When a Highlander Loses His Heart (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 4)

by Julie Johnstone

  As his elbow thrust back, Isobel lurched forward and thrust the sword forward as hard as she could. The blade sliced into Lord MacLeod’s back, causing bile to rise in her throat. Lord MacLeod let out a roar and twisted toward her with his weapon raised, and sheer black terror froze her immobile as he swung his weapon at her.

  But at the last possible second, when she was sure she was going to be killed, Cameron knocked his uncle aside, and turned the sword lodged in Lord MacLeod’s back all the way in. The man fell to his knees, gurgling with impending death.

  Cameron, with a dark stain of blood spreading across his chest, stepped toward his uncle. Looking down at him, Cameron said, “God speed to ye.” With that, he kicked out, his foot connecting with his uncle’s chest, and shoved the man to the ground.

  She could do no more than stand and stare as the man she had almost been forced to marry fell hard upon the earth to his death. The sound of thunder pierced her horror, and as she forced herself to look away from the fallen body of Graham’s uncle, something hit her hard in the back. Or rather, she realized with renewed terror that she’d been grabbed. For one moment, she dangled in the air, the ground passing by in a blur, and then she was delivered hard onto a saddle.

  “I’ve got ye, Sister Dear. Dunnae fash yerself,” Findlay snarled in her ear.

  Instinctively, she clawed at the arm locked around her waist, but it was no use. He was far stronger than she was. As the horse rode away from the battleground, she ceased struggling. Even if she managed to free herself now, jumping could perchance kill her. At least the threat of having to marry Jamie MacLeod was no longer lingering over her head. The horrid thought made her cringe in shame. She had taken a man’s life, though he was an evil man.

  “We ride for Innis Chonnel and Father,” he shouted before he whistled a loud command to his destrier, who increased the pace so quickly that Isobel’s teeth clanked together. Not long ago, happiness would have filled her at the news she was being taken to her father. Now, fear and uncertainty claimed her. She glanced over her shoulder, and in the distance, she saw riders pursuing with a lone one far ahead in the lead. Graham! Somehow she knew it to be him, though she could not see his face. Her chest tightened, but not in fear of him. She honestly did not know what to make of that.

  “Get low!” Findlay roared, pushing hard against her head until her cheek brushed the neck of his horse.

  The horse’s muscles tightened beneath her as the beast raced across the countryside. Vibrations from the destrier’s hooves tingled her fingertips, and cold air sliced across her back. She stayed hunched for what seemed like hours, watching the landscape blur by and the sky grow light with day. Her back throbbed from her crouched state, and she finally had to sit up. When she did, a blast of icy wind smacked her in the face as a chill coursed through her.

  “When will we stop?” she shouted.

  “We’ll nae,” Findlay answered. “Graham MacLeod would pursue us to Hell to get what he wishes, so we will ride straight through. My men were cut down, and by my count, he had all but one of his men still alive, so I’d be vastly outnumbered.” Suddenly, Findlay grasped her by the back of the neck and squeezed. “Ye’re lucky that castle is attached to ye or I’d have slit yer throat for killing Jamie MacLeod. But dunnae fash yerself, Sister. I’m certain Father will find ye a new husband quickly.”

  “This is madness,” Rory Mac growled the moment Graham called his men to a halt and ordered them all to dismount.

  “Aye, it is,” Dermid MacLean agreed. He was one of Alex MacLean’s men. Alex—laird of the MacLean clan—trusted ally and the brother of Lachlan’s wife, had offered Dermid, a seasoned fighter, to go on this mission with Graham as Alex had said the man had a knack for getting into impossible places.

  Graham surveyed the group. “I dunnae wish to stop, either,” he said, passing his gaze over each fighter before settling it on Rory Mac. “But I dunnae believe the lass can go on any longer.” He looked to Marsaili.

  “I can keep riding,” she assured him in a weak voice. Her colorless face belied her assurances, though.

  “I dunnae mean we should nae stop,” Rory Mac fumed. “I mean we should nae pursue Findlay back to Innis Chonnell! ’Tis clear enough that is where he is going, and ye ken as well as I do that there will be great numbers of Campbell fighters there at what’s left of the castle! We are weary!”

  “Aye!” came a chorus of agreement from Graham’s men.

  “We will be outnumbered greatly,” Dermid added in a quiet voice.

  Graham scowled at Dermid. “I thank ye for wishing to help us, but ye are nae a MacLeod. Ye dunnae get a voice in this argument.”

  Dermid’s lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but after a moment, he clamped his jaw shut and simply glared at Graham.

  Rory Mac, on the other hand, who had never been one to hold back his opinion, said, “We kinnae take her back against the combined forces of Findlay and his father.”

  “Then I will retrieve her,” Graham stated in an unbending tone. There was no alternative, and not just because he had promised to bring her to the king. He knew her now. He felt responsible for her.

  “We kinnae!” one of his men said.

  “Cowards!” Marsaili cried out.

  Rory Mac glared at the woman, then focused on Graham once more. “We want vengeance as much as ye do, but it’s folly to try to retrieve Isobel now. We must leave the fight for another day.”

  Graham took a breath, preparing to argue, but before he could form his thoughts, Dermid spoke. “The lass could have fled with her brother willingly.”

  “Nay,” Cameron said with such fierceness that Graham stilled, feeling certain something had transpired involving Isobel that was now causing Cameron to champion her.

  “Speak quickly,” Graham demanded, knowing time was not in their favor.

  “She saved my life,” Cameron said simply, quietly, and with a trace of shame. “She was captured by her brother because she sacrificed herself to save me.”

  “She saved ye?” Graham asked, astounded.

  Cameron shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “Aye. Jamie knocked my sword out of my hands and demanded my vow of allegiance or death. She was there,” he said, looking past Graham. “I’m certain she had intended to flee, as she was on a horse, but then she saw me in need and she stayed to help.”

  Graham nodded, imagining she’d decided escaping during the battle was her best chance to flee. The lass had no notion where she was going, but she had fierce determination and an unwavering belief that her father loved her. He suddenly found he hoped she was right. He could not imagine her heartbreak if she discovered her father intended to use her. He still remembered the day his mother told him she loved Lachlan the most because he was the most capable warrior. It had been such a blow to him, and he’d even suspected it long before she had confirmed it. To have been blindsided by such a thing would have been far worse.

  Cameron cleared his throat. “I was preparing to die, and then she surprised me by dismounting the horse and coming to my aid. She picked up my sword somehow and plunged it into Jamie’s back in the instant he meant to kill me.” Cameron fell silent. He raised his hand and rubbed it wearily over his face. “I was so distracted with telling our uncle how I felt about him that I was not aware of Findlay’s approach until it was too late. He rode by and snatched her up.” His burning gaze met Graham’s. “She saved me, and I failed her. We must find her.”

  “Aye,” Graham agreed, renewed determination flowing through him.

  “She will nae be believing so,” Rory Mac said.

  “Nay, unless Father has betrayed her by the time we arrive,” Marsaili added.

  “What do ye believe the chances of that are?” Graham asked.

  “I’d say it’s as likely as rain,” she replied with a grimace.

  “Can ye ride more?” he inquired.

  She nodded vigorously. “Aye.”

  He held out a hand to her. “Ye’ll ride with me. I wish ye
to tell me all ye can about the castle defenses that ye have nae already.”

  She nodded again and came to him without question. He grasped her by the hand and helped her mount Dante.

  “What is our course of action?” Cameron demanded, swinging himself up onto his destrier.

  “Our course of action,” Graham answered, “is to somehow slip back into what is left of Innis Chonnell Castle and seize Isobel. And if we encounter Findlay in the process, we will kill him.”

  Chapter Eight

  Standing outside the chapel door, Isobel anxiously waited for her father to call her inside to speak to him. Beyond the thick closed doors, men’s voice drifted to her, but they were no more than muffled sentences—nothing discernable to enlighten her as to what was occurring. She pulled at the tattered gown she wore, having only just arrived and not been given a chance to freshen herself. Behind her, the two men Findlay had left her with stood silent, their expressions blank. Isobel knew they were there to guard her from fleeing, but the question was, did Father believe she had tried to escape Innis Chonnell before or that she was taken? And if he believed she’d attempted escape, what was to be her punishment?

  Before she could ponder it further, the doors to the chapel swung open, and Jean appeared with a malicious look on her face. Isobel’s heart sank. She had hoped to see her father alone, but from the way Jean’s lips pulled into a sneer, Isobel doubted that would occur.

  “Where is Marsaili?” Jean demanded.

  “Bring Isobel to me!” came a roar from inside the chapel. Her father’s angry tone worried her, but at least it saved her from having to speak to Jean. Isobel raised her chin, squared her shoulders, and marched past Jean into the room.

  Her father sat upon a makeshift dais at the front of the chapel. Findlay sat on his right, and on her father’s left was a man with a shock of white hair and a face that appeared to be fashioned of old leather. Just behind the older gentleman stood a thin—almost frail looking—younger man with blond hair; a long, straight nose; and insolent, dark eyes. Those eyes came to rest upon her, and unmistakable loathing settled his features into hard lines. The man disliked her. She knew it immediately but had no idea why.

  The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, and she had to fight the desire to rub them. She searched out her father’s gaze, but he was turned to the older man, speaking. She waited nervously by the door, her heart thudding and her throat tightening with each moment that passed.

  When his attention finally came to her, she caught her breath and reached behind her to place a steadying hand against the door as she stared into her father’s bright, angry eyes. He gave her a brutal and unfriendly stare that stole most of her hope and left her feeling like a newborn babe with little strength.

  “Come forward, Isobel,” he commanded with none of the warmth he used to carry in his tone when speaking to her.

  She licked her lips and forced her leaden feet to move, each of her steps echoing in the near-empty chapel. Behind her, the thunk of the door being firmly shut interrupted her slow thudding progression and made her twitch, but seeing everyone watching her, she kept moving forward. She stopped directly in front of the dais, and as she stared at her father seated beside the older man, she realized with a start that while her father had white hair like the other older man, her father did not have the same lines marring his face. In truth, Father looked the picture of health and vitality. In that instant, she understood how little she really knew about her father. She did not even know his age.

  Sadness overwhelmed her, and more than anything in the world, she wanted to know him and she wanted him to be the kind, good man she had always believed he was. She desperately wanted the chance to have the time with him that she had never had. She wanted memories of walks in the woods, talks by the fire, or even simply eating supper together. “Father—”

  “Silence, Isobel. Ye will speak only if addressed, ken?”

  Her throat tightened more, making her glad she had just been ordered not to speak. Instead, she nodded. Her father drummed his fingers against the table as he studied her. A long irritated sigh came from him, and then he finally spoke. “Do ye ken what I dunnae like, Isobel?”

  Unease trickled down her spine at his low but fierce tone. “Nay, Father. I dunnae ken.”

  He leaned back in his chair, regarding her with now narrowed eyes. “Disobedience, Isobel. I detest willfulness.”

  Spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke, and his face turned a dull shade of red. Dread unfurled in her belly and filled her chest. The doubts that Graham and Marsaili had put in her mind tumbled around in her head. She felt at once cold and then hot, queasy, and weak. She placed a hand against the dais to steady herself, saw her father watch her movements, and quickly removed her hand and brought it to her side. She had a sudden surety that appearing upset by what her father had said and was about to say would be a terrible mistake.

  Inhaling a shaky breath, she said, “And ye believe I’ve been disobedient?”

  “Ye have!” Jean asserted, rapid steps filling the silence as Jean came to stand by her. Isobel should have known the horrid woman had been lurking behind her, just waiting for the moment she could speak against her. She pointed a finger in Isobel’s face. “Dunnae try to deny that ye fled with yer father’s enemy!”

  “I was taken by force,” Isobel said truthfully. They did not need to know that she had been trying to help Marsaili and Graham, which was what had put her in the position to be taken.

  “Ye told me ye would nae marry the man yer father wished ye to marry,” Jean declared with a note of vicious triumph.

  Isobel’s gaze flew to her father. Her heart sank a bit that he did not look shocked at Jean’s pronouncement, and the doubts clamoring in her head grew to a frightening roar.

  “Is this true, Isobel?” her father demanded in a hard voice.

  Isobel swallowed her fear. Now was the time to learn the truth. Did her father love her, or did he intend only to use her? She felt lightheaded as she spoke. “I did refuse, Father. I did nae believe ye would marry me to such a man as Jamie MacLeod, a man who belongs to the clan of your enemies.”

  A cold smile curled her father’s lips. “Findlay says ye killed the MacLeod,” her father stated as if he were stating that she’d been accused of forgetting a chore. There was no shock there, no emotion really, just curiosity.

  Her unease curled around her heart and squeezed. Gooseflesh raced across her body as it used to do during a bad thunderstorm at the nunnery at night. Forgive me, Father, for I am about to sin, she thought and then spoke. “I did nae.” Technically, she had not, and she prayed to God that Findlay had not actually seen the deed but simply Jamie MacLeod falling. “His nephew killed him while defending himself.” And that was the God’s truth.

  “Pity,” her father said, shocking her. “I had hoped perchance ye had a courage unlike yer mother’s. She was a pathetic creature.”

  A burst of anger nearly took Isobel’s breath. His talk of his love for her mother had been nothing but lies!

  “I will forgive ye this time, Daughter, as ye did nae gain years in my household, but this will be the only time I ever forgive ye for disobedience. Hear me now—ye will marry as I say. Ye will do as I say.” He waved a hand at the man with the white hair. “This is the Earl of March. He wishes his son, James—” her father indicated the slender young man behind them with the unkind eyes “—to marry ye now that the MacLeod is dead. I’ve agreed. Ye will wed in the morning and will immediately travel with yer husband to Brigid to take possession of yer castle from yer grandmother. The old witch will nae refuse ye entry, and she kinnae demand her husband, the MacKinnon, call up his men to stop ye from taking the castle as she did to me.”

  Isobel’s blood roared in her ears. “Ye tried to take Brigid from Grandmother?”

  Her father scoffed. “Of course I did, ye foolish woman.”

  The horrible truth sank in and wrapped around Isobel’s heart like a thorny vine, making her want to
scream and wail. Graham had been right: her father did not love her. And if Graham was right about that, then it stood to reason that the rest of what he had spoken was the truth.

  When James started to descend the stairs and walked toward her, she realized she had missed something vital. “Father—” she started to protest, but she stopped herself before saying anything more. She knew with a horrid certainty that her father would force her to marry if he thought he must.

  “What is it, Isobel?” her father demanded, his brows dipping together. The ferocious scowl that came to his face further cautioned her not to voice how she felt.

  Her mind raced with what she had to do. She had to escape and make her way to Oban. The sudden sting of her nails against her palms alerted her to the fact that she had curled her hands into tight fists. She released them immediately but too late for the action not to go unnoticed by her father.

  He speared her with a menacing gaze. “Should I have ye married this verra moment and let all watch as ye’re properly taken to wife, or do I nae need fash that ye will try to avoid another marriage I have ordered?”

  It was not a question, but a command. “Nay, Father,” she quickly replied, her body trembling with fear. “I have nae ever wanted anything more than to please ye.” She had dreamed often of when they would finally have time to spend together. She always imagined her father teaching her the things she had never learned, such as how to properly ride a horse or wield a weapon in self-defense. That would never be. He did not love her. He’d never care to spend that time with her as she had dreamed.

  James came to stand in front of her, and he grasped her by the elbow. His fingers were as cold as the snow, and she suspected his heart was, too. The strength of his grip surprised her, given how slim he was.

  Gray eyes locked on hers and a smile, which looked forced, came to his lips. “Isobel, come, let us learn each other somewhat, as we will soon be husband and wife.”

  Her first instinct was to jerk out of his hold, but she knew she must appear compliant. Otherwise, she might find herself on her back with this man atop her. A sour taste filled her mouth at the thought and hopelessness threatened to overwhelm her, but she battled it as she was half dragged from the room.