“I dinna want to hurt ye,” he whispered.
“You didn’t,” she replied.
It was at that moment he realized her switching their positions wasn’t due to impatience on her part. She didn’t want him to have the responsibility of having caused her pain.
She pushed up and regarded him through a curtain of tousled auburn hair. Her eyes were still heavy-lidded with pleasure, her smile languid, her cheeks flushed. She pressed a kiss to his lips, bringing with her the sensual scent of roses and intimacy.
Was he in love?
Absolutely.
It was why he would do what was necessary the following day. Even if he knew it would be unforgivable.
14
Isolde had never experienced such a solid night of sleep as she had snuggled in the warm comfort of Cormac’s embrace. Wakefulness tugged at her, beckoning her slowly into awareness. A chill graced her skin, and she nudged backward toward the heat of Cormac’s body. And met nothing.
She rolled over and found the bed empty.
Her heart sank with disappointment. He’d been worried that someone might view him coming to her rooms, and he was no doubt also concerned about who might see him leave. Not that it mattered as they would be wed that eve. After…
Isolde flinched with the realization of exactly what day it was and what awaited them. Edmund the Braw. A man undefeated in combat.
Fear quivered in her chest, a fear she would not allow herself to fall victim to. She had no choice but to fight Edmund, and she would never allow Cormac to stand in her place. Resolute and determined to prepare, she rose from the bed, drew on her robe to hide her nakedness and opened the door. Matilda sat beside a fire with a bit of mending in her hand.
The shutters were open, and the full morning sun shone in. Isolde was hit with a jolt of alarm. How could it be so late in the morning already? She was due in the practice field.
“Why did you not wake me, Matilda?” Isolde asked. “We must hurry, or I will be late.”
Matilda did not move but instead bent her head more determinedly over her sewing.
Something was amiss.
Ice frosted in Isolde’s veins. “Where is Cormac?” She cast a glance around the room. “Where is my armor?”
At last, Matilda looked up, her face creased with guilt. “Forgive me, my lady.”
“What have you done?” Isolde demanded.
Matilda shook her head as tears welled in her eyes. “If I didn’t do this, you would die.”
“Where is he? Where is Cormac? Matilda, what have you done?” Isolde’s voice pitched with rage and frustration and grief. Because she knew where Cormac was before Matilda could answer.
“He’s at the practice field, my lady,” Matilda said sorrowfully.
“Where is my armor?” Isolde ordered. “Get it for me posthaste.”
Again, Matilda shook her head as tears streamed down her face. “I cannot, my lady. Your armor has been relocated to Sutherland’s tent.”
Isolde stared at her maid in complete horror.
Matilda drew in a shaking inhale. “If you wish to attend, I’ve been told you may do so only as yourself, wearing one of your gowns.”
A sob wrenched from the depths of Isolde’s soul, a piteous, raw wail of pain.
Matilda rushed to her side. “Forgive me, my lady.”
Isolde spun on her maid. “You have betrayed me most heinously.”
Matilda erupted into noisy tears. “Forgive me, my lady. I could not bear the thought of your death.”
“And so, you have sent the man I am to marry to his death instead.” She stared with incredulity at the woman she had trusted most in the world. “There can never be forgiveness for this act.”
Matilda hiccupped through her tears and nodded with an understanding that pricked at Isolde.
“He is at the practice field now?” Isolde asked.
Matilda nodded and swiped at her tears with a handkerchief. “Would you like me to dress you, my lady?” She indicated a kirtle she had already laid out. It was a simple design of pale blue linen. One that could be put on quickly. No doubt Matilda had selected it for that reason.
Guilt pinched at Isolde for her ire. “I know you did this to protect me. But you must know what it’s done to my heart.”
Again, Matilda nodded and set to work dressing Isolde. Though the maid’s hands shook, her movements were swift as she laced Isolde into the simple kirtle and bound her long hair back in a single braid.
When she was done, Matilda stood before Isolde with her head bowed. “I only sought to protect you.”
Isolde took Matilda’s hot hand in hers and squeezed. “I know. Forgive me for my anger. I can’t…” Her words choked off. “I can’t lose him.” She closed her eyes, and a tear slid down her cheek. “I’m so frightened.”
It had been years since Isolde had said such words. She hated the helplessness and fear that she’d sworn she would never allow herself to feel again.
Isolde blinked her eyes open. “Stay at my side?”
Matilda tightened her hand around Isolde’s. “Always, my lady.”
Together, they left the room and quickly wound their way down to the practice field. A small cluster of men had already gathered, and Isolde knew the fight would begin anon. If it had not already.
Her pulse pounded like a war drum in her ears. She quickened her pace, practically running toward the group of men. Pip raced to her, but she did not stop to pet him. She didn’t pause to see if Matilda followed, or bothered to care who might notice her eagerness to see Cormac. She didn’t stop until she caught sight of the two men in full armor as they circled one another.
“Cease this at once,” she cried as loud as she could. Beside her, Pip whimpered.
Both men paused.
Isolde found Brodie in the crowd. “I beg of you not to do this.”
He sneered at her. “I see yer brother dinna bother to show up for the fight. He sent another man in his place.”
“I do not love you,” Isolde said vehemently. “I never will.”
Brodie laughed. “It was never yer heart I was after, ye silly chit.”
“I will not marry you.” Isolde lifted her chin. “No man could force me to wed the likes of you. This battle is pointless.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Ye will.”
“I’m already wed,” she said hastily. “Last night. To the Chieftain of the Sutherland clan.”
Brodie cast his attention to the two warriors facing one another. “Ye mean the man my champion fights now?”
“Aye.” Isolde leveled her stare at Brodie. “Wedded and bedded. You cannot have me.”
Aye, it was a partial lie, but who could refute her claim?
She had won. Again.
“Call off the fight,” she said. “You have already lost.”
Brodie pursed his lips and casually scratched at his neck. “I dinna think so.”
“How can you—?”
“Any child ye bear in the first year of our union, I’ll put to death with my own sword,” Brodie growled. “I willna have another man’s bastard as my bairn.”
“I’m already wed,” Isolde protested through numb lips.
“And ye’ll be a widow soon.” He looked to the taller of the two warriors, most assuredly Edmund the Braw. “This fight will be to the death.”
Cormac tightened his gip on the hilt of his sword as Isolde cried out in protest. He forced her from his mind and instead eyed the taller, larger warrior in front of him. One of them would not live to see midday. And it would not be Cormac.
Edmund charged with his sword arcing down. Cormac ducked right to avoid the blow. Though he missed the worst of the strike, the weapon still glanced off his side, the blade skittering over his chainmail. The force knocked the wind from Cormac’s lungs, and he staggered back to recover.
Even with only a partial hit, the blow had been powerful. The battle would be difficult.
But not impossible.
Cormac had no ch
oice but to win.
Edmund roared with bestial rage and lifted his weapon once more. Cormac leapt back to avoid the swipe of the blade and rushed forward, thrusting his own weapon at his opponent. It struck Edmund in the gut. It wouldn’t slice through his chainmail, of course, but the tip would nick the skin, and the might of the strike would have an impact.
Edmund grunted and turned his sword, so the massive pommel of his hilt hurtled toward Cormac. But Cormac was faster. He ducked and rolled beneath Edmund’s legs, popping up on the other side. Using his own pommel, he delivered several hard strikes to the other man’s lower back.
Edmund stumbled forward and spun around, his blade whistling through the air. If Cormac had only hit Edmund once in the back, he might have been able to avoid the path of the weapon. That second strike had cost him precious seconds.
He would need to be more prudent with his decisions, or he’d pay with his life.
Edmund’s sword slammed into his arm with an impact that sent Cormac flying sideways.
His world spun for a moment before righting itself as he realized he lay on the ground. The entire left side of his body blazed with agony. Mayhap the hit had broken his arm. If so, he was grateful it had not been his dominant side.
Isolde’s scream cut through the fog of pain and left him scrambling to his feet as yet another blow fell upon him. The pommel of Edmund’s sword crashed into Cormac’s helm, making a metallic clang echo in his ears. Cormac stumbled backward and swung his own weapon at his opponent. This time, he struck Edmund in the thigh with full force.
Edmund issued a howl of rage and limped backward. Cormac took advantage of the injury and caught Edmund’s good leg just behind the knee, sending the other man crashing to the ground. Edmund fell hard enough to knock his head back, and his helm tumbled off. The massive warrior blinked in surprise at the brilliant sky above.
Cormac pushed his blade against Edmund’s tender neck. Before Cormac could drive the point of his sword into his opponent, Edmund rolled away and leapt to his feet. He ran forward, and his entire body weight slammed into Cormac, sending them both to the ground.
The hilt in Cormac’s hand was knocked free and sent his blade tumbling out of reach. He was unarmed. But the fight was not yet over. He struck out at Edmund with his metal fists, landing a punch on the other man’s naked face.
Edmund shoved his knee into Cormac’s injured arm. Stars blazed in hot agony before Cormac’s eyes, stunning him momentarily. A powerful hit slammed into Cormac’s chin, and sunlight dazzled his vision.
Without his helm, he would be vulnerable for a death blow. The same as Edmund had been.
Quick as lightning, Cormac rolled away, knowing his opponent would use the opportunity to bring his sword down. No sooner had the thought entered Cormac’s mind, Edmund’s blade came down once more, this time striking Cormac’s chest only an inch away from his exposed neck. Pain exploded in the place Edmund had struck, but Cormac was still alive. Edmund raised his weapon, preparing to strike again until Cormac was dead.
But Cormac was not done fighting. He pushed aside the pain. He rolled and he rolled and he rolled, evading Edmund’s blade as he ended up where his own weapon had fallen.
The world spun, but the clink of steel that met his gauntlet told Cormac he’d found his sword. At the moment he paused, Edmund rose over him, readying the blade to plunge down once more.
However, before Edmund could strike, Cormac punched his blade into the air and caught Edmund at the hollow of his throat. The razor-sharp blade slid with ease through sinewy tendon and bone and soft flesh alike. Blood gushed from the wound and splashed over Cormac, but he didn’t stop until Edmund’s blade slipped from his grasp, and he collapsed to the ground.
Only then did Cormac get to his feet and pull the blade from Edmund’s fatal injury. The large warrior’s eyes blinked once in surprise as a gurgle sounded from the gaping wound at his throat. Cormac stared down at his dying opponent.
His head spun with the effects of having been struck by a pommel and kicked in the chin, and his heartbeat was discernible with a painful pulse in his arm.
But he had done it. He had won. He was still alive.
And Isolde was his.
He threw his bloody sword to the grass beside Edmund and glared up at Brodie. “Get away from my wife.”
Wife.
The word was new and wonderful on his tongue. He’d heard Isolde’s claim that they were already wed and was eager for nightfall to come so they could meet with the priest and truly make it so.
He strode toward Brodie. “If I ever see ye near her again, I’ll kill ye too.”
Brodie’s gaze was fixed on his now-dead champion, his gaze fierce before meeting Cormac’s eyes. “Ye’ll pay for this, Sutherland,” Brodie hissed. “Ye’ll pay.”
“I think ye should leave.” Lachlan edged in front of Brodie and put his hand to his hilt.
“He won fairly.” Duncan appeared beside him and followed suit.
Isolde ran to Cormac and threw her arms around him, almost knocking him backward. By some miracle, he managed to stay upright despite his injuries and held her to him, drawing in her sweet, familiar rose scent.
There had been a brief moment when he’d feared never to have the opportunity to do this again.
But he had won.
“You should never have kept me from this fight,” Isolde said in a trembling voice. “You could have been killed.”
“I wasna.” He hugged her against him with his good arm.
He’d been at risk of being killed, aye, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would have been slain. Her body could never have sustained the blows that his had.
If she had fought that day, she would be dead.
Brodie was forced to leave the practice field. His brothers went with him, but they left the body of their champion behind. No doubt their servants would be by at some point to clear it away.
For his part, Cormac kept his gaze away from the man he had killed. He hadn’t wanted to take Edmund’s life. He hadn’t wanted any of this. But he would do it all again to keep Isolde safe.
With his uninjured arm still around her, Cormac allowed Isolde to lead him toward his tent. His body was battered, his head still spun with the hits to his skull, his chest ached where the blade had come down with force upon it and his heart was heavy for the life he’d taken.
But Isolde was safe. Tonight, they would be wed, and Cormac’s people would have the food they needed to survive.
For the first time in far too long, everything was going exactly right for Cormac.
15
Isolde had thought she would lose Cormac that day. And while she was elated at his victory, she could not help but notice how he leaned heavily upon her as they walked to his tent. She’d wanted him to come to the castle, but he refused, saying he would not do so until they were wed.
He was a stubborn man.
A stubborn, wonderful man that had captured her heart in the most uncommon way.
Cormac staggered slightly, almost falling on poor Pip, who had refused to leave her side. Isolde tried to grab Cormac’s arm to hold him to her when he grunted in pain and pitched forward. Isolde gasped in alarm, but before he could hit the ground, Alan was there, groaning with the effort of keeping the much larger man upright.
“Cormac,” Isolde cried out.
He groaned. “I need to lay down.”
“Can you walk?” She asked. “We’re nearly to your tent.”
“Of course I can,” he replied resolutely from against a sagging Alan.
She pulled at Cormac’s other arm as he slowly straightened. He huffed a breath, stiffened his back and strode to the tent without assistance, his face a mask of sheer determination.
A stubborn man indeed.
But Isolde was glad for it. Most likely, that stubbornness was what had kept him alive.
Once they were in the tent, Matilda set to gathering fresh garments for Cormac. Alan and Isolde helped remove Co
rmac’s chainmail and gambeson, as well as the thin linen beneath, to ensure he had no critical injuries. Pip lay by the tent flap, his anxious gaze fixed on Isolde.
“Does anything hurt?” she asked.
Cormac laughed. Then winced. “Dinna trouble yerself. I’ll be fine.”
A massive bruise showed red black on his upper left arm. She had noticed him favoring it earlier, and it was the one she had grabbed when he stumbled earlier. The pain of the injury was most likely what had caused him to fall.
“Move your arm,” Isolde said.
Cormac ground his teeth and rolled his shoulder with a grimace.
Isolde nodded. “Now bend it at the elbow.”
He complied, his mouth set in a tight line.
Isolde breathed a sigh of relief. “I don’t believe it to be broken.” She’d seen a break once before where the white of the bone had jutted from the knight’s elbow as he screamed in agony. He had not been able to move his arm at all.
Still, it was best to be assured of his health, and so Matilda was tasked with locating a healer. An older woman came to the tent, smelling of herbs and smoke. She searched over his body with her withered hands while Matilda and Alan waited outside. Once done, the woman announced Cormac’s injuries, with time, would heal and cause no further damage. She did stress his need for rest. Not that Isolde expected him to listen to such advice.
“Let us leave,” Cormac said when the healer had gone.
“Now?” Isolde gazed up at him. She couldn’t stop staring at him, as if having to confirm to herself repeatedly that he was alive and well.
If he wished to leave at that very moment, she would abandon everything behind to follow him.
He stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckle and stared down at her with matched intensity. “On the morrow. After we’ve wed. I dinna want anyone to question our union. We can return to Scotland and ye can inform yer brother of our marriage by missive.”
The Highlander's Lady Knight (Midsummer Knights Book 2) Page 12