Warrior's Bride (15 page)

 
His bride
. An unusual sensation tightened his chest. He reached out to brush an errant lock of hair from her brow.

  Her eyelids fluttered open, then closed, and she tried to lift her head.

  He bent to give her a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek, but her lips called to him instead. Tenderly his mouth molded over hers. At the slight touch, his body weakened, feeling almost drugged. She tasted sweet, like the first nectar of spring. Her breath stirred against his mouth, and he pulled away, despite wanting nothing more than to feel her, taste her, experience all that she was, all she could become beneath his lips.

  His heart thundered in his chest as he gave in once more, this time directing his kiss to the side of her cheek near her ear. "You're safe now," he whispered. "Grange will pay for the attacks he's brought upon you. I shall see to that."

  She stirred. Her head moving toward him, toward his words, toward the warmth of his kiss.

  All he had to do was lean forward to take her lips again. He stood, then headed for the door, desperate to escape the odd reaction he'd just had to the woman who was now his wife. "Walter, come with me."

  Brahan stepped toward Wolf, blocking his way. "We have to ask her about the Stone when she wakes."

  "You can ask her."

  Brahan frowned. "Where are you going?"

  "Grange obviously has someone working with him here at the castle. I intend to find out who."

  "Lady Fiona might have an idea since she oversees the kitchens."

  "I shall speak with her eventually. For now, I shall start with the kitchen maid you saw in your vision. Perhaps she has some answers." Wolf glanced back at the bed that held his bride. "Stay with Isobel. I know she will be safe with you." At Brahan's nod, Wolf and Walter continued toward the door. Stopping, Wolf frowned at the splintered wood of the frame. "And get someone to fix this door."

  The shackles had returned to her wrists. The icy chill of the tower seeped deep into her bones. Imprisoned and cold.

  Izzy woke with a start, staring blindly into the darkness that surrounded her. She thrashed against her bindings, expecting to feel the tug of metal against her flesh, but her hand sailed easily through the air until it came to rest on the bedding beneath her.

  It had only been a dream. She was no longer in the tower. She was in Wolf’s castle. Safe for now.

  He had told her as much a short while ago. His honeyed voice had whispered those words close to her ear. A shudder ran through her at the memory.

  She huddled down into the bed linens in an effort to warm herself. Why had he said that? She closed her eyes again, trying to remember what had happened through the throbbing ache at her temples. She remembered feeling dizzy. Pain had sliced through her stomach. Wolf’s arms had closed around her. The physician had forced a vile potion down her throat. Then the wedding ...

  The wedding. Izzy tried to sit up. "It cannot be—"

  "You're awake. Excellent."

  Izzy opened her eyes to see Brahan lounging in a chair at her bedside, one leg thrown over the arm, his booted foot swinging.

  Brahan regarded her critically. "I wanted to talk to you. You've been most unresponsive as of late. Wolf insisted I stay with you until you regained your senses. How do you feel?"

  She tried to sit up once more. "What happened?"

  "Lie still," Brahan chided. "You were poisoned."

  "Poisoned?" Her eyes widened. "How?"

  "Poisoned apples. Any idea who would want to harm you? Or why?" Suspicion hung heavy in his words.

  Only one person wished her harm, but that was her secret. Izzy shook her head. She was immediately sorry when the room swung in sickening circles before her eyes. She collapsed back against the pillows.

  "If I was poisoned, then why do I remember a priest? He said things . . . and there were people gathered around.... I vaguely recall seeing your face ... and Wolf was here. ..." She brushed her hand across the bedding at her side. "Did I receive the last rites? Am I dead and all this just a dream?"

  Brahan laughed. "It is no dream. And nay, you are not dead. You were married, nothing more."

  "Married?" The room suddenly seemed as frigid as a crisp January wind. "I never gave my consent."

  "Your consent was not needed. Mistress Rowley served as your proxy."

  She felt it then—a heaviness on the third finger of her left hand. She glanced down at the brilliant gold band dotted with sapphires that had appeared on her finger while she'd slept. "He cannot. . ."

  Brahan's gaze shifted to her hand. "He already has."

  Marriage is the evil from which springs insanity. Her mother's voice filled her mind. Sacrifice your maidenhead and you will know the full power of your gift. Visions from the light will bring you nothing but anguish. Izzy clamped her hands over her ears. It was happening already—the gradual slide into the abyss of insanity.

  "Lady Isobel?" Brahan questioned, his hostility gone. When she didn't respond, he reached for one of her hands, gently lowering it to the coverlet. The look of concern in his eyes startled her. "What is it?"

  She dropped her gaze, shielding her face, hiding the secrets she kept locked inside. "Nothing."

  He sighed. "Well, since you do not wish to talk about that, perhaps you'll talk about the stone about your neck."

  His gaze lit on her necklace—the one her mother had given her. "My necklace?"

  "Aye." Brahan scooted closer to the bedside. "Where did you get that stone?"

  "From ... my mother. It was her mother's ... before that, and her mother's before ... that." When his frown only deepened, she clamped her lips shut. Why had she revealed such personal information to him? Izzy slipped the necklace inside the bodice of her nightrail, hiding it from his view. "It is just a necklace." She struggled to sit at the edge of the bed.

  "What are you doing?" His brows knotted.

  Izzy stood despite the fact that her knees felt as though they would buckle at any moment. She could not stay in bed. Lying in bed made her feel vulnerable. Many aspects of her life might at present be out of her control, but she would never be vulnerable again. She straightened her shoulders. "I must speak with my lord Wolf."

  Brahan's brow rose in response to her demand. "The last I saw him was this morning, when he stopped by to check on you."

  Izzy's cheeks warmed at the unexpected words. "He came to see me?"

  "He has come every hour since we knew you would survive the poison."

  And yet he did not stay. Izzy took two awkward steps toward the hearth in an effort to hide her disappointment—a disappointment that made no sense. What did she care if he stayed with her or not?

  "He's speaking with the tenant farmers this morning about which fields will be sown with what crops," Brahan offered as she continued toward the warmth of the hearth.

  Standing before the fireplace, Izzy absently fingered her necklace. Wolf’s life had returned to normal, while her existence still spun wildly out of control.

  Brahan moved to stand beside her. "Tell me what you know about that stone."

  "My mother gave it to me when I was seven, just before she died."

  "May I see it?" he asked.

  She tucked the Stone deeper inside her bodice. "I haven't taken it off since she died." She had vowed never to remove it. Why was he so interested in her necklace? Her mother had never mentioned anything important about it to her. She has always hoped the Stone was of some value, in case she ever needed money. But apart from that, the necklace was a mere sentimental piece handed down through her mother's line. Or so she thought.

  "No more questions." She fixed her gaze boldly on him. "I wish to dress. Please leave."

  The irritated set of his face told her their discussion of the necklace was not over, only temporarily forestalled.

  Before he could start up again, she hurried across the chamber to the armoire from which Mistress Rowley had taken a gown when she'd first arrived. As she plucked the elegant green gown she'd worn before from a hook, she heard the door softly close behind her. Brahan had gone. She breathed a thankful sigh as she tossed the dress over her head. Izzy quickly buttoned the sleeves and secured the ties at the back of the gown. When she'd finished, she turned toward the newly repaired door.

  At the chamber's entrance she paused, running her fingers along the freshly milled wood. She could clearly recall the noise of saws and hammers while the structure was repaired. Changes abounded all around Duthus Castle.

  Were those changes for the better, or for the worse? The verdict remained undecided.

Chapter Fifteen

  "Where is that woman?" Wolf growled to himself as he searched the great hall for signs of his wife. Brahan had informed Wolf immediately upon his return that Isobel was awake but had left her bedchamber and was somewhere in the castle without an escort. Brahan had explained that he'd thought he'd had time to select two men he trusted to guard her while she changed her clothing. But she'd dressed faster than he thought any woman could.

  Wolf stared hard at the men and women in the hall as they went about their chores. A young squire stoked the fire while a kitchen maid turned the spit of meat for the midday meal. Two other servants swept around the others who sat at the trestle tables, discussing the day's events.

  No sign of Isobel. He knew that she still remained within the castle walls, for the gates were secured and guards were posted. Even so, no one had seen her for the last several hours. And what originally began as concern and curiosity over where she had gone now approached fear.

  Wolf drew in a heavy breath. It was happening again. Despite his determination to remain aloof from yet another needy soul within his castle walls, he was slowly, inexorably being drawn in by an alluring face and a pair of bewitching brown eyes.

  Nay, his growing fascination went far beyond what his eyes could see, he admitted to himself. If only she wasn't such a combination of strength and innocence. One moment she would cast him a soulful glance where he could see the emptiness she had learned to live with, the next she would straighten her spine and challenge his beastly behavior with all the skill of a seasoned warrior. Damn, but she fascinated him.

  Wolf threw open the heavy wooden door that separated the great hall from the outside. The door jerked back on its hinges, protesting the abuse. He squared his shoulders, ready to do battle with whatever and whoever might stand between him and his bride.

  After he searched the interior of the castle for her, he explored outside. As he did he tried to push all fears of foul play from his mind. She had to be out here somewhere.

  Then he saw her. Sitting alone at the edge of the fish pond. At her side, a familiar brown puff of feathers pecked at the ground while Isobel absently tossed tiny pebbles into the water that lapped at her bare feet.

  The sky above was dotted with clouds and a cool spring breeze curled across the surface of the pond to tease the tendrils of her golden hair as they spilled across her shoulders and tumbled down her back. Despite the slight chill in the air, she appeared every inch the summer nymph—seductive, innocent, tempting ... and unharmed. Relief filled him only to be replaced in the span of a heartbeat with rampant desire.

  As he drew near, Mistress Henny, with a bold red spot painted on her back, stopped her assault upon the ground and stared at him with a hint of reproach in her normally vacant stare.

  Isobel, however, paid him no heed. It was almost as if she were so lost in thought that she had not heard his approach.

  "Isobel?" he said. A hint of pique lingered in his voice. Why was she so careless with her own safety?

  She started. The pebbles she held in her hand scattered on the ground. "My lord?"

  He felt his face harden at her formal address. "Need you always address me so?"

  Her cheeks flushed pink, only adding to the picture of her sitting beside the water's edge, her bare and delicate feet peeking out from beneath her gown. He swallowed roughly. Something about her feet—long and slender—nearly undid him.

  He bent to retrieve the pebbles she had dropped, grateful for the distraction. "I could not find you." He handed her a pebble. She accepted it with hesitation. "Why did you leave the safety of the keep?"

  "I am not used to being indoors all the time. I felt... restless."

  "Someone has tried to kill you twice. Restless or not, you stay inside. Do you hear me?"

  She paled at his words. "Another demand?"

  Others did as he demanded. Why not her? He turned back to the water and, lining himself up with the shore, sent a pebble skimming across the water. One ... two ... three ... four. "Why are you restless?" he asked more gently.

  "How did you do that?" She jumped down from the rock on which she sat, her pert toes disappearing beneath the hem on her dress.