Joanna Fulford

Isabelle regarded him keenly but remained silent, content to let him take his time. He drew a deep breath.

  ‘I should have kept my temper but I didn’t and we quarrelled. Beatrice screamed and the servants came running. I was taken before her father. She accused me of having pursued her against her wishes and of having forced my attentions on her.’

  ‘How could she do such a thing?’

  ‘I think there wasn’t much she wouldn’t have done just then to make herself out to be the injured party.’

  ‘Her father believed her?’

  ‘He believed her all right. After all, she was betrothed to an earl, one of the richest and most powerful men in the land. Why should she deign to look at a landless Saxon thane?’

  Isabelle stared at him, appalled. ‘What did he do?’

  ‘He had four of his henchmen give me a beating for presumption. They were very thorough.’

  ‘You might have been killed.’

  ‘They stopped short of that; it would have invited serious trouble from Glengarron. Instead I was thrown on my horse and ejected from the premises.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Hardly a tale of high romance, is it?’

  ‘I could not think of anything less so, or of anything more unjust.’

  ‘I have never spoken of it until now, but I should not like you to think that Beatrice was an object of affection.’

  Her throat tightened. ‘I am glad you told me. I shall honour the confidence.’

  ‘I know.’

  His look and tone were entirely earnest and that created a variety of emotions in her. She knew it could not have been easy to speak of such things, especially after so long a silence. That he should have trusted her with the truth made her feel honoured and deeply moved. It also induced an uncomfortable reappraisal of her own response to his status as a dispossessed Sassenach thane. She was ashamed to think of it now. A man’s character did not derive from how rich he was or how much he owned. If wealth and land were indicators of goodness and worth Alistair Neil should have been among the foremost in all of Scotland. It was a lesson learned late but learned thoroughly.

  The path they had been following climbed steadily until it levelled out again at the top of the hill. The position afforded an uninterrupted view down the glen and for a little while they paused to admire it. Isabelle thought then that they might turn back but somewhat to her surprise Ban turned his horse’s head away from Glengarron.

  ‘There’s a pretty little lochan among those trees yonder. It’s not above a mile distant. I thought you might like to see it.’

  ‘Of course.’

  They rode on quietly for some way across a stretch of open heath. As they continued the track passed close to an ancient ring of standing stones, as tall as a man and all lichened and weathered. Isabelle surveyed them curiously.

  ‘What do think they were for?’

  ‘Worship of the gods perhaps, or some other form of ceremonial.’

  ‘The place certainly has an atmosphere about it.’

  ‘I once saw Iain settle a score here with an enemy.’

  Her eyes widened a little. ‘He killed a man here?’

  ‘Aye, he did. A Norman knight called Fitzurse; an evil swine and no mistake. He tried to stab Iain in the back.’

  ‘Then he was justly paid out for it.’

  ‘That he was,’ said Ban. ‘My only regret is that the brute didn’t die at my hand.’

  ‘Why so?’

  ‘It was he and his mercenaries who burned Heslingfield and slew my kin.’

  ‘Then surely you had the right to face him in combat?’

  Ban shook his head. ‘Iain’s claim was older than mine. He’d been seeking Fitzurse for years before I came on the scene, and with good cause. I yielded to his right on condition that he avenged us both for past wrongs, which he duly did.’

  ‘This Fitzurse sounds like a truly evil man.’

  ‘He was. The world is well rid of him.’

  Isabelle shivered inwardly. The stones had doubtless witnessed much bloodshed and no doubt would witness much more. In this land only the strong survived. Men like Iain and Ban.

  ‘Does the lochan have a bloody history too?’ she asked.

  He laughed. ‘Not as far as I’m aware.’

  In fact the lake was, as he had as said, a pretty place. It was situated in a natural bowl of the land, its rocky shore screened by birch and rowan trees, its clear waters sunlit and still. Isabelle reined in at the edge of the trees and looked around.

  ‘It’s a pleasant spot,’ she observed.

  ‘I hoped you’d think so. I’ve always liked it. I come here from time to time.’

  ‘I can see why.’

  ‘Would you like to stop for a while?’

  ‘Why not?’

  They dismounted and tethered the horses to a bush, then strolled to the water’s edge. Isabelle smiled, enjoying the warm sunshine and peaceful green beauty of the place, more than ever aware of the man beside her. It had been in such a place that she’d first met him, a memory that caused a different kind of heat deep inside.

  By tacit consent they walked a little way and then he spread his cloak in a sheltered turfy hollow among the rocks and they sat together in companionable silence, leaning against the warm stone. Isabelle eyed the lochan speculatively.

  ‘Do you suppose the water is warm?’

  His eyes gleamed. ‘Why? Were you planning to swim?’

  She reddened a little. ‘I’m not sure that would be wise.’

  ‘It would be most unwise. The lochan is freezing.’

  ‘You speak from experience.’

  ‘That’s right.’ He paused. ‘Of course, you don’t have to take my word for it. In fact I’d be very happy for you to put it to the test. I’ll sit here and watch.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing.’

  He sighed heavily and they both laughed. Then her gaze met his and laughter faded and became something more intense. He leaned closer, his face only inches from hers. She met it in a light and gentle kiss. Ban shifted a little, sliding his arms around her for a more lingering embrace. It set every nerve alight. His hold tightened and the kiss became deeper, his tongue teasing and flirting with hers. Isabelle slid her fingers through his hair. It was thick and tawny as a lion’s mane and, unlike most men, he kept it clean. It slipped easily through her fingers, the feel of it subtly sensual. Gently she caressed the back of his neck. The kiss became passionate.

  Shifting just a little she slipped a hand between them and stroked. There followed a sharp intake of breath and in moments she felt swelling hardness beneath her fingers. The suddenness of it astonished and encouraged at the same time. She heard him groan.

  ‘You’re playing with fire again, my sweet.’

  She said nothing, only continued to stroke him. Ban drew another sharp breath, his expression taut and ecstatic. She could see resolve crumbling and bit back a smile.

  ‘Have you no mercy, woman?’

  She reached for the fastenings of his hose and tugged gently. Freed from the confining cloth his erection stood proud. Even though she had witnessed it before it still had the power to astonish and, now, to excite. Stronger was the desire to have him inside her. She realised then that this wasn’t just about conceiving a child any more: it was about a different kind of need; needing him, wanting him, wanting this.

  Shifting position she lifted the hem of her gown and straddled him, lowering herself slowly, letting him slide into her. It felt quite astoundingly good. His hands slid behind her buttocks pulling her closer. She began to rock slowly. She heard another sharp intake of breath and continued. He thrust deeper. Isabelle bit her lip to stop herself crying out. Ban frowned.

  ‘Am I hurting you, sweetheart? Do you want me to stop?’

  ‘No, you’re not hurting me, and don’t you dare stop.’

  He laughed softly. She felt him thrust again, and then repeat the action, more strongly each time. Her body moved with him, feeling the rhythm build. She watched him carefully, noting w
hat pleased him and repeating it. His breathing grew ragged and he pulled her hips down harder. Involuntarily she clenched her muscles round him and heard him gasp. His whole body shuddered. She did it again. He groaned, thrusting deeper, harder, until his body spasmed and she felt the hot rush of his release.

  She smiled, breathing hard now, heart hammering. ‘That was amazing.’

  ‘You’re amazing,’ he replied. ‘That was incredible.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  Mingled with that was relief that she had pleased him. It astonished her to discover how easily she could arouse him.

  ‘Rest with me awhile, sweetheart.’

  Isabelle lay down beside him, filled with a sense of well-being and contentment, basking in the sunshine and in the feeling of his arms around her. She had never imagined that intercourse could be so enjoyable or a man so considerate. It created feelings of rightness and belonging, of wanting to please him even more. Alistair had forced her to do things that she loathed; the thought of doing them with Ban filled her with excitement and anticipation. She smiled to herself. All in good time.

  At some point amid these musings she must have dozed because she was brought back to full consciousness by a man’s thumb gently brushing across the peak of her breast. It created a sensation so delicious it was hard to breathe. Opening her eyes she saw Ban looking down at her. She saw him smile. The gentle brushing motion continued creating a ripple of pleasure. He bent and kissed her softly.

  ‘You have been more than generous in pleasing me. Now it’s my turn to please you.’

  ‘You did please me, my lord.’

  ‘Not as much as I hope to,’ he replied.

  Her pulse quickened a little. Before she had a chance to speculate any further she felt him tugging gently at her gown.

  ‘Take it off, Isabelle.’

  For a moment she wondered if he was serious, but nothing in his expression gave her to think otherwise. Slowly she got to her knees and, somewhat uncertainly, complied. Ban nodded approval.

  ‘The shift as well.’

  The quiet command sent a wave of heat through her entire body. ‘It’s broad daylight, Ban.’

  ‘So it is.’

  ‘There are no locks on the doors either.’

  ‘That’ll add a little zest to the occasion.’

  In spite of their earlier history this was still shocking. She ought to refuse. She didn’t want to refuse. She wanted whatever was going to happen next. With slightly unsteady hands she unfastened the shift and drew it off.

  ‘Unbind your hair.’

  She drew the braid over her shoulder and untied the ribbon, aware of his gaze following her every move. Slowly she undid the heavy plait and shook her hair free. It flowed over her back and shoulders like auburn fire. Ban unlatched his belt and laid it aside, then pulled off his tunic and shirt. She could see the new scars on his shoulder and ribs, livid in the sunlight. Unhurriedly he unfastened his breeks...

  * * *

  Later they lay together in sated stillness, drowsy and utterly content. Through half-closed eyes he studied her carefully, drinking in every detail of her face, the soft hollow of her neck and shoulder, the swelling breasts and delicate pink nipples. Her skin was smooth and pale as alabaster. His gaze travelled lower to her waist and the curve of her hip and triangle of hair that covered her sex, the same shade as the fiery auburn tresses now carelessly spread across his cloak, and then lingered a moment on her belly. Perhaps his seed had already taken root in her. Perhaps even now she was carrying his child.

  Isabelle’s eyes fluttered open and she smiled. ‘A penny for them.’

  ‘I was just thinking that it would be good to create life instead of taking it. That I’ve seen enough of bloodshed and war.’

  ‘You’ve seen your share. Heslingfield...’

  He sighed. ‘Heslingfield was just the start. Since then I’ve fought my way across fields of slaughter where the corpses were piled high and the blood ankle deep. And for what? Scotland has become a vassal state in spite of it.’

  ‘You did what you had to, Ban, according to the dictates of conscience.’

  ‘No, I fought because I wished to slay Normans, and because I enjoyed it.’ His smile grew bitter. ‘God knows how many men have died at the point of my sword.’

  ‘You took as much risk as they.’

  ‘Hatred helps a man to stay alive. Rage lends strength to his arm. Eventually it becomes cold and more terrible until the only thing that brings joy is killing.’

  ‘But it’s not the only thing that brought you joy. You must have felt that when you discovered Ashlynn was still alive.’

  ‘It was the one bright spot in all the darkness.’

  ‘You love your nephews too. I’ve seen you with them.’

  ‘It’s easy to love innocence, to want to protect it.’

  ‘You will be a good father, I know it.’

  His smile lost the bitter edge. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘I think Hugh would have been too. Now I am the last hope of our house.’

  ‘Castlemora will be regained, Isabelle, I swear it, and our children will grow up there. But before any of that can happen I must first deal with Murdo.’

  ‘I wish there was some other way but I know very well that there isn’t.’ She took a deep breath. ‘If anything were to happen to you...’

  ‘It won’t. I have more to lose than he.’

  ‘Castlemora means a great deal to you, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I wasn’t talking about Castlemora.’ His gaze held hers. ‘I was talking about the future I want with you. And such a future is worth fighting for.’

  Her heart gave a peculiar little leap. That he was speaking of the long term indicated a shift in his thinking that gladdened her immensely. More important still was the suggestion of an emotional bond. If so, it might strengthen. One day it might even become love.

  She smiled. ‘Yes, that’s worth fighting for.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  It seemed that he was not alone in considering the problem of Castlemora, and on his return Iain sought him out. For a moment or two he surveyed his brother-in-law appraisingly. Ban exuded energy and rude health once more and there was a glow in his eyes that hadn’t been there until recently. Iain grinned.

  ‘Marriage suits you.’

  ‘I think it does. Besides, I’ve wanted Isabelle since the day I set eyes on her.’

  ‘And she is not indifferent to you, I think.’

  Recalling their recent tryst by the lochan, Ban grinned. ‘No, fortunately.’

  Iain regarded him shrewdly. ‘Even married to you Isabelle is still vulnerable. She always will be while Murdo lives.’

  ‘This was in my mind also.’

  ‘He must be dealt with, Brother. He has been robbed of a prize and his is not a forgiving nature.’

  ‘Nor is mine, or not where he’s concerned anyway.’

  ‘We should seek him out while his power is weakened. He lost many men in that last fight, but he will recruit more and that soon enough.’

  ‘He attracts human scum like dung attracts flies.’

  ‘We should act within the month. He must be crushed before he can turn his force against Glengarron because, make no mistake, he will.’

  ‘Then let’s do it.’

  ‘We’re agreed then.’

  ‘Aye, we’re agreed.’

  * * *

  With preparation in train Ban was kept busy and thus spent less time with Isabelle. She understood it, even though she missed his company. Sometimes, from a discreet distance, she watched the men training. They practised for several hours each day, honing the skills that would keep them alive in the coming battle. Yet she knew that, inevitably, some of them would not return. It was an occupational hazard and one that every fighting man accepted, but now she was emotionally involved with Glengarron and its people. Jock’s death had sealed that.

  She wondered how her own people were faring under Murdo’s governance, and she feared the wo
rst. Now that her father’s restraining hand was gone there would be nothing to stop him. Archibald Graham had always held that power and privilege went hand in hand with responsibility and obligation. Murdo had no such moral compass: to him power was an end in itself to be wielded as he saw fit and without any consideration for those weaker than himself. At Castlemora he was the law. All she could do was to pity those under his sway and look forward to the day when his rule was over.

  * * *

  Isabelle’s nineteenth birthday was fast approaching and Ban had commanded a feast in celebration. However, he also had a surprise up his sleeve. Leading her down to the courtyard he gave commands to the grooms to bring forth their mounts.

  ‘Will you ride with me, my lady?’

  ‘Gladly.’

  Isabelle watched as the grooms led Firecrest out. He was followed by another man leading a pretty bay mare with a flowing mane and tail. Immediately Isabelle moved forwards to stroke the horse’s nose.

  ‘I haven’t seen this one before. How beautiful she is!’

  ‘You like her?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘She’s yours.’

  Isabelle turned towards him, her eyes shining. ‘Ban, she’s wonderful. Thank you so much.’ She raised herself on tiptoe to kiss him. Never in a hundred years had she expected so generous a gift.

  ‘Since you cannot ride your own mount I must supply another.’ He smiled. ‘Do you want to try her?’

  Isabelle laughed. ‘You know I do.’

  They rode out together and Isabelle put the horse through her paces. The mare was fleet of foot and soft of mouth, responding to the lightest touch of the rein. Such a fine animal must have cost a fortune. That Ban should have thought to surprise her thus filled her heart with joy. There could be no doubting his regard for her. It was evident in his every look and touch. She responded to it like a flower to sun. Having been so long starved of affection she hungered for it now, exerting herself to please him in every way, longing for the time when affection might deepen into love, praying for the event which would bring that about.

  * * *

  When they stopped to let the animals rest a little he took her in his arms, looking down into her face. ‘Are you happy, Isabelle?’