Rogue Highlander: Played Like a Fiddle

by Sondra Grey

  “I’ll do as I please, and you’ll not stop me.”

  “Isla.” His voice wasn’t angry, but it was firm, hard. “I will stop you Isla. I’ll not have you sicken. You’ll not put our child at risk. You’ll obey me in this, or I’ll have you guarded. And how will that look? The Lady of Dundur watched night and day?”

  Isla was speechless. She stared up at him, looking for some sign of softness. Nothing. He was resolute.

  “Calum please,” she said. “It’s all I have. I’m lost in that castle. I don’t know who I am without…”

  “You have to think of the child,” he said.

  That stopped Isla cold. She stared at him. The baby had been moving now for a few days, but Isla had been so preoccupied with her new station that she’d barely time to think about the child growing inside her. But that wasn’t what had stopped her. The words were familiar, said by her father to her mother when illness had spread through the village, and Deirdre had taken Isla’s two-year-old brother with her.

  Deirdre hadn’t much considered the baby when she’d taken him on her rounds through the village. And he, too, had caught ill. He was so young, so sick, that Deirdre hadn’t been able to heal him.

  “Who will think of me, then?” Isla asked finally, not willing to cede the point to her husband. “Not you. You’re too busy with your treaties. Not your clan. To them, I am merely a means to an end.”

  Calum was silent, then, “Is that how you feel?”

  Isla just stared at him in response.

  Calum sighed. “The Stewarts are staying a few days. We will remedy this, you and I, after they are gone. Until then, you will not embarrass me. You will act your part. And you must watch your sharp tongue around Rob Stewart. Try to be pleasing. If I can secure peace, at least in this part of the highlands, I could save hundreds of needless deaths. There are lives at stake Isla.” There was such intensity in his voice, and if Isla knew about anything, it was lifesaving.

  She wanted to be angry with him still, but he looked exhausted. She felt similarly. So, she inclined her head, and followed him as he headed for the stables to curry and stable his horse.

  Isla must have been at Moira’s house longer than she thought. It was clear that there were Stewart men about, if only because the stables were full of horses and there were bodies bedded down in the straw.

  “Wait here,” murmured Calum, grimly, as he heard a giggle sound from inside. “Unless you’d like to see something untoward.”

  Isla chose to stay where she was, and heard Calum’s low murmur as he spoke to someone. It was a minute later that Isla saw Maggie’s slim figure dart out from the stable and shoot off towards the kitchen. She looked like a rabbit who’d been startled from its bush, and Isla had to press her lips together to keep from laughing.

  While she waited for him to return, her thoughts returned to her predicament. He meant for her to be at his side during the Stewart’s stay. There were bound to be men in Rob Stewart’s party who would recognize her. She needed to tell Calum about Elleric.

  Isla was distracted momentarily from her thoughts, when another figure stepped out of the stables and into the torchlight. For a split second, she thought it was Geordie – for the man had the same slim height. But it wasn’t. The man didn’t see her at first. He was adjusting his kilt, picking straw from his pale brown hair and smiling to himself. Then he spotted her and they both froze.

  “Well,” he said, for he found his voice first. “Well,” he repeated. “Isla Macleay. Standing before me, wearing a fur-trimmed cloak.”

  Isla just stared. His expression was bland enough now, but she could still see it, twisted with gleeful malice. Witch.

  “What are you now, Isla?” asked William Graham, looking her up and down with a lasciviousness that made her shudder. “A village whore? Come to see if any of the Stewart’s need servicing. Is this what has be fallen you then?” He laughed. “You must charge a pretty penny for a tumble to afford a cloak like that. I’ve just had a good romp or I’d pay you a coin and give you a go. Least I could do…”

  “Shall we head in?” Calum’s voice preceded him, and from the tired expression on his face, Isla was certain he hadn’t heard William’s words.

  She watched as William’s eyes lit on Calum as he offered Isla his arm. Calum noticed the William then, and he stared at him a confused moment, as if wondering what one of the Stewart clansmen was doing addressing his wife. Isla felt a strange sort of calm come over her – she felt victorious and frightened in the same moment, and she took Calum’s arm and let him lead her inside.

  They were quiet as they strode through the keep. Most of the guests were abed, though there were still a few servants in the great hall, cleaning up from dinner. In their rooms, Calum left her to get dressed.

  Isla perched on the edge of their bed, staring at the crevices in the stone wall and wondering how on earth she was going to tell Calum about Elleric. About William.

  Just do it! She said to herself. Stop being a coward! You’re not a coward!

  “Calum,” she said, as he approached the bed. He was naked, his preferred way to sleep, and she noticed that he’d lost weight in the month since she’d last seen him. His muscles stood out starkly against his dark skin. His cheekbones protruded, making his rough-hewn face even starker. He hadn’t been taking care of himself. A sudden longing and possessiveness swept through her. She reached out a hand for him.

  He eyed her hand, almost warily but then reached out and took it. He gave her a firm, reassuring grip and said, “Whatever it is, Isla-lass, let it wait until morning.”

  He let go her hand and slid beneath the bedclothes.

  Isla lay down beside him, reveling in his warmth, a warmth she’d dearly missed. The nights were growing chillier, and she’d been cold without him.

  As she lay besides him, she found it near impossible to fall asleep. The baby was active, and Calum’s words from earlier were haunting her: “You have to think of the child.”

  She thought about her mother, then. That Deirdre had loved her had never been in question. But Deirdre had been that strange mix of selfish and self-less. She’d given much of her time to helping others, but always on her own terms. Was Isla the same? She thought briefly of Calum, who put his clan before his own wishes. Who rode himself ragged, seeking a peace that might never come to be… Over and over again he gave in to the demands of his clansmen. How did he do it?

  It was hours before she was able to fall asleep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  T he next morning, Isla woke up alone. She had overslept, and Calum had left early to take The Stewart and his men on a hunt through the hills. When she went downstairs to help with dinner, she learned that the housekeeper had already seen to dinner preparations and sent word to the village that they were in need of a few musicians.

  “The Laird said I wasn’t to bother you,” said the woman, but she wouldn’t look Isla in the eye, and Isla had a feeling the housekeeper wasn’t happy with her.

  When Isla went searching for Mrs. Allan, she was told that the woman had been summoned away that morning to see to the birth of her grandchild. “No doubt she’ll be gone a whole month! Her poor daughter has two other young ones. She’ll need the help.”

  And so, Isla spent most of the day in the kitchens helping the cook. A few of the other castle women were in and out, and a few even joined Isla to chat lightly. Isla was still in the kitchens when the hunt returned and she stayed there, knowing that, this late in the season, there’d be pheasants or wild turkeys to de-feather and trim. A few of the women left and came back with birds aplenty.

  Isla took up a large hen and began to remove its feathers, placing them aside for later use. She was so absorbed in her task that she almost didn’t realize that had room had fallen a bit silent. The light chatter interspersed with moments of laughter was gone, and in its place were whispers. Isla looked over her shoulder at one of the Grant cousins, Efric, a woman close to Isla’s age with a tall, trim figure but an unfo
rtunately large nose. Efric met Isla’s gaze, blinked, and turned her head to where a group of women were now huddled over one of the carving tables.

  Efric frowned, put down the bird she’d been dressing, and wandered over towards the group of women. Isla turned back, pretending she was not watching the whole thing, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Greer’s pretty blonde head pop up and then down, and silence descended on the group.

  Isla heard Efric’s voice rise in question, and someone responded to her softly. Efric was back in a moment, shrugging. She didn’t know what they’d been talking of. But Isla knew that it was about her, and fear settled once again into the pit of her stomach. It was all she could do to remain there, plucking at that stupid hen and making light conversation with Efric.

  She’d nearly finished her bird when Hugh entered the kitchens. It had been five months since Isla had healed him, and he was almost good as new. He had a brilliant scar that still pained him a bit, but he had full use of his arm and was gradually regaining his strength. He was a handsome boy, who looked more like his mother’s side of the family than his father, and Isla was grateful for his sudden presence. She needed a friend, and waited for his usual sunny smile. Unfortunately, he looked troubled and rather than calling after Isla, strode up to her and came close. They were of a height, Hugh and Isla, though Isla suspected the boy might grow another few inches soon.

  “Lady Dundur,” he said, his voice low. “My Uncle wishes to speak with you.”

  Isla shot another look over her shoulder to where Greer and her cohort were watching them keenly.

  “Where is he?” asked Isla, softly.

  “I believe he headed for his solar,” said Hugh.

  Isla nodded, dusting her hands on her apron and untying it. Was he angry that she did not greet the men back from the hunt? Please let it be as simple as that!

  She was surprised when Hugh went with her and even more surprised when he walked close, positioning himself on the outside of her until she was nearly brushing the wall.

  “Hugh,” said Isla, she couldn’t help herself, “What is this about?”

  Hugh looked like he wanted to speak, but he pressed his lips together and gave her one small shake of his head. Either he didn’t know or he wasn’t saying.

  They reached the solar quickly, and Hugh opened the door for her, but didn’t follow her in.

  Isla entered, her sense of alarm growing when she saw Calum, his back to her, arms braced on either side of the window as he looked out over the hills. As the door thudded behind her, she saw his shoulders tighten. He knew she was there, but he didn’t turn around. The silence was thick and ominous.

  Isla found her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, found she could neither move forward nor backward. Her eyes were trained on where Calum’s shirt stuck to the sloping muscles of his shoulders. Finally, he straightened and he turned.

  Isla wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t the carefully bland face he gave her now. His expression was one of practiced neutrality, a look he’d most likely have had to hone in his negotiations, or earlier, when facing down his father. She swallowed.

  “Isla,” he said, his voice as bland as his expression. “Isla.”

  She waited. It was all she could do. He seemed to be watching her, waiting for something, but she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. Finally, he said, “Do you know anything of mythology? The Greeks?”

  Isla shook her head, once. She didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “They have a story about a woman named Medea. You’ve not heard it?”

  Isla shook her head again, perplexed.

  “There are many stories of Medea. But I’ll pick up her story in the middle, where she arrives in Athens and beguiles the King, Aegeus. She tells him all sorts of tales about her past, wins his sympathy, and they eventually marry and have a son.”

  Calum stopped talking abruptly, staring at Isla’s belly where it rounded outward. Isla found herself clutching her hands in front of her stomach.

  “He spends years with her, not knowing who she is, not knowing the truth about her…”

  Isla’s mouth went dry.

  “And then one day a young man arrives. It’s Aegeus long lost son, come to claim his father’s throne. And when Medea tries to have him killed, he knows her, and unveils her for what she is: A witch.”

  Isla felt the blood leave her face, black spots erupted before her vision and the next thing she knew she was being squeezed, painfully. And then the floor was beneath her, Calum grasping her shoulders hard enough to bruise, staring into her face with an intensity she’d never seen from him before.

  “Calum,” his name was a whisper on her tongue, her senses came back to her enough for her to realize she’d nearly blacked out. Calum must have caught her, and now he was hovering over her, waiting, holding her steady until it was clear that she would be fine on her own. Then he released her arms, and she fell back on them, the floor hard beneath her. He crouched nearby, balanced on the balls of his feet, staring at her as if waiting for something. But Isla had no words.

  Calum shook his head. “A witch,” he said, and she realized he was continuing his terrible story. “A witch and a murderess. Who’d been chased from Corinth by the villagers. She’d lied to Aegeus, tricked him into marrying her so that her son would inherit the thrown of Athens.”

  Isla licked her lips, knowing she had to speak. A dozen responses flew through her head, a dozen apologies, pleas for forgiveness. But on its heels, swiftly, was anger. That familiar, boiling rage. Witch? Murderess!?

  “Dundur is hardly a kingdom.”

  Calum blinked.

  “And if you’re comparing that…that…RAT William Graham to a PRINCE!!!”

  Her voice rose and Calum swore and stood. Isla struggled to gain her feet. “And compare yourself to a King!! A poor pitiable KING!!!”

  He hauled her up and clapped a hot hand over her mouth, his dark eyes boring into hers with something akin to panic.

  “Quiet!” he hissed. “Do you want the whole castle to hear!?”

  Isla fumed beneath his hand, and when he let it go she hissed at him. “They know already! William Graham has a maw like a gull’s. He can’t seem to close it.”

  Calum stared at her, black brows raised in incredulity. Isla stared back at him, squaring her fists on her hips in challenge. “Is that what you think, Calum? Do you think I’m a witch? That I’ve beguiled you? Do you still think I planned all of this?”

  Calum swore and swung away from her, raking a hand through his dark hair until it stood out from his head. “No,” he said, suddenly, turning around. He looked intense. “But you lied to me.”

  “I lied about my name. I didn’t lie about anything else.”

  “You omitted the truth. And you’ve put me in a terrible position.”

  Isla glared at him.

  “I’ll have the truth, Isla. And I’ll have all of it.”

  “Why?” she said. “You’ve made up your mind about me already. I can see it. You said it. Witch. Murderess.”

  He stared at her, hard. Isla felt like she was crumbling inside. He thought her a murderess. The man who held her at night, who made her feel things no other person had ever made her feel, the man who was supposed to keep her safe…

  “I’ll have the truth,” he said.

  Isla stared at him, her aunt’s voice ringing in her ears. I don’t advise keeping secrets from your husband…

  “What will you do at the end of it?” she asked, softly. “Will you believe William? Will you cast me aside? Will you chase me from Dundur?”

  Calum strode up so fast that Isla nearly tripped over herself to back away, but his hands were on her shoulders. He squeezed her hard and shook her once. “Isla, you’re my wife. You’re carrying my child. I’m trying to protect you! But if you don’t tell me what’s wrong…”

  He cursed and let her go, striding away. Then he whirled. “Christ! I would never have allowed the Stewart’s h
ere if I’d thought it might put you in danger and now the whole castle…”

  He stopped and took a deep breath. “Isla, I cannot help you, I cannot set this right, if I don’t know the truth.”

  Isla stood there, breathing hard. He would not cast her aside? He would not chase her out? She moved past him to sit at the chair before his desk, and he moved with her, perching atop the desk’s scarred edge, staring at her intently. “The truth.”

  And so, Isla told him. She started at the beginning, with her mother leaving castle Huntly as a girl. She told him about her mother and father, who they were to the Stewart, how she’d grown up in Elleric. She told him about healing the sick, about her father’s death and then her mother’s. She told him about spurning William Graham, and her engagement with Gavin Stewart, about the sickness that spread through Elleric and claimed Gavin’s brother.

  “I’m sure now, that it was William spreading the tales,” she said, feeling cold. “You should have seen his face when he saw me in the courtyard and mistook me for a whore, he was so delighted. His was the last face I saw in Elleric. He tripped me, as they threw stones…”

  Calum’s expression was unreadable.

  “I didn’t tell you what happened. They’d have tried me and hung me in the square. They might have brought the tale to The Stewart himself, and I’d no notion if you were friendly with him, if he’d come to you looking for the runaway witch…”

  Calum shook his head. “No. Robert Stewart is no superstitious man.”

  “But how was I to know? How was I to know you didn’t believe in witches? I wasn’t going to reveal my name, lest word had spread that Isla from Elleric was a witch and needed to be captured and tried! Please understand that I wanted to tell you before we wed – but…” No, no good blaming her uncle. They were allies now. “But I was afraid. And I wanted to tell you when the Stewarts came…”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, heavily. He stood and walked over to the window, staring down towards where the gatehouse stood. “William Graham. He was the one standing outside the stables the other night? The one with the…” he trailed off, waving a hand absently around his nose to indicate William’s freckles. Isla nodded.