Read The Spellbound Bride for Free Online Page B

breeze ruffled the loose folds of his fine linen shirt. "While the Campbells have always stood for the crown, there are some who would follow the king’s cousin, the Earl of Bothwell, in his bid for the throne. They’d like nothing better than to strip the strongest support the crown has from underneath the king, and topple the throne to their favor."
    In his travels as a mercenary, Ian had seen enough of the squabbles among Scotland’s lords to know the treachery inherent in their search for power. Clan turned against clan for far less serious infractions than determining the religious bent of the nation. Bothwell’s efforts had sharply divided the loyalty of the lords.
    "And where do you stand, my lord?"
    "That is something I’ve not yet decided. My father’s loyalty to James brought the clan much wealth and power, but the price was high. I do not ken if it is yet worth it. The king panders to Elizabeth, as it suits him. He wishes to inherit the crowns of both countries, and who wouldn’t? But his true intentions are yet shrouded in mystery. We will have to see which way the wind of England blows."
    The boy’s astute knowledge of Scottish politics surprised Ian. As long as Elizabeth sat on the throne, Scotland’s future was insecure. The earl turned to walk back toward the stables and Ian followed.
    "I would like you to teach me to fight as you do." The statement came as a command rather than a request.
    Ian looked at the purposeful set of the earl’s shoulders.
    "Why me, my lord?"
    The Earl of Argyll looked Ian in the eye.
    "Because I can trust you. My sources tell me you have no reason to want me dead, no reason to want me alive. MacIver tells me you even plan to leave soon, so I’ll no have to worry about your loyalties to the lords of Scotland. And besides," he paused, shrugging his shoulders and smiling, "you’re bloody magnificent in battle. I heard about you fighting for the Frasers. They say you hewed down three times more men than any of the others."
    Ian’s stomach shrunk in upon itself, curdled at the memory. The battle had been brutal. He had fought merely to survive and protect those he could once the drums sounded and the men rushed at each other. The memories of screams and groans of the dying, the grassy fields no longer green, but slick red, still made his pulse double and sweat pool at the base of his back.
    No, it was nothing to be proud of, but he had survived soaked in Scottish blood and the Frasers had won, until the next squabble precipitated a war of revenge. Such futility disgusted him, but he had earned his money.
    Ian nodded, accepting the compliment, although the lad’s admiration was misplaced. "Surely you already have skills, my lord."
    "Aye. But my lessons in the art of battle stopped when my father died. MacIver does not trust any of my kinsmen to teach me more."
    "From the sounds of it, Lord MacIver has good reason."
    "Aye."
    Ian turned to bid good day to the earl and return to the stable, but Argyll spoke first. "I have another request to make of you." The earl’s features again became serious.
    "And what would that be, my lord?"
    "Protect Sorcha and give her your trust. She’s always been good to me, and I would have her treated with the kindness due her."
    Ian searched his memory in vain for a face to attach to the name.
    "Who’s Sorcha?"
    Argyll quirked a brow.
    "Your bride, Hunter. Sorcha MacIver."
    Until that moment he hadn’t thought to ask his bride’s given name. Ian crossed his arms.
    "To tell the truth of it, my lord, I know nothing about my bride save that she prefers not to go with me to France." He focused intently on the lad’s face. "She seems a bit of a mystery. What can you tell me?"
    The lad sighed. "Better you hear it from me, than another."
    A jolt of regret shot through Ian. He had known there must be more to the tale of witchcraft and the heavy veil she wore than he had discovered.
    "And just what would that be?"
    "You’re here to marry Sorcha to