Rise (37 page)

When Alistair reached Lady Eira’s chamber, he banged on the door hard, expecting he would have to wake her.

Though he’d been ready to burst into the room, he was startled enough to take several steps back when Bosque answered the door. Lord Mar’s torso was bare, and a sheet had been hastily wrapped around his hips.

“Lord Hart?” Bosque smiled lazily. “You look distressed. Are you having second thoughts about your bride?”

There was an unintended but cruel truth in Bosque’s words that sent Alistair pushing past him into Eira’s bedchamber, regardless of what had been transpiring within.

Eira gasped, gathering blankets to cover herself where she lay on the bed. “Lord Hart, you do not enter without permission!”

“Forgive me, Lady Eira.” Alistair glanced back and forth between Bosque, who closed the door and went to sit on the edge of Eira’s bed, and Lady Eira, whose cheeks were coloring with the rosy blush of a maid. Despite the new questions raised by this strange scene, Alistair shoved them aside. “I had to speak with you at once.”

The amused expression on Bosque’s face vanished. “What is it, Alistair?”

Alistair clenched his fists, reminding himself that he wasn’t a lover betrayed but a commander of men. The right hand of Lady Eira and Lord Mar.

“We have a problem.”

EMBER WENT THROUGH THE
motions of a bride readying for her wedding day, but she felt as though she watched from above, a spirit freed from her body. Agnes stood close, smiling and dabbing at her eyes, while maidservants helped Ember into a gown of gold silk. Her hair had been carefully arranged into a mix of braids and curls that tumbled down her back.

“You rival the sun, sister.” Agnes beamed at Ember. “Your hair is flames, and the gown daylight. You have never looked so beautiful.”

Ember forced a smile. “Thank you.”

Agnes took her hand while the servants drew the laces of the gown tight. “You look frightened.”

Ember squeezed Agnes’s fingers, unable to answer. Agnes looked into Ember’s eyes and then said to the maidservants, “I’ll finish this. Please give us some time alone.”

When the servants had gone, Agnes stood directly in front of Ember. “I know many maids fear the first night with their husbands because it is known that the wedding night can be painful.”

Ember’s eyes widened. She was afraid, yes, but her anxiety had nothing to do with anticipation of a wedding night. If Ember ever shared a bed with Alistair, everything in her life would have gone unimaginably wrong.

Taking Ember’s startled expression for confirmation of her words, Agnes continued, “You need not worry, Ember. Alistair loves you. He will not treat you like some brutes might. He will be tender and ensure that you have pleasure.” Agnes was suddenly blushing. “Despite all the sorrows I’ve borne, I still remember the wonders that Henry wrought from my body. At the time, I thought it to be love, when it was only lust.” The blush gave way to grief’s shadow, and she shook her head. “But Alistair does love you, so you can take joy in the secrets of love about which maidens whisper.”

Bewildered by her sister’s assumptions, Ember just nodded. Her mind was filled with blades and betrayal, while Agnes spoke of love.

Agnes turned Ember to face away from her and finished securing the laces of her wedding gown. Ember’s gut twisted with guilt; she could bear her secrets no longer.

“Agnes, there’s something I must tell you—”

A light knock sounded, and Agnes called, “Come in!”

The door swung in, and one of the maidservants curtsied before stepping aside to allow Ossia Morrow entry.

“Mother!” Agnes cried, rushing into Lady Morrow’s open arms.

Ember stood still, the soon-to-unfold plot against Eira and Bosque waiting on her lips. Her father held fast to the notion that women had no business in matters politic or military, but in this rare case, could he have shared the truth with his wife? If Ember disclosed her allies’ plans to her mother and sister, would Ossia Morrow react with solemn knowing or horrified shock? More importantly, if it were the latter, would she betray Ember’s confidence?

Ossia stroked Agnes’s hair. “My heart is full of joy to see you so well, Agnes.”

Agnes drew herself up, leaving her childish outburst behind to play the proper matron. “I am greatly indebted to Lady Eira, Lord Bosque, and especially to Ember’s betrothed. I have been afforded every comfort since my arrival at Tearmunn.”

“Then we are indebted to them as well,” Lady Morrow answered.

Ember’s mother left her elder daughter to stand before Ember. Ember felt rigid, unable to respond with warmth to her mother’s arrival, as she could think only of the peril her mother would face once the clansmen began their attack.

Ossia touched Ember’s cheek. “Oh, you are pale, my dear. Don’t be frightened. This is a wonderful, wonderful day.”

Ember hugged her mother, but the embrace felt stiff. She’d seen the shining delight in Ossia’s gaze; her father had given his wife no bit of truth regarding this sham of a wedding. Neither Agnes nor their mother had any inkling of the imminent danger. Though Mackenzie had promised men to protect them, the only small comfort Ember took was in the stiletto she’d slipped into her garter when the maids and Agnes were distracted. If all else failed, Ember would protect her mother and sister herself.

“It’s time to join the others,” Ossia told Ember. “I’m here to escort you to the ceremony.”

Ember took her mother’s arm, and Agnes followed them from the room. When they reached the bottom of the staircase, Ember’s knees went weak. Her mother grabbed her around the waist tightly and propped her up as they walked.

“There, there, my dear,” Ossia whispered. “Don’t let it overwhelm you.”

Agnes came to Ember’s opposite side, taking her arm to give their mother aid.

Though rain had fallen overnight, leaving the courtyard muddy, the day was the best May could offer. A cloudless sky heralded Ember’s arrival. The light breeze that touched her skin was warm, its breath sweetened by blossoms that festooned the manor entryway.

Even on the most bustling days at Tearmunn, Ember had never seen the courtyard so full. Dancers whose heads were wreathed with flowers spun and jumped while pipes and bodhran filled the air with a soaring, frenzied melody.

Servants wove among the guests, bearing platters of roasted meats and brimming cups of wine. Men and women jostled each other, lifting onto the balls of their feet to glimpse the approaching bride. Ember searched the crowd, her chest tightening. The clansmen had gathered en masse. Cian, Ember’s father, and Lord Mackenzie stood at the front of their ranks.

The warriors held wine cups, but not once did Ember see a man among them drink. She found little comfort in their numbers as she realized that genuine guests were in attendance. These celebrants raised their cups when Ember passed, shouting blessings and bawdy suggestions for the wedding night. Ember bowed her head, wondering how many hapless guests would have their blood spilled that day for reasons they’d never comprehend.

Ember’s gaze roamed the faces, finding mostly strangers. She knew she searched for Barrow in vain, but still she looked. Meeting his gray eyes, if only for a second, would bolster her courage, in the face of this horrid day. No longer able to bear the hollowing beneath her ribs, Ember abandoned her search to face what she feared most.

Father Michael and Alistair awaited her on a wooden dais that had been erected between the manor and the barracks. At Alistair’s left shoulder stood Bosque Mar, still and imposing as a monument. On Alistair’s right, Lady Eira watched the bridal party approach, a tight smile fixed upon her lips. But the figure standing at Alistair’s side made Ember stumble.

The boy in the cage. He stood dressed in the fine clothing of a nobleman’s child. Alistair’s hands rested on his shoulders.

Ember’s glance shot to the stables. If she broke from her mother and sister now, she could get to a horse and ride. Caber had been left to Barrow’s care in France, but for this purpose, any swift mount would do. If she ran, Alistair would surely chase her. Maybe that would be distraction enough, serving the same purpose as the attack but avoiding the bloodbath this crowd promised.

“You must remember to breathe, Ember,” Agnes whispered in her ear. “You’re terribly pale.”

Shaking off her coward’s dream of flight, Ember did as Agnes bid, drawing long, deep breaths to steady herself. If Ember were to run, she would have little chance of making it as far as the stables. Too many people filled the courtyard to give her a clear path, and Alistair’s men, if not Alistair himself, would catch her before she came close to fleeing the keep.

Agnes kissed Ember’s cheek as they stepped onto the dais and then she passed her sister into Alistair’s waiting grasp. Alistair took both of Ember’s hands in his, bringing her gaze to his face. He brought her fingers to his lips. “You’re trembling, my sweet.”

Ember could only nod. Suddenly she blurted out, “I’m not well. I worry I will faint.”

“I’ll only keep you here a bit longer,” Alistair replied. “It will all be over soon.”

Ember stared at him as he squelched her last ploy to stop the ceremony. It had to be this way, Ember desperately reminded herself. The wedding and the surprise attack were the only things that could provide Rebekah the time she needed to close the rift.

Alistair gestured to the boy at his side. “Ember, this is Rhys. You’ll soon know him as you’d know your own child.”

The boy looked at Ember with solemn yellow eyes. “She’s still afraid, Father.”

Ember gasped at the way Rhys addressed Alistair. Who was this child?

Rhys watched her, calm and curious. Ember returned his gaze, wondering if she’d imagined his transformation. How could this sweet-faced child have become a wolf?

Alistair leaned down to murmur in Ember’s ear. “Once we are married, you will learn who Rhys is to us, and you will love him as I do.” He spoke as if the words were a threat, and Ember blanched.

“Let us begin, Father Michael,” Eira commanded with a sweep of her hand toward the throng of guests.

The priest uttered the familiar words of the wedding ceremony, but to Ember they were an unintelligible jumble of sounds. She stood still as stone, trapped in this nightmare, able only to stare at the boy whom Alistair called Rhys.

When the priest prompted her, Ember managed to respond as required, but she became aware of the progress of the ceremony only when Alistair slipped a ring onto her finger. She looked down as the cool gold band touched her skin.

The signal.

Ember met Alistair’s gaze. In his bright blue irises she saw many things: lust, possession, regret—but not hope or joy, and certainly not love. She tried to pull her hand back, but Alistair stepped closer, grabbing her wrist with bruising force.

“Not yet, my love,” he murmured, and Ember couldn’t breathe.

He knew.

A battle cry rose from the crowd at Ember’s back, followed by another. The war calls mingled with shouts of alarm and fear. The bright ring of steel rose to join the screams. Wrenching her neck to look behind her, Ember saw the madness of war flood the courtyard. Clansmen hacked at Eira’s guard. Wedding guests not complicit in the attack scrambled from the flurry of swords and axes. The rain-soaked ground churned beneath trampling feet. Bodies fell in the mud, some dead, others living only long enough to be crushed in the stampede.

Agnes shrieked and clung to her mother.

Bosque looked at the huddled women and laughed. “Don’t be afraid, dear ladies. You’re quite safe, I assure you.”

Bosque lifted his palm and the muddy ground in front of the dais began to boil. Wraiths bubbled up from the muck, their shadow bodies slithering forward to take posts as sentinels between the wedding party and the embattled mass.

Rhys snarled at the appearance of the wraiths—Ember glanced down and saw the boy’s lips curl back. His teeth flashed in the sunlight, canines sharp as a wolf’s fangs.

“Be still,” Alistair said to the child. “Remember. Not until I say.”

Balling his fists, Rhys looked up at Alistair and nodded.

Seizing on Alistair’s distraction, Ember thrust her foot up, sweeping his legs from beneath him. With a cry, Alistair collapsed to the dais, and Ember was free.