by Terry Spear
Most of the time she had taken rides like this, she’d had her maid and a knight escort, but she’d been alone with her thoughts and pretended no one accompanied her. So she could imagine the same with him. That he wasn’t here to see her any more than she was here to see him.
This was her time to soak up nature, fortify herself, and return to the keep for another social event that she didn’t care to attend.
She didn’t need him, she reminded herself as a couple of cursed tears rolled down her cheeks.
***
Marcus saw the abrupt change in Isobel’s expression from delighted at seeing him to upset with him, but he didn’t know what the matter was. He’d come to see her, hadn’t he?
He looked to his cousins for counsel. Both shook their heads and shrugged as they turned their horses and chased after the lass.
Pembroke’s knights kept their distance and so did Mary and Jane, to Marcus’s relief. He was certain, despite her da saying no to his marrying Isobel, he’d given the order to allow him to speak with her in private as much as it could be so.
Rob said, “She is a woman. What more can I say?”
Marcus let out a frustrated breath. With any other woman, he knew just how to handle the situation. Kiss her sweetly and make her forget her annoyance. With Isobel, he couldn’t dally with her in the same way. She had been raised as a Norman earl’s daughter, was a lady, inexperienced in the ways of men, and her da would have his head if Marcus laid a hand on her. Not to mention, he loved her.
He wasn’t afraid of the earl, but he wouldn’t ruin Isobel’s reputation no matter how much he wanted to kiss her, love her, and make her his wife.
God’s knees, he’d already asked for her hand in marriage. Four times this year already! But her da wouldn’t permit it.
Her mother’s invitations had come for years, soliciting his attendance at the social activities they had given for their daughter, and then when she’d died, Isobel’s da had continued to invite him at his wife’s dying request. Marcus had danced with Isobel, though it had killed him not to hold her like he’d wanted to, or dance with her more than once, or watch the Englishmen dancing with her when he had wanted to…exclusively.
He was glad when she’d slip away to be with him, even though Mary, her maid, had kept a watchful eye. He loved how Isobel had treated him like he was someone special, and greeted him first before the other guests arrived. Which was the reason he always came so early.
So he couldn’t fathom what the matter was this time.
Isobel reached the loch and slipped off her horse, tethered her to a birch, then hurried to the water’s edge. Marcus and his cousins joined her just as she crouched, dipped her hands into the water, and splashed her face, her back to them.
“Isobel,” he said, gently, handing his reins to Rob, then joining her at the loch’s shore. His cousins stood nearby watching. He wished he could be alone with her, and he could kiss her like he wanted.
She rose, her head tilted back a wee bit, which meant she’d raised her chin, and her back stiffened with his approach.
“What ails you, lass?” he asked.
“I came here to be alone,” she said curtly.
He glanced back at his cousins. They both raised their brows at him, Rob motioning for him to pursue the issue.
“Isobel…”
“Go. Go,” she said brightly, flicking her hand in his direction, her back still to him, refusing to look at him. “I wish to be alone,” she repeated.
He knew it wasn’t so. Not when he’d seen how eager she was to see him. Not when he knew she’d come out just to greet him.
He drew close, smelled the fragrance of lavender and the hint of woman, felt the heat of her skin. Craved taking her into his arms and kissing her.
“What is the matter?” he asked, quietly.
When she didn’t answer, he touched her shoulder, but she quickly pulled away.
He frowned. “Isobel.” He grasped her arm and pulled her around so he could speak to her face to face, to see her expression and learn what was troubling her. Tears glistened in her eyes. He felt as though a fist had struck him in the belly. He dragged her into his embrace, crushing her, holding her, not letting go, and even ignoring how her da’s knights would react.
Her arms went around his waist, and he knew then he’d upset her somehow. “What is wrong?”
She didn’t say, or couldn’t. Rob was right. Figuring out what a woman wanted was nigh to impossible. Still holding her tight against him, Marcus lifted her chin. “Tell me.”
Her eyes were so incredibly blue, her dark brown hair falling over her shoulders in a cascade of silken curls, her mouth full and moist and wanting.
He kissed her, like he’d vowed never to do.
Chapter 2
This was what she’d waited for all her life, Isobel thought as Marcus’s mouth pressed hers in a sweet, yet sizzling, caress. Her whole body melted against his as he held her close. She felt his muscles tightening with need. She didn’t wish the kiss to end, didn’t want him to pull away, needing him to know that she was a woman now, full grown.
“Isobel,” he groaned against her mouth, his voice ragged with desire.
She couldn’t say a word in response, her own breathing shallow and raspy as she wantonly kept him close, her body pressed indecently against his, her hands locked tight around his waist.
His hand cupped the back of her head, holding her in place so he could continue kissing her as if he had been starved for affection all his life.
His tongue licked her lips, encouraging her to open to him, the touch the most erotic sensation she’d ever experienced. She parted her lips. He plunged in, tasting her, exploring, making her feel exquisitely plundered. She quickly responded in kind. Loving the feel of his heat, his exuberance.
He groaned.
His muscles tensed, as if he was about to pull away, to end this wickedness, but she clung to him, wanting it to last forever.
“Isobel,” he rasped out, “I must get you safely home.”
He pulled away from her, and she let out a moan of protest.
“Will you not ask for my hand in marriage, Marcus?” She had wanted it to be his idea, the warrior that he was. But she could not wait any longer. Every dance her father had for her was meant to entice her to find another man to wed. And she couldn’t do it.
“Ah, lass,” Marcus said, leading her to her horse, then lifted her onto it.
She noticed only then that the knights were watching for trouble, not them, thankfully, but Mary and Jane were blushing furiously as they’d witnessed the kiss. She was grateful they had not said anything to attempt to put an end to it.
“‘Tis your da that is the trouble,” Marcus said.
Her eyes wide, Isobel stared down at Marcus. “Nay, you only have but to ask him.”
“I have, Isobel. Four times already, this year alone. He is determined to marry you off to an Englishman or Norman.” Marcus’s face was so tight with distress, his dark brows furrowed, that she knew he wanted to be with her forever with all his heart like she did him.
“He cannot,” she cried, not wishing to show him or his cousins her anguish, but she truly had not believed Marcus had offered for her already and her father had denied him—how many times? “You…you have asked since when?”
“Since you were six and ten, lass. I couldna have waited any longer, but still, the answer has always been nay.”
He did love her! Though he had not said so in so many words. “Take me away with you. Now. Take me to your home in the Highlands.” She would give up everything to be with him.
“Your da would send his men for you. How long before he asked for the king’s help in the matter? How long before his men and the king’s would starve us out? Even King David could side with him.”
She wiped away a tear, and then another. “I will change his mind.” She lifted her chin and kicked her horse, calling back over her shoulder, “I will wed no other, Highlander.” She gallope
d back to the keep, leaving Marcus and his cousins behind.
***
His heart heavy, Marcus watched Isobel galloping off, her hair flying behind her like a rich dark mane. The ladies rode after her, the knights following in hot pursuit.
Marcus knew kissing her was a mistake. He knew his touching her would kindle the fire between them that he had banked for so long.
He couldn’t even mount his horse until he could get his rampant need for her under control. His cousins were grinning their fool heads off, waiting for him to ride after her.
“Mayhap you should have just bedded the lass,” Finbar said. “Put both of you out of misery. Mayhap her da would come around.”
As if Marcus could ever be alone with the lass to make that happen.
The kiss they had shared made him only desire her more. He wanted more than anything in the world for the lady to be his wife, his lover, and the mother of his bairns, but he couldn’t bring his clan into this. If he stole her away, many of his people could suffer or die should the earl and his men fight to have her returned home.
Honor bound, he could not take the lady in such a manner. She was too precious to him. He knew how much she loved her father, and it could put a wedge between them forever.
“She loves you,” Rob said, “just like I said. How you ever won her over is beyond me when Finbar and I are so much brawer.”
Shaking his head, unable to find the humor in the situation as much as he usually could, Marcus stiffly mounted his horse. “Unless I can change the earl’s mind, there is no hope for us.”
“Dinna be daft, man,” Finbar said. “She is worth moving mountains for.”
“He wants someone to produce an heir who will inherit his title and lands. No’ a Highlander who wouldna live with her in the earl’s world.”
“Mayhap ‘tis time for the lass to learn the truth of her heritage,” Rob said darkly.
Marcus did not want to be the one to tell her the truth. The word should come from the earl. He suspected the man would not speak with her about it ever, if he could hide the secret from her forever.
“Come,” Marcus said. “‘Tis nearly time for the celebration, and a bonny lass awaits my first dance.” Marcus wondered though. Mayhap it was time that she learned the truth even if it meant he was the one who would have to tell her. Would she hate him for it?
That’s what he feared.
When he arrived at the keep, the evening did not go as planned. He was permitted the first dance and tried to keep his distance from the lass as deemed appropriate, but the way Isobel looked so adoringly at him and moved in closer than was considered proper, he heard quite a few grumbles. She was declaring her heart to him, and her actions were not lost on the assembled lords and ladies.
He loved her for it, but feared for her, too. What if her da decided to force her to wed any Englishman of his own choice just to ensure Isobel didn’t ruin her chances because of the affection she showed Marcus?
An English baron by the name of Erickson swept her across the floor after that, dancing her as far away from Marcus as he could manage. He glanced in Marcus’s direction, green eyes narrowed, a small smirk on his face as if telling him the lady was now his. Wanting to growl his displeasure, Marcus then noticed Lord Fenton, arms folded, his expression aggravated as he watched Isobel dance. He was another of Isobel’s suitors, though after she had broken his nose years ago, Marcus wondered why the baron still wished to wed the lass—well, for the earldom, he supposed. Marcus feared for Isobel’s safety should she wed him. The man was nondescript—ordinary wheat-colored hair, pale brown eyes—the only thing remarkable about him—the slightly crooked nose. Marcus smiled evilly.
As if he knew Marcus was observing him, Fenton turned to look at him, his mouth turning down even more than before. Marcus suspected Isobel had never told her da what she’d done to the man or Lord Pembroke would not have agreed to allow the baron to court her.
Standing next to Fenton, a baron named Hammersfield glanced in Marcus’s direction. Hammersfield began to speak to Fenton, both eyeing Marcus with contempt. Amused at the way Hammersfield had his hair rolled to imitate King Henry’s curls, Marcus eyed him back with just as much scorn. He wondered if the baron dispensed with the curls when he was engaged in combat in the field. Both men were dressed in their finery, their garments heavily embroidered to show off their wealth. Marcus, on the other hand, wore much simpler clothes, not about to have a clanswoman work so many hours on embellishing his clothes to catch Isobel’s eye as if he were a bird showing off his plumage. Lord Erickson’s bright red hair was already showy enough, but he wore clothes to match. If he dressed like that on the battlefield, he would be his enemies’ easiest target.
Movement to his right caught Marcus’s eye and he saw both Hammersfield and Fenton grinning like a couple of fools before Marcus turned to see two armed men stalking toward him. The burly men were armed and not dressed in finery like the others attending the function, both broad of chest, and looked fit enough to wield the swords they wore. He knew this was not a social call.
“Come with us,” the taller of the two men said.
Marcus looked back at the dancers, but could not see Isobel. He did not wish her to make a scene should she see he was leaving so abruptly without saying goodbye when he was certain where this was headed, but he did not want her to believe he had left of his own accord, either, without saying goodbye.
He caught her maid’s eye as she waited nearby, her gaze taking in all. Her expression concerned—though for him or for Isobel when she learned he was sent away—he wasn’t certain. Mary nodded just once to him as if to say she would relay his regrets to her mistress.
“Do not tarry. Move.” This time the black-haired man touched the hilt of his sword, the implied threat that he would use whatever force necessary.
Marcus was unarmed, his sword left with his horse. He’d never expected to have to fight any man at the earl’s keep. Not that he would have been allowed to carry a weapon into the keep.
As the two men led him to the stables, the one who seemed to be in charge said, “The earl did not wish you to have to make your long journey home so late at night. ‘Tis not safe, you know. Best you leave now.” He smiled broadly, malice in his black eyes as he folded his arms, his thick body positioned so if Marcus took a step toward the keep, he would not be successful.
Marcus had not seen the earl this eve, but he must have been angered at Isobel’s flaunting of her dancing with him.
“Aye, ‘tis fortunate you were able to dance with the lady once. Run along now like a good lad, will you?” the other said condescendingly, looking just as determined to send Marcus on his way and just as sinister, though he was smaller in size, but wiry looking.
Marcus looked back at the sizeable keep, the four stone towers stretching into the diffused light of gloaming, sconces holding torches, the golden flames wavering in the breeze. He wished with all his heart that he could take Isobel away, hating that he could not. He turned on his heel and entered the stable where a lad was quickly saddling his horse.
Once Marcus had mounted his horse, he steered him through the inner bailey and beyond the gates to the road in the direction of the village across the border where his cousins waited for him at The Wildeswin. His cousins would never expect him to arrive this early, and he hoped he wouldn’t upset their plans overmuch. He couldn’t quit thinking about the way Isobel had kissed him back, the way she’d wanted him to marry her, the way she’d promised to change her da’s mind about them. He knew the earl would not.
Marcus didn’t believe threatening her da with the truth would sway him to give her up either, though he had considered it. He was thinking of other options he might try, even sending a missive to the English king, to let him know the true story. Would the king take his word over a Norman earl’s? Would he even care to learn the truth and would it matter one whit? As many illegitimate children as King Henry had, most likely not.
Marcus hadn’t travel
ed more than a half a mile beyond Lord Pembroke’s castle before three men on horseback came out of the woods, all with swords drawn. They were dressed in tunics of fine wool cloth and trewes, not like the average ruffians looking to steal from a person traveling alone.
“Kill the savage who believes he is good enough to be one of us,” a brown-bearded man said, his long hair in tangles, his brown eyes narrowed.
Marcus knew then that this was not a random encounter. He didn’t recognize any of the men. He was certain whoever had sent them had done so because of Isobel, probably a lord interested in her hand in marriage who was still at the party either dancing with her or watching her dance.
Marcus unsheathed his sword with a whoosh and looked from one to another, measuring them for the task.
The boldest of the men charged him. Blood hot with fury, Marcus swung his broadsword at the bearded man, cutting him down from his horse in a mighty blow. Mayhap the savage was better trained to deal with whoever these men were than they thought. Or mayhap that was why three of them were tasked to murder him.
The man lay still on the ground, blood spilling from his chest. The two men who were left hesitated, and then a younger man with his hair cut close gave a war cry and kneed his horse to take Marcus on next. Swords clashed, clanging in the cool night air, the sound ringing through the woods.
The angry clashing of swords, metal striking metal, the horses’ heavy footfalls as they pranced while the two men fought, the horses’ snorts, and the men’s grunts filled the air.
Marcus struck a decisive blow, ripping the sword from the man’s grasp. The man quickly went for a dagger, and Marcus shoved his sword into the man’s belly. He yanked his blade free.
Before the man even fell from his horse, Marcus felt a sword slicing across his back. He cursed revenge and turned his horse so quickly, he unsettled his attacker’s mount. The horse reared upward, unseating the brigand. He fell to the rocky earth, landing hard on his back with an “oof,” and didn’t move.