Warrior's Bride (16 page)

  "Tell me why you are bored and I shall show you how."

  The animation left her face. "It matters not."

  The catch in her voice at the end of her words went through Wolf like the thrust of a sword. He started to reach for her, then thought better of it. Touching her would only muddle his thoughts. "I want to know."

  "I..." She paused, her eyes filling with trepidation.

  "Continue," he urged, keeping his voice calm, encouraging.

  "I have no place in this castle. When I awoke, I needed to do something to make myself useful. I went out to rake the chicken yard and was shooed away by the others. I tried to help in the kitchens, but Fiona rules down there. I have tried to assist Mistress Rowley in her chores, only to be told that a lady's place is near her husband." The last word echoed with such sorrow that her pain became almost palpable. "This castle has three mistresses," she continued, "and one of us had to concede."

  "I had no idea." He turned back to the pond, and away from the misery that lay heavy on her shoulders. She was his bride and the rightful mistress here. "I shall speak to Fiona."

  "That will do nothing," she said softly.

  She was right. Only one solution could fix this problem: Fiona had to go. "Regardless of Fiona or Mistress Rowley, you are the lady of the castle and the occupants need your care."

  The arch of her brow told him she was not convinced.

  "I need your help," he said simply.

  "You do?" This time her brows arched with concern.

  "I could use your assistance with the cook to set the menus. The herbs from last season must be inventoried and new seeds planted. And I've asked the weaver to create a new tartan weave for you. A marriage gift." Her breath hitched at the last comment, but he continued, giving her no time to respond. "And Walter—he is new to the household and needs some direction." He paused. "Will you assist me?"

  She nodded, but the heaviness that surrounded her did not ease. His gut twisted in response, suddenly realizing at that moment that he would do anything to see a glimmer of a smile upon her face. He bent to retrieve two stones from the ground, handing one to her. With a slight hesitation, she accepted it. "Watch me." He aligned his body with the edge of the shore and bent slightly at the hips. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the rock hopping across the water's smooth surface ... five ... six ... seven times.

  Fascination brightened her face. "What's this called?"

  "Skipping rocks."

  "May I try?"

  The eagerness in her voice made him smile. He waved his hand at the water. "Be my guest."

  She followed his earlier example by lining herself up with the water and sent the rock out, only to have it drop with a splash through the water's surface. She frowned. "It is harder than it looks."

  "Let me show you." He slipped another stone into her hand and, standing behind her, enveloped her slight body within the shelter of his arms. The cascade of her hair, soft and silky, teased the exposed skin at his neck. Desire stole through him so quickly it robbed him of breath. At a loss for words, he reached for her, wrapping her delicate fingers within his own war-seasoned hands.

  The light scent of heather invaded his senses. He pulled her more tightly against him in response. He inhaled deeply, capturing her essence, committing it to memory.

  "What do I do now?" she asked, bringing him back to the moment.

  "Draw your hand back like this," he managed to say through the thickness that invaded his thoughts. "Then release." With a quick flick, she sent the rock out over the water. She counted each touch of the rock to the water's surface, but he barely registered the words. She half turned in his arms, revealing her face. A delighted smile pulled up the corners of her mouth, illuminating her, chasing all the shadows from her features. She should smile like that all the time.

  Wolf’s gaze fastened on her lips, and he suddenly was dying for a taste of her mouth.

  Her smile shifted. Fascination took its place and the pulse at her temples quickened. She swayed backward as though losing her balance. He shifted her against his side, holding her tightly, unwilling to let her go. In the next beat of his heart, his lips touched hers, filling him with an unexpected thrill as liquid heat spilled through him.

  She gasped as he tunneled his fingers through her hair and cupped her head to hold it still. His tongue slipped between her parted lips. All his senses exploded at once, leaving him deaf and blind to anything but the magic of her kiss. He gave himself up to the sensations, allowing the pleasure to build, gathering inside him until he thought he would burst.

  "Sweet Mary." Wolf wrenched his mouth away from hers, his breathing ragged and fast, his desire stretched so taut, it felt as though it would rip him apart. He dragged his hands from her hair and allowed them to slide down the length of her arms, stopping at her wrists. He wanted to let her go, yet he could not quite bring himself to release her. "I... shouldn't have done that."

  "Why not?" she whispered.

  Because everything I care about my father uses against me. The reason swam through his senses, grounding him in the here and now. Forestalling an explanation, he feathered his thumbs against her wrists. Instead of soft, delicate flesh, he felt rough and callused skin.

  He stepped away from her, her wrist still clasped between his own fingers. He searched her skin. White rings encircled her flesh—scars—deep and many. "Who did this to you?"

  Her face turned pale and she tried to shrug the ends of her sleeves down over the marks. "It is nothing."

  The marks looked as though they were made by manacles. But how would she have ever been anywhere on St. Kilda to experience such a horror? "Isobel, who did this to you?"

  She dropped her gaze to the water lapping against the shore. "My father."

  His mind raced. His breath stilled in his chest at the enormity of what she'd confessed. Parents were sometimes cruel to their children—his own father was proof of that—but to keep her in irons? Then, suddenly, something clicked inside him—her fear of dark, enclosed places, her abandonment on St. Kilda, the tower. "Dear God." Emotion flooded him. He didn't know how else to convey what he felt, so he eased her against his body and held her.

  She leaned into his embrace, but the tension in her body was palpable. She felt so tiny, so vulnerable in his arms. He wrapped himself around her all the tighter. His own body shook with reaction. Sympathy. Fear. And something else he dared not examine. "How did you deal with such abuse?"

  Isobel raised her head from his chest. Her eyes were not filled with the pain he had expected. Instead he saw strength and a renewed resolve. "I learned to survive."

  He brought his right hand up. The tips of his fingers brushed the curve of her cheek before he tunneled his fingers into her hair, cradling her head. "So brave." His thumb stroked the sensitive skin below her earlobe.

  "Not brave. Only determined."

  Her words whispered across his lips, their flavor mysterious and seductive. And he could resist no longer. He brought his lips to her mouth, the touch light, fleeting, and yet it made them both shudder. He could feel the tension building inside her as though she held herself back. He felt the sensation as well—the hot, needful hunger that coiled ever tighter until he could scarcely breathe.

  "Wolfie." The shriek came from behind. Wolf’s head snapped in the direction of the sound. Fiona stood not three feet away, her eyes narrowed, her color high, her nostrils flared.

  "What?" He could not keep the annoyance from his voice. His irritation only increased when Isobel stepped away, her long lashes coming down to veil the emotion in her eyes.

  Fiona rushed forward and placed her beringed fingers upon his arm. "You are needed in the keep."

  "Why?" He kept his gaze on his bride. She turned away from him now, moving back to the water's edge. She drew one bared toe through the water in an almost mournful movement. And he nearly smiled. She grieved their interruption as much as he did.

  "There are half a dozen people in the hall who all wish to speak with you. The mason wants to know about the addition of the east wing of the castle. Three traders have arrived from Orkney and wish to show their goods. Cook has a new tart that needs your approval. And the weaver needs your input about the new tartan you asked her to create."

  Wolf's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Brahan can deal with the mason and the traders. Mistress Rowley can speak with Cook and the weaver."

  "They will have none but you. After all, you are the lord here," she said with a bland smile.

  "I must go." Wolf turned away and strode toward Isobel.

  "Where?" Fiona's tone sharpened.

  "I am taking Isobel for a ride. It is time that the new mistress of this castle saw the land she must now govern along with her husband."

  Isobel's head came up. She stared at him in surprise.

  "You are needed here," Fiona said through gritted teeth.

  "Isobel, will you ride with me today, outside the castle walls?" He had scouted his land earlier for signs of Grange or his henchmen and had found none. "My men and I shall keep you safe."

  Fiona tried to interrupt. He darted her a cold glance. "I wish to show you my land, Isobel. Come with me." His expression softened as he looked back at his wife.

  "You are asking me?" Stunned disbelief lingered in her voice.

  He smiled, touched by the surprise that widened her eyes. "I have been too demanding of late, and aye, I am asking for the pleasure of your company."

  She hesitated, then gave a slight nod. Surprise shifted to pleasure in her gaze, and an answering smile came to her lips.

  "Wolfie, you must come to the castle," Fiona protested.

  Her words faded into the background as he held out his hand to Isobel. Deep inside he felt something pull tight. He knew he had a responsibility here, but suddenly he didn't care. Her fingers stretched out to meet his. Only a heartbeat separated him from turning away from a lifetime of doing what others asked of him instead of what he wanted to do. Her fingers came around his, steady and strong. He clung to her grip, finding strength in the warmth of her touch.

  He needed this time with her more than he needed his next breath. He wasn't abandoning his duties forever. He only needed a short while to revel in Isobel's presence, to replace the sadness he'd seen in her eyes when she spoke of her father with joy.

  He did not have much to share with her, but he could share his love of this land. He wanted her to experience the scent of the rain, of the damp earth, of the gorse and the heather and the granite. The sweet scent of the thistle and the way it prickled against a bare leg. He wanted to surround her in the tang of the pine, the fir, the cattle—the shaggy red-coated beasts with wicked horns upon their heads. Together they would sit on the hillside and listen to the call of the eagle and the babble of the brook. And he would speak to her in Gaelic ... about the things he wished he had time to do, to see, and experience....

  He held her hand and strode with her in the direction of the stables. As he passed Fiona, he paused. "We will speak when I return."

  Isobel fell in step beside him, seeming as eager as he to leave behind the castle and all who lived there.

  A quiet peacefulness stole over Wolf with each footstep he put between himself, Fiona, and the castle. He had made the right decision to get away for a time.

  Nothing would go wrong if he ignored his duties for just a short while.

 
She had lost him.

  "Nay," Fiona vowed as Wolf and Isobel walked away. "I shall never lose him."

  She thought about the lies she'd told, the evil she'd done to win him, to share his bed, the things she still did to try to keep him there. She hated herself for what she'd allowed her previous protector to do to her—and she almost hated Wolf for making her want him enough to do it.

  She watched as he slipped an arm around the scrawny girl's waist and drew her against his side. She did not miss the tenderness of the motion, nor the intensity of his gaze as he turned to look down upon the girl as they disappeared inside the stable.

  Rage, hot and hard, erupted inside her. He'd never spared such a look for her. Never.

  Yes, he'd cared for her every need and given her the kind of freedom she'd never dreamed of having. But she yearned for his touch. His presence near her, beside hers was a kind of salve that eased away the vileness she'd allowed to overtake her life. Without him, the poison of her actions would kill her.

  She needed him. And by God, she'd have him. He might be done with her, but she most certainly was not done with him.

Chapter Sixteen

  Izzy had never experienced anything like it. The day had been pure bliss. She and Wolf had ridden alone together to a place not far from his castle, yet looking at the ancient beauty of the green hills and craggy mountains, it felt as though they'd slipped into a private domain.