His Judas Bride

by Shehanne Moore

As she hurried up to the faint incline that rose beyond Meg’s courtyard, was it any wonder she felt sick to her marrow? Because her father was capable of anything. Certainly he was capable of lighting these beacons himself.

  Meg squeezed her hand. “Mother of God, how can ye be so calm about this? Aren’t ye excited to see your son?”

  She was. But give voice to this secret terror? And not just one. She would sooner cut out her tongue. After all, she had never been Arland’s mother. What if he didn’t like her? “I wasn’t just thinking of Arland.”

  Because she wasn’t. If the Wolf came home to her and, if he could take down the barricades he’d strategically erected around a heart every bit as scarred as her own, she could do the same, couldn’t she?

  Of course, she admitted, it had been bad of her on the Isle of the Saints to think the worst of him. But he didn’t have to know about it.

  Perhaps people whispered behind her back. She allowed for that. Give Meg her dues though. She had made it abundantly clear she approved. Not only that, she had been teaching her housekeeping skills. Not that Kara had exactly shone—she’d cuts all over her hands from chopping neeps to prove it. It made a difference from some of the scars she’d had. Besides, Meg had told her, the Wolf was unlikely to want her for her ability to cook and clean.

  It was why everything rested on what came over that hill, now McDunnagh banners fluttered into sight. An expectant murmur rippled through the small crowd who’d poured through the yard doors.

  Meg smiled knowingly and bent down to take Fallon’s hand. “Fallon, look. There, coming over the hill. Who’s that?”

  Kara squinted. In truth she could hardly bring herself to look. Her heart pounded fit to burst, her lips parting around a moan. No one was coming over the hill that she could see. Was Meg mad? Or blind? The past few days had been worrying but surely not so much though she began to hallucinate.

  Fallon stared and Kara’s heart climbed her ribcage and beat in her throat. Refraining from springing up the opposite hill to drag whoever was there over the summit was almost beyond her capabilities.

  Meg had no more idea who was coming over that hill than she did herself. This was how it was for them in Lochalpin, and she must get used to it, if she was to stay here, although maybe now, if there was peace, she might not have to. She hoped so. She wasn’t sure she could cope with this.

  “By the gorse bush, Fallon. Who’s that?”

  “Daddy!” Fallon shrieked, tearing down the rise.

  Oh God. It was. The throng came down the opposite hill. In a blur Kara saw the stream of Fallon’s golden hair in the sunlight. She also saw Ewen McDunnagh. Kertyn. McDunnaghs who had followed on. Mothers. Sisters. Lovers. McGurkies.

  McGurkies?

  Even as her mind reeled from the horrific equation, her throat clenched. A different realization.

  No.

  She didn’t think God had the ability to do that.

  Not when she had sold her soul.

  It was possible. She just hadn’t believed for a moment that a vision could ever become reality.

  Arland’s hair was cropped. The McGurkie plaid wrapped around him was warm protection against the cold. But everything else looked the same as that image that had flashed before her weeks ago. There was Satan ambling alongside and Dug glued to the Wolf’s heels as if she’d been there all along. Fallon—well, of course, Fallon hadn’t been there in the vision, but she was there now, trying to grab hold of the Wolf’s long, lean legs.

  Though every fiber of Kara’s being screamed move—everyone else did—she was swamped by a suffocation so intense, she couldn’t. The only sounds she seemed able to make were silly little whimpers at the back of her throat.

  She was terrified if she even tried to reach out and touch these two most precious things in her life, they’d somehow turn to dust. The tall, slim-hipped figure that haunted her dreams strode toward her.

  Lagged a little, it was true, but he did have a lot slowing him down. He tweaked the top of Fallon’s head. Then he was standing right before her. So dazzling, so handsome, even with the weather stains on his clothes and the stubble darkening his jaw, she fought the rush of blood to her head.

  Those damned dimples made mush of her entire body. She actually didn’t know where to look. But, after a moment’s hesitation, when her throat fluttered, then dried to a husk, right at him seemed the best place.

  “Yours, I believe.”

  He peeled Arland off his shoulders—today completely free of the broadswords he usually carried there. He was so astonishingly business-like too. So formal, he focused his gaze on the top of Arland’s head. “My apologies, for taking so long.”

  She gulped. Even his rich winterberry voice sounded so much crisper than usual, it took her slightly off balance. Her mind recognized her body’s desire just to reach out now and touch him. To touch Arland. But she couldn’t. Not to save her life. What stung her eyes, so everything turned misty-white, was unexpected.

  Cursing the wild trembling that shook her, she lifted her chin. “I…I…I…” Well, that was a lot of use. Dug could probably yelp better. “His…his…hair,” she said, in a strangled voice. “Arland…your…your…”

  She wondered how she could possibly say something so stupid. Go to say it again too. Was she insane? Obviously. Ma always said her father was. It should be no surprise to learn things ran in families.

  She couldn’t even touch her son. She longed to, but whatever stung her eyes, now completely fine-sprayed her vision. She had never felt more helpless. She didn’t know this boy. Not really.

  “Oh. We tidied him up a little for you. Didn’t we, Shortshanks?” He ruffled Arland’s hair. “He’s one of the boys now. He even gets to ride on Satan’s back.”

  Ironically, what flooded her at the thought of this kind acceptance should have made it easier to move her arms in an embrace. Only the Wolf could make light of so much, with so little. And Arland gazed up at him in adoration. He was such a safe man to be with in some respects for all what he stirred was so dangerous.

  But there was something incredibly tight about his face. The grooves pinching his cheeks were deep. She couldn’t think she’d seen them quite so before. The way his eyes rested on her was different too. As for the little nerve twitching in his jaw…

  In its way it was no bad thing. Repetition was boring. Except she needed—oh God, a kiss or something. Anything. To tell her he meant what he said that night at McDunnagh Castle. He had such an easy confidence about these matters. It was one of the reasons she felt that room she only ever gazed through the window at, was one she could be in.

  “Is…is that what took you so long?”

  In all likelihood, that sounded even more ungrateful than before. Beneath her appearance of indifference she suppressed a shudder. God almighty, if she could not speak in a more constructive fashion, maybe she should keep her mouth shut? For once.

  He tilted his jaw, his eyes duller than she’d ever seen them. Tarnished pewter and vaguely dead. “Us?”

  “Yes. To come back that is. Meg and I were worried. Archibald told us you’d be fine but…”

  “We were just a bit tied up. But we thought you’d understand.”

  She didn’t actually, but it would be a great mistake to say so here. She had never thought it properly before, but he was the Black Wolf of Lochalpin after all. Who was she to question his ways? Maybe, for that matter, he didn’t want her fussing over him publicly.

  “I did. I do. I just…”

  The brief look he cast her, disinterested enough to be insulting, froze her lips around the words missed you. Especially now he loomed closer, the sun behind him throwing his height and the sheer sexuality his lean body exuded, into stark relief, caused her throat to dry.

  It forced a clutching of straw. Arland wouldn’t be here, these McGurkies neither unless her father was… Of course she was not going to shed tears over a man who treated his grandson like a dog. And then there was Morven. She must assume the conflic
tion for the Wolf in the circumstances.

  “Mainly though we didn’t want the new chief of clan McGurkie riding back home with you, looking like a tink. Now did we, Shortshanks?”

  Riding back home?

  Only by making the most sterling effort was Kara able to stop the little smile from fading entirely from her face. Her heartbeat froze, drops of ice forming in her breast, which she strove to dismiss.

  She had just never thought that dreams dreamed in the darkest corner of the night could ever come true.

  That was why she wished her gaze would stay fixed on the plainness of the taupe tunic and not skitter sideways, where it was unfortunate enough to collide with a mélange of reds and greens. McGurkie colors.

  But it would be all right though. So long as it was us. She could not lead her people, as would be expected. The place would fall apart in no time. Nor could she very well refuse. Her throat dried.

  “And that, that’s why they’re here?” Pray God he took her response as one of pure, ungovernable panic.

  “Princess?”

  “The…the McGurkies, I mean. That’s why you brought them? To take us back home?”

  He canted his jaw. “I’d no damn choice. I tried. But you McGurkies are a persistent bunch. The moment I said where you were, and Serenne said it was always your dream to go home in style, half the damned clan insisted on tagging along. We just hope they’ve kept their hands to themselves. Especially the women. Your friends are certainly something else. You know the trouble I had springing Shortshanks here free of them?”

  “His name is Arland.”

  “Well, whatever it is. Arland. Finn. Duff.”

  “Maybe if you hadn’t taken off without telling me I would have warned you what to expect. Serenne—”

  “Yes. That’s the one. She damned nearly took my nose off when I stuck it through the bars. Do you know she was for taking other bits off as well? That’s her over there with Wee Murdie by the way. You know, I think she likes him, which is why I’m hoping she keeps her hands to herself.”

  A tremble she fought to dismiss ran through her body. All the way from her toe tips to her hair roots. Perhaps it was even her hair tips. It was not just that people were watching. They were closely watching, and she did not want them watching her in what was conceivably her first task as leader smacking her hand off his jaw.

  But the casual way he stood there, the things he said, as if it was a great bore. Only what else could he do if he’d to have her people tag along, especially with him, the very great Wolf of Lochalpin, but yawn? And complain. Step a little closer as if to remind her what these bits were as well.

  “When?”

  “When? Why, when me and the boys—”

  “When do you want us to go?”

  The silence, just for a second was horrible. She could only pray her face didn’t whiten as if it had been drained. It had taken her years to get to this moment and now she had she was unsure she wanted it. To add to her distress that beguiling body shifted closer so all she was aware of was him as if they were enclosed in their own world. She swore she felt his eyes boring into her skull.

  “Princess?”

  She curled her hands into tight fists. She swallowed past what blocked her throat. “I believe I asked you a question, sir.”

  Anger burned at her own folly, but she could understand it. So there was no need for him to think he somehow spared her by talking in this intimate way as if it cost him.

  “Ewen wants to say something. He’s grown a little used to speechifying, these last few days.”

  “Go on.”

  “The place is a mess. We’ve done our best for you. But Ewen and I thought…”

  She fought not to jerk up her chin. Ewen thought? That would be a first. Unless it was about where his next drink or woman was coming from. Of course, she could not say so here.

  “We both thought the first while, anyway, this won’t be easy. You’ll need a good man at your side.”

  What the blazes did he hope to gain? Standing as close as he was? She could feel his breath on her hair. Breathe his scent. That perfect scent that even now made her think of things she loved. Did he want her to look up? Well, she could. But the treachery of the hope that sprung was ridiculous.

  If she raised her chin and looked at him, looked at him fully, then he would see what fine-sprayed her vision. It did not as a rule. Indeed her eyes had been mercifully free of such encumbrances for years, which made it all the more imperative they were free now.

  “Archibald Kelty, all right?”

  Archibald? She fought not to laugh. At herself.

  Of course, she could simply walk away, turn on her heel and lose herself among her people. But that too would only signal her weakness. At all costs she must do something. She parted her lips. “I see.”

  His breathing deepened. “Except if you need…look…”

  Oh God, he was going to touch her, and she could not let him. She stiffened.

  “If there’s any reason you need to send word to me, I don’t think you’re ignorant of what about, I want you to do that. We were together, after all. And I—”

  “There’s not.”

  She swallowed the burning constriction. If she was pregnant—and she was at the stage where nothing on earth would surprise her—she would deal with it. Anything else would be lowering herself.

  For a second she was acutely aware of how he loomed, so close, that ridiculous thing that even now made it impossible to breathe, hovering over her. She had only to reach a hand to touch his waist, draw him close. But not only could she not, he would know the caliber of the woman he left here. That had gotten her into trouble before. Anyway what if he didn’t want to be drawn?

  “You will make a spectacular ruler, you know that.”

  How long did Kara stand there, aware she wasn’t being tortured any longer by his extremely male, charged presence? Probably until when, to her chagrin, she felt the heat of a hundred scrutinizing eyes replace it. Thankfully, she’d the perfect excuse not to face any of them. Kertyn. Meg. It stopped her wrapping her arms around herself to control the trembling in her whole body.

  When this, Arland, was what she’d always wanted, what did she need to stare after the retreating back of some man who—fleetingly the thought of his biting closeness echoed in her blood, making her feel very hot all of a sudden, standing there in the bitter cold. Some man who called him Shortshanks.

  She lifted her head and was astonished by the forlorn understanding that filled her. Of course he did. Of course he would. It was his way when threatened to behave in a wholly impertinent manner. She had seen it before.

  Men respected him. Women admired him. And all the time he hid the astonishing fact of how terrified he was of caring. It didn’t matter how it stunned her to disbelieve it. What if he thought, now she had gotten back Arland, she’d no further use of him? That she had seduced him only to get her son? A man of his reputation would be a safe bet, and she had never told him the truth of that night when she seduced him.

  There was another consideration, she thought, staring at the proud tilt of his head, as he ambled there among his men. What if he didn’t want to feel second best? Any more than she did with Morven?

  She grasped Arland’s hand.

  And yet, dear God, what was she thinking about? She had a position to maintain as the new queen of the McGurkies. And as such she could not allow it to be on everyone’s lips in both glens tomorrow, how she chased the Black Wolf of Lochalpin down the glen, dragging the son she’d seduced him to get. Particularly not when he had made it blindingly obvious to everyone present he didn’t want her. What if he truly found who she was too hard to take? Her too hard to take? It would not be surprising would it?

  “Kara?”

  How was it that Meg’s eyes always seemed to witness everything? And now there she stood, witnessing this, the awful distress that held Kara rigid.

  “Is there something wrong?”

  While she tried to pr
event it a tiny moan escaped her. “No. I really, it’s…it’s nothing. Thank you. I just…”

  “Oh, give me him. Right now.”

  Her heart nearly stopped as Meg’s hand shot out and grasped Arland’s wrist.

  “Arland, you come with me. Come right this minute with Auntie Meg. There’s a wee lass here dying to meet you.”

  Kara’s grip intensified. “You don’t understand. It’s not him. It’s…me.”

  Because it was, wasn’t it? Really and truly. How could she come up this rise thinking it was all right that he didn’t find out how she’d thought herself betrayed on the Isle of the Saints?

  What had she done here too? Standing like an iced statue. He deserved so much better.

  Maybe after all, some barricades were made not to be broken. Ever. And maybe it was better to let him go. Maybe she’d come to Lochalpin in pursuit of her son, but only a fool could fail to see who she really needed to find here wasn’t Arland. It was herself.

  “I understand you’ll not get another chance with that one. Once he’s gone, he’s gone. I can’t make you. It’s up to you of course. But if it were me, I’d not be letting him. Arland, come. Give your mother a moment. Now, Fallon swears mind you, so don’t you be letting her teach you anything bad.”

  Dazed and shaking, Kara stood clenching and unclenching her empty fist.

  If she did this, then the battle she must fight was with herself. If she knew anything at all, it was that he wouldn’t have risked everything to bring back her son, if he didn’t love her.

  If she didn’t, if she let him go and she went back to her people, it would be safer. Barricades were what she understood. The hand-fasting would be just rumors. He would be safer somehow. Safer from her. From having, in all likelihood, to defend her reputation. From all her nonsense.

  The thought stole in that Calm McDunnagh didn’t just echo in her blood, wasn’t just in her blood, he was her blood.

  Was she going to let that go, when one step, one step was all it took? She steeled herself to step forward, something deep inside her seeming to crack. One step. Then another. She forced her lips apart.

  “Serenne—you see, Serenne’s a lot like me, sir.”