The Bruised Thistle (The Order of the Scottish Thistle)

by Ashley York

  Seumas lay across the bed and stared at the canopy overhead. It too spun. A few drams should not be affecting him like this. He closed his eyes and opened them a short while later when he thought he heard someone enter the room. How long had he been there? He sat up too fast and pain slammed across his head. Something was not right. Calum should have been back by now, unless he had gone straight to the hall to dine. Seumas noticed the side table with an array of cheese and fruits that must have been delivered as promised by their host.

  He took a sip of the wine provided on the tray. It seemed bitter.

  Malcolm was after one thing and that one thing was very apparent.

  Our little virgin noblewoman may not remain so if that bastard has his way.

  A second’s clarity was all it took for Seumas to sense the impending doom. He sat up straighter and tried to clear his head, without success. He took another sip of wine and blanched. It tasted terrible. When he stood, the room spun violently. He realized too late that Malcolm was also ruthless. Seumas dropped like a dead weight to the floor.

  Chapter 18

  “Your brother takes little precaution with such a lovely sister.” Malcolm brought Iseabail’s hand to his lips. “Methinks I would protect you more carefully were you my sister.”

  Iseabail tried to blink away the tears so he would not see them. She did not understand why Seumas had been so cruel and angry, or why it bothered her. Malcolm clearly found her attractive—a fact she enjoyed, along with the intensity in his eyes. Glancing over the hall at the people milling about, she remembered her last night in a room like this with unfamiliar men. She had had two protectors then. Of course, this was different. Malcolm’s rank gave him importance and this castle belonged to Seumas’s friend. Where was Seumas?

  Malcolm moved closer until his leg pressed against her thigh. His hot breath fanned her face when he spoke again. “You really are quite beautiful, lady.” Malcolm released her hand and picked up a lock of hair that hung from her shoulder, getting dangerously close to brushing her breast. Iseabail bit her lower lip and fought against the strong desire to push him away. This seemed a little too forward and might get out of hand fast. He brought the lock of hair to his face.

  “Mmmm, lavender.” His gaze followed as it dropped. “Are you betrothed, Iseabail?”

  “I am not,” she answered without forethought. His brows raised the slightest amount. “Why do you ask?”

  Malcolm took a sip of his drink and appeared to be contemplating the correct answer. “Someone as lovely as you,” he raised his glass to her, “should be married.”

  He lied. She was not sure how she knew this, but unease rumbled deep inside.

  “I fear for you, being so unprotected.”

  He brushed her hair off her shoulder then rested his hand at the curve of her neck. He lightly traced little circles and her eyes closed in response. Iseabail shivered as his fingertips moved along her shoulder.

  “Maiden as you are.”

  It took her a moment to grasp his meaning, but the oily satisfaction in his voice made her eyes fly open even so. She turned toward him. “My brother is an excellent protector.”

  Malcolm’s nostrils flared, and he tightened his lips. He shook his head ever so slightly, as if fighting for control.

  He appeared to be only tolerating her answer, but she continued. “He is an excellent swordsman, very strong. I am well protected, I assure you.”

  “And yet,” Malcolm indicated their surroundings with a wave of his hand, “he is not here.”

  “Do I need protection here?” Iseabail’s pulse quickened. She might indeed.

  Malcolm took another sip, his gaze never leaving her face. He placed the glass on the table then turned toward her with such deliberateness that Iseabail feared what he was about to say. “Iseabail, I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but the man you call your brother is a well-known outlaw in these parts.”

  Though caught totally off guard, Iseabail remembered the first rule of living in the wild—do not react. She struggled to keep her voice from shaking. She needed to sound convincing if she wanted to get out of this intact. “My brother is no outlaw.”

  “He is not your brother then.” Malcolm’s statement held the same conviction.

  Silence filled the room. He simply watched her as if playing chess, waiting for the next move—her move. Iseabail fought to breathe normally, keep a clear head, and consider her options. Confess? Or continue to protest? Did he really know Seumas was not her brother? Why would he say Seumas was an outlaw?

  She lowered her eyes to hide conflicting emotions, waiting for what Malcolm would say next. What she had not expected were his wet lips where his hand had been. A shiver ran down her side at the sensation on her sensitive neck. She turned toward him to protest, and he captured her lips with his own. She smelled the whisky on his breath. His lips were not firm and warm like Seumas’s but soft and cold.

  Allowing her to pull back, Malcolm withdrew to a more appropriate distance and faced the hall before he continued. “My apologies, little Iseabail.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

  “Do not call me that.” She heard her uncle’s voice. He always called her his little Iseabail, always when he…

  “My apologies, Iseabail.” He dipped his head. “You are enticing to the extreme…but I must tell you what I know.”

  The pause might have been to consider her feelings or to gauge her own duplicity. “You travel with an outlaw who has a price on his head. You are in danger.”

  He stated it so simply that she had to repeat it in her mind to be sure she had heard correctly. That was her story. She traveled with a price on her head.

  Iseabail stood abruptly. “I am afraid I must excuse myself.”

  Trust no one.

  Malcolm remained seated, gazing up at her. He leaned casually back on his bench, intently assessing. He said nothing in response.

  Trust no one.

  “I am not feeling well, and I wish to retire,” Iseabail said.

  “Shall I see you to your room?” Malcolm asked.

  Trust no one.

  His eyes were wide, and a slight frown creased his forehead. He appeared genuinely concerned. No one would believe this man had acted inappropriately with her. Had she overreacted? He looked like a good man, a trustworthy man.

  Best not to test him. “Nay, m’lord, I can find my own way. Thank you for your concern. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight then.”

  His gaze bored into her back as she made her way across the hall.

  Overwhelmed, Iseabail had no choice but to return to her room. She looked down the hall, but no light showed under Seumas and Calum’s door. She closed the door of her room behind her and leaned against it. Why would Malcolm say those things about Seumas? They could not be true. Seumas was kind and good. The memory of how he had acted when she first entered the Hall came flooding back. He had seemed a different man than the one in the woods. He had mentioned her soaking in the tub, and she would have sworn he had meant to embarrass her. Had taken pleasure in doing so. Why would he do that?

  What did she really know about Seumas?

  The question haunted her as she headed down the hall. Tapping on the door, she listened and waited for Calum and Seumas to open it. Nothing. She opened the door and reached in to where she had hung her cloak. It was gone. Panic gripped her.

  She opened the door wider. “Seumas? Calum? Are you in here?”

  No answer. No candles were lit, and no fire in the hearth. She returned to her room. Lesson two and three came quickly to mind. Do not assume the worst. Do not panic.

  Where is the cloak?

  Iseabail checked her room. It was not there. The will was gone. Her only chance to save her family was gone. She could not sit in this room and wait. Catching sight of movement in the looking glass, she barely recognized herself. Margaret had piled her hair high on her head with cascading ringlets. Even in her own home, Iseabail never chose such elaborate styling.
She pulled the pins from her hair so that it fell loose. Seumas’s irritated look flashed through her mind. He had not liked anything about her when she had come into the Hall. She nibbled at the inside of her lip. She had hoped he would. She had hoped he would tell her she was beautiful. Malcolm had not let her down.

  Everything felt out of control. She needed Calum. If she left this room, she might be able to find him or Seumas. She also might run into Malcolm, and that could be very dangerous for her person. His kiss had felt like nothing, had sparked no longing within her. He was handsome and charming, but something about him filled her with unease. Still, his concern for her seemed genuine, and he simply had to be misinformed about Seumas. He was certainly no outlaw.

  Not knowing the castle, Iseabail could not even begin to guess where to look for Calum and Seumas. Preparation for the evening meal had begun, so mayhap she could find some assistance. Heading quietly down the stairs to the hall, she stopped short at the sound of Malcolm’s voice. She took the last few steps to listen.

  “Did she believe you?” an unknown man demanded.

  “Alas, she did not.” Malcolm sounded concerned. “We must protect her as best we can anyway.”

  “Is she worthy of your protection, sir?” A different voice asked. “It could be very dangerous for you.”

  Iseabail shifted to peek around the corner. A tall man with blond hair was speaking. She pulled back when the man turned her way. Pressing herself flat against the wall, she held her breath. What could she say if she was caught eavesdropping on them?

  There was a pause in the conversation.

  “You cannot put yourself at risk.” The blond man sounded stilted now.

  “I need to protect her at any cost.” Malcolm’s voice rang clear and confident, almost as if reciting an oath.

  The men left the room in a clamor of half-shouted conversation and clattering armor. When she looked again, they were gone. Quickly, she crossed the hall in search of the kitchen. At the opposite wall, through the window that opened into the garden, she spied the two men that had been speaking with Malcolm leave the outer bailey.

  “Can I be of assistance?” A small woman with a big smile stood in the doorway, arms loaded with carrots, turnips and potatoes. “I am sorry supper is so late your first night. It was Sir Malcolm’s orders.”

  Her spry manner belied her plump stature as she dumped her vegetables in the bucket and started to scrub.

  She continued, “Now Lord Mark would never decide to make everyone wait for their evening meal… Oh, I am sorry, miss.” She wiped her damp hands on the towel that wrapped around her large waist. “Did you need anything?”

  “I am looking for the two people I came with. Have you seen them? A small boy,” Iseabail held her hand at chest level, indicating Calum’s height, “and a handsome, dark-haired man.” She held her hand over her head to indicate Seumas’s.

  “Weel, I have not seen the man, but the boy left here a while ago. Mayhap he went to the barn? I cannot be sure, but he was here asking about Lord Mark. Is there anything else you need?”

  Iseabail’s breath caught at the information. “What did he ask about Lord Mark?”

  What could Calum have been thinking? Did he wonder about Seumas’s friend? Did he wonder about him the way Iseabail now wondered about Seumas? Calum’s discernment may well be trusted even if hers could not, distracted by Seumas’s handsome face as she was. Her cheeks warmed at the memory of his smile. She frowned in concentration, listening to every word the woman said.

  “I cannot quite remember…something about how long he had had Sir Malcolm as Seneschal?” Hand on her hip, she nodded before her face lit up. “My, what a pretty blush you have. I would venture you are a woman in love.”

  “What?” Iseabail fought to control the heat flooding her face. “I am sure I do not know what you are talking about. Now what did you say to Calum? How long has Malcolm been Seneschal?”

  “I have been here for three years.” Malcolm’s voice sounded loud in the small space. He stood in the doorway.

  Iseabail turned to face him. Malcolm was immaculately dressed in black, from his hair, which gleamed as if it had just been brushed, to his tight-fitting trews and tunic. He was breathtakingly handsome. She cleared her throat. With a twinkle in his eye and the corner of his lip slightly turned up, he appeared more than pleased to find her asking about him.

  “But, Iseabail,” he pushed off the jamb, closing the distance between them, “I could have told you that myself if you had but asked me.” He smiled at the cook. “You need not have bothered Janet here.” He took Iseabail by the arm and gently turned her back the way he had come. “We will leave you to your work, Janet.”

  He followed her through the door, the heat from his body intense as he trailed a little too closely.

  “I am sorry you did not like the way Margaret prepared your hair, though your beauty cannot be diminished by either style.” He stopped in the narrow passageway to the Great Hall and turned her toward him. “Are you feeling better then?” His voice was low and seductive.

  “I am.” Iseabail tried to keep her voice from quivering. “Have you seen Seumas or Calum?”

  His jaw tightened, and his face shifted from seduction to alertness. “Are they missing?”

  He glanced around him, an attempt at humor since there was nothing to see in the passageway.

  He tipped his head toward her. “Shall we look for them together?” His lips curled into that seductive smile, his eyes hooded as he traced circles where he held her arm familiarly. “I would be happy,” his voice grew quieter as he moved even closer, “to assist you in anything.”

  “Thank you, Malcolm. You are truly kind.” She tried to step back but had no room. Her hands were beginning to sweat. “I would appreciate your assistance. I am very concerned about my brother.”

  Malcolm’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I told you. He is not your brother. He is an outlaw, Iseabail.”

  Though momentarily confused, Iseabail quickly remembered herself and said a little prayer of thanks for the confusion. She was concerned for Calum, not Seumas. She lowered her gaze.

  “I understand you believe this, Malcolm. Why you would believe I do not know my own brother, I cannot fathom. As to his breaking the law, I would need to speak to him myself. Surely you understand that?”

  His gaze slid up her body. When she met his eyes, blatant lust emanated from their dark depths. Her breath caught. She did not know how to react. The look made her feel soiled, and she tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip.

  “I only want to protect you.” Malcolm spoke in a whisper, his mouth a hair’s breadth from her face. “Will you let me do that, Iseabail?” He tipped his head toward her, his lips barely grazing her cheek. “Will you?”

  The door bursting open effectively ended the uncomfortable episode. Malcolm was hard-pressed to hide his irritation. His lips tightened into a thin, angry line.

  “Excuse me, sir. Phillip has returned with information for you.”

  “Thank you.” Malcolm’s gaze never strayed from Iseabail. Long seconds passed. When the waiting man shifted behind him, Malcolm rounded on him in frustration. “You may go.”

  When he looked back at Iseabail, he implored her with his eyes, all innocence. “Wait for me, Iseabail. We will find Calum together. Grant me that boon? I will be just a minute.”

  She acquiesced with a small nod.

  He smiled and took his leave.

  Her heart pounded. She took a deep, shaky breath to steady her nerves. Malcolm was a dangerous man in many ways.

  Hearing the men leave the hall, she opened the door. She sat down on the bench that Seumas had occupied and considered what she should do. Trust Malcolm and wait for him to help her find Calum or… He said Calum. He said they would look for Calum together. Iseabail nearly knocked the bench over in her haste to reach the stairs.

  He knows Calum is my brother. How does he know?

  “Iseabail! Where are you going?” Two paces
from the stairs, Iseabail froze. Malcolm closed the distance between them. “Let us look for Seumas.”

  Iseabail obediently placed her hand on his extended arm, allowing him to lead her from the Hall. Her heart beat violently. She had to get away from Malcolm. The long hallway shone with candles every few feet. Several of the solid wood doors were closed, but he led her to one that stood slightly ajar.

  Books lined the far wall and a massive oak desk filled the space in front of her. When she turned toward the fireplace, her agonized scream rent the small space. She rushed to the crumpled form of Calum, who lay curled like a baby in front of the fire.

  “Calum, what has happened?” She dropped beside him, heedless of the blood that pooled beneath her knees, soaking into her gown. “Calum…can you hear me?” She dragged up his tiny, limp body and crushed it to her bosom. Great sobs racked her body. “Nay, nay, Calum. Hear me, I beg of you.”

  Malcolm knelt alongside her and placed an arm around her trembling shoulders. His eyes showed concern. He put his hand to the side of Calum’s neck. “Iseabail. He is gone.”

  His words pierced her heart.

  “Nay! Nay.” She looked up at Malcolm. Her heart squeezed in her chest. Her life ripped out of her. “Nay. You are wrong.”

  Gently, Malcolm took the child into his arms with Iseabail still clinging, sobbing his name. He laid Calum’s body on the couch opposite the fireplace, careful not to move him any more than necessary.

  The blond man appeared in the door. “M’lord, what has happened?”

  Iseabail heard it all as if through a fog. Orders shouted, people dispersed, explanations given…all unreal except that her little brother was no longer with her. She was completely alone. She no longer had his guidance. He was gone. She rested her head against his quiet chest. The sobs came again, and she found no comfort from those around her. No words that touched the void within her, no words to bring her back from the depths of despair.