In the darkness, her hair looked black, yet he recalled it as a chestnut color, vibrant with varying shades of dark and light browns. Without thought, he reached out and smoothed her hair back, wanting to see her entire face. She immediately stirred, and as he held his breath, her eyes slowly opened.
A crease appeared between her dark brows, then her eyes flew wide as she stared at her leg thrown over his. Her lips parted, and he could almost feel her heart explode in her chest, which was pressed firmly against his. Then she had both hands on him and was pushing away. He released his hold on her, surprised at how acutely he felt the loss.
“What were ye doing?” she demanded, accusation dripping from her words.
He smirked at her. “Warming ye. When I came upon ye, ye were shivering so violently that I feared ye would become ill.”
She raised an eyebrow. “So ye needed to turn me to face ye and crush my chest up against yers to simply warm me, did ye?”
“I did nae. Ye turned toward me and wound yerself around me.”
She bit her lip with obvious distress, making it almost impossible not to smile at her discomfiture. He could not resist taunting her more, just to see her reaction. “Ye slung yer leg over my wee body and wrapped yer arm tight around me. I could hardly move ye held me so tightly.”
“Nay, I—”
He wanted to laugh, but he swallowed his merriment and tried to affect a serious tone. “I was stuck. I did nae wish to wake ye, so I simply held still. Quite torturous, I assure ye. It seems ye like me more in yer sleep than ye do awake,” he added, but then he winked so she would know he had been toying with her.
Her wide eyes narrowed. She was a beautiful lass, but when she was angry and her eyes sparked with it, she was a sight to behold—the sort of lass bards wove tales about and sang about until the early morning hours.
“Ye were teasing me,” she exclaimed, sitting up and drawing her knees to her chest. She looked so small and fragile that the urge to protect her washed over him again.
“Only partly,” he acknowledged. “Ye did nestle against me, but I rather enjoyed it. Ye’re quite bonny, and I am a man, aye? I’m nae made of stone.” He hadn’t meant to admit that much, but when a shy smile came to her face and made two fetching indentations appear in her cheeks, his gut tightened and he was glad he had said what he had since it had allowed him a glimpse of another facet of her loveliness.
She ran a finger back and forth in the grass before she spoke. “Ye feel as if ye’re made of stone. Ye’re verra hard.”
“Am I now?” he replied, unable to keep his voice from growing deep and husky. He knew well she had not given a thought to his groin, but all he could think of was how much her innocent statement made him want to crush his mouth to hers.
She released a sharp gasp. “I did nae mean—That is, I was referring to yer chest. It feels like it’s forged of iron.”
The woman was going to kill him with her unintended seductive talk.
“Tell me of yer time at the nunnery,” he blurted, wishing to move the conversation away from his hard body while also wanting to learn about her. She was his captive, after all, and she would soon be used to strengthen the king’s position, so it would be prudent to know what events had shaped the person she was.
She stilled and gave him a long, wary look. “Why do ye care?”
“It’s good to ken yer enemies, aye?” He frowned as soon as he said the words. He could not imagine what had possessed him to utter such a thing to her, except that he felt vulnerable somehow, as if admitting that she intrigued him in a more personal way made him weak and foolish.
Marsaili’s snores filled the tense silence that followed his statement, and Isobel pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, almost as if she were protecting herself from something. Perchance from her memories, or perchance from him…
“We are enemies, then,” she said. It was not a question but a statement of the truth she thought he had now confirmed. Regret burned in his gut, yet he would not rescind his words. He had a notion it might be better if she kept her guard up.
Still, he shifted with an overwhelming desire to know what she believed. What if she had changed her mind?
“Do ye nae believe it to be so?” he asked.
“I did,” she said firmly. “But I dunnae ken what to think or who to trust any longer.”
He opened his mouth to say he understood, but she spoke. “My time at Iona was long,” she started, weariness making her words slow. “Verra long. Imagine a cold place.”
He frowned. “There are many cold places in Scotland.”
She shook her head, her gaze going toward where the fire had burned but was now merely glowing embers of wood. “I did nae mean cold in the air, but it was most certainly that. Lots of places for the wind to enter.” A visible shiver ran through her, and he could see her tense to overcome it. “I mean, it was cold because of the quiet and the lack of companions. ’Twas cold because it was so lonely.” Her gaze landed on him briefly but flitted away. The faraway look in her eyes made him certain that she was beside him physically but in her mind, she was at Iona.
“I mean,” she continued, the pain in her voice throbbing and making his heart thud, “that it was cold when stripped naked and made to stand outside while the sisters stood in a line and poured buckets of ice water on my head for the crime of singing during the silent hour. It was verra cold at night, especially when my blanket had been taken as discipline for nae making my bed correctly, but it was as equally cold in the summer standing under the hot sun but having nae a soul to enjoy it with nor even comment to on the changing seasons. I was an outcast. Do ye ken?”
Her eyes met his and seemed to delve into his very soul. “I ken ye,” he replied, thinking on how alone he’d felt when his jealousy separated him and his brother. The difference between Graham and Isobel, however, was that he had caused his loneliness. She had done nothing to incur such an isolated, harsh upbringing, yet it had been her fate, just the same. He wanted to wrap this woman he had only just met in his arms and tell her that such loneliness was behind her, but touching her would be a mistake, not to mention that he had no notion if his words would be true. Mayhap the marriage she would be forced to make would offer nothing but loneliness.
His stomach felt suddenly hollow. Perchance he should not have taken her from her home. He clenched his teeth against his doubt. No. She would have found far worse than loneliness married to his uncle. She would have found hell.
“I am sorry for what ye have endured. I’m certain—” What the devil was he certain of? He struggled to find what to say to soothe her, even as he grappled with wondering why he felt he must. “I’m certain ye will nae have such loneliness once ye’re married and in yer home with the people of yer new clan.” That was a truth he believed, and he would do his best to make it a reality. Even if her actual marriage was cold, he could not see how the man’s clan would fail to embrace her. She was warm and kind.
She smirked and inhaled a breath as if to reply, but before she said anything, one of his men shouted, “Attack! Attack!”
Graham jumped to his feet, taking her with him, but by the time he had his sword unsheathed, the deafening sound of horses’ hooves filled the air, and a line of men came into view at full charge. He turned Isobel to him and gripped her arms. Behind her, Marsaili was already scrambling to her feet, fear etching her features.
“Take shelter behind the rocks,” he ordered.
As both women nodded, he rounded toward the horses that were racing toward him. The blades of the swords raised high above the men’s heads glittered in the moonlight. His body tightened in preparation to fight, in readiness to defend. What surprised him as he lifted his own sword, though, was that his greatest concern was not winning the battle, as it always had been, but keeping Isobel safe no matter what.
Findlay’s and Jamie’s faces became discernible as the men leading the attack, and Graham charged, putting space between Isobel and h
imself to give her time to hide. When Findlay was almost upon him, he braced his legs and met Findlay’s sword high above his head as the man swooped his weapon down to strike.
The blow sent vibrations down the length of Graham’s arm and deep into his chest, but he swept his sword down and to the right, spinning away from Findlay. As he faced Findlay once again, a hard blow came high on Graham’s back, causing him to stagger forward. He caught his balance in time to fend off the new opponent.
This man did not have Findlay’s arm strength, and Graham easily knocked him from the seat of his horse and felled him in two blows. He shoved the fallen man out of his path and twisted back toward Findlay, but the man was gone. All around Graham, his men still fought their attackers so he picked his nearest foe and charged.
Chapter Seven
Isobel raced toward the rocks as Graham had directed her, Marsaili directly behind her. They stood in the darkness for a moment, each panting to catch her breath. Isobel’s heart squeezed when she saw Graham barely defend a blow from Findlay. Findlay may be her brother, but now that she knew the sort of man he was, the wicked things he had done, she found herself hoping Graham would be the victor.
She held her breath as Graham swept his sword down and spun to the right and away from Findlay. Findlay’s destrier danced a few steps backward and then Findlay brought him forward, as if to launch another attack on Graham. But one of Graham’s men came out of the darkness with his sword raised and struck Findlay hard on his side. Isobel gave a sigh of relief, but then a scream tore from her lips as one of their brother’s men struck Graham from behind.
Graham staggered forward, but he managed to knock Findlay’s man from his destrier with a few blows. It took Graham only a few strikes before his attacker was lying still by his feet.
She took a step to go to him, but Marsaili pulled her back. “Dunnae leave the cover. Ye may be accidentally struck. With the men fighting like this, they will pay ye no heed. They may nae even take notice that they’ve killed a woman until the rage from battle has worn off.”
Isobel startled. This was it! She had an opportunity to flee both her brother and Graham!
She found Graham in the melee once more, and an unfamiliar sense of reluctance filled her. It was foolish to be hesitant to leave her captor, but he had kept her safe. Striking out on her own would mean she would only have herself to rely on. Yet, she knew what she had to do.
For one brief moment she considered whether she should go to Oban or try to make her way to Brigid. Oban was close, though, and she knew Brigid to be far. And she did not know her grandmother at all. Though the woman held Brigid in Isobel’s name, she had no notion if her grandmother would try to force her to marry just as everyone else was doing. At least in Oban with the Summer Walkers, she knew they cared not for the trappings of the world. They would not try to use her. And Evan had sworn to repay her for saving his child’s life.
She gave a small nod of resolution. Oban it was.
Isobel gripped Marsaili by the arm. She could flee and not say a word, but she feared Marsaili would give chase and draw attention. Yes, Marsaili had used her, but Isobel could not see the benefit in her half sister stopping her flight now.
“I’m fleeing,” Isobel said. “If ye truly care for me, ye’ll nae try to stop me.”
Marsaili’s blue eyes widened. “Isobel, dunnae be foolish! Ye could die alone on the road.”
“I might well die directly after I’m married and claim my castle, as well,” Isobel snapped. “If I’m forced to marry a man who despises Father, do ye honestly believe my husband will wish to let me live? I’m only safe until the moment my grandmother hands Brigid over to me, and she will nae do so until I’m married.” She swallowed, memories sweeping over her. “When I was a child, one of the nuns told me that my grandmother made my inheritance contingent upon me reaching eighteen summers so that I’d nae be forced to bear a child before then. Childbirth killed my mother… But the other contingency was that I was wed before I inherited the castle. This was a stipulation her father required in order to send his men to drive my grandfather out of the castle and then force my grandfather to give my grandmother men to hold the castle in my name. I will do my best to ensure I wed a man of my choosing.” She met Marsaili’s gaze and held it. “Would ye see me bound to a monster?”
Marsaili shook her head. “Nay, but to where will ye flee?”
Looking at Marsaili, she said, “I’m certain ye can see why I wish to keep it my secret.”
“I do. And until my dying day, I will feel the stab of guilt for my betrayal. I am sorry.”
Tears pricked Isobel’s eyes. Marsaili sounded so sincere, and Isobel felt some of her anger and her distrust slipping away. She squeezed her sister in a hug and whispered in her ear. “I must go now. Ye will nae raise an alarm, will ye?”
“Of course nae,” Marsaili replied. “I will nae betray ye again, even if I believe it’s for yer own good.” Marsaili hugged Isobel more tightly. “May God go with ye, Isobel. Make haste and keep hidden until ye ken ye have reached someone ye can trust.”
A lump formed in Isobel’s throat. She had just met her half sister, and only now, when she was leaving, did she understand that she may never see Marsaili again. Isobel gripped Marsaili’s hands as tears came to her eyes. “I forgive ye, so forgive yerself. I believe ye did nae mean me harm but only to help.”
With those words, Isobel rushed toward the narrow passage between the two large boulders at their backs. Before she dove between the rocks, she glanced back, not bothering to deny why. She was looking for him—Graham. She could not say why, but she knew she was. In the confusion of the battle she did not see him, though, and she did not have time to tarry.
The space between the rocks was so small that she barely fit, and when she came out the other side, a black destrier stood there. It was then that it occurred to her that she should take a horse rather than go on foot. She glanced up toward the sky and silently thanked God for the gift of the horse. For good measure, she added a prayer that whomever it belonged to be it one of Findlay’s men, or if he were Graham’s, that he was not dead. She could not stand the thought that she had this animal now because a man had died this day fighting to defend her.
That was wrong, she decided, feeling rather cross and bleak at the same time. These men did not fight over her because they wanted her. They wanted her castle. Taking a deep breath, she grasped the horse by the reins and attempted to swing into the saddle as she had seen Graham do, but the animal whinnied and pranced about, making it impossible for her to mount it.
She had to make haste. “Stand still,” she commanded, only to have the horse give her a wild-eyed look. Panic blossomed in her belly, made greater when the clank of swords resounded nearby, followed by men grunting with the effort of battle. She scrambled toward the horse once again, grasped the reins and half swung, half pulled herself onto the beast. He danced around and tossed his head, but she leaned forward and whispered soothing words in his ear, and he finally settled. Her heart was thudding hard, but just as she decided to try to tap the destrier to make it ride, Cameron and Lord MacLeod moved into her direct view.
Lord MacLeod had his back to Isobel, so Cameron was facing her. Lines of tension and strain creased his forehead as he battled his uncle, who appeared to be the superior and stronger fighter. Fear lodged in her throat as Lord MacLeod launched a ferocious attack against Cameron. Cameron’s uncle delivered continuous blows that Cameron was barely able to deflect. Her blood roared in her ears as Lord MacLeod caught Cameron’s weapon with his own and then used his body weight to sweep it out of Cameron’s hands.
Cameron’s eyes went wide, and she felt her own do the same. She glanced wildly around the open space, looking for someone to save him because she was quite certain he was going to die. There was no one. No one but her… Where was Graham? Her heart raced as Lord MacLeod pulled Cameron’s arm back to plunge his sword into his nephew.
Before she knew what she was truly doi
ng, she scrambled off her horse, vaguely registering that Lord MacLeod was speaking to his nephew. Cameron’s sword lay behind his uncle in the grass very near the rock she was using for cover. She moved as quietly and as quickly as she could around the rock toward the sword.
“Kneel and swear yer allegiance, or die,” Lord MacLeod said to Cameron.
Her legs trembled as she walked toward the sword, fearful that Lord MacLeod would turn and see her there. Luckily, his attention seemed entirely and foolishly focused on his nephew.
“I’d rather die than swear allegiance to ye,” Cameron said in a stubbornly prideful tone.
Men! She gritted her teeth. She understood pride. She had plenty of it herself. Mayhap too much, but she thought not. Pride had kept her alive when loneliness threatened to destroy her. But if she were faced with someone intending to kill her, she’d swear allegiance to him while asking God’s forgiveness for the lie. As she kneeled and grasped the sword, she flicked her gaze to Cameron.
He must see her, yet he gave absolutely no indication that he did, which was a very good thing. Mayhap, she’d not swear allegiance even if faced with death, she thought as she struggled to lift the heavy sword. Her arms trembled violently, and she fretted that even if she got it in the proper position, she would not be able to wield it. She’d had no idea a sword was so heavy!
“So be it,” Lord MacLeod said.
Isobel could taste her fear as she hoisted the sword to her hip and grasped it. She had no notion if Cameron had any sort of plan to save himself, but seeing as he was defenseless, she could not imagine what that might be.
“God speed to Hell, Nephew,” Lord MacLeod snarled.
When a Highlander Loses His Heart (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 4) Page 8