Joanna Fulford (23 page)

Ban feinted, giving a little ground, inviting his opponent in. Murdo saw it and smiled. Then he lunged. Ban sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the point, and appeared to stumble, falling to one knee. Murdo lunged again, closing for the kill. His opponent rolled, bringing up his own blade between them. Unable to check the impetus of the blow, Murdo rushed on to the point and the blade was buried for half of its length in his breast. For several seconds he hung there, his face a mask of shock, before he buckled and sank to his knees, his sword dropping from his hand. Ban pulled the blade free and swung it again hard. It severed Murdo’s head cleanly. The body fell at his opponent’s feet. For a moment or two Ban surveyed it with grim satisfaction, leaning awhile on his sword, knowing the savage exultation of victory.

Iain surveyed him for a moment before glancing at the head of the enemy; then turned towards the watching men. ‘Bring me a spear.’

* * *

It was late when they returned at last to Glengarron, their tired horses lathered and blown. Ban, bone weary and sick with the knowledge that Isabelle was lost, dismounted and gave the reins to a groom. Then, with Iain beside him, he entered the hall. It was empty, save for the servants who hastened to bring ale and wine and food for the returning men. The mood was dark and subdued even though the enemy had been so soundly defeated. It seemed at best a Pyrrhic victory.

Hearing a light footstep and the rustle of a gown Ban looked up to see his sister standing in the doorway. With a glad cry she hastened forwards to greet her husband and brother. Ban’s face was pale beneath its tan, his eyes wells of misery as he beheld her face waiting for confirmation of all he dreaded most.

‘Isabelle?’

‘Lives,’ she replied.

For a second or two it was hard to take in and all he felt was the painful thudding of his heartbeat. Then, no less painful, a tiny flicker of hope took root there too.

‘She lives?’

‘She’s very weak but she’s holding on.’

Ban swallowed hard. ‘Take me to her.’

He strode along the passageway in Ashlynn’s wake until they reached the chamber where his wife lay. As the door opened Meg turned to regard them soberly.

‘How does she, Meg?’ he asked, hastening to the bedside.

‘She is weak. The arrow missed the vital organs but there has been much blood loss, my lord.’

His heart sank. ‘Will she live?’

‘I do not know.’ Meg paused. ‘Only time will tell us that.’

He knelt by the bed, his gaze taking in the deathly pallor of the face, the dark circles beneath the eyes, and he felt the chill of the hand he held. It seemed every bit as icy as the chill around his heart. If he could have given her his blood and his strength, he would have done it. As it was he could only look on helplessly and wait.

‘Don’t die, my love,’ he begged. ‘Please don’t die.’

* * *

For several days it seemed that Isabelle’s life hung by a thread. Meg tended her closely, aided by Ashlynn and the servant, Morag. Ban hardly stirred from her side. Sometimes he slept, only to wake with a start, fearing that she might have died meanwhile and he knowing nothing of it. Then he would catch sight of her shallow breathing and know she lived yet. He cursed himself that he had not returned sooner to Dark Mount that day. If he had he might have been in time to prevent the encounter with Murdo. Why had she and Nell been there? He had no idea. Nell could never tell him and perhaps not Isabelle either now. All he could think about was the imminent, mind-numbing possibility of losing her. His conscience though was far from numb. She had once thought him self-seeking and that his love of land and wealth came before any thought of her. And she had been right—then. He had no idea when that had changed because the change had happened so gradually. All he knew for sure was that it
had
happened. She had found a place in his heart that only she could fill. If he lost her it would be as though a part of his heart had been ripped out. If only she might live so that he could tell her the truth.

The thought of her dying and leaving him alone sent a roiling fear through his entire being. Life would not be worth living without her. Once before, he had lost everything. Now it seemed that by a malign trick of fate it was about to happen again. Even the wounds he had sustained in the sack of Heslingfield hadn’t caused the kind of agony he felt now. ‘Don’t leave me, Isabelle. My darling, I beg you, don’t leave me.’

* * *

Isabelle struggled through a stormy sea, fighting to keep her head above the waves that threatened to draw her under. Every movement was slow and painful, every breath an effort. Part of her urged the futility of the struggle, a siren voice that spoke of surrender. If she stopped fighting and let the waters take her, the pain would be gone and in their depths she would find peace. Yet somehow, over that siren voice, she could hear someone calling her, someone she must reach. It was a man’s voice, gentle and loving, summoning her back. She must keep swimming, but her strength was ebbing and only her will kept her going now. If only she could find the owner of the voice she would be safe.

Chapter Nineteen

O
ne afternoon, a week after the drawing of the arrow, Isabelle awoke. For a while she had no idea where she was but then, gradually, familiar details began to impress themselves on her consciousness. She had been in this room before. The walls, the tapestries, the bed were familiar. How had she got here? Surely she had been somewhere else before. A memory surfaced of trees and men and a woman screaming. Her brows twitched together. She couldn’t quite recall who they were. Then she was aware of another presence in the room with her, a man. He too was familiar somehow. He was sitting beside the bed but his gaze was elsewhere as though he were deeply abstracted. Eventually, sensing himself watched he turned towards her. Blue eyes met hers. The sombre expression changed in an instant to incredulity and joy.

‘Isabelle?’ He pressed her hand to his lips. ‘Oh, my love. Thank God.’

‘Ban?’ she murmured.

For a moment it seemed he could not speak; then he seemed to rally. ‘I thought I’d lost you.’

She stirred a little and winced as fiery pain shot through her body. Hearing the sharp intake of breath, he bent over her in concern.

‘You must stay still, my love. You’ve been injured.’

‘Injured how?’ she asked as the pain began to subside a little.

‘Someone shot you. Do you not remember?’

‘No.’

Her mind was suddenly confused with lots of different images: sunshine and trees and an empty road. Then the road was no longer empty. Men blocked the way. She was afraid.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Ban said gently. ‘Just rest now.’

Nothing loath she shut her eyes again. However, the images came thick and fast then. The quiet sunlit track had become a place of menace. Its focus was the dark-clad warrior with the bow in his hands. He was pointing it at her and Nell. As in a nightmare she saw the arrow leave the string, heard Nell scream and then the shaft was buried in her breast. She cried out but already knew it was too late. Her companion was dead. Then she had run but her legs would not move fast enough and the horses had drawn closer, cutting off the way both forwards and back. The dark warrior nocked another shaft to the bow and let fly. She moved but not fast enough. There was terrible pain and then nothing, until just now. Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes.

‘Nell’s dead, isn’t she?’

‘She is. I’m so sorry, Isabelle.’

‘He killed her, didn’t he? Murdo I mean.’

‘Aye, that’s right.’

‘He tried to kill me.’

‘But he has failed,’ he said, ‘for I will not let you die. He will not take you from me.’

‘I don’t want to leave you, Ban.’

‘I should not permit it in any case.’ He smiled. ‘I love you, Isabelle. More than my life. I should have told you that before. I should have told you every day.’

‘Do you mean it?’

‘I mean it. If I hadn’t been so blinkered I’d have realised it long since. Can you ever forgive me?’

Her heart constricted. ‘Oh, Ban. There’s nothing to forgive. If I have your love, that’s all that matters.’

‘You do have it, unconditionally and always.’

Then other bits of memory returned and she paled. ‘Dear God, the baby...’

‘It’s all right. I’ve spoken to Meg.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Quite sure. She says there’s no sign of anything amiss. I think you must be carrying a future warrior.’

Relief flooded through her. ‘I shall go to the church and light a candle to give thanks.’

‘We’ll both go, when you are well again.’

‘What of Murdo?’

‘He’s dead, and by my hand.’

She seemed to relax a little. ‘I am glad. He was an evil man.’

‘That he was, but his days of persecuting innocents are over.’

Her eyelids closed again and presently Ban heard her breathing grow soft and regular and knew she dozed. Even so it was a while before he could get his own emotion under control as for the first time he found himself truly daring to hope.

* * *

Later, when Morag came to sit awhile, he rose and betook himself to the tower roof, needing the fresh air to clear his head. It was there that Ashlynn found him later on.

‘She will live, Ban. I’m sure of it now. The worst is over.’

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak for a moment or two.

‘It is her love for you that gives her the will to fight,’ she went on.

‘I cannot live without her, Ash. She means the world to me.’

‘I know.’ She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘And you two will have a wonderful future together, never fear.’

Ban let out a ragged breath. ‘I hardly dared to hope these past days.’

‘Isabelle’s will is strong.’

‘Do I not know it?’ He managed a wan smile. ‘She has been through so much but it has not broken her spirit. Yet I fear that Nell’s death will hurt her more than an arrow ever could.’

‘It was a cruel and dastardly act, but Murdo has paid the price.’

‘I never knew it was possible to hate so deeply till that day.’

‘Hatred can be a useful tool,’ she replied, ‘but I think it is a bad master.’

‘Meaning that I should let it go.’

‘Murdo is dead, his men slain or fled. They belong to the past. Leave them there, Ban.’

‘You’re right. I know you are. Yet part of me still wishes him alive again so that I could have the pleasure of slaying him anew.’

‘Forget him. Think about Isabelle instead. Help her to get well.’

‘She will get well, Ash, won’t she?’

‘I truly believe it. After all, she has everything to live for.’

* * *

It seemed that Ashlynn’s prediction was correct for by slow degrees Isabelle grew stronger and the wound began to mend. Ban spent the greater part of each day at her side, fearful of letting her out of his sight lest she suffer some unforeseen relapse. Eventually as she began to take nourishment and a little of the colour returned to her cheeks he felt better reassured. His guilt was not so soon alleviated. When he thought back on his original treatment of her he felt only disgust. What the hell had he been thinking? Her forbearance had been astounding.

Isabelle, comforted by his presence and his evident concern for her, knew there was something amiss. It troubled her. Once she would have talked it over with Nell, but that was no longer possible. She missed her former companion terribly; missed her shrewd intelligence and sound common sense. It was as though everything she had ever had from her past life had been stripped away. She tried to imagine what Nell would have said had she been there. In her mind she heard the much-loved voice:
Talk to him, child. Tell him what is in your heart.

Thus it was that when next they were alone she summoned the courage to broach the subject.

‘Something is wrong, Ban. Will you not tell me what it is?’

He turned to face her, his eyes troubled. For a moment he remained silent.

‘Is it something I have done?’ she went on.

‘That you have done? Good Lord, no! How can you think it?’

‘Then tell me, I beg. I hate to see you look so.’

‘It is of our earlier relationship that I would speak.’ He drew in a deep breath. ‘I have thought of it often while you have lain there nigh to death, thinking that there might never be a chance to make it up to you.’

She had been listening to him in mounting surprise and concern. ‘I understand why you behaved as you did. The pressure on you was great.’

‘And so I put unfair pressure on you.’

‘You are the last surviving male of your house. Of course it was crucial to you to produce an heir. It’s important to all men but for you it was, quite literally, a matter of life and death.’ She smiled sadly. ‘I too am the last of my house. I know how it feels.’

He clasped her hand. ‘You have been through so much on my account. Too much.’

‘What matters is to have your love.’

‘You do have it. Never doubt that again. I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you the truth of that.’

‘Then we may yet found that dynasty.’

‘If we do I hope our offspring will take after you, that they will possess your goodness and your generous spirit.’

‘I hope they will have the courage and the integrity of their father.’

‘Not so much integrity I fear.’

‘You’re wrong. You never lied to me or gave me false expectations.’

‘Maybe not, but it still pains me when I think of some of the things I did say.’

She grinned. ‘“We may grow closer in affection.”’

‘Ouch! And that was probably one of my least offensive remarks. I only wish I could forget them.’

‘I think you should. Focus on being Laird of Castlemora instead.’

‘That title still sounds strange to me.’

‘I can think of no one better fitted to fill the role.’

He kissed her hand. ‘I shall strive to deserve it.’

‘There will be much to set right I fear, but if anyone can do that it is you.’

‘Your faith makes me feel proud. Your late honoured father will be a hard act to follow.’

‘Your whole life has been leading to this,’ she replied. ‘It is what you were born to do.’

‘Perhaps. All the same, it would have been a hollow crown if you had not been there to share it with me.’

‘But I am here and I mean to stay.’

‘That’s just as well, my love, for I will never let you go.’

* * *

Since it was clear that their plans could not be implemented for some weeks, Lord Iain sent a group of men ahead to hold Castlemora in the interim. The news of Lady Isabelle’s intended return was well received, for Murdo’s reign had been hated by the family retainers, and the thought of the rightful heir being restored was pleasing to all concerned. Thus Lord Iain’s men were made welcome by the Castlemora servants until their lady should return.

For Isabelle it couldn’t come soon enough. While she was grateful for the hospitality of Glengarron, the thought of living with Ban in their own home was irresistible. As soon as she was up again she told him as much. However, he refused to countenance a move just then.

‘You are not fit enough yet, sweetheart.’

‘It won’t be long now. I am so much better already,’ she replied. ‘I left my sick bed days ago.’

‘You need to recover your strength and give the wound time to heal completely.’

‘It almost is.’

‘Almost is not good enough.’

She laid a hand on his sleeve. ‘But, Ban...’

He was not to be coaxed. ‘No, my darling, you’re not going anywhere as yet.’

The tone was gentle but it carried a note she had learned to recognise. ‘You sounded just like Lord Iain when you said that.’

‘Did I so?’ He smiled faintly. ‘And just how does he sound?’

‘Like a man who intends to get his own way.’

‘I do mean to get my way.’ He took her shoulders in a gentle clasp. ‘I am your husband and I will be obeyed.’

Isabelle lifted a quizzical brow. ‘Can I say nothing to persuade you?’

‘Not a thing.’

‘Perhaps there is something I might do then?’ She twined her arms around his neck and bestowed a lingering kiss on his mouth. ‘Was not that persuasive, my lord?’

‘Aye, it was.’

‘Good.’ She kissed him again, a deeper and more intimate embrace. His arms closed gently around her, drawing her closer, and he returned the kiss with slow, contained passion. Then he drew back a little and looked down into her face.

‘Even better, but it has not changed my mind. You’re staying here.’

‘You can be so stubborn.’

‘When it comes to your welfare, my sweet, I can be downright intransigent.’

It drew a reluctant smile. ‘All right. You win, for now.’

His eyes gleamed. ‘I’d to think I’ll win all the time but I doubt it somehow.’

‘So do I.’

They both laughed. Then her face grew earnest once more. ‘But Ban, I hope we will not wait too long. I would so like our child to be born at Castlemora.’

‘There is no reason why he should not be.’

She hugged him. ‘Then I am content.’

* * *

It was some weeks later before they set out for Castlemora. Although she was looking forward to their return Isabelle was sorry to say goodbye to Ashlynn, if only for a while.

‘Fortunately the distance is not great so I feel sure that we shall meet again before too long.’

Ashlynn smiled. ‘I am determined that we shall.’ She looked meaningfully at her husband. ‘When next my lord has occasion to visit Castlemora I shall accompany him.’

Iain glanced at Ban. ‘You have been warned, Brother.’

‘So I have.’ Ban leaned closer. ‘I suppose there’s no chance of a reprieve?’

‘I seriously doubt that.’

‘So do I.’

Both men grinned. Ashlynn surveyed them in mock indignation.

‘You are right to doubt it. I am going to become an aunt and I shall not be kept away.’

‘That’s it then,’ said Iain. ‘We’ve been told.’

Ban gave his sister a hug. ‘I sincerely hope you will come and see us soon, Ash. There is much to show you.’

‘I look forward to seeing it.’ Ashlynn smiled at Isabelle. ‘In the meantime, I shall miss you. Nor would I lose your friendship so soon.’

‘Or I yours,’ replied Isabelle. ‘I shall never forget your kindness to me.’

The two women embraced warmly. Then Ban took his wife’s hand.

‘Come, my love. Let’s be on our way.’

Since Isabelle could not ride she travelled in a wagon specially prepared for the purpose. Two women servants accompanied her. When his wife was comfortably ensconced, Ban mounted Firecrest. He raised a hand in farewell and then they set off, an armed escort riding behind.

The pace was necessarily slow but Isabelle didn’t mind it. She would do nothing that might put her unborn child at risk. Her pregnancy was beginning to show now, a circumstance that delighted her. Moreover, Ban was solicitous over her comfort, insisting they travel by easy stages, stopping frequently to let her rest.

‘I have never travelled in such cushioned splendour,’ she told him. ‘I shall grow spoilt.’

He grinned and glanced at her belly. ‘You will doubtless grow, my love, but spoilt never.’

Isabelle returned the smile. ‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that. I must be one of the most pampered ladies in Scotland.’