she could be strong a little longer.
Bryce approached the coach and Devon said a small prayer of thanks when her father blocked his entrance into the carriage.
"Give us a moment of privacy," Malcolm said. Bryce obeyed reluctantly, moving to sit with the driver when the door closed in his face.
"Will you make it through this, child?" Malcolm asked, taking her hand with a gentle squeeze.
"Aye, Father." Devon opened her eyes to look through the netting at him. He seemed suddenly aged by this latest tragedy. His sad, gray eyes avoided her face. "If something else is amiss, you must tell me."
He let out a reluctant sigh and gazed at her. "Bryce is claiming the right to marry you when your mourning period has ended. He's petitioned Robert the Bruce to uphold his claim."
"Bryce pleads with the King of Scotland to lay claim to me and the Dunsmore land?"
"Aye, and that damned agreement I had with Frazer may give Robert cause to grant his petition."
"Dear God, no!" Tears sprung fresh in Devon's eyes.
"There, there girl, we have a year to figure a way out of this. I will not let you down this time." He handed Devon a handkerchief and watched her mop up under her veil.
"You didn’t let me down, Father," she whispered. "'It was I who wouldn’t listen."
They fell silent as the coach entered the castle gates and passed the burned out shell of the north wing. The remains rose like a charred skeleton reaching its arms to the sky. Scorched from the heat of the flames, the massive stonework still stood with the two lower floors spared total destruction. Even after the driving rain of the night before, some of the timbers still puffed little trails of wispy smoke into the cool, October air.
Did the room remain intact? Devon looked away unable to bear the sight of it. She wished the whole thing had burned to the ground. Blinking hard she tried to dispel the blurred image that rose up to haunt her.
The carriage skidded to a halt by the main portal of the castle and Malcolm alighted helping her out of the conveyance. She clung to his arm when he led her into the main hall.
Devon passed the day in a rote imitation of grief managing to nod and accept condolences from the gathered mourners. At every turn, she heard their hushed whispers. Little bits of conversation floated back to her, “mysterious fire", "strange circumstances”, “odd girl"; until they saw she was near and stopped abruptly mid-sentence.
Each condemnation caused her heart to beat wildly within her chest. Unable to stand the torture any longer, she gave her apologies and left the great hall of Dunsmore Heath.
Making her way up the passageway, Devon stepped into her new quarters and closed the door. Her fingers moved to discard the thick, black veil from her face.
Something stirred in the corner and she stopped, covering herself as her brother-in-law rose from his seat by the fire and turned to face her.
"One year from this day you will be mine and with you all that should have been my brother's."
"'Tis nigh impossible to make such a decision now."
"There is no decision, Devon. Robert will support my claim. You and your father cheated me of my just inheritance."
"This is my father's land! How can you app
roach me on the day we've buried your brother?"
Bryce moved closer to Devon carelessly brushing his hand across her veiled face. He gazed at her as if trying to penetrate her black drape of funeral garb with his lustful longings. "How bad is the burn? Will it leave you a scarred monster?" he queried in a dark whisper. "Does it mar the perfection of your body, or just your face?"
"Stop this!" Devon cried. "Your brother is barely cold in his grave and you make advances to his widow. I'll never marry you!"
"It is out of your hands."
"My father will not allow it!"
"If your father doesna last out the year, I'll take you for my bride on the day we lay his body in the earth."
"You would murder my father to have me?" In her heart, she knew the answer. Devon stepped back, a sickening knot forming in the pit of her stomach. Was this her punishment?
A smile slid across Bryce's face. "You will be mine. You cannot escape me." He walked slowly to the door, turning to look back at her trembling form. "Goodnight, Lady Devon," he said.
As the door closed behind him, Devon gripped the bedpost for support, her knuckles going white under the strain. Pain radiated through her chest. It felt like her lungs collapsed and refused to allow any air back in. She gasped, momentarily unable to breathe, until the air rushed in and permitted her ragged sobs to escape. Tearing off the veil, she threw herself on the bed and buried her head in the pillow weeping.
Chapter One
October 15, 1315
He heard them coming before they burst into view—the bay horse was thundering across the moors carrying its rider as if the devil himself forced their flight. Liam MacLean leaned forward, watching with interest as the stranger rode through the MacLean lands below him. The man's horse was beginning to lather under the strain, but the rider twisted to look behind him, and then urged the steed to continue the relentless pace.
Liam stretched to his full height and scanned the horizon for the cause of the interloper's flight. Five horsemen rose from the mist surrounding the wooded copse at the entrance to the valley and fell in behind the man in flight. Shouts rang out as the five men closed in on their quarry.
Spurring his horse into action, Liam took the steep slope with studied skill approaching the skirmish while the pursuers surrounded their prey.
The man under attack looked up in desperation when Liam rode toward him. It had been years since their last meeting, but Liam would recognize the old laird anywhere. He owed Laird Malcolm Dunsmore his life, and it looked like he was finally going to repay his debt.
Just as Liam reached the group, one of the attackers unseated the laird from his horse with a sidelong blow from his sword. Malcolm struggled to his feet coming eye to eye with his attacker.
"Prepare to meet your maker!" the ruffian cried, raising his sword for the final blow.
"I'll not go down without a fight!" Malcolm shouted, grabbing his own sword and striking back. The riders moved in, tumbling him roughly to the ground. He groaned as a sword tip pierced his shoulder.
Liam took aim and sent an arrow whizzing by the head of Malcolm's assailant, stopping the man short. The other men ceased their attack and looked up as Liam finished reloading his crossbow. They stared at the weapon aimed squarely at Malcolm's attacker.
"Withdraw your sword!" Liam ordered.
"Do not interfere," the attacker warned. "Unless you care to share his fate, leave us to our duty."
"I'll not stand by and watch an unarmed man slain."
"You have only one arrow."
"Which of you is willing to sacrifice your life to complete your task?" Liam asked. He smiled as he watched their faces.
They stood motionless, suspended for a brief moment of indecision, and then the man with the sword moved to finish Malcolm. Reacting quickly, Liam fired, striking the attacker between his eyes. As he fell backward, the others rushed at Liam. In a single motion, Liam unsheathed his sword and charged the group. They fought bravely, but he unseated two of them. Whirling his horse around, he ran the other through with the sharp point of his sword.
Malcolm scrambled to his feet and took up his blade, surprising one of the men on the ground. The man had a crossbow aimed at Liam's head. The arrow got off missing its mark as Laird Malcolm beheaded the attacker with a swift swing of his sword. The men that still lived took one look at their headless companion and retreated over the ridge.
Liam watched until they were out of sight, and then turned his attention to Malcolm. The old laird swayed when he attempted to recapture his mount, faltering and almost tumbling over backward.
Swinging down from his prancing horse, Liam grabbed Malcolm before he hit the ground. "I've got you."
Smiling Malcolm accepted Liam's help. "Just the man I was looking for."
"Let me check your shoulder."
"'Tis naught but a scratch. Take me to Dunbocan, we'll see to it there."
Liam nodded and helped Malcolm up on his horse, heading for the solid stone fortifications of Dunbocan Castle.
***
A few hours later Malcolm sat across the table from Liam, his shoulder tended and his face a somber mask. Reaching in his upper breast pocket, he pulled out a small, velvet pouch.
The air in the room seemed suddenly thinner. Liam inhaled sharply, bracing himself for the shock of seeing the golden amulet again. The chain snaked down in a series of shiny coils as the weighty medal dropped into the air in front of him. The gold medallion hung suspended before Liam's eyes conjuring up a thousand memories with its hypnotic swing. His beloved Sarah gave this medallion to him. He tore his gaze away and looked into the face of its presenter.
"Calling in my debt, Malcolm?"
"Desperate circumstances cause men to be less than gracious. ’Twas never my intent to take advantage of your offer… and now, what am I to do? You paid me back in kind before I reached Dunbocan."
"And you saved my life a second time today." Grinning Liam made a sweeping motion through the air imitating Malcolm's forceful stroke.
The old laird cackled with glee. "Set his head rollin', didn't I?"
"How's the shoulder?"
"Lady Asilinn is a skilled healer. It is fine." Malcolm laid the medallion on the table with a weary sigh.
"What brings you so far to ask for my help?" Liam looked at the man across the table from him. "I told you when I gave you the medallion, I owe you my life. Whatever you need, I'll provide."
Malcolm cast his eyes down and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "It is no small favor."
"And if it weren't for you I'd be dead now—twice over, not a debt easily repaid."
"When you offered me this medallion, you told me you'd not accept it back until you had repaid your debt of gratitude. I never felt you owed me anything and often as I held it I longed to return it to you."
Liam's eyes clouded, a clear vision of Sarah's sweet face dancing before him. She had been so happy when she gave him the medallion… a gift in return for her betrothal ring. The memory still cut him deep and he found himself swallowing hard from the pain. "Sarah is long dead, Malcolm. I believe you've heard the story."
"Some of it, enough to know your life did not turn out the way you'd hoped when you returned from battle."
"There were many days I thought I'd have been better off if you'd let me die." Liam managed a wan smile. "But I'm past that now. I have a good life here with Jared and Asilinn."
"You haven’t married."
Liam thought of the lovely widow, Duchess Claire Hartgrove, who had been intent of late in making him change his mind. Claire was definitely not the woman for him. That was the problem. The woman he wanted was Sarah and she was dead. "Mayhaps I haven’t found the right woman."
"Your cousin and his wife are dear to you, but you should have your own lands, your own wife, and family."
Arching his brow Liam folded his arms across his chest. "Enough about me, why have you come to me now? What has happened to make the Laird of Dunsmore Heath have need of my help?"<
br />
Malcolm ran a hand through his hair. "I want you to save my daughter's life."
"I'll help in any way I can. But if she's in danger, why haven't you saved her yourself?"
"I cannot. I need to find a man who will fight for the right to marry her."
"Marry her," Liam echoed. "I thought Devon was already wed."
"Devon has been a widow for almost a year now."
"I heard you had little use for her husband. Why does his passing place you in such a dilemma?"
"Her dead husband’s brother has petitioned Robert the Bruce to force a match. I have no sons; whoever marries Devon shall inherit my title and all my holdings."
"Has Robert granted his petition?"
"Aye, but Robert agrees Devon may marry someone else if another suitor will challenge Bryce for her hand—compete in a tournament to win her.
"Is the man so foul?"
"Worse than you could imagine."
Liam exhaled leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs out in front of him. "What does Devon want? Is she willing to marry Bryce? She married his brother against your warning."
"Devon doesn’t wish to marry at all. Unfortunately that is not an option." Malcolm straightened. "I knew it was too much to hope for." Standing he pushed the medallion across the table. "This belongs to you. Consider your debt paid in full." He headed for the door.
"Malcolm." The elder man stopped without looking back. "I always pay my debts."
Turning slowly Malcolm faced Liam. "It was wrong of me to ask so much. Consider it over night and tell me your decision in the morning. Know I hold no grudge if you refuse." With that, he left the room.
Liam picked up the gold medallion. It had been years since he felt the weight of it in his hand. Flipping it over, he ran his fingers over the jewel-encrusted surface. Sarah's words came back to him. "Let this symbol of my love keep you safe."
Connie C. Scharon - Highland Legends 02 Page 1