by Cathy MacRae
“There is naught to be sorry for. How could ye know Kaily would do such a thing?”
Marci shook her head, the movement caught dimly in the polished bit of metal hanging on the wall. “’Twill always be on my heart. Poor lad. Och, Izzy, I’m so sorry.”
Iseabal glanced at Ewan who curled next to Shep on the dog’s blanket by the hearth, his chest rising and falling in a slow, peaceful cadence. He’d finally fallen asleep after asking for his da half a dozen times.
“Will ye stay with him? I’d like to find Simon.”
“Of course. I willnae leave his side.” Marci patted Iseabal’s hand. “Check the hall. Mayhap someone saw him come in.”
Then why has he not come to see me or Ewan?
Iseabal frowned at Simon’s absence, then gave Marci a hug. With a nod, she grabbed a shawl and left the room.
Ignoring the stable boy’s offer, Simon dismounted and led his horse into the stable and found an empty stall. He’d rather be back at North Hall, but Lord de Wylde had demanded his presence at Belwyck. Simon would remain only long enough to hear what their prisoner revealed.
He added a scoop of oats to his horse’s trough, then grabbed a rough cloth to dry his belly and sturdy legs, removing as much of the mud as possible. He’d brush the rest out after it dried.
With a groan, Simon backed to the stone wall. He slid down its length, landing on his buttocks in the hay. He leaned his forehead on his knees.
God! He’d nearly lost Ewan. Great shudders wracked him, unstoppable no matter how hard he tried.
I promised Iseabal no harm would come to him.
He drew a deep breath and stared sightless into the dimly lit stable, hearing the rustle of rain through the thatched roof, but the comfort of the gentle sound was denied him.
“Simon?”
He hesitated then rose to his feet.
“Simon.” Iseabal’s hand rested on the top of the half door. Drops of rain glistened in her hair, on her lashes, and on the shawl draped over her shoulders. He sent her a slight nod then returned to grooming his horse. “Come inside. I’ll fetch ye a warm drink and dry clothes. Ye mustnae remain out here.”
“I will be heading back to North Hall soon. Do not worry over me.”
“Then I will see that Ewan and I are ready.” She turned to leave.
“No.”
Iseabal halted, pivoting slowly to face him.
“I beg yer pardon?”
“I release ye from your promise.”
“What are ye saying?”
“I will see to it ye receive more than adequate support. Even should ye marry, ye and Ewan will want for naught.”
Iseabal wrenched the door open and stormed through. “Oh, no ye dinnae, Simon de Bretteby! Ye walked away from me once, and I willnae allow it to happen again.”
Simon’s fist shot into the air. “Ye should be the one walking away, not me!” he shouted. “I nearly got him killed!”
Iseabal’s eyes flashed. “Ye did nothing of the sort! Ye saved him.”
“I promised ye he would come to no harm. I should have been able to protect him.”
“Well, pardon ye for not being God but merely a human who cannae see into the future,” she snarled. “Ye are unbelievably arrogant to think ye could plan for every possibility.”
“I am a knight. I have been trained since I was a lad. I should be able to see every possibility. Plan for them.” He lowered his arm. “Guard against them.”
“Ye did yer best.”
“It wasn’t enough.”
“Do ye think I dinnae feel the same? I’m his ma! The one who is supposed to care and watch for his safety. If ye failed him, then so did I.”
Simon’s mouth twisted as if he would argue with her.
“Ye saved Ewan.” Iseabal’s lips settled into a stubborn line.
“Ye were not there.”
“Nae. Yer bloody big horse outran mine.”
“He pulled a sword. On Ewan. I had to kill him.”
“No one is lamenting James Maxwell’s death,” she retorted.
Simon stared past her, seeing the events again. Ewan. The glint of steel in the man’s hand. “He was going to kill Ewan.”
“Och, Simon!” Iseabal rushed against his chest, wrapping her arms about him. He stared at the top of her head. “Dinnae do this! Dinnae let James take ye away from me.”
“He deserves better than me for a father.” The words choked him, but they spoke the horrible truth in his heart.
Iseabal drew back slightly, and, against his will, his arms encircled her waist, pulling her back against him.
“Ye are his father. Ye will always have his good in yer heart. Today ye proved no one is better capable of protecting him. Ye were the only one there in time to save him. No one else could have done more.”
His breathing eased as Iseabal’s words soothed him. The fog consuming him lifted and he hugged her tighter.
“Dinnae tear us apart, Simon,” she whispered. “I dinnae wish to be with anyone but ye.”
He swallowed and eased his grip, tilting his head to study Iseabal’s face. “I have never felt this way before. As if my heart could be ripped from my body—and I have no control over it.”
“’Tis called love, Simon. Not infatuation, or the memory of a lass ye swived five years ago. But the love that binds ye to another’s soul.”
She drew her fingers across his cheek. “I wish ye could protect us from everything, Simon, but there will be times when our best may not conquer whatever ills have befallen us. Promise me ye willnae turn from me. Promise ye will always allow us to comfort each other.”
He nodded. “I have known him less than three days, and already he is part of me.”
Iseabal’s smile lit his heart. “Do ye know what he said before he fell asleep?”
Simon shook his head.
“He wanted to see his da.”
Epilogue
Four months later
Iseabal beamed as Simon planted a kiss on her cheek. He yelped loudly as Ewan dashed across the floor and plowed into his legs. Ewan giggled with delight and Simon scooped him up, lifting him high and giving him a playful shake before setting him back on his feet.
“Again!” Ewan chanted, lifting his arms.
Simon tickled the boy’s oxter until Ewan shrieked with laughter.
“Can I go riding with ye, Da?”
With a lifted brow, Simon deftly tossed the question to Iseabal. “What do ye think, Izzy?”
She waved a hand in the air. “Off with ye and take the lad with ye. ’Tis a fine midsummer day and he needs to be outside.” Glancing at her lightly rounded belly, she wiggled her feet. “I’m going to relax a bit today I think.”
“Are ye well?” Concern knitted Simon’s eyebrows together.
“Och, nary a thing to worry over. I’ve months to go before the bairn makes an appearance. Just feeling a bit lazy this day. Run on. Rosaline will care for me should I need anything.”
Iseabal watched indulgently as Simon helped Ewan into his boots. With a wave and a shout of good-bye, they were gone, leaving behind blissful silence.
She sighed and turned to Rosaline.
“They’ll be gone ’til noon if I have my guess. Plenty of time for ye to tell me what’s bothering ye.”
“M’lady?” Rosaline’s crystal blue eyes widened.
“Och, dinnae dissemble, lass. Ye are punctual with yer tasks, and never a cross word, yet I havenae seen ye smile, nor do ye spend time with the others. I couldnae ask for a kinder maid, yet yer heart isnae in it.”
Rosaline glanced down, folding her hands in her lap. Iseabal knew the motions—look away to keep from showing emotion and rest your hands in your lap to still their shaking. Something was amiss.
“Please let me help,” Iseabal murmured. “It truly matters to me that ye are unhappy.”
Rosaline’s lips twisted, showing her indecision. Her unearthly eyes snapped to Iseabal’s.
“The lad I was betrothed to is d
ead.”
“Aye. Ye spoke of this to me three months past. Do ye not wish to remain here? I will help ye return to yer family if ye wish.”
“I fear my da willnae welcome me back. I have four other sisters, as well as two younger brothers, and I was one mouth too many at the table. ’Tis why I was sent to live with James’ family once the betrothal contract was signed. But James died a week before we were to wed, and his parents find me an unwelcome reminder of their loss. I chose to live at North Hall rather than under their accusing eyes.”
“Why would they accuse ye? He was killed in a raid on the village. Ye had naught to do with that.”
“Nae. The raid had naught to do with me. Though I truly dinnae look forward to wedding James.” She glanced away again and her cheeks pinked.
“Then whyever did ye agree to the betrothal?”
Rosaline shrugged. “I dinnae expect the wedding to happen.” She glanced from the floor to the hearth, and finally to Iseabal. “All the others have died.”
Iseabal’s eyebrows flew upward. “Saint Andrew’s stumpy toes, lass! How many men have ye been betrothed to?”
Rosaline’s gaze slid away. “Including James? Three.”
Simon dismounted and handed his reins to a stable boy who led his horse away. Autumn leaves drifted lazily to the ground, bright gold offerings from a tree in a nearby garden. He dusted his hands on his breeches and strode to the main door of the keep while his personal guard scattered to the various vices of food, drink, or perhaps a game of dice in the soldiers’ quarters.
Lord de Wylde met him at the top of the wide stone steps.
“How is your wife and babe?”
“Ewan grows apace, and so does the babe in Iseabal’s belly—much like the one your wife carries,” Simon noted blandly. A squeal of delight warned him an instant before Lady de Wylde grabbed his neck for a hug, her belly hindering the process. He bent good-naturedly to her kiss, knowing she’d not release him until he’d given her every assurance her sister was well and happy.
“Ye’ll not beat her by many weeks,” he teased, letting his gaze linger a moment on the mound her surcoat could not hide.
She smiled sunnily at him. “She is well? Ye dinnae let Ewan tire her?”
“My lovely wife is very content,” he assured her. “Our only contention is whether the babe will be a boy or a girl. I’m hoping for a girl.”
He offered her his arm and led her into the hall. Walter appeared before they’d taken many steps.
“Good to see ye, Simon. I wasn’t certain your lady wife would let ye stray far from her side.”
“Spoken like a man who has yet to find a woman to put up with him,” Simon joked.
Marsaili rolled her eyes and released Simon’s arm. “Men. I’m leaving now before ye rub knuckles on each other’s heads.”
Simon and Lord de Wylde laughed. Walter wore a troubled look. Lord de Wylde and Simon exchanged glances. Clearing his throat, Geoffrey de Wylde motioned to the other end of the enormous room.
“Come with me to my solar. We can discuss matters there in private.”
Simon relaxed into a comfortable chair beside a long, narrow window where sunlight spilled across the floor. He stretched his legs out before him, pleased to be still and quiet for a moment.
“Something is on your mind, Walter. I can smell it from here.”
Walter sent him a puzzled look then shook his head. Geoffrey took his seat at the large desk in the corner of the room and, deftly changing the topic, ignored Simon’s quip.
“I’m sending a group of soldiers to Eaglesmuir to place a Johnstone in the keep. As per our discussions over the past couple of months, I’ve decided they will be our best allies in the area. My knights have already secured the keep, and they will turn it over to the new lord at the proper time.”
“Laird Johnstone has agreed?”
“Aye. He’ll support it until his son is old enough to manage on his own. Several families of Johnstones left Friar’s Hill when my brothers took the village two years ago. This will give them a place to go if they wish, and shows I do not deal as my brothers did.”
“’Tis a fair trade. Eaglesmuir is a fine keep near the River Annan.”
“I’m still organizing men to help with the transition, and will be asking for one of my knights to volunteer to lead them in the next couple of days.”
Simon shifted in his chair, his attention drawn to Walter’s lack of interest. “What vexes ye, Walter? Ye’ve not said two words since we entered the room.”
Walter frowned. “’Tis something ye mentioned a few months ago. I’ve been thinking on it lately . . . .”
“Ye are one of the most serious men I know,” Simon remarked. “It has taken ye months to reflect on something I said . . . .”
Lord de Wylde raised a hand and Simon subsided his teasing.
“What is it, Walter?”
Walter shuffled his feet. “I don’t know how I would handle a wife.”
Simon hooted. “I know ye aren’t a virgin, Walter.”
Lord de Wylde sent him another quelling gesture.
Walter’s face reddened. “That isn’t what I meant. Housing. Food.” He widened his hands, palms up. “Living.”
“Ye have but to ask, Walter,” Lord de Wylde replied. “There are a number of cottages within the walls of Belwyck that would do for a wife and family. Do ye have a lady in mind?”
Walter shook his head. “I have little to recommend me as a husband. I am a warrior, unversed in gentler arts.”
Lord de Wylde lifted a brow. “Ye see before ye two warriors well-pleased with coming home to the gentler arts as ye put it.”
Simon leaned forward. “There was a young woman at North Hall . . . .”
Walter glanced up, eyes widened. “Nae. She’s beyond me.”
“Walter, ye must banish that ridiculous notion. Any lady of North Hall would be pleased to marry a knight such as you.”
Walter frowned. “Nae. She is betrothed. Likely wed by now.”
Simon snapped his fingers. “Rosaline! Oh, sweet Rosaline! I fair remember her.” He hesitated, his grin slipping away.
“What is wrong?”
“Her betrothed died in the raid at Friar’s Hill when Iseabal first arrived.”
Walter perked up noticeably. “Has she wed another?”
“No, at least, not to my knowledge. But she no longer resides in Friar’s Hill.”
“Where is she?”
“She has returned home—north across the Border. I believe her father is Laird Johnstone.”
Book #3 in the Redeemed Trilogy coming soon!
Acknowledgements
I’d like to once again thank Kathryn Le Veque for inviting me on this journey in the World of de Wolfe. Life along the Scottish Border is fascinating!
I’m honored to also have my critique group along for this story. Cate Parke, Dawn Marie Hamilton, and Lane McFarland—I couldn’t have done it without you!
And a huge thank you to Dar Albert for creating such a special cover for Iseabal and Simon’s story.
From the Author
Thanks so much for your continued interest in the World of de Wolfe! Please consider leaving a review for the books you enjoy. It helps authors more than you know!
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More Books by Cathy MacRae
The Highlander’s Bride Series:
The Highlander’s Accidental Bride (Book 1)
The Highlander’s Reluctant Bride (Book 2)
The Highlander’s Tempestuous Bride (Book 3)
The Hi
ghlander’s Outlaw Bride (Book 4)
The Highlander’s French Bride (Book 5)
With DD MacRae
The Hardy Heroines series
Highland Escape (book 1)
The Highlander’s Viking Bride (book 2)
The Highlander’s Crusader Bride (book 3)
The Highlander’s Norse Bride, a Novella (book 4)
The Highlander’s Welsh Bride (book 5)
Mhàiri’s Yuletide Wish (a Christmas novella)
The Ghosts of Culloden Moor series
with other authors
Adam (book 11)
Malcolm (book 16)
MacLeod (book 21)
Patrick (book 26)
