Warrior's Bride

by Gerri Russell

  "They will have none but you. After all, you are the lord here," she said with a bland smile.

  "I must go." Wolf turned away and strode toward Isobel.

  "Where?" Fiona's tone sharpened.

  "I am taking Isobel for a ride. It is time that the new mistress of this castle saw the land she must now govern along with her husband."

  Isobel's head came up. She stared at him in surprise.

  "You are needed here," Fiona said through gritted teeth.

  "Isobel, will you ride with me today, outside the castle walls?" He had scouted his land earlier for signs of Grange or his henchmen and had found none. "My men and I shall keep you safe."

  Fiona tried to interrupt. He darted her a cold glance. "I wish to show you my land, Isobel. Come with me." His expression softened as he looked back at his wife.

  "You are asking me?" Stunned disbelief lingered in her voice.

  He smiled, touched by the surprise that widened her eyes. "I have been too demanding of late, and aye, I am asking for the pleasure of your company."

  She hesitated, then gave a slight nod. Surprise shifted to pleasure in her gaze, and an answering smile came to her lips.

  "Wolfie, you must come to the castle," Fiona protested.

  Her words faded into the background as he held out his hand to Isobel. Deep inside he felt something pull tight. He knew he had a responsibility here, but suddenly he didn't care. Her fingers stretched out to meet his. Only a heartbeat separated him from turning away from a lifetime of doing what others asked of him instead of what he wanted to do. Her fingers came around his, steady and strong. He clung to her grip, finding strength in the warmth of her touch.

  He needed this time with her more than he needed his next breath. He wasn't abandoning his duties forever. He only needed a short while to revel in Isobel's presence, to replace the sadness he'd seen in her eyes when she spoke of her father with joy.

  He did not have much to share with her, but he could share his love of this land. He wanted her to experience the scent of the rain, of the damp earth, of the gorse and the heather and the granite. The sweet scent of the thistle and the way it prickled against a bare leg. He wanted to surround her in the tang of the pine, the fir, the cattle—the shaggy red-coated beasts with wicked horns upon their heads. Together they would sit on the hillside and listen to the call of the eagle and the babble of the brook. And he would speak to her in Gaelic ... about the things he wished he had time to do, to see, and experience....

  He held her hand and strode with her in the direction of the stables. As he passed Fiona, he paused. "We will speak when I return."

  Isobel fell in step beside him, seeming as eager as he to leave behind the castle and all who lived there.

  A quiet peacefulness stole over Wolf with each footstep he put between himself, Fiona, and the castle. He had made the right decision to get away for a time.

  Nothing would go wrong if he ignored his duties for just a short while.

  She had lost him.

  "Nay," Fiona vowed as Wolf and Isobel walked away. "I shall never lose him."

  She thought about the lies she'd told, the evil she'd done to win him, to share his bed, the things she still did to try to keep him there. She hated herself for what she'd allowed her previous protector to do to her—and she almost hated Wolf for making her want him enough to do it.

  She watched as he slipped an arm around the scrawny girl's waist and drew her against his side. She did not miss the tenderness of the motion, nor the intensity of his gaze as he turned to look down upon the girl as they disappeared inside the stable.

  Rage, hot and hard, erupted inside her. He'd never spared such a look for her. Never.

  Yes, he'd cared for her every need and given her the kind of freedom she'd never dreamed of having. But she yearned for his touch. His presence near her, beside hers was a kind of salve that eased away the vileness she'd allowed to overtake her life. Without him, the poison of her actions would kill her.

  She needed him. And by God, she'd have him. He might be done with her, but she most certainly was not done with him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Izzy had never experienced anything like it. The day had been pure bliss. She and Wolf had ridden alone together to a place not far from his castle, yet looking at the ancient beauty of the green hills and craggy mountains, it felt as though they'd slipped into a private domain.

  Izzy curled up upon the grass near the brook that gurgled quietly beside her and soaked up the sunshine like a sleepy cat. It was a moment of blissful ignorance—time apart from all the deceptions, the pain of the past, the uncertainty of the future.

  Dappled sunshine filtered through the shrubbery at the water's edge, sending glimmers of light to dance upon the surface like twinkling jewels. To Izzy, it was a gift more precious than real stones. As the light glittered and faded, she felt a sense of peace, of security, and even happiness that chased the shadows from her mind.

  The moment might be fleeting—but it was hers for now. She drew a deep breath of the heather-scented air and tried to etch this moment on her memory.

  "You look happy," Wolf said as he sat down beside her, his hard, muscular thighs resting against her hip. The clean, spicy scent of him stirred her senses in ways she couldn't comprehend. Her heart hammered in her chest and her awareness of the beauty around her faded away until there was only him.

  She tried to force herself to remember the past—the darkness of the tower, the decaying scent of her own flesh, the pain of her bindings, her mother's insanity, yet none of it seemed to pierce the sensual warmth he created with his presence.

  What was happening to her? "Why are we here?" she asked, even though her tongue felt heavy and slow.

  His mouth curved into a devastating smile. "We are both going to leave it all behind. Just for a moment."

  "But why me and not Fiona?" she blurted. She dropped her gaze from his, no longer able or willing to see what she would read in his eyes.

  He placed a finger beneath her chin and tilted up her head until she looked in his eyes. "Fiona is not my bride. You are." His smile shifted to a grin of satisfaction.

  "Are you happy with this arrangement?" Again, she flinched, wondering what possessed her to speak so honestly with him. She had everything to lose by such forthright talk. Upon their arrival, she had wanted nothing more than to be freed. Now she wasn't so certain leaving was the answer.

  "I've grown accustomed to the thought." He offered her a teasing grin this time.

  Her stomach fluttered in response. He was melting her, disarming her defenses, and with a start she realized she didn't mind at all.

  He swayed forward, and she felt the brush of his lips skim her cheek, an unspoken pact between them. He extended his hand. "Walk with me. I want to show you something."

  Izzy swallowed and slipped her hand into his. His strong fingers closed around hers as he drew her to her feet and steered her toward a path that followed the water's edge. "Where are we going?"

  "Do you trust me?" he asked.

  "Aye," she replied without thinking. Her next step faltered and she nearly tripped.

  "Steady there." His hands snaked out to grasp her waist.

  She nodded her thanks and eased out of his grasp. "It must have been a rock."

  He smiled, but said no more, simply took her hand and continued down the path. The sound of the water as it flowed over the rocky creek bed filled the silence that had fallen between them.

  They walked in companionable silence for several minutes until they came to a widening in the path made even more defined by the hedging that cropped up beside the pebbled pathway. The road continued to widen until a small house appeared in the distance.

  "A house?" Izzy said, her voice filled with surprise.

  "Come." Wolf tugged her arm gently as he increased his pace to a brisk walk—nearly running. A soft smile broke out across his face, illuminating his features with almost boyish glee.

  "What is this pl
ace?" she asked when they reached the front walkway.

  He stopped, forcing her to do the same. "Where I grew up. It is my home."

  Pride laced his words. The small but neatly trimmed house was neither as elegant nor as noble as Duthus Castle, yet she felt the warmth of his pride flow through her. He'd had a happy childhood here. "Who lives here now?"

  "No one. My mother used to, but she died nearly five years ago." Before she could respond, he steered her around the side of the house to where the trees sprang up alongside the brook. "This is what I wanted to show you." He stopped before the sturdy trunk of a rowan tree.

  A tree? "Oh, it's very ... big."

  He laughed richly. "Not the tree. The ladder and more." He motioned toward a series of wood slats attached to the tree's trunk. Her gaze followed along the muscled curve of his arm and over his strong hand to the structure that hovered overhead. Built into the branches of the tree, it appeared like an extension of it—made more by nature than by man.

  "I built this myself when I was only a lad."

  Izzy could feel the walls of her defenses tumbling down with each new revelation. He was sharing his life, his past with her. Why? They were already married. He did not have to woo her. She was already his. And yet, he was. He had made every attempt to put her at ease today. He'd even stood up to Fiona and promised things would change.

  "Would you like to go up?"

  "There is more?"

  He nodded, and with a hand on her back, guided her up the makeshift ladder and into the bows of the tree. Wolf followed behind and helped her up onto a solid wooden landing rimmed with rails that hugged the structure, adding warmth and an invitation to come inside.

  Wolf reached around her and swung open the arched door, but not before she had a chance to see the exquisite detail etched into the dark surface. A dragon filled the scene, its scaled body and swirling tail nearly leapt from the carving with richness and life. Her gaze swept past the doorway inside.

  "Go in," he encouraged.

  She paused, as her stomach suddenly fluttered and fear froze her limbs as she surveyed the darkened interior.

  Wolf must have sensed her sudden distress. He brushed past her. A moment later, shafts of golden sunlight spilled through the room, edging out the darkness and her fears.

  Izzy stepped inside and paused yet again. Her gaze moved about the circular room, was pulled into it with a sense of awe and wonder. Never had she seen its like. Two chairs, a table, and two benches made from bent and highly polished tree branches were scattered about the room. The branches were artistically woven together to create high, arching backs and sturdy seats, worthy of a fairy king.

  The wooden floors were smothered in thick fur pelts to keep out the chill of the night and add softness to the day. But most breathtaking of all was the ceiling. Branches had been woven together high overhead to create a tight shield against moody Scottish storms. On the smaller branches where there would have been leaves, drops of liquid color glittered in the afternoon sun.

  Suspended as though floating on air were glass bulbs of green and gold and amber and red, sending prisms of light and color against every surface in the small room. The room breathed of life, of vitality, of creativity and warmth.

  "You did this?" she asked, as a cacophony of discordant emotions skittered through her. "You created this beauty?"

  He nodded, his gaze fixed on her face as though he were experiencing a similar joy as she was simply by watching her reaction to what he had done.

  "How? Why?"

  Again, he shrugged. "This is my home and my special place."

  A pang of longing shot through Izzy. What would it be like to have a home, a family you cared about and who cared about you?

  Did he offer her that now?

  "It's beautiful." Such a bond was too much to hope for, too much of a risk to take. Reaching up, she brushed her fingers against one of the drops of color overhead. Hard and cool, yet filled with life. She never would have thought such a thing was possible if she hadn't seen it herself.

  Perhaps other things are possible as well, a voice inside her challenged. Tell him about yourself. Tell him about the trapped little girl who used to stare out the tower's arrow slits dreaming of something more from her life. The words sat on the tip of her tongue, but they would not slide into speech. Exposing herself like that, laying herself open to his rejection, could be her undoing.

  She wasn't willing to give him that much power over her. She turned to him. He watched her, his face puzzled, as though he, too, were assessing whether or not to confide in her.

  "Isobel. I need to leave you on the morrow. I've avoided my duties today, which means they will be all the more pressing tomorrow."

  "Might I come with you?"

  "Nay," he said harshly, then softened his tone at her startled reaction. "I must leave to pursue a matter of honor with an enemy of mine."

  A memory came forward. He'd whispered something in her ear while she'd lain in bed, suffering the poison's effects. What had he said? And suddenly she knew. He'd said something about her father, Lord Grange. "Must you go?" Fear for him motivated her bold words.

  "You wish me to stay?" His brow rose in question.

  Heat rose to her cheeks. "I merely meant... sometimes it is better to ignore one's enemies—"

  "Grange is not a man to be ignored." A pulse beat in his suddenly clenched jaw.

  She knew the truth of that statement. But her father was also dangerous and unpredictable, as her mother had always warned. Izzy swallowed hard. "It's just that... I know him. He—"

  "It is up to me to put him in his place." Wolf's features hardened, and he gestured toward the door. "We should go."

  She moved to the door before turning back to him. Nothing she could say would stop him from going except perhaps the truth. Could she tell him about her father, his enemy? Or would that knowledge make her his enemy as well? Unsettled by the thought, she moved down the wooden ladder. At the bottom she waited until he stood beside her. Regardless of how this time together had ended, these stolen moments had been magical for her, and she wanted to let him know that. "Thank you for sharing this with me." She nodded up at the tree. "I feel lucky to be one of the people you've shared your secret place with."

  For a moment his features softened. "I've never shared it with anyone else—not even my family," he said, and a touch of surprise laced his words.

  A strange tingle filled her at his admission. Her husband had shared a piece of himself with her that he had never revealed to anyone else before. That knowledge warmed her all the way back to the castle.

  Lurking behind the trees, a shadowy figure watched Wolf and the girl climb out of the tree and hasten down the path back to the fortress beyond. Even as they vanished, an image stayed imprinted upon his mind. The look in the girl's eyes as she gazed at that bastard. It was a look he'd seen very few times in his life, but one he never mistook—passion, true and simple.

  He clamped his fists around the crossbow in his hands, letting the pain focus him, control the anger that threatened to break free. "Damn you," he whispered, his voice as icy as his heart.

  The girl was his to do with as he wished. A stinging pain pierced his heated rage. His hand throbbed beneath the viselike grip he held on his weapon. Droplets of crimson blood seeped through the seams of his fingers, fanning out across the back of his hand to fall upon the ground.

  The man only smiled. There would be blood, all right, and plenty of it before he was through. The Black Wolf of Scotland would be the first to pay. Once he was out of the way, the girl would be easy prey.

  He was tired of the failures of all the others he had employed to do his bidding. He'd take charge himself and see the deed done.

  He'd take what he wanted, what he deserved. He'd lived in the shadows for too long now. It was time to strike hard and fast And this time no one would stand in his way. No one.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Moonlight shimmered through the open window, ca
sting a silvery glow about the room and across the woven rush mats spread about the laird's solar. Fiona followed the beam of moonlight with her fingers as it passed through the heavy night air and onto the coverlet of Wolf's bed. The lord and his new bride dined below.

  Any moment now that would change. A few coins to the right servant would see that Wolf came up to the solar—alone. She smoothed the gold linen sheets with trembling fingers, waiting for the door to open, waiting for him to come back where he belonged. She did not want to think about where he had been today, or with whom. Fiona's hands slowly clenched into fists as a poisonous twist of jealousy curled inside.

  A soft click sounded at the door and her heart thumped in her chest. The time had come. The door slowly opened. She disentangled her fingers from the sheets and draped her naked body into an enticing pose.

  Silhouetted in the doorway, Wolf stopped. His gaze traveled slowly over her feet, up her leg, and across her abdomen and breast until he reached her face. His eyes were as dark as the depths of night. No passion lingered there as it once did. Instead, the harsh lines of his face spoke more loudly than words that he was not pleased with her.

  "Dress yourself." His words were like ice.

  She forced a nonchalant smile. "Funny, you used to tell me that after we satisfied our passion, not before." When she made no move to cover herself, he strode to the bedside and tossed a woolen blanket over her, shrouding the only weapon she had left in her arsenal.

  "You might find her intriguing now, but mark my words, you'll tire of her after you've bedded her once. The girl has no more meat on her bones than her scrawny little fowl. What do you see in her?" she blurted out before she could pull back the angry words.

  "She is my wife."

  He said the words lightly, but she could read the warning in his eyes. She was treading on unsteady ground, yet she could not stop. "She is only yours on paper, Wolfie. I can offer you so much more. I shall not deny that I had hoped to be your bride, but the idea of being your mistress holds a certain appeal as well." She threw back the blanket that covered her and slid one hand down the shapely arch of her hip and down to the creamy flesh of her thigh.