True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse (20 page)

There was a fork ahead and he ran full out to reach it before his maiden did.

Annelise saw the man standing in the road ahead. Her heart leapt with fear, but he simply pointed to her right as if indicating the path she should take. Annelise already knew she should take that path—it was the larger route and the one that ultimately would lead her to Kinfairlie.

Was he a villain? How had he guessed that anyone would ride this road at this hour? He was tall and looked to be strong. He was standing on the far side of the road, half shadowed by the forest, his boots in the undergrowth.

When he spoke, she realized it was Garrett.

He had found her! He was panting from the run and even more wet than she was. His hair looked dark and was flattened to his head, and all of his clothing appeared to be dark as well. She realized that he would easily disappear into the shadows.

“Do not slow the horse’s pace,” he called to her. “For the change will show in her tracks and someone will want to know why.”

Yseult barely spared him a glance as she charged past him and took the turn. The mare was galloping with her neck arched and her hooves flying high, her nostrils flaring at the indignity of running at night, alone, in the rain. Yseult much preferred daylight, the solace of company and sunshine.

Garrett began to run beside them. “In a hundred paces, ease her to this side of the road,” he commanded.

Annelise nodded and did what she had been told. When Yseult was trotting in the undergrowth at the side of the road, her flanks wet with rain and perspiration, Garrett indicated that Annelise should stop the horse. She watched as he surveyed the road behind them, then nodded approval.

“The tracks will be fading by the time they arrive. They will assume you continued on this course.”

“But I will not,” Annelise guessed and Garrett smiled. He took the reins and led Yseult into the cover of the forest. If he followed a path, Annelise could not discern it. Yseult, for all her dislike of darkness, evidently trusted Garrett. She snorted only once and tossed her head, but she did allow Garrett to lead her into the shadowed forest. She was more accommodating than Annelise ever remembered.

Could he hear a horse’s thoughts, as well? Was that how he knew how best to soothe her?

Annelise had a thousand questions, but before she could utter a word, Garrett glanced up at her and touched his fingertip to his lips. Annelise understood that they were already pursued.

She never would have guessed as much without his warning. It was peaceful in the forest and good to be out of the full assault of the rain. The canopy of leaves overhead sheltered them from the downfall, turning it from a torrent to a sprinkle. Annelise pushed back her hood and wiped the rain from her face. She was uncommonly relieved that Garrett had found her and trusted him to ensure her welfare. For his part, Garrett moved quickly and quietly, clearly intent on some destination. They continued in silence and shadow, and Annelise could have believed that time had stopped—or that they were the only souls in all of Scotland.

Much later, Garrett led Yseult back toward the road. Annelise knew he had led them westward in an arching path, and she guessed that they stood well to the west of Seton Manor. This section of the road did not look familiar to her, and it was more steeply sloped. Garrett stood on the lip of the road for the longest time, apparently listening.

Annelise could see that the sky was becoming lighter in the east. The rain had slowed to a steady grey drizzle and the clouds were turning to pale silver overhead. She shivered inside her wet clothing, knowing this would be a long and chilly day. Being cold was naught, though, at least not in comparison to being raped and claimed by Orson. The recollection of his intent made her shudder.

She glanced up to find Garrett watching her with concern. “You are cold,” he said. He used a fallen tree as a mounting block and swung into the saddle behind her. “I would ride all this day, though, with your permission, for I would have more distance behind us.”

Annelise nodded, even as his warmth touched her back. She nestled against him instinctively and he wrapped one arm around her waist. Garrett clicked to Yseult, guiding her on to the road and letting her find her own pace. The road climbed steadily up into the Highlands, a steeper road than the one Annelise had taken down from Seton Manor. She had the sense that this one curled farther to the north.

“I promise you a fire and a meal this night, my lady.”

“You sound as if you have a destination in mind.”

“I do.”

“Will you tell me of it?”

Garrett shook his head. “I cannot confide in you, for the truth would put you in peril.”

Annelise studied him, making no effort to hide her dissatisfaction with this plan. “I have so many questions!”

“But you do not know the price of asking them.” His fingertip fell to her lips and his gaze was deadly serious. “Do not ask, my lady. I beg this of you.”

“You said I might guess,” Annelise replied and he fought against a smile.

“So long as you do not mind whether I confirm or deny your accuracy.”

Annelise pursed her lips. “I would be a part of any effort to create our future,” she said. “Will you tell me of your plan?”

Garrett frowned for a moment, considering her request, then shook his head. “There is too much at risk.”

“Aye, there is!” Annelise declared, for she had had enough of his mystery. “For I shall not go without some measure of the truth.”

“I explained this, Annelise. Confidence has a price and I would not see you pay it.”

“You cannot imagine that our match will proceed well if there is not trust between us.”

“I trust you!”

“Then tell me.”

“Annelise, that is not the root of the matter. The telling could have dire consequences…”

“I do not care. I insist upon knowing.”

He eyed her, his concern clear. “What if I tell you a story?”

“Not like the one I heard last night,” Annelise said. “I disliked the ending of it very much.”

“The two tales have much in common, actually. This is a tale my mother told me.” Garrett gave Annelise an intent look and Annelise understood that there would be truth buried within it. “She had a great talent with telling a tale.”

“Then tell me of it, please,” Annelise said.

And Garrett did.

*

Stewart was displeased.

Though it was not in his nature to be merry all the time, on this particular morning, the warrior was more sour than was his wont. He knew that Murdoch had few choices before him, and that his laird’s resources were stretched thin.

But still.

Stewart rode in darkness and rain, his steed slogging through mud and mire, in the company of the most offensive man he had encountered in years, on a quest that he believed to be misconstrued. It was an abominable waste of a good night’s sleep. He was soaked to the skin and colder than he had been in years, but he held his tongue and rode.

Stewart had disliked from the first that a pair of knights had arrived without announcement at Seton Manor. He did not care for the addition of armed men whose alliances were unknown within the walls of the holding. Seton Manor was small and peaceful, but those sworn to it relied upon the laird’s protection. Given the nature of the holding, there were few men at arms in Murdoch’s employ, fewer still in this particular summer. The king’s court held an unholy allure for men whose blades could be bought, and many had ridden to Edinburgh to pledge their loyalty to the new king.

Whether they had permission to do so, or nay.

Orson and Andrew arrived at Seton Manor when defenses were low, and Stewart distrusted that. He was not a man to believe in coincidence or the intervention of the Fates. He did, however, believe in the scheming of men. That these two sounded so different from each other was also troubling. How could one have an accent of the English courts, while the other endeavored to hide his accent? That Orson should sound of London made sense, given his surname, for the Douglas family spent much time in the south. But why did Andrew’s Gaelic cadence appear and disappear? It was almost as if the knight wished to hide his origins, which was no credit to him in Stewart’s mind. How did they know each other? There had been no mention of alliance or common relations, which fed Stewart’s suspicions.

Plus how many men of the Highlands trained for their spurs? Stewart was certain he knew of all of them, but he did not know this Andrew. The knight’s tale reminded Stewart of something, a tale he had heard long ago and which lingered just out of memory’s grasp in a most frustrating way.

Now, he rode in the dark and the rain, accompanying Orson in pursuit of Annelise, his presence at Murdoch’s dictate. Though it was good for one of them to keep an eye on this knight, Stewart still was not content. Why had Andrew not accompanied his fellow knight? It was troubling to leave an armed man at Seton Manor, with one less blade—his own—prepared to take Murdoch’s side.

Worse, Stewart did not like Orson. The knight was assertive and domineering, a trait common to knights but seldom present in such vigor as it was with this man. Orson seemed to care only for his own objective, and Stewart believed that if this man had to choose between his vows and his desire, lust would carry the day. That the squire flinched whenever the knight simply glanced his way told much of the knight’s nature, in Stewart’s view. That Orson had borrowed Murdoch’s trap to ride in pursuit of Annelise with all speed was as salt in the wound. Stewart doubted Murdoch would see his harness again, for Orson was the manner of man to conveniently overlook all debts to others.

Orson would die young with a knife in his back, in Stewart’s view, and rightly so.

Which made him no good candidate for Lady Annelise’s hand.

Finally, this claim of Orson’s irked Stewart mightily. Stewart did not believe that the hunter would abduct Annelise. Such violent intent did not seem to be in his nature. He did not know the malady that plagued the hunter who had come to the gates, much less how it could be cured, but he had seen the lady Annelise’s concern for him. He had watched as that man had struggled with his ailment to appear at the board, and Stewart believed that Garrett did not wish to disappoint the lady he admired. This was a good impulse, in his view, and one of promise.

It was also inconsistent with the notion that Garrett had stolen Annelise forcibly away. Stewart suspected that Orson had embellished the truth or lied outright, for the lady’s glances gave him cause to believe that she would have left willingly with the hunter.

What had Orson seen in the stables?

What had he done?

Most importantly, was the lady Annelise safe from harm?

Stewart pulled his steed to a halt, even as the first light tinged the sky ahead of them. He dismounted and checked the road, dissatisfied with what he saw.

Orson rode back toward him, his destrier stepping high as the knight pulled hard on the reins. Perhaps he would die with a hoof print on his back, Stewart considered, or bitten by a steed much abused. The stallion was unhappy with his situation, it was clear, and looked feisty enough to take action upon it.

“Why do you stop?” the knight demanded. “Must I leave you behind? Can you not see that time is of the essence in this matter?”

“I see no sign that any horse has ridden this road of late.”

Orson rolled his eyes and shook his head. “They said they rode for Kinfairlie, which lies in this direction. Percy! Is that not so?”

“Aye, my lord.”

“So, return to your saddle. We ride, lest we arrive too late!”

Stewart considered the knight, even as the destrier pranced in place. “You are much concerned. Is your suit so ill-favored that you believe the Laird of Kinfairlie will wed his sister to a hunter with no coin?”

Orson leaned down, his eyes blazing. “He will rape her and force the laird’s hand. If we pursue them hotly, he will have no chance to do as much. I hasten for the sake of Annelise!”

Percy developed a fascination with his reins, dropping his gaze so quickly that Stewart wondered at the reason. He walked to the boy and put a hand on his palfrey’s pommel. “Is that what you fear, Percy?”

The boy flicked a glance at him, then to the listening knight. “I fear for the lady’s welfare, sir.”

“Why, Percy? What did you see?”

The boy’s agitation increased but he stared fixedly at his hands.

“Tell him, Percy,” the knight commanded.

The boy flushed and Stewart knew he would tell only part of the truth. “The lady was nearly abused, before my very eyes.”

“But someone intervened,” Stewart guessed.

The boy nodded eagerly.

“How fortunate that I was there,” Orson declared. Percy cast his knight a quick glance of such loathing that Stewart guessed the truth. Orson missed this look, so busy was he admiring his gauntlets. “The lady owes much to me, that is clear, and I can only hope her brother sees fit to reward me. Now, mount your steed, Stewart. Time is wasting!”

“They rode the other way,” Stewart said softly.

“You cannot know this,” Orson protested. “They would ride for Kinfairlie…”