Warrior's Bride

Copyright © Gerri Russell

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

ISBN: 978-0-9838-9971-6

DEDICATION

People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within.
—Elizabeth Kubler-Ross

For Kathy Jacobs, my sister, and Andrea Heuston, my should-have-been sister, two strong, compassionate women I am proud to call my dearest friends.

I would also like to express my thanks to the eminently talented Trish Knowles, for sharing her passion for and knowledge of blowing glass. You brought Wolf's need to create alive. For that, I am forever grateful.

Prologue

Isle of St. Kilda, Scotland, 1353

  She hated the darkness.

  Lady Grisel Grange tensed against the iron manacles that held her imprisoned. Night would be upon her any moment. With a hitch of her breath, she clung to the slivers of apricot light still visible through the arrow slit in the tower wall.

  Icy fear pulsed through her as the slivers became threads, shifting from orange to red. She knew the progression of her nightly terror as intimately as she knew the grooves in the cold stone at her back.

  She'd had four months to memorize the nuances of each stone. Four months to consider why her husband had cruelly confined her to this place — a place so isolated and remote she knew after the first week of her imprisonment that the people who brought her food would not rescue her, nor would anyone else.

  Once that realization had set in, she wondered why he had not killed her instead of exiling her here in the cold stone tower on the remote isle of St. Kilda. But she already knew the answer: He feared her powerful family. He feared what they would do to him if she turned up dead. Instead, he had kidnapped her and forcibly taken from her everything she held dear. Everything except what he did not know she had.

  With trembling fingers she struggled against the heavy iron manacles that encircled her wrists until she found what she sought. Her abdomen bulged beneath her touch. He had not known she was pregnant when he'd locked her in this tower. A soft thump beat against her fingers, easing the fear of the dark that consumed her each night.

  If he had known of the baby, he would have used the child as ruthlessly as he had used her, trying to gain access to a throne that was not rightfully his. He wanted the lineage her bloodline and her abilities as a seer could lend him. And when she'd failed to give him a child, he'd tossed her away like damaged goods. It was ironic that what he wanted so desperately he'd never known he had attained.

  She smoothed her fingers over her ever-increasing belly. Was the babe she carried a blessing or a curse? The life growing inside her kept her from loneliness each night as darkness fell. But would her child soon share her imprisonment in this nightmare?

  The last rays of light slipped from purple to black, and she found herself plunged into darkness. No moon hung in the sky tonight to offer even the slightest hint of light. And despite the child who pulsed beneath her fingers, a sob escaped her.

  Another night of haunting emptiness lay before her — relentless, unfailing, unforgivable. Unforgivable because of what the darkness forced her to do.

  She slipped her fingers from her abdomen to her neck, to the small white stone with its one rounded edge and one jagged edge nested in a web of delicate leather cords. Another secret her husband had not known she possessed. If he had, he would have stripped it from her. She clutched the necklace like a lifeline, knowing it was the one thing that quieted her fear.

  The Seer's Stone and the visions it provided offered her a way to escape. She gripped the Stone all the harder until the smooth surface warmed against her palm. She knew she should not give in, allow the visions to sweep her away, but she had no choice. She'd succumbed to the light of the visions months ago.

  She lifted the Stone away from her neck and brought her forehead down to meet it. Only then could she see into the future.

  Whose future? She did not care anymore, not as long as the visions brought light. Captured by the lure of the Stone, her eyes drifted closed. Instantly her mind filled with a myriad of swirling colors: red, blue, green, orange. The colors blended together in a wash of light.

  She clung to the image, held it in her mind, relaxing against the cold stone wall until her knees went weak. She slid to the floor, the clink of the chains filling the silence of the night, as the vision engulfed her in temporary respite.

  Yet each nightly escape came with a price. That price: a slow spiral toward insanity. She could feel the fibers of her mind snapping, releasing her from her grip with the real world. And each night she vowed the journey would be her last, until the sun set and the Stone beckoned once more.

  Beyond turning back now, she pushed into the vision until the tangy scent of sea salt hung in the air, replacing the foul stench of the tower. An image appeared, and white, frothy waves curled toward a beach in endless progression.

  The waves hypnotized her. She let them. She focused her thoughts on the waves rolling toward the shore, grateful for the lack of anything more. Perhaps she'd escape further damage to her mind this time. Perhaps she would not become totally lost to madness before she delivered her child.

  As the thought fully formed, so too did the image of a willowy blonde. The young woman stood on the beach. Foamy white waves glistened at her feet. Each surge and retreat of the waves beckoned the girl to join them. The young woman stared out into the distance as though searching for something, someone.

  The image shifted from the shoreline to farther beyond. To a ship with its sails stretched taut against the wind. On the deck of the ship stood a dark-haired man, his body tense with determination. And as if he knew Lady Grange was watching him, his gaze snapped in her direction, his face hardened into a mask of anger, his eyes turning from a rich dark brown to an icy metallic black.

  She gasped.

  "How did you get aboard my ship?" he asked, his gaze piercing hers.

  He could see her. How? No one ever had before.

  She tried to pull away from the vision, but it refused to let her go. She would prefer the darkness to facing this angry man. Who was he? Why did the vision bring her here?

  "Answer me," he demanded, coming toward her. He reached for her shoulder. Her breath caught as he touched her, his grip firm but not cruel, even as the vision shifted. The man faded from view, and she saw the night sky.

  An endless sea of blackness broken only by the moon. Except the moon was split in two. The two equal halves, with jagged edges facing each other, hung in the sky a great distance apart. They drifted slowly together, in an attempt to become whole.

  In an attempt to become whole ...

  A shrill scream tore through the void of the night sky, a long, raw sound that seemed to go on and on, straining until it broke on a hoarse note.

  With an effort, she ripped the Seer's Stone away from her forehead as that last thought echoed in her mind. In an attempt to become whole . . .

  The necklace, and the stone it held, thumped against her chest as she stuffed her hand in her mouth to keep another scream from escaping. She would never be whole again as long as she used the Seer's Stone to escape the darkness.

  Insanity was her future now. Tonight's vision had proven that. Never before had she imagined the people in her visions could see her in return.

  A muffled sob escaped into the silence of the dark, dank tower. How many more days, weeks—or, heaven help, her—years would she have to endure this misery?

  As long as it takes, an answering voice from deep within her replied. Her child was all that mattered now.

  She slipped her fingers from her mouth and stretched them toward her belly. She had to be strong for her child.

  She lifted her quivering chin to stare out into the night. The slight haze of dawn appeared. Relief filled her. She'd made it through the worst of the night.

  This night... a voice in her head challenged. But she pushed the thought away.

  She refused to let fear take hold. All that mattered was freedom for her child. From her womb and from this tower prison. And, with luck, from this isolated isle.

  She would continue to be strong for her child.

Chapter One

Isle of St. Kilda, Scotland, 1372

  Isobel Grange felt an ominous tingle race across the back of her neck. A portent of doom. Her mother had always warned her of such things. But what could harm her at the crofter's cottage she called home on the remote isle of St. Kilda? The locals paid her no heed, and her foster family only cared about how quickly she did her chores.

  Izzy shook off the odd sensation. She had just set a basket of eggs on the wooden table in the center of the room when the door thumped closed behind her.

  She turned toward the sound and gasped. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood in front of the door. He was dressed in the style of their countrymen, in a saffron shirt and dark woolen tartan.

  "Lady Isobel?"

  The breath stilled in her chest. He knew her name— her real name. The stone walls of the cottage seemed to close in around her.

  His dark eyes examined her. "Are you Lady Isobel?" His words were short and sharp.

  A thick, heavy silence settled over the room until the only sounds that remained were the pop and hiss of the fire and the stuttering of her own controlled breathing. Izzy nervously flexed then clenched her hands at her sides, resisting panic. "I am Izzy... Isobel."

  He continued his cool assessment of her with eyes that were jet black and framed with even darker lashes—dark as the night sky and as emotionless as the blackest soul. She tried not to flinch as his gaze moved from her fare to her unkempt hair, her tattered skirt, and her dusty slippers.

  A hint of displeasure crept into the dark shadows of his eyes, and she bristled in response. He would judge her as all the rest did, by her looks and nothing more. Izzy boldly met his gaze despite the gnawing fear that grew with each passing heartbeat "Who are you?" she said slowly, the words helping her regain control of her emotions. Her curiosity grounded her when nothing else could.

  When he did not answer, she stepped up to him, closer to the door and the openness she knew existed beyond. "Remove yourself at once and let me out," she commanded, surprised at the haughty tone in her voice. Never had she spoken to anyone that way. Such behavior might land her back in the tower—a place she vowed never to return to.

  He shook his head and kept his hand firmly against the door latch. "I shall release the door if you promise to sit down and listen. I have come to make you an offer."