Bride of the Beast (2 page)

For a scant moment, Rhona appeared duly chastised, but soon babbled on, her face aglow with renewed wonderment. "On my oath, more than his bonny looks impressed me. Ne'er will I forget how he unseated Dunlaidir's finest at the joust yet had the good grace to allow your late husband to best him."

Rhona aimed a keen-eyed stare at Caterine. "Aye, Laird MacKenzie is a just man. He will choose you a stout-armed warrior of great martial prowess, a man of honor to protect you."

A man of honor.

Caterine swallowed the sharp retort dancing dangerously near the tip of her tongue. She of all women had little reason to believe such a paragon existed. Though she'd seen many sides of the men who'd shared her life thus far, honor was one attribute most of them had sorely lacked.

Only her late husband had possessed a portion thereof.

A meager portion.

She folded her arms. "And you think this fabled and mighty Highlander, this man of honor, will lay aside his morals and agree to pose as my third husband?"

Rhona ceased her pacing and began tapping a finger against her lips. After a moment, the finger stilled and she smiled. " 'Tis for honor's sake he will agree. What man of compassion, of worth, could refuse a gentlewoman in need?"

"Think you?"

"Of a surety." The tapping began again. "Especially if you inform the lady Linnet of the near ruination facing Dunlaidir. Once the severity of our situation is known, no man who abides by the code of chivalry would refuse you."

Saints cherish her, but Caterine didn't think so either.

Then so be it
she almost said but a loud clap of thunder silenced her before she could form the words, stealing them as surely as if a swift hand had snatched them from her lips.

The thunder cracked again, a tremendous and resounding series of booms powerful enough to shake the floorboards and jar the window shutters.

The storm's black fury was a portent, she knew.

A sign the saints disapproved of the sacrilege Rhona would see her commit.

Or worse, an indication they agreed and frowned on her refusal to heed her friend's suggestion.

Something she would not, could not, do.

Caterine waited for the storm's rage to abate, then smoothed the folds of her woolen kirtle. Before she lost her resolve, her nerve, she drew back her shoulders and forced herself to speak the words she must.

"Lady Rhona, I respect your counsel and ken you are ever heedful of my welfare," she said, her voice surprisingly calm, "but I forbid you to breach this matter again. I will
not
send for a champion."

**

A fortnight later, on the other side of
Scotland
, deep in the western
Highlands
, a lone warrior knight fought an invisible foe. Naught but the repeated swish of his great sword arcing through the chill predawn air marred the quietude.

Even Loch Duich, hidden from view over the list wall, gave itself silent, its dark surface no doubt smooth as finely fired glass for not so much as a ripple, not the gentlest lapping of waves on the pebbled shore could be heard.

The hour was well before prime, the time of day Sir Marmaduke Strongbow favored for practicing his martial skills. Soon,
Eilean
Creag
Castle
would come alive, the empty bailey would fill with a bustle of activity and his overlord's squires would trickle into the lists to join him, each one eager for him to prod and teach them.

Help them hone their own sword arms.

But for the moment, he stood alone.

Free to challenge his secret enemies, daring enough to face down the most formidable of them all: his own self and the self-created demons he carried within.

He paused and drew a deep breath, then swiped the back of his arm over his damp forehead. The plague take his cares. The saints knew he had much to be grateful for. Soon his own castle would be completed. Indeed, were he not a man who enjoyed his comforts, he'd move into Balkenzie now, this very day.

But he'd waited long years to raise his banner over a stronghold of his own, a few more months would not cost him overmuch. Then all would be ready and he would take possession of his new home.

A castle he and his liege, Duncan MacKenzie, had designed with great care.

A strategically ideal fortalice to guard the southern reaches of MacKenzie land.

A home perfect in every way save one.

Unlike his liege and closest friend, Marmaduke lacked a fair lady wife to grace his side. His would be a castle filled with men.

Quelling the bitterness that oft mocked him when alone, Marmaduke adjusted his grip on the leather-wrapped hilt of his sword and lunged anew at his unseen foes. Faster and faster, his blade rent the morn as he spun and dipped, thrust and withdrew, skillfully slicing his doubts and regrets to ribbons, banishing them one by one.

Until the morrow when he'd challenge them anew.

"Sir.
.." the soft voice behind him was little more than a whisper to his ears but a great roar to his warrior's instincts. Instantly lowering his sword, Marmaduke wheeled around to face the lady who'd addressed him.

"Fair lady, I am always pleased to see you, but you should know better than to approach a man's back when he wields a sword," he said, sheathing his steel. "Nor do I believe it is good for you to be out in the chill morning air."

"I am fit enough," Linnet MacKenzie countered, drawing her woolen cloak more securely about her before resting one hand upon her swollen middle. "I would speak with you alone, now before the others stir."

Sir Marmaduke peered intently at his liege lord's lady wife. Her lovely face appeared more pale than it should and lest the vision in his good eye was failing him, she bore faint purple shadows beneath her eyes.

Nor did he care for the rapid rise and fall of her chest. That she'd overtaxed herself in seeking him out was painfully obvious.

"Lady, you should be abed," he admonished, trying to sound firm but unable to be duly stern with her. "Does your husband know you are about?"

The two bright spots of pink that bloomed on her cheeks gave him his answer.

"I must speak with you," she said again and placed a cold hand on his forearm.

"Then let us adjourn into the chapel." Closing his fingers over her hand, Marmaduke led her toward Eilean Creag's small stone oratory. "It is closer than the great hall, and private." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I would know you warm before I hear what troubles you."

He'd scarce ushered her inside when the oratory's heavy wooden door burst open behind them. With a resounding crash, it slammed against the whitewashed wall.

"Saints, Maria, and Joseph!" Duncan MacKenzie fumed, ignoring the sanctity of the holy place. Ill-humor swirling round him like a dark cloak, he made straight for his wife. "Have you taken leave of your senses, woman? 'Tis in your bed you should be. The entire household is searching for you."

Bracing fisted hands on his hips, he tossed a dark glance at Marmaduke. "Why am I not surprised to find her with you?"

"Becalm yourself, my friend," Sir Marmaduke urged, his smooth baritone voice unruffled by the other man's bluster. "No harm has befallen her."

"Were she your lady, I vow you would want to know her safe, too, Strongbow."
Duncan
ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

"I care for her as if she were my lady, as you know." Marmaduke placed his own hands on his hips. "Her well-being is of equal import to me. There is naught I would not do for
her."

"My lords, please." Linnet leaned back against the recumbent stone effigy of a former MacKenzie warrior, one hand still resting upon her midsection. "I have told you naught will go wrong this time. I know it. My gift has shown
me."

Duncan MacKenzie peered hard at her, his handsome features as set-faced as his stone-carved ancestor. After casting another dark look in Marmaduke's direction, he swung about and strode across the oratory.

Dropping to one knee, he busied himself lighting a small brazier in the corner near the altar. "Have you told him?" he asked his wife when he stood.

"Told me what?" Marmaduke quirked a brow. "My lady would ask a favor of you."
Duncan
slanted a glance at Linnet. "A great favor."

Sir Marmaduke did not care for the way his friend spoke the last three words, nor the ghost of a half-smile suddenly twitching the corners of
Duncan
's mouth, but such reservations scarce mattered. He'd championed the lady Linnet since her arrival at
Eilean
Creag
Castle
five years ago, and she'd repaid his gallantry a thousandfold and then some.

In her presence, he could almost imagine himself rid of the scar that marred his once-handsome face and believe that, once more, his
looks
and not his well-practiced charm could turn female heads.

Indeed, he revered her greatly.

"No request Lady Linnet may ask of me is too great," Marmaduke vowed. Turning to her, he made her a slight bow. "How may I serve you, my lady?"

Rather than answer him, Linnet cast her gaze downward and began scuffing her toe against the stone flagging of the
chapel floor.

Ignoring his friend's ill-concealed bemusement, Marmaduke lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Name your desire and it is yours," he sought to encourage her.

She met his gaze but kept her silence. After a moment, she moistened her lips and said, "Now that I stand before you, I fear it is too much to ask."

Marmaduke shot a glance at
Duncan
then immediately wished he hadn't. His handsome friend now wore a bold
smile.

A too bold smile.

Somewhere in Marmaduke's gut, a tiny shard of unease broke loose, a jagged-edged shard that jabbed his innards and grew more unpleasant by the moment.

The smile on Duncan MacKenzie's face grew as well and the gleam in the Highlander's eyes bode ill for Marmaduke. He turned back to Linnet. "I cannot help you if you will not tell me what it is you wish me to do." "I cannot," she whispered, shaking her head. "And
you
"
He glanced at Duncan, alarmed to see that his friend's smile had now turned into a silly grin. "Will you divulge this great secret?"

"With pleasure," Duncan said, the mirth in his voice undeniable. "My lady wife's sister is in need of a champion." Marmaduke lifted a brow. "I see naught amusing about a
lady in need."

"Then you will go to her aid?" Linnet asked, the tremor of hope in her voice going straight to Marmaduke's heart.

Iron control hid the mounting tension swirling in Marmaduke's breast, the dull thudding of a heart filled with other plans than riding off to slay some unknown gentlewoman's dragons.

"Think you I am the man to champion her?" his valor asked before his heart could stay his tongue.

"We know of no one better suited," Duncan answered for his wife. "The lady Caterine is newly widowed and plagued by a persistent Sassunach earl who would press her to marry him. Her holding, Dunlaidir Castle in the east, is sorely fail ing. Without help she will lose both the peace she craves and the home she holds dear."

He laid his arm around Linnet's shoulders and drew her close. "Nor is it in our best interest in these troubled times to see as strategic a stronghold as Dunlaidir fall into English hands."

Marmaduke rubbed the back of his neck. "Why not send a contingent of able men to assist her? Many are the warriors you could choose from."

"Name one whose sword arm is mightier than yours." Duncan's fingers kneaded the woolen folds of his wife's cloak. "Who better than you, a Sassunach of noble blood, to challenge an English earl? You, with your martial skills and smooth tongue, are more suited to the task than a score of fighting Gaels."

Unconvinced, Marmaduke shook his head. "A full retinue would serve her better than a single man."

"Dunlaidir is possessed of a stout garrison. They only need direction. A firm hand and a clear-headed man to lead them. Nor can I spare more than a few men with Balkenzie nearing completion. Nay, Strongbow, the task falls to you." His smile gone, Duncan aimed a penetrating stare at Marmaduke. "Or would you deny my lady's sister of your skill?"

"You know I cannot. It is only—" Marmaduke broke off, near stumbling over his unusually thick tongue. He ran a finger under the neckline of his tunic. The chapel's somewhat stale, incense-laden air closed in on him with such pressure he almost gagged. "I'd planned to take occupancy of Balkenzie soon."

A lame excuse, to be sure, but he'd so hoped to hoist his own banner before Samhain.

"I'd hoped to see the castle well-garrisoned and secure, secure for
you,
before the onset of winter," Marmaduke said, his words casting down the gauntlet of his hesitation.