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

by Julie Johnstone

  “I dunnae, but Iain would be spitting mad if I disobeyed him.”

  She was about to protest that the laird should not be so stubbornly, blindly set on keeping a guard in front of her door, but Rory Mac said, “However, Iain has ridden out to attend to some tenants, so I’ll go quickly.”

  She grinned. “A verra wise notion. I’ll wait here for ye,” she teased.

  Rory Mac actually grinned at her, and then a serious look swept across his face. “Slide the bar—”

  “I will,” she interrupted. “And I’ll nae unlock it for anyone but ye or Cameron.” His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she chuckled. “Cameron instructed me the same as ye.”

  “I taught him all he kens.”

  “I’m certain,” she murmured, feeling that same pang of longing and slight jealousy she had felt before when Cameron had spoken of his brothers. It was obvious that Rory Mac was close to the MacLeod brothers, as well.

  True to his word, Rory Mac was not gone long, and when he returned and she opened the door, he thrust a plaid and a pillow at her.

  “What is this for?” she asked.

  “Marion says to tell ye she’s verra sorry she has nae been able to come attend to yer comforts yet.”

  Isobel was glad for the extra plaid and pillow, but she feared this meant she was not going to be released from confinement anytime soon. Still, she took them. “I thank ye, but I hope this dunnae mean I will be kept in here much longer.”

  “I dunnae believe so,” Rory Mac said and then stood there watching her.

  She thought he might offer more, but when it became clear that he would not, she retreated into her bedchamber, feeling rather mulish. As the day wore on, the feeling of captivity and restlessness in her grew, until she was certain she could not stay in the room another moment. If she could even just stand on the other side of the door briefly, she was certain her restlessness would abate.

  She rushed to the door and flung it open, nearly colliding with Bridgette. Behind her stood the man that Cameron had told her was his brother Lachlan. He offered a probing stare.

  When Isobel returned it, Bridgette’s eyes narrowed. “I told ye to stay away from my husband,” she growled.

  “Ye and yer husband came to my door. What do ye want?” Isobel asked, searching past the woman for Rory Mac.

  Lachlan gave her a long, assessing look as he placed his hands protectively on his wife’s shoulder. “Wife, let us remember the good deed Isobel has done for Graham in sharing her knowledge to heal him.”

  Isobel flinched at the way Lachlan said the words good deed, as if he was not certain that was what it really had been but he’d been unable to find any nefarious intent behind her actions.

  Bridgette studied her. “I did nae forget,” she grumbled. “Nor do I forget what her family did.”

  Isobel stiffened. If she had been Bridgette, she would likely feel the same hostility, but that did not make it hurt any less. No wonder every MacLeod had looked at her with open scorn when she’d arrived. Likely, not a one of them trusted her. Her father was suspected of conspiring against the king they loved; one of her brothers had ravaged Bridgette, forced her to marry him, and branded her with his initials; and her other brother had forced Lena to marry him and branded her, too.

  Isobel took a deep breath, wanting to show that she was not like her siblings and father but unsure what to say. “I did nae ken my sister,” she blurted. “I never met her.” She could not keep the wobble from her voice, which frustrated her a great deal.

  “Ye did nae meet yer sister?” Bridgette asked, the smallest amount of pity in her tone.

  “Nay,” Isobel replied honestly. “I was sent to Iona the day after my mother died, and I did nae meet either sister, until I met Marsaili recently. Father would visit once a year with Findlay and Col—” She saw Bridgette wince. “I’m sorry,” she offered. “I—”

  “’Tis fine,” Bridgette bristled. “I’ve been sent here to ready ye to meet the king. Lachlan will stand guard while ye bathe and I help ye fix yer hair.”

  Isobel nodded, though her insides twisted into knots now that the time for her fate to be decided had come. “Ye dunnae have to stand guard,” she said as she looked to Lachlan. “I dunnae fear Lena or yer clan.”

  “Ye should,” he snapped.

  She tilted up her chin. She may have earned Graham’s trust, but she clearly had not earned his family’s yet. “I would rather face my enemy than hide like a coward,” she said, realizing how true it was.

  Lachlan’s lips twitched into a smirk. “I can see suddenly how it has come to be that ye managed to win my brother’s admiration, Isobel Campbell. I pray for yer sake, ye dunnae make him regret it. To strike at one MacLeod is to strike at us all.”

  Any warmth she might have felt at Lachlan’s revelation that she truly had earned Graham’s admiration was stifled by his veiled threat. Yet, she could not truly blame him after all that had occurred. “Ye may tell yer sister, Lena,” Isobel said stiffly, “that wounding or killing me would nae hurt my father or Findlay, if that is what she believes. Losing Brigid will strike at their hearts far harder than my loss.”

  Bridgette and Lachlan exchanged a questioning look, making Isobel fear her words had somehow exposed the depth of her pain. She squared her shoulders, determined not to make herself appear weaker.

  “Come,” Bridgette said with more gentleness than before. The woman guided Isobel into the bedchamber. “Ye need to settle yerself before ye see the king.”

  Isobel and Bridgette had no more than entered the bedchamber when two men carrying a large wooden tub came into the room. Behind them was a line of women holding large pitchers of steaming water. As each of the women poured her water, Bridgette introduced them one by one to Isobel, eliciting a wary smile or a curt nod of the head from most of the women. The last woman in the line—a petite woman with long, curly brown hair—moved to the wooden tub to pour her water. Isobel could not see her face as she kept it down.

  When a sigh came from Bridgette, Isobel glanced at her and found Bridgette staring at the woman with a concerned look upon her face. “Rhona,” she said. “This is Isobel Campbell.”

  The woman did not acknowledge that Bridgette had spoken. She finished pouring her water and went to leave. Bridgette clucked her tongue as she looked to Isobel. “She had a great loss caused by yer family.”

  The woman, Rhona, paused at the door at Bridgette’s words and slowly faced Isobel. Isobel flinched at the hatred burning in the woman’s eyes.

  “Yer brother killed my husband,” she hissed. “Yer family is my enemy; therefore, ye are my enemy.” She turned and stormed out of the room.

  Isobel stood trembling, not from fear but from anger and horror. She was tired of being blamed for things she had not done, and she was horrified to hear of yet another transgression by her family.

  “Isobel, ye have to ken—”

  “I do,” Isobel said firmly. “My family is cruel and without honor, and so ye all believe I am, as well,” she finished angrily. But then a realization struck. She had simply accepted all MacLeods were dishonorable because her father and brothers had told her so, and that was no less wrong than what was being done to her now. “If I have the time here, I hope ye all will come to see I am nae dishonorable.”

  Bridgette bit her lip. “I pray ye prove that, as well,” she said.

  Isobel moved to the wash basin, slipped her gown off, and dipped into the water until it came up to her chin. “I can wash myself. Ye dunnae have to hover,” she said without looking at Bridgette.

  Bridgette snorted as she came to sit by the tub. “I’m nae the hovering sort, but ye will need help washing and rinsing yer hair if ye truly wish to get all the grime from it.”

  Isobel’s hand went inadvertently to her hair, and she grimaced at the hard feel of it. She could only imagine what it must look like. It had been many days since she had the opportunity to wash it. She shrugged, her feelings still wounded from Rhona’s words. “If ye wis
h.”

  Silently, Bridgette helped Isobel wash her hair and rinse it, and when they were done, she got out of the now-cooling water, wrapped a cloth around her, and moved to the fire to dry her hair. Behind her, Bridgette moved about, then the door squeaked and Isobel turned to find Bridgette slipping from the room. Sadness tightened Isobel’s chest. She had not expected Bridgette to truly extend the hand of friendship, but she supposed she’d had the smallest hope.

  She sat staring at the fire, her skin growing warm and easing her nervous chills, yet her mind still swirled with worry about what was to come—to whom the king might marry her, and if she would even see Graham before she was shipped away with her new husband. The last bothered her the most. She had grown attached to the man she had at first considered her enemy.

  The door behind her creaked, and Isobel turned to find Bridgette walking in carrying a gown and a brush. Bridgette lay the gown on the bed, then moved toward Isobel and motioned for her to turn. Isobel did so, and then her head tilted back as Bridgette started to brush and talk.

  “I thought ye may wish a fresh gown as yers is torn and soiled with blood and dirt,” she offered.

  “Aye, thank ye,” Isobel replied, grateful for the small kindness.

  Before she could say more, a knock came at the door. “Wife, the king calls for Isobel now. Is she ready?”

  “Oh, aye,” Bridgette said in a sarcastic tone. “I’m fast as the wind, I am. I trussed her up in a gown and fixed her hair in the blink of the eye that I’ve been in here.”

  Isobel’s mouth dropped at how daring it was for Bridgette to speak to her husband that way. She knew that the man loved his wife, but it surprised her that he permitted such boldness.

  “Dunnae ye fear his anger?” Isobel whispered.

  Bridgette smiled as a loud male chuckle burst from the other side of the door. “Nay,” Bridgette said. “Lachlan would nae ever raise a hand to hurt me. The MacLeod men are nae like the Campbell men.”

  Isobel stiffened at the sharp reminder. “Ye’re verra lucky, then,” she finally said, and noticed Bridgette’s lips part. Good. Perchance the woman could eventually be made to realize that just because Isobel was a Campbell did not mean she was like her family. “I was nae raised in the outside world, but the nuns told me the ways of it, and from the short time I’ve been home and commanded by my father and then the two men that would be my husband”—a shiver coursed through her at the horrid thought—“I ken yer husband’s ways are nae most men’s.”

  “Nay,” Bridgette offered. “They are nae. Iain, the laird, loves his wife and permits her to speak her mind as well, and I feel certain Graham will marry for love.” Bridgette eyed her. Her forehead creased as if something weighed upon her, but then she continued to speak. “And Cameron’s future has been foretold by the seer, and she speaks of him having a love so great it will stop a war.”

  “Ye believe in seers?” Isobel asked.

  Bridgette shrugged. “I believe that they can foresee our future but that we have the power to change what they see with our choices. Especially if we dunnae like what they tell us,” she said with a small laugh.

  “Does Cameron like what they told him?” Isobel asked as she stood and started to don her gown.

  “I kinnae say. He does nae speak of it. I only ken what the seer foretold for Graham because Graham told me himself.”

  Swift jealousy moved through Isobel, making her flinch. She had no reason to be jealous that Bridgette was Graham’s confidant, yet she was. “Ye are close to Graham?” she asked, slipping one arm into her gown and then the other.

  Bridgette moved behind her to pull the laces tight. “There was a time I was going to marry him,” Bridgette replied.

  Isobel swung around toward the woman, jealousy once again surging through her. “What happened?” she demanded, wincing when she realized how angry she sounded. She sucked in her lower lip as she watched a slow smile pull on Bridgette’s lips. Isobel found it odd that Bridgette was amused by her behavior. She should think it strange as Isobel did.

  “Well, ’tis a long story, but I was going to marry him out of guilt. He saved my life, ye see, and almost died for the effort.”

  “I see,” Isobel replied, her stomach twisting at her foolishness. Graham had saved her life, and she realized now that a small part of her had thought it might mean something special, yet all it meant was that the man was honorable and brave. “Did he love ye greatly?”

  Bridgette turned Isobel back around, gave her laces a tug, and then patted her back. “Och, nay. He wished to have me because he suspected Lachlan wanted me, and he was sore jealous of Lachlan. Graham has changed much in the many months since I married Lachlan. He has seen his jealousy was ill placed, and he has become his own man.”

  “That dunnae mean he will marry for love,” Isobel replied, following Bridgette to the door.

  Bridgette paused at the closed door and looked at Isobel. “Nay, it dunnae, but I hope he will. He has been very surprising since his return with ye,” Bridgette’s comment was casual but her probing stare was anything but. Isobel had no notion what the woman was seeking from her. Bridgette pursed her lips. “He set out full of hate and a lust for revenge, and now I think his lust is for something else.”

  Heat scalded Isobel’s cheeks as Bridgette opened the door and motioned Isobel to follow. With little choice but to do so, Isobel fell into step behind them with Bridgette’s words turning in her head. Isobel was certain Bridgette had been referring to her when she had said Graham had a lust for something else now. What made the woman think that? Had he said as much? Surely he had not.

  She could not help but recall what it felt like to be in his arms or have his lips on hers. Desire tightened her belly and pooled low between her thighs. She yearned for Graham, that much was certain. Yet she feared it was more than that. Despite the fact that he had taken her against her will, she had come to care for him. Did he care for her in return?

  She almost scoffed aloud at herself. How foolish she was, always longing for love that was constantly out of her reach.

  Ahead of her, Lachlan opened the doors to the great hall, and Isobel took a deep, steadying breath and said a prayer for calmness, but as she entered the room and Graham—who stood with his back to her and before the king—turned her way, her heart lurched. He had a haggardness about him that showed how gravely ill he had been. She wanted to run to him and ask if he was fully well now, but she felt the king’s eyes upon her.

  Graham’s gaze met hers, penetrating her to her core, and her breath hitched as she stared into his eyes. She could have sworn what she read in his expression was possessiveness.

  Chapter Eleven

  Isobel had haunted Graham’s dreams all during his fever, and seeing her now, looking like a wee forest fairy in a simple blue gown that hugged her generous curves and her chestnut hair tumbling over her shoulders to dangle at her waist, he knew why. He desired this woman like he had never yearned for another.

  When he had been riding with her on the way here and had her cradled in his arms, fighting the fever that was setting in from his wound, all he could think of was what he needed to do to ensure she was protected—from his sister and those in his clan who might wish her harm, from his own king who would not hesitate to use her to get what he desired, and from her own family who had proven time and again they held no love for her.

  Graham had pleaded with the king to wait to choose Isobel’s husband until his fever had broken so he could aid the king in the choice, and to his relief, the king had agreed. His fever had only broken that morning, but when he had awoken to Iain, Lachlan, and Cameron standing near his bed whispering, he had known something was afoot. Iain had informed him that the king had just received a letter from Isobel’s father, and Graham had rushed from his bed and come straight here.

  He glanced between Isobel, the king, and the Campbell’s messenger, wishing he’d had time to speak with the king alone but he had only arrived moments before Isobel. She stood w
ith her back straight and her chin tilted up defiantly, yet her eyes—so blue and wide—showed her fear. The overwhelming protective feeling that only this woman caused in him surged hot through his veins.

  He had convinced himself that his need to protect her was because he had vowed it and he simply intended to keep his vow, but looking at her now, he knew he had lied to himself. He wanted her, and the moment he had kissed her and felt in her the same passion that was barely contained in him, he did not want anyone else to have her. That fierce possessiveness worried him. Isobel, he knew instinctually, was the sort of woman who could make a man vulnerable, and that weak state was not one he wished to court.

  “Isobel Campbell, come forward,” King David boomed.

  Isobel did not hesitate. She walked with the bearing of a queen straight up to the dais where the king sat beside Iain, Lachlan, and the king’s trusted allies Robert Erskine and Archibald Douglas. Though the king had not called Graham forward, he strode up to the dais and took up position beside Isobel. She glanced at him, a grateful look in her eyes.

  The king speared Isobel with his unwavering gaze. “This messenger is from yer father. What say ye? Do ye think he pleads for yer return?”

  A pained look crossed her face that made Graham’s chest squeeze. “I’m certain he pleads for my return, Sire,” Isobel replied in a voice underlain with resentment. “Acquiring my castle is verra important to him, and he kens well he kinnae do so without me, unless he wages war on my grandmother, and quite likely my grandfather, the MacKinnon, who would heed her call out of fear of being cursed again. Her brother will also come if she calls for aid.”

  The king nodded. “Aye. I ken it, as well, as do all men who have coveted Brigid through the years, but it is good that ye ken yer worth.”

  She frowned. “I kinnae forget my worth comes from Brigid. Nae a day goes by that someone dunnae remind me.” The scorn in her voice was obvious.