by Alyssa Stark
“Has my cousin been sae rude that he has not asked ye tae dance?” Brandon asked. He slid one mug of ale towards Tristan and handed the other graciously to Isobel, winking at her candidly.
Isobel extended her hand and wrapped her fingers around the cool pewter handle. She brought the mug to her lips and sipped the refreshing ale, smiling over the rim at Brandon as a means of gratitude.
“I thank you,” Isobel said sweetly.
“Pay nay mind,” Brandon said with another wink. “I’ll no have ye thinking that all Finnegans are as ill mannered as this oaf,” he prodded as he arched an eyebrow teasingly at Tristan and then took a step back from the table just in case Tristan decided to toss a casual punch.
“He has been on his best behavior,” Isobel said as she smiled slightly and cast a look in Tristan’s direction. His eyes had narrowed and he was frowning at Brandon.
“But he still hasna asked ye tae dance,” Brandon said suggestively.
Tristan muttered something under his breath.
Isobel watched him now as he glared at his cousin. She had never seen Tristan blush before. She found the reaction endearing and secretly wondered if Tristan did not know how to dance.
“Buggar off, Brandon,” Tristan said with a rueful smile. “I can hardly ask Isobel to dance with you lording over us and commanding the time that I’ve rightfully won with her.”
“Suit yourself,” Brandon laughed as he scooped up his mug. “I’d only meant to help! Seemed as though ye were faltering…” he called over his shoulder as he ambled away.
Isobel laughed. “Your cousin is quite the character,” she said warmly as she took a sip of the cool ale that Brandon had brought to her. “I like him,” she said with honesty.
“As do I,” Tristan admitted. “I love him as a brother,” he said as he chuckled under his breath. Brandon was a man most unconventional, but jovial in his ways. Tristan had spent much of his life chasing after his older cousin, undoing the messes that Brandon had made for himself. Despite Brandon’s rambunctious nature, Tristan knew that he could trust his life to his cousin.
“Shall we?” Tristan asked as he flicked his head towards the make shift dance floor. He pushed back from the table and stood, extending his hand formally to Isobel in invitation.
“Do you dance?” Isobel asked hopefully as she placed her hand in Tristan’s and allowed him to lead her towards the front of the great hall. A small troupe of musicians were playing by the fire and many clansmen had already crowded around them, swirling in time to the lively music.
“I’ll try not to embarrass myself overmuch,” Tristan laughed.
Stopping at the edge of the other dancing couples, Tristan interlaced his fingers with Isobel’s and wrapped his other arm about her slender waist. He began to guide her to the rhythm of the music, moving in perfect time with the beat.
“You can dance!” Isobel exclaimed excitedly. The upbeat rhythm of the music and the feeling of Tristan’s hand splayed over the small of her back filled her with joy. Dancing with Tristan made Isobel feel as though she might burst with happiness.
Tristan smiled shyly and winked down at Isobel. A full smile spread over his face as he watched her dance. The firelight made her skin glow and it highlighted the lighter flecks of her lovely golden hair. Tristan pulled Isobel a little closer against his chest. She looked up at him and smiled knowingly, returning his sentiments exactly. A beautiful flush from the dancing was cast over her cheeks and her blue eyes were alight with joy.
It was as if for a moment, Isobel truly belonged to Tristan.
A bell gonged loudly near the entrance of the great hall.
The music stopped abruptly, as did the dancing.
Everyone turned towards the sound.
Hodges held the bell. He had a look of utter surprise on his face as the crowd fell silent. It was as if he had not expected his interruption to stop the merriment.
Hodges cleared his throat.
“All competitors partaking in tomorrow’s tournament must join me in the library at once,” he proclaimed regally.
The crowd hummed in response to Hodges’ order. The noise level grew as the men who remained in the tournament rose from their seats and threaded through the crowd.
Tristan looked down at Isobel regretfully.
He had hoped to have more time with her tonight.
Isobel’s cheeks were still flushed pink. Her breathing was rapid as she recovered from the thrill of their dance. Tristan noticed how this caused the tops of her breasts to rise and fall alluringly at the neckline of her gown.
“I suppose that I must take my leave,” Tristan whispered. He had not yet dropped Isobel’s hand and he stroked his thumb over the back of her fingers.
Isobel nodded, disappointment evident on her face.
“Until tomorrow, a run mo chroi,” Tristan said softly as he released Isobel’s hand and leaned forward to place a chaste kiss on her flushed cheek.
“What does that mean?” Isobel asked, her voice only loud enough for Tristan to hear. “I do not speak the old tongue.”
Tristan graced her with the lop-sided smile that she had grown to cherish.
He moved towards her again, his whiskers rasping against the sensitive skin of her cheek. “In Gaelic it means secret of my heart.”
Isobel shuddered as Tristan’s honeyed words washed over her. Her knees suddenly felt weak. Tristan’s breath was warm and inviting against her ear.
He forced himself away from Isobel. He dared not stay with her any longer. Turning on his heel, he left her standing alone on the dance floor with so much longing in her blue eyes that any fool could see the energy that flowed between them.
..ooOoo..
“What have you done to Tristan?” Brandon Finnegan said playfully as he whisked Isobel off the dance floor and guided her over to a vacant wooden bench. He held two mugs of summer ale in his hands and offered one to Isobel.
Fear zipped down Isobel’s spine. Had Brandon seen something between her and Tristan? A glance or a heated look that had lasted a moment longer than was proper?
She had tried to be ever so careful.
Isobel’s heart thundered in her chest as she grasped the proffered mug of ale and took a deep, hearty swig of ale to ease her nerves.
God forbid, had Tristan confessed his feelings for her to his cousin? Had he spoken of their stolen kisses? Brandon was loud and bawdy, not by Isobel’s estimation the best person to guard a life and death secret.
“Brandon is it not?” she asked as she set her mug down on the table and feigned interest in the dancers that were moving in time with the thrum of the bodrhain.
“Aye. I beg your forgiveness that we havena met properly. My name is Brandon, Tristan is my cousin. Pleased to meet you, milady,” he said formally as he nodded into a slight bow.
“Pleased to meet you,” Isobel said.
“You still have not answered my question, lass. I’m wonderin’ what ye did to Tristan. I’ve known him my whole life and I swear that I’ve never seen him like this! Have you noticed that he has a smile that he saves just for you?”
Isobel’s face flushed crimson, the color of her terror flooding her pale face.
“If you are insinuating…”
“I insinuate nothing, milady,” Brandon said with a lighthearted smile. “I insinuate nothing, but I thank ye from the bottom of my heart. Tristan had been my best friend since we were both lads. It has been far too long since I’ve seen him so happy, that’s all.”
“Oh,” Isobel said. She was at a loss for words. Relief flooded through her body at the realization that Tristan had not spoken of their relationship to anyone, including his raucous cousin.
“I suspect that you are the reason for his happiness and for that I thank ye,” he said sincerely as he bowed once more and then pushed away from the table. “He wouldna be here fighting for yer hand were ye not special to him. Ye must be worth fighting for,” Brandon said with a soft smile.
“I like your
cousin very much,” Isobel said sweetly, resigning to keep the conversation vague.
Brandon looked at Isobel directly, his expression turning serious.
“Something inside of Tristan was broken long ago. I think that you’re the answer to our prayers, milady,” Brandon said with a soft smile. “When I watched him with you tonight, I saw the man that he used to be, the man that he deserves to be. He was himself with you, happy and carefree. Perhaps you are the one that will piece him back together,” Brennan said.
Isobel smiled, unsure of how to respond.
What happened to you, Tristan Finnegan?
What secrets are buried in your past that are too terrible to speak of?
..oo Chapter Twelve oo..
The sun loomed in the sky, burning hot for late October.
Sweat poured from Tristan’s brow. His shirt was damp and clung to his chest.
The weight of the stag made his progress slow, but Tristan’s heart was happy.
Or relieved.
The rules of the challenge had been simple. The men were given two days to hunt. They were instructed to bring their kills back to McLaughlin keep by midday on the second day or forfeit their place in the tournament.
Tristan had slung the dead beast across the expanse of his shoulders. His right hand gripped the stag’s fore legs and his left hand gripped its hind legs. The stag’s head lolled against his back with each step that he took. The beast was damned heavy and for that fact, Tristan was thankful. His muscles ached and his chest heaved with exertion as he carried the dead stag up the last hill before McLaughlin keep.
His eyes looked up to the sky. The sun would not be directly above him for a few more hours. He had plenty of time to get the beast back to the keep.
Tristan slowed his pace, giving his aching muscles a much needed respite.
“Lord let this be enough,” he muttered as he crested the hill and looked down upon the castle. “Thank ye, Da,” he said softly as he glanced heavenward. It was his father who had taught him how to track animals and hunt them. Never had Tristan imagined that this skill would be of such importance.
The stag was a fine prize, a weighty animal with a fine set of antlers. He had spent the better part of the two days tracking the animal. A clean shot through the heart with his arrow had brought the animal a quick and respectful death.
Tristan hoped that the stag would be enough to win him more time with Isobel. He had not been able to get her out of his mind after dancing with her last night. She had felt so right in his arms.
..ooOOoo..
Tristan proudly brought his kill towards the podium, his hopes swelling as his stag dwarfed the only other animal that lie on the wooden platform.
Perhaps he had a greater chance of winning than he had originally thought!
Fergus MacLaughlin stood next to the small stag that he had killed. His eyes flitted over Tristan’s kill and he shook his head in admittance of defeat.
“Tis a fine stag, Tristan,” he said with admiration.
“Thank ye,” Tristan nodded.
“Has anyone else returned?” Tristan asked as his eyes again drifted up to check the position of the sun.
“Nay. Not yet,” Fergus responded.
The two sat quietly in the nearly vacant courtyard. A few people had begun to gather, knowing that the hunters were due back by midday.
After some time had passed, the crowd gasped and began to hum with collective excitement.
Tristan looked towards the gate and his heart sank.
Rogan Cameron approached the podium.
His legs shook with the exertion of carrying the most enormous stag that Tristan had ever seen.
..ooOOoo..
“I will treat you well, Isobel,” Rogan said as he reached over and grasped Isobel’s hand.
His unexpected touch startled her.
Isobel looked straight ahead.
She did not move.
Rogan squeezed her hand gently and then released it.
Isobel could not force herself to look at him. Rogan sat to her left, so close beside her on the wooden bench that his side almost brushed against hers. They had spent the evening meal quietly, neither one able to find words appropriate to break the uncomfortable silence.
A maid reached over Isobel’s shoulder and removed her plate.
Isobel continued looking straight ahead. She feigned interest in the music and the dancers that had gathered at the far end of the great hall.
Her hand was still warm from Rogan’s touch.
“I respected your father greatly,” Rogan whispered, leaning close to Isobel’s ear so that no one would discern his carefully guarded words. “I see his attributes in you, Isobel. You are a strong, intelligent woman. You will make an able wife.”
Isobel’s breath hitched in her throat.
Rogan knows. He knows of my father’s death!
Isobel’s mind spun wildly. Surely Hector had told his son of her father’s death. Could Rogan be trusted with such a dangerous secret?
Isobel suddenly remembered one of her father’s favorite sayings.
Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer.
Rogan Cameron might prove to be a most dangerous enemy.
Isobel pondered how to play her game wisely.
“Do you care to dance, Rogan?” Isobel asked sweetly, smiling shyly as she looked at the man sitting next to her for the first time all evening.
“Aye, lass,” he said, his surprise evident in his voice. “I’d like that verra much.”
Rogan stood and extended his hand to Isobel.
She placed her hand in his, stealing her reserve and forcing herself to smile as Rogan led her towards the music.
Rogan lifted her fingers towards his lips. He kissed her knuckles. His lips were wet against her skin, causing shivers of distaste to reverberate through Isobel’s body.
Isobel forced herself to smile at Rogan.
Rogan led her right in front of Tristan, who sat with Brandon on a bench near the musicians. Isobel dared not look at Tristan.
She felt his eyes upon her, watching, scrutinizing how Rogan held her as they danced.
Isobel’s heart sped up, thundering from the force of her betrayal.
Rogan’s hands felt wrong against her skin.
He spun her to the time of the music.
Isobel made a dramatic mistake.
She glanced at Tristan.
Although her eyes met with his for only an instant, she saw the controlled rage in his hazel eyes. She saw the heat of his jealousy burning, igniting a fire in his soul.
Tristan looked as though he might kill Rogan, right then and there.
Isobel vowed not to look at Tristan again for the remainder of the evening.
Looking at him caused her heart to hurt.
Indulging Rogan was a very dangerous game. She laughed softly and smiled up at Rogan sweetly.
Isobel knew that she was playing with fire, but it was a fire that she hoped to control.
For Rogan Cameron was most certainly a dangerous enemy.
And for that very reason, Isobel would keep him close by her side.
..oo Chapter Thirteen oo..
Isobel made the long climb up the stairs towards her chamber. She was bone tired and wanted nothing more than to be away from the prying eyes of the great hall. Spending the evening with Rogan Cameron had been torture. Pretending to enjoy his attentions had been a most distinct form of torture.
Isobel had failed miserably at avoiding Tristan’s intense gaze.
Her eyes had strayed numerous times throughout the evening. They had betrayed her and been drawn to Tristan as often as she could reconcile sneaking a glance in his direction. She had felt the burn of Tristan’s eyes upon her while she had danced with Rogan and while she had conversed with him afterwards.
Tristan had been jealous beyond belief.
His muscles had been tense, his jaw clenched in anger.
Isobel reached for the handle to her c
hamber. It squeaked loudly as she turned it. Just as she stepped over the threshold, a large hand clasped down over her mouth.
Pure terror shot down Isobel’s spine.
Isobel screamed against the hand, kicking her legs in protest against the shins of her attacker. She tried to reach for her concealed dagger, but the assailant had her arms pinned uselessly against her sides. In a final act of desperation, she bit down against the man’s solid finger as hard as she could.
The man lifted her off her feet and whisked her stealthily into her chamber.
“Shh! ‘Tis me!” Tristan said brusquely as he removed his hand from Isobel’s mouth and turned to bolt the door behind them. “Christ that hurt!” he exclaimed as he shook his hand.
“What are you doing here Tristan?” Isobel asked in an urgent whisper. “You cannot be in here! My maid…what if she finds you here and screams? You will be thrown out of the tournament for sure!”
“Shh…calm yourself, lass,” Tristan said with a slow smile. “I’ve had Brandon take care of your maid. She will be awhile yet,” he said with a sly wink.
He closed the distance between them in one stride and gathered Isobel into his arms, cradling her head against his chest.
“Shh…” he whispered as he smoothed her hair and kissed the top of her head. “I had to see you, love.”
Isobel felt the tears burning her eyes and before she could resign to hold them back, they spilled forth. Being enclosed in the warm safety of Tristan’s arms had caused the last of her defenses to crumble.
“Tonight was horrid,” she said softly against Tristan’s chest.
“Aye,” he agreed. “I wanted to kill that bastard.”
Isobel wiped her tears on Tristan’s linen shirt. She pulled her face away from the solace of his chest and looked up at him.
“Twas all an act! I promise that it was all an act,” she sniffled, hoping that Tristan would understand her intentions.
Tristan took her face between his hands and brushed his thumbs gently beneath her eyes, wiping away the last remnants of her tears.