True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse

by Claire Delacroix

  “Not until our wedding night!”

  Their gazes locked and held for a charged moment, each as convinced of their argument as the other. Then Annelise smiled so coyly that Garrett could think only of her sweet kisses. “I shall have to seduce you,” she vowed. “I shall come to you in the night and you shall not be able to resist me.”

  Garrett smiled despite himself, amused by the idea of Annelise claiming him against his will.

  “Do not laugh at me,” she chastised, her own eyes dancing. “I know little of the art of love, but where there is a will, there is a way.”

  “You might be innocent, my lady, but that does not mean you are without allure.”

  She blushed then, although he could see that she was pleased. “Then you confirm that my strategy might work,” she whispered with delight.

  “I confirm that you have beguiled me completely.”

  “Just like the silver maiden, Florine,” Annelise said with satisfaction and his heart sank. He would hear no more about the goodness of wolves this day. “Though I am not Fae, if you betray me as the laird in that tale betrayed his lady, it will be your heart roasted for the evening meal.”

  Garrett bowed before her teasing tone. “I take fair warning. Just as you should take warning that I will not show myself to be like Orson.”

  “We shall see,” Annelise said softly.

  Garrett, however, had no intention of spending a night in any place where she might launch her plan. He indicated the mare, who had now calmed enough to graze cautiously at the side of the road. She still watched them with care and was less concerned with her meal than with them. “Now, what of Yseult?”

  Annelise grimaced and folded her arms across her chest, even as she surveyed the mare. “If only I had an apple. She will do much for one.”

  Garrett heard how the mare associated apples with Annelise. Part of the reason she scrutinized them so closely was her conviction that Annelise must have one.

  Oblivious to the mare’s expectation, Annelise sighed. “There is one in my bag, but it is tied to the saddle.” She turned a bright look upon him. “You are better suited to fetch it and her, as you can anticipate what she will do.”

  Without granting her an answer, Garrett moved toward the horse. He put out his hand as the mare watched him and heard the echo of her interest. Her tail swished and her ears pricked. He moved slowly down the road, so as not to startle her and felt the mare’s curiosity overwhelm her fear.

  Garrett opened his satchel slowly, as if he had a treat, strolling forward all the while. The mare tossed her head, but he could hear that she was intrigued. She took a step toward him and whinnied softly, stretching out her nose to try to discern what he carried. He removed his hand, as if holding a prize within it, and her ears pricked forward. He was so close that he could almost seize the bridle. Two more steps and he would have her.

  She leaned closer.

  He took another step, slowly.

  She bent to his hand and bared her teeth as if to bite.

  Her nose moved as she realized he had naught to offer her.

  Garrett knew Yseult intended to bolt an instant before she did so. He leapt forward and seized her bridle, even as her nostrils flared.

  The mare backed away and tossed her head, disliking that she had been caught. She snapped at the reins and fought the bit, then regarded him warily. A nip on Garrett’s shoulder seemed to satisfy her, then she burrowed her nose against his satchel in demand. He carried nothing, and she gave him a look of disgust that spoke volumes.

  By that time, Garrett had retrieved an apple from Annelise’s bag. He offered it to the mare on the flat of his hand and her mood improved. Yseult accepted it with delight, chewing noisily as he led her back to Annelise.

  Annelise was watching him, her expression thoughtful. “So you can hear the thoughts of other creatures as well,” she said.

  Garrett neither agreed nor disagreed. “You sound certain of it.”

  “That is Yseult’s favored trick. You anticipated her as if you had ridden her as many times as me. Your gift proves most useful in this.”

  Garrett fitted his hands around her waist and lifted her to the saddle. “It is a curse and always has been.”

  She looked down at him with surprise. “It is a talent that can be used to aid us.”

  “It has a dark burden, my lady,” Garrett insisted, even as he swung into the saddle behind her. “And one that became more onerous of late.”

  “Yet one you will not confide in me.” The lady’s dissatisfaction with that was clear, as was her confidence that he would not change his mind.

  Garrett gave Yseult his heels. The mare galloped down the road, perhaps wanting to put the interlude with the wolf as far behind her as possible. The mist was thicker on this side of the crest, as if it had been piled against the peak by the wind from the sea, and the road ahead was obscured in white.

  “I shall unearth your secrets,” Annelise said lightly. “Truly, I might know all of them before we are even wed.”

  But Garrett could not reply, except with a gasp. Without warning, that malice shot into his mind like a dagger cast into his brain. He grimaced in pain, even as he lost the ability to reason clearly. He could not so much as sit up straight, the force of the hatred making him sway in the saddle. His grip faltered on the reins and he shook like a man diseased.

  “Garrett!” He felt Annelise’s fingertips on his face, but could not open his eyes. “What did you hear?” she whispered, but he could only groan.

  He felt his consciousness slipping away and feared the worst.

  “A trap!” Annelise said. “Our path has been anticipated. The wolf did try to warn us, but you were too stubborn to pay it heed.”

  Garrett could not defend himself.

  Annelise, however, showed a decisiveness he had not expected. She swung her leg over the saddle and kicked his feet from the stirrups. She seized the reins from his hands and turned Yseult with expertise, showing her familiarity and skill with horses. He was shifted from rider to baggage in the blink of an eye, his shy maiden taking command of the steed with ease.

  “Hold on, Garrett, for I shall not be able to lift you if you fall,” she instructed firmly.

  Garrett was lost in a haze of agony. He held fast to his lady’s waist, even as he labored beneath the crushing force of hatred. He closed his eyes and leaned his brow upon her shoulder, trusting her to see them safe.

  And glad beyond all else to have an ally in this.

  Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he should seal their fates together and ensure that she would be his bride, whatever his fortune might prove to be. But Garrett fought against that notion, fearing that it was selfishness on his part, and that his lady would be the one to pay the price.

  He could not bear to ever see her disappointed, no less because of him.

  *

  Annelise did not know who pursued them, but she trusted Garrett’s gift implicitly. She also was convinced that the white wolf was their ally. He suffered from some affliction, exactly as he had at Seton Manor. His breath was shallow on her shoulder and he had turned pale. She had seen the perspiration on his temples and felt the quivering in his hands.

  It was up to her to ensure their safety. Annelise had turned the mare and they fled back the way they had come. Yseult was surely tired, but must have sensed Annelise’s fear. She ran as urged, exceeding even Annelise’s hope of speed. They reached the fork at the crest of the hill where the wolf had appeared, and Annelise headed back over the crest of the hills toward Seton Manor. She silently praised the dense fog, then urged Yseult into the forest on the side of the other branching path. She would steal Garrett’s trick.

  Annelise rode deep enough into the shadows that they would not be easily noticed from the road, then dismounted. She could still discern the road and knew she would catch at least a glimpse of any soul who rode past. Garrett slumped forward, but she ensured that he was over the front of the saddle and balanced there. She then put
her hand over Yseult’s snout, holding the reins tightly as she watched and waited.

  It was not long before she heard the sound of hoof beats. Yseult looked up with interest, but Annelise made sure the mare could not nicker a welcome to another of her kind. A horse raced past, taking the road back toward Seton Manor.

  They would have crossed paths if they had continued.

  Annelise’s heart froze when she saw the glint of chain mail. It was not common for a knight to be in this vicinity. If they were pursued by a knight, she had not much time to ensure their escape. Yseult ran faster than a palfrey, but not as quickly as a destrier. If the knight sought them, it was likely he would double back at some point and search for clues of their path. Even if he did not seek them, Orson might pursue them to this point.

  Annelise decided to trust the wolf. The road had forked just before they encountered the wolf, and Annelise chose to believe that the wolf had wanted them to take the smaller path that branched to one side. She had to hurry. She led Yseult through the woods a goodly distance before she dared to lead the mare up to the more narrow and rough path. They were around a bend and out of sight of the fork, by Annelise’s design, when she stood by Yseult, listening.

  All she could hear was the water dripping from the trees.

  “Gone,” Garrett whispered. “For now.” He sat up with an effort and passed a hand over his eyes. Though he still looked troubled, Annelise was glad to see him better.

  “There is not a stump to be had,” she said, as if naught was amiss. “You have awakened in time to give me a hand.”

  Garrett smiled thinly and reached down to help her into the saddle before him. Once again, Annelise claimed the stirrups.

  “I am sorry, my lady.”

  “You are ill and I will find us a haven,” she said flatly. “We have need of rest and warmth. Yseult cannot run much farther and you must be as cold as I am. Do you know this region?”

  Garrett shook his head, then leaned his brow upon her again. He took a deep breath and Annelise hoped he was drawing strength from her. “Not so well as that.”

  “You have been to that holding only once,” she reminded him.

  “I both arrived and departed by another road, one near the sea.”

  “It is clear that someone does not wish you to return there.”

  Garrett was silent, and in this, Annelise knew he agreed.

  “Do you know who?”

  She felt him shake his head. “I know only that I am despised.”

  “Is it the same as at Seton Manor?”

  Garrett nodded and Annelise considered this. Someone had been at both places and despised Garrett. Someone with chain mail. Was it Orson? Andrew? But how would either of them manage to be on the road ahead of them when they were in pursuit? Perhaps there had been another soul there, one who had not worn chain mail in that company.

  Annelise did not know. “The rider wore chain mail,” she told Garrett and he caught his breath. “And he anticipated your goal. Perhaps the detail of the son has merit, and he would see you dead lest he lose all he hopes to gain.”

  Garrett did not argue that it was but a tale, which told Annelise much.

  “But who is the son?” he whispered.

  Annelise had no answer to that.

  *

  Yseult was climbing the rocky path, making steady progress although she was clearly tiring. There was no sign of a dwelling and even the road was so thin as to leave much to the imagination. Annelise might have believed they had ridden beyond civilization.

  “We must halt soon,” she said to Garrett.

  “If we pause, they will find us.”

  “We should find a village or settlement, one where we can be hidden.”

  She glanced back to see Garrett grit his teeth. “I would stay in the wilderness.”

  “And I understand why.” Annelise shivered, then abruptly sneezed. “We are wet beyond belief and chilled. We have need of a fire, but how will you light one in the forest in the midst of this rain?”

  “It can be managed,” he asserted, but with less conviction than before.

  “And it will smoke greatly,” Annelise said flatly. “Do you not think such a sign will be discerned? Within a village, there is always smoke from a fire. It does not draw attention in itself.” She held his gaze. “You must master the art of enduring those competing voices and discern how much aid you can draw from my presence. You must test yourself where it matters less, before going to Killairig.”

  He eyed her, but did not immediately deny her suggestion.

  Annelise chose to be encouraged by that, though she knew how she might coax him to her view. “They know of your gift.”

  “My curse,” he corrected.

  Annelise continued. “They will not think you can endure to be in company, so they will not seek us amongst others.” Consideration dawned in his eyes at her words. “We can hide best in a crowd, Garrett.”

  Garrett considered her for a moment, then nodded once. “You speak good sense, lady mine,” he muttered, then pointed to another path that snaked to the left. “I hear men over there.” The road climbed upward again then over the hills, becoming more rocky with every step.

  To Annelise’s relief, each passing moment seemed to strengthen Garrett. He even dismounted to lead Yseult when the land became rougher. He paused at intervals to glance back and listen. Annelise heard naught, but she trusted him to discern more than she.

  After they had crested yet another rise, the land began to fall away. They passed through the last of the forest and into welcome sunlight. A valley filled with heather was spread at their feet. The sunlight felt wondrous and warm, a most welcome change after their wet ride.

  Garrett looked back as they rode down into the valley, and Annelise did not need the ability to read his thoughts to recognize the reason for his concern. They were in the open and could be seen from a great distance. Only when they had entered a wood on the opposite side did the tension ease from his shoulders, though still he kept a brisk pace.

  At the top of the next lower ridge, Annelise spied the ribbon of smoke rising from a settlement below. She pointed, but Garrett had already closed his eyes and shuddered. Indeed, he had chosen the path that brought them to a settlement.

  “How many are there?”

  “Twenty men, perhaps. There might be more, for their thoughts seem uncommonly tranquil.” He squared his shoulders and peered down the hill, the discomfort showing in the line of his lips. He flicked her a glance. “I would ask you to remain by my side, Annelise.”

  “You can rely upon my doing so,” she said with a smile that appeared to do little to encourage him. “Can you hear any hint of pursuit?”

  Garrett shook his head. “Still I would be out of view as soon as possible.” His arm was locked around Annelise’s waist, drawing her close to his heat and strength. Yseult must have sensed that food and rest were ahead for she began to canter toward the settlement.

  It was wrought of wooden timbers, with a wall enclosing a cluster of small buildings. A river ran past it, with gardens near that flowing water. Annelise saw the crucifix on a church and noted the long undyed robes of the men working in the garden in the same moment. One straightened and tipped back his hat to regard them.

  “It looks to be a religious house,” Annelise said, worrying about the import of that. “I hope they will allow a woman to take refuge here.”

  Garrett did not reply. He leaned his brow upon her shoulder and Annelise felt the perspiration at his temples. “There must be forty of them,” he whispered.

  “I will see it all resolved.” She entwined her fingers with his, knowing he would be irked by what she would claim, but determined to say it all the same. She would not be separated from him, not when he was unwell and they were being pursued. “In fact, it might be easier if you are ill.”

  “I am not ill, Annelise.”

  “You certainly look to be,” she whispered. “You might contrive to look even worse so that I
am not forbidden to tend you.” Before he could argue, she raised a hand to wave to the man. “Good brother, can you be of aid to us?”

  The stocky older man strode to meet them at her call. His garb showed him to be a monk, as did the crucifix he wore around his neck. He reminded Annelise of Father Malachy, who was the priest at Kinfairlie, for there was a gleam in his eye that made him seem uncommonly perceptive. The monk took the mare’s reins, showing a comfort with horses that convinced Annelise of his trustworthiness. Yseult nuzzled him, as she oft did with those who cared greatly for horses.

  The man smiled at the mare’s affection. “You ride a fine steed, my lady,” he said and Yseult arched her neck before his admiration. “I have seen its ilk only once before.” Annelise felt a moment of alarm that he might guess her identity, but the monk only admired the mare.

  “In my fighting days, I rode a destrier as black as you,” he murmured to Yseult. “And what a fine creature he was.” He ran a hand over Yseult’s flanks, soothing her with his touch, and Annelise did not doubt that he saw much that others might miss. When he looked up at Garrett, the monk frowned. “Your companion is taken ill.”

  “Most suddenly, brother, and I fear to continue with him in this state. I saw the smoke from your kitchens and hoped you might give us shelter for a few hours.”

  The monk glanced over Annelise’s kirtle, his perusal lingering for a moment on the narrow band of embroidery at the hem and her fine leather gloves. Then he considered Garrett, who was dressed more simply, and Annelise saw his conclusion made.

  “It is not our way to turn away any who seek our aid, and you are welcome here. I apologize, my lady, but it is not allowed that a woman pass within the walls of our simple abode. You can, however, seek haven in our chapel, while your servant is tended in our dormitory.”

  “It cannot be so,” Annelise said, her voice firm with an authority she had not known she possessed. “I will stay with my lord husband and aid in his care. Might we both remain in the stables, if I do not speak to your fellows?”

  The monk looked to be startled, but he nodded and bowed. “Of course, my lady.”