His Judas Bride

by Shehanne Moore

  Across the wasteland of her mind, a light shone. Why not? After all she had come here, hadn’t she? She raised her chin higher, looked at him there, the peat-light flickering across his finely chiseled cheekbones inches from her own.

  “What if I was to go back to my father?”

  Her mind raced. It was risky of course. As today had already shown, anything involving her father was. But if she did this…

  “If I was to pretend? Bring him here. As promised. You could be waiting. And that way…that way…” She could hardly bear to think it, let alone say it. The brilliance of what she suggested stunned her. “Everyone would be safe.”

  “Hell, Princess.” Had she said she wanted him to go in the guise of herself, while she waited with his men, he could not look more astonished. “While I’m open to suggestions right now, but with what you say about him, wouldn’t that be dangerous?”

  Yes, it would. But because it wasn’t any greater a danger than she’d already faced—so long as her father didn’t realize she’d been compromised. Why? It was a brilliant idea.

  “Provided you…trust me that is.” She could barely utter the words, appreciating, as she did, he might not, which was why she was fully aware of the delicate blush tingeing her features.

  He bent his head. He covered her mouth with his. So he must have. It was a kiss of such blinding sweetness, a kiss that told her all she wanted to know about that. She parted her lips. Her fears vanished in that heated second. He would not kiss her like this unless he meant it.

  She was trembling when he finally released her. His sensuous lips curled faintly as he regarded her.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “But—”

  “I swear. I think for now, a kiss is good, don’t you?”

  She thought so too. Finally some things were within her reach after all.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Callm, are you aff your bloody head?”

  Possibly. But Callm still stopped midway across the moonlit yard to ponder the advantages of punching Wee Murdie’s jaw. True. If he sent him sprawling into the snow, the silence would certainly be bliss. But he hesitated when the man was taller than him. A few inches. Even so. Besides he never punched people for pointing out the truth.

  “I said if, Murdie. Are you going deaf there?”

  Wee Murdie’s boots squelched behind him through the slush. “No. I’m not. And I’m not doing it.”

  It was something Callm had always been a bit jealous of. The fact Wee Murdie was faster than he was. In the space of time it took Callm to turn his head back again, Wee Murdie stood in front of him. Callm didn’t know he could walk backward like that or had eyes in the back of his head that enabled him to do it without walking into anything either.

  “Not this time. You can get somebody else. You think I’m letting you out this glen on your own? Over her?”

  Callm hesitated. He tilted his jaw. “That’s nice of you. But I’m a big boy now. A few McGurkies certainly think I can take care of myself. I don’t need you holding my hand.”

  Wee Murdie’s eyes blazed. “But what about the rest of us if ye fail? You’re not superhuman ye know. You’re just pig-headed swine enough to think ye are. Over a woman.”

  Callm huffed out a breath. Yes. This was, wasn’t it? And not just one. Did Wee Murdie have any idea of the hour there it had taken him to get Kara to fall asleep? Christ, he had nearly fallen asleep himself. Might have, were it not for all that surged within him. The awful, jarring knowledge about this. About everything.

  The last thing he wanted was her coming out here insisting on knowing what he was doing. Her knowing he didn’t trust her. Trust her? As he did a bent arrow. Or that little idea she’d had about how to lure her father here to put this right. Everything. Arland, Morven. Morven most of all. This was his battle.

  “Do you need me to tell you what to do if I fail? You’re Brotherhood men aren’t you? Glen guardians. This isn’t Brotherhood business. I dug the hole here. Not you or anyone else. Now I have to sort it. However I can.”

  “Then go to the old bastard and damn well tell him ye married her. Demand the wee lad as her dowry. If she is telling the truth—”

  “What the hell do you mean if? Do you think I’m that taken up with her, I’m incapable of proper judgment and I don’t know that she is? Is that it?”

  Of course he wasn’t, or he’d never have landed in this damned mess with her. He saw that now. The pity was he hadn’t seen it before. Or rather, having seen it he’d acted on it.

  “No. But that old bastard will dance a jig. Finally, an alliance with a clan prince.”

  Well, the old bastard would. But when Callm thought about how that alliance had once nearly been forged, he couldn’t allow it.

  “Do you think I want to be jigging alongside of him now? Hell, Murdie.” He cocked his chin. “I’m fussy who I dance with. Anyway he had an alliance with a clan prince. It wasn’t good enough. Do you think I can afford to let him sit on our doorstep any longer, trying to anticipate his next move? Well? Do you want to know who put our people in jeopardy? I did that.”

  Anyway, the marriage was a sham. A woman and her child. Who the hell was he to get in the way of that? Kid himself he meant something?

  He whistled softly. Maybe the cur was like Kara, able to take care of herself, but he didn’t want Dug coming further than the first few hundred yards. Not this time. It would be easier though if Dug had headed for the cave, when he left her behind hours ago. Instead she’d turned up here, whining to be admitted.

  “Look, just you all make sure he doesn’t set foot in Lochalpin if I don’t come back. That way you won’t have to carry out any messy orders, will you?”

  In the freezing frost-lit air, the words were surreal. So surreal they threatened to choke him as thoroughly as the bracing cold. But his mind was frighteningly clear. Despite everything that was going on inside his head right now, he still shuddered to recall the things Kara had told him, to think of anyone ever touching her again. Hurting her. And they would.

  Of course she’d no idea how stunned he’d been. About that. About everything. When it came to acting, he was every bit as good as her.

  “She’s got this look.” He swallowed, trying not to recall that either. If he recalled it he’d go back inside the castle, to the bed where she lay and he’d never leave her again. And that was ridiculous when his mind was in a dark place.

  “Aye. I know. I’ve seen it. I think we all have. And that’s how I want you to get one of the others. Snosh, Eck—”

  “You’re the one man she won’t get around.”

  “I wouldn’t bank on it, Callm.”

  “Hell, Murdie, just think of me. The last thing I want, if I don’t come back, the very last thing, is her falling back into that old bastard’s clutches. You either escape with her, or you do it. Now…”

  He set his boot in the stirrup, determination stiffening his spine. What shamed him most, was to think of the times he’d brought her to pleasure. Of course that first time, she’d been playing with the same fire as himself. What happened after that, those days in the cave, it had just been easier to make love to her than face his own uncertainty about her, about the fact he felt she lied, about how he was getting in over his head. If he’d known, a woman who had been hurt like that, he wouldn’t have done it. How could he have conflicted her so she enjoyed what she probably hated? Probably made her feel worse about her son? Because he knew perfectly she hadn’t pretended.

  As for trying to hand her down that corridor to Ewen, even if he knew it was safe? He would never have done that either. He sweated thinking about it.

  Her and that cracked-brained scheme of hers too. Put things right? No. He did this. Because if anyone had jeopardized his people, it was him.

  He pulled himself up in to the saddle. “And don’t you, any of you, tell her where I am. I don’t want her hopes raised for nothing. She’s been through enough. Look, I’ve lived by my wits a long time. I won’
t exactly be alone.”

  “Neither will ye.” The voice rasped across the yard.

  Oh bloody hell, the last person he wanted to see out here. He turned his head slowly. He had no idea it could be so hard not to flinch.

  “Ewen?”

  “Weel, it’s not Ewen’s ghost, although it’s a wonder.”

  Great. Callm bared his teeth. The last time he’d seen Ewen had been in the carnage in the great hall. Ewen still had the burst eyebrows to prove it. Callm had spent ten minutes patching himself up, after he’d tucked Kara up in blankets and made up the fire, trying not to admire just how beautiful and peaceful she was lying there with her hair spilled over her face.

  Ewen, staggering across the courtyard drunk, seeking reparation for the assault and the broken candelabra, wasn’t the send off he envisaged. Christ. Or needed.

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m coming with ye.”

  “What?”

  He could do without this. It had been a long few days and it wasn’t over yet.

  “Te get mah bride, Kertyn. Or Ardene. Whatever one will have me. Do ye think you’re the only one with the right to one roond here?”

  Callm didn’t. He didn’t imagine Kertyn or Ardene would be doing anything less than drawing straws about it either.

  “Get mah horse.” Ewen gestured to the stable boy.

  Callm glanced around wearily. He didn’t want Ewen. But he didn’t want noise and fuss either.

  “Is this wise?”

  “How is it not? Mah horse, laddie.” Ewen gestured again. “Who commands this glen?”

  “You do. But if you do, do you think it’s wise to come alone? Because that’s how I’m going. This is my business. She’s my business.”

  “Oh, I’m certainly not coming alone, brother. No. I’ll be having some of your men for bodyguards, seeing as all mine have buggered off.”

  Yes. Just what he didn’t need. Ewen on a mission of mercy. But what other choice did he have?

  * * *

  Kara’s eyelids flickered open. Soft woolen fibers tickled her nose. When she considered this, and all the times there had been nothing to stir for, nothing to open her eyes for, and now… Hearing a clanking in the hearth, she shook her head to clear it. How could she forget what she had dreamed of last night?

  Today was the day she drew a step closer to getting back Arland. And it wouldn’t be like last time.

  “Sir?”

  She flicked her eyes open fully, running her tongue around her lips to moisten them. Her gaze froze. Ulla. Archibald Kelty. And Big Murdie. She closed her eyes and shook her head. True, she was tired and shaky from yesterday. In fact, every bone in her body ached, along with her head, which didn’t just ache, it felt as if someone pounded on it with steel hammers. But to hallucinate?

  “For God’s sake, girl, what were ye told? A herd of coos would be quieter on their feet than you.”

  “Aye. And make less of a muck’in all. I dinnae know what the point of making breakfast was. All that trouble all day yesterday to make supper and look what they did with it.”

  Kara clutched the blanket against her breasts and pinged her eyes back open. Mortification knotted her throat. How embarrassing. She admitted it. She would have felt on a more equal footing if the floor hadn’t been littered with broken crockery and she wasn’t in a state of undress.

  She knew exactly what each was now thinking. This was the woman who’d somehow snagged the Black Wolf of Lochalpin. Look what she’d brought him to. Room-wrecking, brawling, and God-would-blush-to-know what else.

  In fact, remarkably, the night had been completely empty of sexual congress. So they could each of them pick their gaping jaws up from the floor.

  Hastily she cast about. Where was he? The bed was empty. Her throat dried. Empty? How was that? She felt the space beside her. Not just empty. Untouched.

  Worse. He’d gathered her into his arms and set her down here, in his boots last night, hadn’t he? As far as she could recall he’d not actually removed them. Although, of course, she had obviously fallen asleep. It was no wonder. Exhaustion had claimed her very bones. She had been tired and hungry and he had been… She remembered lying across him, the close way he’d held her as he’d sat with his back against the wall.

  She just couldn’t understand what they were doing here. What on earth the Wolf was thinking about, letting them into the chamber like this. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have plans to make.

  “My lady, good morning to ye.” Archibald Kelty speaking as if it was the most normal thing in the world for him to be here was not expected either. He gave a little bow. “Your clothes.” He gestured in the direction of the chair.

  Kara had sat up by now and she could not help thinking it was as if she were a stranger to what lay on it. In fact she was a stranger. The carmine gown had definitely not been there last night. That particular cloak or the stockings either. Although, of course, she recognized each item as part of her trousseau.

  She clutched the blanket tighter. She would put them on, when they’d left, although it might be better, if she was to pretend to her father she’d escaped from here, if she wasn’t too well dressed. Unless, of course, she was to make it look as if she’d been visiting her new subjects.

  “Yes. Yes.” Her cheeks pounded, the blush spreading to the roots of her hair. Surely the Wolf had better things to do though than send Archibald Kelty in here to show her the trousseau? Of course he’d sent his men up the glen with it that first day, so maybe he didn’t? Maybe he had a thing about trousseaus?

  Archibald stepped closer. His eyes, assessing beneath the still black brows, ran over her. “When you’ve, you know, dressed and eaten what Ulla here’s made for you here, I have orders, rather Murdie here has, to get under way.”

  “Big Murdie.” The red-bearded giant scowled.

  “Big Murdie will take you on.”

  “Take me on?”

  Her mouth creased. What an absurd thought. How? As a woman? Adversary? Whatever the Wolf intended, she would go with. After all this was probably dangerous enough without her interfering, although she couldn’t help wishing he had asked someone who hadn’t been here last night. She recollected herself. At least it wasn’t Ewen McDunnagh.

  “Of course.” She edged a foot out of bed. “If you’d just be so kind.”

  “Aye. Of course.”

  If Archibald Kelty had retreated instantly to the door, unease might not have flickered. But he didn’t. Was she so unamenable he should lower his gaze, pass his tongue over his lower lip like that, as if…well, she wasn’t, was she? So why should he, Lord Mhor’s most trusted bodyguard, guardian of this castle, if not all that went on it, look vaguely surprised to find her so obedient? Unless…

  “Wait a minute.”

  Dug was lapping the mess of stone-cold stew in the corner. And the Wolf and Dug were seldom far apart, not the way the damned creature adored him.

  “Orders from whom? Where’s Callm?”

  It felt strange saying his name for the first time. As if she possessed him. But she did, didn’t she? And if something had happened to him because of her, if he was the one now made to stand accused at Traitor’s Pole, that place in the shadow of the castle she’d walked past with a shudder on her second day here—her throat tightened. Her legs felt as if they would not hold her in that second. He had sworn last night to protect her. What if he couldn’t? What if her crimes were too great?

  “Glen matters, my lady.” Archibald shrugged his broad shoulders. “You’ll be seeing him later, I’m sure.”

  Later? This was like that evening, that terrible evening with Lachlan. Was that what they were going to show her? Another corpse. Except Lachlan, she hadn’t been shown, she had been there.

  She stood. Although terror clutched her senses. At all costs, she must be calm, not allow the past to intrude. Not just that, it would not do to look like a fool. Would Dug seem so contented if something had befallen her master? No, she must muster herself.
Speak with ease, as if all this was the most natural thing in the world.

  More importantly would Big Murdie be here either if harm had come to the Wolf? He was not the kind. She knew that, for all she barely knew him, although her throat still felt so constricted that he was here at all, the giant of a man he was, she could barely force out the words.

  “What glen matters?”

  After all, it might be there were things to arrange this morning.

  “Well…” Archibald said.

  Actually, was she meant to believe he pitied her in some way, the uncomfortable way he shifted? She supposed standing here like this, a blanket covering some but not all of her modesty, Callm McDunnagh’s tunic the rest, her hair horribly tangled and her face probably filthy dirty, she was pitiable. But that wasn’t the point, which was why she jerked up her chin.

  “Where is he?”

  Archibald glanced first at Big Murdie, then at her. Then he took a deep breath. “That I’m not at liberty to discuss. Callm’s orders are always very precise when it’s glen matters. Which is why you would be better to do exactly what he says.”

  As it cut across her Archibald’s voice wasn’t unreasonable. In fact it was so damned reasonable she strove not to blink.

  “In fact there’s no would about it, my lady. You will be better to get dressed, eat your breakfast, and come with us. These are his orders.”

  Kara opened her mouth to protest. Get dressed? By God, she did not think so. Or go with them either. Who was Archibald Kelty to tell her so? For a second she wanted to tell him so. But that gown, those stockings. She wasn’t putting them on so she could go home. Was she? And there seemed only one explanation for these being his orders.

  He’d left her. He’d actually left her. Fancy that. On a good day when she’d looked at the moon. That dress was her marching orders to God knew where too.

  Such kindness. Such consideration. As if he best knew the things that would break her. As if? There was no as if. He did know. Because she’d given him that much glimpse of herself in the cave. Most importantly she’d given it him last night.