The Bruised Thistle (The Order of the Scottish Thistle)

by Ashley York

  Iseabail.

  That dream had seemed unattainable until the night a hooded peasant had captured his heart. Like a siren, Iseabail had beckoned to him until she filled his every thought.

  Foolish! I have proven myself foolish again and again.

  Kneeling in the soft light of the moon, Seumas held his hands out before him, palms up ready to receive, and closed his eyes.

  Will He hear me?

  With nothing else to lose, Seumas decided to try to offer himself with total humility. He prayed for forgiveness, wisdom, and the opportunity to fulfill God’s plan for his life.

  He was not sure how much time had passed, but he recognized the sense of peace pervading him. It had been a very long time since he had experienced that feeling.

  Seumas heard the conveyance long before he could see it. He stood and tried to make out who might be traveling so late at night. Clearly, it was someone of great importance, as he rode heavily guarded on all sides.

  Lord Somerset.

  The realization hit Seumas hard—it was Iseabail’s future husband. He took a slow, deep breath and tried to feel again that sense of peace but it had been replaced by one of urgency. He clenched his jaw and took another breath… The urgency increased.

  He was on his horse and traveling recklessly through the woods before his thoughts were even formed. He had to get back to the castle before Somerset.

  She will not be his wife.

  The thought gave him comfort and the plan forming in his mind did not seem to be of his own making.

  God always answers prayers.

  *****

  “M’lady,” a muffled voice called out.

  Iseabail felt the tension in her jaw. She wanted to scream.

  “M’lady?”

  The woman refused to leave her door.

  “What?” Iseabail finally answered.

  There was a long pause. “I must help you prepare for your wedding, m’lady.”

  It was Patrecia. The girl could probably guess that Iseabail was in no shape for such an event. Everyone who had witnessed her dropping at her uncle’s feet would know. Patrecia sounded very reluctant, and Iseabail relented.

  “Come in, Patrecia.” The blond woman came in timidly, a white gown draped over her arm. She avoided meeting Iseabail’s eyes. “Does my uncle send you?”

  “Your uncle is no longer at the castle.” Relief filled Iseabail. “But he left instructions.”

  “Oh, did he now?” Iseabail was not surprised. The man’s arrogance knew no bounds. “Please, enlighten me.” She was chagrined at her tone of voice. It was not the girl’s fault, and she wished she could direct her unbridled anger directly at her lecherous uncle, not at this slight girl cowering before her. “I am sorry. Please, tell me what you know.”

  Finally reassured that Iseabail would not be raging at her, Patrecia gave her instructions. “Lord Somerset has sent word that he will be here shortly. He is looking forward to taking you as his wife and the priest has been here since before nightfall. They have made all the arrangements.”

  Patrecia held her arms out, the gown draped ceremoniously over them, and Iseabail’s panic increased. Her breathing became shallow, and she backed toward the wall.

  “Do not be afraid, m’lady.”

  Iseabail tore her gaze off her mother’s gown and looked up into Patrecia’s kind, green eyes.

  “Please,” was all she could manage to say, and yet Patrecia seemed to understand her plea as she stepped slowly toward her.

  Helping her remove her nightdress, the woman began to hum as she worked to prepare Iseabail for a night that would change her life. Scented water was liberally sprinkled over Iseabail’s body as if she were a sacrificial offering, and the humming continued. Patrecia snapped a clean white chemise in the air then pulled it over her head, followed by her mother’s wedding dress. Iseabail closed her eyes at the feel of the silk on her skin. With her eyes closed, she was able to block out everything else and listen to the tune Patrecia hummed.

  It was the story of a young girl who had fallen in love with a man unacceptable to her father. The girl had slipped away in the middle of the night, spending it with her love. She had had one night of all-consuming passion with the man of her dreams before she was caught and brought back to her betrothed, whom she was forced to marry. She spent the rest of her days remembering what it was to be truly loved.

  Tears pricked at Iseabail’s eyes. She thought of Seumas and what he might have been offering her. Now she would never know.

  Patrecia dragged Iseabail before the looking glass. She did not recognize the woman standing there. Patrecia had taken her long hair and twisted it into ringlets that hung around her face so that her long neck was totally exposed. Iseabail’s stomach tightened in anguish at the sight of the unhappy woman before her.

  “I am sorry,” Patrecia whispered in her ear and was gone.

  Alone again, Iseabail returned to her window. The dogs barked in the distance, but she paid them no mind. Leaning her head against the cold stone wall, she closed her eyes and imagined what her life might have been. Would she have met Seumas if not for her uncle? Might she have been betrothed to someone else if her father had lived? Seumas could have loved her then. So many questions. Answers that did not matter now. The course of her life had been set by others—but when she had tried to change her fate, she had lost all those who mattered to her.

  Men came out of the woods with dogs. They seemed to be carrying something heavy, and she wondered if another deer had been killed by the wolves in the area. A conveyance could be seen headed through the castle gate outside the outer bailey and her heart went to her throat. Life was going on, despite her reluctance to particip—

  A large hand clasped over her mouth. She did not even have time to gasp.

  “Do not scream, Iseabail. I will not hurt ye.”

  Her eyes closed as she took in the voice of her rescuer.

  Seumas.

  Tears sprang to her eyes.

  “Do ye hear me, Iseabail?” His lips were close to her ear, and his hand on her mouth trembled.

  She nodded agreement, but she did not know what she would do. He uncovered her mouth. He stood so close to her that she could smell his musty odor. Turning to look up at him, she saw his reaction to her tears. His face hardened into stone, where a moment before she was sure she had seen something else.

  He thinks my tears are from fear.

  She did not know why they were not or why they refused to stop.

  “Either come willingly or come as my prisoner, but ye are leaving with me now.” His blue eyes were intent on her face, but then he seemed to have a hard time focusing and his eyes started to close. He was pushing himself beyond his physical abilities, past the point of exhaustion, and she could easily break away from him. Even go for help. She was not his prisoner.

  The voices of the men in the courtyard drifted in through her window.

  “He is dead. He has been murdered.”

  “Sir Henry has been murdered. Gutted him like a deer.”

  A dark cloud pass over Seumas’s face and realization hit her hard.

  “Someone go for the sheriff.”

  He had killed her uncle.

  “Seumas, did you...”

  His eyes rounded. “I believed ye were dead.”

  “What?”

  He shook his head, his pain obvious. “I thought he had killed ye, too.”

  The wheels of Lord Somerset’s carriage could be heard as they passed over the bridge and entered the bailey. She waited no longer.

  “Quickly,” she said and seized his hand, leading him to the back stairs and out through the kitchen door.

  The smells of a feast permeated the room, but it was deserted. An empty sack lay on the counter, and Iseabail filled it with everything she could get her hands on. Bread, cheese, meat pies—all went into her sack. Lastly, she took the water skin at the back door. As a second thought, she took the cook’s work dress beside it. She would need to g
et out of this wedding gown.

  “Where is your horse?”

  He retrieved the overflowing sack from her hands and led her to the overhang of the castle chapel. They were in total darkness. His horse whinnied, and Seumas tucked the food inside his saddlebag before hoisting her onto the back of the horse.

  After three attempts, he was able to mount the horse himself. Iseabail held him from behind to keep him upright. She shared the reins with him, spurring the horse with her own heels.

  “Hurry, Seumas.”

  His weight was heavy where he leaned back on her as he led the horse through the garden gate and to the woods, away from the commotion in the outer bailey.

  They rode swiftly, leaving the barking dogs and shouting men behind them. Seumas slumped then righted himself, close to falling asleep. He was too heavy for her to support. When she thought they had gone far enough, she reined in the horse and grabbed Seumas’s arm to lessen his fall as he tumbled from the back of the horse. She jumped down beside him. Leading the horse a safe distance away where it could graze, she brought the food and water back to where Seumas had fallen.

  Cradling his head in her lap, she smoothed his frown with her fingers and spoke soothing words to the man who had saved her life so many times.

  “Iseabail.” The word stung her heart when he called out to her in his exhausted delirium.

  “I am here. I will not leave you. And when you are able, I will listen to what you have to tell me.”

  Her answer seemed to settle him, and he fell into a deep sleep.

  Through the night, she kept her vigil. When he called to her, she answered. When his lips were parched, she gave him water. When he thrashed about, she offered comforting words of forgiveness. In the dark hours before dawn, at a time that would be bright with sunshine in a different season, she held his hand to her face and asked for forgiveness.

  He had asked her to listen to him, and she had turned him away. What would he have said? Was he able to defend himself even though it was his dagger? She should have listened, and she would make amends anon.

  She was beginning to trust her heart. The man she had hoped would protect her had done as he had promised. He had rid her of an evil that had permeated her life for too long. That could not be the same man who had killed her brother.

  Calum. And now Iain.

  Both her brothers were dead. She would never see them again this side of heaven. Unable to contain her tears, she sobbed over her loss.

  *****

  Seumas awoke to the sight of her heart-wrenching sobs and knew he had made the wrong choice yet again. She did not need his rescuing. She had wanted to marry Lord Somerset. She opened her eyes and jerked back. Was she afraid of him now that he was conscious?

  “I did not know you were awake, Seumas.” She quickly wiped her face. Was she wishing he had not seen her tears? Tears for the life he had taken her away from? Seumas’s determination was not going to waver.

  “I am sorry ye weep for the loss of yer marriage.” Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to speak. He held up his hand to silence her. “I will not return ye to yer betrothed.”

  He stood, his muscles protesting each move, and walked to the woods. His strength would return, but the deeper sadness, he could not overcome.

  When he returned, he was rewarded by the sight of Iseabail standing over a small fire and food spread on the ground. He was famished. Seeing her bent over the flames, encouraging them to grow, caused his breath to catch. His body responded to the tempting sight. His desire came upon him in waves, urging him to act, speeding his pulse. He longed for release now that he was again whole. He closed his eyes and his imagination took over.

  He would pull her gently back, fitting her lovely derrière against him, rubbing him, hardening his long-unresponsive member. Burying his face in her hair, he would be surrounded by the scent of fresh flowers and womanly desire. He would cup her breasts, pulling and stroking each nipple into a hardened nub. His hand itched for the satiny feel of her skin, his cock straining as he imagined her arching against him, inviting him to touch her even more, opening up to him.

  With a start, he opened his eyes. His breathing was ragged. He realized that had not been a good place for him to go. The bulge under his kilt disagreed.

  “Iseabail.” His voice sounded harsh even to him, and she jumped. “Sit and we will eat.”

  Her smile was sweet, but he knew she had been crying again. Could she really have wanted to marry Lord Somerset? Seumas had not gotten that impression from her or Calum. Perhaps…but that was a moot point now. He was not bringing her back to him.

  He sat down hard on the ground, and she came to his side, offering him the cheese and bread as if she were his lady. She placed the water skin to his mouth. Her hand brushed his arm, sending a spark across his skin. Their eyes met as he drank, and he wondered what she was thinking. Of Lord Somerset? The thought infuriated him. He closed his eyes so she would not see the rage building. He focused on the present, savoring the taste of the water in his mouth. More refreshing than he could ever remember. Her smell surrounded him as she leaned in close enough to touch, and his arousal increased. A moan escaped before he could stop it. His eyes flew open. Her lips were parted, and her eyes were bright with desire, not the disgust he had expected. His breathing quickened.

  “Iseabail?” His voice was low and needy. Damn. He did not want to show his deep longing for her.

  “Aye, m’lord.” Her brown eyes were warm, and she sounded breathless.

  “What game are ye playing at?”

  “I do not know what you speak of, m’lord.” Her hand rested on his forearm. “Can I do something else for you?” She could not possibly understand what she seemed to be offering.

  His breath caught in his throat. “I would suggest ye not speak in that tone of voice unless ye mean to find yerself flat on yer back, pleasuring me.” Her eyes widened, and he grasped her chin. “Or is that what ye are offering?”

  She turned away. His eyes narrowed with suspicion. She was using her feminine wiles on him. Still, he held his breath in silent entreaty.

  She sat back, brows furrowing as she considered her answer. He felt the distance grow between them.

  “Could we talk a little, m’lord?”

  Seumas released his breath and nodded.

  “I need to know about my brother.” She averted his eyes, but not before he saw the spark of fear. “How is it that he died by your dagger?”

  Seumas reached for her hand and thanked God she finally wanted his explanation. Her palm was sweaty, and he realized the high cost she paid for this question. She doubted his guilt. His heart soared.

  “Iseabail, ye must look at me if ye want me to answer ye.”

  She turned toward him, still averting her gaze.

  “Look into my eyes so that there is no question, ever.”

  She did as he bid her.

  “Malcolm had me drugged. I was passed out in the bedchamber when Calum was killed.” He saw the questions start and put his finger to her lips. “Let me finish…please. Calum left Malcolm and me to find out what he could about the man. I never saw the lad again. I awoke later to hear of the accusations against me. Thankfully, Lord Mark returned and the truth was uncovered.” He wasn’t sure how much she had cared for Malcolm. She had gone off with him, willingly. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her further, so he chose his words carefully. “Malcolm had us all fooled. He murdered Calum when the boy discovered his plans for ye—to ransom ye to yer uncle.”

  Iseabail frowned. He hated the man and was glad he was dead. Did she have feelings for him? Is that what she was crying about? Seumas shifted, grinding his teeth in frustration. He wanted to take her in hand, shake her, and make her realize how much he loved her. He could do nothing. So he waited.

  “Seumas.” She finally looked at him then glanced down to where their two hands were joined together on her lap. Dread filled his heart.

  She is going to dismiss me again!

&
nbsp; “Malcolm convinced me you had killed my brother, and I believed him.”

  She faced him, her eyes imploring him to understand. Seumas struggled to hide his emotions from her—disappointment, anger, guilt. Her frown increased, and she searched his face as if determined to see through his façade.

  Seumas chose his words carefully. “I am sorry then that Malcolm is dead. Ye must have cared for him very deeply.”

  Her face showed nothing. Time seemed to stand still. He held his breath, waiting for the denial. His chest tightened at the pain of her silence. It seemed an eternity until she finally responded.

  “He handed me over to my uncle.” Her voice shook with rage, and tears filled her eyes. “Malcolm wanted me for his own purposes first.”

  Seumas thought he had not heard her correctly but her face was full of rage. He saw red. He stood, and his hands balled into fists. He was beside himself, pacing the area like a caged animal, filled with unimaginable rage at this declaration. He could easily have torn Malcolm’s already-dead body apart limb by limb if he had had the chance. She watched him warily, seeming to await his response. He could not speak, his anger was so overwhelming.

  Finally, he stopped and faced her.

  “Ye should never had been treated so, my lady,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Iseabail wiped at her tears and took a shuddering breath. A slight smile played on her lips that Seumas could not begin to understand. She swallowed with some difficulty, squared her shoulders, and seemed to prepare for battle. The determined look on her face as she turned toward him said as much.

  “It would not have happened if I had stayed with you, Seumas. I put myself in harm’s way by leaving without you.”

  The reality of what she was saying took a minute to sink in. Iseabail’s gaze never left his face. He took a deep breath and smiled at her. His chest felt near to exploding.

  “My lady, I would have protected ye at the very cost of my own life.”

  “I know that, Seumas,” she beamed back at him, “I know that without a doubt. I was just so afraid and—”