True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse (4 page)

“Not necessarily.” Rather than voice his suspicion, Murdoch strode to the door of the solar. A squire waiting in the corridor leapt to attention as soon as the door was opened. “Would you please ask Breac and Kerr to go to the woods, near the glade, and look for anything out of the ordinary?” He heard Isabella’s quick intake of breath and knew she had guessed what he’d been thinking.

“Have you an idea what they might find, sir?”

“I do, but I would prefer they simply see what is there.”

“Before the evening meal, sir?”

Murdoch nodded. “I will ensure an extra helping of venison for them both.”

“Very good, sir.” The boy bowed and hastened away to do his master’s bidding.

Isabella had propped her hands on her hips by the time Murdoch closed the door. “Are you suggesting that my sister is lying?”

Murdoch grimaced. There was no kind way around this. “I am suggesting that she might be trying to escape our efforts to introduce her to eligible men. If she created a suitor we never met, we might leave her in peace.”

“But she wants to marry!”

“Then she might try to be more enthused when introduced to an eligible man,” Murdoch complained. “Instead, she has looked beleaguered, as if she would rather be anywhere than in their presence.”

“Annelise is shy!”

“It is not easy to bring such suitors to this hall. Seton Manor is comparatively remote and to entice them to our board takes considerable effort. That she does not even lift her gaze from her hands does not help the matter.” Murdoch saw Isabella’s lips set, but made his last suggestion anyway. “Perhaps it would suit her better to become a bride of Christ.”

“Nay!” Isabella’s eyes flashed. “Annelise has always been shy, and she adores children.” She followed Murdoch across the room and he knew she had more to say. “She simply needs some encouragement, a man who understands her, talks to her, makes an effort.”

“Kills a wolf?” Murdoch suggested.

“It is not a bad way to impress a maiden.” Isabella drummed her fingers on her elbow. “That could have been it, you know. She might have been so frightened that her shyness was overwhelmed. They might have
spoken
to each other.”

“Well, we shall have to coax more wolves to our woods, then. Perhaps I should have one or two loosed in the hall when next a suitor comes to dine.”

Isabella narrowed her eyes to survey him. “You are in a foul mood about all of this. What is the matter?”

“I pledged to your brother that I would treat Annelise as my own sister. He asked me to find her a husband with all haste and I have tried. Not only has she shown no interest in the men who came here to see her, but now she would choose a man in the woods we have never seen!”

“You
do
sound like Alexander.”

“I come to understand why he finds his sisters so vexing.” Isabella smiled so brightly at that comment that Murdoch surveyed her warily. There could be only one reason for her delight. “What do I not know?”

“Annelise has invited her champion to the board this night, so you will have a chance to meet him yourself.” She donned her circlet and spun in front of him so the hem of her kirtle flared. “You could even ask him his name.”

Murdoch shook a finger at his wife. “If he has touched her, he will not leave this hall unharmed.”

“Then you had best be warned that he has kissed her.” Isabella chose a wrap and tugged it over her shoulders.

“More than that?” Murdoch demanded, his voice rising.

Isabella smiled at him. “I do not believe there was time.”

Murdoch was suddenly very glad that he did not have a sister—much less five of them, as did Alexander. He strode to the door before he paused, took a deep breath and offered Isabella his elbow.

She smiled up at him as she slipped her hand into his arm and leaned against his shoulder. Pregnancy suited her very well. She looked rosy and hale, but there was no denying the growing curve beneath her gown nor the fact that she was more tired of late. He felt a surge of love for her that vastly improved his mood.

“I like that you are protective of my sister,” she murmured to him, her eyes shining. “And I like that you would ensure she wed well. It bodes well for the futures of our own children.”

Murdoch smiled. “Would you kindly ensure that you only bear us sons?” he asked, his tone teasing.

Isabella laughed. “You are right, now that I think of it,” she said, her tone full of mischief. “I did meet you first in my brother’s hall, when you came to quarrel with him. So, since you would quarrel with Annelise’s hunter, I cannot help but think this a most auspicious beginning.”

At that, Murdoch, despite himself, gave a wry laugh. “Very well. I will meet him.”

“And you will be charming.”

“And he will have the opportunity to prove himself worthy of courting her,” Murdoch concluded sternly. Isabella smiled, seemingly content with that, and they descended to the hall together.

*

Garrett was well aware that time was passing.

The vivid blue of the afternoon sky had faded to twilight, the last light of the sun lingering on the western horizon. The first stars were visible in the eastern sky and the shadows were deeper within the forest. Creatures of the day had returned to their burrows and nests for the night, and the nocturnal residents of the forest were stirring. He saw a bat circle high above the clearing and heard mice scurry in the undergrowth.

And with every passing moment, his own uncertainty increased.

He should go to the hall.

She would be waiting for him.

He wanted to go. He wanted to be in her presence again. He could see her in his mind’s eye, her hair a rich auburn, her eyes filled with awe and merriment. He wanted to hear again the stillness of her thoughts, to feel the welcome she offered him and his touch. He wanted to feel as vital as he had when he had kissed her, when it seemed that her sweetness flooded him and made him whole.

He had no real desire to live alone, much less to be an outcast.

But in her absence, his optimism had faded. As the light of day dwindled, it was all too easy to recall what had happened the last time he had stepped into a nobleman’s holding. Three months was not sufficient to forget that humiliation.

Much less to be certain it would not happen again.

He had not been able to explain himself that time, or to make a coherent defense, not when he was assaulted by the anguished thoughts of so many men and women. He had felt the crushing press of a venomous malice, one unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Had he become more sensitive as he grew older? What had changed? Mhairi had said there would be a test, and Garrett did not want to fail it before his lovely maiden.

He did not wish to fail her.

The very possibility made his breath hitch and his palms damp.

What would the maiden think of him, if she knew the truth of his curse? Would she accept his nature and still regard him with admiration? Or would she condemn him as others had done, and turn away?

The questions plagued him all the day long.

Garrett gutted the wolf and left the innards for other hungry creatures in the forest. He skinned the hide from the body, scraping it clean with care. He built a frame and stretched the hide taut, then hung it from a tree, ensuring it would dry and cure. The light was fading but he worked steadily, unable to compel himself to stop. He had a vision of his bold maiden, her hair loose, the firelight dancing over her bare skin as she awaited him. In his bed. Atop the wolf’s pelt.

His bride.

His salvation, if Mhairi’s tale could be believed.

Garrett spared a glance to the darkening sky. If he waited much longer, his maiden would never be his bride. His chance would be lost, maybe forever. By remaining in the forest, he would fail. If he went to Seton Manor, he might, by some miracle, succeed.

That made the choice. Garrett had to go. He glanced down at himself, at the blood on his kilt and boots, at the dirt he had accumulated in weeks of tracking the wolf. He looked like an outcast or even a madman. He ran a hand over his chin and felt his short beard with dismay. She must have thought him a wild man of the woods.

But nay, she had not.

All the same, Garrett could not meet her family like this.

He peeled off his shirt and bathed hastily in the river, sensing that an opportunity was slipping away. He worked quickly to make himself as presentable as possible, his heart racing with the certainty that his sole chance could be lost. He knew the shape of his own face well enough that he was able to shave the growth from his chin with his sharpest knife.

The reflection in the surface of the water seemed to be of a different man, one with a new spark of hope in his eyes. He carried little, but he had another shirt in his pack. It was not a fine shirt, but it was cleaner than the one he wore and it would have to do. He noted the blood on his kilt and rinsed it out as well as he could before wrapping it around his waist once more. He laced his jerkin over the shirt and cast the end of his tartan over his shoulders, then bent to buff the toes of his boots. His crossbow was hung over his shoulder, his quiver on his back.

He was hardly a prince, but he was as clean as he could be.

And the prize was well worth any risk.

Garrett strode through the forest to the road before his confidence could fade. He swallowed when he first set his booted foot upon the road, but steeled himself to emerge from the shadows of the forest. He exhaled and told himself that the experience at Killairig would not be repeated.

There was no doubt where the manor had to be. This smaller track branched from the road that led from east to west and sea to sea. Although Garrett had followed the wolf through the forest, he guessed that Seton Manor must lie as this road’s end point.

As he walked, Garrett heard the chatter of a hundred minds increase before him. It grew rapidly in volume, just as it had when he visited Killairig. His instinct was to turn to the right, but he recalled the way his maiden had fought her own impulses.

Surely he could do as well.

He walked along the road, taking measured steps as he drew steadily closer to the manor. He forced himself to take the tone of the thoughts he overheard, to sample some of their ideas and concerns. In that he found relief, for this holding was different from the last: the people of Seton Manor were contented.

Even so, there were more of them than he had expected. Perhaps a hundred souls were gathered within the walls ahead of him, a group that far outnumbered him and could easily overpower him if they turned against him.

Like the last time.

And she would witness his humiliation.

Dampness gathered on Garrett’s palms as the whisper of voices grew louder and more numerous. Their thoughts echoed in his own: their anger, their fear, their passion, their demands all resonating within his own mind. The chorus seemed to feed itself, multiplying in volume with every step he took.

Garrett rounded a bend in the road, his mouth dry, and was assaulted by another burst in volume. With proximity, the press of the thoughts of others grew stronger, and he wondered how he could endure it. Already, the cacophony made it hard to place one foot in front of the other and to maintain the grasp of his own thoughts. It was all too easy to recall his last humiliation.

She would see if he failed, and his chance of salvation would be lost forever.

Even as he bolstered his own resolve, Garrett paused in the road. He could see the silhouette of the manor against the night sky and the sentries’ torches burning brightly in the night. He could hear the guards talking to each other, hear them audibly over even the tumult in his thoughts. He felt sweat bead on his temples, slide down his spine, yet he walked onward. His teeth were gritted, his fists clenched. The chattering grew louder and louder, a cacophony fit to drive him to madness.

He had to do it. He had to make it there.

He thought of the maiden, of the serenity of her thoughts and the prize he might win if he earned her hand. Surely this ordeal was worth enduring.

Garrett walked onward, his body stiffening as he fought against the voices. And in his weakness, doubt took hold of him. The boldness that he had found in her sweet kiss ebbed away and faded, like a tan beneath winter’s light. He began to stagger.

What would be achieved by his appearance in the hall, if he was so snared in his curse? He would not be able to speak to his maiden, not when he was like this. He would not be able to answer her family’s questions. They would all think him mad or simple. He would be laughed out of the hall, if not worse, and she would be disappointed. That slim opportunity would be cast to the winds, sacrificed forever.

He would lose her before he even had a chance to win her.

He had already lost one opportunity, thanks to his curse.

The gates were close, the one guard looking toward him.

It could cost him everything to approach her like this.

Nay, he had to draw her back into the woods. He had to court her away from other people. He had to win her heart before he met her family, for then she could fight for what they both desired.