Tournament of Hearts

by Alyssa Stark

  Never in her life had she felt more content that she did at this very moment. Feeling the palpable strength of her husband, sleeping in the safety of his strong arms was pure bliss.

  She was a married woman, the wife of the Laird. Isobel studied Tristan’s face. He would make an excellent Laird and together they would make her father proud. Tristan was a natural leader of men and she knew that he would work tirelessly to uphold her father’s memory.

  Isobel snuggled against Tristan. She closed her eyes and wished that they could stay in this fragile bubble of happiness forever.

  ..ooOOoo..

  “They’ve come! The Grants are attacking the keep!” Brandon screamed as he pounded against Tristan and Isobel’s chamber door.

  Tristan sprung from the bed and hastily pulled on his kilt.

  “Cover yerself!” he said to Isobel as he cast her a mournful look. His heart beat wildly in his chest. His precious wife was in danger. The clan was in danger and it was now his duty to protect Clan McLaughlin.

  Isobel pulled the quilts up over her naked body. She watched in horror as Tristan dressed hastily and opened the door.

  Brennan stood wide eyed in the corridor.

  “They’ve come by the hundreds, Tristan! I’ve rung the bells. Rogan and Hector will be readying the men.”

  “We will defend what is ours!” Tristan roared as he tucked his dagger and sword into his belt. He grabbed his cousin by the shoulders, looking him intently in the eye. “Protect my wife as we spoke of. Tell no one of where you are going.”

  “No!” Isobel screamed. “I’ll stay here with you! I’ll not leave!”

  “You will do as I bid!” Tristan ordered, his eyes challenging Isobel against disobeying.

  Isobel’s heart thundered in her chest as fear gripped her. In the span of only a moment, Tristan had turned from a tender lover into a powerful warrior.

  She was afraid that she would lose him.

  “Now is not the time to argue, love,” Tristan said, his voice softening as he saw the fear in Isobel’s eyes. “Tis for your safety!” he added, shaking his head to discourage Isobel from pressing the issue further.

  “I don’t want to leave you!” she cried.

  “Leave us for a moment,” Tristan commanded dismissively as he ushered Brandon into the corridor.

  Isobel leapt from the bed and pulled on her gown.

  “I will not leave you!” she said defiantly as she squared her shoulders and placed her hands on her hips.

  “Listen tae me, love,” Tristan said hurriedly as he took Isobel gently by the shoulders. “It is my duty to keep you safe. The Grants are a worthy foe and they’ve risen against us in the hundreds. ‘Tis no longer safe for you here,” he said gently as he trailed his fingers lovingly down Isobel’s cheek. “Brandon will take you somewhere safe. I cannot defend McLaughlin keep while I am worried about your safety! Do not argue with me further,” Tristan said sternly, his jaw set in a hard line.

  Tears gathered behind Isobel’s eyes but she refused to let them fall. She nodded once and stood on her tip toes and kissed her husband.

  “I cannot live without you,” she whispered as she traced the line of Tristan’s jaw.

  “Nor can I live without you. And that is why Brandon will take you somewhere safe. I love you, mo sonuachar,” Tristan said as he kissed her hard and then released her shoulders. “Trust Brandon. Brandon and my brothers will keep you safe in the event that I cannot.”

  Isobel stood frozen in place.

  Tristan had all but admitted that there was a chance that he would not return to her.

  Isobel was completely numb. Her fingers trembled and she clenched them into the fabric of her gown.

  Tristan left her standing in the middle of their chamber. He stormed towards the door and opened it, ushering Brandon back into the dark chamber. “Protect her with your life,” he said fervently.

  “Aye,” Brandon nodded in agreement.

  Tristan slammed the door and raced down the stairs to lead Clan McLaughlin into war. He knew that this battle would be the first test of his Lairdship and he vowed not to fail. His mind raced through the preparations that needed to be made to defend the keep, but despite his best efforts, his mind always circled back to Isobel.

  Lord keep my wife safe.

  ..ooOoo..

  Isobel now knew the reason that Tristan had chosen to inhabit the chamber at the end of the corridor.

  The new Laird’s chamber held a secret.

  Tucked behind a heavy armoire was a secret passageway out of the keep.

  Brandon had obviously known of the secret for as soon as Tristan had left the room, he had allowed Isobel to collect a few items and then ushered her into the narrow stairwell that was hidden behind the armoire.

  Fear beat a sickening rhythm in Isobel’s chest as she raced down the tiny stone steps.

  Tristan had chosen this chamber because of the secret passageway.

  Genuine terror rushed through Isobel’s veins, causing her fingers to tremble as she lifted the skirts of her gown.

  Tristan must have known she would someday need to escape.

  ..oo Chapter Twenty oo..

  “I am your Laird now! And I command you to fight! Fight with me to hold on to all that is ours! Fight with me tae overcome the Grant bastards once and for all!” Tristan screamed as he thrust his claymore into the night sky. “Fortis et fidus!” he called out as he mounted Justice and charged into battle.

  “Fortus et fidus!” his men answered as they leapt upon their horses and followed their Laird as he raced towards the glowing torches of the Campbell warriors.

  Brave and Faithful!

  Tristan led the charge fearlessly, spurring Justice onward across the field.

  The Grant Laird bellowed to his archers, giving them the signal to loose their fire tipped arrows.

  Tristan watched in horror as the arrows flew up into the night sky and then began their deadly descent back to Earth. He heard the agonizing screams of McLaughlin men dying beneath the rain of arrows. Their screams were deafening and Tristan glanced over his shoulder to see his men falling from their horses.

  Still he raged forward, not slowing his pace.

  “Fortis et fidus!” he roared as he rode into the heart of the battle.

  Grant warriors surrounded him, a clash of blue tartans against the McLaughlin crimson. Tristan wielded his sword expertly, slicing and stabbing his way through the Grant warriors one by one.

  He would not be defeated.

  Blood no longer sickened him.

  Tristan screamed into the night, his voice more animal than human as he defended everything that was his.

  No man would take what he had fought so hard to gain.

  Justice squealed as an arrow struck his shoulder. The stallion’s front leg collapsed and he knelt to the ground suddenly, unseating Tristan from his back. Tristan fell to the ground and as he stood, he saw the battle play out around him. It was as if the men were frozen in time for a scant instant. The field was a blur of crimson and blue tartans. The sounds of death and war deadened his ears. Metal clashed against metal and men screamed as they were mortally wounded.

  The battle was horrific.

  Tristan jumped to his feet and looked upon the Justice with sorrow. The animal was struggling to right himself in the slippery mud that covered the battle field. At first glance, the arrow appeared to be deep. Tristan feared that it had struck through to the horse’s lung. He gripped the arrow and tore the shaft from Justice’s shoulder, eliciting a scream from the animal that tore at his heart.

  Justice regained his footing and stood. He looked down at his master and whickered.

  Tristan said a silent prayer of gratitude.

  The arrow had not been deep as he had thought. It was a mere flesh wound that the horse would recover from. Although the injury was not life threatening, Justice would not be able to bear the weight of a rider for sometime.

  Tristan slapped Justice soundly on the rump and s
ent him away. He watched with relief as the noble stallion hobbled from the battle field, heading in the direction of the stables just as he had been taught.

  Tristan’s momentary lack of focus on the battle nearly cost him his life.

  He turned a moment too late.

  The Grant warrior had crept up behind him as he had tended to Justice.

  As Tristan turned, the warrior had already swung his sword in a death blow.

  Time was frozen for an instant. The sword swung down upon Tristan slowly, as if it defied even time itself. Tristan watched what would surely be his death.

  He thought of Isobel in his last moment.

  “No!” Rogan screamed as his blade struck the Grant’s, interrupting the stroke that would have ended Tristan’s life.

  Reacting with instinct, Tristan swung his sword up powerfully and stabbed it through the Grant’s chest. The man slumped to his knees and Tristan extracted his blade. His eyes locked with Rogan Cameron’s.

  “Thank ye, man,” he said.

  “Twas an honor, my Laird,” Rogan said as he nodded once and then charged back into the horror of the raging battle.

  ..oo Chapter Twenty-One oo..

  Isobel knew that she must look affright. Dunhaven had been a three day journey to the north. Last night she and Brandon had taken shelter in the forest. Isobel’s muscles ached still from shivering throughout the night. She had only a meager horse blanket to cover herself with and the night’s chill and rooted itself within the very fiber of her bones.

  Brandon had offered her the warmth of his body, but she had refused outright. Although she knew that his offer was innocent, she knew that Tristan would disapprove of her seeking comfort in another man’s arms. Even if that man was Brandon.

  She had spent the sleepless night shivering beneath the blanket, watching her breath emerge in small puffs of white. As her teeth chattered and her muscles shook, she missed Tristan more than ever. She missed his capable, warm arms and the way that he held her against him as he slept, protecting her even in his slumber. She missed the ever present warmth that radiated from his muscled body. And above all, she spent the sleepless night wondering if her husband still lived.

  His last words haunted her.

  Brandon and my brothers will keep you safe in the event that I cannot.

  Sending Isobel to Dunhaven had been a desperate measure to insure her safety. Isobel knew that her husband was a valiant, fearless warrior. But the fact remained that he would not have sent her here unless her safety absolutely depended upon it. She knew that he had reason to believe that he might not survive the battle at the keep.

  She made her way up the steps to the grand entrance of Dunhaven, her boots treading lightly on the stone steps. Isobel glanced over her shoulder at Brandon, suddenly needing his encouragement to knock upon the great wooden door.

  Brandon nodded his head once and crossed his arms. He stood fast at the bottom of the steps, his presence calm and yet foreboding.

  Isobel’s heart beat erratically in her chest as she raised her fist to rap upon the giant door. The hard wood hurt her knuckles, but she knocked firmly. Her fist barely made a sound against the massive door and she wondered if her knock had been heard within.

  In answer, she heard the sound of the bar being removed from the door and the dead bolt being unlatched.

  Her lips parted and she suddenly felt too warm. Swallowing harshly, she straightened her spine.

  The door swung open and revealed an elderly man, dressed in a crisp white shirt and the familiar red Finnegan tartan. He bowed formally at Isobel.

  “May I be of service, milady?” he asked quizzically, his eyes scanning her face and then peering over her shoulder to regard Brandon, who still stood with his arms crossed defiantly at his chest.

  Isobel cleared her throat and struggled to find words.

  “I must speak with Lady Eleanor Finnegan,” Isobel said, her voice wavering to betray her nervousness.

  “And whom shall I tell her is calling?”

  “I would prefer to tell her myself,” Isobel said sternly as she regained her confidence.

  “Suit yourself, milady,” the man huffed as he motioned for Isobel to enter.

  Isobel stepped over the threshold and into the front corridor of Dunhaven. Brandon had told her that this had been Tristan’s childhood home. Her eyes flitted up to the massive stone walls which were hung with tapestries heralding the Finnegan colors.

  “Follow me,” the man said politely as he motioned to Isobel to step forward, then closed the massive wooden door behind her. He regarded her suspiciously. “I trust that Brandon shall be quite alright on his own?”

  “Aye. Brandon will be fine,” Isobel said, having forgotten all about her companion. She wanted to face Tristan’s mother on her own.

  Isobel followed behind the man, trailing after him up a set of stairs. They walked through a dark hallway that had been lit with torches, past a row of doors that were closed. Isobel knew that these doors were most likely the chambers of the family members that lived in the keep. She wondered which one had been Tristan’s.

  The man stopped abruptly at the end of the hallway. The corridor had opened up into a small solar. The room was filled with windows and sunlight rushed in, causing Isobel to squint as her eyes adjusted to the stark contrast of the room in comparison to the dark hallway.

  “Aghm,” he cleared his throat to announce their presence. “You have a visitor, milady.”

  Eleanor Finnegan closed the book that she had been reading and stood from the settee.

  Isobel stepped from behind the man and made a small curtsy, unsure of the proper ceremony necessary when meeting one’s mother-in-law for the first time.

  “Leave us, Bates,” she said softly as she eyed Isobel quizzically.

  Bates nodded and turned on his heel. He walked away briskly down the corridor.

  “May I help you?” Eleanor asked as she stood before the young woman.

  “My husband told me that you would,” Isobel said with a shy smile. She was pleased to see that Lady Eleanor had a kind face. Her eyes were the same vibrant shade of hazel as Tristan’s.

  Lady Eleanor pursed her lips together. Her eyebrows were furrowed in confusion.

  “And pray tell, who is your husband?”

  Isobel swallowed hard. She felt the smile break out across her face as she prepared to speak his name. She hoped that Lady Eleanor would be pleased.

  “Tis your son, milady. Tristan,” Isobel said with a soft smile.

  Eleanor blinked twice and her mouth fell open. Her eyes fluttered for a moment and then rolled back into her head as she crumpled to the floor.

  Lady Eleanor Finnegan had fainted outright.

  The surprise of Isobel’s words had been much more than she could handle.

  ..oo Chapter Twenty-Two oo..

  Victory had come with a heavy price.

  McLaughlin blood intermingled with Grant blood on the battlefield, coloring the autumn ground a sickly shade.

  But of one thing, Tristan was certain.

  He had defended McLaughlin keep and he had proven his worth as Laird.

  The Grants would not be so foolish to test his strength again.

  Tristan climbed the steps of Dunhaven wearily, relief flooding over him as the familiar stone walls loomed over his head in the moonlight.

  Home.

  His body was caked with the remnants of battle, mud had crusted to his pants and splatters of blood stained his shirt. He knew that he must look like a beggar, but he did not care. He had made it safely home to Isobel after waging a successful counterattack that had defended McLaughlin keep. He had proven himself worthy as Laird and also as Isobel’s husband. He knew that Isobel’s father would have been proud. He glanced up at the stars and nodded, acknowledging the old man’s presence in case he was watching from above.

  Isobel.

  He turned her name over and over in his mind. He had traveled day and night just to be here with her. How wel
come her arms would be, how sweet her lips would taste after all that he had endured. Above all else, Tristan Finnegan wanted to see his wife.

  Tristan was surprised to find the massive door to be unlocked. He stepped into the corridor of Dunhaven and noticed that a candle had been placed on the small table next to the door.

  Mother.

  He thought of his mother and a smile came to his lips. She had left this here, just in case tonight was the night that he came home. With a pang of guilt, Tristan wondered how many other nights she had followed the same ritual, hoping that her second son would return home.

  Tristan picked up the candle and walked towards the great hall. The massive house was silent, save for the crackling of a fire at the end of the room.

  “Tristan?” Eleanor called hopefully as she stood up from the settee. She had been reading before the fire and had fallen asleep.

  “It is me, mother,” he said softly as he strode into the room.

  “Somehow I knew that it was,” she said with a smile as she rose and walked towards her son. “Let me look at you, sweetheart,” she whispered as she stretched out her hands to capture his face.

  “I’m not much to look at now. A fright, I’m afraid,” he chuckled as his mother turned his face from side-to-side.

  “A bit banged up and desperately in need of a bath, but you look well, son,” she said warmly. “I am so pleased that you are home at last.”

  “I could not force myself to come back. It hurt too badly, mother,” he stammered as pain welled up inside of him. He had not been to Dunhaven in over five years. He knew that his absence had hurt his mother deeply. He saw the pain that bore heavily in her hazel eyes. But even the knowing of how his absence would affect her had not been enough to bring him back.

  The demons of Dunhaven had been too much for him to bear. They haunted him in his dreams, followed him to wherever he lay his head, but coming back here had been more than he could handle.