Page 5 of A Touch So Wicked

The fortress had survived the ages with grace and dignity, Damian reflected. The stark gray stone walls were softened by centuries of wind and rain and sun upon its imposing ivy-covered facade. Damian made note of the fact that sometime during the last century, glass windows had been installed.

Sir Richard Fletcher rode up to join Damian as they approached the front entrance.

“The keep appears deserted, Damian. What do you suppose happened to everyone?”

“We’ll find out soon enough, Dickon. Alert the men about unexpected trouble.”

Dickon turned and rode back through the ranks, relaying Damian’s message in a hushed voice.

The fortress wasn’t as deserted as Damian had supposed. Besides the Maiden of Misterly and old Nan, Dermot and Lachlan, both trusted kinsmen, were in the great hall waiting to escort the bride-to-be to the kirk, where the Frasers and Gordons were gathered to witness the joining of their clans.

Lachlan, whose ears were sharper than Dermot’s, was the first to realize something was amiss.

He rose abruptly from the chair in which he’d been lounging and strode to the window. “Visitors,” he warned.

Dermot, the oldest living Frasier, rose and limped to the window. “Wedding guests?”

Lachlan frowned. “Nay. They fly the English pennant.”

Dermot loosed a string of curses. “The bastards have finally set their sights on Misterly. We all feared this would happen one day. What do ye suppose they want?”

“Misterly,” Lachlan said dryly. “I fear there willna be a wedding this day. I’d best warn the Gordons and send them on their way. Tavis Gordon is an outlaw, a fugitive from the gallows.”

“Aye, there has been too much bloodletting,” Dermot agreed. “Use the secret passage. Persuade the Gordons to make haste back to their stronghold.”

Lachlan quickly disappeared into the dark reaches of the keep.

Dermot threw open the carved oak door guarding the entrance and stood on the top step to await the English.

“Look,” Dickon pointed out. “There’s someone on the front steps. The fortress isn’t deserted after all.”

Damian left his men behind in the courtyard as he reined his horse toward the keep. He dismounted and climbed the stairs to confront the old graybeard.

“Are ye wedding guests?” the aged Scotsman asked, eyeing Damian with hostility.

“There’s to be a wedding today?” Damian asked, silently thanking his good fortune for getting him to Misterly in time. Or was he in time?

Damian fixed the old man with a daunting look. “Has the wedding already taken place? The truth, man, I have little tolerance for lies.”

“Stop it! How dare you threaten my kinsman. He’s a feeble old man and canna defend himself against one such as you.”

Damian’s gaze went beyond the old man to a woman, nay, a young maiden whose startling green eyes glittered with outrage.

“Who are you and what do you want?” the maiden asked.

Damian drew himself up to his full impressive height. “I am Damian Stratton, Earl of Clarendon and Lord of Misterly.”

“The Lord of Misterly is dead.”

“I am very much alive, my lady, and eager to inspect my holdings.”

Damian eyed the maiden with blatant interest. Was this the Maiden of Misterly, then? The girl was clearly dressed for a wedding. Her coppery hair, braided and twisted atop her head into a regal crown, had begun to unravel, sending unruly tendrils trailing down her slender neck. The sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her pert nose and high cheekbones distracted naught from her vibrant beauty. And her lips! Bloody hell! Her lips were soft and full and lush. A healthy dose of pure animal lust raced straight to his loins. He hadn’t expected the Maiden of Misterly to be so lovely—or so shapely. His gaze lingered briefly on her breasts before he brought his wayward thoughts under control.

“Misterly belongs to the Frasers,” the girl said with asperity.

Damian’s bold perusal traveled the curvaceous length of her and back. “Who are you, lady?”

Elissa stiffened her shoulders and raised her chin proudly. “I am Lady Elissa Fraser, daughter of the great Alpin Fraser, Lord of Misterly. Move aside, Englishman, today is my wedding day and I am expected at the kirk.”