Warrior's Bride

by Gerri Russell

  He had things to attend to before his father arrived.

  And so did she.

  Chapter Thirty

  It seemed to take an eternity before Brahan and the men arrived back at Duthus Castle, but when they did, Wolf was waiting.

  Leaden clouds hung in the late afternoon sky, and a soft drizzle settled across the outer bailey as Brahan and the other warriors crossed over the drawbridge and into the castle grounds. Brahan broke away from the other men, who headed for the stables. He brought his horse to a stop near Wolf. "Why are you out here waiting for me in the rain instead of warm and snuggled against your bride? Trouble in paradise so soon?"

  "I need to speak with you."

  "About your father?" Brahan dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to a waiting stablehand. "We sighted him and his army heading this way. They should reach the castle by nightfall."

  "I know."

  Brahan frowned. "You know?" His gaze narrowed on the small tuft of white at the side of Wolf’s temple. "You used the Stone."

  He nodded.

  "What else did you see?" Brahan's gaze moved beyond Wolf to the keep.

  "My own death by hang—"

  "Nay, that shall not be," Brahan cut in with sudden violence. "Not everything you see with the Stone is the truth. You should know that well."

  "The Stone helped me find Isobel. It foretold your arrival at the same location as Isobel. It showed Grange's death at my hands. ..." He paused, considering.

  "What is it?" Brahan asked.

  "I didn't kill Grange. Isobel did."

  The tension in Brahan's face relaxed, and the corner of his mouth pulled up in a half smile. "As I said, things do not always happen as they are shown. Isobel affected the course of that vision. The course of the future is already altered because of that one thing. The future you saw no longer exists."

  Wolf shook his head. "Perhaps. But you said so yourself, my father heads here now. So some part of the future I saw still exists. Which means I have to assume the worst and take care of certain things before he arrives here for me."

  "We will go to battle." Brahan turned back toward the men. "I shall have them ready before he arrives."

  Wolf caught Brahan's arm, halting him. "No more fighting."

  Brahan's eyes widened. "You will not fight even to save yourself?"

  "I shall not fight him any longer." Wolf released his hold on Brahan. "I am not afraid to die."

  "He has hurt you in so many ways over the years." Brahan's voice was low, barely discernible. "Don't let him hurt you anymore. Consider that you might not be thinking clearly."

  Wolf clenched his fists at his sides. "There is so much more at risk now. So many more people for him to hurt."

  "Isobel."

  "And you. And Walter. And anyone he thinks he can use to control my actions. I cannot allow that to happen again. Do you understand?"

  Brahan nodded as he looked off into the distance. "I don't like it."

  "Thank you, Brahan." Relief rushed through Wolf. "I must ask something else of you as well."

  Brahan's eyes glittered moistly as his gaze slid back to Wolf's. "I would do anything for you if it kept you here with us."

  For a moment, Wolf’s resolve faltered, until he remembered all that was at stake. "Take half the men and half the servants from Duthus Castle and go to Grange's castle. Send half his men and half his servants here."

  "Why?"

  "Crichton Castle will soon be yours. I have drawn up papers for the king to sign, giving you the castle, the lands, and a tide as repayment for your years of service to Scotland."

  "The king will never agree to that."

  "Aye, he will. I intend to make him an offer he can't refuse."

  "You'll give him your life."

  "That's what he's wanted for years."

  Brahan remained silent, his gaze on Wolf. A myriad of emotions passed over his features—disbelief, anger, hope, and finally acceptance—until, with a sigh, he ran a hand wearily through his hair. "As you wish."

  "Brahan MacGregor, I wish things could be different, but that is not to be. I need you and the others behind me if I am to leave Isobel with any sort of peace."

  "There is no sanity in what you ask or what you do now, but I shall do as you ask because you are my friend."

  Wolf nodded his thanks, unable to find the words to express his true gratitude.

  "When do I leave for this castle?"

  "On the morrow," Wolf said. "All should be finished by then."

  Brahan's gaze sharpened. "Don't make it easy for your father."

  "Nothing between us has ever been easy. Why would my own death be any different?"

  "I don't like it," Brahan repeated, his spine as rigid and unbending as the steely look in his eyes. He turned and strode toward the stable to vanish a moment later into the crowd of men who had served Wolf so well.

  One task accomplished. Two remained yet undone.

  Wolf did not have to go looking for Fiona. Instead, she found him.

  The paleness of her face told him something was terribly wrong. "What is it?" he asked.

  "Are you not angry with me?"

  "In truth, aye."

  Red spots of color came to her otherwise pale and bruised cheeks.

  "You've hurt so many people. I still don't understand why."

  "I needed the security Grange's money would give me."

  Wolf felt a moment's anger, but he pushed it away. He needed to keep his self-command intact, to deal with her quickly and move on. "So you became a spy and a murderess."

  Regret lingered in her eyes as she took a step closer. "I'm not proud of what I've become." Only a hair's breadth separated them now. He grasped her arms and set her away, but not before she reached for his sword, pulling the weapon free of its scabbard with a whoosh of sound.

  He reached for her, but she stepped away, out of his grasp. "Give me the sword, Fiona."

  "I shall give it to you if you promise to use it." Her gaze held a challenge.

  "Against my father?" he asked.

  She turned the weapon's hilt toward him. "On me. Take my life as a penance for all the bad I have done to you, to Isobel, to that poor serving girl, and everyone else who has crossed my path in the last score of years. Cut me down, I beg you. I deserve no less."

  She forced the weapon into his outstretched hand, then dropped to her knees, exposing the length of her neck to him. "I beg you to make it quick and clean."

  "Get up," he demanded, his tone harsh.

  She twisted toward him. He saw her face. Saw her eyes. Saw in every aspect of her body the regret that pulsed through her. He also saw grief. "Do it!" she shouted up at him, then choked out a sob.

  Wolf allowed the sword to slide from his fingers. It clattered against the ground as he bent down beside Fiona. On hands and knees, he reached for her slack fingers. "I shall not release you from your own guilt through death."

  He could see the burden of her guilt press down upon her, feel it in the shudder that coursed through her body as tears rolled down her cheeks. "I cannot live—" she sobbed, "with what I've done."

  "Aye, you can, and you will." He reached down and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb. "If you want to make something good of yourself from the bad, I shall give you that chance, but it will not be in death."

  "How do I find that redemption?" She sat back, staring up at him with a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "What can I do?"

  He offered her his hand and pulled her to her feet. "Go to Crichton Castle with Brahan. Help him establish order among Grange's people. You will have ample opportunity to find forgiveness as you train the servants in the proper running of a home."

  She looked skeptical. "That is not enough to make up for all the harm I've caused. I deserve to die."

  "Your death will serve no purpose other than to end your pain. Going with Brahan is a start at redemption, Fiona. The rest you will discover along the way."

  "What makes you think Grange's peo
ple will listen to me?"

  Wolf allowed himself a grin. "They probably won't at first. But that will be the challenge, won't it?" More seriously, he added, "Brahan will need your help. Don't disappoint him, and don't disappoint me."

  She nodded. "All right. I accept your challenge."

  "Very well. You will leave for the castle with the others on the morrow. Prepare yourself." Without waiting for a response, Wolf retrieved his sword and headed back to the keep.

  Two tasks done. One left.

  "Walter." Wolf stood at the door of the chapel, as amazed as he was curious at the sight before him. His brother knelt before the altar, his freshly shaven head bent in prayer. His garb had changed as well. He'd exchanged his tartan for a monk's robe.

  "What are you doing?" Wolf entered the chapel.

  "Praying for the salvation of my soul." Walter's eyes were shut and his head rested against his folded hands.

  Wolf knelt beside him. "Why now, when there have been so many other opportunities throughout the years?"

  "Something you said." Walter's voice sounded tight and almost raw, as though he spoke through a wall of restrained emotion.

  "When have I ever said anything that affected you one way or another?"

  Walter's head snapped up. His eyes filled with pain and remorse. "You said I needed to stop letting Father control me. You told me to look for the options in my life." His gaze slid away from Wolf’s to embrace the cross that hung above the altar. "I have searched for peace for so long, I hardly recognized it when I finally bund it right here in this chapel."

  Wolf frowned, confused by his brother's words. "Are you seeking forgiveness, Walter? Because if you are, I forgive you."

  "I need so much more than your forgiveness. I need salvation." Walter returned to his prayers, but not before Wolf caught the determination and passion in Water's gaze.

  "What if I offered you a chance to put that determination into service?"

  "How?" Walter's gaze remained fixed on the cross.

  "Stay here at the castle and serve my people, serve Isobel. The king will arrive soon, and I shall be charged with treason. Everything will be taken from me, unless you agree to step up and assume it all."

  "I shall be punished as well, for failing to kill your wife.

  "You followed father's command. How were you to know that Isobel would be the one to stop you with that bolt to your chest? You've done your duty."

  Walter shook his head. "He will never agree."

  "He will by the time I am through. Now, will you commit to guiding my people? You may focus on their spiritual journeys, if that is what you choose."

  Walter's gaze moved back to Wolf’s and filled with disbelief. "You would trust me to do that? Me?"

  Wolf smiled. "Only you."

  "Why?"

  He shrugged. "Who better to understand and guide those who stumble in life than someone who has stumbled as well?"

  "I shall need training."

  "Father MacMurphy will train you. I'll make certain of that."

  Walter's face brightened. "I won't disappoint you."

  "Nay," Wolf agreed. "I don't believe you will." He stood, then headed out the door. All his tasks were now complete. All that remained was to wait until his father arrived.

  At the thought his heartbeat faltered. He was tempted to go back to the chamber he shared with Isobel and spend the last few moments of his freedom losing himself in her sweetness.

  He started down the hallway to the solar before he forced his feet to stop. He gripped the stone wall for strength, for support. If he went to her now, it would make it that much harder to leave her when the time came. With an effort, he turned around, heading instead for the great hall.

  He still needed to speak with Mistress Rowley. With any luck he would find her there. If not, he would go to the lists and work out his aggressions at the end of a sword.

  Wolf found Mistress Rowley in the hall near the hearth, tending to the needs of the warriors who had battled against Grange's men.

  "How are they?" Wolf asked as he approached.

  "They are well," she whispered, "but they'd be better if they knew their lord would be with them to support them for years to come." She stood, stepping away from the warrior who slept on the pallet near the hearth's warmth.

  Word of his father's arrival had spread quickly. "I cannot stop the king from coming for me."

  Mistress Rowley stood before him, her hands perched on her hips. "Even in their battered condition, many of them want to fight on your behalf."

  "No more fighting."

  "Why?" Mistress Rowley's voice held a hint of desperation. "You've fought him all your life. Why stop now?"

  "Because the man finally did something good for me. He gave me Isobel."

  Mistress Rowley shook her head in dismay. "He threatened to kill her. He tried a time or two, as I recall." She leaned in closer, her gaze narrowing on his face. "Not that you have to explain yourself to me, my lord Wolf, but you had better if I'm to explain your reasons to her once you're gone."

  Blood pounded at his temples. Why did they all have to make this so hard? Did they not see he had no other choice? The king would rise again and again, like a bloody Phoenix, until he killed them all. "If I fight him, he still controls me and Isobel. If I don't, at least she'll be free."

  "Free for what?" Mistress Rowley pulled back, her eyes wide. "Free to mourn your loss every day of the rest of her life?" She shook her head in disbelief. "That girl loves you. Truly loves you. Do you know what a gift that is?"

  Wolf allowed her words to sweep over him with all their sweet, shattering power. Aye, he knew what a gift Isobel's love was. In the wake of his joy, an emptiness settled inside him, threatening to consume him with its intensity. He clenched his teeth against the pain. He would not trade a moment of the time they'd spent wrapped in each other's arms, of the secret smiles, the heartfelt words they had shared in order to extinguish his anguish now. He loved her. He loved her enough to keep her safe and at peace.

  He released a long, shuddering breath. "I cannot, I shall not turn away from my destiny." He twisted away and strode across the hall when the door to the keep swung open. A clarion's call preceded his father's entrance into the chamber.

  "Well, what have you to say for yourself?" King Robert II asked as he strolled into the chamber, followed by two guards. The nearly empty room suddenly filled with people. They entered from the doorway behind the king, from the inner doors leading from other sections of the castle, and from the stairs above, until it seemed as though all the castle's residents lined the stone walls. All the residents except one—Isobel.

  Wolf tried to mask the eviscerating pain that lanced through him at that moment. No amount of misuse on his father's part, or torture on Grange's, could equal the turmoil that made his legs weak and left his insides gutted. He longed to see her one last time. But such a thing was not to be. He did not blame her.

  The king strode forward and as he did, his subjects bowed, casting their gazes to the ground as the man passed them by. All except Wolf. His spine felt suddenly rigid and unbending. If his father wanted him to bow, he could strike him down at the knees.

  The king scowled, anger clotting his cheeks with high color. "You challenged my authority in the battle with Grange."

  "Aye." His body felt numbed, dulled, as though nothing this man said could hurt him anymore.

  "I could have you hanged for such an offense."

  "I expected you might"

  "You've left me few options, boy." The king searched his face. What did he search for? Regret? Remorse?

  "I know." Wolf hardened his gaze until he was certain it was not only cool but as cold as ice—the kind of ice that burns.

  His father flinched at the effect "You've left me no option but to have you arrested for treason."

  Wolf nodded. "And I shall go willingly if you sign these two deeds." He motioned toward the table near the hearth. "One will bestow Grange's castle as well as a title
upon Brahan for his service to Scotland. The other allows my lands to pass to Walter and Isobel jointly upon my death."

  A deep frown etched across the king's face. "Why would I sign either of those?"

  Wolf allowed himself a small smile. "Because I saved your life when I refused to fight My treason served you well. If we had charged into battle as you had planned, you would be dead. Grange set up an ambush. By not engaging in that battle, I saved your life and kept your reputation."

  The king's face paled. "You have no proof of that."

  Wolf looked beyond the king and signaled for one of Grange's former lieutenants to come forward. He offered the king a bow.

  "Angus, recount for the king what you told me."

  " 'Tis true, Your Grace. Grange would have killed you. We were all there, hiding, waiting to trap you in the valley below. It would have been a massacre. When Wolf left with his men, you also withdrew. We never attacked because you held the advantage by virtue of the terrain."

  The king waved a dismissive hand in the air. "That is hearsay. No one here will testify that is the truth."

  "Aye, but they will," Wolf countered. "Grange's men who returned with me signed a statement claiming that as the truth—a statement that I have since sent to the Bishop of Cromarty for safekeeping should you go back on your word after my death."

  "Damn you, boy."

  "Aye, I have been damned for years by you. Now sign the deeds."

  With a growl of displeasure, the king stepped up to the table. After dipping the quill in ink, he placed his signature on each deed.

  The king's mouth compressed. " 'Tis done, and we can proceed with what I came here to do." He nodded to the two guards who had followed him inside. They strode forward, one on each side of Wolf, and bound his hands behind his back.

  One of the guards stepped back and in a loud voice proclaimed, "Douglas Moraer Stewart, you are hereby charged with treason against the crown."

  Chapter Thirty-one