Warrior's Bride Read online

  "Excuse me." The girl brushed past him. Her face had lost all its color. She lurched toward the rail.

  He followed her to the railing as she hung over the starboard side. "Have you never been on a ship before?" he asked with irritation.

  "I have never been off the isle," she moaned.

  His gaze moved over her. In any other situation he would have allowed himself to feel some compassion for the girl, but this time he could not. To feel anything toward her would only give his father more leverage against him. Why else would the king have insisted on this marriage? As Walter had knowingly pointed out, their father intended to use Wolf's connection to the girl to bend him to his kingly will. Wolf straightened. He would never allow that to happen.

  The same breeze that had cleansed his soul only moments before now felt heavy and cold. Wolf reached for the cloak he had left draped across the railing. He shrugged the heavy wool about his shoulders, then turned back to the girl. Shivers racked her body. He frowned as he watched her lean against the railing, her arms crossed over her chest, trying to gather whatever warmth she could to her frail body. Her threadbare clothing offered little defense against the wind's gathering force.

  He shouldn't care about her comfort, and yet with each shudder of her body his resolve faltered. He groaned. As a future husband it was his duty to provide his bride with at least simple comforts. He moved beside her and slipped his cloak about her thin shoulders. "This should help."

  She turned to him, her eyes reflecting a challenge. "Thank you for the cloak. I may need your protection right now, but I do not have to like it." The words caught him off guard. He had never met a woman more in need of help, and yet she refused to give him any advantage. Intriguing.

  Wolf turned abruptly away at the unwanted thought, searching the receding shoreline of St. Kilda. He could not afford to connect himself to this woman emotionally. Danger lay down that path for both of them. Neither had any choice but to play the game the king had set in motion with as much distance between them as possible.

  "How long until we reach this Black Isle?" she asked.

  He turned back to her. "We have one day of hard sail ahead of us, then two more over land."

  "And when will we be forced to marry?"

  If it were possible, he swore her skin turned even paler. He had no reason to lie to her, and yet he hesitated.

  "I have a right to know my future." Her voice grew stronger as she pushed herself away from the railing.

  "As soon as we reach the Black Isle we shall marry."

  "I see," she replied, her tone mournful.

  Was she that repulsed by him? "It is a fate neither of us can avoid."

  Her gaze moved from the deck to the sea beyond, at the receding shoreline that was barely visible now. "Perhaps." She sounded resigned, but the set of her chin warned of something more.

  He stared at her without speaking, snared by her image, both vulnerable and strong. Again, an intriguing mix.

  He allowed his gaze to linger on her full lips, the soft skin of her neck and shoulders that gleamed with beads of sea spray. A hint of fullness peeked out above her bodice, and Wolf imagined the sculpted breasts that lay beneath. What he could not see, what he imagined, enticed him.

  "My lord Wolf." Brahan's shout broke into his thoughts, jerking him back to the moment.

  He turned abruptly away from the source of his speculation. "What?"

  "Another vision." Brahan clutched the small white stone in his hand. At Wolf’s frown he stuffed the Stone back into its protective pouch.

  "I told you not to—"

  "I had to know more about the girl," Brahan said in a rush. "But I saw a ship in the vision just as the men sighted it in the distance."

  From the railing, Walter turned to face Wolf. Deep lines of worry etched into his already haggard face.

  "Pirates?" Wolf shouted above the wind.

  Walter nodded. "She's a square-rigged ship, and she's flying no flag."

  "Load the cannon," Wolf called to the crew, who scrambled to do his bidding. Brahan and Walter stood nearby, awaiting their orders. "With square rigging, they will have to tack more often. That should allow us to out-sail them, but we must be ready, regardless."

  "And the girl?" Brahan asked. "What do we do with her?"

  Her gaze clung to Wolf’s. A spark of challenge reflected there.

  He had no time to battle her. "Take her to my cabin," he ordered Brahan, the words barely audible as a loud boom filled the air, followed by a slow, keening whine. "Cannonball," Brahan yelled as he moved toward the railing. The sound rose in pitch, growing closer and closer until a thunderous splash sounded next to the starboard side.

  The Ategenos pitched wildly to port. A wall of water cascaded over the deck, drenching them in a chill ocean bath. Brahan lost his footing.

  Wolf caught Brahan's arm with one hand. With his other, he scooped the girl against his chest, holding her tight until the ship leveled. A warmth tingled through him despite the bitter cold.

  A light flush came to her cheeks as if she felt it too. She looked away. "My bag," she cried, reaching past him for the brown bag and the object inside that wiggled against its sodden prison.

  Brahan regained his footing. "We are under attack. Did I not warn you of such a thing when we set off on this journey? Did the Stone not predict this would be our demise?"

  "Not now, Brahan." Wolf scooped the girl into his arms. Through her wet clothing he felt her tremble. He thrust her at Brahan. "Take her below."

  "My bag." She struggled against Brahan's grasp.

  "I shall see to that." Wolf twisted away, turning his attention to the ahead. "Ready the cannon," he shouted, prepared to pummel the scoundrels who had fired upon them. No one attacked the Black Wolf of Scotland and lived to tell the tale.

  Chapter Three

  "All hands into position," Walter cried. "If they have more than one cannon they could fire on us at any time." Under Walter's leadership, the crew loaded the cannon. The weapon was small and light, but sufficient to blow a hole through their enemy's hull.

  Wolf scooped the girl's wet bag off the deck. A loud squawk issued from inside. "What the devil?"

  He opened the sack and stared, incredulous. A chicken? A protest came from within, followed by a flurry of brown feathers. He clamped the bag shut, but the chicken had seen the way to freedom. Through the fabric, it pecked at his hand. He held the sack away from himself, but that did nothing to spare his fingers from the bird's assault. Just then another cannonball slammed the water, this time off the port side.

  "Fire when ready," he shouted as he lurched toward a barrel that had once been filled with grain. He shoved the chicken inside, then turned back to his men. "If our attackers want a battle, let's give them one they won't soon forget."

  He studied the enemy ship. Who were they? Had his father sent someone after them? Or was this one of his own enemies come to pay retribution?

  His ship's cannon launched with a deafening roar. The acrid scent of gunpowder hung in the air. Wolf watched the ball sail toward the other ship. With a satisfying crack, it pierced the port bow. Shouts of euphoria from his ship mixed with anguished cries from the other as the pursuing vessel slowed behind them.

  "Should we prepare to board?" Walter questioned.

  "Nay." Through a haze of gray smoke Wolf watched as the other ship listed, sinking lower in the water. "We must continue on to the shores of Torridon. Speed is of the essence."

  Walter turned to call out orders to the crew.

  Anger churned inside Wolf. Whoever their attackers had been, they would not be following them anytime soon. His ship was secure for now. But could they continue their journey as planned? He had originally planned their passage from St Kilda to the North Channel. Then, from the port at Torridon, they would begin their two-day trek over land. Only behind his own castle walls could he guarantee the safety of his men. The girl would be safe there as well.

  "Captain, sir." A flush-faced sailor hurri
ed toward Wolf.

  "What is it?" He set down his sextant, annoyed that he had allowed his thoughts to return to the waif in his care.

  The sailor skidded to a stop. His breath came in short gasps. "The Lady Isobel... your quarters."

  Wolf frowned. "What about her?"

  The sailor swallowed hard. "I think ... you had better see for yourself."

  What could have happened now? Wolf held his irritation in check as he descended into the bowels of the Ategenos.

  "In here, sir." The sailor motioned toward the door.

  Wolf strode into the room, then stopped short "My God, what has happened here?"

  His quarters were in shambles. Charts, maps, books, and clothing were tossed all over the room as if blown by gale force winds. Brahan's shirt hung loose at the waist of his tartan and sported a tear from his shoulder to his chest. His brown hair stuck up at odd angles, and beads of sweat dotted his brow.

  "Set me free!" Isobel writhed against the ropes that bound her to a chair in the center of the cabin. When Wolf entered, her gaze flew to his. "I beg of you, do not lock me in here." Her brown eyes blazed.

  Fury shot through him as he took in the purple welt at her temple. "What happened? Why is she restrained?"

  "It was the only thing I could think of to calm her down." Brahan's breath came in gasping bursts. "I brought her in here. I set her on the bed." He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, only bringing more chaos to the jumbled mass. "One minute she was as docile as a kitten. The next she turned wild, like something inside her snapped."

  "And the bump on her head?"

  Brahan shrugged. "She must have hit it on something."

  Wolf looked back to the girl. The fury in her eyes receded and he saw fear, cold and stark. Her skin paled and a slight tremor raced through her. He stepped toward her, then stopped. He had seen that look in the eyes of some of his men before they entered a battle where their lives were at stake. It was not anger but terror that drove this woman's actions. "Untie her."

  Brahan shook his head. "She will only—"

  "Untie her now." His words were short and brittle.

  Brahan moved behind her and tugged at the ropes. A moment later she was free of her temporary bonds. She attempted to stand but collapsed back in the chair. Tension curled her hands into fists, and her face took on a sickly pallor. "Please," she said. "I must go on deck."

  She tried to stand once more, but again sank back into the chair. "I must... have air. Please."

  Wolf moved to her side and scooped her into his arms. Quickly, before he could reason with himself about what he was doing, he carried her up into the open sea air.

  As soon as the chill air above deck touched her face some color returned to her cheeks. She gulped in several deep breaths, each one lessening the fear in her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered. "Don't take me back down there. Not down there. Want to stay ... on deck. In the open." Her eyelids flickered closed as she drew in deep breaths of air.

  Slowly, he could feel the tension leave her body. His gaze dropped to her face. An air of innocence hung about her, made all the more dramatic by the sweep of long, dark lashes against her cheek. Sea air caught tendrils of her golden hair, teasing her cheeks and neck with their whisper-soft touch.

  Women like her complicated a man's life. Fiona was a very different sort. All that mattered to his mistress was the size of a man's purse. As long as the man had funds to keep her happy, she would stay in his bed, yet out of his way.

  Wolf shifted his gaze from Isobel's face to the inky depths of the sea. The expanse of water stretched out before him, silent, calm, icy. So very different from the riot of heat emanating from his body where it pressed against hers. A purely sensual hunger gripped him, and he tightened his arms around her, bringing her close enough to smell the light scent of heather that lingered in her hair.

  "Damn the man," Wolf muttered, even though the usual hatred that followed such a curse did not spring forward this time.

  Her eyes snapped open. "I am feeling much better." She tensed in his arms. "You may put me down." The commanding tone had returned to her voice.

  Wolf slid her down the length of his body, gently setting her on the deck. She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling beneath the thin fabric of her gown as she took a step away from him. "Thank you," she said, continuing to gaze at him ... with what? Fascination? Wariness? Desire?

  He held his breath, waiting. For what, he did not know.

  "My lord Wolf." Brahan's voice broke through the moment.

  Wolf turned to see that Brahan and the young sailor who had beckoned him to his quarters had returned to the deck. Wolf shook off the strange sensations that gripped him. He turned to the sailor. "Bring the bedding from my own bed up here."

  "You mean to have her sleep on deck?" Brahan asked.

  "It is what she requested," Wolf replied. "And you are going to watch over her."

  Brahan frowned. "Me?"

  Wolf was spared from further questioning when the young sailor returned with the heather mattress and down ticking. "Where do you want these?"

  "Place them over here," Wolf said, motioning to the dry corner positioned beneath the aft deck. When the mattress found its temporary home, Wolf waved her toward her new resting spot "Your room."

  Brahan frowned. "So I am to play nursemaid to our guest?"

  "Someone must."

  "That someone should be you, since you are to be her groom." Brahan's brow arched in question.

  "I have a ship to run and a new course to set. We have no choice but to risk the narrow passage of the Moray Firth in order to reach the Black Isle. Someone obviously knows where we are headed and might have set further traps for us along the way." Wolf turned away and took the stairs up to the aft deck in two strides. His duty was to his ship and his men, not to a woman—any woman. At the table that held his charts, he clutched the sextant in his hand. To sail by sea would add an additional day to their journey, but it would be time well spent if it kept them all safe.

  He forced himself to study the map, but his gaze wandered to the edge of the table and beyond, to the woman who now sat on the edge of the mattress, alone. Her forlorn expression hid nothing—not her seasickness, not her exhaustion, not even the fact that she'd lost everything she had ever known.

  Who was this girl to gain the attention of a king? What about her was worth risking the lives of seamen and a ship? Because he knew the ship that pursued them had been after her. His own enemies would not have been so bold as to attack him in full daylight. Nay, they were more the sort to slink in the shadows, using darkness to their advantage. So who was after the girl?

  She lay curled with her knees against her chest. Every ounce of decency inside him cried out to champion her, to protect her from whatever secrets she carried.

  But protecting her meant caring what happened. And that would be a deadly mistake, for all of them.

  When fools are summoned, into service at the promise of great gains, death will surely follow. Brahan's latest vision taunted from the edge of his thoughts. Perhaps the vision had been correct after all.

  Wolf tossed the sextant onto the desktop, giving vent to the feeling of doom. Whose death did Brahan's prediction foretell? Wolf’s? The girl's? Brahan's? Or were they all at risk as fools summoned into service in a king's manipulative game?

  Eldon MacDonald scrambled from the bow of the sinking ship into the last lifeboat the crew had managed to salvage as the hull dipped slowly into the icy black waters below. His cry of despair hung like a death knell in the salty sea air as the girl and her rescuer sailed into the distance. His family would be forever doomed without her.

  Eldon shivered against a sudden chill that invaded his aged bones. Lord Henry Grange would punish all the MacDonalds for this. Why hadn't he told the man of his child's birth from the very first moment?

  Instead, he'd let Lady Grange convince him that her husband would not be pleased to know he'd sired a daughter instead of a son. F
rom the few times he had met Grange previously, he knew the man was capable of dispatching the bearer of such ill news.

  They'd done as the mother had asked, keeping her secret and allowing the child to remain with her while she still lived. For years, the child had quieted her mother's cries. They'd all been grateful for that small blessing. But any blessing had since faded, replaced by danger because of their deceit.

  Desperation had driven them to betray the girl, revealing her existence to her father. They'd needed funds to replenish the stores that the harsh winter had damaged. Without food and the means to grow new crops in the season ahead, his clan would not survive. Damn his son, Aldous, for not waiting until he'd returned to the isle before releasing the girl to the wrong man.

  How the king had learned of and acted upon that information had surprised them all. And because of that mistake, the clan would suffer more unless they did something else, something even more dreadful than betraying an innocent girl.

  A shiver of doom wracked Eldon's body as the crew set the oars and, with coordinated strokes, propelled the small boat back toward the Isle of St. Kilda.

  They had no choice but to bargain with Grange for their lives. They might have lost the girl, but they still had one thing Lord Grange coveted: the secret of the Seer's Stone.

  Chapter Four

  The croft house moved, listed, then fell. Izzy moaned softly and hugged the old, threadbare blanket that was her bed, trying to keep herself still. Her efforts were in vain as the cottage shifted yet again.

  "Fear not, little one. It is only a squall."

  Izzy tried to force one eye open at the sound of that familiar voice, without success. "A squall? But squalls are at sea."

  A soft chuckle came from beside her. "You are at sea. Or have you forgot?" Her eyelids fluttered open and she stared up into a sky of white canvas framed by the gray clouds beyond. It took her a moment before she could make out the edges of a sail that had been secured above her makeshift bed to protect her from the rain. Tiny pings of sound hit the cloth in a steady rhythm that matched the tilt and lift of the ship.