The Lady and the Knight (Highland Brides)

by Greiman, Lois

  With a roar, Boden dove through the door, snatched a cradle from the floor, and flung it across the room. It glanced off Lady Haldane's shoulder, spinning her aside. But the effort pushed Boden against the wall, barely able to stand. In an instant Elizabeth was on her feet and racing toward him, teeth bared, blade drawn back.

  He gathered his strength and pushed himself from the wall just as she pounced. He reached for her arms. The knife bit into his shoulder.

  His wail echoed Sara's, and then she was there, ripping the madwoman from him. Elizabeth wheeled away, crouched, wild as a cat, her eyes gleaming.

  Sara circled, hands empty, eyes wide. "You'll not get away, lady. You'll not."

  "What a fool you are!" spat the other. Her dark hair had come loose, framing her face like a demon's halo. "You will die, then your champion. And then the babe."

  She lunged. Sara leapt aside, but her toe caught on the leg of a chair and she fell.

  Elizabeth leapt after her. Boden pounced forward, grabbing her arms. She twisted about, knife slashing.

  "Elizabeth!" Haldane gasped from the doorway.

  A growl ripped up from his wife's throat. She yanked her arm free and lunged, the knife drawn far back.

  Sara rose from the floor, grabbed a chair, and swung it at Elizabeth's head. The wood cracked against the lady's skull. She stretched up on her toes. Her eyes went wide. Her mouth opened. Her fingers formed to claws, and then she fell. Toppling to the floor, she was dead in an instant.

  Boden watched, and then, to his dismay, he too crumbled. St. Adrian's arse, even as an angel, he couldn't stay on his feet.

  Boden lay in peace again. Sara's voice murmured gently, soothing. Soft hands touched him.

  Once or twice he felt himself being lifted, but it was neither painful nor worrisome. Darkness settled around him like a sun-softened blanket. He sighed. Time drifted past at an uncertain pace. Dreams sifted with reality, memories with hopes. This must be heaven, for she was at his side, loving him, touching him, her kiss endless, her touch infinite. Every moment was theirs to share, to float together, but something was not quite right, not quite complete, as if there was some thin, invisible barrier between them. He tried to reach through it, to draw her more firmly to him.

  "Boden."

  The dimness fell away by slow degrees. He opened his eyes with some effort. The room seemed inordinately bright, but he supposed the hereafter was like that sometimes.

  "Sara?" he murmured. She seemed clearer to him suddenly, more tangible, as if he'd broken through the barrier, and now she was completely his.

  "I'm here, Boden." She smiled, but the expression wavered slightly, and he realized she was clasping his hand between both of hers and that his fingers were wet with her tears.

  "Don't cry," he said. His voice sounded strange, not angelic at all, but rough and coarse. He ignored it. Anything would sound coarse next to her voice. "You can't cry, my love," he whispered, "not in heaven." He smiled and, pulling her hand to his lips, kissed her knuckles, wanting nothing but to hold her against him, to feel her kiss, to hear her voice, soft in his ear. Strange, he needed her no less as an angel than as a man. But now she was completely his. His heart sang. "Come love." He urged her closer. "I've waited a lifetime for you and beyond. There is no sin here. Come lie with me again. Let me kiss you and hold you. Let me fill you with—''

  "Sir Blackblade."

  The duke's voice struck him like a sharp blow to the chest. Boden twisted his neck to find the speaker.

  "Lord Haldane," he rasped.

  "Aye." The duke took a step forward and placed a proprietary hand on Sara's shoulder. Boden dropped his own away. Reality sizzled through his veins, burning away the last remnants of soft dreams. He was not an angel. The world was not kind, and she was not his.

  "Sir Blackblade," Haldane said again, "you have said some ignoble things in your delirium."

  "Delirium?" The single word hurt his throat. Reality pounded inside his skull.

  "Nearly a fortnight you've been unconscious. Lady Fiona says tis due to the blows to your head.

  But she suspected you would awaken today."

  Boden's gaze slipped to Sara's face. She looked pale and tired. Nearly a fortnight of dreams...

  of her. Twas the best he could hope for on this earth, for she was another man's. His soul wept.

  "I thought I could trust you," Haldane said, turning his gaze from Boden to Sara.

  And suddenly Boden realized the truth. In his sleep, he had told their secrets, had revealed their sins. But she must not suffer for them. Without thought he reached for his sword. But his scabbard was gone, his love undefended.

  "Twas not the lady's fault," Boden said, struggling to sit up. "Twas mine."

  "Nay," said Sara, reaching for his hand. "Tis not true, my lord. Twas my own weakness that caused the sin, if sin it be. But ye see, I love him."

  A lance of hot painful pleasure speared Boden's heart. She loved him.

  "Love him!" Haldane snorted.

  His words jerked Boden back to reality. "The fault is mine," Boden growled, trying to rise, and barely able to realize she was pinning him down with pressure on his shoulder. "And I'll not have you blame her!"

  For a moment there was silence. "So you would be her champion, Sir Blackblade?"

  "She'll not suffer for my sins!" he snarled.

  The world was silent. "Were I a younger man I would challenge you for her hand. But mayhap I have sinned too much already in an attempt to call her mine." His expression looked strained.

  Boden settled onto his elbows, saving his strength, and realizing suddenly that Haldane looked to be more like his former self, before the weakness took him. But wait. He frowned, fighting to clear the fog from his brain, to remember.

  Sara had been in danger. He had stumbled down the hall as if called by a frantic bell. The image of Lady Elizabeth with a knife flashed through his mind. Haldane's weakness hadn't been natural at all, but a slow form of poison.

  Taking his hand from Sara's shoulder, the duke paced the room. "I have little guilt over Stephen's death," he said.

  "You killed him?" Boden asked, his body tense, his mind reeling.

  Haldane watched him in silence for a moment. "The deer killed him. I but let him die. I had warned him not to strike his wife again. I had warned him, and so his death was justifiable. Twas not that I wanted her for myself." His gaze slipped to Sara, and in its depths, Boden saw that he lied. '

  'But with his death there was that possibility." The room was silent. "But now there is you, Sir Blackblade. You, who I thought I could trust."

  "It was not her fault," Boden repeated.

  "Then you take the blame for betraying me?"

  "Aye," Boden growled. His fist closed on nothing, but somehow, he would fight.

  Haldane nodded stiffly, then relaxed slightly and exhaled. "Then you will suffer the consequences."

  Silence settled in, tight and heavy.

  Boden held his breath.

  Lord Haldane paced back across the room to stand beside his bed. "You'll be given Cairn Heights."

  No one spoke as seconds ticked by. Boden scowled, his mind spinning. ' 'What?'' he asked cautiously.

  "Tis a poor castle on rocky soil. The people are proud, stubborn Scots." Haldane paused, and looked at Sara. "Not unlike your lady.

  "Sara." He spoke her name with a somber reverence. "You have saved my heir—in fact, you have saved my very life. I owe you much."

  "You have given me everything my heart desires, Your Grace," she said.

  There was a wealth of sadness in his expression. "Then you will not change your mind? You choose the knight?"

  "I do," she said.

  Boden scowled. Reality was blurring again, fuzzing around the edges. The dreams were creeping back in control. Part of him welcomed them, but in that world he could not hold her in his arms. "What?" he repeated.

  Haldane straightened to his full height. "Cairn Heights," he repeated. "Tis to the south and eas
t of here and commands a wide view of the sea. An important post it is. I need a man there I can trust."

  "Never will you find a man more loyal than Sir Blackblade," Sara said. "You will stay for the wedding, Your Grace?"

  Confusion swirled in Boden's head like fruit bats in the darkness. "The wedding?" His words were barely heard above the beating of his own heart. "The wedding?" he said again.

  "Tis little choice ye've been given, I fear," Sara said. Her smile was tremulous as though she might cry again with the sheer weight of her emotions. "The festivities are already being planned."

  "Festivities?"

  "I would ask you one last favor," said Haldane.

  "Favor?" It would seem Boden could do nothing but echo their words.

  "My strength has not yet returned to its full. I must return to London, and that is no place to grow a lad. But at Cairn Heights where the wind blows fresh off the sea, Thomas would have a mentor to train him and a mother to love him."

  Boden found no words. Dreams? Was he dreaming again? But no, tears stung his eyes, and his leg throbbed gently. He embraced the pain, reveling in the knowledge that it always came with life.

  "The mentor will love him too, my lord," Sara said, gently squeezing Boden's hand. There were tears on her cheeks again. "We thank ye from the depths of our souls."

  The duke nodded, then turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. The world fell into silence.

  "You are mine?" Boden whispered the words, and she laughed shakily.

  "Aye, yours, forever and eternity. But now ye must sleep."

  "Sleep! Maybe I could fly, but sleep..." He laughed wildly, trying to rise. She pushed him back down as if he were no stronger than a wooly lambkin.

  "Fiona will have my hide if I overtax ye," she said.

  "Mine," he repeated, tugging at her hand.

  "Lie back."

  "Never when I can—"

  "If I lie with ye?" she interrupted.

  He exhaled sharply, but she gave him no time to answer. Instead, she slipped in beside him, pulling the blankets up over them both.

  "Sara." He breathed her name, and touched her face.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and kissed his fingers as they slipped across her lips.

  "Mine," he whispered.

  A lone tear slipped from the corner of her eye. "Forever," she repeated and buried her face against his chest.

  He stroked her hair. A thousand tender emotions scurried through him, a thousand kind thoughts.

  The world was heaven. "I love you," he whispered.

  She opened her eyes and smoothed her fingers across his cheek. "I know."

  "Dragonheart?" he asked. "Did it tell you just as it told me when you needed me, where to find you?" But now he noticed that the dragon was gone.

  "Lost." She raised her gaze to his. "Warwick tore it from my neck. It fell with him into the river."

  Boden tightened his grip on her. His breath felt like gravel in his throat, but she kissed the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his hairline until the memory faded into the pleasure of her touch.

  "Mayhap there was some magic in it," she whispered. "Some magic that melded our souls. But mayhap it was just our love."

  "You knew I loved you?"

  She smiled. "You said so a hundred times in your delirium."

  Her touch was heaven on earth. "Had I known..."

  His words fell into silence. She was his, forever. "Had I known you would be mine, I would have awakened sooner."

  Stroking his hair away, she kissed his brow. "You were unconscious."

  Every touch of hers felt wonderful, velvet soft. Forever. The word echoed in his mind. He let his eyes fall closed. "You should have kicked me awake," he said.

  She laughed, but there was a tear in the sound. Her touch was a warm balm against his face, his chest, his arm, caressing, soothing, lulling. "I could never hurt you. Never."

  He sighed. "I remember a knife. In my arm, I think."

  "Shh," she kissed the corner of his mouth. "Never again."

  "You are mine," he murmured.

  "Sleep now," she crooned.

  "Can't," he said, but her fingers were doing delectable things against the small of his back.

  "Well, maybe just for a bit," he said, and fell asleep like a babe in her arms.

  Chapter 28

  Boden opened his eyes. Something flashed at the corner of his sight. He sat up part way and grimaced as a hundred different muscles complained.

  From across the room, Margaret gasped. "You're hurt,'' she said, rushing forward a few paces before stopping. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek and a stain on the sleeve of her blue gown.

  A small, grubby angel who held a weasel in both hands.

  Memories rushed back to Boden. Memories of hope, of happiness. "Maggie," he murmured.

  "You are well?"

  "You're hurt," she repeated, wide-eyed.

  "Nay. I am healing quickly, and what of you?"

  She chewed her lip, then glanced toward the door and back. Her eyes looked strangely bright suddenly. "Don't die," she whispered.

  A lump settled in his throat. He swallowed it with an effort. "I've no intention of dying. I will wed Sara."

  Her brown eyes were somber and wide. She was a tiny imp, alone in the world, and so sad that he felt his heart had been ripped in two.

  "And me?" Her words were barely audible, forced out at the edge of all her bravery.

  "You, Maggie mine," he said, his voice husky. "You will be our daughter."

  Her mouth formed a small o, and suddenly, like a flurry of wind, she flew into his arms.

  The weasel dropped to the bed, then scurried up Boden's pillow. A hundred myriad places ached as she squeezed her arms around his chest, but Boden closed his eyes and smiled at the wonderful crush of pain.

  "Carefully, lass," said a voice. "Lest you break open the stitches."

  Boden opened his eyes. In the doorway stood a small woman with eyes of amethyst and a sunlight smile.

  "Lady Fiona," Maggie whispered, her tone awestruck as she loosened her grip a bit. "The healer."

  Boden stared at Fiona. She exuded kindness and caring. So this was the woman Sara had spoken of with such reverence. This was the woman who had brought him from the brink to find love.

  "You have my thanks," he said, his tone low.

  "Tis I that thank you," she said, stepping forward, "for saving our Sara."

  "I fear it was she who saved me."

  "Nay," said Sara, stepping inside to take his hand in her own. Feelings as potent as wine coursed through him at the touch of her skin, the warmth of her gaze. "Twas ye that saved my heart, Sir Knight, and Shona that saved ye."

  "Shona?"

  "My cousin," Sara said, turning slightly to glance toward the door. "Shona of the Forbes. Sir Boden Blackblade."

  With some difficulty, Boden forced his gaze from Sara, and there, near the door, he saw a tall woman with hair that swept down to her hips in red waves of fire.

  So David had been right; Glen Creag boasted the world's most beautiful women. He heard Maggie's small gasp of admiration, but as for himself, he could not keep his gaze from the warmth of Sara's smile, the brightness of her presence.

  Even so, dim memories crowded in on him—green eyes—a woman carrying a bow, many small, gentle hands lifting him, carrying him, their bright hair washing over him as one shouted orders.

  Sara? Had his sweet Sara been shouting? Something about gentle—and horses?

  He shook his head, trying to remember, then turning his eyes to Shona, "So twas you who felled the man who..." His voice broke, but he was past caring that he showed weakness. Surely they all knew the truth by now. "Who killed my steed?"

  "Kilt yer steed?" said Shona. "Sara, surely ye've not allowed him to think his stallion be dead."

  "There's been little time for talk," she said.

  "Mettle..." Boden said, refusing to believe there was a catch in his voice. "He is..."

&n
bsp; "He is alive," Shona said. "Resting until his leg heals."

  Tears threatened, but that was going too far. Boden held them back with manly effort.

  Shona saw his expression and smiled. "Our Sara would not allow him to die. The soldiers were wont to leave yer steed behind. But she took offense. I believe her words were, leave the horse and ye might as well leave yer heads."

  He squeezed her hand. His Sara, soft as an angel, tough as hell.

  "It was Fiona who saved him," Sara said.

  God, he loved her so much it hurt.

  "Come," she urged, gently tugging on his hand. "Lady Fiona says you can walk for a wee bit. Ye can see him from the window."

  He eased to a sitting position. His head swam, then steadied. The floor felt cool against his feet.

  He glanced down, then sat abruptly.

  "Sara!" he gasped, seeing he wore nothing more than a rude loincloth. "I'm indecent."

  "Oh." Her face flamed.

  "Here. Wrap this around your waist," Fiona said, tugging a blanket about his body. Her voice was steady, but he wondered if there was laughter somewhere behind it as she helped him back to his feet.

  Now would be a line time to faint, Boden thought, but there was little hope of that, for he was being led to the window like a sheep on a string.

  "There," Sara said.

  Looking out the window, Boden saw the courtyard below, and there, hanging from a timber braced between the stone wall and an oak tree, hung Mettle upon a sling. Tilly stood guard nearby, and feeding him from her hands was a taller replica of the woman named Shona.

  He stared in amazement. His throat tightened. "You have my thanks again, Lady Fiona."

  "Tis Flanna who nurtures him most," said the older woman, pressing up beside him.

  "Flanna?"

  "My mother," said Shona, "the Flame of the MacGowans. You'll be lucky if she lets you have the steed back once she becomes attached."

  "I owe her a great..." Boden began, but just then his blanket began slipping downward.

  He grabbed it. Pain speared through his arm, his back, his thigh.

  "Here," said three women, all reaching to help him wrap the thing back around.