Murdoch looked between the two sisters, then rose to his feet. He offered his hand to Isabella with a smile that seemed too bright. “My son demands your rest, my lady,” he said and the company smiled with affection.
Annelise excused herself, rose to her feet, and fled to her room. She hoped Isabella did not come to her on this night, because she did not want to talk about her disappointment.
She had been a fool, and the only mercy was that she had surrendered no more than a kiss to the hunter.
*
Annelise dreams.
She is in the glade, the dappled sunshine touching her shoulders, the stillness of the sacred place filling her with tranquility. She hears the faint trickle of water, the leaves stirring overhead in the breeze, the melody of birdsong. She prays for strength and boldness, for audacity and a change in her fortunes.
She hears a stealthy footstep.
Had the silence surrounding her not been so complete, she would not have noticed the minute sound.
She hears a snarl.
She pivots in time to see a wolf leaping toward her, teeth bared and eyes wild. She throws her hands up before herself, for it is too late to run. She braces herself for the wolf’s attack, then screams when its weight lands against her. Its teeth rip at her throat and she fights, even as her own warm blood flows. The wolf shreds her flesh from her bones even as she struggles to survive, and Annelise knows she has met her end.
As she falls to the ground, she looks into the shadows of the forest. She is seeking some sign of the hunter, but instead she sees a second wolf, a wolf as white as the new snow. That creature is watching her, with eyes of clearest blue, and to Annelise’s astonishment, the white wolf is weeping.
Annelise awakened, heart pounding, and stared around her quiet room in confusion. The night was still but dark, for the moon was new. She could hear the goats bleating in the pen and someone snoring in the hall below. She exhaled shakily and unclenched her hands, feeling how her nails had dug into her palms.
She was safe.
Because the hunter had saved her.
Why the nightmare, then? Did she relive her fright, or was the hunter himself in danger?
And what of the white wolf? Had it been in the glade as well? If so, she had not seen it. How could a wolf weep? She had never heard the like, even in old tales.
Annelise could make no sense of it, though she laid awake all the night struggling to do so.
*
“All you must do, Andrew, is watch me and learn,” Orson declared. The two knights rode side by side as the shadows grew long, Orson’s squire behind them. “It is the simplest of matters. My uncle wishes an alliance with Kinfairlie, but has no more children of his own. The Laird of Kinfairlie yet has two unwed sisters. I will wed the elder, then you can follow my example and wed the younger. That feat will please your father just as much as mine will please my uncle.”
“The Laird of Kinfairlie dismissed us from his gates,” Andrew felt obliged to observe. “I fear he does not approve of your plan.”
“He is merely protective of his sisters,” Orson insisted, his confidence unshakable. “And that Elizabeth is a finely wrought creature, to be sure. You will be a lucky man to claim her hand.”
Andrew only trusted himself to nod. Buxom and pretty, Elizabeth was ripe enough to feed every lewd thought he might have had. Andrew had plenty such thoughts. He had considered the merits of Elizabeth on several nights already—two of them in particular—and was much encouraged by Orson’s confidence that he might make her his wife.
“But you chose not to pursue her,” Andrew said.
“I know a barricaded portal when I see one,” Orson replied. “Nay, she will be last to wed, and I must move with haste. I need a bride immediately to show my uncle my subservience.” He wagged a gloved finger at his companion, who did not dare to laugh at the very idea. “And truly, I believe it may serve me very well to wed the older one.”
“Why?”
“She must be plain. Murdoch Seton wed the one younger than this Annelise.” He grimaced. “And they say her hair is red.”
“She might be ugly.”
Orson laughed. “So the Laird of Kinfairlie will be indebted to me for wedding her. I believe it could turn much to my advantage to take the elder plainer one.”
“Save that you will have a plain wife.” Andrew winced. “How will you get a son upon her?”
Orson shook his head with mock disappointment. “Andrew, Andrew, I could get a son upon a sow if it were to make my fortune, and this Annelise can do that easily. Simply watch how the old man opens his coffers, once I return with the alliance he most desires. My future will be secured.”
“A title?”
“At least one, with a castle, to be sure. Perhaps he will give me Bamburgh. I could argue a case for ensuring that my beloved is close to her family.”
Bamburgh! Andrew stole a glance at his companion, but Orson was utterly confident. In fact, he seemed to be considering what changes he might make to that holding.
“Percy!” Orson roared at his squire. The boy hastened forward on his palfrey. “Where is the gift? I want to see it again. I need to remind myself of my generosity.”
“The gift, sir?”
“The gift for my intended.”
Percy continued to look blank.
“The necklace!” Orson bellowed. “The string of amethyst beads, alternated with pearls and garnets.”
Percy paled. “But that was the lady Ermengarde’s gift…”
“Ermengarde!” Orson was clearly shocked. He pulled his destrier to a hard halt, almost falling out of his saddle as he turned to face the boy. The stallion fought the bit, much displeased with such treatment, and began to stamp. Orson, a most competent horseman, held the reins tight and continued his conversation with Percy. “You gave it to Ermengarde?” His tone was so incredulous that Andrew feared matters had gone awry.
And Percy would pay.
Percy licked his lips, perhaps sensing the same thing. “You, you said it would look well upon her…”
“That is not the same as saying it was for her! Do you know how much that necklace cost me, boy?”
“But, but, but she came to the stables before we left, and she asked if I had a token for her from you, and you had just said how it would look so well upon her…”
Orson flung down his reins, leapt from the saddle and stepped in front of the palfrey. It was an admirable feat, done with grace. Orson seized the palfrey’s reins and glared at his squire. “Get down,” he commanded, his voice dark with intent.
It was all very familiar to Andrew.
Percy was shaking as he slipped from the saddle, and he fell to his knees before his knight. Orson removed his leather gauntlets with care, a gleam of anticipation in his eyes. “I am sorry, my lord. I misunderstood. I, I will return and retrieve it from her…”
“And she will never part her thighs for me again. No, that will not do. Lift your head, Percy.” The boy did as he was bidden and Orson slapped Percy across the side of his head with his leather gauntlets.
The boy winced but kept his chin up.
Orson’s lips tightened, then he slapped Percy again from the other side. Harder. Again, Percy showed unexpected fortitude. He kept his gaze lowered, but did not fall to the ground to beg or try to flee.
“You are unrepentant.” Orson flicked a glance filled with consideration at Andrew. “You think you have done right.”
“I I, I am sorry to have misunderstood you, sir. In truth, I thought your scheme most clever.”
“What scheme?”
“You always favored the lady Ermengarde, my lord, and the gems will suit her well.”
“And what do I care about that?”
“I had assumed, sir, that you wished her to tell her husband of your loyalty and good service in your absence.” Percy risked an upward glance when Orson remained silent. “I thought it a scheme to ensure your own advancement in Lord Rothen’s favor, sir, and a cleve
r plan at that.”
Orson blinked and looked into the forest, slapping his gloves idly against his own palm. “It was, of course, my original scheme,” he said and Andrew knew that to be a lie. He turned a cool smile upon Percy. “We are close to Seton Manor. I do not wish to be further delayed, despite your error. Find me a gift, Percy, or I shall be compelled to beat you senseless and leave you to the wolves.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Andrew knew as well as Percy that Orson greatly enjoyed the beatings he administered. In truth, Orson was the ideal companion, for his tendency to petty violence made most people assume that Andrew was the more noble and honorable of the pair. Few guessed the darkness in Andrew’s heart.
The boy fled down the road, looked left and right, then leapt into the forest. His terror might have been comical if Andrew had not seen Orson in a fury before. Andrew thought it might be wiser for Percy to continue to run rather than return empty-handed, but he kept that thought to himself.
The older knight sighed as he considered the height of his saddle, then shrugged. “Wretched boy. He is never around when I need him.” He turned a considering glance upon Andrew.
But it was Orson who had taught Andrew not to ever step below his station. Taking the role of a squire for this particular knight was a mistake Andrew would never make and showing obeisance to any man was out of the question. Andrew remained in his saddle.
“I doubt he will be long,” he said.
Orson laughed, then turned a cold glance upon Andrew. “What gift do you imagine Percy will find in these woods? We have traveled beyond civilization, Andrew. If he is lucky, he will be devoured by wolves quickly.”
Andrew was surprised. “You do not mean to wait for him?”
“Of course not.”
“You knowingly sent him to his demise?”
“I did no such thing. I assigned him a quest. If he fails, due to a lack of resourcefulness, honor or character, there is little I can do about the outcome.”
“But you pledged to train and defend him when he became your squire.” Andrew was intrigued. He knew Orson to be petty and selfish, but had never thought his companion knight quite so wicked. Had he infected the other knight without intending to do so?
“And he pledged to serve me faithfully. It seems to me that he is the one who broke the agreement.” Orson appeared to have no remorse in this choice, beyond regretting some inconvenience to himself. He looked up and down the road, but no mounting block had miraculously appeared. He peered down the road toward the manor, but his expression revealed his opinion of the merit of walking. “How unfortunate that you sent your squire away.” Orson glared at Andrew. “Why did you send Bart away? He had only just arrived.”
“With the tidings he brought, I had to send a message. There was no one else to take it.”
Orson pursed his lips. “I suppose he will return to you in due time.”
“I can only hope,” Andrew acknowledged. It was most unlikely that the squire would return in time to help Orson back into his saddle.
Orson clearly reached the same conclusion. He seized the reins of Andrew’s destrier, his eyes narrowing as he prepared to force his seniority upon the younger knight.
Andrew nearly winced. If Orson asked outright, would it be folly to decline? He knew a refusal to be of assistance would not be received well and braced himself against Orson’s temper.
He did not dare to loose his own, even to defend himself.
He was saved by Percy’s shout.
“My lord!” the boy cried. “My lord, I have found it!”
Orson’s astonishment was complete. “What have you found, Percy?”
“A wolf pelt, sir.” Percy stumbled out of the forest, his hair disheveled and dirt on his clothes. His face, however, was lit with relief. “A beautiful wolf pelt, stretched and cured, all silver grey with black tips. It is huge, sir, and luxuriantly thick. I should think a lady might believe it a fine gift.”
Orson smiled, his gaze dancing over the forest on either side of the road. His distaste for the region was clear. “A perfect gift for a bride in these parts. Well done, Percy! Bring it quickly.”
The boy faltered for only a moment, his surprise at the unusual praise more than evident, then disappeared back into the forest again.
Andrew was skeptical about the quality of the pelt, for he could not believe any soul would abandon such a prize. But the pelt proved to be every bit as magnificent as the boy had claimed. Indeed, it was the finest Andrew had ever seen.
And it was familiar.
The sight of it put a cold weight in Andrew’s belly, though he hid every sign of his reaction from his fellows.
Who had committed this travesty? Andrew would ensure that whoever had killed this wolf paid a high price.
Meanwhile Orson smiled as he fingered the luxuriant pelt, the sight of his fingers in the fur enough to sicken Andrew. He knew the other knight would not only give the pelt to the lady, but concoct a tale of his own valor to accompany it.
“We should agree, Andrew, upon how many wolves we have killed upon this journey,” Orson said. “It would not do for our tallies to differ when the tale is told.”
“Three,” Andrew suggested impulsively, not really caring about the detail. Perhaps the hunter was at Seton Manor, for there were not many holdings in this vicinity. If Orson took the pelt and presented it as his own kill, the true hunter might argue the matter with him.
Orson considered Andrew’s suggestion, then nodded. “Three. It is a fine number. Not so many that we appear rapacious; not so few that we appear incapable. I took this one, and the female he defended. You took the male who came to his aid. That one was mangy and the female was small, so we did not keep their pelts.” He flicked Andrew a cool glance. “The tale will travel from one sister to the other, upon that you can rely.” He whistled and Percy fell to his knees before him, creating a mounting block with his body. Orson ascended to his saddle, as regally as a king.
Orson wagged a finger at Andrew. “I shall show you, my friend, how the most can be made of an opportunity seized.”
Andrew made no comment upon that.
Chapter Three
It was a fine Sunday, although there was no sunlight in Annelise’s heart. It had been two weeks since she had met the hunter in the woods, two weeks since he had failed to come to the hall, and she had not managed to drive him from her thoughts.
Much less his sweet kiss.
Her nightmare of the wolf continued each and every night, leaving her awake and terrified in the dark. Some nights, she was snared in the dream until she died. Others, she managed to awaken at the beginning of the attack. The hunter never came to her rescue in these nightmares, and Annelise feared the portent of that.
But the white wolf appeared in each dream and always it wept.
It was most odd. Annelise had never experienced a recurring dream before, and she wondered at its meaning. She would have felt foolish asking Isabella, for her younger sister was both busy and pragmatic. If she had confided in any of her sisters, it would have been Elizabeth, for Elizabeth could see the Fae and was inclined to be less skeptical of matters not easily explained. But Elizabeth remained at Kinfairlie.
Annelise thought that revisiting the glade might have been the next best choice, albeit in daylight and not alone. She wished to see if there was any trace either of the white wolf from her dream or the hunter whose kiss still heated her skin. But that was impossible. Once Murdoch had heard the tale of the wolf, he had forbidden either Annelise or Isabella to leave the enclosure of Seton Manor.
After a fortnight of such close quarters, Annelise felt trapped.
She lingered in the chapel after the others left the morning service and said an extra prayer for the hunter.
She decided he must have a good reason for not keeping his pledge to her. Perhaps he had tracked a second wolf, and it was one not so readily defeated. Perhaps it had led him far from Seton Manor. He was the manner of man to willingly und
ertake a noble quest, she was certain of it, and one who would not be swayed from his objective by temptation.
Was temptation all she had offered?
Annelise wanted to be so much more. Had he already forgotten her? Annelise could not bear the thought, although she imagined a man of such handsome appearance would have known many fascinating women.
She rose from her knees when her prayer was done, brushed off her skirts and made to return to the hall. She did not even reach the threshold of the chapel before Isabella flung open the door and peered around it. Her sister’s eyes were alight with some tidings and Annelise immediately feared that another suitor had come to dine.
She could not bear it. She knew that Murdoch was disappointed in her shyness, but it was not within her to charm men at will.
Isabella surprised her. “Your admirer has finally arrived!”
Annelise’s feet seemed to become fixed to the floor. Her heart stopped then raced as she was filled with a mix of fear and anticipation.
“I do not understand,” she said, as calmly as she could. She could not bear to be teased by her sister, not about this.
“The hunter!”
“How can you be certain?”
Isabella stepped fully into the chapel and pulled her hands from behind her back. Annelise gasped when Isabella revealed that she held a wolf pelt.
Annelise ran to her and seized the pelt, not caring if Isabella teased her for her enthusiasm. It was a beautiful pelt, the fur thick and wrought of a thousand shades of silver and pewter. It had been cured by someone who knew how to do such deeds, for there was no scent to it. She remembered that afternoon all too clearly, the spark of hunger in the creature’s eyes and her relief when it had fallen dead. There had been blood, but there was none on the pelt.
Was it from the same wolf? Was it from him? It was as large as the wolf she remembered, that much was certain. She turned the pelt in her excitement, her fingers sinking into its luxurious softness. Her heart stopped when she saw that the fur was darker at the head and the legs.
The same wolf.
“He is here!” she whispered and pushed past Isabella. She heard Isabella laughing at her, but did not care. Her footsteps flew as she raced out of the chapel and across the small courtyard in the core of Seton village. Seton Manor did not have a full bailey, but there was a yard near the stables and Annelise heard voices there. She ran toward the sound, the timbre of men’s voices becoming clearer as she approached.
True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse Page 4
