"Brahan, enough. Come back. This was a mistake. I shall not lose you over this."
Brahan ignored Wolf’s urgings and pressed forward into the image. His head throbbed with the effort, but a face appeared ... that of a man.... "I see the dark stranger from before. I do not recognize him." Brahan's shivers became shudders. His whole body trembled at the effort of reaching for this last vision. "So many faces tumble through my mind: your father, the maid in the kitchen, your brother Walter, Fiona, and ... my own face . . . and there is more. So much more ..."
Sharp pain lashed through Brahan's mind, matching the pain in his chest. He tried to focus the faces into some sort of order without success. The vision narrowed, like a tunnel of time and space, until only one image remained. "It cannot be." The words tumbled from him in a gasp.
His fingers tingled with numbness. The Seer's Stone cooled and fell away from his forehead. His body tumbled not against the hard floor but into a cushion of softness, instantly cradled in warmth. Darkness filled the inky corridors of his mind. His body went limp. He felt himself falling and let himself go, welcoming the silence.
Wolf caught Brahan as he collapsed. "Fenwick, Gerard," Wolf called to the two men-at-arms he had positioned outside the battered door of the solar.
Instantly, the men appeared. "Milord?"
"Help me take Brahan to his chamber." The warriors grasped an unconscious Brahan by the shoulders and the feet while Wolf bent to retrieve the Seer's Stone from where it had fallen to the floor. The three of them managed to swiftly move the hulking warrior down the long hallway and onto his bed. A torch set against the awaiting wood in the hearth filled the chamber with radiant heat.
Wolf dismissed his men and sat on the bed beside his friend. A slight smile lingered at the corner of Brahan's mouth, and despite his unnatural paleness, he appeared as he usually did at rest. There was one notable difference, however: The small white streak of hair that had graced his temple had turned into a solid white stripe.
The cost of the visions had been great—greater than Wolf had anticipated. Guilt brought an oppressive weight to his chest. "I'm sorry, Brahan. I should have listened to you and turned back from this quest, but my pride wouldn't allow it."
"Are you doubting your destiny?"
Relief filled him. "Are you well?"
"I am. As are you." Brahan reached out and pressed his hand into Wolf's shoulder, lightening the burden that rested there. "Do not doubt the journey you have chosen."
"You doubted my decision not too long ago."
Brahan chuckled. "I was wrong."
Wolf didn't feel the same amusement His gaze strayed to the white stripe at Brahan's temple.
"That bad, is it?" Brahan asked as he brought his hand up to touch the affected white strands of hair.
Wolf attempted a nonchalant shrug. "The women will no doubt find it quite heroic."
Brahan's smile increased. "Then all is not lost." He struggled to push himself up in bed.
Wolf resisted the urge to assist him, knowing Brahan would not appreciate it "Are you well enough to talk about what happened?"
A thoughtful expression replaced Brahan's smile. "I saw his face."
"The stranger's?"
"Aye. At first I was not certain, then something shifted, and his face became bright and clear."
"Who?" Wolf tensed, expecting to hear his father's name.
"Lord Grange."
"Grange?" Wolf heard the rage tremble in his own voice. "That he wants to kill me, I understand. But why Isobel? She's an innocent."
"Is she?"
Wolf stood, unsettled by the mixture of anger and surprise that raced beneath the surface of his emotions. Why would Brahan say such a thing about someone he knew so little about? "Did you see such in your vision?"
Brahan shook his head. "Nay. It is just that she is so innocent—too innocent. I sense something about her that I did not upon first meeting her."
"Such as?"
Brahan reached for the pouch where he kept the Seer's Stone. "For one, why did the Stone respond to her proximity as it did?" He tensed when he felt nothing. "It is gone."
"It is safe." Wolf held out the Stone to Brahan. "You dropped it when the visions ended."
He tucked the Stone back into its protective pouch as he struggled to sit at the side of the bed. "It's answers we need. Lady Isobel can enlighten us."
"Impossible. She is still caught in the grip of the poison."
Brahan pursed his lips and nodded. "What do we do until she recovers?"
"When you can stand, you've a marriage ceremony to attend."
Brahan arched his brow. "You're serious?"
"Deadly serious. Your vision identified two assassins. If Grange objects to my marriage, then going through with it will stop the attacks on Isobel's life."
Brahan frowned. "Either that or intensify them."
"The men and this castle will keep her safe."
"Does Isobel have anything to say about this?"
"Not one single thing," Wolf said bluntly.
Brahan stood, a little uncertainly at first, then with more stability. "Then let us go get this over with."
Wolf nodded and proceeded toward the door. The sooner this whole business was over, the better. In the hallway, Wolf hesitated. "Go see to the preparations," he said. "I have something I must do first."
Brahan's brow shot up in question, but he made no comment Instead, he gave a brief nod and headed down the hallway toward the stairs. Wolf remained where he was until Brahan vanished from sight Then he headed back to the solar, back to Isobel. In the room, he sank down on the bed beside her. She looked peaceful in her drug-induced slumber. The tension in his body eased. The assassin's attempt to take her from him had failed.
Take her from him. He frowned. When had he started thinking of her as his own? A virtual stranger. Compassion engulfed him and he reached out to her, gently caressing her pale cheek with his rough finger.
So soft So tender. So innocent
The breath in his chest stilled. Unspoiled and pure. Brahan was wrong. Isobel was not the deceptive sort. Fiona had taught him enough about deception to know the difference. And soon this gentle woman would be his wife.
He allowed his fingers to linger down the roundness of her check, down the angle of her chin to the long line of her throat.
A soft sigh escaped her lips and she turned in to his hand, almost as if she were pleased with his touch and longing for more of the same.
"I shall protect you from Grange," he murmured.
Granted, he protected many people from Grange. But somehow this declaration seemed more personal than all the rest. The desire to keep others safe usually motivated him to go against his enemy. But this promise felt like something more. An instinctual need to protect her came out in him whenever she drew near.
Isobel needed protection. Wolf studied her silent form. Is that why his father had sent him to retrieve her? Had he known the way his son would respond? Was all this just more deception on his father's part, or could his intentions be honest for once? It was almost too much to believe.
Wolf sat back, dismissing the thought. His father hadn't done anything worthy of such hope or trust yet. Time would reveal his true intentions. It always did.
In the meanwhile, Wolf had no more doubts about one thing—his marriage. For better or worse, he would wed the woman laying beside him. The sacrifice would be more than worthwhile if it protected her from Grange.
Wolf’s gaze moved to Isobel's face and lingered on the delicate curve of her cheek, the long column of her neck. He would protect her. A warmth came to the center of his being. Who was he trying to fool? With Isobel it was more than just a matter of protection or a sense of duty. She made him feel things—things he had no right to feel.
A man might be capable of such curious emotions, but that man was not him. His past indiscretions, his own dark reputation would always be there, a chasm too big to hurdle. His father had seen to that. And no golden-haire
d maid could change his destiny.
No matter how much he might wish it to be so. Best to focus his attention on the things he could change. "As soon as we are wed, I shall go after him," Wolf told her. "I shall keep you safe if it is the last thing I do."
Chapter Fourteen
A ring of brass lanterns had been set up around Isobel's bed. Golden tendrils of light flickered about the room, spreading eerie fingers of illumination into the darkened corners of the solar.
Mistress Rowley sat beside a sleeping Isobel, gently combing her hair. The woman had changed her into a crisp white nightrail. Above the bed linens Wolf could see the delicate curve of Isobel's shoulders. He allowed his gaze to travel lower, to the soft rise of her breasts. With each breath, the outline of her nipples grazed the fabric.
Seductive and innocent.
He allowed himself a rueful smile. So like a bride, and yet he knew Isobel had no idea of the picture she presented. How could she? Unconscious as she was, her participation would be limited to her mere presence. Her mind would be otherwise engaged.
And what did she dream about? he wondered. A blissful peace had settled over her features as the wedding party gathered about her bed. Would she be glad for what he did for her now? Or would there be hell to pay when she awoke? Would she judge him as a man doing what he must to keep her safe, or as a beast forcing his will upon her?
Wolf frowned. What did it matter what she thought? Neither of them had a choice about their marriage. Beast or man, the outcome would be the same.
Unsettled by the direction of his thoughts, Wolf shifted his gaze to the room's other occupants. Walter stood at the foot of the bed, frowning at Isobel. This marriage would secure Walter's freedom, but he didn't look at all pleased. Brahan leaned quietly against the wall, a somber expression on his face. His friend knew what Wolf was capable of and did not judge him.
The worst judge of all stood on the far side of the chamber. Father Alasdair MacMurphy looked both bewildered and uncomfortable as he waited by the hearth, his hands worrying the pages of a Bible. No doubt trying to determine which persona to assume—preacher or savior.
Wolf had no need for either this eve. Once the service was through, he had a different service to perform, and it had nothing to do with being a bridegroom.
His hand strayed to the sword at his side. Blood would be spilled soon, but it would not be Isobel's. Grange would pay for whatever harm he had tried to inflict on his bride. Wolf looked at the company gathered about the bed. This woman was not just an abandoned girl from an isolated isle anymore. Soon she would be his wife, his kin.
He clamped his fingers about the hilt of his sword. The weapon used to bring a sense of comfort. Now it felt cold and destructive. That coldness had been enough for him until she was forcibly thrust into his life.
Without thinking about what he was doing for once, he moved to the bedside and sat beside Isobel. He drew her hand into his own. Her touch settled the chaos brewing inside him. It stayed him. In that whisper-soft touch he felt her warmth, her vitality, her essence.
Pure and gentle, and nothing that he deserved, yet she was part of the bargain he'd made with his father. Isobel for Walter. He found a certain peace in the thought that he'd been the winner on both counts.
All eyes in the room settled upon him. He could feel the curious gazes at this back. He did not move away, but neither did he move toward her. He simply stopped, giving in to the moment.
After one last breath, he drew his hand from hers. The warmth faded, leaving only the haunting chill that usually settled about his heart. "Let's get this over with." Intimacy faded, leaving only an empty irritation. Wolf signaled for the priest to come stand near the bedside.
Father MacMurphy trembled at the harshness in Wolf’s tone. "Really, my lord Wolf—I don't think—"
"Precisely. Do not think. Simply read the ceremony and say the right words in all the right places."
"But the legality—"
Wolf picked up the leather-encased document that bore his father's seal. "The king has sanctified this union. What further legalities do you need?"
"It... it isn't that. It's just. .."
"What? Speak up."
The priest clutched his Bible until his knuckles turned white. "You cannot force this woman into marriage. I need her consent. Until then it is not morally legal."
"Nonsense." Wolf felt his face harden. "It's been legal morally and otherwise, for centuries gone by. Why would this instance be any different?"
The priest blanched. "We will need a proxy for the girl."
Wolf’s gaze lit on Mistress Rowley. "Will you serve the role?"
She nodded. " 'Tis all right, Father. This marriage may not be the most conventional, but it is what is best for both parties involved."
"Perhaps." The skepticism in his tone hung in the air of the chamber as those in attendance gathered around the bed. "We shall proceed with a recounting of the dowry."
Wolf’s gaze moved to his bride. She brought nothing to the marriage except herself, compared to his many holdings and sources of income. Why acknowledge that fact? Even if she would never know the difference, he could save her that embarrassment at least. "There is no need to recount our holdings. Continue."
The contract was laid on a flat stand before him. Wolf gestured to Mistress Rowley to come forth and sign in Isobel's place. He placed the quill in her hand.
She hesitated above the parchment. "What is the mistress's full Christian name? I fear I do not know."
Wolf’s father had not revealed that information. It mattered not. "Lady Isobel will have to do."
Father MacMurphy frowned. "'Tis most unusual."
Wolf took the quill from Mistress Rowley, dipped it into the pot of ink, then signed his name to the document. "Proceed." The deed was almost done.
Father MacMurphy cleared his throat, then began droning the oft-repeated rites and vows of the marriage ceremony. He did not look at Wolf or at Isobel's prone figure. Instead he directed the promises of love, honor, and obedience to the floor. Only once did his gaze stray, to the shattered remnants of the chamber door. His words came to a halt. A scowl of disapproval lent a fleeting touch of animation to his face.
Wolf clenched his jaw. The man's opinion mattered not. "Get on with it." He kept his voice low, deceptively silky.
The priest flinched regardless. "Do you have a ring for the girl?"
Wolf withdrew from his sporran a simple gold band dotted with tiny sapphires. His mother's ring, one of the few pieces of jewelry she owned that had not come from his father. Instead, the ring had been passed down from mother to son for close to four hundred years. A great family heirloom. One that should be given to a bride he loved. And yet, as he gently eased the ring onto Isobel's finger, it seemed to belong there.
He looked back at the priest.
"By the powers vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."
His bride. An unusual sensation tightened his chest. He reached out to brush an errant lock of hair from her brow.
Her eyelids fluttered open, then closed, and she tried to lift her head.
He bent to give her a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek, but her lips called to him instead. Tenderly his mouth molded over hers. At the slight touch, his body weakened, feeling almost drugged. She tasted sweet, like the first nectar of spring. Her breath stirred against his mouth, and he pulled away, despite wanting nothing more than to feel her, taste her, experience all that she was, all she could become beneath his lips.
His heart thundered in his chest as he gave in once more, this time directing his kiss to the side of her cheek near her ear. "You're safe now," he whispered. "Grange will pay for the attacks he's brought upon you. I shall see to that."
She stirred. Her head moving toward him, toward his words, toward the warmth of his kiss.
All he had to do was lean forward to take her lips again. He stood, then headed for the door, desperate to escape the odd reaction he'd jus
t had to the woman who was now his wife. "Walter, come with me."
Brahan stepped toward Wolf, blocking his way. "We have to ask her about the Stone when she wakes."
"You can ask her."
Brahan frowned. "Where are you going?"
"Grange obviously has someone working with him here at the castle. I intend to find out who."
"Lady Fiona might have an idea since she oversees the kitchens."
"I shall speak with her eventually. For now, I shall start with the kitchen maid you saw in your vision. Perhaps she has some answers." Wolf glanced back at the bed that held his bride. "Stay with Isobel. I know she will be safe with you." At Brahan's nod, Wolf and Walter continued toward the door. Stopping, Wolf frowned at the splintered wood of the frame. "And get someone to fix this door."
The shackles had returned to her wrists. The icy chill of the tower seeped deep into her bones. Imprisoned and cold.
Izzy woke with a start, staring blindly into the darkness that surrounded her. She thrashed against her bindings, expecting to feel the tug of metal against her flesh, but her hand sailed easily through the air until it came to rest on the bedding beneath her.
It had only been a dream. She was no longer in the tower. She was in Wolf’s castle. Safe for now.
He had told her as much a short while ago. His honeyed voice had whispered those words close to her ear. A shudder ran through her at the memory.
She huddled down into the bed linens in an effort to warm herself. Why had he said that? She closed her eyes again, trying to remember what had happened through the throbbing ache at her temples. She remembered feeling dizzy. Pain had sliced through her stomach. Wolf’s arms had closed around her. The physician had forced a vile potion down her throat. Then the wedding ...
The wedding. Izzy tried to sit up. "It cannot be—"
"You're awake. Excellent."
Izzy opened her eyes to see Brahan lounging in a chair at her bedside, one leg thrown over the arm, his booted foot swinging.
Warrior's Bride Page 10
