She needed rest if she was to attempt to escape tomorrow.
…
Not yet ready to crawl into bed with the viper, Grant kicked off his boots. He pulled up a chair and studied his new wife as she tossed and turned, her brown hair still pulled up in pins. She was nothing like Lyall. His first wife had been perfect, a petite blonde. She had been quiet and obedient, always looking for a way to please and keep peace in their marriage bed.
This wife was the complete opposite and not at all what he wanted.
His thoughts turned to what he should be doing on his wedding night. Hell, he wasn’t opposed to sleeping with the lass who now occupied his space; she was well built, sleek, and muscled. Aye, he’d peeked when she removed her gown. How could he not?
It was like during the skirmish when he’d spied her large brown eyes. There was a fire in the depths of them, a spark that had called to him and had him enthralled. Although she’d worn men’s clothing, there had been no mistaking her curves or the gentle lift in her chin. He’d had the sudden urge to cart her away, protect her from the sights and sounds of the carnage that surrounded them.
And for a brief moment as her eyes had locked with his, they’d both been mesmerized. The noise around them had disappeared and all he saw was her. He had let down his guard completely because of his attraction to her, and that was something a leader could never do.
And then he noticed the lass wielded a sword some men would have trouble lifting. His quick appraisal had warned him she was dangerous, but something had made him want to get to know her better, shield her from the devastation that was raining down on them. Now, while watching her sleep, he was reminded that his lack of judgment in that moment was what had gotten his friend killed.
After he’d helped to bury Tomas, he’d searched for any information he could find on the famed lass who fought with the Royalist Resistance. He’d not been able to discover much because her identity was a closely guarded secret. But tales of her prowess with a weapon were legend, and Argyll had offered an award for anyone who could bring her in, dead or alive.
Isobel was a danger to him, his clan, and herself.
She’d settled and his neck was starting to ache. Rising, he undressed and strolled to the bed before he remembered the way Isobel had eyed the dirk on the table at dinner. It was probably prudent to make sure she didn’t have access to the kitchens until he was certain the wench wouldn’t kill him.
After moving back to the heavy wooden chair he’d just left, he picked it up and placed it by the door, just under the latch. She would have to slide it across the floor if she intended to leave, and he was a light sleeper. Just in case, he retrieved the table and put it there as well. Satisfied she wouldn’t be able to sneak out during the evening, he made his way back to the bed, slid under the covers, and shut his eyes.
Damn. He could smell her again and she’d fallen straight into slumber as if she had already come to trust him. Fighting the urge to reach over and caress her skin, just to see if it was as soft as it looked, he crossed his arms over his chest.
Waking in the early morning hours, Grant found his wife had turned and faced him. He studied her placid features, rounded cheeks, and long lashes. Despite the rumors of her being more man than woman, she was quite attractive with full wine-kissed lips and thick hair which had loosened from the pins and given her the disheveled look of a woman who had been thoroughly ravished. Of course it could be because she wasn’t covered in mud and blood, which was how tales of her had spread through the Highlands.
What had turned such a lovely creature into the animal she appeared to be?
His groin was starting to ache, but the last thing he wanted was to wake the viper’s tongue. He enjoyed her more this way. Sliding from the bed, he dressed, removed his barriers, and headed for the kitchens, stopping along the way to leave instructions for a man, no he made it two, to stand outside their room until he could return.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard voices coming from his father’s study, so he rapped on the door and entered after his father called out.
He discovered his wife’s parents, Duncan and Emilia MacLean, and her brothers gathered in the room. His father smiled when he entered. “Shut the door behind ye. The MacLean was just telling me that more clans are planning to sign the Covenants. It appears even the Macnabs will be sending men to England to fight against the king.”
“’Tis one of the reasons we must leave straight away. We cannae leave our lands unprotected with Argyll and his men so close.”
“When does Parliament vote on it?” Grant moved closer, knowing he had to do something. Too many clans were signing on to this agreement with the English Parliament.
“Mid-August.” Duncan MacLean shook his head. “Montrose is planning to have a group of men stand before our Parliament to speak against the agreement with the English Parliament and their Puritans.”
Grant had met James Graham, the 1st Marquess of Montrose. At one time, the man had sided with the Covenanters, but was now one of King Charles’s greatest supporters and a strong leader. If there was hope for a peaceable outcome, it would be with Montrose at the helm.
“There is still a chance they may see reason, then.” Grant rubbed his chin.
“Nae likely, but as long as there is a chance we’ll be there to help. I’ll be sending my sons to represent our clan.” The MacLean shook his head.
“We must try,” his father agreed. The words were met with silence, as they all most likely debated what would happen to the Royalist clans in the Highlands if they didn’t find common ground with the religious zealots who had control of Parliament.
After a moment, Grant spoke up. “Do ye ken who yer daughter is?”
The MacLean’s lips pursed and he gave a quick nod. The brothers looked equally ashamed. “We just discovered,” the oldest one, Marcus, said.
“Who is she?” His father stared at him.
“She is the woman who fights for the Royalist Resistance.” After answering his father, he turned to the MacLean. “Why did ye no’ share that information?”
The youngest of the brothers, Ross, chimed in. “We thought to guard her.” Shoulders straight, the man looked him dead in the eyes.
“Ye would bring war to our shores.” His father stood and stared down at the men.
“Nae, we wish to bring peace to all. We believe ye are the only ones to keep her safe. If her identity is discovered, the Campbells will attack and destroy our clan. They willnae dare attack on yer shores with us to their backs. We are trusting ye with someone very dear to us. And if ye can give her a home where she feels safe, she might stop fighting.”
If he could be certain she wouldn’t try to return to the rebels, it would go a long way toward easing his concerns. But she had a long road to make amends for her past, and so far her actions didn’t appear to be those of a woman who wished to change.
Ross continued, “The Campbells are the only Covenanters to be concerned with and if they see her as a diligent wife, no one will ever ken her past. Ye will also have strong Royalist clans surrounding yer lands. The MacLeans and Camerons to the south. And the Macnabs will surely fall on the side of the Royalists, now that their laird’s health is failing and the heir will soon be chief. He just wed his sister into the Cameron clan and formed an alliance. Ye also have the MacLeods to yer north and they are staunch supporters of the king.”
“Why does she do it?” Grant asked the question that had been plaguing him since the day he’d seen her wielding her sword in battle against the Covenanters.
“She feels as if she is protecting people, but in the process, she shuts out everyone who loves her.” Ross gave him a tight smile. Grant had the impression guilt lay somewhere beneath his pleading gaze. Ross moved in closer so that only Grant could hear. “She has a good heart. Dinnae let her fool ye.”
Shouting erupted in the hall, and Ross’s shoulders drooped.
Straightening, Grant walked to the door and pulled it
open to admit his new bride, who was followed closely by the guards he’d set at their door. “’Tis all right. I’ll take her from here.”
“Am I a prisoner?” Isobel rushed up to him, cheeks flushed, hair pulled from the pins and left free to dangle to her waist in heaps of bouncing brown curls. She looked as if he’d done those things to her that he’d fantasized about during the night, just as he’d cursed himself for thinking them.
“Nae.”
She glared, brown eyes piercing him, and although he was exasperated with her already, he had the strangest desire to smile. He tamped it down as he studied her attire, a haphazardly donned deep blue gown that bunched around the bodice because the ties had not been properly secured. He had the urge to pull her in the corner and fix it or take her back up to their room and do what he should have done last night.
“Then why would they no’ let me leave the room?”
He wasn’t going to tell her he didn’t trust her. That didn’t seem the proper way to start a marriage, but surely she already knew. “I didnae want ye to get lost on yer first day here. ’Tis my intention to show ye around today.” He didn’t even know the thought was true until he spoke it. Although they would never have the relationship he and his previous wife had shared, she deserved to know about where she was to live.
“We will be leaving shortly,” Isobel’s father chimed in. As her gaze drifted to the MacLean lairds, her hands fisted at her sides, confirming his instincts had been correct—she had planned to be on that boat with them when they left.
“Why so soon?” Her words were quiet now. Her gaze darted around the room as if in search of a new plan, a new way out.
“’Tis time we let ye ken yer new family, and we have business to take care of.”
Her gaze drifted back to Grant’s and she looked like a lost puppy with those big soulful eyes, but she tamped down whatever she was feeling, sticking her nose up in the air.
“We must break our fast first,” his father said and gestured to the door.
“Aye.” He threaded his arm through Isobel’s and she flinched. She took a deep breath and nodded at him, trying to look like an obedient wife, but he saw behind those eyes. She was like a caged bird whose wings had not yet been clipped, still looking for an opportunity to fly.
Chapter Three
Isobel groaned as her only means of escape sailed toward her old home, leaving her in a place she knew nothing about. Really, though, if she’d managed to go, what would she have done? Lived on the run, underground with members of the Resistance? They weren’t loyal to her, and what would they expect from a woman for a warm bed and food? She bet it would be a price she wasn’t willing to pay.
When she’d first joined the group, she’d told herself it was to keep her clan safe. That was no longer her main reason for staying. With her gone, who would look after Stew? He had joined their group in the last year and was too young to be on his own. None of the men would look after him the way she had. Stew needed her.
Everything hinged on finding Torsten Campbell and ensuring he didn’t give her away to Argyll. If he had already exposed her, she’d be in custody. With the price on her head so high, it would only be a matter of time before he came for her, but if he did, how could she protect herself or these people without a weapon?
“Come,” Grant ordered as he eyed her with what appeared to be a mixture of resentment and curiosity.
“Where are we going?”
“Since we are stuck together, ’tis nae better time to learn about yer new home.”
Nodding, she glanced to the choppy waters once more. There was something soothing about them, even though they kept her from searching out the man who might hand her over to Argyll. She didn’t know the first thing about how to sail a boat. If she wanted to get back to the mainland, she’d have to somehow convince her husband to get her there.
She turned back to Grant. Studying all of him for the first time, she found him an attractive man, well-muscled and lean. Although he’d stopped her from destroying her foe on that fateful day near Edinburgh, he appeared to be competent and would one day be a good leader. “What shall we see first?”
“I think the village, then Cairntay.”
She took one last look across the water, then let her gaze roam the shoreline of her new home. They were perched high on a stony cliff. Trees and full blooming bushes dotted the steep incline. She admired how the island’s natural landscape lent itself to the protection of those who called it home.
Stone steps led to a small beach where boats were moored to the coast. The bobbing vessels and the residents of Skye were protected by the chopping waters that prevented enemies from the mainland making the journey without notice. At the edge of the sand, trees littered the landscape in pleasing shades of green, making her think of apples, lush grassy fields, and emeralds.
Perhaps this place did have its merits. But what threats could come from farther inland? Surveying the village sounded like a good idea, so she followed her husband.
She strolled beside him, but they kept a respectable distance between them as they ambled away from the cliff that overlooked the water separating her from the world she knew. Anyone watching would never guess they were husband and wife. And that they had shared a bed last night.
At one point during the night, he’d rolled into her side and murmured, “I’ll do it for the clan.” He continued to talk, but she could only make out snatches as he’d become more restless.
She’d placed her hand on his chest, hoping to ease his troubled sleep so she could doze again. His heart raced, but his fingers came up to close around hers and he settled. The tempo within her chest had increased, because his touch was gentle yet protective, as if he counted her as part of the clan he was to lead and care for. Silly, but in that moment, she’d felt safe and was able to slide back into slumber with an ease that usually evaded her.
A flush of warmth stole up her neck, but the heat didn’t make it to her cheeks. Why had he not claimed his husbandly rights last night? Did he despise her that much, or had it to do with what his mother said?
“Have ye been married before?” She shuddered. Once the words left her lips, she wanted to take them back, thinking they sounded too intimate, personal. She didn’t want to get to know her husband.
“Aye.” He said nothing else as a cool wind blew in from the waters at their backs, her hair whipping into her face. He seemed reluctant to share his past with her, a past with a woman he may have cared for. It was probably for the best.
Pulling her wayward tresses back, she felt her gown bunch and gap in the front, giving a nice view of the clean new shift beneath. Darn her family for taking her things and leaving her with trunks of useless dresses and frivolities she wanted no part of.
She was startled when Grant grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her over to the side of the path, letting others pass as she stared up into a gaze that had no right to be as bonny as the bluest of skies. Suddenly she felt…inadequate…the words from long ago coming back to haunt her. Och, too scraggly. It looks more like a boy to me.
It was no surprise her husband didn’t want her.
But still, as his hand slid to the front of her gown and pulled at the laces she’d never bothered to learn how to tie, an odd tingle spread through her limbs and for once she wanted to be fair of face and know what it was like for a man to desire her. And she wanted to feel his lips on hers again, not be interrupted by the roar of his clan celebrating. His mouth had been soft and tender. Despite his anger at her, during that short embrace she’d felt treasured, even desired.
Hell. The salty air on this island was doing something odd to her.
“Was she bonny?” Foolish, so foolish and lack-witted. How could she ask a question like that, and why did she care?
“Who?”
“Yer first wife.”
“Aye,” he said, his face darkening as if she’d insulted him.
Of course she was, she thought, a knife stabbing into her c
hest. She’d never wanted to marry, but if she had, she would have wanted to be the one who made her partner’s world complete. Another woman had beaten her to the heart of her husband, even if she’d stood a chance.
“What happened to her?” A lump caught in her throat as he finished tying off the knot and turned away.
“An illness took her.”
“I’m sorry.” And she truly meant it, because it was obviously painful for him. Despite their predicament, she suspected him to be a good man.
“’Twas a long time ago.” He married young then. Och, but he’d be expected to produce heirs. A chill from a new burst of wind made her shudder.
“Do ye have any bairn?” She couldn’t stop the questions leaping from her mouth.
“Nae.”
Trees near the edge of the clearing swayed and their leaves rustled in the breeze that gentled as their distance from the shore increased. Their appendages danced and swished in a soothing pattern, reminding her of evenings spent falling asleep, camped near deep brown trunks of strong timber in a lush forest. They walked with only that sound until he filled the void. “Ye need a maid. We’ll see to one while we are in the village.”
Panic welled inside her. “I told ye before, I dinnae want one.”
“My wife will be properly fitted into her gowns, and yer hair is a mess.” She had the urge to try to fix her hair, but her hand was frozen. Argh, she would not let his words hurt her.
Halting again, she enunciated the words as clearly as she could as she said, “I dinnae want a maid. I will learn how to do it myself if it offends ye so.” She pulled her wayward curls back, tying the unruly locks into a knot at the top of her head. She stomped ahead, up the path and toward the village where she hoped there wouldn’t be another thing said about the issue.
…
Highland Obligation (Highland Pride) Page 3