Highlander Enchanted (20 page)

“Black Cade, my vassal and laird of the MacLachlainn!” Duncan shouted in triumph. “English, ye’ve been bested!”

All eyes turned to Richard, who stood alone, next to his master-at-arms. He was tense and pale, his look blazing. With a bow of his head, he admitted defeat with grace, surprising her.

Was he so quick to relinquish her after a year of ugly pursuit?

“Where’s my priest?” Duncan bellowed.

Her attention slid to the towering, muscular form of Cade, who rippled with unrestrained power and was coated in the blood of others, and she abruptly agreed with Richard’s decision not to challenge the madman further.

His slaughter confirmed every rumor she had heard of his ferocity. What would he do to her? Richard was willing to kill her to obtain her lands.

She took in the dead bodies of knights. For the third time since encountering Cade, Isabel panicked. She bolted to the door and out of it, ignoring the laughter that trailed her.

“Fetch yer wife, Cade!” Duncan shouted gleefully.

Isabel ran through the keep without paying heed to where she went. She stopped only when she was close to breathless and ducked into a quiet, dark hallway, mind racing with alternatives. If she could reach the stables and find her destrier, she could flee. No tempest would stop her, not when what chased her was far worse than a bit of rain and possibly, far worse than even Richard.

Hearing the pad of boots against stone in the hallway, she held her breath and waited, inching back from the corner into the darkness. She wiped tears from her face, not about to appear weak in front of anyone, even if he had just murdered five men before her eyes with ease.

Thunder grumbled and wind wailed outside the keep, and she listened hard between the sounds to gauge the progress of her pursuer.

“Isabel.” Cade’s voice was a low growl.

Her heart flipped in her chest, and she sank deeper into the hallway.

How a man his size moved so fast, she did not know. She glanced behind her to ensure her step did not trip her or encounter anything that might alert him. Before her attention returned to the corner, he had snatched her.

She cried out and began to fight him, but it was akin to fighting a stone wall. Her fists fell against his solid chest and were quickly grabbed and forced to her side. He leaned into her, trapping her between the wall and his hard body. The difference between them, his size and steely frame, left her close to sobbing.

He shuddered at their touch, some of the madness appearing to leave his gaze.

“I will not marry you!” she said, her voice trembling. She squeezed her eyes closed.

“Ye ‘ave no choice, lass.” His tone was softer than she expected. He gripped both her wrists in one large, calloused hand and rested his other palm against her face.

“Then you have to kill me.”

He chuckled. She heard the rough edge and unwillingly breathed in his scent. The familiar smell of forest and man – mixed with blood – stirred her desire, made her hate her own weakness when it came to Cade.

“I’ll no’ kill ye,” he said. “But I will drag ye there if I must.”

“No.”

“Yer strong, Lady Cade, but ye doona ken how t’survive my world. We do this, or we both die. Laird Duncan willna let ye live the night, and I canna rescue ye any other way.”

She said nothing, hating that there was sense in what he said. Unable to reconcile the man gently but firmly holding her wrists, and the man who had done unspeakable things to the English knights, she sought to rein in her fear and cease quaking in his presence.

“Verra well,” he said, darkly amused. He released her and bent, lifting her over his shoulder.

“What … this is no way to treat a noble!” she sputtered.

He didn’t speak but began walking confidently through the hallways, back towards the Great Hall. Humiliated, helpless, she fought back tears of frustration. Laughter and cheers greeted their return, and she struggled once more to center herself, to find the calm, regal carriage befitting an English noble.

Cade lowered her to the ground, his hand around her forearm. She did her best to ignore the jeers and shouts of the crowd and Laird Duncan’s fit of laughter so hard, he bent over and could not speak. A young priest fidgeted before them, eyes darting between the dead knights and the bloodied Black Cade.

Isabel refused to look at him, refused to acknowledge him. It was, by far, the worst day of her life, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up and sob.

But this, too, was of her making. If she had settled with Richard or another noble in England … if she had not tried to avenge her family … if she had never traveled to the Highlands in the first place …

The priest motioned for them to kneel.

Resigned, if furious with herself, she obeyed and bowed her head.

The ceremony was fast and interrupted more than once by cheers from the onlookers. She went through the motions and spoke the words required of her, despair sliding through her.

When it was over, they were swarmed by well wishers and proudly marched around the Hall by Laird Duncan himself. Richard was noticeably absent, and she resolved to send the letter to her uncle warning him about the ambitious man in the hopes of reaching her family before he did.

“Escort the hand-fasted to their bedchamber!” Laird Duncan bellowed. “Laird Cade has a long night with his sword!”

Isabel ignored the laughter, her heart toppling to her feet. She had considered her wedding night with little joy, but with
him
, a man who could hurt her so much more than Richard …

If I survive, I will escape,
she vowed.

Servants threw down flowers before them to lead them to their bedchamber. Each step was filled with absolute dread so heavy, she did not dare look at Cade. He was surely not thinking of their wedding night as she was; men never did, from what she knew.

The crowd and servants left them at the door of the bedchamber Laird Duncan had given her upon her arrival. Someone had anticipated them. The hearth glowed and the air smelled of rain and incense. It was quiet, dark, and peaceful.

He released her for the first time since finding her in the hallway and crossed to a table with a pitcher and water on its surface.

Isabel hugged herself, her insides quaking and thoughts bouncing around her mind. She went to the hearth and stared at the flames. When she learnt of her brother’s death, she never would have known how her own path would change from that of a proper English noble to … this. The bride of the most feared Highland warrior. She braced herself and waited for him to ravage her with the same brutality he used to fight, to tear off her clothes and force her to consummate a marriage she did not want.

A knock sounded at the door.

She did not move, not caring who it was.

Cade answered it and let in his cousin. Niall was drenched and dripping rain onto the floor. Two bulging satchels were clenched in his hands. He slung both onto the bed.

“Are we ready?” Cade asked.

“Nearly,” Niall said. “I told Laird Duncan I brought you clothes and the writ.”

“Take him the writ and go to the horses. Make certain t’bring the writ back with ye. Father Adam is t’keep them all safe.”

Niall nodded.

She felt his long look in her direction.

“It is done?” he asked.

“Yea.”

“Verra well. I willna be long.” He left quietly, and Cade slid the bar over the door behind him.

Isabel willed herself to remain numb, unaffected by what was happening. But the mention of the writ sent a new streak of fear through her. She had secrets that were to remain secrets.

“What writ?” she ventured.

“Our marriage contract.”

She faced him, cheeks warm.

Cade had tugged on a tunic and was dumping the contents of the saddlebags onto the bed. A coil of rope, clothing, and weapons spilled out onto the bed. She studied the items and what he did, puzzled.

“The other contract will be destroyed,” he added tersely.

He made no move to touch her as a man did his wife. He was calmer, his mood reflected by the lack of thunder and lightning. The skies drizzled rather than poured. With his hair swept back and all signs of blood gone, he no longer resembled the beast who ripped men’s arms and heads off.

But he was the same man. He was the famed Black Cade.

“Why did you challenge Richard?” she whispered.

He paused in his sorting before his movement began again. “The MacCosse lands. My clan has no home.”

“And I can provide that.” Why was she disappointed, especially after seeing what he could do with his bare hands? “You finally believe me.”

“Yea. Niall went to the Scottish court and found the truth there.”

What truth?
She was too afraid to ask what else he had learned from those who knew more of her secrets. “They are disputed, are they not?” she murmured. “You are the Lord of Saxony now. You can take your people to England.”

“England?” he repeated with a snort. “We’ll no’ leave the Highlands. None of us.”

She regarded the bedchamber with mild despair. It was comfortable and small – and nothing like her chamber in Saxony.

He approached her, and she went still, awaiting the inevitable when he made her his wife in every way. Cade lifted her chin to peer at her bruises.

“Richard?” he asked.

She pulled her chin free and nodded. Caught by his blue-grey eyes, she did not bow her head as she intended to. Cade gazed down at her, near enough for his body heat to reach her, along with his familiar scent. He touched her face once more with the backs of his fingers.

She winced.

“I willna hurt ye, Lady Cade,” he said.

She flushed, hating how suiting the mocking nickname now was. “After what you did to those knights …” She cleared her throat. “Forgive me if I cannot believe that, Laird Cade.”

“I didna wish ye t’see that side of me,” he admitted. “But perhaps it’s better ye did. The man known as Black Cade isna one I am proud of but he is part of me. I crossed into dark sorcery in the Holy Lands and awoke a demon within me. I canna cross back but I can control him.”

“He … you are terrifying,” she whispered.

“Yea.” He cupped her cheek in his hand, holding her gaze when she wanted away from him. “He canna hurt ye just as I canna. Yer touch drives him back inside me, where he belongs.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“We shouldna have secrets anymore. Isna how this is to be? Man and wife?”

“I do not know,” she replied honestly. “You are my only husband.”

“Then we make it so,” he decided with a crooked smile. “Put these on.” He handed her clothing much thicker and plainer than that she wore and went to the items on the bed. “We doona have much time.”

She had been ready to fling herself from the walls of the keep so he did not ravish her. The next moment, she was starting to melt, touched by the insight into him, by his innocent belief there could be only truth between a husband and wife. She had never ventured to ask how it was to be between a married couple, never been informed by her wet nurse, either, who explained the duties of her wedding night to her.

“Do you truly believe we should have no secrets?” she asked, confused as to why she was intrigued by the notion of trusting him after the horrifying display in the Great Hall.

“I do.” He was at the window, leaning out.

“What do you do?”

“Planning our escape.”

“But … why?”

He strode to the bed and hefted the rope. Kneeling, he began tying one end around the thick base of the four-poster bed. “I declare war on him come dawn. ‘Tis best not to be here when I do, no?” Amusement was in his voice.

Startled by the admittance, she stared at him.

He glanced up then back, gaze lingering on her. “I canna cast out the Macdonald’s. I ‘ave seen it done before, in the Holy Lands. I doona wish their blood on my hands,” he explained quietly. “Father Adam told me of the writ granting ye the MacCosse lands. My clan and the MacDonald’s travel there now.”

“He read all my writs?”

“He did.”

She turned away. Was she relieved he knew her true birth or terrified what he meant to do with the knowledge? She loved the man who raised her and the brother who always loved her. For the world to know of her true parentage was to besmirch the name of Saxony and those she loved.

“You cannot reveal what you know to anyone,” she whispered. “Please.”

“I willna.”

“I do not understand you,” she said, perplexed by his many sides. “You could use what is in those writs to obtain the gold you need.”

“I wish only for a home for my kin, Lady Cade. The writ granting ye the lands is on its way to the Scottish Crown. Ye ‘ave allies I need.”

She knew not how to respond. Cade was too unlike Richard, and the other nobles she knew, for her to understand how he thought. What was clear: he was going to protect her along with his clan and use the secret of her birth to do it.

“And ye? How did ye fall into Laird Duncan’s hands?” He stood and went to the window, flinging the rope out.

Grateful to discuss another matter, she told him briefly, not expecting his full attention to be on her when she finished.

“And ye would marry this man?” he demanded, a flash of darkness in his gaze.

“I did not flee Saxony only to find you,” she pointed out archly. “I always knew I did not wish to wed him but feared refusing him.”

He snatched his sword and strapped it to his back. “I ‘ave time t’kill him before we go.” He strode past her, bristling once more with the charged energy. Thunder rippled through the dark skies outside the window.

“No,” she said and caught his arm.

He turned on her, fire in his gaze and fists clenched.

Isabel released him and stepped back, alarmed by the change in him. “If you kill him beneath Laird Duncan’s roof, you will be at war before we can escape.”

He looked from her to the door.

“Please,” she added uncertainly. She gripped the pendant and touched him tentatively, afraid of his reaction. “Cade.”

He rolled his shoulders back, and tension left his frame. “Verra well.”