Tournament of Hearts (16 page)

..oo      Chapter Twenty    oo..

“I am your Laird
now!  And I command you to fight!  Fight with me to hold on to all that is
ours!  Fight with me tae overcome the Grant bastards once and for all!” Tristan
screamed as he thrust his claymore into the night sky.  “
Fortis et fidus
!”
he called out as he mounted Justice and charged into battle.

“
Fortus et
fidus
!” his men answered as they leapt upon their horses and followed their
Laird as he raced towards the glowing torches of the Campbell warriors.

Brave and
Faithful!

Tristan led the
charge fearlessly, spurring Justice onward across the field. 

The Grant Laird
bellowed to his archers, giving them the signal to loose their fire tipped
arrows. 

  Tristan watched
in horror as the arrows flew up into the night sky and then began their deadly
descent back to Earth.  He heard the agonizing screams of McLaughlin men dying
beneath the rain of arrows.  Their screams were deafening and Tristan glanced
over his shoulder to see his men falling from their horses.

Still he raged
forward, not slowing his pace.

“
Fortis et
fidus
!” he roared as he rode into the heart of the battle.

Grant warriors
surrounded him, a clash of blue tartans against the McLaughlin crimson. 
Tristan wielded his sword expertly, slicing and stabbing his way through the
Grant warriors one by one.

He would not be
defeated.

Blood no longer
sickened him.

Tristan screamed
into the night, his voice more animal than human as he defended everything that
was his.

No man would take
what he had fought so hard to gain.

Justice squealed
as an arrow struck his shoulder.  The stallion’s front leg collapsed and he
knelt to the ground suddenly, unseating Tristan from his back.  Tristan fell to
the ground and as he stood, he saw the battle play out around him.  It was as
if the men were frozen in time for a scant instant.  The field was a blur of
crimson and blue tartans.  The sounds of death and war deadened his ears. 
Metal clashed against metal and men screamed as they were mortally wounded.

The battle was
horrific.

Tristan jumped to
his feet and looked upon the Justice with sorrow.  The animal was struggling to
right himself in the slippery mud that covered the battle field.  At first
glance, the arrow appeared to be deep.  Tristan feared that it had struck
through to the horse’s lung.  He gripped the arrow and tore the shaft from Justice’s
shoulder, eliciting a scream from the animal that tore at his heart.

Justice regained
his footing and stood.  He looked down at his master and whickered.

Tristan said a
silent prayer of gratitude. 

The arrow had not
been deep as he had thought.  It was a mere flesh wound that the horse would
recover from.  Although the injury was not life threatening, Justice would not
be able to bear the weight of a rider for sometime.

Tristan slapped Justice
soundly on the rump and sent him away.  He watched with relief as the noble stallion
hobbled from the battle field, heading in the direction of the stables just as
he had been taught.

Tristan’s
momentary lack of focus on the battle nearly cost him his life.

He turned a moment
too late.

The Grant warrior
had crept up behind him as he had tended to Justice.

As Tristan turned,
the warrior had already swung his sword in a death blow.

Time was frozen
for an instant.  The sword swung down upon Tristan slowly, as if it defied even
time itself.   Tristan watched what would surely be his death.

He thought of
Isobel in his last moment.

“No!” Rogan
screamed as his blade struck the Grant’s, interrupting the stroke that would have
ended Tristan’s life.

Reacting with
instinct, Tristan swung his sword up powerfully and stabbed it through the
Grant’s chest.  The man slumped to his knees and Tristan extracted his blade. 
His eyes locked with Rogan Cameron’s.

“Thank ye, man,”
he said.

“Twas an honor, my
Laird,” Rogan said as he nodded once and then charged back into the horror of
the raging battle.

..oo     Chapter Twenty-One     oo..

Isobel knew that
she must look affright.   Dunhaven had been a three day journey to the north. 
Last night she and Brandon had taken shelter in the forest.  Isobel’s muscles
ached still from shivering throughout the night.  She had only a meager horse
blanket to cover herself with and the night’s chill and rooted itself within
the very fiber of her bones.

Brandon had
offered her the warmth of his body, but she had refused outright.  Although she
knew that his offer was innocent, she knew that Tristan would disapprove of her
seeking comfort in another man’s arms.  Even if that man was Brandon.

She had spent the
sleepless night shivering beneath the blanket, watching her breath emerge in
small puffs of white.  As her teeth chattered and her muscles shook, she missed
Tristan more than ever.  She missed his capable, warm arms and the way that he
held her against him as he slept, protecting her even in his slumber.  She
missed the ever present warmth that radiated from his muscled body.  And above
all, she spent the sleepless night wondering if her husband still lived.

His last words
haunted her.

Brandon and my brothers
will keep you safe in the event that I cannot.

Sending Isobel to
Dunhaven had been a desperate measure to insure her safety.  Isobel knew that
her husband was a valiant, fearless warrior.  But the fact remained that he
would not have sent her here unless her safety absolutely depended upon it. 
She knew that he had reason to believe that he might not survive the battle at
the keep.

She made her way
up the steps to the grand entrance of Dunhaven, her boots treading lightly on
the stone steps.  Isobel glanced over her shoulder at Brandon, suddenly needing
his encouragement to knock upon the great wooden door.

Brandon nodded his
head once and crossed his arms.  He stood fast at the bottom of the steps, his
presence calm and yet foreboding. 

Isobel’s heart
beat erratically in her chest as she raised her fist to rap upon the giant
door.  The hard wood hurt her knuckles, but she knocked firmly.  Her fist
barely made a sound against the massive door and she wondered if her knock had
been heard within.

In answer, she
heard the sound of the bar being removed from the door and the dead bolt being
unlatched.

Her lips parted
and she suddenly felt too warm.  Swallowing harshly, she straightened her
spine.

The door swung
open and revealed an elderly man, dressed in a crisp white shirt and the
familiar red Finnegan tartan.  He bowed formally at Isobel.

“May I be of
service, milady?” he asked quizzically, his eyes scanning her face and then
peering over her shoulder to regard Brandon, who still stood with his arms
crossed defiantly at his chest.

Isobel cleared her
throat and struggled to find words.

“I must speak with
Lady Eleanor Finnegan,” Isobel said, her voice wavering to betray her
nervousness.

“And whom shall I
tell her is calling?”

“I would prefer to
tell her myself,” Isobel said sternly as she regained her confidence. 

“Suit yourself, milady,”
the man huffed as he motioned for Isobel to enter.

Isobel stepped
over the threshold and into the front corridor of Dunhaven.  Brandon had told
her that this had been Tristan’s childhood home.  Her eyes flitted up to the
massive stone walls which were hung with tapestries heralding the Finnegan
colors.

“Follow me,” the
man said politely as he motioned to Isobel to step forward, then closed the
massive wooden door behind her.  He regarded her suspiciously.  “I trust that Brandon shall be quite alright on his own?”

“Aye.  Brandon will be fine,” Isobel said, having forgotten all about her companion.  She wanted
to face Tristan’s mother on her own.

Isobel followed
behind the man, trailing after him up a set of stairs.  They walked through a
dark hallway that had been lit with torches, past a row of doors that were
closed.  Isobel knew that these doors were most likely the chambers of the
family members that lived in the keep.  She wondered which one had been
Tristan’s.

The man stopped
abruptly at the end of the hallway.  The corridor had opened up into a small
solar.  The room was filled with windows and sunlight rushed in, causing Isobel
to squint as her eyes adjusted to the stark contrast of the room in comparison
to the dark hallway.

“Aghm,” he cleared
his throat to announce their presence.  “You have a visitor, milady.”

Eleanor Finnegan
closed the book that she had been reading and stood from the settee.

Isobel stepped from
behind the man and made a small curtsy, unsure of the proper ceremony necessary
when meeting one’s mother-in-law for the first time.

“Leave us, Bates,”
she said softly as she eyed Isobel quizzically.

Bates nodded and
turned on his heel.  He walked away briskly down the corridor.

“May I help you?”
Eleanor asked as she stood before the young woman.

“My husband told
me that you would,” Isobel said with a shy smile.  She was pleased to see that
Lady Eleanor had a kind face.  Her eyes were the same vibrant shade of hazel as
Tristan’s.

Lady Eleanor
pursed her lips together.  Her eyebrows were furrowed in confusion.

“And pray tell,
who is your husband?”

Isobel swallowed
hard.  She felt the smile break out across her face as she prepared to speak
his name.  She hoped that Lady Eleanor would be pleased.

“Tis your son, milady. 
Tristan,” Isobel said with a soft smile.

Eleanor blinked
twice and her mouth fell open.  Her eyes fluttered for a moment and then rolled
back into her head as she crumpled to the floor.

Lady Eleanor
Finnegan had fainted outright. 

The surprise of Isobel’s words had been much more than she
could handle.

..oo      Chapter Twenty-Two     oo..

Victory had come
with a heavy price.

McLaughlin blood
intermingled with Grant blood on the battlefield, coloring the autumn ground a
sickly shade.

 But of one thing,
Tristan was certain.

He had defended
McLaughlin keep and he had proven his worth as Laird.

The Grants would
not be so foolish to test his strength again.

Tristan climbed
the steps of Dunhaven wearily, relief flooding over him as the familiar stone
walls loomed over his head in the moonlight.

Home.

His body was caked
with the remnants of battle, mud had crusted to his pants and splatters of
blood stained his shirt.  He knew that he must look like a beggar, but he did
not care.  He had made it safely home to Isobel after waging a successful
counterattack that had defended McLaughlin keep.  He had proven himself worthy
as Laird and also as Isobel’s husband.  He knew that Isobel’s father would have
been proud.  He glanced up at the stars and nodded, acknowledging the old man’s
presence in case he was watching from above.

Isobel.

He turned her name
over and over in his mind.  He had traveled day and night just to be here with
her.  How welcome her arms would be, how sweet her lips would taste after all
that he had endured.  Above all else, Tristan Finnegan wanted to see his wife.

Tristan was
surprised to find the massive door to be unlocked.  He stepped into the
corridor of Dunhaven and noticed that a candle had been placed on the small
table next to the door.

Mother.
 

He thought of his
mother and a smile came to his lips.  She had left this here, just in case
tonight was the night that he came home.  With a pang of guilt, Tristan
wondered how many other nights she had followed the same ritual, hoping that
her second son would return home.

Tristan picked up
the candle and walked towards the great hall.  The massive house was silent,
save for the crackling of a fire at the end of the room.

“Tristan?” Eleanor
called hopefully as she stood up from the settee.  She had been reading before
the fire and had fallen asleep.

“It is me,
mother,” he said softly as he strode into the room.

“Somehow I knew
that it was,” she said with a smile as she rose and walked towards her son. 
“Let me look at you, sweetheart,” she whispered as she stretched out her hands
to capture his face.

“I’m not much to
look at now.  A fright, I’m afraid,” he chuckled as his mother turned his face
from side-to-side.

“A bit banged up
and desperately in need of a bath, but you look well, son,” she said warmly. 
“I am so pleased that you are home at last.”

“I could not force
myself to come back.  It hurt too badly, mother,” he stammered as pain welled
up inside of him.  He had not been to Dunhaven in over five years.  He knew
that his absence had hurt his mother deeply.  He saw the pain that bore heavily
in her hazel eyes.  But even the knowing of how his absence would affect her
had not been enough to bring him back.

The demons of
Dunhaven had been too much for him to bear.  They haunted him in his dreams,
followed him to wherever he lay his head, but coming back here had been more
than he could handle. 

Until now. 
Knowing that Isobel was here was the only thing that had brought him back.

“I have not told
her, sweetheart,” Eleanor said as tears welled in her eyes.  “Isobel came as
such a surprise.  I was not sure if she knew and it is your place to tell her.”

“I’ve not told her
everything,” Tristan revealed.  “She knows.”

“She’s lovely,
Tristan,” Eleanor whispered.  Already, she had fallen in love with her newest
daughter in law.

Tristan hugged his
mother to his chest and Eleanor fitted her arms around him, not minding the
blood and dirt that stained his clothes.  The tears that Eleanor cried now were
tears of joy.  She had never expected Tristan to come home.

“Where is she?” he
asked as he rested his chin atop his mother’s head.

“In the chamber at
the end of the south hallway.  I thought that would be better.”

Tristan sighed
with relief.  He would not have to face all of his demons tonight.  He said a
silent prayer for his mother’s forethought, knowing that he could not have
entered
his
chambers even if Isobel was awaiting him inside.

“Thank you,” he
whispered.

“Let me boil some
water and you can wash before you join her.  I’ll fetch you some clean clothes
from your brother.”

Tristan hugged his
mother tightly and released her, feeling a sense of comfort wash over him.  He
would allow her the pleasure of caring for him, partly because he was
exhausted, but mostly because he knew that caring for him was what Eleanor
longed to do.  He had always been her little boy, and no matter how large and
independent of a man he had grown into, his mother had always safeguarded her
little boy’s heart.

..ooOoo..

The chamber was
pitch black.  Tristan’s eyes struggled to focus in the darkness as he forced
the deadbolt into place behind him.

He needed Isobel
so badly.  He needed to feel the comfort and security of her arms to know that
she was safe. 

He padded across
the flagstone floor in the dark, pulling the fresh linen shirt up over his head
and tossing it on the floor.  He stepped out of the kilt that his brother Deacon
had loaned him and was now completely naked.  He stretched out his hands and
felt for the bed, knowing that it had to be close by.

“Christ!” he
cursed as his big toe struck the post of the bed.  He hopped on one foot and
nursed his injury, stifling his curses so as not to wake Isobel.  He set his
foot back onto the floor and noticed that her steady, rhythmic breathing had
not changed.  He smiled in the darkness.  His wife slept like a log.

Finding the edge
of the bed, he slipped beneath the furs, relishing the warmth of the bed and
the cleanliness of his skin.  His hand traveled across the goose down mattress
until he touched Isobel’s back.  He was pleased to find that she slept naked,
just as he had instructed her to do.

He fitted his body
against hers now, his front to her back.  She felt like heaven, so soft and
feminine pressed against the length of his body.  Tristan ached to be inside of
her.

He nuzzled her
neck and drank in the sweet fragrance wafting from her silky blonde curls.  Oh
how he had missed his wife!

“Wake up, love,”
he whispered into her ear as he nibbled playfully at her earlobe.

Isobel pressed
against him in response, rocking her hips gently back against him, showing her
instinctual response to his body even as she slept.

Tristan chuckled
and pulled his wife more tightly against his chest.  His palm cupped her breast
and his thumb grazed over her erect nipple.

Isobel moaned
softly and moved her bottom against him again, cradling his growing erection in
the cleft of her buttocks.

“Wake up,
sleepyhead.  Welcome your husband home properly,” he said huskily as he kissed
the hollow behind Isobel’s ear.  “Bella, love.  I’m home.”

Isobel’s eyes flew
open.

“Tristan?” she
asked in disbelief.  Had she been dreaming or was he really here?

“Aye, love,” he
purred as he trailed kisses down her neck.  Isobel spun in his arms and wrapped
her arms around his neck.  He winced as her arm bumped the battle gash on his
shoulder.

“Praise God! 
You’re really here….you’re safe!  I was so worried…”

Tristan silenced
her concerns with a lengthy kiss.

“It was you that I
was worried about,” he confessed as he stroked her face in the darkness.  “I
thought of you every waking moment, wondering if you had made it to Dunhaven safely
and what in the hell my mother thought when you arrived,” he said laughing
softly.

“She recovered
nicely from the initial shock,” Isobel said as she trailed her fingers over the
stubble that dusted Tristan’s jaw line.  She needed to touch him in order to
know that he had really returned to her safely.  His skin was warm and smelled
of fresh soap.  Isobel smiled when she realized that he had bathed before
coming to her.  “She loves you very much, you know.”

“Aye, I know.”

Tristan gathered
Isobel against his chest.  He closed his eyes and drank in her sweet,
comforting scent as he nuzzled his nose into her blonde curls and kissed the
curve of her neck.  She moaned softly as his lips brushed over her skin,
causing Tristan’s cock to pulse with anticipation.

“I need you,
love,” he whispered huskily as he claimed her lips possessively.  Isobel kissed
him lustfully, opening her mouth to welcome his needy tongue.  Her mouth was
hot and sweet.  Tristan’s lips surged gently over hers, tasting her sweetness
and savoring the desire of her kiss.

Breathing heavily,
he broke away from her mouth.  Without speaking, he spun Isobel away from
himself, positioning her as she had been when he found her sleeping only
moments earlier.  He wanted to take her from behind.  He wanted to cup her
sweet breasts as he drove into her.

Isobel moaned
softly as Tristan slid and arm underneath her neck.  He cupped her full breast
in his palm and teased her sensitive nipple with the pad of his thumb. 
Pleasure zipped down Isobel’s spine and she pressed her bottom against
Tristan’s erection, showing him that she wanted him.

Tristan growled
against her neck and nipped at her shoulder.

“Have you missed
me love?”

“More that you
could imagine,” Isobel said, her voice raspy with passion.  She pressed back
against his erection languidly, cupping his length between her buttocks.

“I think that I
can imagine quite well how much you missed me,” he whispered, his breath hot
against her neck.  “And I endeavor to show you just how much I missed you, Wife,”
he said as he trailed his tongue teasingly down Isobel’s neck.

“Show me,” she
invited as she pushed her bottom against his erection.

Tristan chuckled. 
“Eager are we?”

“Most eager, Husband,”
Isobel said enticingly as she reached an arm over her shoulder and ran her
fingers through her husband’s clean unbound hair.  She knotted her fist in the
unruly masses and tugged his head towards hers slightly.

Tristan growled
approvingly.  It pleased him greatly to see that his wife had missed him and
that the needs of her body matched his own.

Trailing his
fingers lightly over her breast, he circled her nipple languidly, and then
continued lower.  His fingers cascaded over the gently curve of her waist and
over her subtle hips.  He smiled arrogantly when he felt Isobel begin to move
against him.  Her hips rocked back ever so softly, mimicking the act of
lovemaking.  He began to follow her rhythm, thrusting gently against her bottom
in time with her hips.

Allowing his
fingers to travel lower, they danced lightly over the smooth skin of Isobel’s
thigh.  Circling her delicate knee, his palm came to rest.  He pulled her knee
up so that her legs were open.

Isobel was lost
now to his kisses against her hot skin.  She moaned softly and continued to
thrust gently against him, causing his cock to buck against her backside. 
Tristan slid his fingers up her lithe thigh and cupped the heat of her
womanhood.  Isobel shuddered as he held her, cupping her gently with his hand.

He parted her
folds with his fingers and growled low in his throat when he discovered her
wetness.  His wife was more than ready for him and he ached to be inside of her.

Isobel cried out
loudly when his expert fingers stroked her wetness.  He found the bead of her
desire and played her gently, coaxing her to move against his hand.  His other
hand cupped her breast firmly and he pulled her closer against his chest,
supporting her as she came undone beneath his fingers.

“Does that feel
good, love?” he whispered into her hair.

Isobel writhed
against him, moaning softly.

“Aye,” she said
breathlessly as she moved against her husband.

“Do you want
more?”

“Yes,” she
whimpered.  Isobel felt warmth spreading throughout her body as Tristan’s
fingers brushed over her most intimate flesh.  His touch was all consuming. 
Too much and yet she wanted more.

“Tell me what you
want, love,” he coaxed and he stroked her clitoris more firmly, pushing her
close to the edge.

Isobel shuddered. 
She was so consumed by her pleasure that she found formulating coherent
thoughts difficult.  Words were just beyond her grasp.

She pressed back
against Tristan, delighting in the feeling of his hard erection thrusting
gently against her bottom.  She spread her knees wider, inviting him to give
her more, inviting him to touch her more.

“What do you want
love?” he purred against her neck.  He placed hot kisses on her collarbone as
he continued to play her with his fingers and thrust against her from behind.

“I want you inside
of me,” Isobel said breathlessly.

Granting her
request, Tristan slid his finger inside of Isobel’s tight sheath.  His cock
pulsed in response.  He wanted desperately to enter her, to spill his seed deep
within her womb, but Isobel’s pleasure would come first.  He intended to drive
her mad with pleasure before he entered her.

His finger thrust
in and out of her, mimicking the act of love.  Isobel arched against him and
cried out with pleasure.  She knotted her hand in Tristan’s hair and grinded
against him, being utterly consumed with the sensation of his finger moving
within her.

Unable to take
anymore of her sweet torment, Tristan withdrew his finger from her sheath. 
Taking his rigid cock in his hand, he thrust into Isobel from behind, filling
her completely as he sank deep inside of her.