The Warrior Bride (37 page)

“In truth, my lord, I have sent him away.”

He seemed to brighten immediately. “Away?”

“Aye,” she said, and lowered her lids with an effort. “I felt he was becoming… too attached to me.”

A grin shifted his greenish lips. “He was rather in the way.”

“Aye, my lord,” she said, and returned his smile with careful shyness. ”And it was impeding on my chances of getting to know you better.”

“Better…” He brightened still more. “Indeed, ‘tis a fine idea. But…” His face clouded. “‘Tis a poor time for this, for I will be leaving in but a few days.”

Her heart thundered in her chest. “Leaving, my lord?”

“Heading north. To the stronghold of Evermyst.” His tone was reflective. ”The brothers MacGowans are hosting a gathering.”

Dear God, she was right. Meara had not lied. Evil stalked Evermyst, but it came from within as well as without. “You are invited to this gathering, my lord?”

“I am the king’s cousin.” He laughed as if there were some irony she missed. “I am wealthy and powerful and welcome everywhere, and yet ‘tis the Highland rogues who are favored.” His tone had become strange, as if he spoke to himself, but he glanced up and gave her a tight smile. ”There will be games and drink and merriment.”

She forced herself to continue to breathe. “I do not believe I have met the brothers.”

He turned his attention back to her. “Nay, I suspect you have not, my little steel mouse, but… perhaps it is time.”

She said nothing.

“Aye,” he said. “You shall travel with me, as will my progeny.” He nodded as if to himself. “Aye. A man with his bonny daughters in tow. ‘Twill be so much the better.”

And so it was set. Rhona ate little and slept less for the next several days. When she was not fending off the marquis, she was caring for the children, and when she was not with the girls, she was planning, scheming, trying to see some way she had misread the clues. But she could not.

They left in two days’ time. And the pace was laborious. Not for many years had Rhona journeyed such a distance as a woman. And never in her life had she traveled with children. Her nerves felt as raw as open wounds.

She wished now that the girls had stayed at Claronfell.

Indeed, she had wished so all along, but they offered a shield of sorts, a garnish to her costume, aiding her mission.

Catherine was utterly silent in her father’s presence.

Edwina returned to sucking her finger, but for the most part, the marquis ignored them. He too, seemed preoccupied. Too preoccupied to make his usual advances, and finally they arrived.

Evening was fast falling when she first saw the heights of Evermyst soaring fifty rods above the sea. For a moment she could not take her eyes from it, could not look away. Against her breast, her small silver shell felt warm and heavy.

Although the road wound round an outcropping of rock and up to dizzying heights, they did not climb up that rugged course, on the verdant nearby hills, pavilions of every bright hue had been erected. Lord Robert stopped their carriages there.

Soon servants were scurrying about like bees, setting up their camp, preparing meals. Reeves and Colette had accompanied them, for the marquis liked his comfort.

Edwina stayed close to Rhona’s side. Even Catherine seemed loath to stray too far, though her eyes were round with wonder as she took in the sights that surrounded them.

From her vantage point. Rhona could see the banners of a score of clans-the Forbeses, the MacGregors, and near the mountain’s very roots, the Munro’s white destrier on a field of green.

Warhorses with heavy feathering and high steps jolted past. Women laughed. Men cursed, and from far off, Rhona heard the high eerie sound of the pipes playing to the sky.

Her heart felt bound up in her chest. Emotions cluttered in, squeezing her breath away. Evermyst, warriors, competition, death. She could all but taste the impending drama. While beside her, two small girls looked to her for comfort. But who would comfort her?

“Me lady,” said a voice.

Horror and fear and soaring hope sparked in her chest at the sound of Lachlan’s voice. She spun around, her heart thrumming hard. But he was not there. Only someone who looked vaguely like him, someone who would soon hate her.

“Me lady,” he said again and bowed. “I am Laird Ramsay of Evermyst and this is my wife, Lady Anora.”

Lady Anora-mistress of lofty Evermyst. Lady Anora-bonny and bright. Lady Anora-with the silver shell about her neck. Lady Anora-Rhona’s sister.

Rhona stared, struck to silence, and in that silence the marquis stepped forward.

“You must be Lord Ramsay, one of the brother rogues,” he said. “I have heard much of you and your bonny bride.”

”Then I fear your knowledge exceeds me own,” said Ramsay. “What was your name, sir?”

“I am Lord Robert Turpin, sixth marquis of Claronfell.”

“Lord Turpin,” said Ramsay. “‘Tis good to meet you.”

“So you know of me.”

“I knew your wife. I was sorry to hear of her death.”

“‘Twas a terrible loss, of course,” he said. “But let us speak of happier things. Your lady has given you an heir, I hear.”

“Aye, I am much blessed, for I have both a son and a daughter. Wee Mary is but two years of age,” Ramsay said and, reaching out, stroked his hand down Anora’s back. There was a stiffness to the pair, as if there were some contention between them, and yet the caress seemed almost unconscious, as simple as breathing. And when he glanced into her eyes, the adoration was as clear as a hearth fire. “Tearle is not yet a year old, but already he possesses a temper to rival his mother’s.”

“And good sense to rival his father’s,” Anora countered, and though she raised a regal brow toward her husband, the adoration was returned in full. A rare hint of a smile lifted Ramsay’s lips as he touched her again, and for a moment it seemed that they had forgotten the world entirely, but the lady drew herself into the present quickly. She was small and bonny, nothing like the sister they had sent away long years ago. But there was steel in her, that much even Rhona would admit. “You are most welcome here at lofty Evermyst, my lord. And you, my lady,” she said, and paused as she shifted her bright gaze. Rhona’s breath caught in her throat. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“Forgive my rudeness,” said the marquis. “Let me introduce Lady Rhona, late of Nettlepath. She has been so kind as to care for my daughters these past days.”

“Lady Rhona.” Anora said and took her sister’s hands between her own. “‘Tis good indeed to welcome you to Evermyst.”

Emotion burned like acid through Rhona. A thousand dreams rushed by, tom by hate and fear and hope. “My thanks,” she said, and could manage nothing more. No recriminations, no questions, no apologies. Long she had known of the bond between them, and long she had resented it. Indeed, resented it enough to wish the lady ill. But now…

“We’ve not met before,” Anora said. “But I am eager to remedy that.”

“Lord Turpin,” Ramsay said, “We are proud of our achievements here at Evermyst for we’ve done much to improve our stronghold in the past years. Would you care to see the results?”

“‘Twould be my pleasure,” said the marquis.

“And you, my lady, you must come as well,” said Anora.

Rhona nodded and said nothing as her sister tucked her hand beneath her arm and led her toward a nearby wagon.

It was broad and boxy and pulled by two powerful sorrels. Matching they were, with flaxen manes that reached their forearms and heavy locks that all but covered their nostrils. Bells jingled on their harness as they leaned into their collars, but Rhona could hear naught but the crash of the nearby sea and her own haunted accusations. Still, the sorrels bore them up through the narrow passage to the castle far above.

Rhona’s heart jolted in her chest, feeling tighter with every step they took toward the summit. Evil comes to Evermyst. Nay, evil had already arrived. ‘Twas no surprise it came with the warrior maid. Perhaps that was the very reason they had sent her away. Perhaps they had known even then.

Between the sheer walls of natural stone, the portcullis remained raised, for this was a day of celebrations. Ramsay pointed out the defenses and fortifications, but Rhona heard barely a word, for the beat of her heart challenged the crash of the sea far below.

She must think, must plan must concentrate, for so much was at stake here. But as they reached their destination, the chaos only grew. Within the inner sanctuary of Evermyst, jugglers and musicians and tumblers mingled with dukes and monks and gentlewomen. Where was the king? Had he already arrived? How would she prevent his death? Who would strike the blow and how?

“My lady,” said Anora. Rhona barely refrained from jumping, so tight were her nerves. “Tell me, was your journey here difficult?”

”Nay.” She brought her attention back to the immediacy, but could think of no other words as her mind tumbled madly over itself. What of King lames? Did he know there was a plot against him? Perhaps he had gotten word and would not come to Evermyst, or perhaps that same plot would never be tied to this woman. But nay, why would she care? These people had exiled her long ago, had sent her away and kept Anora to live in luxury as lady of the keep. Sent her away to fight her own battles, to hew her life out of nothing but an old man’s bitter sorrow.

“And you ventured here directly from Claronfell. Is that correct?”

“Aye.”

Anora smiled as if Rhona had said something clever, as if she weren’t bumbling along like a draught mule in a grand parade.

“What of the marquis’s children? Did they travel with you? Two girls he has, aye?”

“Aye.” Panic was rising in her chest, as if she were being slowly smothered, as if she were drowning.

”How long have you been at Claronfell?”

“Naught but a few weeks.”

“And before that did you live with your foster father?”

“Nay, I- ” Rhona began, but Anora’s words stood out suddenly in her mind like emboldened letters of fire. “How did you know the baron fostered me?”

“We have mutual friends, you and I.”

“I have no friends.” The words came out unplanned, unchecked.

“Never believe that,” Anora murmured. A tiny frown furrowed her brow. “For ‘tisn’t true. There are those who would give their lives for you.”

Rhona lifted her chin. “I fear you have mistaken me for another, Lady-” she began, but Anora interrupted her.

“Isobel speaks highly of you.”

“You are mistaken,” insisted Rhona. Fear constricted her heart. Fear and horror and sadness. They had sent her away, and they’d not tried to find her, had not tried to right the wrongs. “I know no one named Isobel.”

Their gazes held for an eternal moment.

“You soon shall,” said Anora and, dismounting the wagon, led Rhona through the crush toward the keep.

The crowd pressed in around them. The colors were overwhelming, the music suffocating. Inside the great hall, it was close and noisy and disorienting as they fought their way through.

And still a wisp of a draft caught Rhona’s hair, lifting

it from her neck like invisible fingers.

“Senga,” said Anora.

“What?” asked Rhona as the mob pressed in on her. “‘Tis Senga you feel. Grandmother. She has been gone these many years and yet she remains.”

Dreams haunted her, crushing in, stifling her. “A shade?”

“Aye. Some think she cannot bear to leave the high keep, and some…” Anora smiled as she led the way up the stairs at the far side of the hall. “Some think she remains to look after her kindred.”

Rhona held her breath. Duty clashed with a strange, misbegotten loyalty, though long ago, she had wished naught but death for this delicate maid. Long ago she had followed her and hoped to accomplish just that. How ironic that ever since she had spent her life guarding her, only to come full circle. ‘This Senga, she protects you?” she murmured.

“Aye,” said Anora, holding her gaze. “Me and my sis-Bel,” she said as her sister appeared suddenly from around the corner of the stairs. She was as fair and fragile as her twin. “Isobel, I would introduce you to Lady Rhona.”

For a moment not a word was spoken. Indeed, the entire world seemed to go silent, and then Isobel stepped forward and clasped Rhona’s arms.

“Lady Rhona,” she murmured. Her grip was strong, and tucked into her silver girdle was a wooden sling. It seemed strangely incongruous against the rich cloth of her gown. “I have waited long for this day. Welcome to our home.”

Rhona drew herself from the other’s grasp. “I fear you may be under some delusion,” she said. “For I’ve not met you afore today.”

“Aye,” Isobel breathed, “Aye, of course not, and yet I feel I have known you forever, but I must away now. God be with you, Rhona. I will speak with you again soon.”

They continued up the stairs. There were questions, questions which Rhona answered, but never truly heard.

Finally, however, she stood at the very top of Evermyst, at the very peak of the world it seemed. The wind blew crisp and clean from the west, ruffling her hair against her shoulders, and she turned to feel it against her face. From here she could see eternity. From here she could shoot an arrow into the stars or into the heart of the earth. From here she could feel her very soul crumbling in her chest.

“‘Tis beautiful, is it not?” asked Anora.

Rhona said nothing, but stared unspeaking into the far silvery distance where the sea blended magically with the sky.

“To my own mind, ‘tis the most beautiful place in the world. What of you, my lady?”

Rhona jerked from her reverie. “Aye, ‘tis a bonny sight,” she said, her tone brusque, her throat strangely tight as she shifted her attention to the melee below.

In the courtyard, a host of entertainers laughed and parlayed, and a lifetime below that the sea crashed in frothing glee against the ancient feet of the mountain.