A Woman of Honour Page 5

  He grabbed her arm to tell her, but before he could say a word he felt a familiar vibration under his feet. The sound of thundering hooves filled the air. Four warriors on horseback cleared the crest of the mountain. One glance told him they were not Campbell men. He recognized the white hair of his old enemy, Ramsey MacDougall. Did he know about the letter, or was he just angry over being bested in the hunt? Neither reason mattered. The only thing he cared about was Isabel. He wanted her to live even if he could not.

  He thrust the pouch into her hands, gave her a quick kiss, and drew his sword. “Run.”

  “Not without you.”

  “You have to deliver the letter. Tell my brother I sent you.”

  He pushed her to get her moving and prepared to do battle with the enemy.

  Chapter Seven

  Isabel ran a few paces and then stopped. What was she doing? She turned in time to see Duncan engage the first of the riders. He might be able to hold his own with four opponents on foot, but warriors on horseback had an unfair advantage. They could strike from above and move with such speed that Duncan’s death was inevitable. In a flash she saw her long, lonely life without him. A life where she would have to live with the pain of knowing she had let him die and done nothing to stop it.

  She tucked the letter into her tunic and sprinted toward the fray. Once level with the riders, she pushed off a boulder with her foot, gaining enough height to push Ramsey MacDougall from his horse. Her momentum sent her over the animal, landing on the warrior’s head. Instinctively, she rolled to the side and was surprised when he didn’t move.

  She scrambled to her feet just as another of the mounted warriors veered away from Duncan and stopped in front of her.

  “Bitch,” he spat.

  She backed away, astonished to see it was the same warrior with the matted hair and perfect teeth from the cliff top.

  “You’re a bit gangly, but I’ll enjoy playing with you.” He rotated his wrist, swinging his sword with expert ease.

  She took one step back. This was it. She was going to be savaged by this animal before she died. She stared into his eyes and saw only hate, no compassion or remorse just loathing and contempt. He sat on his horse, sneering as if he’d already won. Anger seethed though her. She was not going to die without a fight, but she had no weapons to use against him. He stared at her as if considering his plan of attack.

  Suddenly, he charged. She tried to dive out of the way, flattening herself in the ground, but as her mouth filled with mud, a searing pain along the length of her arm told her she had been too slow. Ignoring the hurt, she rolled to her feet and started to run downhill heading for the trees.

  A snort from the horse rang in her ear, and heat from the animal’s breath radiated down her back, telling her he was close. She dived, taking cover behind a large tree trunk. A thud echoed as his sword hit the tree. The horse whinnied in protest as he jerked hard on the reins.

  While he grappled with his mount, she seized the opportunity to run, plunging into a thicket of bushes. She had only gone a few steps when the ground gave way beneath her feet. She grabbed hold of a bough in an attempt to stop her fall, but her hand was sticky and wet with blood. The branch scratched through her fingers. Her body bounced against the side of an escarpment as she fell. Without warning, her feet hit something hard. Painful vibrations darted through her legs, and they give way beneath her. She landed in a heap on the forest floor.

  Inhaling several shuddering breaths, she staggered to her feet desperately trying to adjust to her surroundings. The crack of breaking twigs shattered the air. She snapped her head to the right. The noise grew louder. It was him. Her pursuer. The moment he cleared the scrub, he grinned, goading his horse to a gallop. She ran blindly. Her heart beat uncontrollably. Branches scratched her arms. She crawled over some bushes to find her feet on a narrow, dirt trail. She took the path, running as fast as she could. Her chest hurt as she gasped for breath.

  She spotted a thin branch growing across the track. Was it high enough to slow him? She sprang, struggling to gain enough height to grab the bough. Bark scratched her palms as she allowed her momentum to pull it forward. At the last moment she released it, letting it fly back. Her feet hit the ground, and she swerved to the side as the horse thundered past. A loud grunt let her know the branch had hit its mark.

  Gasping for breath, she crouched in the bushes watching, trying to calm the rhythm of her heart. Perhaps she should start running before he got to his feet. But how long could she keep that up? And she needed to double back and find Duncan. Was he still alive? Had the MacDougalls got the better of him?

  Alert for sounds, she crept forward. The rider lay on his back, unmoving. Was he dead or just unconscious? She had no idea. Keeping her distance from him, she retraced her steps, praying that Duncan would be all right.

  She reached the edge of the clearing just in time to see him standing over his slain enemies, sword in hand. He was alive. Her knees trembled and her body weakened.

  A swarm of men ran up the hill. Were they more MacDougalls? Duncan smiled, and walked toward them. This must be his family, the Campbells. She tried to wave, but her body was as limp as a piece of thread. Using a tree to support her quivering form, she watched as Duncan talked with his kin. He looked so happy to see them. She should walk away now while he was busy. Then he wouldn’t be forced to choose. If only her body would cooperate, but she found her lack of strength had affected her coordination.

  In the sea of strange faces, she spotted a man who looked remarkably like her brother. She must be seeing things. John was in hiding with the king. She wanted to call to him, but the words lodged in her throat. She could hear someone screaming her name, but the sound was distant as if she were under water. The whole scene held a bizarre dreamlike quality. Again she heard her name.

  “Isabel.” She managed to turn toward the voice. Duncan ran toward her, his face pale, a pained look in his eyes. Was he hurt? That thought shook her from her stupor. She forced herself away from the tree and walked toward him.

  “Oh my God, no, Isabel. You were supposed to run.”

  She put a hand to his face, and noticed a trickle of blood from a cut on his cheekbone. “I couldn’t. I promised to stay. Here let me tend your face.”

  “What?” He grabbed her hand “That’s nothing. I told you to run.”

  “I promised to stay with you. I can’t break my word just because it’s convenient.”

  Suddenly all her determination and resolve deserted her, and she collapsed against him.

  “Niall,” Duncan called over his shoulder. “I need a blanket.”

  He placed his hands under her shoulders and knees and picked her up just as someone draped a blanket over her legs.

  “She’s bleeding. I need some strips of linen,” Duncan called and another man ran to do his bidding.

  “Duncan stop fussing and let me down. It’s just a scratch. It doesn’t hurt.”

  “It will. By tonight it’ll hurt like the devil.”

  “Who are all these people?” she asked, looking around.

  “This is my brother, Niall, and these men are my kin.” Duncan said as he ignored her request and carried her over to a large boulder and sat, repositioning her in his lap. Isabel turned to see a man who could be Duncan’s twin except he stood a head shorter and had pale green eyes.

  “Who’s this woman?” Niall asked.

  “This is Isabel. We will be married tonight,” Duncan said as he tore away the remnants of her bloody sleeve.

  “Is that so?” Niall raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes, that is so. If you can’t accept her, tell me now, and we’ll be gone by tomorrow.” Duncan took the strips of cloth offered to him and starting near her shoulder, slowly wound the linen down her arm.

  “You have clan obligations, brother, or have you forgotten?”

  “Did I really see John or was I imagining it?” Isabel changed the subject before Duncan could answer. It was exactly as she had feared. Duncan
would be disowned by his family because of her. She needed to clear her mind and think of a way to escape. Everything seemed to be happening so quickly and yet her thoughts were sluggish and slow. The best she could do was to distract the brothers before they fought, and hope for inspiration.

  “You saw your brother? Where?” Duncan turned to see the men gathering around them.

  “The young one over there. He has dark hair and a beard, although John doesn’t have a beard.” She pointed to a young man who looked vaguely like her brother but it couldn’t be him.

  “Do you mean the Bruce’s favourite?”

  She peered again through the throng of men. “It is him. Oh Duncan. It’s John.” She wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. It had been such a long time since she had seen him. Her brother and the king must be riding with the Campbells. Did this mean Duncan supported the king?

  “Isabel is that you?” John shouted.

  “Duncan, let me up. I want to go to my brother.” She tried to wiggle out of his grasp.

  Duncan lowered his head to her ear. His closeness made her spine tingle, stomach clench, and a warm glow radiate through her body.

  “You’re wearing man’s clothing,” he whispered.

  “Dear God, Isabel, what have you done to yourself? What happened to your hair?” John said as he strode toward her.

  Everyone turned to stare. Less than an hour ago, she had been alone with Duncan. She had discovered love and pleasure, and she had felt beautiful. Now she plummeted into the depths of shame. Her hair was short, and she was dressed like a boy. She hung her head and prayed she could hide, or perhaps she could conveniently faint, then she wouldn’t have to face them. She closed her eyes for a moment, realized fainting was not an option, and then opened them again.

  “How dare you speak to her like that?” Duncan roared.

  “Please don’t. I—” Isabel said, trying to keep the peace.

  “He will not talk to you that way. No one will.” He glared at the men.

  “But I must look….” She put a hand to her hair. Even before her ordeal, men had never offered her a glance except maybe to jest about her height. But now, she must look pitiful. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten a full meal or had a bath.

  Duncan hooked her chin. “You survived an attack by the English, disguised yourself as a boy, walked through the Highlands alone. You were captured by the MacDougalls and escaped. You did all this to deliver a letter to the king. You will not apologize for a single thing. You are an honourable woman, and if anyone says differently, I will break their heads.”

  “I’m pleased you’re safe little sister. Later, when you’re feeling better, you can tell me about your ordeal,” John said, staring, wide-eyed.

  “You have a letter for me?” The rich, deep voice caught her attention. She should have known the Bruce would be here. Robert was not a king who sat on a throne and twiddled his thumbs. He was a warrior king, a man who by necessity served his country and his people. She was mortified he was here to witness her bedraggled state. She bowed her head as her face flamed. With a shaky hand, she reached under the blanket, to find the pouch still tucked inside her tunic, and passed it to him.

  Bowing deeply the king said, “I will be eternally in your debt. If there is anything I can do to repay you.”

  “Aye, you can give us your blessing,” Duncan said. “We will be married tonight.”

  “Is that what you want?” John asked his sister.

  Duncan stiffened, tightening his grip, and she was surprised to see a glint of fear in his eyes. She had never seen him frightened before, not when they were hunted, and not when he was outnumbered by the MacDougalls. But the thought she might reject him seemed to scare him. How could she not love this man? He was overbearing, bossy, difficult, caring, and loving, and she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

  “It’s what I want,” she said and felt the tension leave his body.

  “So you’ll give us your blessing?” Duncan asked.

  “You always had my blessing. This is the woman we wanted you to marry.” The king grinned.

  “You said I was to marry a highborn lady from the lowlands.”

  “Isabel is highborn. Our father was Lord Douglas,” John said.

  Duncan stared at her. She blushed again. She wished they would stop embarrassing her. At this rate her face would turn red, permanently.

  “You’re highborn?” Duncan asked.

  “Yes but—”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I thought I did. Yes, I know I did. I told you the English took everything from us.”

  “Aye, you did say that. I didn’t put it together.”

  Isabel couldn’t remember the last time she had been this happy. The king had the letter, she would marry Duncan and live with the Campbells, and she did not have to become a nun. Tonight she would lie in her husband’s arms. She smiled, closed her eyes, and rested against her man.

  ****

  The minute Isabel relaxed, Duncan picked her up and started down the mountain. When he reached a copse of trees, where she would be hidden, he stood her on her feet.

  “What are you doing?” Isabel demanded.

  “We’ll join the others in a minute, but I need to talk to you alone. There’s something I should tell you.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, her brow crinkled with concern.

  “I love you, I’ll do my best to make you happy and give you and our children a good life.” He held his breath hoping she would say the words he needed to hear.

  Her gaze met his and she said, “I love you, but I won’t let you boss me about.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He smiled. The tightness that had been in his gut since their first meeting in the dungeon eased. Tonight they would be married. He would not and could not wait a moment longer.

  She grabbed his shirt and pulled him toward her. When their lips were just a hair’s breadth apart she whispered, “Now it’s time to make me happy.”

  And he did.

  A word about the author...

  After being thrown out of England for refusing to drink tea, Marlow Kelly made her way to Canada, where she found love and a fondness for storytelling.

  Encouraged by her family, she started putting her ideas to paper. Her need to write about strong women in crisis drives her stories, and her curiosity regarding the lives and loves of historical figures are the inspiration for her characters.

  http://www.marlowkelly.com

  Thank you for purchasing

  this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.