Warrior’s Bride
by
Gerri Russell
PUBLISHED BY:
Gerri Russell on Kindle
Copyright © Gerri Russell
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
ISBN: 978-0-9838-9971-6
DEDICATION
People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within. —Elizabeth Kubler-Ross
For Kathy Jacobs, my sister, and Andrea Heuston, my should-have-been sister, two strong, compassionate women I am proud to call my dearest friends.
I would also like to express my thanks to the eminently talented Trish Knowles, for sharing her passion for and knowledge of blowing glass. You brought Wolf's need to create alive. For that, I am forever grateful.
Prologue
Isle of St. Kilda, Scotland, 1353
She hated the darkness.
Lady Grisel Grange tensed against the iron manacles that held her imprisoned. Night would be upon her any moment. With a hitch of her breath, she clung to the slivers of apricot light still visible through the arrow slit in the tower wall.
Icy fear pulsed through her as the slivers became threads, shifting from orange to red. She knew the progression of her nightly terror as intimately as she knew the grooves in the cold stone at her back.
She'd had four months to memorize the nuances of each stone. Four months to consider why her husband had cruelly confined her to this place — a place so isolated and remote she knew after the first week of her imprisonment that the people who brought her food would not rescue her, nor would anyone else.
Once that realization had set in, she wondered why he had not killed her instead of exiling her here in the cold stone tower on the remote isle of St. Kilda. But she already knew the answer: He feared her powerful family. He feared what they would do to him if she turned up dead. Instead, he had kidnapped her and forcibly taken from her everything she held dear. Everything except what he did not know she had.
With trembling fingers she struggled against the heavy iron manacles that encircled her wrists until she found what she sought. Her abdomen bulged beneath her touch. He had not known she was pregnant when he'd locked her in this tower. A soft thump beat against her fingers, easing the fear of the dark that consumed her each night.
If he had known of the baby, he would have used the child as ruthlessly as he had used her, trying to gain access to a throne that was not rightfully his. He wanted the lineage her bloodline and her abilities as a seer could lend him. And when she'd failed to give him a child, he'd tossed her away like damaged goods. It was ironic that what he wanted so desperately he'd never known he had attained.
She smoothed her fingers over her ever-increasing belly. Was the babe she carried a blessing or a curse? The life growing inside her kept her from loneliness each night as darkness fell. But would her child soon share her imprisonment in this nightmare?
The last rays of light slipped from purple to black, and she found herself plunged into darkness. No moon hung in the sky tonight to offer even the slightest hint of light. And despite the child who pulsed beneath her fingers, a sob escaped her.
Another night of haunting emptiness lay before her — relentless, unfailing, unforgivable. Unforgivable because of what the darkness forced her to do.
She slipped her fingers from her abdomen to her neck, to the small white stone with its one rounded edge and one jagged edge nested in a web of delicate leather cords. Another secret her husband had not known she possessed. If he had, he would have stripped it from her. She clutched the necklace like a lifeline, knowing it was the one thing that quieted her fear.
The Seer's Stone and the visions it provided offered her a way to escape. She gripped the Stone all the harder until the smooth surface warmed against her palm. She knew she should not give in, allow the visions to sweep her away, but she had no choice. She'd succumbed to the light of the visions months ago.
She lifted the Stone away from her neck and brought her forehead down to meet it. Only then could she see into the future.
Whose future? She did not care anymore, not as long as the visions brought light. Captured by the lure of the Stone, her eyes drifted closed. Instantly her mind filled with a myriad of swirling colors: red, blue, green, orange. The colors blended together in a wash of light.
She clung to the image, held it in her mind, relaxing against the cold stone wall until her knees went weak. She slid to the floor, the clink of the chains filling the silence of the night, as the vision engulfed her in temporary respite.
Yet each nightly escape came with a price. That price: a slow spiral toward insanity. She could feel the fibers of her mind snapping, releasing her from her grip with the real world. And each night she vowed the journey would be her last, until the sun set and the Stone beckoned once more.
Beyond turning back now, she pushed into the vision until the tangy scent of sea salt hung in the air, replacing the foul stench of the tower. An image appeared, and white, frothy waves curled toward a beach in endless progression.
The waves hypnotized her. She let them. She focused her thoughts on the waves rolling toward the shore, grateful for the lack of anything more. Perhaps she'd escape further damage to her mind this time. Perhaps she would not become totally lost to madness before she delivered her child.
As the thought fully formed, so too did the image of a willowy blonde. The young woman stood on the beach. Foamy white waves glistened at her feet. Each surge and retreat of the waves beckoned the girl to join them. The young woman stared out into the distance as though searching for something, someone.
The image shifted from the shoreline to farther beyond. To a ship with its sails stretched taut against the wind. On the deck of the ship stood a dark-haired man, his body tense with determination. And as if he knew Lady Grange was watching him, his gaze snapped in her direction, his face hardened into a mask of anger, his eyes turning from a rich dark brown to an icy metallic black.
She gasped.
"How did you get aboard my ship?" he asked, his gaze piercing hers.
He could see her. How? No one ever had before.
She tried to pull away from the vision, but it refused to let her go. She would prefer the darkness to facing this angry man. Who was he? Why did the vision bring her here?
"Answer me," he demanded, coming toward her. He reached for her shoulder. Her breath caught as he touched her, his grip firm but not cruel, even as the vision shifted. The man faded from view, and she saw the night sky.
An endless sea of blackness broken only by the moon. Except the moon was split in two. The two equal halves, with jagged edges facing each other, hung in the sky a great distance apart. They drifted slowly together, in an attempt to become whole.
In an attempt to become whole ...
A shrill scream tore through the void of the night sky, a long, raw sound that seemed to go on and on, straining until it broke on a hoarse note.
With an effort, she ripped the Seer's Stone away from her forehead as that last thought echoed in her mind. In an attempt to become whole . . .
The necklace, and the stone it held, thumped against her chest as she stuffed her hand in her mouth to keep another scream from escaping. She would never be whole again as long as she used the Seer's Stone to escape the darkness.
Insanity was her future now. Tonight's vision had proven that. Never before had she imagined the people in her visions could se
e her in return.
A muffled sob escaped into the silence of the dark, dank tower. How many more days, weeks—or, heaven help, her—years would she have to endure this misery?
As long as it takes, an answering voice from deep within her replied. Her child was all that mattered now.
She slipped her fingers from her mouth and stretched them toward her belly. She had to be strong for her child.
She lifted her quivering chin to stare out into the night. The slight haze of dawn appeared. Relief filled her. She'd made it through the worst of the night.
This night... a voice in her head challenged. But she pushed the thought away.
She refused to let fear take hold. All that mattered was freedom for her child. From her womb and from this tower prison. And, with luck, from this isolated isle.
She would continue to be strong for her child.
Chapter One
Isle of St. Kilda, Scotland, 1372
Isobel Grange felt an ominous tingle race across the back of her neck. A portent of doom. Her mother had always warned her of such things. But what could harm her at the crofter's cottage she called home on the remote isle of St. Kilda? The locals paid her no heed, and her foster family only cared about how quickly she did her chores.
Izzy shook off the odd sensation. She had just set a basket of eggs on the wooden table in the center of the room when the door thumped closed behind her.
She turned toward the sound and gasped. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood in front of the door. He was dressed in the style of their countrymen, in a saffron shirt and dark woolen tartan.
"Lady Isobel?"
The breath stilled in her chest. He knew her name— her real name. The stone walls of the cottage seemed to close in around her.
His dark eyes examined her. "Are you Lady Isobel?" His words were short and sharp.
A thick, heavy silence settled over the room until the only sounds that remained were the pop and hiss of the fire and the stuttering of her own controlled breathing. Izzy nervously flexed then clenched her hands at her sides, resisting panic. "I am Izzy... Isobel."
He continued his cool assessment of her with eyes that were jet black and framed with even darker lashes—dark as the night sky and as emotionless as the blackest soul. She tried not to flinch as his gaze moved from her fare to her unkempt hair, her tattered skirt, and her dusty slippers.
A hint of displeasure crept into the dark shadows of his eyes, and she bristled in response. He would judge her as all the rest did, by her looks and nothing more. Izzy boldly met his gaze despite the gnawing fear that grew with each passing heartbeat "Who are you?" she said slowly, the words helping her regain control of her emotions. Her curiosity grounded her when nothing else could.
When he did not answer, she stepped up to him, closer to the door and the openness she knew existed beyond. "Remove yourself at once and let me out," she commanded, surprised at the haughty tone in her voice. Never had she spoken to anyone that way. Such behavior might land her back in the tower—a place she vowed never to return to.
He shook his head and kept his hand firmly against the door latch. "I shall release the door if you promise to sit down and listen. I have come to make you an offer."
Izzy swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat. "An offer?"
His angular features became hard. "For your hand in marriage."
Marriage? Izzy blinked, stunned. For a moment she could only gape at him. "Never."
"I am afraid the offer I give you is no better than the one given me." A flicker of compassion reflected in his eyes before it vanished. "You will marry, and you will leave this isle right now."
"Nay—"
"I am offering you a new life."
A new life? New hope? How long had it been since she had allowed herself such a fantasy? Did he truly offer her a chance to escape this isle and her nightmare of being returned to the tower where she'd spent the first seven years of her life? Her mother's death had released her from that torment only to be enslaved by the MacDonalds as their servant. Izzy's gaze fastened on his. A twitch of impatience pulsed in his jaw.
"You have no choice. My men await me at the shore. Come."
"Who you are, and why—" The frantic rattle of the door latch broke off her words.
"Izzy! Izzy!" her foster father called out as he rapped a fist against the closed door. "There is a boat at the shoreline. A stranger was reported headed this way. Is he with you? Izzy, answer me."
The tension in her muscles only increased at the sound of her foster father's voice. "Aldous MacDonald will never let you take me away." Frantic pounding sounded against the wooden portal, echoing through the room.
"Do not be so certain of that." A steely resolve settled in the stranger's gaze. Large and intimidating, he towered over her. If he wanted to, he could make her go anywhere by brute force. Could he force her foster father to release her as well?
He dropped his hand from the door latch. It flew open. Her foster father filled the doorway with his bulk. "What do ye want with Izzy?" His startled gaze flew between her and the stranger, his eyes revealing first fear, then anger.
"The Lady Isobel?" The stranger's face remained shadowed as he withdrew a folded sheet of parchment from inside his tartan and handed it to her foster father. "She is to be my bride."
Alarm flashed on Aldous's face as he scanned the document. Isobel edged closer until she could see the document clearly herself. It bore the bold seal of Robert II of Scotland, grandson of Robert the Bruce.
"Did my father send you here?" Aldous demanded.
"The king sent me."
Aldous frowned. "How could anyone know of her existence, especially the king?"
"The king knows a great many things." The stranger towered over her foster father like a dark, immovable force. "And he will not be disobeyed without retribution."
A tendril of fear shivered up her spine, not at the veiled threat but as she read her true name, Lady Isobel, on the parchment that bore the king's seal.
"No one knew our secret," Aldous mumbled to himself as he examined the papers before him. His skin was pasty, and fear glittered in his eyes. "If the king knows about her, then so does he."
The stranger frowned. "Who do you speak of?"
Izzy knew that he spoke of her own father. That Aldous MacDonald feared the man as much as she did sent a chill to her very core. Her mother had warned that if her father ever found her, her life would be in danger.
Did Aldous fear some danger as well? His gaze darted about the room as though searching for something in the darkest shadows. "If he and the king both know the truth ..." He returned his gaze to Izzy. "To lose the girl will be difficult... She's become quite important to our household."
The stranger's gaze took in her bedraggled clothing and hair, her well-worn slippers. "I can see that." The soft lilt of his words contrasted sharply with the flash of steel in his eyes.
The fear in Aldous's eyes faded, replaced by hopeful appraisal. She had seen that look on her foster father's face when he bartered over goods. He was calculating just how much she might be worth to this man. With a sense of growing irritation, she watched the two men bargain.
"I've spent years training her," her foster father said. "She's quite valuable in that she is strong, biddable, and of childbearing age. Those things canna be ignored or given over without some sort of fee."
"It is usually the groom who is compensated with a dowry." The stranger's face grew shadowed again as he reached for the brown leather bag tied to his belt. He tossed the bag on the table, and the coins inside clinked against each other. "Twenty-five gold pieces should offset your loss."
At the sight of the coins, Izzy frowned. She might not know much about the world, but something did not seem quite right here. "Why would you pay a fortune in gold to take me away from here?"
"Quiet!" Aldous thundered. "Yer future is to be decided between myself and the gentleman."
Izzy raised her chin and stared at
the stranger, silently demanding an answer. Before they could comment she continued. "And why should I go with you? I don't even know your name, let alone where you plan to take me."
The stubborn look in the stranger's eyes said she would leave with him no matter the obstacle. "My name is ..." He hesitated. "My name is ... Douglas." The word sounded difficult for him to say. "I am taking you to the Black Isle. And you will come with me." He turned away from her, putting an end to any further protests. "Now," he addressed Aldous, "do you agree to my terms?"
Aldous reached for the bag of coins. " 'Tis done. Izzy, go peacefully with the man, and make of yer future what ye can. The MacDonalds never meant to hold you captive. We were forced to do so by the secrets of yer life. Now that those secrets are revealed, yer future is up to you."
His words sounded like he did not expect her to have a future at all. In her mind's eye she saw her mother, frail and discarded, among the shadows of the tower room, heard her warning: Beware of those who know your past, Isobel. For they are a danger and cannot be trusted.
Izzy shook her head, forcing the memory away. Her mother had been half mad when she'd said those things. Pain-filled ravings, that's what they had been. And memories best left untouched. The only dangers that awaited her were those she brought on herself by putting too much trust in those around her.
Regardless of why the stranger had offered a fortune in gold for her to come with him, she would grasp this opportunity. He provided her a way off the isle. As for his offer of marriage ... There had to be a way out of that trap. Marriage for her mother had only brought isolation, starvation, and death.
Izzy wanted more from her life, even if she'd never pursued such hopes before. Her dreams of freedom had kept her alive during the most difficult times of her life. And they would give her strength now.
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