The rough bark of the tree dug into her back. Well, she’d better get used to being uncomfortable. Thoughts of what she’d cohabitate with in the MacLachlan pit made her squirm. And that would only be the beginning of the misery.
She stiffened at his approach, but noted the bowl he carried. Their gazes met. No emotion lived in the silver depths of his eyes. He placed the bowl on a nearby flat rock and just stared at her for a moment longer.
“Thought you might be hungry. I will release you to eat if you vow not to run.”
Isobell cleared a parched throat, but only nodded, refusing to speak. What could she say? Deny her involvement in the raids? She wouldn’t lie to him, but she would do whatever it took to escape.
Archibald frowned then bent and untied the binding.
Once free, she jumped to her feet and brushed the raw skin of her wrists with a light touch. What? Was that regret passing over Archie’s fine features? As quickly gone.
His nearness made her stomach flutter. He still presented a fine form. Memories of better times bombarded her. She swallowed against the onslaught.
Remember—you hate him.
She scanned the area. Where was the best route to freedom?
He arched a brow. “Dinnae even think it.”
She would never evade him nor was she fast enough to outrun him while he was awake. But once he slept…
She’d eat first. Not because it was what he wanted, but because it would provide renewed strength.
Isobell picked up the bowl and sat on the rock. He watched, arms crossed, eyes empty.
“Where are my cattle?” His rough-spoken words broke the silence.
She lowered the bowl from her lips. “I dinnae ken of what you speak.”
“Isobell, this is not a game. You and your fine horse were spotted at the scene of a destructive raid. Men were injured. Cattle stolen.”
“You surely have many enemies, among whom it is certain at least one exists who wishes to inflict revenge upon your person and clan.”
“Is that what this is about? You believe I have done something to deserve your desire for revenge?”
“Aye.”
He shook his head. “My clan will demand justice. The punishment will not end with a mere flogging.”
“And what of my clan and the atrocities perpetrated against it by you and yours?” Archibald knocked the bowl away, grabbed her arm, and pulled her up. His grip was hurtful. She glared. “Let go of me.”
He pulled her against his chest. “Where are my cattle? Tell me.”
His breath was hot on her face. She felt the entire length of him, muscles coiled with rage, through the thin fabric of the lad’s rags she wore. So different than when she’d longed for his touch over a year ago, wearing garments of many layers, dressed as a woman.
They were both breathing hard. The silver of his eyes went molten with lust.
So he still wanted her. Something to use against him. If she could distract him, perhaps she could filch one of the blades hidden on his person. She leaned in and rubbed against his burgeoning arousal with invitation.
He inhaled a gusty breath before laying siege to her mouth. The kiss was not as expected. She whimpered and drew his tongue into the moist recesses of her mouth. It had been so long since—
She chose to ignore the insect that buzzed past her ear.
Archie shoved her to the ground. She hit hard with a thump, hurting her hip. He landed on top and covered her mouth with a hand.
“Whist,” he whispered. “Your fellow thieves just tried to put an arrow into you. Why, I wonder?”
More likely they intended to pierce his heart and she got in the way. The telltale sound of men moving through underbrush gave her hope for escape from the fate Archibald planned for her. She squirmed, trying to break free of his grasp.
“Keep still, you fool,” he growled in a quiet tone. “Dinnae move until I tell you ’tis safe.” Archibald crept away. Moments later, the sound of blade striking blade rent the air.
Isobell refused to remain put and wait for Archibald to haul her off to Castle Lachlan to stand trial. She jumped up, waved arms in the air, and hollered, “Over here!”
An arrow shot past, narrowly missing its mark—her.
She dropped to the ground and scooted behind the tree to which she’d previously been tied. Archie was right. They were after her. Why?
Arrows whipped past the tree in frightening numbers. The clang of steel became maddening since darkness had fallen and it wasn’t clear if Archie was winning. She hoped he would. She didn’t want to die this night.
The moon cleared a cloud, shedding light onto the clearing. A man screamed and fell. Another—one of the men she previously led—replaced him. By some miracle the flying arrows kept missing the fighting men. As an arrow landed in a nearby bush, she made a dash for Archie’s horse and grabbed her sword from the scabbard attached to the saddle where he’d stowed it earlier.
She hesitated, unsure what to do. An arrow winged past. Her chances of surviving this night might be best served with Archie.
She jumped into the fray positioned at his back. Thrusting and parrying, arm growing heavy, she at last yanked the blooded sword from the dead man at her feet. The one Archie fought soon lost his head.
Her blade slipped from a trembling hand and landed next to the gruesome sight. Archie grabbed the sword, swiped it over the dead man’s tunic to remove most of the blood, and replaced it in the scabbard along with his claymore.
Isobell slipped to the ground onto her bum, curled forward, and sucked in large quantities of air, hoping the nausea would pass.
“Do you plan on telling me why your band of renegades is set on killing you?” Archie dropped to sit beside her with a grunt.
It could be only one thing—Maclay didn’t want anyone to ken he survived the fall from the cliff. ’Tis probably in my best interest to keep that wee secret to myself. For now. She shrugged. “Dinnae ken.”
Archie pursed his lips, looked at her hard, and released a loud sigh. “Come on, we need to be away from here before the others return with more arrows. He tossed her onto the horse and leapt up behind. Too close for comfort.
“What do you plan to do with me?” Her voice sounded as tired as she felt, but she’d had to ask so she could prepare for the worst.
He didn’t answer, just kept riding. She held stiff, leaning forward away from his body, so not to be affected by his manly assets. She couldn’t allow fond memories to soften her feelings toward him. Naught had changed between them. Escape remained essential, and she now had two factions to avoid.
After she’d given up on learning Archibald’s intent, he said, “Perhaps ’tis time for a truce.”
CHAPTER THREE
Archibald smiled. Isobell hadn’t held the stiff position for long and, as they rode, gradually leaned back against his chest, succumbed to exhaustion, and fell asleep. Soft strands of raven hair teased his cheek. The lass was a mystery. Being close, remembering the kiss, made him hard and needy. They’d been so in love once upon a time. Lips thinned, he shook off the raw emotion.
After they reached Castle Lachlan and wed, he’d need to learn the reason for her disloyalty and ensure no opportunities provided for future betrayals. He’d put a son in her belly quickly, God willing. That should keep her busy and out of trouble.
Unable to stop, he slid inquisitive fingers over the curve of her face. Much changed over the past year—matured. Violet eyes fluttered open and she smiled, until realizing she draped his lap. Isobell bolted upright, putting symbolic distance between them.
He shouldn’t hang onto the hope of their love returning. With a sigh, he guided the horse out of the trees and across the moor above Loch Fyne. The weather had changed. A breeze off the water brought a chill, and he wished the lass wore warmer garments.
The sight of Castle Lachlan on its islet in the bay filled Archibald with pride. It always had. Each time he returned home.
“Snow.” Isobell sounded surpri
sed. The first flakes of the season floated to the ground and quickly melted.
“Aye. Aine claims to have read the signs. We should expect an early winter.”
Aine MacTamhais had taken care of the household at Castle Lachlan for as long as Archibald could remember. What would she think of him wedding Isobell once she learned the lass participated in the most recent raid?
Perhaps neither Aine nor the rest of the clan needed to learn of the lass’s participation. Duncan would keep the secret if asked. No one else needed to ken the particulars.
If only he could convince Isobell to keep their battle private behind the closed door of the bedchamber. The thought of wrestling with her on the big bed in the chief’s bedchamber brought a half-smile and an image of other things they’d do together on that same bed.
The images shattered when realty arrived along with the lad running from the stable to offer assistance. Archibald threw him the reins, leapt from the horse, and then reached for Isobell.
“I hate you.”
Her declaration was a clear reminder of the battle awaiting him. He lifted Isobell from the horse and purposefully slid her rigid form down his front. Let her feel the demands of his body.
He wasn’t expecting the slap across the face, the sound overloud, though he should have. The stable lad’s eyes rounded, and he drew a blade. Another lad approached, dirk in hand, ready to defend his chief.
A shake of the head signaled them to stand down. At the same time, Archibald grabbed Isobell’s wrists to stop any further assault. The lads seemed unsure, but finally gathered he had things under control and went back to their tasks. “The next time you lay a hand on me in anger, I will put you over a knee and spank you until you beg forgiveness.”
Jaw tight, she tugged her arm free, which he allowed.
“I ken. You hate me,” he said when she opened her mouth to retort. She shut it with a snap. Their reunion was going poorly, but he supposed it would be too much to expect more under the circumstances. “I also ken you will agree to all my demands, from this day forward.”
Her brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“I plan to protect you from your foolishness.”
The brazen lass had the nerve to snort.
“Come.” He took hold of her upper arm and guided, half-dragged, her down the slope to the beach where a currach waited. “Get in.”
Isobell scowled, but did as asked. The wee boat, made of skins and wicker, rocked, more so when he climbed in behind. He rowed in silence.
He wanted to ask questions. Learn what role she played in the raid. Had she been involved in other raids? Who was their leader? Where were the cattle? Instead he held his peace, perhaps afraid of the answers.
Was he daft to go ahead with the wedding? Did he risk his life? Time would tell.
When they reached the opposite shore, he sprang from the boat and dragged it onto the shingle. He took hold of her arm to help her from the craft, but she pulled free. “Dinnae need your assistance.”
“Ach, but you do.”
He reached for her, but she hopped out and kicked him in the shins. Before he thought better of it, he tackled her, rolling so he took the brunt of the fall, then rolling again to pin her beneath his weight. “You need discipline.”
She squirmed. Bucked. Tried to push him off, without avail.
He held her prone. Hated treating her roughly, but she fought him at every step. What had happened to the Isobell he’d fallen in love with so long ago? Did she still exist?
“You bastard,” she spit, eyes taking on the hues of a stormy night.
“And you have a dirty mouth.” Of which he felt the need to possess.
Fraught with emotions held in check for far too long, Archibald seized and conquered. Isobell yielded with a whimper then responded in kind.
When the kiss ended, they both panted. He found it hard to look at her eyes. Nor did she seem willing to look at him.
The sound of a clearing throat and then a chuckle was a splash of cold water to Archibald. What was he doing rolling on the cold, wet ground with his reluctant betrothed?
He jumped up quickly and helped Isobell to stand.
She averted her gaze, but not before he saw moisture glistening on her lashes. He banged a closed fist against his thigh then glanced at his grinning uncle.
Archibald had the urge to shed some of the tension coiling his muscles by punching Donald in the face. He swallowed the impulse. “What news, uncle?”
“I see you and Isobell have come to an accord. And not too soon. Her father awaits with the priest in the council chamber.”
* * *
Isobell held trembling fingers to tingling lips. She was a fool. She’d thought to use Archibald’s physical desire against him. Instead, he’d used his lips to easily bring her into submission. ’Twould be in her best interest not to allow him to kiss her in the future.
His kisses were too sweet by far. And why was he so free with them if he believed her a criminal? Her father claimed Archibald bedded many women. Sometimes taking multiple partners. A rogue. He’d even take a woman he deplored.
He wouldn’t dare touch her in that manner again. Certainly not. She refused to be added to the number of conquests.
Isobell held her head high and allowed the men to escort her into the castle. Shocked gasps sounded through the great hall as she entered. She half-smiled. No doubt she looked much different than from her last visit. And not only due to the tatters she now wore, but because she’d changed much while trying to survive during the past year on the fringe of civilization.
She scanned the chamber, looking for Da. The great hall was much the same as she remembered. Dim light ventured in through the leaded glass of the high windows. A man lingering near one of the many tall, iron stands, face illuminated by candlelight, resembled her father. But no, ’twas one of her clansmen, proof the Lamont abided nearby.
Her roaming gaze landed on the large hearth and the roaring fire. She shivered, wishing Archibald would seat her in one of the several cushioned chairs near its warmth. He wouldn’t. Not with the way she was dressed in filthy rags. She might ruin the green velvet.
Nor would he trust her away from his side. Not that she blamed him. With the first opportunity given, she would escape the castle and hide from not only Archibald but also Maclay and the Lamont renegades.
“This way.” Archibald directed her in the opposite direction toward the stairwell.
Before she took a step, a plump older woman hurried across the stone floor toward them. Aine? Isobell remembered the gray-haired woman being kind during the last visit to Castle Lachlan.
“Tsk, tsk. You must be chilled to the bone, lass. Come with me. I have a comfortable chamber waiting with a warm fire and hot food.” A gentle arm wrapped around Isobell, and Aine whisked her away from the men. “Your father has brought several fine gowns.”
“Wait!” The demand stopped them mid-step.
Archibald strode to their side, and clutched Isobell’s arm. She feared pulling away, his anger palpable. Aine peered at him through narrowed eyes.
“My lady needs meet with her father and the priest first then she may prepare for…” He let the words trail off.
Isobell gulped, more than able to fill in the rest. To prepare for her trial and judgment. And a priest? To give last rites? Could Archibald plan to condemn her to death?
He’d implied he would protect her. To what length? At what price?
When she joined the reivers, she’d been aware death might be her fate. Yet she’d never believed she would be captured, concentrating only on the act of revenge.
The silver of Archibald’s eyes had turned to ice. He grasped her elbow, and she let him guide her up the circular stairs to the next floor.
A substantial space, the council chamber revealed the prestige of Clan MacLachlan, from the well-polished oak flooring, to the elaborate wooden screen with slats weaved in complicated Celtic knots, to the gem-laden goblets in the aumbry. H
ad she wedded with Archibald last year, she would have added to the wealth.
Her father and a man dressed in the frock of the Blackfriars of Glasgow strode toward them with purpose.
“My dearest, Isobell, you will not mind if I dinnae embrace you in your current…” With a frown, Da swept a hand indicating the garments she wore. “MacLachlan, why wasn’t she given a bath and fresh garments before presentation?”
“I want the contract signed now. Afterward, she can bathe and return for the festivities.”
“What contract?” Isobell glanced from man to man. “What are you talking about?”
The priest leaned in close. “You must consider your limited options. Under the circumstances, ’twill be in your best interest to sign, my dear.”
Archibald frowned, brow furrowed. “I gather Duncan shared how we found Isobell?”
Her father nodded solemnly then pulled her aside. “You were always a difficult child. I spoiled you, but nae more. Marriage will be better than the, um, alternative.”
Marriage? She turned on Archibald. His impassive gaze bore into her. “I will not wed with you. No one can force me to say vows.”
Archibald glared at his betrothed unable to understand why Isobell would rather go through with a grueling trial and risk a dreadful punishment than wed. “You must.”
“Says you?”
“You wanted this marriage at one time.” He towered over her, hoping to intimidate.
“Aye. As a young foolish lass hurting from Patrick’s callous rejection.”
“Would you rather have wed my twin?” Archibald hated how much that thought hurt.
“Nae!” Isobell looked horrified. At least there was that.
“Donald? Had my eldest brother not died?”
Isobell shot a nasty look at her father. “Da has been determined to wed me to a MacLachlan chief since my birth. How tragic. I have had three betrothals, to three brothers, and none suit.”
“We suit just fine. You were once more than happy to agree to wed with me. Had you not, I would have returned you to your father after Patrick’s wedding to Lady Laurie, and found another woman to bear my sons.”
Dawn Marie Hamilton - Highland Gardens Page 3