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

by Julie Johnstone

  “I ken,” Marsaili said. “I wish to attempt to be part of yer clan, though.”

  Iain nodded. “I’m glad for it. Our mother should nae have left ye with yer father. I can ken why she might have, but she should nae have done it. ’Tis nae yer fault for how ye came to be.”

  Marsaili sniffed but then spoke. “Yer acceptance means a great deal to me.”

  His lips drew into a frown as he shifted his sleeping bairn into the crook of his arm. “I have to ask ye nae to say anything to anyone else yet. I will tell Lena about ye as soon as I have a moment, but I wish who ye are to remain between us until then. Can ye accept this?”

  “Of course,” Marsaili answered. “Lena dunnae appear to be overcoming her time with Findlay easily.”

  “Nay,” he said without preamble. “We thought her well when we first found her, but she has declined steadily since coming to live with us at Dunvegan. ’Tis almost as if whatever strength she had possessed disappeared when she came here.” He stood silent for a moment, staring intently at Marsaili. “Ye may be half-Campbell, but ye certainly dunnae have the look of one.” He looked pointedly at Isobel. She knew she had her father’s eye color and skin color, and by the brief annoyed look that crossed Iain’s face, she understood clearly that he did not like the reminder she brought.

  Marsaili’s brow wrinkled as she looked between Isobel and Iain. “Isobel is nae evil.”

  Iain’s gaze bore into Isobel as if he were trying to see inside her soul. “I dunnae believe ye to be evil. Trouble, possibly. Purveyor of complications, certainly.” He appeared to be assessing her and making some sort of judgment. “I am nae completely decided,” he announced. Just as quickly as he had said it, he waved a hand at Cameron. “Take Marsaili to a bedchamber. I will deal with Isobel.”

  Cameron looked as if he was going to say more, but when Iain gave him a harsh scowl he nodded and held out his arm for Marsaili to take. “Come,” he said to her, but she hesitated.

  “Isobel?” she asked softly.

  “I will be well,” Isobel replied, trying to sound more sure than she felt for Marsaili’s sake. Her half sister did not need the trouble of aligning herself with Isobel at this moment, especially against her newly found family.

  Marsaili nodded as she took Isobel’s hand and squeezed. “I will come see ye shortly.”

  Once Marsaili and Cameron departed, Isobel took a deep breath and faced Iain. “When will I be taken to the king?” she demanded in the strongest voice she could muster. She would rather know what was going to happen to her now than be forced to wait.

  An expression of pained tolerance settled on his face. “When ye are summoned. Until then, ye will be kept in yer room.” Without any further explanation, he whistled and Rory Mac suddenly appeared. “Take her to the guest room,” Iain commanded, and then, gently rocking his bairn who was just starting to fuss, the laird left without a backward glance.

  The idea of being kept in a room alone made Isobel’s skin prickle and fear claw at her throat. One of the punishments for disobedience at Iona had been to be locked in a tiny hole in the ground. It was so narrow one could not even sit, and she had stood sometimes for almost an entire day without moving, her legs slowly burning and finally giving out until she merely slumped, crushed against the wall.

  She despised feeling trapped, especially alone. “Surely I’ll be summoned today, aye?” She bit her lip when Rory Mac gave her a doubtful look. “Will ye ask Graham to come see me?” she inquired, trying to get the desperation she was feeling out of her voice. She had to make someone understand that she could not be kept locked in a room.

  “I’ll ask, but he may nae be able.” Rory Mac said.

  “Why would he nae be able?” she asked, her voice rising high along with her worry.

  “He has many important duties to attend,” Rory Mac replied. Yet something in the way he avoided her gaze made her feel like he was purposely not telling her something. She thought immediately of when Graham’s brothers had grabbed his arms. Mayhap his injury had made him ill. Instinctively, she knew that if she asked outright, Rory Mac would not tell her. “Rory Mac, who is the healer at Dunvegan?”

  “Marion, and she is teaching Bridgette the ways of the arts.”

  Isobel bit her lip again. She had a terrible suspicion that Graham was faring poorly. “Is there a chance ye would take me to see Graham?”

  “Nay,” he said without delay. “Iain dunnae like his commands being disobeyed, and ye dunnae wish to cross him.” He cocked his head as if in thought. “Ye dunnae wish to cross any of the MacLeod brothers, actually.”

  She fought back a smile. Without realizing it, the man had given her the weapon she needed to convince him to allow her to see Graham.

  “What of ye?” she asked. “Are ye so easily crossed? Perchance thought of as lesser, nae being one of their brothers?”

  He scowled at her. “I see what ye’re doing. I’m nae a fool.”

  “Then prove it,” she said angrily. “Allow me to see Graham. If he’s ill, I can help him. I have great knowledge of the healing arts.”

  For a moment, Rory Mac looked as if he was considering it, but then he shook his head. “Nay. Marion and Bridgette will be able to heal him.”

  “Then he is ill!” she exclaimed, worry for Graham bursting inside her.

  “Leave it be, Isobel. Graham would nae wish for yer concern.”

  It felt as if Rory Mac had slapped her. Of course Graham would not want her concern, as he had none for her. “Aye,” she murmured. “I forgot I’m a pawn to be used and nothing more.”

  “’Tis good to ken yer place,” he said sourly.

  “Please take me to my room,” she said, her hurt now overriding her fear. The overwhelming urge to cry tightened her throat, and she refused to do so where any of the MacLeods would see her. Within seconds, Rory Mac led her silently inside the castle.

  Dunvegan took her breath. The castle was magnificent. Beautiful tapestries hung from the walls, and fresh flowers adorned tables set about the main entrance. Fresh rushes filled the castle with a pleasant piney scent, and as they passed the great hall, she could see that gleaming weapons were hung on the walls.

  The lump in her throat grew. This was a home well cared for likely by Marion and the other women who lived here and were loved by the MacLeod men. She felt like an utter outcast, and when each person they passed either glanced at her with open hostility or avoided her gaze altogether, the feeling increased. When Rory Mac showed her into her bedchamber, she was almost glad, except when he closed the door. She tensed, waiting for the sound of a wood slab to be slid into place. She was all too familiar with the thudding sound from her time at the nunnery, yet the thunk never came. Studying the door, she exhaled unevenly, realizing it had the wood slab on the inside to lock people out, so perchance that meant it did not have a slab on the outside to lock people in.

  Just to ensure she was correct, she went to the door and tried it. It surprised her to find Rory Mac still standing there when the door opened. “Have ye been ordered to guard me?”

  “Aye,” he said, looking none too pleased about it. “Graham insisted either Cameron or I guard ye at all times.”

  She didn’t know what to make of that. Did she dare think Graham might be truly worried for her, or was he simply concerned she would try to flee again? Surely, he did not fret at all that she could somehow escape the walls of Dunvegan and the men here?

  “Please let me see Graham,” she asked once again, feeling an overwhelming need to talk to him.

  “Ye need nae feign ye care for his welfare,” Rory Mac growled.

  “I do care!” she cried, only realizing in that moment how true it was.

  Rory Mac pointed to her empty bedchamber. “Ye may have Cameron convinced but nae me, and ye can be certain nae Graham or he would nae have insisted me or his brother be the ones to watch over ye. He dunnae trust ye to stay where ye are and nae make trouble, and neither do I. Now go to bed.”

  Arguing was fu
tile, and her pride and hope had once again been crushed. She took to her bed and spent the night restlessly tossing and turning, first haunted by dreams of her father coming to get her and punishing her severely for running from him, and then she was tormented by dreams of Graham. Yet these dreams contained a different sort of torment. Graham used his mouth to tease her body in such a pleasurable way that when she awoke, she could hardly catch her breath. A flush covered her body, her breasts felt heavy, and her nipples were taut. She did not understand why Graham was affecting her so.

  The day passed slowly with her alternating between pacing the room, staring out the small window into the courtyard, and lying on the bed staring up at ceiling. She saw only Rory Mac the first full day at the castle when he offered her three different meals. She knew he must have had a respite, and she imagined that Cameron was the one to give it to him, but Cameron did not enter her bedchamber to visit with her, which served to only add to the hurt she was feeling. She had thought perchance they were now friends, of a sort, but if that were the case it seemed he would have at least stopped in to offer her news of her sister. She did ask after Marsaili, but either Rory Mac did not know what was occurring with her sister or he simply did not want to tell her. She could not read the truth in the stubborn Scot’s face.

  She awoke on the second full day of her confinement to the sound of men’s voices talking in low tones in the hall. Hurrying from her bed, she raced to the door and threw it open. Cameron and Rory Mac immediately stopped speaking and turned to her at once. Anger flared in her chest that they were leaving her confined with no word of what might happen to her, until she got a good look at Cameron. He appeared haggard, as if he had gotten little sleep. At once, her thoughts became worry for Graham.

  “Is Graham still ill?” she demanded, not bothering to hide the concern in her tone.

  Cameron gave her a hard look. “Ye need nae fash yerself with Graham.”

  “Do ye need me to stay and handle the nosy lass?” Rory Mac asked, giving he a pointed look.

  Cameron shook his head. “Nay. Dunnae fash yerself, either. I can handle one wee lass.” With a chuckle and a wave of his hand, Rory Mac departed.

  The moment the Scot disappeared down the stone stairs, she asked again, “Please, Cameron, is Graham still ill?”

  He glanced toward the stairs as if to ensure Rory Mac was indeed gone, and then he looked slowly back at her. “Aye,” he replied, making her stomach tighten with fear by the worried look on his face and in his tone. “They kinnae get his fever to break, and he sleeps fitfully and talks gibberish in his sleep or talks of things that are verra unlike him.”

  She pressed her fingertips to her throbbing temples. “Fever dreams. They say sometimes when one is gripped by a terrible fever one will say what is truly in one’s heart that one may nae usually say.”

  Cameron gave her a long, strange look. “Aye. That would make sense… Ye said ye knew the healing arts?”

  She nodded and gripped Cameron by the arm. “Take me to him. Perchance I can help.”

  “I kinnae.”

  “Why?” she snapped, frustration getting the better of her temperament.

  He opened his mouth as if to tell her but then he closed it. Vexation flitted across his face. “I just kinnae.”

  “Because ye dunnae trust that I would truly try to help?”

  Cameron simply stared at her, making her irritation grow, but she struggled to control it. At this point, it did not really matter why. He was not going to take her to Graham, so she needed to do what she could to aid Graham from afar.

  “What have Marion and Bridgette done so far to try to break the fever?” she asked.

  Cameron quickly told her they had tried bloodletting. She nodded. “I would have started there, as well. That was a sound choice. Have them try coriander. If that dunnae work, tell them to fill a wooden wash basin—” She paused. “Ye do have wood basins here, aye?”

  He frowned. “We do.”

  By the perplexed look he gave her, she knew he had not realized that no one had offered one to her. She still wore the same filthy, torn gown she had for days. “I was nae sure,” she said, glancing at her frayed sleeve and then away. Now was hardly the time to bother Cameron or any of the other MacLeods for a wash basin. “Have them fill a bucket with the coldest water they can and make him sit in it until his teeth chatter,” she continued. “Often, that will help chase the fever away. Ye should go now and tell them.”

  “I kinnae,” he protested, looking from her to her door.

  She sighed. “I vow I will nae go anywhere.” When he didn’t look convinced, she added, “Where would I go? To the west is craggy land and a heavy mist. To the right is the loch, and I’m nae such a fool to try to escape in the dangerous waters of the loch alone.” She could see him working his jaw back and forth, but finally, he shook his head. Frustration nearly split her in two, and she stomped her foot. “Lock me in, then,” she said, hardly believing she had just suggested he do something that made her so fearful.

  “I—” He rubbed at the back of his neck as he shifted from foot to foot. “Nay. Ye lock the door from the inside.”

  She frowned at that odd command. “That dunnae make—”

  “It dunnae matter if ye ken why I wish it, just do it or I kinnae leave ye.”

  She quickly nodded, and without waiting, she scrambled into the room, shut the door, and slid the bar in place. “Make haste.”

  “Dunnae open this door for anyone but me or Rory Mac,” Cameron said. “Nae matter who they say they are.”

  “I dunnae ken—” She abruptly stopped speaking at the heavy, rapid thud of his steps moving down the passage.

  She waited by the door for what seemed like forever in hopes that he would return and give her news of Graham, but after a while she got tired of standing there and went to sit on the bed. She spent the day restless, every noise sending her back to the door, but it was not until late that night when a knock came at the door that she awoke with a start and jerked upright in the chair where she had fallen asleep.

  “Isobel,” Cameron called. “’Tis me.”

  She rushed to the door and slid the bar back. Cameron stood there with a tray of food in his hands. “I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long.”

  She waved a dismissing hand at his apology. “How is Graham?”

  “A bit better, I believe. Marion says he feels cooler to the touch, and she thanks ye for yer advice.”

  Isobel nodded, pleased to hear that Graham was faring better. “Do ye want to join me as I sup?” she asked Cameron, dreading being alone once again.

  “I kinnae. I’m sorry. Iain was sore that I disobeyed him when he found out. He said if he walks by this door and dunnae find it closed and me alert and standing guard, he will personally punish me.”

  “I understand,” she said, though in truth, she was not sure she did. Why could they not simply take her to the king so she would know her fate? Or even… “Might I see Marsaili?”

  Cameron shook his head. “The lass is recovering,” he mumbled.

  Isobel frowned. “Recovering from what? Our journey?”

  A distinctly uneasy look crossed Cameron’s face. “Nay. She inhaled a great deal of smoke when the cottage Iain gave her caught fire last night.”

  Isobel stilled. “How did her cottage catch fire?”

  His concerned gaze bore into her. “Someone set it, Isobel. And we dunnae ken who. Iain told Lena of Marsaili’s parentage yesterday morning, and then made it known to the clan, and many, Lena included, dunnae wish for Marsaili to stay as she is half-Campbell.”

  Isobel’s stomach twisted into knots. “Yer sister and yer clan members must really wish me gone, then.”

  He did not say anything, but he did not have to. His sorrow-filled eyes said it all. She suddenly recalled Iain’s words that she was likely trouble and purveyor of complications, certainly. Had she been locked up then because they feared for her?

  When she awoke the next morning, determ
ination had settled in her bones. She did not want to cower in this bedchamber. It felt as though if she showed fear now, her life would be marked by her being dominated by others as it always had been. It was time for a change.

  When Rory Mac opened the door and offered her a tray of food she shoved it back at him. “I am nae a coward. I wish to leave this room. I will take my chances with my enemies.”

  A smile quirked the corners of his mouth. “No one believes ye to be a coward, Isobel. Iain is a wise laird. I’ve never known him to give an order without giving it thorough thought. Try to be patient.”

  She sighed and finally nodded, at which she saw his shoulders visibly relax. Before she could analyze that, he said, “My wife, Alanna, worked hard to ensure ye had delicious food to eat, and she’ll likely be verra angry at me if ye dunnae partake in her offerings.”

  Reluctantly, Isobel grabbed a hunk of bread and took a bite, then talked through the mouthful. “Yer wife is a wonderful cook,” she said.

  “Aye, and hot-tempered,” he replied with a smile. “Rather like ye.”

  Isobel snorted. “I believe ye mean ye.”

  He chuckled, surprising her.

  “Why are ye being nice to me now?” she demanded, suddenly suspicious.

  He looked chagrinned for a moment. “Alanna told me how ye sent Cameron to aid in the healing of Graham.”

  Isobel frowned. “How did yer wife ken that?”

  “Marion told her. That was verra kind of ye.”

  She bit back a smile. That one sentence was the nicest thing Rory Mac had said to her since she met him. “How is Graham today?”

  Rory Mac shrugged. “A bit better, I think. He still has a fever, though not as hot, but Marion says the fever is making his head hurt fiercely.”

  Isobel nodded and then cast her mind to the remedies she knew. “Tell Marion to make him a drink of datura, angelica, chamomile, and coriander seeds.” When Rory Mac simply stood there, she waved her hands at him. “Go now. Ye dunnae wish Graham to suffer more than necessary, do ye?”