The Wicked Bride (Lions of the Black Isle Book 4)

  The Wicked Bride

  Book Four

  Lions of the Black Isle

  Sue-Ellen Welfonder & Tarah Scott

  USA Today and Bestselling Authors

  A Drakon Press Half Hour Read

  The Wicked Bride: Book Four Lions of the Black Isle

  Copyright © 2017 by Tarah Scott and Sue-Ellen Welfonder

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: R Jackson Designs

  Cover Art: Period Images

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  From the Authors

  Dedication

  For all the sassy lassies - We love you!

  Chapter One

  If catching a man were easy, no one would want them.

  Until this evening, Jocelyn thought she had at least two more years to convince Broderick Munro that he loved her. She hadn’t necessarily planned on waiting that long. Wooing a man like Broderick took time—and cunning. But she’d fully intended on having him at her mercy well before he realized the deep waters he’d waded into.

  This morning, his elder brother stood on the steps of Kernwith Castle’s chapel about to wed heiress Lady Joan. But he fled instead to the woman he loved—a woman only modestly dowered. Now he danced with his new wife in the great hall, and his three brothers celebrated with him as if their new sister brought riches as great as Lady Joan’s. That meant Broderick was next on the marriage block, sacrificed in a final effort to fill the family’s coffers.

  Broderick must have arrived at the same realization, for he flirted shamelessly with Kristine Ramsey. Despite her youth, as a widow, Kristine enjoyed the freedom to consort with men like Broderick. She laughed at something he said. Even across the room, Jocelyn saw the flirtatious look she gave him. Since Broderick had been old enough to turn a female head, Jocelyn had watched him charm his way into the arms of many women. Tonight, Kristine clearly intended on being that next woman.

  Time now stifled Jocelyn. Broderick’s brothers would betroth him to an heiress—and quickly. The way Kristine was staring up at him, she seemed to believe she might become his wife. For all her beauty, Kristine wasn’t rich enough to capture his family’s attention. He was the fourth son, but he was a Lion of the Black Isle, and he was as handsome as the devil was wicked.

  Jocelyn had lived the last five of her seventeen years knowing she and Broderick were destined to wed. Praise God, a year and a half ago, her body finally began to take on a woman’s shape. Still, Broderick did nothing more than tease her about her blossoming. To her frustration, he still saw her as the gawky girl who ran barefoot and could out-fish most lads.

  Kristine slipped a hand into the crook of his arm and they started toward the hall’s main doors, no doubt headed for the walled gardens. To Jocelyn’s surprise, jealousy slithered through her. Once they reached the secluded area, Kristine would become intimately acquainted with Broderick. Jocelyn skirted the dancers in the center of the room and hurried toward the arched entry to the bailey and the gardens beyond.

  She stepped outside into the cool evening and halted at the top of the stairs to scan the bailey. Her heart sank. Broderick and Kristine had already disappeared into the darkened expanse of the walled. Away from the torchlit courtyard, the two would have complete privacy.

  Jocelyn hurried down the steps and out into the cobbled bailey. When she left the torchlight behind, she slowed. No moon lit the night, and she discerned no one on the paths. Where had they gone? The gardens stretched around her, a maze of shadow upon shadow. Trees rustled softly and deep inside the area filled with rose beds and arbors, the tinkling of a fountain wafted on the breeze. She squinted into the darkness, impatient for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and slowly advanced.

  They could be anywhere.

  Jocelyn slowed even more. What would she do once she found them? Broderick would only see her interference as an annoyance from a playmate--the little girl he’d always teased and tried to scare. She was going to have to fall into his arms before he understood that she was no longer a child. She turned a corner in the path and collided with something hard.

  “Oof.” She fell onto her backside.

  Large hands seized her arm and pulled her to her feet. “What have we here?”

  She didn’t recognize the male voice and attempted to back away while tugging against his grip. “I am sorry.”

  He yanked her against his mountainous body. The overpowering smell of soured ale and sweet wine overwhelmed the space between them. Jocelyn struggled harder. He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. The ridge of his arousal dug into her belly. Fear spiked.

  “Let me go, ye drunken fool.” She shoved at his chest.

  “Give me a kiss, lass.” He leaned toward her. His foul breath covered her cheek.

  Jocelyn stamped her heel down on the top of his foot. He inhaled sharply and she stamped a second time with greater force. He cursed and his hold loosened. She tore free. Fabric ripped and cool air blew across her left shoulder as she lunged toward the darkest shadows. She kept running, barely missing a low hanging branch. A bush whipped her right arm. At last, she slowed, breathing heavily. She strained her ears for sounds of pursuit but heard nothing. She stumbled toward a large tree and leaned against its trunk.

  Cool air chilled her bare shoulder. She felt for the sleeve. Torn completely from her shoulder. How would she explain this to her mother? This was no one’s fault but her own. She knew better than to venture out alone at night. What had gotten into her? Jealousy, that’s what had gotten into her. Broderick was right. She was a child. She’d plunged headlong without thought. So what if he bedded one more woman? Such was the way with men. It didn’t mean he loved the woman. She blew out a breath and brushed her skirts. All that mattered was that he came to love Jocelyn and remained true.

  Bootfalls brought her to attention. Her heart beat fast. Was the man giving chase? Jocelyn skirted the tree and peered toward the approaching man.

  “Kristine,” he called, and Jocelyn breathed a sigh of relief.

  Broderick.

  Jocelyn stepped around the tree, took three steps, then stopped. She couldn’t let him find her in the gardens alone, especially with a torn dress. She backed up toward the tree. The heel of her shoe slipped off a root. She cried out and fell. The boots suddenly pounded the ground toward her. Jocelyn shoved to a sitting position. She tried scrambling to her feet, but they tangled in her skirts. Broderick’s large form took shape a few feet away. She yanked the skirts to her thighs and jumped to her feet.

  “Who’s there?” he demanded.

  Jocelyn turned, but he reached her in a beat, seized her arm and swung her around into his arms. She flushed when his arms tightened around her like steel.

  “Easy, lass,” he said.

  A tremor rocked her. He didn’t recognize her.

  “I willnae hurt ye,” h
e murmured.

  Her heart thundered. It wasn’t fear that made her head spin, but the warm strength of his arms around her, and the protective wall of his chest… God in heaven, give her strength.

  He released her, took a step back and gently grasped her arms. The hand on her bare shoulder flexed.

  “Your gown is torn, lass. What happened?” The gentle words didn’t quite hide the steel in his voice. “Did someone hurt ye?”

  She shook her head, unable to speak. The warmth of his hand on her chilled flesh caused her heart to leap into her throat.

  He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Come, let us return to the celebration.”

  The celebration. Anxiety knotted her belly. He started them forward. She couldn’t say no. He would never leave her there. She tripped. He caught her to his side.

  “Are ye well, love?” he asked

  No, she wasn’t all right. Her knees felt like pudding.

  He kept his arm around her and started forward again. If she told him who she was, he would sneak her into the castle. She had to tell him, but his arm felt too good around her. They were still deep in the gardens. They could walk another moment together before she told him. She wanted to slow down, to stop time, but he was already walking slow in deference to her.

  Jocelyn closed her eyes and concentrated her senses on him. His warm muscled body gave her a sense of security. She could stay with him like this forever. Too soon, they would leave the gardens and reach the torchlit bailey. Then he would know who she was. What would he do if she laid her head on his shoulder? She edged closer until her temple rested against his shoulder. He gave her another gentle squeeze. Eyes closed, she focused on his gait, the pressure of his fingers on her arm, the—

  “So, this is why you chased me away.”

  The harsh female voice slashed through Jocelyn’s thoughts. She snapped open her eyes. Up ahead, Kristine Ramsey stood in their path. Jocelyn couldn’t distinguish her features in the darkness, but she recognized the voice.

  Kristine marched toward them. “How dare you?”

  Jocelyn stiffened.

  Broderick released her and stepped in front of her. “Dinnae be ridiculous, Kristine. I told ye the truth. Now run along.”

  She reached him and stopped. “Run along? You bastard.” She slapped him.

  “Do ye feel better?” he asked in a mild voice.

  “You dare ask?” her voice rose. “It appears you are feeling just fine.”

  Fury swept through Jocelyn. She darted around him and swung a fist at Kristine. The older woman cried out and ducked. Jocelyn grazed her head with a fist. Kristine leapt back. Large hands grabbed Jocelyn’s waist and yanked her back.

  “Let me go!” She twisted in Broderick’s arms.

  “Jocelyn?” he said.

  The shock in his voice hit like ice water. She stilled.

  He released her and walked around until he faced her. She couldn’t see his expression in the darkness, but his disbelief was palpable.

  “Why did ye not say something?” he asked.

  Before she could reply, Kristine gave a mean laugh. “Lady Jocelyn. My, my.”

  Broderick’s head snapped in her direction.

  “Oh, this is too delicious.” Kristine gave a low laugh. “Two women in one night—and only minutes apart.”

  Red hot fury blinded Jocelyn. She lunged.

  Jocelyn collided with Kristine and they fell. Kristine yanked her hair. Ignoring the pain, Jocelyn rammed a fist into her jaw. She raised her hand for another blow, but Broderick yanked her off the woman. Kristine scrambled to her feet and backed away.

  “Coward,” Jocelyn shouted, and tried to lunge again.

  Broderick yanked her back against his chest.

  “Let me go,” she shouted as Kristine ran toward the castle.

  “By God, Jocelyn,” he cursed. “Do ye realize what ye have done?”

  Chapter Two

  Broderick grasped Jocelyn’s arm and strode back toward the keep. “I should take ye over my knee.” First, however, he had to smuggle her inside before anyone saw her torn dress. He looked at her. “What were ye doing out here alone?”

  “Nothing.”

  He recognized that stubborn tone.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “I’m sneaking you in through the postern door.” Then he would find Kristine and silence her nasty tongue.

  They neared the far side of the courtyard, when the tramp of several bootfalls approached.

  “Jocelyn!”

  “God’s teeth,” Broderick muttered. Kristine had gone straight to Jocelyn’s father. The man had been a renowned knight in his day, and he still swung a sword better than man men his junior. Broderick stopped. “You deserve everything that is about to happen,” he muttered to Jocelyn, then turned toward the men hurrying toward them. Jocelyn’s father led the charge, a torch in hand.

  “Are you unharmed, Jocelyn?” Sir Stewart frowned as they drew near.

  “Aye,” she replied.

  His eyes narrowed on Jocelyn’s ripped sleeve and he snapped his attention onto Broderick. “Choose, ye lion cub, my daughter’s hand in marriage or my sword.”

  Jocelyn gasped.

  “Things are no’ what they seem,” Broderick ventured.

  “I am no’ so old that I have forgotten the look of a woman ravished,” her father snapped.

  “I have known her since she was a child,” Broderick said in a low voice. “I wouldnae harm her.”

  “He speaks the truth,” Jocelyn said. “He didnae lay a finger on me.”

  “If not him, then who?” her father demanded.

  “I—” She glanced at Broderick. “I dinnae know.”

  Broderick caught the narrow-eyed glances the other men shot her way. Sir Kevin, in particular, had a love of gossip. Broderick easily read the men’s minds: Jocelyn had purposely sneaked away to the gardens to meet someone, even if that someone wasn’t Broderick.

  “There is no use in lying, Jocelyn,” he said.

  She frowned. “What?”

  “I would no’ have ye protect me at the expense of your reputation.” He shifted his gaze to her father. “Blame me. She is young. I enticed her into the gardens.”

  “Take each other’s hands,” her father ordered.

  “At least give us a day, Stewart,” Broderick said. “Today is Connor’s wedding day.”

  “Your brother can go to the devil.” He spat on the cobbles. “Take his hand, Jocelyn.”

  “Stewart,” Broderick said.

  The older man scowled. “I will dower her well. So ye need no’ worry that your brothers will feel slighted by the marriage.”

  “Father, no,” Jocelyn breathed.

  “Do as I say,” he ordered.

  She shook her head and retreated a pace.

  Broderick stepped toward her and grasped her hand. “There is no help for it, Jocelyn.” He pulled her to his side, took her hand, and faced her father. “Get on with it.”

  Her father muttered something unintelligible, then drew his dirk and slashed a length of cloth from his plaid. He stepped forward and quickly wrapped the cloth around the wrists of their joined hands. Then, before either one of them could reconsider, he rapped out the vows and declared them bound for a year and day—any child born of their union legitimate and recognized by both clans. Even if the ‘happy twain’ then chose to part…

  “It is done.” Her father nodded once, his expression fierce.

  “So it is.” Broderick glanced at Jocelyn as her father snatched back the cloth and shoved it beneath his belt. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears and two blotches of red stained her cheeks.

  Somewhere a dog barked, the sound seeming almost too ordinary in a world that had just gone mad.

  “I will take my bride in through the postern door,” Broderick said. “I dinnae want half the Black Isle to see her in this state.”

  Her father nodded. “We will accompany ye to your chambers.”

  Broderi
ck lifted a brow. “Do ye intend to wait outside while we consummate the marriage?”

  “We do.”

  “Father!” Jocelyn’s eyes rounded.

  “Hush, sweet.” Broderick gently squeezed her hand, then led the way toward the castle.

  When they reached his chambers, he allowed Jocelyn to precede him inside, then he faced the men and slammed the door in their faces. He strode past where Jocelyn still stood in the middle of the room and continued to the hearth and knelt to throw more logs on the dying embers.

  “I am sorry,” she said in a quiet voice. “Tomorrow, I will talk to my father.”

  “About what?” he asked without turning.

  “An annulment.”

  “Are you so foolish that you believe he will agree to one?”

  “I dinnae know,” she said.

  “I think ye do.”

  “Do ye hate me?” she asked.

  Broderick twisted and looked at her over his shoulder. She looked miserable. He rose and crossed to the bed. “It is more likely you will grow to hate me.”

  Her brow furrowed. “How can you say that?”

  He grunted a laugh. “Because I am not made for marriage.”

  She stiffened visibly. “Does that mean ye will want to consort with other women?

  “I am one and twenty, Jocelyn. I expected to air women’s skirts for some time to come.” Just as he had wanted to do with Jocelyn in the gardens when he’d held her in his arms. He hadn’t known the supple body belonged to the little girl who used to run barefoot and with dirt smeared across her nose. She smelled like violets and her skin was the softest he’d ever touched. He shook off the thought. She was too young, the sister he’d never had.

  “Ye had better come to bed,” he said.

  Her eyes widened.

  Broderick met her gaze squarely. “I did say you deserved everything you were going to get tonight.”

  Chapter Three

  Jocelyn stood in the middle of the room for several more heartbeats before her legs finally obeyed the command to move. She hurried around to the other side of the bed. Thank God the bed was large. She sat down on the mattress, her back to Broderick, and didn’t move.