Kiss of Danger (The Dragon Legion Novellas) (17 page)

This series continues the story of the family introduced in Claire’s Jewels of Kinfairlie trilogy and tells of the romances of the remaining unwed siblings.
The Renegade’s Heart
is Isabella’s story.

Copyright © 2012 Claire Delacroix, Inc.

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Kinfairlie, Scotland - January 1424

It had been an uncommonly mild winter. The weather meant less illness in Kinfairlie keep and village, which gave Isabella more time to study Eleanor’s books upon the healing power of herbs. Isabella had been tutored by her brother’s wife for more than a year and was fascinated by her studies. It suited her well to be able to make a difference in the lives of those around her, and to be of aid to Eleanor, the Lady of Kinfairlie.

When the moon was in its first quarter of the new year, a strange wind came rattling through the hall. That wind bore down on Kinfairlie with astonishing force and cold, slipping through the chinks in the mortar, scattering spices and making the water swirl in the buckets. Darkness came earlier from that day hence, and the nights were filled with threat and ominous whispers.

There was not a soul who did not curse the change, or the relentless buffet of that wind. It seemed impossible to evade its frosty fingers, or to ever get fully warm. Lanterns were snuffed and candles blown out by its gusts. Fires were nearly impossible to start, with that wind gusting across hearth and brazier, and tempers became short.

Usually the coldest winds came from the sea, bearing dampness and often snow. This wind was fierce and unfamiliar. It blew from the north, chilling every soul within the keep to his or her marrow. The butter turned rancid that first night and the meat spoiled in the larder, despite the cold temperatures. There were those who said it was a punishment, a retribution for sin, or even for the comparative ease of the winter so far.

Isabella did not believe a word of that. The wind made labor for her, for many in Kinfairlie fell ill with a persistent cough, one that began the first night of the wind’s arrival and would not abate. As well, Eleanor fell ill, leaving more labor to Isabella. Eleanor was at the beginning of her second pregnancy, though it was only with arrival of the wind that she became unable to eat.

Isabella worked long, fearing all the while that Eleanor might lose her child.

It was on the third morning of the wind’s wailing that Isabella strode into the chamber she shared with her two unwed sisters. Annelise, the eldest of the three, was already in the great hall, ensuring that Eleanor and Alexander’s son Roland was occupied. As Isabella entered, her younger sister Elizabeth looked up from her book. Isabella saw that it was the ledger from the kitchens. “Are you doing the inventory for Eleanor?”

“Spices on this day. She keeps a rigorous schedule in her inventories and I would ensure that she has no need to rise from bed.” Elizabeth’s expression turned hopeful. “Is she better?”

“She grows impatient with time spent abed, and tells me this is a good portent for a patient’s recovery.”

Elizabeth smiled.

“That and complaints about the fare,” Isabella added and Elizabeth laughed. “I must go to the village to check on those with the cough, then concoct another posset for Eleanor.”

Elizabeth watched Isabella. “You enjoy this labor.”

“I do.” Isabella paused at an unfamiliar note in her sister’s tone. “Does that trouble you?”

Elizabeth frowned. “I am happy for you, of course. You have found some task that you love and your passion for it is clear.”

“But?” Isabella prompted.

Elizabeth sighed again. “I have no similar passion. Indeed, my yearnings are for things I doubt I shall ever have.”

“Like what?” Isabella sat down beside her sister.

“I yearn for adventure. Love. Bold deeds.” Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled. “A knight to capture me and claim me as his own. He should be valiant and handsome, and undefeated in battle.”

“As well as wealthy and landed,” Isabella teased.

“Of course!”

“You want to live in a tale.”

“And what is so wrong with that? Two years have passed since Alexander saw Madeline and Vivienne wedded, then took a bride himself. Three weddings in a year! Did you not think we would be wed by now?” Elizabeth flung out her hands. “We shall die ancient and withered in this keep!”

Isabella laughed and rose to fasten her cloak. “I believe there is yet time.”

“Are you not impatient?”

“Alexander vowed we would wed at our own choice. I am content to bide my time in choosing, that I might choose well.”

“Since when is patience one of your virtues?” Elizabeth teased.

Isabella turned away, pretending to seek some trinket. She had seen much in assisting Eleanor, much of the matters of women. She had seen women sicken while carrying children and she had seen them die. And Isabella was resolved that if she were to take such a risk for a man, she would have to love him with all her heart and soul.

As Eleanor loved Alexander.

“And who shall you choose?” Elizabeth continued. “There is never a man of interest to come to this keep and Alexander will not take us to even the earl’s court.” Elizabeth lifted the ledger. “We had best be about our labors. At least you look forward to yours.”

Isabella had not managed a reply when the sound of hoof beats carried through the window.

“Destriers!” Elizabeth said. She raced past Isabella and flung open the shutter, admitting the chill of the morning. “Knights!” she breathed in awe. She grinned at Isabella and lowered her voice, her eyes sparkling with new merriment. “Husbands!”

“You think of only one thing!” Isabella teased.

“Alexander must have summoned them. Or they come to beg his favor. I must be in the hall to greet them!” Elizabeth hastened out of the chamber, her footsteps pounding on the stairs as she descended to the great hall.

Isabella, always cursed by curiosity, went to the window to look.

Two horses galloped along the road to Kinfairlie’s gates, their manes and tails flying in the wind. They were magnificent steeds, so large and muscled that Isabella knew them to be destriers. Elizabeth had doubtless been right about knights, for the warhorses were richly caparisoned. Isabella saw the gleam of sunlight on armor.

The lead horse was so pale a silver as to be nearly white. Its mane and tale were as dark as pewter. It was caparisoned in deep blue, and the tabard of the knight riding it was of that same deep blue. He wore chain mail and a long full cape as dark as midnight flowed from his shoulders. As he drew nearer, Isabella saw that his tabard bore no insignia. His hair was black and long enough to curl at his collar.

The second horse was a chestnut with a white star on its brow and white socks. It was no less handsome than the first destrier. The man riding it was older and garbed in the plaid favored by the highlanders. He wore a leather jerkin and a white shirt, and his hair was both short and grey. A seasoned warrior, Isabella sensed that he was aware of all that surrounded them, but kept his expression impassive.

Her gaze returned to the younger man.

They galloped directly to the gates, the horses stamping and snorting when they were compelled to halt before the gatekeeper. Their breath sent plumes of white into the air.

“I am Murdoch Seton,” cried the man with the dark hair. He was handsome enough to make Elizabeth’s heart flutter, Isabella was certain of it. His voice was so rich and deep, his confidence so beguiling that Isabella herself thought to shiver. His manner was audacious, which snared Isabella’s interest. “I am come to deliver a message to the Laird of Kinfairlie.”

The gatekeeper, a doughty man who seldom smiled, barred the entry with his spear. Isabella heard the rumble of his voice but could not discern his words.

The pale horse pranced in impatience. “My brother’s request will not be surrendered to the gatekeeper and forgotten,” Murdoch Seton said, a surprising hostility in his tone. “I will speak to the laird and tell him of it myself.” His gaze danced over the tower and Isabella withdrew slightly, fearing that he would spot her.

There was something about him that held her gaze, though, a vitality that was uncommon among men.

“I will send word to my laird and you will wait.”

“I will not be deterred from this mission,” the knight said with a determination that was surprising. “I have but a message to deliver, and no man of integrity would turn such a missive aside.”

“But...” It was clear to Isabella that the gatekeeper did not trust this Murdoch Seton.

Why? Did he know of him? Or did he simply dislike the man’s imperious manner? Isabella drew back the shutter a little more, curious beyond all. It seemed almost that the knight expected to be refused or turned aside. Why?

“I see you do not send word and perhaps you do not mean to,” the knight said with impatience. “ I will take word of my arrival to the laird myself.”

The gatekeeper obviously protested, but this Murdoch Seton dismounted, casting the reins of his steed to his partner. He made to push past the gatekeeper’s spear, and Isabella saw that he was both tall and muscular. There must have been purpose in his gaze, for the gatekeeper took a step back. He kept the spear lowered, though.

“You will not enter this hall armed!” he declared.

Murdoch cast a wry smile at his companion, then unbuckled his belt and scabbard. Instead of surrendering it to the gatekeeper, he handed it instead to his companion, then leaned close to the gatekeeper.

Isabella leaned out the window to hear his words.

“I leave both steed and sword in the custody of my companion. Should he be divested of them in my absence, or should he not be here when I return, I shall take word to the king of the treachery that has claimed Kinfairlie.” Then he pushed aside the spear with a gloved fingertip and marched toward the portal.

Isabella’s mouth dropped open. He threatened the gatekeeper? But he was the one who sought admission. Why was he so resolved?

The gatekeeper turned and looked after the knight, his astonishment clear. The older man, the companion of the knight, appeared to be amused.

Why did the knight assume his message would be refused?

Isabella had to know.

She spun and ran for the door, thinking she would listen in the great hall as the knight made his argument. She had only just flung open the door when she heard boots on the stairs, approaching quickly. It sounded as if a man took the stairs two or even three at a time. She might have retreated but the knight crested the top of the stairs.

He slowed his pace to consider her. His eyes, Isabella could now see, were a clear and deep blue and he was ruggedly handsome. Even though she was tall, he was taller. He strode toward her with such care that she thought of a wolf hunting its prey. His gaze was unswerving and a crooked smile lifted one corner of his mouth.

Isabella felt hot, right to her toes.

“The maiden from the window,” he murmured and the appreciation in his low voice made Isabella flush. “Yet more curious than I imagined.”

“While you, sir, are more bold than might be imagined.”

He smiled outright then, the expression softening his features in a most attractive way. Isabella could not avert her gaze. Indeed, it seemed she could not breathe.

“Sir!” Anthony shouted from lower on the stairs. “Sir, I must insist upon speaking first to the laird of your presence.” The older castellan could be heard huffing as he climbed the stairs behind the new arrival.

Isabella would not be daunted by this knight. She straightened, aware that Anthony would hear whatsoever she said. “I understand that you are Murdoch Seton,” she said crisply. “I, for one, would not keep you from delivering your missive. It must be of great import for you to be so concerned of your reception.”

“And so it is,” he acknowledged, his eyes glinting.

Was he mocking her? Flirting with her? Isabella did not know, but his manner flustered her in a most unwelcome way.

“Then I shall not delay you further.” She made to step past this rogue, but he touched a fingertip to her elbow. The weight of his finger stopped her cold. She glanced up at him, and was snared by the intensity of his gaze.

Had she ever seen eyes of such a vivid blue?

“Perhaps the lady’s smile would be worth a delay.” he said, his voice as soft as silken velvet.

“Perhaps a guest should not be so rude as to make demands before he is welcomed,” she retorted.

“In normal circumstance, I would agree,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. His fingertip slid toward her wrist in a most deliberate and shocking way. Isabella stared at it, surprised by the shivers than raced over her flesh, emanating from that point. “Has the lady a name?”

“Of course,” Isabella said. “But I understand the guest has a quest.” She stepped away, just as Anthony reached the summit of the stairs.

The castellan glared at Murdoch. “My lady Isabella, did this man trouble you?”

Murdoch chuckled and Isabella flushed that he now knew the name she would have kept from him.

“No, Anthony,” Isabella said. “I merely reminded him that it is common courtesy for guests to be announced.”