Awaiting the Wolf Killer Highlander by Alisa Adams
10
“There it stands,” Malcolm said, his voice strangely tight. “The place of my birth.”
Sure enough, the turrets and banners of Castle Fraser loomed ahead of them, just past the next hill. They did not extend to the clouds as Sorcha had dreamed, but they were nonetheless impressive, with gilded buttresses and perched gargoyles.
“What a wondrous place,” she marveled.
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” he mused. “A great many changes have been made since last I saw it, adding tremendously to its…splendor. I wonder why that might be.”
“It is a good sign, though, is it not?” Sorcha ventured. “Clearly, your clan has prospered in your absence!” She caught herself and turned to him, embarrassed. “I did not mean to say that it has flourished because of your absence…”
“I quite took your meaning, thank you.” He grinned, but his eyes looked strained and uncertain.
“I know it must be difficult for you, returning here after so much time away,” she told him. “I appreciate what you are doing for me in making this introduction, and I am deeply grateful. I meant what I said before: Ask any boon of me, and I shall gladly grant it.”
As she said it, a breeze rippled through her dark red hair, making it look like a crown of wildfire. Her blue-green eyes flashed in the sunlight, and her radiance overcame Malcolm completely; if he had not been sitting astride his horse, the sight of her might have made him weak in the knees.
Very well,he thought senselessly. The boon I ask of you, “my lady,” is simply this: Forget that I ever told you of my brother’s existence. Turn away from this place with me, and consent to be my bride, that we might travel these lands together in joyous anonymity.
That we might both be free from the burdens of our pasts. Free to find happiness and contentment in our love, beholden to no one but each other and the whims of the wide blue sky.
“No, my lady,” he reassured her with a weary smile. “Such a thing will not be necessary. Knowing that I have done you a service is enough to satisfy me.”
She frowned, tilting her head to one side. “If it is so crucial for your true identity to remain a secret while we are here, then it does not seem wise for you to leave your face exposed, does it?”
He nodded. “As a matter of fact, I had much the same idea, and an idea occurred to me.”
A short while later, they reached the outside of the castle. There was a moat surrounding it, just as there had been in Sorcha’s dream. However, there were no silver coins, and the dappled fish that swam within it appeared to be of normal size. The drawbridge was upright, its exterior carved with ornate depictions of snarling sea monsters and other fantastical creatures.
Sorcha wondered whether these were new additions, as Malcolm had said the other decorations were. However, she supposed that it was too late to ask him since they might be within earshot of the guards who now gazed down upon them from the upper walls.
“State your business!” one of them called down.
She took a deep breath and summoned all of her courage, wondering what waited for her beyond that drawbridge...and whether they would make it that far.
“I am Lady Sorcha, leader of the Campbell clan,” she announced, her chin jutting up at them defiantly. “I have come to speak with Laird Nathan Fraser about a matter of grave importance.”
“And what matter would that be?” the guard asked. “I am certain he will want to know.”
Sorcha folded her arms in front of her. “A matter for the ears of nobles, not sentries. Now I bid you announce my presence to the laird at once.”
The guard smirked, inclining his head toward Malcolm. “Who is your companion, then?”
She knew that he was testing her patience by ignoring her previous demand, but she chose to show her nonchalance by letting it pass. “He is Malcolm Haldane, and he is a member of my castle guard.”
“You expect us to believe that a woman leads your clan and that she travels such a distance with only one man to guard her?” he scoffed.
“When Haldane the Butcher is the man guarding me, one is more than enough,” she replied smugly. “I have seen him cut down an army on his own.”
“Is that so?” The guard chuckled. “Why is his face hidden, and why does he not speak for himself?”
Now we come to it, she thought grimly, glancing at Malcolm. He wore a hood, and the lower half of his face was wrapped in cloth, leaving only his eyes visible. I must speak surely enough to make them believe such an outlandish falsehood, or else our journey will have been for naught.
“He has not spoken much since he was struck in the face by a morning star several years ago,” she answered. “Not with his mouth, at any rate…he speaks well enough with a sword. You would not wish to see what is behind the shroud which adorns his face, I assure you. If you did, I doubt you would sleep for a fortnight.”
The guard considered this for a moment, then nodded and gestured to one of the others.
A few moments passed, and then the air was filled with a grinding, clanking, cacophonous din as the drawbridge was lowered across the moat. Sorcha and Malcolm rode across, and once they were inside the courtyard of the castle, they found themselves flanked by a quartet of armored guards.
“We will escort you to the laird,” one of them said, his voice muffled behind the visor of his helmet. “If he grants his permission, you will be allowed a private audience with him. First, however, you must surrender your weapons to us.”
“You demand a great deal of trust from a lady in my position,” Sorcha challenged.
He grunted. “Then perhaps a lady in your position ought not risk her safety by gallivanting about so carelessly. Your weapons, now, or you will be expelled as quickly as you were admitted.”
Malcolm unbuckled his sheathed sword from his belt and handed it over, then did the same with his dagger. As he did, he exchanged a look with Sorcha, silently confirming that he intended to keep his hidden blades.
She nodded almost imperceptibly, and he returned the gesture.
In truth, Sorcha had no real reason to believe that her life was in peril from this encounter. Malcolm had vouched for the honor of the man she was to meet, and more than that, it would make little sense for one clan to kidnap a member of another without provocation.
Just the same, the Campbells had suffered too much malfeasance for too many years. Sorcha was not naturally inclined to trust in the goodwill of others.
Or at least, she hadn’t until she met Malcolm.
She did not know why she trusted him so implicitly after having known him for such a short span of time. She only knew that the impulse to believe in him was as strong as her need to take in air.
Was this how it had felt, she wondered, when Dand and Maisie had discovered their love for each other?
And if so, how dreadfully unfair was it that they were allowed to revel in their true love while Sorcha was forced to marry for reasons of desperation and convenience?
She tried to remind herself that theirs had not been an easy path either. Even so, she felt cheated—not because they were free to follow their hearts instead of the needs of the clan, but because by rights, Dand should have been leader in her place.
None of this should ever have been placed on her pale and narrow shoulders. She was a daughter of the clan, not a son. She had never been prepared for it.
Prepared or not, you face it now, she told herself sharply. Now no more self-pity, girl! You haven’t the luxury of it. You must meet the man who will decide your fate, look him in the eyes, and do what must be done.
She and Malcolm dismounted, and the guards did likewise, leading them through a maze of corridors. Each one was lined with jewels, riches, tapestries, and treasures on display. There were suits of armor from faraway warriors, skeletons of beasts Sorcha did not recognize, and pieces fashioned from ivory and iridescent petrified wood engraved with gold and inlaid with precious gems.
She had never seen so many splendid items in one place before, and she was in awe of them.
Indeed, for the first time, she began to believe that she might find a laird who had collected such wonders interesting company indeed.
The guards opened the twin doors of a wood-paneled study with a vaulted ceiling, one decorated with a dizzying mosaic depicting the heavenly choir of angels descending from a starry sky.
And beneath it sat Laird Nathan Fraser.
He did not resemble Malcolm in the slightest, but Sorcha had to admit that he was handsome nonetheless. He had a tall and lanky frame and a thick head of wavy red hair. His eyes were light blue, his jaw was square and noble-looking, and he had a disarming smile as he took Sorcha’s hand and kissed it. “What an unexpected pleasure, Lady…Sasha, is it?”
“Sorcha,” she replied evenly, “and the pleasure is mine, good sir. Thank you for agreeing to entertain us unannounced.”
“I must admit, my curiosity got the best of me,” Nathan chuckled. “It is not every day that I get an unexpected visit from a woman who claims to lead her clan…and with a single disfigured escort who, from what my guards have told me, dispatches entire armies with a single blow?”
Malcolm raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
“He is a valued companion,” Sorcha said. “Would it be possible, then, for us to speak without the presence of your guards? The matter I wish to discuss is far too sensitive for their ears.”
“Consider me doubly intrigued, then!” He gestured to the guards, and they withdrew, closing the door behind them.
“Now then,” Nathan went on, rubbing his hands together briskly, “what business do you have with me?”
“Simply put,” Sorcha informed him, “the affairs of my clan are gravely unstable of late. My people have spoken: They wish for me to wed so that my husband may lead. I have been told that your veins contain royal blood, no matter how obscure the connection?”
Nathan appeared mildly stunned by what had just been laid before him. “There have been rumors of a cousin on my mother’s side, aye,” he conceded. “The precise lineage has been difficult to pin down, so I would be lying if I told you that such a thing is a mortal certainty.”
She sighed. “Nevertheless, it will have to do. You see, in order to break the curse which has settled upon my land, I have been charged with fulfilling the prophecy of marrying a warrior, a king…and a wolf-killer, which I am told you are.”
The words stung Malcolm briefly. I killed a wolf today, he thought sullenly. A shame that I am no king, or even rumored to be the distant relation of one, else I would not be forced to make such a ghastly sacrifice as presenting Sorcha to be the bride of another.
“A wolf-killer.” Nathan nodded, mystified. “I have not been called such a thing in many years now, ha. In truth, I had almost forgotten that strange moment from my boyhood. There were those who called me brave beyond my years…but to this day, I maintain that I was merely foolhardy for venturing so far from the rest of the hunting party and fortunate to have survived the experience. Still, it made a most amusing nickname for years to come.”
The words had an oddly polished air to them, as though they had been practiced many times before, along with the patina of false humility that accompanied them.
Still, that does not make him a bad person, Sorcha reasoned. Merely practiced in the affable manner of a laird. If anything, this might indicate that he would make an ideal mate for my purposes. I have no such graces…no gift for the performance which makes leadership look as though it comes easily to some.
“Let me see if I comprehend,” Nathan muttered pensively, pacing the room with a furrowed brow. “You come to my home with some mute master assassin at your side, you make bizarre claims about curses and prophecies and royal bloodlines, and you propose marriage and a union of our clans? I must tell you, Lady Sorcha Campbell, you sound like you are either a raving madwoman or someone who intends to play a harmful trick on me.”
Sorcha’s heart sank. “I assure you, sir, it is not my intention to—”
“So although your visit has presented an amusing diversion to an otherwise dreary day,” the laird went on implacably, “it seems to me that either way, the wisest course of action would be for me to call my guards back into the room and have them eject you at once.”
“You must not do that, Brother.”
The words echoed in the high ceilings of the chamber, almost as though the angels rendered above had uttered them.
All the muscles in Nathan’s face seemed to go slack at once as he stared at Malcolm.
“Remove your cowl and show your face at once.” The young laird’s voice was suddenly a husky phantom of its former strident self. The color had drained from his face, and in that moment, his eyes looked as though they were gazing far past the man in front of him to the boy that man had once been, a lifetime ago.
Malcolm nodded, threw back his hood, and pulled the strips of cloth away from his nose and mouth.
“Marcus,” Nathan breathed. “Dear Lord, it’s really you. I never thought I would see you again.”
“Neither did I,” Malcolm replied gravely. “I had intended to stay away for the rest of my days, Nathan, as we had agreed. But I returned just the same. My presence here is intended to make you see how serious this woman’s plea is…and how vital it is that you give it due consideration.”
Nathan continued to stare at Malcolm for several long moments, astonished, as though he were in the presence of a ghost.
Then he began to laugh.
“Marcus!” he exclaimed, running to his brother and embracing him. “How I have missed you, my brother! Yes, of course I will give Lady Sorcha’s words my full attention and ponder her offer most carefully indeed. But first, let us take a few moments to rejoice! All these years, Marcus! All these years of thinking about you, wondering where you had gone, trying to imagine what you would have said or done if you had been by my side! And here you are, alive and well. Praise God!”
Slowly, Malcolm began to chuckle, holding Nathan tightly. “Praise God indeed, Nathan. We are reunited at last. But of course, you know that my identity must remain a secret?”
“Yes, yes, of course!” Nathan affirmed. “You may adhere to this…‘mysterious masked swordsman’ pantomime so that none may recognize you. I shall have guest chambers arranged for both of you at once!”
“We would be most grateful,” Sorcha said. “It has been a long journey and an eventful one.”
“Then rest as you will, and when you wake tomorrow morning, I shall arrange for us to have breakfast in private. I wish to hear what my dear brother has been up to these past fifteen years. And I suspect your story and proposal, Lady Sorcha, merit far more discussion as well.”
“Yes, I suppose it does, at that,” Sorcha conceded, taken aback.
Well, at least I have his interest and attention, she thought wryly. Such things do not seem easy to secure from him.
