The Renegade's Heart Read Free Page A

years have passed since our brother saw Madeline and Vivienne
wedded, then took a bride himself. Two sisters and a brother wedded
in a year! Did you not think we would be married by now?” Elizabeth
flung out her hands. “We shall die ancient and withered in this
keep!”
    Isabella laughed and rose to fasten her
cloak. “I believe there is yet time.”
    “Are you not impatient?”
    “Alexander vowed we would wed at our own
choice. I am content to bide my time in choosing, that I might
choose well.”
    “Since when is patience one of your virtues?”
Elizabeth teased.
    Isabella turned away, pretending to seek some
trinket. She had seen much of the matters of women in assisting
Eleanor. She had been present when the life of Ceara, the wife of
the miller’s son, had hung in the balance in the delivery of their
first child. And Isabella was resolved that if she were to take
such a risk for a man, she would have to love him with her heart
and soul.
    As Eleanor loved Alexander, and as Ceara
loved Matthew.
    “And who shall you choose?” Elizabeth
continued. “There is never a man of interest to come to this keep
and Alexander will not take us to even the earl’s court.” Elizabeth
lifted the ledger. “We had best be about our labors. At least you
look forward to yours.”
    Isabella had not managed a reply when the
sound of hoof beats carried through the window.
    “Destriers!” Elizabeth said. She raced past
Isabella and flung open the shutter, admitting the chill of the
morning. “Knights!” she breathed in awe. She grinned at Isabella
and lowered her voice, her eyes sparkling with new merriment.
“Husbands!”
    “You think of only one thing!” Isabella
teased.
    “Alexander must have summoned them. Or they
come to beg his favor. I must be in the hall to greet them!”
Elizabeth hastened out of the chamber, her footsteps pounding on
the stairs as she descended to the great hall.
    Isabella, always cursed by curiosity, went to
the window to look.
    Two horses galloped along the road to
Kinfairlie’s gates, their manes and tails flying in the wind. They
were magnificent steeds, so large and muscled that Isabella knew
them to be destriers. Elizabeth had doubtless been right about
knights, for the warhorses were richly caparisoned. Isabella saw
the gleam of sunlight on armor.
    The lead horse was so pale a silver as to be
nearly white. Its mane and tale were as dark as pewter. Its
trappings were deep blue, and the tabard of the knight riding it
was of that same deep blue. He wore chain mail and a long full cape
as dark as midnight flowed from his shoulders. As he drew nearer,
Isabella saw that his tabard bore no insignia. His hair was black
and long enough to curl over his ears.
    The second horse was a chestnut with a white
star on its brow and white socks. It was no less handsome than the
first. The man riding it was older and garbed in the plaid favored
by the highlanders. He wore a leather jerkin and a white shirt, and
his hair was both short and grey. A seasoned warrior, Isabella
sensed that he was aware of all that surrounded them, but kept his
expression impassive.
    Her gaze returned to the younger man.
    They galloped directly to the gates, the
horses stamping and snorting when they were compelled to halt
before the gatekeeper. Their breath sent plumes of white into the
air.
    “I am Murdoch Seton,” cried the man with the
dark hair. He was handsome enough to make Elizabeth’s heart
flutter, Isabella was certain of it. His voice was so rich and
deep, his confidence so beguiling that Isabella herself thought to
shiver. His manner was audacious, which snared Isabella’s interest.
“I am come to deliver a message to the Laird of Kinfairlie.”
    The gatekeeper, a doughty man who seldom
smiled, barred the entry with his spear. Isabella heard the rumble
of his voice but could not discern his words.
    The pale horse pranced in impatience. “My
brother’s request will not be surrendered to the gatekeeper