Warrior's Bride (36 page)

  "Free for what?" Mistress Rowley pulled back, her eyes wide. "Free to mourn your loss every day of the rest of her life?" She shook her head in disbelief. "That girl loves you. Truly loves you. Do you know what a gift that is?"

  Wolf allowed her words to sweep over him with all their sweet, shattering power. Aye, he knew what a gift Isobel's love was. In the wake of his joy, an emptiness settled inside him, threatening to consume him with its intensity. He clenched his teeth against the pain. He would not trade a moment of the time they'd spent wrapped in each other's arms, of the secret smiles, the heartfelt words they had shared in order to extinguish his anguish now. He loved her. He loved her enough to keep her safe and at peace.

  He released a long, shuddering breath. "I cannot, I shall not turn away from my destiny." He twisted away and strode across the hall when the door to the keep swung open. A clarion's call preceded his father's entrance into the chamber.

  "Well, what have you to say for yourself?" King Robert II asked as he strolled into the chamber, followed by two guards. The nearly empty room suddenly filled with people. They entered from the doorway behind the king, from the inner doors leading from other sections of the castle, and from the stairs above, until it seemed as though all the castle's residents lined the stone walls. All the residents except one—Isobel.

  Wolf tried to mask the eviscerating pain that lanced through him at that moment. No amount of misuse on his father's part, or torture on Grange's, could equal the turmoil that made his legs weak and left his insides gutted. He longed to see her one last time. But such a thing was not to be. He did not blame her.

  The king strode forward and as he did, his subjects bowed, casting their gazes to the ground as the man passed them by. All except Wolf. His spine felt suddenly rigid and unbending. If his father wanted him to bow, he could strike him down at the knees.

  The king scowled, anger clotting his cheeks with high color. "You challenged my authority in the battle with Grange."

  "Aye." His body felt numbed, dulled, as though nothing this man said could hurt him anymore.

  "I could have you hanged for such an offense."

  "I expected you might"

  "You've left me few options, boy." The king searched his face. What did he search for? Regret? Remorse?

  "I know." Wolf hardened his gaze until he was certain it was not only cool but as cold as ice—the kind of ice that burns.

  His father flinched at the effect "You've left me no option but to have you arrested for treason."

  Wolf nodded. "And I shall go willingly if you sign these two deeds." He motioned toward the table near the hearth. "One will bestow Grange's castle as well as a title upon Brahan for his service to Scotland. The other allows my lands to pass to Walter and Isobel jointly upon my death."

  A deep frown etched across the king's face. "Why would I sign either of those?"

  Wolf allowed himself a small smile. "Because I saved your life when I refused to fight My treason served you well. If we had charged into battle as you had planned, you would be dead. Grange set up an ambush. By not engaging in that battle, I saved your life and kept your reputation."

  The king's face paled. "You have no proof of that."

  Wolf looked beyond the king and signaled for one of Grange's former lieutenants to come forward. He offered the king a bow.

  "Angus, recount for the king what you told me."

  " 'Tis true, Your Grace. Grange would have killed you. We were all there, hiding, waiting to trap you in the valley below. It would have been a massacre. When Wolf left with his men, you also withdrew. We never attacked because you held the advantage by virtue of the terrain."

  The king waved a dismissive hand in the air. "That is hearsay. No one here will testify that is the truth."

  "Aye, but they will," Wolf countered. "Grange's men who returned with me signed a statement claiming that as the truth—a statement that I have since sent to the Bishop of Cromarty for safekeeping should you go back on your word after my death."

  "Damn you, boy."

  "Aye, I have been damned for years by you. Now sign the deeds."

  With a growl of displeasure, the king stepped up to the table. After dipping the quill in ink, he placed his signature on each deed.

  The king's mouth compressed. " 'Tis done, and we can proceed with what I came here to do." He nodded to the two guards who had followed him inside. They strode forward, one on each side of Wolf, and bound his hands behind his back.

  One of the guards stepped back and in a loud voice proclaimed, "Douglas Moraer Stewart, you are hereby charged with treason against the crown."

Chapter Thirty-one

  The charge of treason hung in the air of the great hall when the door burst open, the heavy wood crashing against the stone wall behind it. The flame of the torches bent and flickered as the wind from outside wafted through the chamber. In the doorway, silhouetted against the red and orange fingers of sunset, mounted upon the largest stallion in the castle's stable, was Isobel.

  Yet it wasn't Isobel. At least not the woman Wolf had left in the bedchamber only a short time earlier. This Isobel had fire in her eyes as she rode the horse into the chamber. The clatter of hooves on the stone flooring brought all the noise in the room to a hushed silence.

  Isobel's chin came up as she drew near, dressed in chain mail from head to toe, topped by a surcoat, leather cross-garters over boots, and leather gloves. Golden locks spilled from beneath her coif and across her shoulders, softening her otherwise fearsome features. She appeared every inch the warrior's bride.

  Mighty, dangerous, magnificent. At the sight of her, a curious warmth centered in Wolf’s chest.

  The soft hum of whispered conversation hovered in the room. Light from the setting sun streamed through the high, rectangular windows overhead and caressed her features, limning her cheeks with yellow-gold light and tipping her lashes in gold.

  "What is the meaning of this?" the king roared with disbelief, bringing the room to silence.

  "Isobel?" Wolf stared at her as she sat atop the beast, almost not believing the vision before him.

  "Isobel? So your bride managed to survive. She must be clever." The king's tone softened. "Explain yourself, girl."

  Isobel and the beast moved forward as one. "I was asked by the lord of the castle to oversee his people. I am doing just that." Her bearing was strong and proud, yet her voice held a strange intensity. Uncertainty?

  The scrape of metal against leather sounded as she drew her sword from the scabbard at her side. She clutched the weapon with as firm a death grip as he'd ever seen in the course of battle.

  At the sight of her sword, the king's brows pulled down. "What is it that you want'"

  She brought the horse to a stop before the king and dismounted. "I have come to bargain. Since you intend to relieve me of my first husband, I demand you replace him with a second."

  An unexpected tightness seized Wolf’s chest

  "Put the sword away and we might discuss the matter," the king suggested.

  "Unbind Wolf’s hands and I shall consider it." Her tone was firm.

  The king nodded, and the guard slashed the bindings at Wolf’s wrists.

  Isobel sheathed her sword.

  The king's bearing relaxed. "Who exactly did you have in mind as this replacement? Or am I to choose for you once again?"

  She strode forward with a slight swagger to her step. A warrior's stride. "Oh, I have someone in mind, Your Grace."

  That brought a frown to Wolf’s face. "Who?" he asked before he could hold the question back.

  She did not look at him, only the king. "I choose Douglas Moraer ... Black as my spouse."

  "Such a man does not exist" The king looked dubious.

  "He does if you create him," Isobel challenged. "You want retribution for Wolf’s treason? Very well. Destroy the man who disobeyed you, then give him life once more. As a father, can you do anything less?"

  The king blinked, then laughed. "You're a clever girl."

  Her gaze strayed to Wolf’s then, and he saw all the love, all the bravery, all the fear of her actions that lay just beneath the surface of her facade. And he loved her all the more.

  "What you ask is impossible," the king replied. "One woman's wishes cannot change the laws of a country."

  She brought her shoulders back, her gaze spanning the other occupants in the room. "It is not only my wishes that you should consider here. There are others who will stand behind this man."

  Brahan stepped up to stand beside Isobel. "I would."

  Walter came forward as well. "As would I."

  A paralysis seized Wolf’s limbs as he watched his people step forward, one by one, each placing themselves at risk by vowing their support. Their collective voices echoed through the room, falling away until there was only silence.

  "You are the king." Isobel's mouth took on a faint, wry curve. "You make the law. You also have the power to override it. All these people are your subjects. You have the power to make them beholden to you, or turn them against you. The decision is yours."

  The king narrowed his gaze on her, yet not in anger. Respect and gratitude reflected in his father's eyes. "Nay, the decision is no longer mine, milady. You have seen to that."

  He turned to Wolf. "Kneel," he said, without the harshness that usually followed his instructions to his son.

  Wolf’s chest ached, not at his father's actions, but at the show of affection by his people. Regardless of his past, they respected him, cared for him, were willing to fight for his life. A surge of emotion welled inside him, robbing him of speech as he knelt upon the floor.

  The king reached for Isobel's sword, drawing it from the scabbard in a single, swift stroke. He placed the flat of the blade against Wolf’s shoulder. "I declare before this assembly that Douglas Moraer Stewart, the man also known as the Black Wolf of Scotland, exists no more. From this moment forth, you shall be known as Douglas Black, guardian of the Seer's Stone." The king lifted the sword from his shoulder and handed it back to Isobel. "Guard him well, milady. And love him as he deserves to be loved."

  "With pleasure, Your Grace." Tears shimmered in her eyes, and one of them raced unheeded down her smooth cheek. "With pleasure."

  Wolf swallowed back the emotion that pulled at his throat and met his father's gaze. Unable to do anything more, he nodded. His father's head dipped with an air of regal authority before he turned and left the room.

  A touch on Wolf’s sleeve brought his gaze back to Isobel. "You are free of him, Douglas, just as I am free of my father."

  "Say that again," he said, his voice thick.

  "You are free—"

  "My name, say my name."

  "Douglas."

  He allowed himself a small smile. "On your lips it sounds right, but it will take some getting used to."

  "We have the rest of our lives to practice," she said, her voice as passionate as her gaze.

  He caught her hand. Her fingers twisted with his as she lowered herself to kneel beside him, her gaze level with his. "You fought for me, my warrior bride."

  She bit her lip, trying to hide a sudden wayward smile. "Not in a real battle."

  Her smile hit him like an errant ray of sunlight, warming his insides and bringing sensation back to his limbs. "In the battle for my life, for my freedom." He reached up and removed the chain mail coif from her head. "And for my heart."

  Her fingers found his again and slid between them. "I love you."

  The sweetness of her words warmed him, and he leaned close to brush the corner of her mouth with his lips. "Isobel," he whispered.

  She met his lips with a sudden greedy recklessness, both innocent and ardent. The silence of the hall shattered with a frenzy of applause and cheers.

  "I relinquish your lips for now, Lady Isobel," he whispered against her cheek. "But I promise a more thorough expression of my gratitude when we are once again alone." He stood, then drew her up beside him.

  She nestled against him, her gaze searching the smiling faces of their people. The merry and spirited strains of a rotundellas broke through the noise of the chamber, evoking another hearty round of cheers as everyone assembled for the round dance.

  Douglas grasped Isobel's hand and pulled her into the circle, but the others thought differently and thrust them into the center of the ring. Isobel held on to her husband's hands as he twirled her about. Laughter bubbled up in her throat, and she felt almost too breathless to release it.

  Isobel slowed her steps as the sun's setting rays burst through the windows overhead, bathing the chamber in hues of gold, crimson, and orange. The light through the windows illuminated the castle just as the man before her illuminated her heart.