Isolated Hearts (Legends of Love Book 2)

by Avril Borthiry

  Giselle heard a sharp intake of air flood the man’s lungs. Then he let out a short, harsh laugh. “Do ye jest?”

  Behind her, she heard a subdued, yet ominous, murmur from the warriors.

  “He speaks the truth,” Giselle said, tears pricking her eyes. “Ninian fell and hit his head. We did what we could for him, but his injury was too great. If it’s any consolation at all, he died peacefully in his sleep.”

  “An accident.” The man’s composed tone failed to mask his underlying doubt. “Explain this accident and why it is ye are livin’ in Ninian’s house.”

  Luc opened his mouth to speak, but the man’s raised hand halted him.

  “Nay, stay yer tongue,” the man said. “I’d like this wee lass tae explain it. Carry on, pet. Dinna be afraid.”

  “We… we were shipwrecked here.” Giselle’s throat tightened. “We found Ninian’s house, but it was empty, so—”

  “Shipwrecked?” The sharp interruption startled her.

  She nodded. “We knew someone lived here, but we didn’t know who or where he was. We found him two days later, unconscious on the shore. Like I said, he’d fallen and hit his head. We brought him back here and tried to save him. In truth, I thought we had, because he rallied for a while. But then I awoke one morning and found…I found—”

  “By all the gods,” the man murmured. “It canna be true.”

  Giselle frowned. “It is true,” she said, discomforted by the wild look in the man’s eyes. “I swear it.”

  He switched his gaze to Luc. “Luc who?” he asked. “I’m curious tae know yer full name.”

  Luc shifted on his feet. “Why?”

  “Just speak yer damn name!” Impatience sharpened the man’s tone. “It’ll no’ kill ye to say it.”

  “My name is Luc de Warenne.”

  The man drew breath and opened his mouth as if to respond. Instead, he glanced across to the mainland, his expression pensive. One of his warriors appeared to ask a question and the man replied with a curt nod of his head.

  “What was the name of your ship, Luc de Warenne?” he asked, without turning.

  “The Marguerite.”

  He flinched. “Did anyone else survive?”

  “Not as far as we know.”

  “She foundered on the rocks?”

  “Nay, she burned at sea. An oil lamp fell during a storm.”

  “At sea?” The man threw him an incredulous glance. “Are ye tellin’ me ye swam ashore?”

  “Aye.” Luc grimaced. “I mean, nay, not exactly. We grabbed onto some wreckage. Without that to keep us afloat, we’d have drowned”

  Eyes narrowed, the man regarded Giselle. “And where was the Marguerite headed?”

  Luc didn’t respond.

  “Are ye deaf, Luc?”

  “Nay.”

  “Then answer the question.”

  “A fishing port on the western coast.”

  “Well, that narrows it down.” The man tilted his head and continued to study Giselle. “Ye’ll forgive me, Luc de Warenne, but I’m findin’ this a wee bit difficult tae believe.”

  Luc gave a soft laugh. “Why would I lie, for Christ’s sake? You’re the one holding a defenseless female captive and with a small army at your back.”

  “That’s no’ what I meant.”

  Bewildered by the sheer intensity of the man’s gaze, Giselle shook her head, trying to discern what lay behind such scrutiny. Unable to look away, she stared up at him. Like a whisper, her mother’s voice drifted into her ear.

  “He’s tall. Strong of limb and broad of shoulder…”

  Near as tall and broad as Luc, Giselle thought. And what strange eyes. Deep, dark blue, flecked with tiny points of silver. They reminded her of a…

  Her breath caught.

  “He has beautiful eyes. Remarkable. It’s like looking at the night sky.”

  Her legs trembled.

  “Tell me yer name, lass,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

  Why did she get the feeling he already knew it? And what outlandish suspicion had just raised its head in her mind?

  “My name is Giselle,” she replied, with some trepidation. “Giselle de Courtenay.”

  The man made a sound that could have been a sob or a laugh, his face contorting as if in pain. The red-headed warrior uttered something and stepped forward. Without turning, her captor shook his head and gave Giselle’s wrist a discernable squeeze. The gesture caused her to look down and she stifled a gasp at the sight of the familiar ring on his third finger.

  “Your ring! It’s the same as Ninian’s.” She tugged the leather thong from beneath her robe. “See? I have it right here. He gave it to me and asked me to take care of it. It’s too big for my fingers, of course, which is why I wear it this way.”

  A look of confusion crossed the man’s face. “Are ye sayin’ ye’ve no’ seen the ring before?”

  Giselle blinked. “Before?”

  “Aye, before Ninian gave ye this one. Which, now I come tae think of it, raises another question. The man didna speak yer language, so how could ye know what he was sayin’?”

  Giselle scowled. Was he suggesting she’d lied? “Ninian’s words were foreign to me, but their meaning was quite clear. Right before he died, he placed the ring in my hand and closed my fingers around it.” She took a breath, trying to still the tremor in her voice. “I believe he did so because he knew he was dying. For some reason, I felt a connection to him. I believe he felt it, too. I cannot explain how or why, but it was as if I’d always known him. I was heartbroken when he died and still mourn him. I’m so sorry for your loss, sir.”

  “I appreciate that. And I apologize if my doubt offends ye, but there are certain things I need tae be sure of.” The man waggled the ring he still held. “So, ye’d never seen its likeness afore ye met Ninian?”

  “I – I don’t think so.” Giselle chewed on her lip. “In truth, I’m not sure. When I first saw it, it seemed familiar, but—”

  “Wait.” Luc stepped forward. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

  The man cast a brief, nonchalant glance at Luc. “But what, lass?” he said, letting the ring drop against her chest. “Finish what ye were about tae say.”

  “Well, I thought it seemed familiar, but I’m not sure why.”

  The man grunted. “So, ye dinna possess another like it?”

  Bewildered, Giselle shook her head. “No, I don’t. Why would you think that?”

  “Because of who ye claim tae be.” He sighed. “’Tis the only thing standin’ in the way of the truth.”

  “Who I claim to be?” Giselle rubbed her temple. “I don’t understand what you mean. I know who I am. And of what truth do you speak? You’re making no sense. I’ve told you the truth.”

  “Perhaps it’s time we knew who you are,” Luc said, “and I also think it’s time you released the girl.”

  The man relinquished his grip without pause, but Giselle stayed where she was, pinned in place by unanswered questions and the haunted expression on the man’s face.

  “Courageous. Impetuous. But possessed of a gentle heart…”

  She placed a hand on his chest. “Please tell me who you are.”

  You’ll recognize him, I’m sure.

  She just needed to hear it.

  “Where were ye headed, lass?” the man asked. “Before yer ship foundered, where were ye headed? Why were ye aboard that ship?”

  “I suspect you already know the answer to that, Laird MacRoth.” Luc lowered his blade. “And as for the ring you speak of, the one identical to Ninian’s, I had it when I left the burning ship, but I no longer had it when I reached the shore of this isle. Henri de Courtenay entrusted it to me before we left France. Told me to guard it with near as much care as I would afford his niece. Obviously, I failed in that. Henri assured me it would guarantee us safe passage to Glenross and your acceptance of Lady Giselle into your home. Not Henri’s words, either, but those of his sister as she faced her demise. Did Lad
y Isabeau speak true?”

  Giselle’s stomach clenched. “Mama’s ring was the same as Ninian’s? For God’s sake, Luc, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I didn’t know who Ninian was.” Luc, a pained expression on his face, gestured with his hand. “How he related to all of this. How he related to you. Losing your mother. Losing Anna. You were already burdened to the limit with grief. I decided telling you about the ring would only to add to your anguish. That’s why I chose to keep it to myself. There was no intent to deceive. I wanted only to protect you.”

  “And yer blessed mother spoke true, right enough.” The man’s soft voice came to her ear. “Do ye know who I am, mo nighean? I think ye do.”

  Validation, understanding and astonishment combined in a mind-numbing trinity. Giselle turned her gaze back to the man at her side, who was staring at her with unabashed intensity. “You’re Hamish MacRoth,” she said, her heart beating so hard she could hardly breathe. “You’re my father.”

  He groaned, cupped her face, and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Aye, and till a few moments ago, I’d thought I’d lost ye before ever havin’ met ye. May the gods be praised. ’Tis a miracle. I can barely grasp the reality of it.”

  Giselle stared up at him, again seeking something of herself in his strong features. The red threads in her hair, perhaps. Her lashes, thick and dark, like his. Like Ninian’s, before they turned white.

  “Ye have the look of yer mother,” Hamish said, obviously studying her with similar intent. “’Tis her bonny eyes I see lookin’ at me.”

  “From what you say, Laird MacRoth, I must assume you’ve been alerted to our disappearance.” Luc’s tone drew Giselle’s attention away from her father. The dutiful knight had returned, it seemed. “Which means Lord de Courtenay must have contacted you.”

  MacRoth grunted, released Giselle and regarded Luc. “Before we get tae that, Luc de Warenne, I have tae voice my disappointment.”

  Luc looked puzzled. “About what?”

  “It seems ye have failed in yer duty.”

  His face cleared. “The ring. Aye, I know, and for that I am truly—”

  “I dinna care about the ring.” Hamish nodded at Giselle. “I’m speakin’ of this lass here.”

  Giselle’s poor heart sped up again. What did he mean?

  Luc blinked. “How so, my lord?”

  “Despite what ye say, ye failed tae protect her. I walked right up tae her just now with ease. Could have slit her bonny throat where she stood, or made off with her, and ye’d have been none the wiser for it.”

  Giselle gasped. “Oh, but you judge him unfairly. We’ve been here for weeks and not seen a soul. ’Tis unreasonable to expect I should be guarded at every turn. And you should also know that he saved my life.”

  “Your father’s observations have merit, my lady,” Luc said. “I failed you, and badly.”

  “Aye, well, since ye saved my daughter’s life, I believe I’ll overlook yer failings.” Hamish cleared his throat. “And tae answer yer previous question, Henri de Courtenay did, indeed, send an envoy tae Glenross. Bertrand FitzGerald is the man’s name, although I can think o’ more suitable epithets. Arrived three days ago. Do ye know of him?”

  Luc’s lip curled. “Unfortunately, yes. I agree he’s irritating, but thorough, and despite appearances, does not lack courage.”

  “He’s a wee slime.” Hamish turned toward his men. “These are three of Glenross’ finest, by the way. Yon red-haired beast is Drew. The ugly creature in the middle is Taran, and this handsome bastard here goes by the name o’ Eadan.” He winked at Giselle. “But they dinna speak yer language, pet, so ye can call them anythin’ ye like.”

  Luc glanced around. “I assume, then, we must prepare to leave this place.”

  His entire demeanor, Giselle observed, had now become the way it used to be; disciplined and efficient. Gone was the gentle gleam in his eye and the mild tonality of his voice. Despite a mild twinge of apprehension, she kept her expression calm. After all, what else could she expect? It was hardly the moment to blurt out the truth of their relationship. And with that thought came a disconcerting niggle of apprehension. Their lives, once again, were about to change.

  Drastically.

  “Aye,” Hamish said, still looking at Giselle with something akin to wonder. “Ye can start collectin’ yer things together.”

  “We have nothing to bring, really. All our possessions were lost in the shipwreck.” Giselle looked down at her makeshift tunic. “I can barely remember what it feels like to wear fitted clothes.”

  Hamish smiled and tugged on a strand of her hair. “Och, well, ye’ll no’ be without pretty clothes much longer, pet. I’ll see tae that.”

  Luc cleared his throat. “Not all our possessions were lost. Might there be room on your boat for a horse, Laird MacRoth?”

  “A horse?” Hamish raised a brow and glanced about, an expression of disbelief on his face. “Ye have a horse?”

  Giselle chuckled. “His name is Minstrel. He’s Luc’s horse. I’m surprised you didn’t see him on your way here.”

  “Are ye tellin’ me the horse survived as well?” Hamish scratched his head. “By my faith, ye are beyond blessed.”

  “We had a guide of sorts,” Luc said, glancing at Giselle. “Without it, I doubt we’d have found this place. I can only assume Minstrel saw it, too.”

  Hamish frowned. “A guide?”

  “A column of light.” Luc gestured to the distant stones. The strange mist had vanished, Giselle realized. “It seemed to originate in the circle, although we’ve never discovered what caused it. We assume Ninian created it somehow.”

  “A column of light,” Hamish repeated, as if voicing a revelation. He turned and spoke to his men.

  “It appears you know of it,” Luc said, echoing Giselle’s own thoughts.

  Hamish nodded. “Aye. It was seen from the mainland, but the person who saw it didna grasp its significance, so it was never reported. At least, no’ till my men went in search of a lost French ship and those aboard.”

  “An optimistic venture to say the least,” Luc said. “You must have known the odds of finding us were beyond slight.”

  Hamish gave a soft chuckle. “Do ye no’ see the shock still etched on my face? In truth, we came here tae check on Ninian. I never expected tae find anyone else. And in answer tae yer question, yer horse will have tae stay where he is fer now.”

  “What about the goats?” Giselle asked. “We can’t leave them penned. And Bella needs to be milked every day.”

  “Dinna fret, mo nighean,” Hamish said, “I’ll send someone back here tae take care of the animals and clear out Ninian’s things, too.”

  “Can Bella come on the boat with us at least?” Giselle pleaded, wondering, at the same time, what she should call Hamish. “Surely you have room for her.”

  Hamish looked bemused. “Is Bella someone of significance?”

  “She’s the black nanny goat.”

  “Ah! Nay, no’ this time. Bella will be fine here for a day or two. But, before we go anywhere…” His expression sobered. “I’d like tae pay my respects tae my poor uncle. Where does his body lie?”

  Giselle gasped. “Ninian was your uncle?”

  He nodded. “My father’s brother.”

  “That means he was my great uncle!” She clasped her hands together. “Oh, it means much to know we were related. For some reason, I suspected we were.”

  “An’ I suspect he knew it, too.” Hamish glanced around “Will ye take me tae where he rests, lass?”

  She nodded and gestured past him, toward the cliffs. “It’s not far. I chose a sheltered spot for him with a fine view.”

  *

  “I hope you approve,” Giselle said, looping her arm through Hamish’s as they headed down the path.

  He smiled down at her, wondering to what she referred. Chaos filled the space between his ears. He had yet to sort through his shock and emotions, many of the latter new to hi
m. He needed to untangle and define them. Set them in order. At that particular moment, it seemed like a daunting prospect. “Approve of what, pet?”

  “Of the resting place I chose for Ninian.”

  “Och, I’m sure it’s fine.”

  She fell silent for a moment. “Why was he here? All alone?”

  Hamish shrugged. “Ninian was a simple man. He enjoyed the solitude of Eilean Gheata. He liked tae write, although I’m sure ye noticed that.”

  “Eilean Gheata?” She glanced up at him. “Is that the name of the island? I’m sure Ninian said ‘gheata’, but I didn’t know what it meant.”

  He nodded. “It means gate. This is the Island of the Gate.”

  “Hmm.” Giselle frowned. “We never found any kind of gate.”

  “It refers tae yonder circle.”

  “Oh.” Giselle looked across to the distant hill. “Have you ever been there?”

  He chuckled. “Once or twice.”

  “You must know of it, then.” Giselle turned off the path and headed toward the cliffs. “It’s this way.”

  “Know of it?”

  “The strange silence at its center.”

  Hamish nodded again. “It’s called mòr sìth, which means ‘great peace’.”

  “Mor shee,” she repeated. “’Tis a true oddity. What causes it?”

  Hamish huffed. “Did yer mother no’ tell ye about the magic?”

  She gave him a doubtful glance. “Mama told me there was magic at Glenross but I’m not sure I believed her. I thought it was the fever speaking. That said, I fully admit this place is…um…”

  “Magic?” He waggled an eyebrow and Giselle laughed.

  “I was going to say mysterious.”

  “Magic and mystery. ’Tis often one and the same.”

  “Minstrel will not go near the stones, either.”

  “’Tis the mòr sìth. Animals dinna like the sound of it.”

  She regarded him, aghast. “Silence has a sound?”

  “Aye, of course it does. Silence is what ye hear when all other noises cease.”

  “Oh!” She appeared to ponder for a moment. “I never thought of it that way.”

  Hamish took a slow breath, unsure of how to proceed further. “Giselle, I canna begin tae tell ye how sad I was tae hear of yer mother’s passin’. Ye should know that Isabeau has always had a special place in my heart.”