“We have to go.” His gaze shifted around the group, assessing injuries while trying to determine how they could make it back to the inn undetected.
“What do we do with them?” Boyd came up next to him.
“Pull them to the side and try to hide them under the brush. Maybe that will give us enough time to get to safety.”
His gaze shifted to Isobel, who had dropped the claymore she’d wielded with the precision of any Highland warrior. She stared at him as if she could see through him. Her hands still trembled with rage or whatever came over her when she assaulted people. Her clothes were dirty and dappled with blood. Panic assailed him that it might be hers, but she gave no indication other than a stilled tongue that she might be injured.
“Move,” he ordered the women. “On the horses. We have to go.” Annis limped toward her mare, but Isobel remained planted to the ground.
“Now,” he thundered, because his words hadn’t registered on his wife’s face. If he didn’t get her out of here before they were discovered, everyone would know of her past. Annis hopped up beside her, took her hand, and steered her toward her beast.
After hiding the bodies, they galloped down the hillside toward the city. Grant stared at the back of his wife’s head, but because he’d not yet gotten his temper in check and his hands still trembled at the thought of her being hurt, he made no move to ride up to speak to her. He was thankful she was alive, but afraid he wouldn’t like hearing what had happened with the downed men. He had all night to get answers from Isobel.
Ian looked a little uneasy on his steed, tilting toward one side then jerking to the other. Once they returned to the inn, he’d have to seek out a healer to look over his friend’s wound.
Taking in the empty expanse on the well-traveled and cleared road behind them, he said, “Boyd, we can slow a bit.”
He pulled his steed next to Ian. Owen trotted along on the other side, keeping a close eye on his twin.
“What happened back there?” Grant asked.
“I dinnae ken.” Ian’s face was drawn and pale. It was obvious he was lucky to have survived.
“Did ye kill any of them?”
“Nae,” Ian answered, but closed his eyelids as if he was trying to remember what had happened.
“Then my wife did it all.” How had she taken out three men without any assistance?
“When I woke up, there was only one left. ’Twas just before ye showed up. ’Tis nae possible she took them all out on her own.”
Upon reaching the stables, he pulled his wife down from her mare and dusted her clothes as she silently watched him. If he stayed near her as they walked in, no one would notice the splatters on her gown.
Boyd carried Annis in. When they reached the top of the stairs, Isobel attempted to follow her maid, but he steered her toward their room. “Nae, this way.”
Something akin to panic lit her gaze. “But I have to be certain she is safe.” She tugged, but he kept a firm grip.
“Boyd and the others will see to that.”
Her gaze shifted from him, back to the maid. “Nae, ’tis no’ enough.”
“Someone will be standing guard all night.” He used all the authority of one who would one day be laird behind his words. The lighting in the hall was dismal, but he thought he detected a gleam of moisture glimmering in her eyes.
Och, it had been a long day, and now he was seeing things. He pushed in the door and tilted his head for her to enter. She gawked at him when he let go and didn’t follow her in. “I’ll be right back. Dinnae leave this room and bolt the door behind me.”
Hoping to convey urgency, he injected anger from today’s events and the fear that she’d been hurt into his order. It had been hard enough sneaking her unseen past the innkeeper’s eyes—the worst thing she could do was be seen traipsing around the hall.
The only light was from the small window on the other side of the room, but even with the dull glow of the late evening, he thought she trembled. He didn’t think he’d been that gruff.
She didn’t look like the defiant woman he was accustomed to. She looked scared, and her unfocused stare tugged at his chest. Now that they were back, he wanted to coil his arms around her to reassure himself she remained unharmed, but first, he had to see to the others.
Once he’d walked out, it was several seconds before the bolt fell into place, almost long enough he contemplated ordering her to latch it. After ensuring Owen was in the hall keeping watch, he requested a meal brought to each room, along with a basin of water and rags, and a healer for Ian.
When he returned to the room, he knocked and Isobel opened the door straight away—it was as if she hadn’t moved from the spot where she’d stood when she’d locked it.
He sidled past her and lit a candle. “We will have some food shortly. Are ye hungry?”
She hadn’t moved and still stood facing the door, trembling.
A memory after his uncle was killed surfaced and slammed into him. He’d been frozen, trapped in some place he hadn’t been able to escape, somewhere between fear and disbelief, reliving that moment over and over. The MacDonald healer told him it happened to many men in battle, and it was common for a person who had experienced some kind of suffering to be stuck in a trance.
Had she been hurt today and he’d not realized it?
“Isobel.”
She didn’t acknowledge him.
He took her trembling hand. She flinched as if burned, but didn’t look his way. Inverting her palm, he was shocked by the small punctures that dotted the soft flesh. Anger invaded again, but this time it was toward whatever had caused her such injuries. He spun her to face him. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and something in his chest began to ache.
“She’ll leave now. She’ll think ’tis my fault.” The sheer pain in her expression made him thankful he’d not started the tirade he’d planned about her seeking out Torsten.
“What are ye saying?” He studied her, but her expression didn’t change.
“’Tis my fault.”
The vacant glaze in her eyes worried him.
“I should have helped. I should have tried harder.” The shivering in her hand intensified, and a fresh tear streamed down her cheek.
“Isobel.” Taking her upper arms in his hands, he gazed directly at her, hoping it would be enough to draw her from whatever was going on in her head.
It didn’t.
“I should have tried harder.”
“Isobel.” This time he shook her gently and she seemed to settle some, so he drew her to the bed and eased her down on the plush mattress. He was about to sit next to her when someone rapped on the door—servants with both the basin of water and food.
“The healer will be here shortly for yer friend.”
“Thank ye,” he replied as he backed away, letting the servants enter the room.
“We brought wine, but can bring some ale if ye prefer.”
“Nae. ’Tis enough.” As they brought the items into the room, he positioned himself in front of Isobel, shielding her from their view.
Realization dawned that he was doing it to protect her in her fragile state and not to hide the evidence of today’s events.
Once the servants were gone, he bolted the door, returned to her side, and wondered how he was going to break through to her. It seemed easier to deal with the war-hardened maiden than the delicate lass in front of him now.
…
Isobel swam in the murky haze her mind was trapped in. The numbness had lessened slightly, but she still couldn’t find her way out.
After removing her slippers and stockings, Grant untied the laces of her bodice then pulled it from her body. Isobel felt as if she could almost breathe again. What had happened to her?
“Stand,” he ordered and she obeyed, uncaring except that he seemed so gentle and concerned for her instead of angry.
She wasn’t sure where they were, and the ride here was an elusive memory, her thoughts faded like the horizon in a heavy m
ist.
Grant peeled her skirt from her body and she noticed blood had soaked through to her chemise. Her gaze fixated on it, remembering the fight she’d almost lost. And how she’d almost failed Annis.
The shift was ruined. Proof that she was not worthy of such garments and the attentions other ladies sought. As her husband dropped the material of her gown to the floor, his hands returned to remove the offending shift from her body. He probably thought her a monster.
Grant gathered up the ruined garments and carted them off to a corner, dropping them as if they’d burned him. She could inhale fully now and with the rush of air came the clarity she wanted to be someone he could care for. She no longer wanted to be the scared little lass from the past or the person she’d become.
She hid from the judgment that must be in the depths of his deep brown eyes. The gaze that made a fire burn inside her, made her feel like a woman and made her want to be worthy of him. How could he do all those things to her?
Something cool and wet touched her shoulder. She shivered as Grant slid a rag down her arm, cleaning away the filth of the day. She was mesmerized as he studied her arms then her hands before his attention tilted up.
The condemnation she’d been expecting wasn’t there. Concern darkened his gaze and she couldn’t turn away from the comfort she found there.
“Are ye feeling better?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. He gave her a tentative smile, then pivoted to move away. She panicked for a moment, until she realized he was walking back to the basin that had been set on a chair to clean the rag. After rinsing it, he closed the distance between them and started on her other arm.
“What happened today?”
Everything came rushing back. She wanted to run out and check on her maid, but the soothing cloth and Grant’s eyes kept her rooted to the spot. Och, and she was not clothed. “Annis. Is she all right?”
“Aye. Boyd and Owen are looking out for her. Ian’s resting. They’ll take shifts.”
He continued to drag the soft material against her skin, leaving a trail of gooseflesh along her arms. She winced when he turned her palm up and dabbed at the spots on her hands then drew it up for inspection. She had gouges in her palms where she’d been pushed down on the rocks.
“What happened?”
“I was talking to Annis and heard something.” A remembered thud sounded in her ears, and her chest tightened. “When I turned, Ian was on the ground and there were men standing over him.” She shivered when a memory of the men’s feral gazes returned.
Grant lifted her arm and he squinted at something on her side. The tips of his fingers gently dabbed at her ribs, and she inhaled sharply as a piercing pain assailed her. It was the spot where the man had kicked her. It had already started to bruise—it would be sore for quite some time.
“They were going to hurt Annis.” She shook her head. “I couldnae let them hurt her.”
“Tell me the rest.” Grant’s breathing had slowed to a measured pace and his eyes darkened. For once, the anger in them did not appear to be directed at her.
“I had nae choice. They threw me down. They were going to take everything then kill us.” Bile threatened to rise at what the men had planned for her and the sweet maid. “They were going to hurt Annis.”
Grant spun away, his fists clenched, shoulders tight. He strode to her bag and pulled out another shift. She expected him to give it to her, but he pulled her closer to the candlelight, twirling her around and inspecting her side.
“I’ll be all right.” Her wounds would heal but that all-encompassing feeling of helplessness came flooding back.
He didn’t say anything, just continued to scrutinize her in the glow of the flame. “I should have been there,” he muttered and kind fingertips caressed her, reminding her she’d been knocked down and pinned between the rocks and that monster.
“Nae, ’twas no’ yer doing,” she tried to reassure him. It had been her suggestion to go for a walk. He had been trying to secure peace for the Highlands.
“How were ye able to defeat three of them?” Grant’s words cut into her thoughts.
“I only kenned I had to save Annis. ’Twas luck they didnae think me a threat.”
“Aye, ’twas.” He pulled the shift over her head and she slid her arms through the sleeves. When he eased her around to face him again, he caressed the bruise forming on her cheek. “I willnae let another touch ye again.”
His hand slid beneath her chin, tipping it up. He surprised her with a small, simple kiss. His lips erased some of the fear that still ate at her. He only held the contact for a moment, but it was filled with regrets and promises. The connection reminded her of warm sheltered nights before she had discovered the world was cruel.
Pulling back, he smiled and drew her toward the table and the food that had been brought in. “Let’s eat.”
Grant released her and she eased into the empty chair while he moved the basin. He wiped himself down then carted the tub to the door while she took in his broad shoulders and firm muscles. He returned and sank into the chair across from her.
Two bowls of stew sat on the table, along with some bread, wine, and cheese. She picked at a small piece of bread, popping it into her mouth, but not tasting the morsel. Grant dipped in his spoon and filled it with meat and what looked like potatoes.
Taking a sip of the wine, she savored the rich red liquid as it coated her parched throat and relaxed for the first time since the bandits had attacked them. Setting the goblet down, she pushed back the curls that had escaped her pinned-up tresses. “I must look awful.”
“Ye are lovely, even black and blue like ye are.”
Warmth crept to her cheeks, and she wondered at how he made her feel like a woman to be desired despite knowing she was not bonny.
She pulled at the pins and let the remainder of her hair fall free, running her fingers through the length of curls, trying to separate the knots that must look hideous. Grant stared at her, looking at ease for the first time in days. And she remembered why he’d been so on edge.
“Did ye have any luck with Parliament?”
“Nae.” Shaking his head, he took a long sip of his drink then placed the cup back on the table. “Parliament will sign the Solemn League and Covenant, even almost forced me and the other representatives to sign the damn thing on behalf of the MacDonalds.”
“I’m sorry. I ken how much it meant to ye.”
“I’m lucky they didnae lock me up until I agreed. Then, I found ye driving a sword through a man.”
Afraid she’d see disappointment in his eyes again, she studied the stew and took a sip. The savory soup reached her tongue, but her appetite had not yet returned.
“I’m sorry I thought the worst. I promise I will always listen to yer version first. Finish telling me what happened.”
The rest of the meal was spent talking about the incident, and her nerves were still wrangled because although she felt safe, she needed to ensure her maid was all right, too. She jumped up and ran to the door. “Annis, I have to see her.”
“Nae. She may be sleeping by now. Let her rest.” His fingers clasped hers and squeezed gently. “Come. They willnae let anything happen.” He guided her to the bed, but the fear was back and she felt frozen. “Climb in.”
He undressed while she slipped under the covers, trying to ignore the aches in her body and the sense of urgency when memories of her maid being attacked flooded her. Swiping at the tears, she cursed herself for being weak and shifted onto her side so her husband couldn’t see—she never let herself cry.
How could she trust men to keep Annis safe? It was her job.
Grant slid in behind her, wrapping his warm arm over her waist, burrowing into her. “Why are ye shaking?”
She couldn’t answer because her voice would give her away.
Taking her shoulder, he rolled her to face him. He’d snuffed the candles, but the glow of a summer evening illuminated the room enough she could see his features
clearly, which meant he could see her.
“Are ye crying?”
With that, another drop slid down her cheek and she attempted to look away, but he caught her face and drew her gaze to his.
“Och, Isobel. I dinnae wish to see ye hurt and no’ be able to do anything about it. ’Tis time ye tell me what troubles ye.” His fingers delved into her hair, sending warmth and reassurance to a part of her that hadn’t felt secure in years.
Maybe he would understand.
The words would get stuck in her throat, but she took a calming breath to speak about the day her world changed. “I was twelve summers when it happened. It had been raining for days. The storm had finally cleared and it was such a beautiful day.” Her mind drifted to the warm sun on her skin, the soft breeze rustling through her hair, and the scent of fresh earth and lilac as they passed through the fields. But, beautiful days were deceiving. “My brother Ross agreed to take Morna and me out to pick berries.”
“Who’s Morna?”
“She was my maid.”
“What happened?”
“Some lass who liked Ross pulled him away, and he left us in the field alone.” Her chest tightened as the terror of those moments invaded. “There were two of them. They grabbed us before we kenned what was happening, covered our mouths and dragged us into the woods. They were big men. They were laughing and the one holding Morna took out a knife and cut open her gown. She screamed, but he hit her. I was still pinned by the other one and couldnae do anything.” She inhaled, trying to bring air into her chest, trying to finish the tale she’d told no one—it had been Morna who had given Ross and her family the details.
“’Tis okay, Isobel. Ye are here with me now. I’ll keep ye safe.” Grant cupped her face as his sapphire gaze consoled and comforted.
“Morna was screaming for me to help. I tried. I swear, I tried.” She bit her lip.
“’Tis all right, Isobel. I’m here.” His tender tone urged her on.
“When the first one was done with her, he looked at the man holding me and said, ‘Well what are ye waiting for?’ The one holding me answered he didnae want me, he wanted Morna and that I looked like a boy. They both laughed. The first one sat on me while the second one raped her.”
Highland Obligation (Highland Pride) Page 14