Bride of the Beast (43 page)

Caterine took a deep breath. "The winter is already upon us and will worsen by the day."

"More reason to depart with all haste," he said, weighing his words. "The road home may be fraught with some hazard, but my men will be used to worse ... as am I."

His wife glanced back to the dais end of the hall where James engaged Lachlan and a few of the younger Keith

guards in animated conversation. He'd slung an arm around the lady Rhona's waist, clearly holding her in his thrall.

Marmaduke watched them, taking some small comfort in the young lord's newfound pride and grace. But a trace of concern marred his lady's brow, and he smoothed it away with the side of his thumb.

"The older garrison men will flock to him, too," he promised. "Especially after my men and I are gone."

"And Rhona will make him a fine and able consort." The thickness in her voice alarmed him, for he knew instinctively it had little to do with her companion and James.

"A fine and able consort is the wish of all men." He smoothed a tendril of hair back from her face. "A rare and precious bliss."

She paled at that, and the gravity of her demeanor swiftly squashed what hope still flickered in his breast.

"You are my bliss," he said, damning his pride. "Will you deny the pleasure we shared this past night?"

"Nay, I will not." She lifted her chin. "It was bliss."

His hope surging anew, Marmaduke cleared his throat. "Lady, are you man enough to stomach a bit of... roughness on the journey?"

Can you look past my grim visage and love the man beneath?

Before she could answer, he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close. He wanted to savor the feel of her soft warmth crushed against him for the twisting in his gut warned it might be the last time he'd hold her.

"I am not going on a journey," she said, and the finality of the words sank his heart. "But I am
woman
enough to tell you, you are better off making the journey without me."

Pulling back, she pressed her fingers against his lips when he made to protest. "You deserve a woman who can love you with a full and open heart. I am not that woman."

Marmaduke released her, let his arms hang at his sides. "I will ask you once and never again," he said, stamping on his pride one final time. "Will you ride with me?"

"Nay, sir, I will not."

Five simply spoken words.

Utter honesty.

And then she was gone.

Vanished into the milling throng, leaving him alone in the smoke-hazed corner, the shattered remnants of his heart winking at him from a glittering, mocking pile at his feet.

**

The next day, in the frozen quiet of near-dawn, Sir Marmaduke and his MacKenzie Highlanders rode through the arched pend of Dunlaidir's gatehouse, putting that once-more great stronghold behind them as they set off on the long journey home to Kintail.

A blustery wind, icy and black, accompanied them and nary a soul who dwelled within Dunlaidir's stout walls hadn't braved the frigid morn to pay their respects.

Scores of chilled, red-nosed well-wishers had waited for them in the bailey, some having stood vigil since before first light. And they tagged along now, on foot or mounted, keeping pace with Marmaduke and his men as their steeds clattered across the precipitous neck of land to the mainland.

His lady rode at his side as well, but only in a parting gesture of respect.

James, Rhona, Black Dugie, and others accompanied her, and even Leo trotted along. The little dog frolicked in the snow, weaving in and out of the legs of those trudging beside them, clearly unaware the slow-moving procession was anything but a gay excursion.

Marmaduke knew and that was enough.

They'd all stay with him until he and his men reached the outskirts of the village. Then they'd return to Dunlaidir... and their lives.

As he would, too, and with all speed, for he burned to pass through the village, spur his steed, and return to Balkenzie never to leave again... no matter how many pressing requests his liege's sweet lady wife plied him with.

No matter how many pointed stares Duncan MacKenzie aimed his way.

He'd steel himself against them all and remain where he belonged—a wounded beast sheltered deep in his lair, free to lick his wounds in peace.

Squaring his shoulders, he nodded to the villagers lining the road, his heart wrenching at the smiles they wore, the sincerity in their shouted well-wishes.

Peace and prosperity had returned to the region, and if the prattle-mongers were to be believed, the proud new Master of Dunlaidir would soon take a wife.

A fine and good lass, well-loved by all. Able and big-hearted. And if some suspected her of being a mite meddlesome at times, no one really cared.

Aye, the good people of Dunlaidir and its surrounds had ample reason to rejoice.

Only their lady appeared solemn, her expression as grim-cast as his very best field-of-battle stone face.

She rode quietly beside him, taking little heed of the crowd, even ignoring the sleet-laced wind tearing at them in great blasts and buffets.

Her guard only began to slip as they neared the end of the village road and the dark edge of the woods suddenly loomed ahead of them.

But it wasn't toward that boundary that she stared. "Leo!" she cried then, yanking her mount's head around, then plowing straight through the crowd of tag-alongs to spur down a gorse and boulder-studded slope to a tiny loch some distance off the road.

Her little dog and another dashed about on the loch's thin crusting of ice. And even as she barreled near, calling his name, the ice cracked. The second dog leaped to safety, but Leo disappeared beneath the loch's smooth, gray surface.

"Holy Christ!" His own woes forgotten, Marmaduke kicked his horse in the sides and sent the beast hurtling across the frozen ground.

Reaching the lochside before his lady and those chasing after him, he leapt from his saddle, cast away his sword, and dived beneath the icy water.

Caterine reined in only seconds later... just as Leo scrambled to safety. Jumping down, she raced to the water's edge. "Oh, Leo!" she cried, relief coursing through her.

Wet, shivering, and not at all contrite-looking, the little dog shook himself, dousing her with a great spray of freezing water. Grabbing him, she thrust him beneath the warm folds of her cloak, then glanced around for her champion.

And the moment she did, cold dread more punishing than the biting winter wind clamped down on her heart, for unlike Leo, Sir Marmaduke hadn't yet left the loch ... her braw champion was still beneath the water's ice-littered surface.

Panic whirling through her, she pressed a fisted hand against her lips and stared at the place where he'd vanished into the water. Frozen with fear, she willed him to reappear. But he didn't.

Only his words flew at her... borne on the icy wind. ...
they only protect me from sword cuts and other-sundry arms of evil...

They never promised to keep me safe from flying embers
and sparks.

Nor had they vowed to keep him safe from drowning.

Caterine shuddered, sheerest dread churning through her. Fear squeezed her chest in a vise-like grip as she stared in horror at the silent waters of the loch.

His men ran past her and plunged into the frigid water... only to surface and re-surface without him, her heart sinking deeper each time they failed.

And through it all, she looked on as if from a great, disbelieving distance.

Young Lachlan clambered out first. Trembling with cold, and dripping wet, he raced at James. Grabbing his arm, he dragged her stepson to the water's edge. "You have the best eyes," he cried. "We can see nothing. The water is too dark. You must look for him."

James blanched. His panicked gaze darted to Caterine and then to the loch, to the men thrashing about in the water. "Go!" Lachlan shoved him forward, toward the loch. "I am ... I cannot..." he began, and then, to Caterine's amazement and relief, a look of steely determination settled over his face, and, whipping out his blade, he flung it aside, and plunged into the icy water.

Once, twice, over and over, he re-surfaced, spluttering with the cold, his own fear of water etched sharply onto his face, but each time he broke the surface, he drew a long breath and dived anew.

Then, just as the coldest anguish began to seize her, when she no longer cared if her shoulders shook and tears streamed, a great cheer rose from those gathered on the lochshore.

James had re-appeared, and this time, he'd found him. He held one arm slung about her champion's neck, but his head lolled at an odd angle and—as the crowd's ominous hush indicated—it appeared the saints had abandoned Sir Marmaduke Strongbow at last.

They'd turned their winged backs on him in his darkest hour, and left him to drown in a pitifully small, ice-crusted loch on the wrong side of Scotland.

**

"Lady, you must rest."

Caterine ignored her friend's admonishment—the hundredth such plea Rhona had made to her that morning alone—and continued to massage her champion's fingers.

A desperate attempt to force her own warmth into his hands as they rested, cold and limp between hers.

A vain endeavor, but one she'd repeated with grim patience ever since his men had carried his unconscious form above-stairs and gently settled him in her bed. "Lady, please," Rhona wheedled again. Caterine shot her friend a look of sharp reproach. "Later," she said. "I shall rest after I am certain he will not... after I am sure he will..." She trailed off, another hot rush of tears scalding the backs of her eyes, another searing lump swelling her throat.

"For truth!" Rhona yanked back the bed hangings to peer at Sir Marmaduke's still form. "He
sleeps
... he is not dead and everyone beneath this roof has assured you he is nowise near dying."

Caterine pressed her lips together. Rhona blew out a breath. "If James hadn't been able to find him, and free his cloak from the underwater branch it'd caught on, mayhap he would have died," she owned, "but he did not and isn't going to."

Placing her husband's hands atop the covers, Caterine gave Rhona another arch look, intending to send her away with some peppered comment, but the retort froze on her tongue when she noted the dark shadows under her friend's eyes.

Rhona's face appeared as haunted as she knew hers must be.

"For one so confident, you appear mightily distressed," she said, hoping Rhona would deny it.

Not disappointing her, Rhona seized her hand and pulled her off the three-legged stool where she'd spent the last two days—and nights—tending her husband as he'd drifted in and out of a fitful rest.

A deep slumber the leech insisted he needed.

"It serves no purpose for you to exhaust yourself, bending over him like an angel of death," Rhona chided, dragging her from the chamber. "I vow he senses your fretting and cannot rest fully for worrying about
you."

Holding her arm in an iron grip, Rhona herded her into the dimly lit passage outside her bedchamber. "Were you not so blinded by guilt or whate'er fool notions are plaguing you, you'd see by his steady breathing and fine color that he will be up and about before long." Caterine wasn't so certain.

No one had directly told her, but from snippets of conversation floating about, and dire murmurings she suspected she wasn't meant to hear, she knew the Laird's Stone still cried.

And some amongst the castiefolk believed its doing so meant her husband's death, and not James's acceptance as new lord.

But she let Rhona usher her along the corridor, and guide her down the winding turnpike stair to the hall. She was exhausted, and hadn't eaten in days.

Sensing her capitulation, Rhona flashed her a smile.

"It will do you good to spend some time below," she crooned. "Everyone is praising James for rescuing your husband." Pausing, she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "My lady, I vow this means they have accepted him."

Caterine nodded, too weary to speak.

"After you've eaten, you can rest in my ... in
James's
chamber, sleep away the whole of the day if you desire," Rhona rushed on.

Desire.

The word brought another fresh rush of tears to Caterine's eyes, but she blinked them away and walked with Rhona to the high table, the turmoil whirling inside her keeping her from paying too much heed to the notable absence of the Highlanders.

"All will be well," Rhona promised as she pulled back Caterine's chair, "you will see, my lady."

But all wasn't well.

And the overly loud hush that greeted her when, hours later, she finally returned to her bedchamber, only underscored how very un-well things were.

Her great four-poster loomed accusingly quiet, its mound of silk and furred coverings flung back to reveal... nothing.

Her champion was gone.

**