Another Man's Bride

by Ariel MacArran

  She could not meet the outlaw’s eye nor think of anything to say that would not invite more scorn from him.

  “Well, then,” he said, when it was clear she would not reply. “I suppose I can send Douglas back one of his jewels. Yer prisoner, Lady, till yer ransom is paid.”

  “And whose prisoner am I, sir?” she demanded as he turned away.

  He paused long enough to give her a mock bow. “Colyne MacKimzie.”

  Katherine’s struggles were muffled; she was gagged, mayhap bound as well.

  “Hold!” Isabella cried, holding her hand out at him. “My kinswoman, Katherine, what of her?”

  Kat was kicking at the ground, dirt straying up as her captor fought to keep hold of her as he bound her arms.

  “My cousin is but a woman and weak from sickness as well. Allow her to ride on!” Isabella argued but MacKimzie did not even break pace. “Verily, even if freed she could do you no harm!”

  He was intent on surveying the goods and valuables stowed in the packhorses his men were gathering.

  Would MacKimzie leave Kat here—ill, bound and helpless to freeze to death or die of thirst alone in the forest? It would be a monstrous act.

  Her uncle, Cardinal Beaufort, would leave a woman so, even a noblewoman, even his own kinswoman, if it served his purpose.

  “Katherine must be ransomed as well!” Isabella raised her voice so her words echoed through the woods. “If the queen will not ransom her, outlaw, I shall!”

  He turned toward Isabella, eyebrows raised.

  “And how will ye do that, then? I already have all yer treasures and what I dinna take—” His gaze ran over her, and he smirked. “I’ll be leavin’ for Douglas to enjoy.”

  “What is here is not all of my marriage portion,” she retorted. “There is more to follow and I will bring income from lands as well to my husband. I shall appeal to Lord Douglas, to the queen—to the king himself, if I must! Katherine is gentle-born, she must be ransomed as well!”

  MacKimzie blew his breath out in annoyance.

  “Angus!” he barked. “Bring the woman here!”

  Another of his men came to them, dragging the struggling Katherine along with him.

  The moment the man pulled his hand away from her mouth, Katherine broke forth with such a storm of insults and disparagements on MacKimzie’s parentage, honor, wit, and private equipage in languages from Gaelic to Latin that all, even Isabella who had known her from babyhood, stood frozen and amazed.

  “Aye,” MacKimzie jeered when Katherine was forced to stop from lack of breath. “As gentle-born as ye indeed.”

  Isabella stepped forward quickly, intent on shielding Kat.

  “Please, sir, Katherine, my beloved cousin, has been ill. She is not herself.”

  “She curses in Gaelic verra well!” the gray-bearded man, Malcolm, said approvingly. “Are ye Scot then?”

  “Through my mother,” Kat replied, throwing Malcolm a narrow-eyed glare.

  Malcolm chortled, his mouth splitting into a wide, yellow-toothed grin. “Like as not a MacLaulach lass, eh?”

  Malcolm and the other men laughed but MacKimzie’s mouth remained tight.

  Seeing Katherine draw her breath to launch another assault, Isabella spoke quickly. “Sir, please, my kinswoman—”

  “Waitin’ gentlewoman to ye?” MacKimzie interrupted.

  “Yes,” Isabella replied. “And dearer to me than any, sir.”

  His eyes were hooded as he studied her. At last he gave a sharp nod. “I expect she is worth somethin’. She can serve ye then.”

  Kat’s veil had come askew, two spots of color stood out on her cheeks, and her pale blue eyes glared daggers at him.

  “I will have your word my lady will be treated honorably, outlaw!”

  “An honest outlaw’s word, ye mean?” MacKimzie gave a short laugh. “Ach, I give it freely.”

  Kat glowered at him. “You base—”

  MacKimzie held up his hand to her. “I want yer lady for ransom’s sake, nae ravishment. Yer both safe enough with me and the lads if ye do as yer told, on that I do give me word.” He gave Katherine a pointed look. “Keep a sweet tongue in yer mouth, mistress. ’Twill go hard on yer lady if ye canna.”

  Katherine, visibly struggling to control herself in the stronghold of the barbarian, nodded.

  “Oh, please release her,” Isabella cried. The purpled shadows under Kat’s eyes showed she had used up what little strength she had. “Please, sir!”

  With a wave of MacKimzie’s hand, the man did.

  Isabella moved to support Katherine before she fell. Kat was trembling and feverish.

  “My cousin travels in the carriage,” Isabella insisted. “She is not well enough to ride.”

  William remained where the outlaws left him, unconscious on the ground. His head was bleeding, but to Isabella’s relief she saw his chest rise and fall.

  “Put Sir William in the carriage as well,” Isabella said to MacKimzie. “His wounds need tending.”

  “The man stays here.”

  “You cannot mean it!” Isabella cried. “He will die!”

  “And what’s that to me?” MacKimzie snapped. “Will Douglas empty his coffers for yer kin?”

  “He is not my kinsman,” Isabella corrected, raising her voice and meeting each of the men’s gazes in turn as they listened to this new exchange. “Sir William is a good and honorable knight. He stood alone against all of you. Even as our guards turned their backs and deserted us, he remained the very soul of courage. He deserves my gratitude and your respect.”

  “The man will have an honorable death,” MacKimzie retorted, more to his men than to her. “His lady is safe, his task completed.”

  “William’s task is to deliver me to my cousin, Queen Joan. He will die by your hands, his task undone.”

  MacKimzie’s men were looking less confident now. Something Kat had once said about men of the north…

  “Would you have him die with his soul not at rest?” Isabella asked. “With his bones so far from home?”

  MacKimzie’s nostrils flared, seeing his men shift uncomfortably. “The man isna even dead and yer afeared of his ghost!”

  The one called Angus cleared his throat. “Colyne, perhaps ’twould be best if—”

  “He stays here!”

  “I could—” Isabella began.

  “Ransom him as well?” MacKimzie demanded, rounding on her. “And what are ye offerin’ now? The Earl of Douglas’s own keep?”

  Isabella swallowed. “Bring William and I offer my word I will make no attempt to escape.” Isabella kept her voice soft. “I pledge myself to your will, ‘til my ransom is paid, and you, yourself, set me free.”

  A muscle twitched in his cheek and his glance flicked to his uneasy men. None wished to risk an angry shade following them, bent on vengeance.

  “Put him in the carriage,” MacKimzie growled and turned away.

  When the sound came from the carriage, Isabella reined in, swung off her palfrey, and waved at young Jamie to stop. Isabella handed Cobweb’s reins to Angus. William had regained consciousness but had grown feverish and ever weaker since their capture yesterday. Riding rough in the rocking, freezing carriage was not doing his stomach any good.

  The cold earth was hard under her feet as she made her way to them. Exhaustion pulled at her limbs, her breath visible in the icy air.

  Young Jamie looked over his shoulder at her, shamefaced. He offered no words of comfort but, after a day driving the carriage and hearing the pained groans of Katherine and William, his distress was evident.

  Isabella pulled the curtain aside. William slumped weakly, trembling and pale under a thin layer of sweat. Katherine, white-lipped, her eyes shadowed with weariness, leaned forward to wipe at his brow with her veil.

  “He has been ill again?” Isabella asked, though she could clearly see how poorly they both fared.

  Kat nodded.

  Isabella rested her hand on Kat’s shoulder. “And you, Kat?”
/>
  Kat smiled weakly. “I am nearly ready to wish us returned to Sir William’s protection.”

  William made a weak noise, almost a snort. “Truly my lady, how could I fear Death?” he croaked. “Surely even he lacks the courage to take Mistress Katherine on, and so dares not venture close enough to take me.”

  Kat chuckled softly, but her frightened look to Isabella showed that William was worse off even than he appeared.

  Isabella gripped the edge of the carriage. William and Kat needed shelter, warm beds, and rest—soon. The cold, jolting carriage would surely kill them both.

  Could MacKimzie be convinced to forgo ransom for them and set the pair free?

  Quickly she rejected the idea. Even if she should convince MacKimzie to leave them neither of them had strength enough to drive the carriage now nor was there much hope of finding help for Katherine and William. It had been a full day since MacKimzie had captured them and, surely by design, they encountered neither travelers nor villages as they traveled.

  The Scots had become accustomed to her frequent checks on those within the carriage. Each time she called for them a stop, the men waited respectfully for her to tend to William and Katherine.

  All but one.

  Colyne MacKimzie scowled as he rode toward her on William’s charger.

  Isabella stepped away from the carriage just as MacKimzie came to a halt to glower down at her.

  She pushed her hood back and squared her shoulders.

  “Sir William is desperately unwell,” Isabella explained before MacKimzie could speak. “We must stop and let him rest a time.”

  “God’s cock, lass! He is restin’! The man’s bein’ carried like a bairn!”

  “He is injured!” Isabella cried, crossing the distance between them. MacKimzie did not bother to dismount and she was forced to tilt her head to look up at him. “He is ill! If you think this carriage so comfortable, ride you a time in it, outlaw!”

  “Methinks the warhorse suits me better,” MacKimzie replied coldly. “I’ll leave the carriage to the women and the English.”

  Isabella gestured toward the carriage behind her. “Sir William is feverish. We must find shelter for him without delay.”

  “If ye want the man tucked into a feather tick bed by the fire, I’ll see to it he’s set sae tonight, if ye’ll stop delayin’ us. Unless yer slowin’ us down on purpose, hopin’ to escape?”

  “No such thing! You are a fool expecting this carriage could travel over such rough terrain without causing those within to suffer!”

  His jaw tightened. “You’d be wise to mind yer tongue now, lass. Yer a hairsbreadth makin’ the rest of this journey bound and gagged, lyin’ across my saddle with yer arse in the air!”

  “You promised them proper care! I took your word and you show it worthless!”

  Isabella felt a shock ripple through the surrounding Scots. Jamie’s eyes widened at her tone; the boy looked scandalized.

  MacKimzie’s face became stony and the fearsome black warhorse did indeed suit him well at that moment.

  “I promise if ye delay us again,” he warned, his tone low and dangerous, “ye’ll nae need to worry about the carriage. I shall leave those two here on the ground and set the damned thing afire!”

  Her lips parted in shock and she felt herself blanch.

  MacKimzie’s horse pawed nervously at the ground as the man glared down at her.

  There was no help for it. Isabella made her way back to Cobweb and took the reins from Angus. Unnerved, she did not trust her voice to thank the man as he helped her onto the palfrey.

  MacKimzie waited till she was back on the horse before turning his glare on young Jamie.

  “Stop tha’ thing one more time without my say so, lad,” he promised, “and I’ll have ye tied to the wheel by the neck and dragged behind it all the way home!”

  Jamie went pale, his freckles standing out against his pallor, but he nodded.

  The Scots found their feet, the horses, and even the ground safer to look at than their leader.

  MacKimzie held Isabella’s gaze for several heartbeats, then glanced toward the carriage meaningfully.

  After a moment, she dropped her gaze.

  Evidently satisfied he had put fear into all of them, MacKimzie turned his horse.

  He shouted to the waiting clansmen. “Ride on!”

  MacKimzie reached the head of the group again and glanced back as if to assure himself she was indeed still on her horse and ready to ride.

  Isabella urged her horse forward, hoping that since she was forced to endure the visions, she might someday—as her reward—see one of Colyne MacKimzie on his way to the gallows.

  The weather turned frigid as the afternoon wore on and Isabella kept her cloak wrapped tightly around her. The Highlanders seemed not to notice the chill at all; it might as well have been midsummer for all the discomfort they showed.

  Isabella knew nothing of the lonely country they covered. Sir William said they were heading west but Isabella could not have found her way back to the place they had been overtaken even if MacKimzie suddenly decided to free her. The terrain was so thickly forested, the hills so shrouded in mist, that Isabella wondered how MacKimzie could tell their direction at all.

  A gate to Hell was known to exist in Scotland. She would not put it past MacKimzie to be leading them all there.

  He glanced back at her often as they rode as if to assure her obedience, perhaps calculating what he would demand for her safe return. Undeniably, he was the leader here, but did this outlaw answer to an overlord?

  She had not even been told where they were taking her. When she asked Jamie, who tried hard to be gallant in his rough, country way, he merely gave her a puzzled look and said they were going “home.”

  Clouds gathered, turning the sky and landscape a bleak gray. Isabella feared they would soon see snow and be forced to spend a miserable night in the open. Once during the ride, Isabella saw a few thatched-roof cottages in the distance, but MacKimzie evidently wished to avoid contact with those who dwelled there.

  Was a place like that to be her prison? A tiny cluster of cottages, not even populated enough to be called a village? Would MacKimzie hide them in a cave in this lonely, frigid land till the ransom was paid? She could imagine MacKimzie capable of subjecting them all to such a winter.

  Isabella bent her head against the wind. MacKimzie had the goods she had brought from England, and the ransom would drain her dowry still more. Her betrothed might well feel slighted to have the queen’s tall, dark cousin to wed and so much less of the great fortune he had been promised for the deed.

  Would Alexander Douglas wait for her? What if he should choose another during her captivity?

  Isabella’s grip tightened on Cobweb’s reins. To be so close to knowing safety from her enemies as Douglas’s wife and have it snatched away by an outlaw’s greed!

  Daylight was fading when Jamie nodded ahead. “See, we’re near t’home.”

  The thatched-roof cottages below made up a cozy village at the edge of the loch. The sight of the stone castle dwarfing them confronted her as she reached the crest of the hill. Isabella swallowed hard as she took in the keep that was to be her prison.

  Situated on an island in the loch, connected to the shore by a lone bridge of wood and stone, it was a formidable fortress and promised no easy escape or rescue. Nor was there any question of their destination—MacKimzie sent Angus riding ahead to the castle, presumably to announce their arrival to the chieftain.

  MacKimzie flashed her a quick, smug look.

  Just who was he handing her over to? Isabella chewed the inside of her cheek. She did not know the Scottish nobles or their intrigues; who would risk offending the Douglas family—and the king—this way?

  Would the lord of this castle feel compelled to keep his prisoners locked in a chamber below, as was common? Would they be chained?

  Surely, though, Kat and William would fare better here than in the open.

  T
he last echo of daylight blocked by its walls, the castle appeared even larger and more intimidating as Isabella rode into its shadow.

  The horses’ hooves made a dull thudding sound as MacKimzie led them across the bridge. Towers on either side of the bridge soared over her; slit stone windows placed to provide archers a protected spot to loose their arrows at any force on the shore. Birds, their forms rendered featureless silhouettes against the gray sky, circled the towers. Their shrill cries reverberated against the stone.

  Then they were past the gatehouse and into the courtyard. Their arrival drew all—women and men, young and aged—into the yard. Dressed in bright mantles and cloaks, the men were long-haired with full beards, the women no less roughly attired, and they looked at Isabella curiously, many openly staring. The carriage bearing Kat and William seemed in this setting to be as brightly decorated as for a spring fair and drew the clan’s wide-eyed interest and murmuring.

  She hoped to get a measure of the master of this fortress before she was presented. Isabella’s eyes darted across the courtyard, trying to pick out the lord as Jamie helped her from her palfrey.

  She absentmindedly patted Cobweb’s neck and wondered if she would ever see the horse again. She was a valuable and pretty mount; likely the lord here would help himself to her palfrey as well.

  A young woman emerged among the clansmen. Even by the light of the torches, the deference of clansmen was obvious as they made way for her to pass. The woman’s mantle, wrapped and buckled around her, was a brightly colored fringed plaid and she moved with a degree of grace despite the crutch she leaned on as she made her way to MacKimzie.

  A wife, Isabella thought, watching MacKimzie embrace her.

  Or perhaps a betrothed, she amended, seeing MacKimzie’s chaste kiss to the woman’s forehead.

  The two were smiling, speaking intently to each other. They looked her way and she flushed to be caught staring. Feeling clumsy and stiff after the long ride, Isabella made her way to the carriage.

  At the very least, Katherine and William would know a roof over their heads and, if the lord here had any mercy, a fire to warm them tonight.