True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse

by Claire Delacroix

  Garrett stirred behind her, as if rousing himself with great effort. He took her hand and put it upon his purse. “Not beggars,” he murmured and she understood his meaning.

  She smiled at the monk. “Even in illness, he is most practical.” She opened Garrett’s purse, hoping there was some coin within it, and was delighted to find two silver pennies. It was more than sufficient compensation for a day and night of lodging and food.

  Annelise offered it to the monk, who bowed again as he accepted it and blessed her. He raised his voice slightly then, beckoning to a younger boy who must be in training to take his religious vows. “William, take our guests to the stable, and see this fine creature—” he patted the mare’s flank “—brushed down and fed. You will have to aid his lordship here, while I send for Fraser to aid him.”

  “Aye, Father.”

  Annelise looked to the older man in surprise, for she had not realized that he was the priest, but he smiled at her. “Father Thomas,” he said with a slight bow. “Welcome, my lady.”

  “I thank you for your hospitality, Father.”

  “The fare will not be of the quality you know, but there is plenty of it. Again, I must apologize for not inviting you to the board, but I will send a meal to you in the stables.”

  “Thank you, Father. You are most kind.”

  “If you will excuse me, my lady, it is time for prayers.”

  Annelise smiled at the priest, more than content with their situation. William led Yseult to the stables and the mare was mightily spoiled by the attention and good care of the monks. Fraser bodily carried Garrett into the loft, and Annelise saw only the barest glimpse of blue between Garrett’s lids. To her relief, he continued to feign illness, though his malady puzzled Fraser.

  In the end, Fraser simply declared that Garrett should be allowed to sleep and left the loft. A meal was brought for them both, the monks went about their business. In the silence of the loft, Annelise knew that the time for her seduction had come.

  She desperately hoped that Garrett did not decline all she offered.

  She feared there was more at stake than even he realized.

  *

  Stewart seldom found himself surprised, but he was shocked when another knight appeared in the road ahead of them, riding toward them. Stewart recognized the insignia on his caparisons as Andrew’s. The approaching knight did not wear his helmet and his hair was of the same remarkable dark hue as Orson’s companion.

  But how had Andrew contrived to be in this place, riding toward them?

  They had ridden most of the morning and as the rain halted, even Orson had become convinced that Stewart’s choice had been correct. The indentations of four large shod hooves were clear in the drying mud, and Stewart knew that only a horse the size of Yseult could have made them. She was galloping, too, galloping for so far that it was clear her rider wished to reach some destination quickly.

  The road had climbed all the morning and they were nearing a crest when the other knight came into view. Like them, he rode with vigor and speed.

  The other knight must have ridden out immediately after their own departure, but ridden west instead of east. Evidently he had doubled back, as well.

  Even then, it made little sense. Perhaps it was not Andrew.

  Stewart had no sooner thought as much than Orson gave a shout of welcome. “Andrew! Well met!”

  Andrew’s expression darkened slightly, as if he were not so pleased so see his comrade. But then he smiled and that impression was dismissed. As he drew near, Stewart noted that the destrier was slick with perspiration, a sign that it had been ridden hard. Stewart wondered if there was a more direct route than the one they had taken. It would not have surprised him to learn it was so.

  “Orson!” Andrew declared. “Dare I guess that your maiden is not upon the road between here and Seton Manor?”

  “Indeed not. The villain rides west, with her in captivity.” Orson frowned. “But how came you to be riding back to Seton Manor?”

  “I thought to check the other direction for you,” Andrew said with a smile. “But there is no sign of her upon it.”

  “No sign?” Stewart echoed. “What of these hoof prints?”

  The younger knight was visibly astonished. “But they were not there when I rode out!” he declared. He looked around them, peering into the shadows of the forest. “If neither of us passed them, they must have left the road.”

  “Are there other roads in this vicinity?” Orson demanded of Stewart.

  “A thousand paths of no great size cross the Highlands,” Stewart admitted. “A horse could be led on any of them, but would not make great speed.”

  “Then we are foiled,” Andrew said with a sigh. His defeated tone seemed premature to Stewart. “They could be anywhere. I fear your lady lost, Orson.”

  Stewart regarded the knight with surprise. “I do not think the quest so clearly failed as that,” he said sternly. “I would follow the tracks to see what might be learned.”

  “Indeed, Stewart could be a hunter himself,” Orson declared to his fellow knight. “He tracks his prey very well. We should have been close to Edinburgh by now, if not for his keen eye.”

  “Truly?” Andrew echoed, as if in wonderment.

  But Stewart heard a note in that knight’s tone that troubled him. He followed the tracks, leading the knights westward again. He walked the horse, not wanting to miss any sign and did not doubt his steed would appreciate the reprieve. All the while, the knights chatted. Actually, Stewart noted that Orson dominated the conversation, speaking endlessly about the advantage he would gain in wedding Annelise and giving Andrew advice as to how best promote his career.

  “Have you no holding, then, Sir Andrew?” he dared to ask.

  Orson laughed. “He has a legacy, Stewart, and will one day be a laird in his own right.”

  “One cannot rely upon such things,” Andrew said quickly and with apparent modesty. “An inheritance is claimed only when the seal is placed in a man’s hand and the signet ring on his finger.”

  Stewart nodded at the truth in that. “One should not count upon the future before it is the present,” he said, eyeing the ground all the while.

  “Nonsense! You will win Killairig and you will rebuild it,” Orson said with confidence. Andrew shot a glare at the other knight, which Orson did not notice. “For you will have powerful friends to aid you.” Evidently Orson counted himself in that company.

  “Killairig,” Stewart echoed and knew what story had evaded his grasp all the night long.

  “You have heard of it?” Orson asked with delight.

  “Aye, a little.”

  “You see, Andrew, you shall be a man of repute throughout all of Scotland!”

  “I have never seen it, though,” Stewart acknowledged. The younger knight feigned disinterest but Stewart was not fooled.

  The tale Stewart had heard of Killairig was that the holding was cursed, for the laird had murdered his wife and cast out his young son at the behest of his lover, then wed the lover and named her son as his heir. The son in question might well have doubts about the security of his legacy in that case. Stewart slanted a glance at Andrew and wondered.

  Killairig was not so far away.

  Now that he considered the matter, Stewart realized that Killairig was located near the end of this road, the road the hunter had chosen to ride with Annelise. Could he be the lost son seeking his stolen legacy?

  Or was that merely a romantic fable?

  Stewart pondered all of this as he followed Yseult’s tracks. The horse had been slowed to a canter, undoubtedly because the rider believed he was not pursued. He wished he could have been certain that Annelise was safe, but there was no way to know for certain.

  Until the horse’s tracks stopped abruptly. Stewart dismounted to study the prints, noting how the horse had pranced in place.

  As if afraid.

  Of what? Stewart returned to the road to study its surface. He spied the wolf prints in the
mud. The creature had pursued the horse then fled into the forest. The horse had stood its ground, prancing, then had been ridden onward. There were two pairs of tracks, those of a man and of a woman. Stewart strode back to the spot where the horse had left the road and followed its tracks in the undergrowth.

  He followed with care. The plants were downtrodden by the horse, the branches of the shrubs on either side bent from its passage. He guessed from the height that the horse had had a rider, then he crouched when he spied a print that gave him much satisfaction.

  It was the mark of a lady’s boot.

  Annelise!

  She had turned the horse in this place. Stewart turned and looked back. She had watched the road, he guessed, then led the horse onward. He had not lied: there were a thousand paths in this forest and his chances of finding her were low. As the wet mud dried on the road, even Yseult would leave no signs of her passing.

  Stewart looked down. Annelise had chosen to leave the road. And Andrew had galloped past this place, racing toward himself and Orson. Stewart did not believe that Garrett would injure Annelise, and he recalled her annoyance with Murdoch the night before. She had called Orson a liar about the wolf pelt and insisted that she would wed the man of her choice as Alexander had pledged she could. He had heard her determination and guessed he knew the truth.

  Annelise had chosen the hunter. He must have been in the saddle, perhaps afflicted as he had been before, but Annelise had not abandoned him. She had not hailed Andrew or chosen to ride back toward Seton Manor. That choice told Stewart all he need to know. She was safe and he would assist her in any way he could.

  Orson had lied again, in declaring that Garrett had assaulted Annelise. It seemed he would take credit for all of the hunter’s good deeds and blame the hunter for all the foul ones of his own.

  Stewart was thinking of a legacy denied and could think of only one reason why the hunter would have chosen to ride this way. If the man’s intent was honorable, he would wish to have a legacy to ask for his lady’s hand and provide a future for her. Why, too, would Andrew have guessed to seek him in this direction, unless Stewart was right?

  The answer to many questions would seem to lie at Killairig. If Stewart’s suspicions were right, wherever the hunter had gone, he would arrive at that holding in time. If he were wrong, he could still see his curiosity satisfied.

  “Well?” Orson shouted from the road, his impatience clear. “Do not tell me that we must ride through this savage forest.”

  Stewart deliberately stepped on Annelise’s tracks, obscuring them forever. “Nay, my lord, I was mistaken. It must have been a wild animal that passed this way, perhaps a bear.”

  “Or a wolf.” Orson shuddered as Stewart regained the road. “What now?”

  Stewart sighed and tried to look discouraged. “I fear Sir Andrew speaks aright. We have lost them truly.” He rubbed his brow with apparent exhaustion. “I cannot imagine that we will find them in time to save the lady, much as it pains me to admit as much.”

  Orson sighed. “That is a pity. She showed such promise, but I will not accept a soiled bride.”

  Percy winced visibly at this comment, though only Stewart noted as much.

  “A shame it is that Seton Manor is so long a ride from here,” Stewart said, filling his voice with regret. “The horses have need of food and rest, and I would be a happy man to have a warm meal in my belly. How many miles do you think we have covered, Sir Orson? A man could welcome a break from the saddle.”

  “There is little that can be done,” Andrew said crisply, turning his steed toward Seton Manor. “There are no inns in this territory.”

  Orson’s features lit. “And you know as much because you have taken this road before!” he declared with delight. “Andrew, Killairig must be near this place. Could we not impose upon your father for a night or two and see ourselves refreshed?”

  “I think it too far a ride…”

  “Nonsense! Even if it is farther than Seton Manor, I would see the place of your origins. Think, Andrew, that if I were more aware of Killairig and the challenges it faces, the better disposed I will be to assist you when it becomes your own.”

  Andrew did not appear to be swayed by this.

  Orson dropped his voice. “I could even aid you with a bride, especially if my favor has been won with a good night’s sleep.”

  Stewart allowed his anticipation to show. “Truly, Sir Andrew, it would be most gracious of you to invite us to your father’s home.” He bowed low, even as Orson dropped his voice to a hiss.

  “This is what I have been trying to teach you, Andrew. You must show grace in every situation, even if hospitality is not precisely yours to offer.”

  Stewart bit back a smile as Andrew raised his voice, knowing the younger knight had been cornered by the older.

  “Of course,” Andrew declared. “I should like very much to take the opportunity to visit. I only wished to save you any inconvenience in the journey.”

  “Inconvenience, thy name is Scotland,” Orson declared. “Truly, Andrew, there is naught so barbarous as a night spent in the forest. Even if it is late when we arrive, I shall be so delighted to reach Killairig that I may kiss the threshold in my relief.”

  Chapter Eleven

  By the time they entered the monk’s settlement, the press of the malice had disappeared. Still the tumult of the many thoughts around him confused and disoriented Garrett, making it difficult for him to get any sense of his surroundings. He might have been lost in a dense fog, striving to escape a dark menace. It was strange how his curse had become so much worse after he visited Killairig.

  He was keenly aware of Annelise. Her presence was like a light in the oblivion. He drew strength from the feel of her hand upon his and the radiance of her thoughts. He did not know how long he dozed, taking solace from her touch. He was warmer than he had been, and his clothing was different. Dry. He could smell and hear horses, their thoughts at peace as they ate and dozed. A prayer came to him, one uttered in unison by several dozen men and echoing at the same time in the thoughts of all of them.

  Garrett heaved a sigh. He felt much recovered, though not yet fully himself. He knew this was because of Annelise and felt a profound relief that he was no longer alone. He opened his eyes, wanting only to thank her.

  Instead, he was confronted by a vision of loveliness that stole his breath away. Garrett thought at first that he was being visited by an angel, for that prayer was still resonating in his mind. The loft in the stable had fallen into darkness. There was no lantern lit, only a little silvery light from the moon, painting a patch on the floor and giving some illumination to the interior. The light glinted off the long hair of the maiden before him, which fell in loose auburn waves and hung past her hips. Her feet were bare and she wore only a sheer chemise, one that offered tempting shadows of the curves hidden beneath it.

  Annelise. Garrett’s mouth went dry. She was more lovely each time he saw her. He had been entranced at first glimpse, but she had changed since then. She stood a little straighter and taller, and her smile held more confidence in her choices. Her gaze locked with his more often, instead of dropping demurely, and her eyes flashed with emerald fire. His heart pounded that she had chosen to be with him and he yearned to prove himself worthy of her.

  She watched him with a smile as she pulled the comb through her silken tresses. Garrett could have stared at her for all the days and nights of his life.

  Annelise put down the comb and reached for the tie of her chemise. “Good evening, husband,” she whispered. Garrett had a vague recollection that she had claimed that falsehood earlier. He might have argued with her about it, but she untied that lace and let the chemise fall over her shoulders to the floor.

  Garrett could not help but look. Her breasts were sweetly rounded, her waist slim and her legs slender. She had curves enough to tempt him truly, but was so delicately wrought that he feared to injure her. He thought of Fae maidens, of flowers in the sunlight, of butterflies
and small birds. Her skin was so fair that it seemed to glow in the moonlight, and her auburn hair was like a river of fire.

  She dropped to her knees beside him and laid a hand upon his chest. Her hair spilled over her shoulders to tumble against him and Garrett could not keep himself from touching it. It was soft, so very soft, that he wanted to bury his fingers within it. She bent and touched her lips fleetingly to his, sending heat firing through his veins.

  “Annelise, you must not,” he whispered, remembering her intent to seduce him. He wanted to claim her so much and knew that he was in no state to deny temptation. He yearned to possess her and feared that if she touched him more than she had thus far, he would not be able to resist her.

  “I must,” she said firmly. “I told you of this once but ceded to your notion of what would be right. And so it is that we are pursued and no stronger in our situation than before.” There was a thread of steel in her voice, one that astonished him as much as the determination in her eyes. “We will do this, Garrett, for I have decided. It will ensure that Alexander cannot deny my choice.”

  “But we are not wed. I would not dishonor you, Annelise…”

  He managed to say no more for she silenced him with a kiss.

  “Marriage is the sole sacrament for which we have no need of a priest,” she said, her fingers unlacing his jerkin with distracting speed. “I trust you or I would not choose you for my husband.” She had pushed the jerkin from his shoulders and untied his chemise before he could stop her—and indeed, he was losing what little resolve he had to halt her deed. Her hands were on his bare chest, her fingers looking small and delicate against his skin. She ran the flat of her palms over him, admiration in her eyes. “You are well wrought, husband,” she whispered, mischief in her expression.

  “Annelise, you dare too much.”

  “And you argue too much.” Her eyes sparkled. “I might come to believe that you do not truly desire me.”

  Garrett opened his mouth to argue that, but then her fingers fell to his waist. He caught his breath at her sure caress, then glimpsed her smile.