Isolde turned her attention to the castle whose interior was as cold as her brother’s affection for her. Any happiness she’d had in her life prior to Cormac had died with her mother. There was naught inside for her but disappointment and lies.
“I will never step foot in Easton Castle again,” she said. “We will speak here for a moment more, and then we will be on our way.”
Gilbert huffed a pout of frustration. “You don’t get to—”
Cormac stepped forward and crossed his arms over his chest. “Mind how ye speak to my wife.”
“You won’t see a single coin of her dowry.” Gilbert put his hands on his hips, his demeanor as petulant as his voice.
Pip gave a low growl and shifted his weight from one paw to the other.
“We’re married.” Isolde smiled at her brother sweetly. “You haven’t a choice. Father put a stipulation in his will regarding my dowry— it goes to my husband without question.”
Gilbert’s lips pinched together. He knew well there was little ability to protest on his part. He could delay, of course, but given the fearful stares he cast up at Cormac, Isolde did not think it likely. Especially when her brother lacked a steel spine.
“I’d like my armor back,” Gilbert demanded.
“Of course,” Isolde agreed. “In exchange for my belongings that you so considerately had packed in my time away.”
Gilbert glowered. “Very well.” He snapped at a servant and barked an order for her items to be prepared on a cart.
“His armor, please, Matilda,” Isolde said.
Matilda’s horse approached, and she let a package slide from her hands and fall at Gilbert’s feet. He gasped in offense and glared up at the maid.
“Mind where your loyalties lie, Brother.” Isolde mounted her horse.
Cormac did not immediately follow. He watched Gilbert, his fist clenched as though he wanted to throw a punch. If not more. Finally, he grimaced and climbed onto his steed as well.
Silence descended on them in a thick, suffocating blanket that stifled the air as they waited for Isolde’s belongings to be brought to them. Isolde did not waver in her resolve to speak further. She’d said all that was necessary.
However, once the cart joined them, headed by a horse and servant who would no doubt return to Easton upon completion of his task, Isolde could not resist turning to Gilbert one final time.
“I must say, you fought well at the tournament.” Isolde smoothed her skirts. “Better than you’ve ever fought before.”
With a smirk, she flicked the reins of her horse and together, along with Pip and Matilda, they turned their horses toward Scotland to their new home and a new life.
Epilogue
Five years later
Above all the sounds on the practice field, it was the clack of wood against wood that caught Cormac’s attention. He walked through the rows of men who fought against one another, swords flashing as they thrust and swept out at their opponents.
Attacks from the Ross clan had increased over the years due to the offense of the Sutherland Chieftain stealing away a Ross bride. But the Sutherland clan now consisted of strong people, healthy with an ample supply of food that no one ever ceased being grateful for, and a readiness to defend their land.
Cormac smiled as he came to the outskirts of the mock battle and caught sight of Isolde’s auburn hair, swept back in a single braid. Her belly was round and high, filled with their bairn soon to be born.
In her hand, she held a wooden sword that Cormac himself had carved. She lunged forward and gently swung the pretend weapon.
Cormac peered around the men so he could better see the object of her careful swing; their small daughter, Aila. The lass was only a wee thing, but had the skill and focus for battle like her mum. Alan stood behind both of them with Pip obediently sitting at his side.
Wee Aila blocked her mother’s blow, her green eyes focused and assessing as she jabbed her own blunt, wooden sword at Isolde. The sun glinted off her hair, the same auburn as her mother’s with silky curls at the ends.
“Very well done,” Isolde cheered. “And if I come at you from this side?” She shifted to the left and slowly arced the wooden sword toward their daughter once more.
Aila spun around, the hilt locked in hands still dimpled with youth, her small mouth pinched in concentration as she blocked her mother’s gentle swing.
Isolde clapped her hands. “You’re such a fine warrior, my love.”
The seriousness of Aila’s face blossomed into a wide smile. She looked to Pip and slapped her thigh. “Come.”
The dog leapt toward her with his tongue lolling happily from the corner of his mouth. He wagged his tail excitedly, flicking eager licks at each in turn and earning laughter from both.
Cormac approached them. “Ye two are the bonniest warriors I’ve ever seen.”
Aila squealed and ran toward him. Cormac caught her mid-run and tossed her high into the air. Her high-pitch shriek cut through the air as he caught her and set her gently to the ground. “I hope ye werena too rough on yer mum.”
Aila’s eyes went round with sincerity. “Nay, da. I wouldna hurt my brother.”
“Your brother?” Isolde put her hand on her stomach. “You’re so certain the babe is a boy?”
Aila lifted her little shoulders in a shrug. “Aye. Ye already have a daughter.”
Cormac laughed and ruffled Aila’s soft hair. She didn’t bother to fix it and left her curls rumpled around her face as she grinned up at him. Cormac turned his attention to his beautiful wife and pulled her against him. Her eyes met his, shining with love and her skin glowing with good health. He ran his hand over her belly, and the child within gave a little kick against his palm.
Just as Cormac knew she would be, Isolde had been immediately accepted and loved by the clan who respected her strength as a warrior.
Her dowry had arrived without delay from the Earl of Easton, which marked the last of their communication with her brother. The coin from her dowry had provided enough food to get them through the following winter. The seasons following had been bountiful, and the clan had thrived. The only imperfection in their lives was the wrath of the Rosses, who regularly made their discontent known with raids and attacks.
But it was merely a feud, an offense that would doubtless be forgotten by the next generation. For the time being, Cormac was secure in knowing that his people know how to defend themselves, as did his family.
He hefted Aila to his side with his right arm and tightened his grip with his left arm on Isolde’s stretched waist. Both mother and daughter put their heads on his shoulders, filling his senses with the sweetness of sunshine and roses.
His beautiful girls. His beautiful life.
And a joy that could not be dampened by even the bitterest of feuds. Not when Cormac and his family had everything they had ever wanted: food, comfort, protection and love.
“I love you, husband,” Isolde said softly near his ear.
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “And I love ye, my lady knight.”
Thank you for reading THE HIGHLANDER’S LADY KNIGHT! I read all of my reviews and love hearing from my readers, so please do leave one.
*** Keep reading for a sneak peek at Chapter 1 of FAYE’S SACRIFICE ***
If you want to find out more about Graham’s story check out the next book in the Midsummer Knights series, THE HIGHLANDER’S DARE by Eliza Knight.
A lady determined to set her own path… A warrior who can’t say no to a dare… A love between them would defy all the odds…
Check Out THE HIGHLANDER’S DARE by Eliza Knight
Check out all the books in the Midsummer Knights series:
Forbidden Warrior by Kris Kennedy
The Highlander’s Lady Knight by Madeline Martin
The Highlander’s Dare by Eliza Knight
The Highland Knight’s Revenge by Lori Ann Bailey
My Victorious Knight by Laurel O’Donnell
An Outlaw’s Honor b
y Terri Brisbin
Never If Not Now by Madeline Hunter
Sign up for my exclusive newsletter to stay up to date on the latest Borderland Rebels news. Sign up today and get a FREE download THE HIGHLANDER’S CHALLENGE.
www.MadelineMartin/newsletter
FAYE’S SACRIFICE - When the Sutherland-Ross feud continues in generations to come, will a marriage between the Sutherland Chieftain and the granddaughter of the Ross Chieftain heal broken ties? Or will the forced marriage tear them further apart?
Ewan Sutherland, Chieftain of the Sutherland clan, needs an heir, especially with his uncle intent on claiming the chieftainship.
Faye Fletcher had no plans to marry until she’s abducted from her home, dragged to the highlands and forced to wed her grandfather’s greatest rival.
When family betrayals and enemy conspiracies threaten to ruin any chance they have of a blissful life together, will Faye let the pain of her past keep her sealed off, or will Ewan’s patience and love guide them to happily ever after?
Check out FAYE’S SACRIFICE
Faye’s Sacrifice
Chapter 1 Preview
April 1341
Castleton, Scotland
* * *
Faye Fletcher had an uncanny knack for getting more from her coin than others. She scanned an assortment of fabrics, eyeing a blue wool that would suit herself as well as her younger sister, Clara.
“How much?” She settled her fingers on the bolt and raised her eyes to the shopkeeper.
He was younger than she’d expected, and his cheeks colored when their eyes met. “It…it’s, uh, three farthings a yard.”
She gently caressed the fabric. It was good quality, the color rich as a summer sky. “Three farthings?” she asked, putting an edge of concern in her voice.
The shopkeeper’s brow furrowed, mirroring her expression. “Aye.”
Faye bit her bottom lip in pensive concentration, and his gaze lowered to her mouth. “I need a dozen yards, but—”
An old man in the alley caught her attention, the same one who had been watching her earlier. He was tall and proud, with a head of red hair threaded with white and wearing a fine black doublet atop leather trews.
His stare bored into her, unabashed and unflinching.
“Mistress?” the shopkeeper asked.
A shudder squeezed up her spine. “I…” She looked to the fabric once more and shook her head. “I’ve changed my mind.”
She swept away from the man’s stall without bothering to hear his reply. If he returned to the market another time, she was confident she could smooth over her abrupt departure. Mayhap even use it to elicit sympathy for a further reduction in the cost of the fabric.
Disappointment pricked her. It had been fine wool.
She flicked her attention to the alleyway and found the man no longer there. The tension did not ease from her shoulders, however. Instead, wariness tapped at the back of her mind.
She quickened her pace to where she would be meeting with her brother, Drake, on the outskirts of the village. He’d gone to see about getting a cow for them while Faye attended market.
She glanced over her shoulder and found the old man behind her, mere paces away.
“I’d like a word with ye.” His voice was gravelly despite his Scottish burr and imbued with the same confidence as his squared shoulders.
She walked more quickly and discreetly slid the dagger from her belt. While she preferred the cut of her own sharp tongue, in a pinch, the blade did quite nicely.
“Mistress Faye Fletcher.” Her name on the stranger’s lips made her step falter.
She spun around. “I’m not someone ye want to trifle with.”
He lifted his brows with apparent amusement and swept his gaze over her. “Ye’ve grown into a bonny lass.”
“And ye’re a leering old goat.”
He tsked. “Is that any way to speak to yer grandda?”
The apprehension in Faye’s gut drew into a hard knot. She met his green eyes, a shade disconcertingly similar to her mum’s. Prickles ran over her flesh.
She’d heard enough about him to be wary. He was Chieftain of the Ross clan, a man with power and greed running in his cold veins. He was so cruel and self-serving that Mum had risked her family starving rather than take her children to live near Balnagown Castle in the highlands.
Faye glared at him. “My grandda is a dishonorable cur who rules with fear and manipulation. If ye are indeed who ye claim to be, I want nothing to do with ye.”
The mirth fled his expression, and his face went red under his rust-colored beard. “Impudent chit.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “It doesna matter what ye want. I’ve come to fetch ye to deliver ye to yer betrothed.”
She tightened her grip on her dagger. Betrothed? What was he on about?
She scoffed derisively to cover her unease. “Ye’re mad and I dinna have time for this.”
She turned away and strode swiftly toward the large tree where she’d planned to meet Drake, hoping to God he was already waiting. Her grandda’s strong, wiry grasp caught her arm and spun her back toward him.
This was exactly why she carried a blade. She rolled her arm over his and gripped his thick wrist, twisting it sharply. He grunted in pain, but she didn’t stop there.
Quick as a blink, she put the point of her dagger to his withered throat. “Leave me be and dinna bother coming to find my family, or I willna stop my blade next time, aye?”
He grimaced, his teeth yellow beneath his thin lips. “Let go of me, ye impertinent chit.”
She shoved him from her, then backed away.
“Ye willna go unpunished for that.” He glowered at her, then slipped between two homes, disappearing.
Faye slowly exhaled, and a tremble softened her limbs. Was he the man he said he was? Her grandda? And what was his claim of her being betrothed?
She kept the dagger clutched in her grasp as she made her way to the large tree. Drake was already waiting for her with a velvety brown cow whose soft eyes were large and framed with long lashes.
Drake frowned as she approached. “What is it, Faye?”
There was a single moment that passed where she considered telling him what had happened. But only one before she resolved to keep news of their grandfather’s presence in the village to herself.
Drake was the eldest of the four of them and had been visiting the last sennight. The following morning, he was due to return to the English side of the border to resume his duty as Captain of the Guard at Werrick Castle.
His job was one of great importance and brought him an abundance of pride. It was not the knighthood he’d hoped to obtain as their father had, but it was an honorable position in a notable household. One that afforded them all a much better life than the one they’d had before.
No longer were they forced to wear threadbare clothes that kept them chilled in the winter. Nor go without food so long that their bellies snarled with hunger.
She was grateful for what he did for them, but did not care for him being gone so long or being so far away-especially at a place where his heart had been broken by one of the earl’s daughters. Her handsome brother should have already have a wife and children, and she suspected his lack of procuring one had a good deal to do with Lady Anice.
If Drake knew their grandfather was nearby, and that Faye had been approached, he would undoubtedly delay his return to Werrick Castle. She wouldn’t have Drake risk his job on her account. Not when they were finally doing so well, in a stone manor outside the village with several livestock and enough food and clothing to be comfortable.
“’Tis only that I’m sad ye’ll be leaving us on the morrow.” Faye gave her brother a perfect smile. A lifetime of practice had rendered the expression convincing.
Drake’s worry lightened into an endearing expression, and he ruffled her hair. “I’ll be back before ye start to miss me.”
She smoothed her fingers over her tresses to ensure his affection hadn’t left he
r mussed. “But I already miss ye, and ye’ve not even left yet.”
He chuckled. “Ach, my honey-tongued sister. One day ye’re going to get yerself in trouble with such pretty words.”
“I’m sure I’ll find a way out of it.” She grinned.
Together, they wandered down the trail leading to the stone manor Drake had constructed for them two years prior. It had taken several years to save enough, but the home provided them with protection for themselves, as well as their livestock.
Faye’s meeting with the old man churned in her thoughts, though she’d tried to set it aside. Later, she would gently prod her mother for information on the alleged betrothal. If there were any truth to the Ross Chieftain’s words, Faye would be able to ease it from her mother without suspicion.
Regarding the chieftain himself, he was nothing Faye couldn’t handle. After all, how much of a threat could one old man be?
Sutherland, Scotland
Ewan Sutherland, Chieftain of the Sutherland clan, was getting married. Again.
Or at least, he would be promised to the chieftain’s daughter of the Gordon clan once he stroked his signature over the lengthy agreement set before him. The quill remained perched in his fingertips, the point not quite settled upon the page. A drop of ink slid from the sharpened tip and beaded on the parchment before absorbing into a blotch of black.
“Ye dinna want to marry the lass?” Monroe asked from his seat opposite Ewan’s desk.
Ewan lifted his head to regard his advisor as he considered the question.
Mistress Blair Gordon was fine enough. Ewan had met her several times at a feast held by the Gordon clan. She’d been a talkative young woman whose face dipped demurely to the ground any time her father was nearby.
There had been a girlish excitement about her, not at all like the formal stiffness of Lara. The thought of his first wife brought an uncomfortable tightness to his chest.
The Highlander's Lady Knight Page 15
