Warrior's Bride

by Gerri Russell

  No matter what his senses told him, his eyes gave evidence that his men needed a break. "We will rest a moment before we continue on." Wolf dismounted and encouraged his men to do the same.

  The afternoon sun stretched high overhead, chasing away the last of the morning mist. Evidence that the storm had passed during the night. And still, he could not shake the sensation that something else was wrong. He tensed, his senses on alert, like a beast catching scent on the wind. What was it he sensed but could not identify?

  After hobbling the horses in a grassy area where they could graze, Brahan came to join Wolf. "The men are grateful for the respite."

  "The pass cut off half day's journey. They deserve it."

  Brahan wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand as he studied Wolf’s face. "What's wrong?"

  Wolf kept his eyes trained on the forest beyond. "I don't know exactly, but my senses tell me it's something dangerous and deadly."

  Brahan's frown deepened. "I thought I was the visionary here."

  Again, the eerie sensation crawled along the back of Wolf’s neck, feeling like a deadly spider unleashed from its web. "It has to be Isobel."

  "What makes you so certain?"

  Wolf clenched his fists at his sides. "I am not certain of anything anymore except that Isobel needs me."

  Brahan nodded. "I'll gather the men, and we will ride out." He turned away, but Wolf stalled him with a hand on his arm.

  "Nay." Wolf shook his head. "Let them rest. I'll go alone."

  Brahan's brow rose in question. "Is that wise?"

  "Nay," Wolf said without guile. "But something in my gut tells me to leave, now."

  "All right," Brahan agreed. "The men and I shall follow as soon as we're able."

  With each beat of his heart, the sensation of impending doom intensified until Wolf's nerves were stretched so tight, he wanted to lash out against the pain. "Until then," he called over his shoulder as he raced for his horse. He leapt onto the animal's back and pressed his heels to its sides. The animal sensed the urgency within its master and plunged through the meadow and into the forest.

  Isobel.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Walter knelt on the cold stone floor of the chapel and set his crossbow in front of him. For a long moment he merely knelt there, his hands clasped, staring blindly into the prisms of multicolored light that bathed the altar in hues of blue and green and red.

  He had come here not for himself, but for his brother. He knew his brother much better than most, and he knew that the girl he must now kill had crept into the recesses of Wolf’s much-protected heart.

  His brother would never forgive such a betrayal.

  Walter squeezed his eyes closed, twisting his hands together until pain radiated up his arms. Desperation and anger and fear all coiled together. So much pain, so much deception, so much blood would spill, and for what end?

  Defying his father's orders would only bring certain death—his own. Yet obeying them would bring death as well. "I walk along the blade of a sword," he whispered into the soft silence. He bowed his head, sliding out of desperation and into prayer. He attempted to think of the words, trying without success to make his jaw move properly. It all made so little sense, to destroy a life only to gain another's obedience. Would the control their father held over them ever end?

  "Help me," Walter finally mouthed the words. He hoped the simple words would do, be heard, and a response sent.

  He brought his hands up to cover his face, to physically hold back the eruption of emotion that threatened.

  He needed a solution. He asked for help. He waited for a sign.

  Isobel stood in the center of the dreary and desolate outer bailey, allowing her eyes to adjust to the heavy gloom of the late afternoon. Storm clouds gathered overhead again, as they had since Wolf left two days earlier. She lifted one shoulder in an attempt to adjust the heavy mail biting through her linen shift and into her flesh. She had put on the garment underneath her clothing as she had seen Wolf do. She wanted the protection to go unnoticed beneath her fine gown.

  From deep inside she summoned the courage to see her ruse through. Isobel closed her eyes, and instead of focusing on what was to come, she allowed herself an indulgence in the here and now. She drew in the sweet scent of rain, of the damp earth, of the gorse and heather and granite hills beyond. Different smells than those on the isle she used to call home. Yet these scents crept deep inside. The newly discovered scents of home.

  Her eyes snapped open. Someone threatened her home and the people she loved. She tightened her fingers around the crossbow in her hands, wishing she was twining her fingers with Wolf’s instead.

  She loved him. The realization tumbled through her at the same moment that another rumble of thunder shook the ground beneath her feet. The wind picked up and a chill crept across the bailey. Yet a warm, liquid, honeyed heat spread beneath her skin, warding off the cold.

  She would do anything to keep what she had—a husband, a family, kin. And to make certain nothing else stood in her way, she needed to be honest with all of them. She had to tell Wolf and the others who she was. Even if that meant losing everything, she would tell him the truth the moment she saw him again.

  If she ever saw him again.

  Isobel forced the thought away as she moved through the bailey until she stood fifty paces from the open gate. She had to be strong—now more than ever. Whether the threat came from inside or outside the castle, this position would give her equal opportunity to defend herself while revealing who threatened her newfound kin.

  Isobel drew her shoulders back, waiting. She had sent everyone else into the keep and made them vow to lock and brace the doors. Over their objections, she had persisted until they'd had no choice but to agree, securing their safety. She could place herself in harm's way, knowing that her kin were safe in Wolf’s stronghold.

  Her gaze fastened on the open gate. What would she do, how would she react when she saw her father face to face for the first time? Would she even recognize him?

  A flash of lightning made her start. She gripped the crossbow in her hands, using it to center her nerves. Whether she recognized his face or not, she would recognize other aspects of him—his cruelty, his temper, his deviousness. Her mother had warned her often of those qualities.

  Another rumble of thunder filled the bailey, sounding far away and right on top of her all at once. Again, a moment of unease worked its way into her thoughts. Nature's sounds would cover all noise. There would be no way to hear her opponent's approach.

  Great black clouds choked the sky overhead, smothering what remained of the daylight, pitching the bailey in semidarkness. She should have brought a torch or a lantern, she realized too late.

  Before her eyes could adjust to the dim light, she felt another's presence. To her right, something shifted in the grayness. Before she had a chance to respond, a tall, shadowy figure appeared not twenty paces from her.

  On instinct, she brought the crossbow up to her chest. She had no time to measure the distance or aim with any skill. She released the bolt and hoped it would find its target.

  And just as the bolt took flight, so did she. A force came at her from the right, knocking her off her feet. Her crossbow flew from her grasp as she hit the ground, hard. Pain reverberated up and down her side as the chain mail she wore dug into her flesh. A sea of yellow cloth covered her face as she struggled to fill her lungs, fighting a wave of dizziness.

  A grunt of pain sounded off to her left. A sound that had not come from herself. Had her weapon found its target? She had to find out who it was. She tried to move, tried to crawl out from under the fabric that blinded her and the heaviness that trapped her against the ground, but she could not. Her lungs burned at the effort. She drew in one painful breath, then another.

  As the dizziness receded from her brain, she realized the heaviness on her right side was not of her own making.

  Hesitantly, she reached out. Her hand connected wit
h warm flesh. Isobel gasped, not expecting that.

  "Quiet," a feminine voice hissed close to Isobel's ear. "Make a sound or move and you die."

  The grunting off in the distance became a groan, then a low, unearthly howl that caused the hairs on the back of Isobel's neck to tingle. She lay still despite the pressure on her side that forced her elbow painfully into the rocky ground.

  "I cannot do it!" a male voice cried out, and a single set of footsteps retreated from where she lay, heading back toward the keep. One of the villains was escaping; the other held her trapped. Isobel refused to acknowledge the tightness in her chest. Instead she gathered her strength and with a lunge, forced off the obstruction that held her down.

  She scrambled to her feet, searching the ground for her crossbow. The grayness overhead plunged the bailey in shadow, making it difficult to see anything other than a second gray shape that also rose to its feet.

  "I am no threat, you stupid girl. I've come to save your life. But even that will be impossible if you don't follow me."

  "Fiona?"

  "I am here to help."

  Thunder rumbled all around them, charging the air with tension. "Why should I trust you?"

  A flash of pale blue-gray light filled the sky and Isobel saw Fiona clearly, her face filled with remorse. "I've given you no reason to trust me. But I'm asking you to do it, nonetheless."

  Isobel regarded her critically. "Who attacked me? You?"

  "I suspect it was Walter."

  "Walter? Why?"

  Fiona shook her head. "I don't know. But I do know you are still in danger. There's no time to waste."

  A low rumble of thunder sounded again, a slowly building sound, growing deeper, richer, more intense.

  Isobel remained where she stood. "Did you kill the kitchen maid?"

  "We don't have time for this." A flash of panic crossed Fiona's face. "Do you hear them now?"

  Again, a rumble came from the distance, growing louder. "What?"

  "The horses. His men are coming and they are coming for you."

  Hoofbeats thundered just outside the castle gates. The gates she'd left open to invite her enemy inside. Her heartbeat thudded dully in Isobel's ears as she scanned the bailey searching for her weapon.

  "Your crossbow will not help you this time, not against all those men."

  Isobel knew Fiona was right. She had prepared herself to face one opponent, not many.

  A flash of lightning cut through the darkness, followed immediately by the roll of thunder, drowning out the frightened cries of the animals and the shouts of the attackers. Approaching the gate, Isobel could see the shadows of men on horseback. They appeared like mystical creatures emerging from a void of nothingness.

  "Lead on," Isobel replied. Her chances of escaping Fiona were far greater than escaping a dozen or more men.

  Fiona turned and raced through the shadows to the southeast tower. Isobel followed. Once inside the circular stone building, Fiona shut and bolted the door before heading up the spiraling stone staircase. "This way."

  A sense of impending danger made Isobel pause. She pressed her palm against the doorway, feeling the pulse of the thundering hoofbeats just beyond. Were they friend or foe? It was hard to tell one from the other anymore.

  "Hurry," Fiona urged. A look of concern brought her finely etched brows together.

  Isobel hitched up the hem of her gown and ran up the stairs. In the tower room above, Fiona retrieved a length of thick rope from near the arrow slits. "We will have to lower ourselves down over the curtain wall. It won't take them long to figure out you are not here. We must move quickly."

  Again, a niggling sense of doubt plagued Isobel. "Who, Fiona? It won't take who long?"

  "The men who want to kill you." She turned her back to Isobel, wrestling with the rope, trying to shift it to the doorway leading out to the wall walk. "Help me lift this rope."

  Isobel remained where she stood. "I need answers before I go any farther."

  Fiona's gaze moved to the stairwell. "That door will not hold them off for long once they discover you are missing. They will search everywhere."

  "I'm willing to take that chance. Are you?"

  Fiona released an irritated growl. "They are a group of mercenaries who know who you really are and want to make certain that you never have a chance to make a claim for the throne of Scotland. They were sent by the king to finish the job if Walter was unwilling or unable to kill you."

  A cold chill crept down Isobel's spine. Fiona and now others knew the truth of her birth. How?

  "The man who was your mother's caretaker revealed your secret," Fiona explained, as if she'd read Isobel's thoughts.

  The air in the tower room suddenly stilled. A tightness clenched Isobel's chest, spreading across her ribs. She tried to draw in a breath, but her lungs refused to cooperate. Darkness narrowed her view of the room. Fear gripped her, twisted inside her. On sheer will alone, she staggered to the arrow slits. Forcing her panic aside, she drew in a shuddering breath. She had to remain calm. She had to maintain reason.

  Isobel clenched her right wrist with her left hand and massaged the abused flesh there, reminding herself that she was no longer a prisoner, would never be again, as long as she had strength and reason on her side. "I... I pose no threat to anyone."

  Fiona's bitter laugh hung in the tension-filled air. "How could you possibly say that? You are a Balliol, married to a Stewart."

  A stab of numbness returned. "What did you say?"

  Fiona's gaze became hard. "You married a Stewart. The favored bastard son of our current king."

  A whisper-soft silence hovered in the air as Isobel grappled with Fiona's words. The king's son. And suddenly it all made sense. Wolf’s odd behavior in his secret lair, when she'd said there were secrets between them. She'd meant her own, but had he misinterpreted her words? Did his own guilt weigh as heavy on him as hers did on her?

  And what about her secrets? Did he know who she was already? Or did that secret still hang between them, waiting to be revealed?

  Isobel brought her gaze back to Fiona. "How do you know who I am?"

  The hardness in Fiona's gaze vanished, and her shoulders slumped. "I have done some terrible things in my life. Things I am not proud of. For years now, I have worked the three men in my life to my own advantage."

  "Three men?" Isobel asked, uncertain of what any of this information had to do with her or her past

  Fiona's gaze shifted between the stairwell and the rope in her hands. "I shall explain everything later. We must hurry."

  Isobel folded her hands over her chest. "Explain now, Fiona, or I shall go nowhere with you."

  Fiona released a heavy sigh. "I have played Wolf against his father and Lord Grange for years."

  "Lord Grange?" Isobel brought her fingers to her lips, trying to hold back the flood of emotion that threatened. "Why would you do that?"

  Fiona shrugged. "I was protecting myself. I needed money. The reasons seemed good at the time." She turned away. "It doesn't matter now."

  Isobel grabbed Fiona's arm. "How did you figure out who I really am?"

  "I overhead Eldon MacDonald reveal your birth to Grange."

  "And the king? How did he find out?"

  "I sold him the information."

  "Does Wolf know who I am?"

  Fiona shook her head. "Nay. Wolf knows nothing of your parentage."

  Relief washed over Isobel with such force that tears came to her eyes. "So it is my father who's trying to kill me and Wolf."

  Fiona shook her head. "Your father wants you alive. Through you he intends to steal the throne from the Stewarts."

  A numbness drifted through Isobel, weighing her down, making it hard to focus her thoughts. "My father has been trying to kill Wolf, while his father has been trying to kill me." Their fathers had doomed them to disaster. As had the secrets they both withheld.

  What about those secrets? Did she care who he had been born to, or what his surname was? Did it,
in any way, change the man she had come to know and care about?

  Nay. A warm flush of hope rose in her cheeks. Would he feel the same when she told him about her own father? Could there be hope for the future yet? Isobel squared her shoulders and moved to where the rope lay waiting. She would do whatever she had to do to see that they got the chance to at least try. Even if that meant going along with Fiona now. "Let's go."

  Together, she and Fiona carried the rope to the wall walk. Isobel tied one end of the rope around the closest stone crenellation. "You go first," she said to Fiona once the knot had been tightly secured.

  Fiona didn't argue. She grasped the rope and lowered herself over the wall. Isobel watched her descend. Knowing she could move faster without the heavy mail shirt obstructing her movements, Isobel drew the shirt off, then tossed it aside. As soon as Fiona's feet touched the ground, Isobel pulled herself up onto the edge of the castle wall. With her heartbeat thundering in her chest, she grasped the coarse rope between her hands and allowed her body to slide down the cool stone wall, not stopping for a moment to think about what she was doing or what might happen to them if they were caught.

  When her booted toes touched the solid ground, she breathed a thankful sigh but did not give herself time to celebrate their success. The shelter of the trees was still far off in the distance. They would have to race across the open ground and pray that no one noticed their shadows fleeing over the wide-open space.

  A twinge of fear threatened, but Isobel pushed it away. They had to keep going. To the trees." She gathered the folds of her skirt in her hands and dashed across the open land.

  In that moment, the clouds parted and the sun appeared, ripe and glistening above the trees, bathing the open ground and the forest beyond it in rays of yellow-gold light. The branches of the trees were etched against the grayness in an eerie relief, making the trees appear like the bones of ancient skeletons. Isobel's steps faltered. Were these ancient and gnarled works of nature guarding against trespassers, or would they protect two women fleeing death?