Warrior's Bride (26 page)

  An uneasiness settled inside him. They had found nothing during their search. No signs of any disturbed brush, no telltale marking on the ground. Even the area where he had been captured and found had been cleared of all traces.

  He wasn't sure which disturbed him more, the thought that they could find nothing or the fact that Grange was going to a lot of trouble to make sure his steps could not be traced.

  Wolf remounted. "To the ridge," he instructed his men. From there they would be able to see the southeastern border of his land, from which his father would most likely come to Duthus Castle.

  "I don't like it." Brahan brought his horse alongside Wolf’s.

  "Neither do I." Wolf kept his eyes peeled on the territory ahead. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. "Tell the men to be alert and prepared for anything," he ordered Brahan.

  Brahan nodded but did not fall back into the ranks. "I could help figure out what is to come." His hand strayed to the pouch at his side, where he kept the Seer's Stone. "It might save lives as well as time."

  Wolf drew his gaze from the land for a moment to study his friend. Brahan's sincerity coiled the tension in Wolf's gut even tighter. "After the rise. If we do not see what we need to then, aye."

  Wolf returned his gaze to the hill before them and prayed it would not come to that. While they needed answers, he hated placing either Brahan or Isobel in that kind of life-threatening danger.

  Lives were at stake either way—the lives of his men, or the life of his friend.

  Wolf did not like either possibility.

Chapter Twenty-four

  Isobel had gone to lend comfort to the murdered girl's family that night. The next morning found her with them as well. She stood with her hands clasped together, trying to think of the right thing to say at the eulogy of Cherie, the unfortunate kitchen maid who had died merely because she resembled her mistress. No words could take away the family's pain, or help them find the peace they deserved.

  The girl's mother and father stood to her right at the head of the wooden casket that had been placed atop a small dais at the front of the castle's small chapel. Their somber mood was at odds with the radiant splashes of color the morning sun forced through the wall of stained glass panels. Gold, red, green, and purple rays of light scattered across the casket, changing it from a thing of death and destruction into a thing of beauty.

  Isobel allowed a sad smile to chase across her features as the appropriate words suddenly filled her head. "Just as the light now touches her in death, may the light follow her into the beyond. May Cherie find peace in her eternal reward, and may her parents find comfort in the arms of their family." Isobel took the mother's chilled fingers in her own and sent the father a heartfelt gaze of condolence. "My lord Wolf and I consider you both, and all who live in this castle, our family."

  Tears sprang up in the mother's eyes.

  "That means the world to us, milady." The father nodded solemnly. He set a single lily atop the casket that harbored his daughter's body.

  "We had such hopes for our dear Cherie. Of all our children, she showed the most promise." The mother dabbed at the tears as they rolled down her cheeks. "Only five days ago she was promoted to the kitchens. 'Twas Cherie's skill with herbs that they took notice of and moved her up from the scullery to serve the lord and his new lady."

  A shiver of unease crept across the back of Isobel's neck. The girl had been promoted on the day of her own arrival at Duthus Castle? "Who made the decision to promote her?"

  "Why, Mistress Fiona, of course. She was in charge of the kitchens before you arrived here."

  Isobel's gaze moved back to the casket. Perhaps her father wasn't entirely to blame for all the events at the castle. She knew he was somehow involved. Did that mean he had help from one or more persons within the castle's walls?

  Fiona had been in charge of the kitchens. Curious that both she and Fiona had been poisoned by food that came from a place Fiona oversaw, and most likely from a girl whom she herself had promoted.

  Isobel's thoughts began to swirl. Perhaps the girl had not been murdered merely because she resembled the new mistress of the castle. Perhaps other things were at play. It was a lead worth pursuing if she was to sort out what had happened and who might be to blame for the attacks on herself, Wolf, and now Cherie.

  It was the only lead she had.

  Now she just needed someone who knew the castle and its residents to help her. And she knew just who to enlist.

  Isobel offered the family a heartfelt farewell before heading back to the great hall. At the doorway of that chamber she paused. The great hall was empty save for one man who sat near the massive hearth, a tankard of ale in his hands. Most of the other warriors had gone with Wolf.

  Walter, however, remained behind. He and a small contingent of men had been ordered to stay and protect her. Judging by the droop of his shoulders and the frown that cut across his somber face, the decision did not sit well with him.

  Steadying her nerve, Isobel approached Wolf's brother. There would be no one near to draw away his anger from her this time. Regardless, she kept her stride steady. She needed help, and he could assist her.

  The pop and hiss of the fire were the only sounds in the chamber. Usually they added a certain warmth and coziness to the room, but not today. Today they seemed out of place and unusually loud in the cavernous room.

  "Walter?" she asked. He did not look up when she reached his side.

  He took a sip from his mug. "What do you want?"

  "Might I sit down and have a word with you?"

  He looked up then. "If you know what is good for you, you will stay far away from me." The pulse at his temple quickened. He set down his ale.

  Refusing to give in to the nervousness that suddenly swamped her, Isobel lowered herself onto a bench across the table from him. "I need your help, Walter. I do not know who else I can trust."

  "Don't trust me if you know what's good for you." Instead of anger, resignation hung in his words. "Go away from this place while you still can."

  "There was a time when I wanted that desperately. But now things are different"

  His gaze turned hard. "Why? Because the man bedded you? He's bedded many women in his day. Ask Fiona. He will eventually tire of you as he did of her. Then where will you be?"

  A jolt of unease rocked her, but she did not force it away as she would have in the past. Perhaps Walter was right Wolf had many reasons to turn away from her, especially once he discovered who she was.

  Isobel pulled her shoulders back and met Walter's gaze without flinching. He had asked where she would be when Wolf tired of her. Obviously the man knew nothing about her past or where she had come from. Her current predicament was paradise compared to where she'd been. Even if Wolf tossed her out into the wilds of Scotland tomorrow, she would be better off than before. At least she'd be free. At least she'd determine her own destiny.

  She knew her choices would be few as a woman alone in the world without connections or family. But she would survive. Isobel dropped her gaze to her wrists and the scars that remained there. She'd lived as little more than an animal before, and she could do so again. Fine clothing, lavish food, even a soft, warm bed were not necessary for her survival. Life in the tower had made her stronger than most women.

  A surge of confidence filled her as she met his gaze once more. "Thank you, Walter, for helping me realize I don't need your assistance. I am capable of doing this on my own." As she stood, the bench scraped gently against the wood flooring, mixing with Walter's gasp of surprise.

  "Good day." Before he could respond, she strode across the chamber, determined to find the killer. One way or another, she would find out who had killed Cherie. What she needed was a trap—along with irresistible bait.

  And she knew just what bait to offer.

  Herself.

  Isobel headed for the long hallway at the far end of the great hall. She'd seen the warriors enter the room from here dressed in their armor and mail. If she wanted similar protection, the rooms on this side of the castle seemed a logical place to search. An ominous silence followed her as she hurried through the semidarkness. Few of Wolf’s glass windows had been installed on this side of the castle.

  She had no time to consider why as she came to the first doorway on her left. She pressed the handle down only to find it secured. The next door was also locked. She moved on to the door at the end of the hallway. The door here had a thick metal lock attached to the handle, yet it hung open, failing in its purpose to keep others from the room. Isobel pushed against the heavy wooden door. It swung open easily and she stepped inside.

  Giant urns hung from hooks at both sides of the chamber, bathing the contents of the room in a rich, golden light Everywhere she looked weaponry covered the walls from the wooden floor to the vaulted ceiling. The weapons were organized by kind in neat and tidy rows. Spears and lances, swords and daggers, bows and arrows, crossbows and bolts, maces, battle axes, and shields. The metallic surfaces captured the light from the flames, making the chamber feel more like a magical place than a storehouse of destruction.

  Yet the empty spaces on the wall testified that Wolf and his men had left the castle fully armed—armed to defend and destroy. And judging by the broken lock on the door, Wolf was not the only one who had access to the weapons. Unease brought a tingle to the back of her neck. Again she pushed the sensation away. She had a purpose here. She would see it through, no matter what.

  To both left and right, racks of mail and armor lined the walls. Isobel moved toward the mail and searched through the heavy garments until she found what she wanted.

  "Perfect," she said with a touch of satisfaction as she held up the small mail shirt that was probably fashioned for a squire or other youth. "Now, to find a weapon I can actually use." She draped the mail shirt over her arm and slowly walked down the line of weaponry against the back wall. None of the weapons were anything she'd ever had experience with before.

  She paused before the crossbows and bolts, eyeing the weapons with as much curiosity as revulsion. Twice now someone had attacked a member of the castle with this weapon. Whether she knew how to use it or not, this was the tool that would help ensnare the traitor in their midst.

  Isobel hesitated, her fingers hovering above the weapon. Could she do something so bold? Only a week ago she would have retreated to the chicken yard for safety, yet now she challenged herself to do something more.

  She lifted the crossbow and two bolts from the wall. She would do what she could, regardless of her own future. She had what she needed to set the trap, then wait for the killer to strike.

  The sound of bagpipes filled the air with a skirling melody that left Wolf’s emotions raw. He signaled his men to stop. The setting rays of the sun gilded the borderlands below the crag where he and his men assembled. Wolf scanned the area below, finding what he'd expected: his father's entourage. The report he'd had from the injured warrior had been limited but accurate.

  Suspicion and anger replaced the distress that had driven Wolf from the castle and away from his bride. His father was not in danger. Nay, something else was at play here.

  Wolf tensed, but even as he did the sound of the bagpipes worked their magic. It went deep inside him, pulling him back to an earlier day. He closed his eyes and let the music pulse through him. In his mind's eye he could see the land that stood before him. He could hear the sound of the clear, cold water that ran through the burns, the rivers that flowed through the cliffs and crags. He could hear the wind as it whipped over the lochs and across the grassy green knolls.

  He loved the land as much as he loved his own freedom, and only his father knew that Wolf opened his eyes and gazed at the watchfires that surrounded the encampment below. His father's troops gathered there, and by the look of things they were not heading to Duthus Castle anytime soon.

  His father—Robert II of Scotland, a Scot, a Stewart, and the rightful king on the throne—had brought clansmen who supported him. The clan chiefs gathered around him, ready to defend, no doubt, against the only man who disputed his claim: Lord Henry Grange. The echoing of the pipes, the skirling melody told it all. It was the music of war.

  "What does he want?" Brahan reined in his horse alongside Wolf’s.

  "My guess is to finally put an end to his battle against Grange and Grange's weak claim to the throne," Wolf replied.

  "You guessed correctly," an unfamiliar voice replied.

  Twisting in his saddle, Wolf saw a line of archers take position behind him and his men. Bows drawn and aimed to strike.

  "Artemis."

  The man bowed his head with a newfound arrogance. "You may address me as master of the realm." He stepped forward, holding his sword at a threatening angle. "I am the king's new favorite, Lieutenant of the Realm."