Table Of ContentAnother Man’s Bride
By Ariel MacArran
©2013 Ariel MacArran Another Man’s Bride is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be produced, stored or transmitted in any form
or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.
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Published by Here Be Dragons
Also available in paperback publication
Scotland
October 1436
The forest vanished.
The bright autumn leaves, the muddy path, her palfrey’s pretty gray mane,
Sir William ahead of her on his black horse—all blanched to nothing. And then
Isabella was no longer riding, the chill air of the Scottish Highlands stinging her
cheeks, but was somewhere else entirely…
The walls splintered. The ladies-in-waiting surged back, their faces
distorted with screaming. Where was Kat?
He turned, a tall silhouette against the fire.
She knew him!
Isabella raised her arm to ward off the blow. He brought the knife down—
The world rushed back into focus. Released from the vision’s hold, Isabella
caught herself against the pommel of Cobweb’s saddle. Her own shriek—primal
and raw—still echoed in the woods around them.
“Defend your lady!” Sir William shouted to the guards.
Isabella fumbled as she sought purchase enough to stay on her horse.
Perspiration broke over her forehead and upper lip despite the cold.
The warhorse tossed its head as William urged his charger into position to
protect her. The knight’s silver hair caught the light as he scanned the forest, his
sword at the ready. The hired guards too had their weapons drawn, tensely
looking into the woods.
Shaking, Isabella wiped her forehead with the back of her gloved hand. A
vibrant, clear vision sometimes enticed her to murmur a name or smile in
response, but no sending before had been as this one.
God’s blood, did I truly scream aloud?
The forest was silent and still. After a time William sheathed his sword.
He brought his horse beside hers, his charger far better suited to the rocky
path than her pretty, dapple-gray palfrey. There were no roads in this part of
Perthshire. Their little group could travel only as fast as the carriage—carrying
Katherine—and the wagons, loaded down with the finery and valuables of
Isabella’s dowry, would permit.
The knight had the leathered appearance of a man who had spent a lifetime
outdoors, and his flushed cheeks showed him hale, despite his sixty-odd years.
His fine clothing, road-worn now after days of riding, declared him a nobleman
of some means.
He glanced around the woods one last time then turned his frown on her.
William’s hooked nose, reddened by the cold, was prominent in his face, and his
kindly eyes, near as dark as his horse, were puzzled.
Isabella swallowed hard. The half dozen hired guards were eyeing her, their
expressions a mix of confusion and annoyance.
Isabella scarcely knew the men who escorted her north to join her betrothed
at court. Even Sir William—tasked by her cousin Queen Joan to bring her safely
to Blackfriars Abbey where the King intended to keep Christmas—was barely
more than an acquaintance.
Katherine, the dark hair beneath her veil shot with silver, leaned out
between the curtains of the carriage to regard her with a pale, anxious face.
William’s frown deepened as he took in her tight grip on Cobweb’s saddle.
“Wherefore did you cry out, my lady? I did not mark that your horse stumbled.”
Unbidden, her mind flashed back years ago to Rouen and the French girl
the English sent to die screaming in the flames …
Despite years as a maid of honor at the English court, her courtier’s tongue
failed her and she managed only a weak, strangled sound.
“My Lady Isabella, are you quite well?”
“Fool!” cried Katherine. “Of course she is not well!”
Kat shoved aside the curtains and made to climb from the carriage. She
threw a stern, angry look at the guard nearest her. “Baseborn knave! Help me
down!”
The guard stared up dumbly at that formidable widow. He either sincerely
did not grasp the meaning of her words—Kat had spoken in the French of the
court—or was far too intimidated by her scowl to step forward.
Impatiently and, Isabella knew, quite rudely, Katherine repeated her
demand in Gaelic, and this time the guard jumped to do as she bid.
Isabella closed her eyes, silently thankful for Kat’s quick thinking.
“And small wonder she suffers so!”
Her kinswoman had already alighted and was striding toward William. Kat
moved stiffly, her bright blue cloak pulled tightly around her shoulders. The
illness that had delayed by weeks their departure from the English Court still
lingered on her. Too weak yet to ride, she traveled in the elaborately decorated
carriage, but Isabella judged Kat knew little comfort inside that jarring, rocking
contraption.
Her face was pinched and pale but she leveled her glare at the knight. The
hapless guard reluctantly trailed behind her.
“To think of what my lady has endured on this journey!”
“Mistress Katherine, I assure you,” Sir William returned, “Lady Isabella
has my utmost—”
“The poor lamb is nigh to fainting,” Katherine interrupted, throwing
William a disgusted look. “Riding for days, in the roughest of conditions with
freezing weather and not even a maid to attend her! An earl’s daughter and
cousin to the Scottish queen and this is how she is treated? And but six men to
guard her!”
William’s mouth became a tight, angry line. “Why do you insist to hold me
accountable for that, Mistress? ’Twas King James’s chamberlain who outfitted
us so—over my objections, if you recall!”
“I cannot believe Queen Joan ever intended my lady to travel through
lawless wilderness so ill protected and ill served as this!”
“I shall bring us all to Blackfriars Abbey safely, despite our thin ranks,
Mistress Katherine,” Sir William said through clenched teeth. “I shall deliver
you both to the queen and—upon my word—you will see your lady wed to Lord
Douglas before Christmastide.”
“It will be a wonder indeed if you do not bring us instead to Hades!” Kat
retorted. “Naught but muddy paths barely wide enough for my lady’s wagons
and hardly enough men to move them—let alone protect us! It can only be a
reflection for how you are regarded at court that Robert Stewart dares outfit us
so!”
Katherine turned her back to him.
“Come, poppet,” Katherine said to Isabella, gently reaching up to take her
hand and ignoring William’s sputtering behind her. “Come to the carriage and
rest yourself.” She raised her voice so that William should hear. “I expect we
must resign ourselves to still more of this comfortless and overlong journey!”
“God’s wounds, woman!” William exploded. “Are you sure your husband
is buried and not run off?”
As Kat turned to retort, Isabella frowned at the movement in the forest
behind the knight.
Another vision?
“—should not even find ourselves at an inn this night!” Kat continued
angrily.
Isabella blinked rapidly as the shapes took form and coalesced into men,
just yards away, moving stealthily among the trees. They were bearded, their
hair worn long, wild and uncovered, not cropped like Englishmen. In their rough
tunics and trews and simple untanned boots, it was plain these were wild men
from the north. Isabella’s stomach lurched as she realized how many they
numbered.
“—cannot offer comforts not to be had, Mistress Katherine! If I—”
One of them—a broad-shouldered brute of a man, his face hidden under the
folds of his mantle—stopped short. His head came up with an animal-like
alertness when her eyes picked him out. Even as she drew breath to cry out, the
man abandoned all stealth and burst forward, his fellows with him.
“Sir William!” she cried. “Behind you!”
The Northern men’s battle cries shattered the calm of the Perthshire forest.
Their plaid mantles were bright with color as they ran down the slope. William
blocked a stab from the outlaw’s long pike with his sword as the rest burst from
the cover of the trees.
Isabella’s horse tensed under her, startled by the rush of howling men. She
reined in to keep Cobweb under control and felt Kat’s grip tighten.
“Filthy whoresons!” William shouted.
Isabella followed his furious glare. She watched in horror as the last of her
guards vanished into the woods. The hired men had fled the barbarians,
abandoning the packhorses and wagons along with the noblewomen under their
protection.
“Ride, poppet!” Kat croaked, seeking to pull her hand from Isabella’s grasp
as the outlaws overcame William. “Quickly—go!”
“No!” Isabella held Kat’s hand fast and kicked her foot from the stirrup.
“Get on! Mount behind me!”
She was so focused on getting her cousin on the horse and controlling the
frightened palfrey that she did not see the outlaw at her side until it was too late.
He seized Cobweb’s reins and with a quick movement the man swept her
off the horse. Isabella gasped when she hit the frigid ground, pain shooting up
her side. She instinctively scrambled backward as she realized she was in danger
of being trampled by her own mount.
Cobweb broke free of the man’s hold and the outlaw stumbled, landing on
his knees in his hurry to get out of the way. In that moment Isabella kicked out
and caught him full in the face with her heel. He fell back, cursing.
Kat was screaming. Isabella twisted, gritting her teeth against the pain in
her side, struggling to get her feet under her. Her only weapon was a little knife
used for eating but if she could somehow make it to William’s sword…
She was on hands and knees now, the frozen rocky ground biting into her
palms. Her dark hair hung in her face, pulled loose from its fine linen veil, and
the smothering folds of her heavy woolen gown tangled in her feet. The outlaw
fumbled at her fur-lined cloak, trying to catch hold of her. She threw herself
forward and pushed hard against the ground to break free.
Her legs were stiff and heavy from being so long in the saddle, and she
managed only a few stumbling steps before he caught her.
Isabella screamed, struggling against his hold, kicking at him. He was the
stronger by far and the blows she landed made no impact. Soon he held her fast
from behind, one arm around her middle, her wrists clasped painfully in his
hand.
He was breathing hard from their scuffle. She could faintly feel the heat
radiating off him as he held her fast, his breath ragged in her ear.
She shook the hair out of her eyes.
“William,” she murmured. The knight, unmoving, lay prone upon the
ground, bleeding from the head. One of the outlaws stood watching over him as
another ran to capture his horse.
Isabella caught no sight of her cousin. Her captor yanked her to her feet.
She could not hear Kat any longer either.
“Kat!” she called.
“Quiet!” her captor ordered in Gaelic.
“Kat!” she screamed again, her voice cracking.
“Here, poppet!” Katherine called, terrified but out of sight. “I am here!”
Isabella’s captor held his hand over her mouth to silence her and she
clamped down, hard.
He started and yelped in pain. His hand tasted of salt and dirt as she sank
her teeth into his flesh. He cursed viciously and pinched her nose between his
thumb and knuckle, depriving her entirely of breath.
“Let go!” he snarled.
Isabella tried to bite harder but her vision was beginning to swim, the trees
swaying. She must not faint. She let go, gasping at the sweet, cold air as he
pulled his hand away. The vile taste of earth and sweat was still in her mouth
and she spat. He held her tightly against him, cursing again as he examined the
damage to his hand.
The horses were restless, still upset from the noise and confusion, but one
of the outlaws already had command of the carriage. The packhorses tied to the
wagon whinnied as the outlaws tried to soothe them.
Isabella felt a knot of terror in her belly. She had been a maid of King
Henry’s court under the protection of his uncle, the Duke of Gloucester, since
the age of twelve. In her seven years at court she had witnessed the horrors of
torture and slow death visited upon the weak, unfortunate, or friendless by the
powerful.
If civilized men committed acts of such brutality, what would they know at
the hands of these Highland barbarians?
Two of the outlaws, armed with swords and elaborately decorated leather
shields, emerged from the trees in fine spirits.
The older man, his ginger hair and wild beard streaked with gray, limped
toward Isabella and her captor with a swaying, straddling walk. His face was
