Warrior's Bride (34 page)

  Wolf knelt by the hearth, adding a log to the flames. He and Isobel had both bathed the last of the grime and blood from their skin. The remnants from their last battle with Grange were gone.

  Firelight cast a glow over the room, gilding Isobel's soft curves in gold. The reflection of the flames danced provocatively over her breasts, her thighs, on down to her delicate and enticing feet. His wife, his Isobel. She was a survivor. She'd already survived her early years of torment, of abuse and misuse at the hands of the MacDonalds and her own father. And now ... he would ask her to survive once more.

  He would ask her to keep going after he was gone.

  It seemed such a cruel twist of fate that his own father had finally given him a gift so precious as Isobel only to destroy that gift in the end.

  An aching emptiness filled his chest. He'd never really thought about dying before. It was always something that happened to other people. Wolf forced his thoughts to still. He did not want to waste these moments on such dark ponderings. He wanted to revel in the softness of his wife for as long as he would have her.

  As though sensing his need for her touch, Isobel held out her hand. When he joined her at the bedside, she pulled him down beside her. He shifted his body until he cradled her in his arms.

  An amber-gold light caressed her skin. But even the firelight could not conceal the bruise on her cheek. Gazing upon her, he felt heavy inside, weighed down and full of grief at what she had suffered at the hands of her own father.

  He brushed her hair away from her cheek with a feather-light touch, then leaned down to gently kiss her battered flesh. Sympathy and guilt assaulted him in an overwhelming tide, deluging his thoughts, drowning his voice until he could only say, "I love you."

  He whispered the words over and over against her skin as he kissed her throat, her shoulders, her arm.

  At her hands he paused and sat back. He nestled her hands, with all their gashes and cuts, between his fingers. Slowly, gently, with all the love in his heart, he kissed each wound. They were united in their pain, bound together in their love. He hoped, he prayed his affection would act as a salve and ease the trauma she had suffered.

  She ceased his ministrations, placing a finger beneath his chin, bringing his gaze back to hers. A light mist of tears shone in her eyes. "Never in my darkest times in the tower did I believe my destiny would lead me to you. I feared I would die there alongside my mother. At times I prayed I would."

  A tear rolled from her lashes onto her cheek. "I have no idea what I ever did to deserve you, but I am so very grateful." She tunneled her fingers through his hair with its new white streak. "I love you."

  He caressed her cheek with his thumb, brushing away her tear, before placing a kiss to her eyes, her forehead, her nose, and finally her lips, softening them, taking away her pain. She loved him. Exquisite satisfaction filled him as the words echoed in his mind.

  "You take away my fears," Isobel whispered against his lips. "You make me whole."

  He laid her head against the pillow, her golden hair lying like a halo about her beautiful features. They completed each other, just like the two halves of the Seer's Stone. The Balliol half and the Stewart half, reunited.

  Wolf buried his face in her hair and gently kissed her neck, hiding from Isobel the tension, the anger building inside him. He had finally found a woman who loved him for who he was, a woman who saw into his own heart. He breathed deeply, etching her scent of heather into his memory, storing her essence for that moment when the noose would tighten about his neck.

  He lay there, allowing her strength to flow into him, until his anger faded and he became keenly aware of the soft pulse of her heart so near his own. He tilted his head back, gazing into her face. Desire shot through him so intensely that a groan tremored through his chest.

  Her eyes widened and her lips parted. He stared at her mouth, aching to taste her. He caught her lips. She tasted of warm sunshine and sweet naiveté, as heady a brew as known to man. Against him, she was like a fragile white lily, supple and pliant, adapting and bending as she always did to survive.

  Her breath played on his mouth, and she murmured something as he slid his hands down the satin skin at her sides, molding her flesh to his rampant arousal.

  With a quick intake of air, she released his lips. Desire dilated her eyes. And something more—a look that said she trusted him, loved him, desired him above all else.

  Nothing in his life had prepared him for that look. Nothing. Not her sweet surrender or the heady yearning in her eyes. Beneath his hands, her skin was on fire, burning with her need for him to touch her. And touch her he did.

  He trailed his fingers up the delicate curve of her hips, her waist, and to her breasts, circling her nipples, urging them to taut peaks. He heard her soft moan of desire, felt a responding echo within himself, inflaming his passion all the more.

  He replaced his fingers with his tongue. His mouth fastened on first one breast, then the other, licking, nipping, teasing. Continuing his assault, he kissed the valley between her breasts and dipped lower, to her waist, her belly, her navel, and lower still, until he kissed the softness between her thighs.

  She tensed in surprise, but he allowed her time to adjust to his presence there, until the heat spreading through him also spread through her with his hot, wet kisses. He continued to gently stroke her until she was unable to control either her broken moans or her trembling.

  He circled her with his tongue, then pushed inside her. She thrust against him in response, wanting more, and he could feel the tension building inside her, growing tighter and tighter with each thrust and circle of his tongue. Then, on a broken cry, she arched against him, erupted, surrendering to the dark, whirling pleasure he'd created.

  For a moment he backed away, and she reached for him with hungry hands, urging him upward, over her body. She rose up to meet him, kissing the sensitive flesh of his chest, his shoulder, his mouth. "I want you so much. Please..." she murmured passionately against him.

  In answer to her plea, he urged her back against the bedding and with a groan of capitulation parted her thighs. He tangled his hands in the silken cloud of her golden hair, then cradled her head, drawing her mouth to his once more. "Isobel... my love."

  Her lips parted in unconscious provocation. And he accepted what she offered. With one quick thrust he entered her slick core, his mouth crushing hers, absorbing the sigh of ecstasy that twined in their breath.

  Warmth and fullness. Deep. So deep. He thrust inside her, never wanting to let her go. In and out, he continued to stroke her, holding himself back, wanting her pleasure to soar again before he joined her in that dark and magical place.

  She locked her legs around his hips and rocked with him, until the very essence of her being—her feel, her taste, her scent—merged with his own. Until there was no telling where she ended and he began.

  Unable to hold himself back a moment longer, he guided her hips, thrusting hard, surrendering himself to her hot, wet sweetness, wishing the moment could last forever. But he knew it could not.

  He remained deep inside her, until their breathing returned to normal and the beat of her heart slowed to a steady, even rate. He rose up on his elbows and looked down into her face, memorizing every detail of her passion-filled face before he rolled onto his back, taking her with him, pulling her against his side. She nuzzled against his chest. He lay back and gazed deeply into her dark brown eyes. Why did it take his father's command to bring him to this woman? He should have been searching the seas for her from Brahan's first vision of a fair-haired maiden. They had wasted so much time apart, living lives that were only half-complete.

  She turned toward him, and instantly her passion faded at the look on his troubled face. "What's wrong?"

  With one finger, he swept the dampened tendrils of her hair back from her face, then leaned down and kissed her with great gentleness. "I must ask you to do something for me without question or argument."

  A flicker of unease crossed her face. "That would depend upon what you asked."

  She sensed something was not right and he would no longer hide the truth from her. "I want you to lead my people when I am gone." The raw ache returned to his chest.

  "Gone?" Her face drained of color until only two rosy spots remained high on her cheeks.

  He steeled himself against his need to comfort her. "It won't be long now before my father's guard comes for me."

  "Why?" She looked at him then, as she had never looked at him before, her face a study of conflicting emotions.

  "I've committed treason against the king."

  She sat up, taking the bed sheet with her. "He's your father."

  "You know."

  She nodded. "Fiona told me."

  "Then there are no more secrets between us." He offered her a sad smile as he sat up beside her. "My father is very much like your own. It matters not that we are blood. He will come for me, of that there is no doubt." He took her hand, fingering the jeweled ring he had placed there during their marriage ceremony. "When I gave this to you, I had no idea what you would come to mean to me. Let this ring always remind you of how special you are, how much I love you."

  "They will hang you?"

  "Aye." He closed his eyes against the sudden jarring of his heart. "The king is on his way to do just that."

  "Let us go away. We can go to a remote isle where your father will never find us. I lived that way once; I would willingly do so again if it kept you safe."

  He opened his eyes. "Isobel..." Desperate to remain strong, he stiffened. He heard the misery in her voice, and he would not add to her pain by making her believe they had options they did not. "I cannot run from this. If I do, the king will punish my people instead. He'll put a torch to everything I hold dear. And I couldn't live with myself if that happened."

  "There is nothing I can say to persuade you?"

  He shook his head.

  Her resignation mirrored his own as she brought a trembling hand up to cradle his cheek. "How can I help?"

  "When my father arrives, he will strip me of my lands, essentially taking this castle away from you and all who live here." Before she could comment, he continued, "I have a plan, and if it is successful, you will be allowed to stay for what remains of your life. You and Walter will take care of my people."

  "And if your plan is not successful?"

  Wolf drew a deep, shuddering breath. "It will succeed because there is no other way I can peacefully leave this world."

  "We could go—"

  "There is no other choice. Promise me you'll do as I ask and see this through."

  "I'll do as you asked and care for your people."

  "Thank you, Isobel."

  She leaned toward him once more and brushed her lips against his. She lingered there, with their lips barely touching, and in that moment he felt it—the poignancy of her passion and her love. Such innocent seduction would have worked to keep him by her side if only he could stay. But as much as he longed to remain coiled beside her, wrapped in her warmth and her love, he could not.

  Destiny had other plans. "I must go."

  Isobel twisted the bed sheets in her hands. She brought the linen to her chest, praying the action would keep her heart from shattering as she watched her husband gather his clothing. In the silence of the chamber all the joy, the peace, the sense of belonging she had been feeling since her arrival at Duthus Castle vanished.

  As he slipped a fresh linen shirt over his head, the pain and numbness receded and anger took its place. Not anger at Wolf—anger over their inability to find peace or happiness in the lives they had been given.

  "I must leave you now." He fastened his newly woven tartan about himself, then secured his sword at his side. "There are a few more things I must settle before the king arrives."

  Placing a final kiss on her lips, Wolf left the room, so ridden by his own inner turmoil that he did not see the shudder that swept through her body as she curled her fists in the bed sheets.

  Wolf might think he had no other option except to sacrifice himself for his people. But he was wrong. Isobel pushed off the bed and strode to the armoire. She pulled the closest garment over her head and quickly brushed her hair.

  He had things to attend to before his father arrived.

  And so did she.

Chapter Thirty

  It seemed to take an eternity before Brahan and the men arrived back at Duthus Castle, but when they did, Wolf was waiting.

  Leaden clouds hung in the late afternoon sky, and a soft drizzle settled across the outer bailey as Brahan and the other warriors crossed over the drawbridge and into the castle grounds. Brahan broke away from the other men, who headed for the stables. He brought his horse to a stop near Wolf. "Why are you out here waiting for me in the rain instead of warm and snuggled against your bride? Trouble in paradise so soon?"