Bound by Wish and Mistletoe (Highland Legends, Book 1.5) (17 page)

He sighed, tears springing into his eyes as he was overcome by new emotions assaulting his heart. “Aye, love. This would be it.”

Susanna wrapped her arms and legs around him as her lips nuzzled his neck, kissing the skin softly. He remained within her embrace, his hands tucked beneath her shoulders, his face buried in the sweet lavender scent of her hair, his body buried deep inside her.

For the first time in his life,
he
felt protected. Cherished.
Loved.

* * *

Susanna shot upright in bed, gasping for breath as she escaped the suffocating clutches of another nightmare. Only this time, the vivid images burned into her memory, terrifying her. She glanced left to see Robert slumbering on his stomach, his back rising and falling in slow, steady breaths, his skin faintly illuminated by the last glowing embers in the hearth.

His amazing peace was completely at odds with her debilitating unrest. In her dreams, demons in Robert’s likeness had chased her, threw flames at her until her lungs filled with choking smoke. Even awake, she couldn’t breathe, undeniable fear of him transforming into that demon at some point in the future seizing her chest.

Acting on impulse, she quickly dressed and traipsed down the hall, counting the doors. She softly knocked on Brigid’s. Torturous seconds later, the door opened to reveal her sleepy friend, copper curls a wild riot around her face.

“Susanna!” Brigid whispered, wrapping a robe over her sleeping gown. “Are you unwell?”

“Aye, at least in the head. My thoughts are jumbled with fears, and I canna breathe. I feel like my poundin’ heart might explode out of my chest. I need that fresh air and time to think.” They’d discussed her idea in the torch-lit corridor the night before, the possibility of a night ride.

Brigid nodded. “Meet me down in the great hall. I’ll try to get Isobel away.”

Both women appeared minutes later and spirited Susanna to the other end of the keep, through a gallery of Iain’s collected treasures, and into the down-sloping entrance of a hidden tunnel. Isobel handed her a fiery torch she’d pulled from a fitting in the hall.

“I still don’t think this is a good idea.” Isobel repeated her misgivings from the night before.

Brigid wrapped a thick black cloak around Susanna’s wedding dress. “Susanna promised it was only to think. And with
Solus
protectin’ her, she’ll be fine.”

“Thank you. Both of you are so kind to me. Though you doona need to loan me your horse, my mare will do.”

“No.”

“Nay.”

Isobel laughed at their simultaneous reply, but the smile faded, and she glared at Susanna. “You’ll take my battle-trained horse, or we won’t help you with the head-clearing ride you need. Understand?”

Susanna laughed, grateful for their help at all. “Aye.”

She took her time wandering down into the airtight passage as she had the shortest distance to cover. The chilly corridor had been constructed large enough for her to stand upright and spread her arms wide before her fingertips grazed the tightly fitted stones on either side.

As she slowed her steps, she watched the shadows waver and creep along the walls and ceiling, bidden by her flickering torch. But she wasn’t frightened. Only the dark corners of her tortured
mind seemed to have that power.

A wooden ladder built into the wall appeared ahead, and she slid the torch into an iron fitting a few feet to its right. She took a deep breath, lifted her skirts, and carefully secured each slipper-covered foot into the rungs as she climbed out. As she rose toward the surface, colder air fogged down and around her until she pushed through thick scrub in front of the entrance and stepped out into the snow.

She pulled her borrowed cloak tightly around her as a biting wind whipped an icy frost into her bones. Ignoring the discomfort, she closed her eyes and slanted her face to the starry sky, inhaling the crisp cold air, the effects of the outside wilderness already calming her.

The sound of crunching snow alerted her moments before Brigid and Isobel walked into view, leading a
regal mare whose white coat glowed in the light of the moon. That the two women would give her such a prized animal shocked her. Although they’d formed the fast bonds of friends and family, they’d still only known her for two days.

She was amazed by their kindness and generosity, but remembered Isobel’s nonnegotiable terms. “I’ll take good care of her.”

“Aye, you will. And yourself.” Brigid said. “Iain and Robert will be roarin’ the castle down if harm comes to either of you.”

“Are you certain we can’t convince you to ride with Brigid tomorrow?”

Susanna shook her head. “Nay. I need to clear my head before I lose my mind. And I canna do so with company.”

Warmth suddenly surrounded her, both women wrapping her in a fierce hug. She squeezed back, tears filling her eyes as she clung to two kindhearted souls that, in the best ways, reminded her of Mama.

Although she’d only shared with them brief details of Mama and her father, they had to be aware of Dougal’s attack in the woods prior to her arrival. They honored her, both by not prying about something she wasn’t able to talk about and in trusting her instincts that she’d be safe on a short midnight ride.

Nearly an hour later, Susanna rode Isobel’s majestic horse through the snowy landscape, everything blurring together into the moonlit darkness. Tears in her eyes spilled over, tracking down hot across her cheeks in the biting wind. The stabbing cold on her skin and the choking cramp in her throat were far easier to bear than the crushing weight within her chest.

The nighttime ride meant to calm her head and lift her spirits, like other solitary rides had done, had the opposite effect. Head spinning and heart clenching, images of Robert and Dougal, Broc, and terrifying demons in very real nightmares haunted her until her breaths had reduced to ragged hitches and gulps of air. As pins and needles spread across her chest and down her arms, she focused on trying to breathe, her body forcing her to survive through her anxiety.

Thoughts ebbed away with the pins and needles as deep cold breaths filled her lungs. Numbness followed. Everywhere. And oddly, the absence of thought felt good. The farther
Solus
galloped from where Susanna had been, the less her fears ruled her mind.

Another salty tear tracked down her cheek as she realized her maddening thoughts had overruled good sense.
Solus
had charged off into the night without turning back. Lost in her fears and unaware of her surroundings, Susanna had foolishly let it happen. The boundary markers of Brodie lands that Isobel and Brigid had mentioned had disappeared into the dark of the early morning hour, unnoticed.

Her breath caught as reality settled into lucid thoughts. A part of her wanted to pull on the reins and urge
Solus
back to the castle, hoping the mare would find it. But the part of her frozen in terror from dark, twisted nightmares locked up her muscles.

Daunting fears, stalking her while awake and dreaming, thwarted her chance at happiness. Although she hadn’t intended to leave, in her demon-haunted mind, she now saw no other way.

She had to abandon Robert. Her panic had reached such a degree within the confines of his castle, she had found it impossible to breathe. No matter what Robert promised, aside from whatever he truly believed, she would remain a prisoner in Brodie Castle—Iain had said as much himself.

Skorpius’s transgression, whatever it had been—and the degree to which it had torn Brigid apart—only added to her growing fears. Seeing Brigid so forlorn had shredded her heart anew, ripping wide open the emotional scars from her past, proving to Susanna just how deep they ran. Broc may have physically hurt Mama, but the bruises she bore on the outside were mere scratches compared to the permanent damage Mama had sustained on the inside
...that Susanna continued to suffer from.

She’d inadvertently escaped. Again. A lifetime of fears and her mother’s words had coalesced into an undeniable need to run, even though a part of her knew that, in Robert and his clan, she’d found something truly rare and amazing. But although Susanna desperately wanted to believe her overwhelming panic was only temporary, she found she couldn’t see even a flicker of light through the darkness of her despair.

Her frozen fingers gripped the reins hard, or she thought they did—she couldn’t feel them anymore. She inhaled a deep shaky breath, wishing the painful beats of her heart would somehow grow numb as well.

A single sob escaped her throat. Flames ignited like wildfire from her chest into her throat as she attempted to hold the devastating emotions back. She failed.
Solus’s
ears swiveled back, and the horse slowed, as she slumped over the mare’s neck, crying.

Susanna hadn’t felt comfortable bringing a location-marking torch to light her way, but the moon shone brightly enough for the horse to navigate unaided through the lightly treed area beyond Castle Brodie. Despite insurmountable fears that allowed for no other option but the choice she’d made, loneliness and sorrow plagued her mind. A wolf howled somewhere off in the distance as if commiserating with her—two miserable souls in the same place, both desolate and inconsolable.

She closed her eyes, trusting
Solus
as she focused on the sounds of the night. The whinny of a horse not too far behind her pricked her ears. She squeezed her thighs, pressing the mare to quicken the pace.
Solus
instantly responded and veered toward the edge of the trees, breaking into a gallop.

After another hour, dense forest gave way to open land, dropping the temperature further. They walked through drifting snow as gloaming colored the sky in a steely blue.

The crunch beneath the mare’s hooves changed to a harder noise. A loud crack followed. She looked down, her gaze tracking far off to the right. They traversed across the narrowing end of a loch covered in ice.

Nervous, she urged
Solus
forward. Her cloak blew open as the horse clambered off the dangerous surface and entered into another section of forest. A flash of red to the right caught Susanna’s eye, but when she glanced back, the thick branches already hid the ice behind them.

Her breathing hitched from the close brush with disaster, and she focused her attention on her surroundings as the horse picked the easiest way through the thicker foliage. She was on her own now; a fall through ice or a tumble into a ravine would turn her flight into a pointless endeavor. Peace and safety were her primary goals—not
permanent
peace.
At least
...
not yet.

Fresh pain lanced through her chest as she thought of Robert, the look of love shining in his dark eyes haunting her. She tried to redirect her thoughts, focusing on the fierce warrior that had fought for her. With great effort, she remembered his irritation and swift decisions when she’d been a threat to him and his men
...and herself. Images drifted to how he touched her...and loved her.

She sighed, deep regret of her unavoidable escape at the expense of Robert’s heart besieging her. She wondered if Robert would fare well; she vehemently prayed he would.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Warmth bathed Robert’s face. He woke to sunlight streaming through the open window and sighed, remembering their blissful wedding night. He slid his hand over to touch Susanna but instead found a cold empty sheet. He rolled over, reaching further with his other hand. Nothing.

He sat up and squinted, trying to see beyond the blinding brightness. The entire room was empty. Confused, he stumbled from the bed and realized Susanna’s dress and slippers were gone.

His thoughts drifted back to the other night when he’d raided the kitchen and brought a feast back to their bed. Susanna’s playful words from last night rang into his head:
“’Tis my turn.”
The idea that she’d want to surprise him to break their fast calmed him, and he smiled at the intimate moment they’d shared when he’d tempted her with foods she’d never tasted.

Unwilling to wait a moment longer to have her in his arms, he quickly dressed and went down to the kitchen. Rowena and her staff were busy preparing the midday meal.

“Have you seen Susanna?”

“No, Commander,” Rowena said. The three other women in the kitchen shook their heads.

He closed his eyes, scrubbing a hand over his brow as he forced a calming breath into his lungs. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“’Twas last night,” Rowena replied.

“How long have you all been here in the kitchen?”

“I arrived before sunrise,” Rowena said.

Refusing to give credence to the worst possibilities, Robert backtracked into the great hall. He didn’t bother going outside, as she’d never venture out among strangers alone. With systematic precision, he opened every door and searched each room, beginning in their auxiliary wing. He worked his way back to their bedchamber, which remained empty. Only two doors remained upstairs. He knocked on Brigid’s, and after no reply, opened it.

Empty.

Iain and Isobel’s room was the only bedchamber remaining. He pounded on the oak door, venting the panic rising from the pit of his stomach. When no one answered, he shouldered the door open.

Empty.

He rushed back down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and strode down the hall to find Iain’s study door open. Laird stood at the high wooden table, examining a map. He glanced up as Robert walked in.

“Iain, have you seen Susanna?”

“Nay, I thought she was with you in her bedchamber.”

“She’s nowhere in the keep.”
His voice cracked, and he took a deep breath. “Where are Lady Isobel and Brigid?”

Iain frowned deeply. “I thought
they
were in the keep.”

Robert spun around and ran through the great hall. He yanked the front door open and jogged into the courtyard, frozen snow crunching beneath his feet. Iain appeared at his side seconds later.

The courtyard had several paths that had been cut into the two-foot-deep snow, and both men sprinted down the one that led to the stables. The stable boy looked up from shoveling one of the stalls and dropped his task to greet them.

“Were any horses taken out today?” Robert asked.

“Nay,” the boy replied.

Robert turned and stepped out of the structure, scanning the courtyard. A few children played by the cottages. Uilleam, the woodcutter, led his horse and cart in over the drawbridge, carrying a load of firewood.

“But Lady Isobel and Lady Brigid took
Solus
out...late last night.”

On Robert’s left, a deep growl came from Iain, and they slowly turned back around.

“What?” Iain asked through clenched teeth.

“I tried to stop them. Brigid assured me Lady Isobel would not be riding.”

“Have. They. Returned?” Iain asked.

“I doona know, Laird. I tried to wait for them, but fell asleep.
Solus
is not here.”

Their heavy boots echoed over the wooden floorboards as they stormed down the stalls. Suddenly governed by their strategic minds, which fired out prioritized tasks with lightning speed, Robert tossed a saddle onto his horse and cinched the strap as Iain did the same with
Dubhar
.

“That insolent woman.” Iain growled. “I shall chain her to the damn bed.”

Robert put a foot into the stirrup and swung his leg over the saddle before he realized Iain had spoken of Isobel. He glanced at his friend. “You think that’ll be effective?”

Iain sighed as he mounted his stallion. “Nay, but in my current mood it seems like a good plan. And
...would make
me
happy for a while.”

Robert snorted as he rode his horse into the courtyard. When Iain veered off toward the gatehouse, he followed. The guard leaned down to them from the tower window.

Iain shouted up to the guard, “Have Lady Isobel and Brigid returned?”

“Aye. They walked in on foot a short while ago.” He pointed toward the great oak tree that overlooked the stream. Two figures sat beneath the tree’s winter-bared branches.

Robert shouted up at the guard. “They were alone? No other woman was with them?”

“Nay. Only the two ladies. They left with Lady Isobel’s warhorse but returned without it,” he called down.

Robert tugged on the reins of his horse, turning toward the drawbridge. “Susanna’s not safe outside our walls,” he snarled, furious that his unfinished business with Dougal now exposed Susanna to harm.

“See to your woman. I’ll deal with mine,” Iain said.

Robert nodded and tore off across the drawbridge. He took a hard left, following the curtain wall that surrounded the castle as he followed his instincts and the lasses’ clear trail. As he rounded the far corner, he came across a large area of disturbance in the snow outside their hidden underground entrance.

He urged his horse forward at a gallop, following
Solus’s
tracks as they led away from Castle Brodie, racing off in the same general direction Susanna had been headed when he first encountered her. He feared a part of Susanna, even if on a subconscious level, had been half a heartbeat away from bolting in panic the entire time she’d been with him, irrespective of the grave risk to her safety.

The hard-headed woman needed to realize what was important in this world.

The things that you run toward
...

* * *

As Susanna and
Solus
topped a gradual rise, the choking foliage of the forest thinned, allowing narrow shafts of morning light to dance down through the treetops. Sparse vegetation gave way to open rocky ground, and a low stone wall appeared beyond a thicket of bramble. Past the wall and farther up the rise, a modest stone building came into view, its frosted windowpanes perched beneath large twisted icicles that hung from a steeply pitched wood-shingled roof.

The sound of another horse whinny not far behind her quickened her pulse. She urged
Solus
forward and beyond the building to the stables around the back. She quickly found a stall for
Solus
, tied her there, and ran to the back entrance of the building. The place resembled the sanctuary her mother had described, based on long-winded stories from traveling monks.

Thankfully, the non
descript oak door on the back of the building was unlocked. Susanna slipped inside, but the door made a loud thud when she shoved it closed. It had an iron crossbar fitted across its middle, and she locked it down tight.

She strode through the kitchen into a main room where small candles flickered in alcoves and on narrow tables along the walls. A giant wooden cross to her right shadowed her as she rushed through the benches lining either side of a center aisle.

The front door, although wider than the back, had a similar crossbar. She bolted it shut as well. In seconds, the sounds of not one, but several horses could be heard beyond the door, along with the deep timbres of men’s voices.

“You cannot hide from the world, my child.”

She spun around to see a man kneeling at one of the tables. His back remained toward her as he lit a candle with a long stick. She stared at him while catching her breath. His robe and hair were different than Father John’s. He wore a plain brown robe tied at the waist with a thin braided cord, and his hair had been trimmed short along the sides except for a circular shaved spot on top of his shiny head.

A monk. I
am
at the right place.

Not wanting to alert the men outside to their presence, she stepped closer to him before speaking. “But I can hide for now, can I not?”

He partially turned and sat on a bench behind him, his round face with pink cherub cheeks smiling at her. “Aye. We all have the need for refuge from the world from time to time.”

A rattling sound echoed into the room, and they both looked toward the front door. Loud thumps followed, the rusted hinges squeaking and rattling in protest.

The monk turned on the bench, swinging his legs fully around. She lowered herself next to him, dropping her head to stare at his leather-booted feet beneath the brown robe.

“Will the door hold?” she whispered.

“I doona know,” he whispered back. “’Twill depend on how badly they want in.”

She took a deep breath and glanced toward the door again as voices rumbled intermittently outside. Dark shapes moved before one of the paned windows, but she couldn’t make out any details. She prayed that her pursuer’s view inside the building was blurred to the same degree.

Another rattling and more furious pounding happened at the back door. Her pulse accelerated. Robert and his men wouldn’t take her by force, would they?

The monk put his hand over hers. She’d been fisting the material of her cloak so hard, her knuckles had gone white. As she exhaled and relaxed her grip, he patted the top of her hand.

“God’s will be done, child,” he said.

In resignation, she gave a slow nod.

“Susanna!” A deep raspy bellow shouted out.

Her breath caught. Robert hadn’t found her.

Her father had.

“If you doona come out here like a good lass, I’ll be forced to come in. Doona make your great offence to me and our clan any worse.”

She bit her lip and closed her eyes. Her past had hunted her down and caught her. Was escape from it not possible? She shook her head, denying the roots of hopelessness any foundation to take hold.

Silence ensued, transforming into an eerie calm that sent chills up her spine. A distorted shadow went by the window from front to back. Another dark shape followed.

Images of her and Mama cowered in the tiny bedchamber where she’d been imprisoned her entire life flashed through her mind. The waiting was the worst. When one knew an inevitable outcome was about to pass, the minutes that ticked by became tortuous hours. Susanna’s leg bounced in nervous anticipation.

No more fear.

“Do you have any weapons, Father?” she glanced at him.

Kind brown eyes met her gaze as he smiled. “Nay. This is a place of safety. A house of peace not war.”

She stood, restless. No longer worried about being seen, she searched the place for anything to use in defense. Tables and benches, goblets and candles filled the front room, but the cross bearing the crucified Christ looked substantial. She glanced back through the room toward the front door. Although she and the monk might manage to drag the enormous wooden carving to bar the front door, they’d be exhausted by the effort. And by that time, the back door would be broken down.

In the kitchen, she found all they needed: jeweled daggers used for eating and a large knife. She fastened one dagger to the top of her boot with a strip of leather and held the other weapons, one in each hand.

With a steadying breath, she returned to the main hall. Her companion had already stood from his bench and paced the length of the center aisle.

“Here, Father.” She tossed him the knife.

The monk caught the handle with the blade pointing down and spun it in his hand, pulling his arm to his side, bracing his legs in a wide stance. He lowered his gaze, staring through the front door.