She smiled and lifted the wolf pelt between them. From this angle, it appeared that her bare breasts were nestled against it, the front of her kirtle hidden beneath the fur. He could imagine her nude upon the pelt all too easily, a notion to which his body responded with enthusiasm.
If she were his lady, he would seduce her slowly. He would introduce her to the pleasures of the flesh as if they had all the time in the world, and he would show her that she was a treasure of the rarest kind. His mouth went dry, his arousal pressing against her belly, and he did not have it within him to pull away from the temptation she offered.
Garrett nodded at her guess, unable to summon a word to his lips.
“I knew it.” Her full lips tightened. “He lied. That knight lied and I knew it. He stole this from you, did he not?”
“The boy did.” Garrett swallowed and frowned. “I suppose he might be the knight’s squire.”
“Vermin! He said he had killed the wolf.” Her outrage was so clear that it warmed his heart. “He stood in the holding of my sister’s husband, accepted his hospitality and lied! Odious man! Villain and cur!”
Garrett found himself smiling at her indignation. “Does he have a name?”
His maiden had to think for a moment, and he liked that she had cared so little about the arrival of a knight to have taken much note to his name. That was no good sign for the man’s suit, if indeed he came to court the lady.
“Orson. Orson Douglas.” She frowned then and bit her lip, peering up at him again. “But he offered the pelt to me as a gift. He knew my name before he arrived.”
This was a tiding to prompt Garrett’s suspicion. “Do you know him? Or was he dispatched to collect you?”
“I cannot imagine that.” She shook her head, clearly thinking. “Never have I seen him before. But my brother’s holding, Kinfairlie, is near that of the Douglas family.” She spared Garrett a rueful glance. “Alexander is often challenged to keep peace with the Earl of March, without sacrificing too much of his own suzerainty. They are powerful and demanding neighbors.”
“Ah.” Garrett said, for this made all clear.
His maiden stared at him. “You think he has been sent to court me.” There was no question in her voice and he assumed she had come to the same conclusion.
“It seems most likely.”
Her disgust was apparent. “Yet he begins the task badly. What manner of man launches a courtship with a lie? Not a knight whose vows have any meaning for him, much less one who intends to treat his lady wife with honor.” Her reaction delighted Garrett, for it confirmed to him that they had more in common than a kiss.
“Perhaps he will have competition in that regard,” he said softly, loving how her gaze flew to meet his. “But only if it suits you.”
She smiled with such pleasure that Garrett’s chest tightened. Then she stretched to her toes, dropping her voice to a whisper. Her fingers tangled in his hair, her expression was worried. “But there is violence in him. You must be careful. I see already that he does not like to be crossed and he will not cede anything with grace. That was why I feared for your welfare when he presented the pelt.”
It had been a while since any person had feared for Garrett’s welfare and never had such a lovely maiden done so. Garrett bent and stole the merest kiss, brushing his lips across hers. Even that minute touch lit a flame within him and he simmered with desire. He knew he should not take more, but she locked her hand around the back of his neck.
“Kiss me truly,” she demanded in a whisper. “More ardently even than before.”
Hers was a demand Garrett could not deny. He angled his mouth over hers, swallowing her sigh of contentment, then kissed her deeply. He saw that she closed her eyes and felt how she leaned against him, surrendering completely to his touch.
Her trust humbled him.
Once again, he felt that honeyed course of new strength flow into him, a gift she did not realize she gave him and one that made him so much stronger. He could have become addicted to her touch in a heartbeat.
Even without the peace she gave his mind.
He caught her close and lifted her against his chest, easing his tongue between her teeth. She responded in kind, mimicking his every gesture so that his blood fairly boiled. He speared his fingers into the thick splendor of her hair, and cupped her nape, holding her captive to his pillaging kiss.
She not only let him take what he desired, but offered him more.
It was long moments before Garrett recalled that he should not dishonor the maiden he meant to take to wife. With an effort, he caught her shoulders in his hands and put an increment of distance between them. She sighed with such evident regret that he smiled at her. She cast him a rueful glance, even as her hand landed upon his chest. “You are right, of course.” Her eyes shone. “But never did I know that a kiss could give such pleasure.”
“Still, I would not have you believe me to be of the same ilk as that knight.”
“Never!” Her defense of him was heart-warming. “You are a man of honor and already I know it well.” That she could be convinced of his nature so soon could only be a good portent for the future, and his suit.
“I would never wed a man like that, but he will not take a refusal well.” She cast a glance back to the hall, her hand sliding into his. Her hand was small, her fingers delicate, and her skin was warm. “You must come to the hall now. You must meet my sister’s husband on this day.”
Hers was a reasonable request. If he meant to offer for his maiden and win her over the knight, Garrett knew she was right. All the same, he felt a prickle of dread. He did not wish to embarrass her and feared he could not make it all the way to the hall and be coherent on this day. “You know little of me, my lady. We could talk more, walk in the woods and learn more of each other before you make a choice.”
Her lips tightened. “I know I can talk to you. I know that you defended me from harm. That is far more than I know of Orson Douglas.”
“You know his name, though, and not mine.”
She laughed, a most delightful sound. “You are right, of course. It would not do for me to always call you the hunter.”
Garrett smiled down at her. “I am Garrett MacLachlan.”
“And I am Annelise Lammergeier.” She extended her hand to him as if they met at a king’s court. Garrett bowed over her hand and kissed the back, a deed which seemed to please her mightily, given the sparkle of her eyes. “My brother is Laird of Kinfairlie, which lies south and east of Edinburgh, on the coast.”
Her family name was familiar and gave him encouragement. “Near Ravensmuir?”
“That holding is ours, as well, though the keep lies in ruins. My brother, Alexander, holds Ravensmuir’s seal in trust for my brother, Malcolm.”
“Is he ill?’
“He has gone to the continent to make his fortune, if he may.” Annelise winced and Garrett guessed that Malcolm’s choice had not been endorsed fully by his siblings. Then she turned a bright gaze upon him. “How do you know of Ravensmuir?”
“I have heard it spoke of, on occasion.”
Annelise wrinkled her nose. “Our family reputation has preceded us, then.”
“Not a poor one, if that is your meaning.” Garrett recalled Mhairi’s mention of Ravensmuir well. “I was told that the Lammergeier were rumored to have unusual powers, but more than that, they defied convention in their choices.”
Annelise studied him. “Was this good or bad in the view of the teller?”
“Very good. Mhairi had no patience with convention and easy answers.” Garrett nodded in recollection, both cheered by his memory and saddened by the realization that he had spoken of Mhairi in the past tense for the first time. “She told one tale of a Laird of Ravensmuir who could understand the conversation of the ravens who lived on his holding.”
“Oh, that is an old tale, although I do not know if it is true.” Annelise laughed at his obvious disappointment. “If you have heard the worst of it and are not dete
rred, then perhaps there is hope for us.”
“Or perhaps we have common ground, you and me. Perhaps we might make unconventional choices and still be happy.”
She studied him, her gaze flicking over his kilt and jerkin, and he knew she was comparing his status with that of the knight who awaited her at Seton Manor. Her expression revealed that he did not fare badly in the comparison. She stretched up and kissed his cheek, her cheeks burning pink with her boldness and her eyes dancing with a delight that captivated him completely. “Please come to the hall with me, Garrett.”
When she appealed to him, it was not within him to refuse her anything at all.
Garrett had agreed, her hand was resting on his elbow and they had taken three steps before he realized the fullness of the gift she had brought him. Not only had her kiss soothed him, but its influence continued. He could still hear the voices that tormented him, but even as they grew louder, the stillness of her thoughts continued to offer him a haven
Perhaps in her presence, he could achieve what he had not been able to do in the past. Perhaps she did offer the cure to his woes, just as Mhairi had forecast.
Filled with new optimism, Garrett fixed his attention on the maiden by his side, on the tranquility of her mind. He steadily put one foot in front of the other, astonished to discover how much easier it was to approach Seton Manor in her presence.
The sound of the thoughts of others grew steadily louder, but Garrett was newly convinced that with Annelise by his side, he could succeed. He believed it fully, until the malice stabbed into his mind.
The viciousness of one individual’s thoughts nearly took him to his knees. That mind was filled with hatred, and that hostility was directed at him. The toxin of those thoughts reverberated in his mind, so evil that Garrett clung to Annelise in desperation.
It was like the last time, all over again.
But infinitely worse.
Chapter Four
What was happening to Garrett?
Annelise watched his agitation grow as they walked closer to Seton Manor. His reaction made her doubt that illness was the real reason for his absence. He was clearly distressed about entering the manor.
She could readily believe he was no longer accustomed to people, if ever he had been. He lived in the forest. He was resourceful and practical, but she could imagine that he was less familiar with the expectations of even a small hall like Seton Manor. He might have been ill, but perhaps his reticence had been the greater deterrent to his visit. She decided that he had not wanted to make a poor impression, so had stayed away rather than disappoint her.
Her compassion redoubled at this realization. She adored that despite his discomfort, he had intended to come to her on this day. She would see that he managed to speak to Murdoch.
But Garrett’s breathing quickened, and Annelise saw his agitation sharpen into terror. He truly appeared to be ill, and most oddly, his symptoms worsened the closer they became to the hall. She had never seen the like.
What illness could overcome a man so quickly, especially a man so young and hale as Garrett?
He had closed his eyes and stopped talking to her. He did not stride forward with the confidence and surety she associated with him, but moved with hesitation. His grip had tightened on her arm and she could see the beads of perspiration on his temples. Was it her imagination that his hand shook within hers?
“What is amiss?” she whispered, but he merely shook his head.
He became pale beneath his tan and shook. He stumbled through the gates like a drunken man, leaning on her more than he had thus far and grimacing as if in pain.
The sentries exchanged glances, then one came to Annelise’s side.
“Have you found an outcast, my lady?” he asked, his opinion of that more than clear.
“A madman in the woods?” asked the other.
Though Annelise could not blame them for making such a conclusion, she wanted to defend Garrett. “No, he is a hunter. He has only just become ill. I cannot explain it.”
Garrett moaned and halted, one hand rising to his forehead. He shuddered from his head to his boots and wavered so that she feared he would fall. Annelise spoke to him, leaning closer to him as she murmured his name. He did not reply, only shook his head and clutched at her hand.
“He does indeed appear to be stricken, my lady,” the sentry said.
“He was hale but moments ago.”
“I saw you talking to him in the distance, my lady. He stood taller then.” The second sentry frowned, looking down the road as if the source of Garrett’s affliction might be discerned there.
“It is most odd,” Annelise agreed. “I must fetch Isabella. She will know what to do.”
“Most wise, my lady,” agreed the first sentry.
Annelise pried her hand free of Garrett’s grip and raced toward the hall, concern giving speed to her feet.
She was shocked to a halt when Garrett screamed.
Annelise spun, horrified to see him writhing on the ground between the two guards, his hands locked over his head. He moaned in such obvious anguish that Annelise did not know what to do. He muttered to himself but made no sense, then rolled on the ground.
He might have become a different man.
A madman.
“Who is he and what ails him?” Isabella asked, touching Annelise’s shoulder from behind.
“I do not know what is wrong. The malady came upon him so suddenly.”
“Do you know him?” Murdoch demanded from her other side.
“He is a hunter,” Annelise said. “His name is Garrett MacLachlan.”
“The one you met in the glade,” Isabella said. “Who killed the wolf.”
“Aye,” Annelise agreed. She realized she still held the pelt and fixed her sister with a look, dropping her voice to a whisper. “This wolf.”
“This is the man you insist killed the wolf?” Orson asked with obvious derision. Annelise disliked that he, too, had arrived. He laughed, which seemed most inappropriate to Annelise. “Bravo! We shall have a gathering of wolf-killers, here at Seton Manor. Assuming your valiant hero can rise to his feet.”
Isabella caught her breath, her eyes narrowing in a sign that she shared Annelise’s view of the knight.
Orson sipped from a chalice of wine, his expression skeptical. “I must note, my lady, that he looks incapable of killing a fly.” He laughed again, his fellow knight chuckling along with him.
Murdoch was watching Annelise, his expression grim, and she realized that he knew she had fled her room. She had disobeyed his edict that neither she nor Isabella should leave Seton Manor without accompaniment, and she had accused his guest of being a liar. Annelise felt her color rise, but she did not back down.
“He killed this wolf, all the same,” Annelise retorted. “I was there and I saw the deed done.”
Orson’s lips thinned. “You must be mistaken, my dear lady,” he said, his words tight. “As maidens so frequently can be.” He bit out the words. “It must have been a different wolf, for I killed the one whose pelt you clearly treasure.”
Annelise wanted to argue with him, but Garrett moaned then, drawing her attention to the greater issue.
“He is taken ill,” she said, hearing the plea in her voice. “I was bringing him to meet you and he fell sick. I hope Isabella can aid him.”
Isabella gave Murdoch a look, one that Annelise recognized well, then went to Garrett’s side. Murdoch’s lips tightened briefly and Annelise knew he would have preferred to have denied Garrett admission to the holding. He clearly also knew the import of Isabella’s expression, and that she would not be stopped when she was determined.
Murdoch exchanged a glance with Stewart, his most trusted man-at-arms. His gaze flicked over the sentries and the men in his household. Annelise realized that Murdoch did not like having so many strangers in his hall, whoever they might be, and Stewart liked it even less. Murdoch gave Annelise an intent look, no doubt signaling that she should remain where she w
as, and strode away to speak to the sentries. The gates were closed then and secured, Murdoch murmuring quietly with his men.
Annelise remained in place, though she wished desperately to go to Garrett. She did not wish to defy Murdoch again, not when he was striving to defend her, and she trusted Isabella. All the same, she watched avidly as Isabella crouched beside Garrett, her fingers on his throat.
Orson took a sip of the wine in his chalice as he considered the scene, then winced at its tartness. Annelise wondered if he realized that he drank from the sole cask of wine in Seton Manor’s cellars, one that had been opened as a gesture of hospitality for him. Though it was apparent he thought little of the merit of the vintage, she did not doubt he would have much to say when he had consumed it all. He looked as if he made rapid progress on that quest, despite his opinion of the wine.
“So, charity is of great import at Seton Manor?” he drawled.
“I do not understand your meaning,” Annelise said coldly.
Orson shrugged. “He is an outcast, obviously, or one who has surrendered his wits. Perhaps he is even a felon. Yet, here he is, within Seton Manor’s gates. The lady’s charity is boundless.” He said this with a sarcasm that indicated he thought Isabella foolish.
“I think it of merit for a lady to care for something other than herself and her own frippery,” Annelise snapped. “Would you prefer my sister sat in her chamber and combed her hair, rather than giving aid to others?”
“Of course, she should do as she will, but…”
Annelise could bear no more. Disregarding Murdoch’s intent look, she went to her sister and crouched beside her.
“His pulse races,” Isabella said, apparently confused by this. “As if he has run far.”
“He did not.”
“Then it is a poison he has consumed,” Isabella said. “Such a sudden and violent reaction can come from little else. What has he eaten?”
“I know not.”
“Such self-sacrifice,” Orson mused. Apparently, he had followed and now stood behind Annelise, drinking wine. “And the lady with your child.” He smiled coolly at Murdoch, who also joined them.
True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse Page 6
