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

by Julie Johnstone

  Isobel was entrenched in bloody warfare, and she knew well the winner would set the pattern for the rest of their lives. Her opponent just so happened to be her husband. Seduction was not working. Graham erected walls faster than she could even consider how to knock them down.

  She’d had small gains, such as his spending time with her each day to show her how to properly ride a horse and use a sword, but the gains had been so miniscule that they could not even be considered victories. He’d not touched her once in the training as he had the day he had returned, and he’d not come to her bedchamber, either. She was greatly disheartened and quickly losing hope, so when she went to the great hall to break her fast and Marion told her that Graham had received a letter from the king ordering them to make their way to Brigid immediately to formally claim her castle and for Graham to take control of it, she felt as if her time to reach him was slipping away. If she was going to flee with the hope it would make Graham realize he loved her, she was going to have to go soon. She was so torn.

  She quickly excused herself and started out the door as Lena was entering. “Where are ye away to?” Lena asked.

  “I’m seeking Graham. The king has sent a letter ordering us to depart immediately, and I have an overwhelming feeling here”—she touched her fingertips to her chest—“that my time to destroy the barriers he has put between us is disappearing.”

  Lena nodded. “Dunnae lose faith. He loves ye, I believe; he simply dunnae wish to accept it.”

  Isobel nodded, but her heart was heavy. She was losing faith. She had been so sure she could reach him, but now she simply did not know. “Thank ye, Lena,” she said, squeezing the woman’s hand before departing. It did not take her long to find Graham down near the loch where he trained for hours every day.

  As she walked down the seagate stairs she met Rhona coming up them carrying jugs of water. Isobel took a deep breath as the woman’s face became white and then her eyes narrowed. Rhona made the sign of the cross, reminding Isobel that with Father Murdock still gone, Rhona had never been spoken to about hearing the priest say Isobel had bewitched Graham. All Isobel’s frustration burst inside her, and anger roiled through her. She was weary of this.

  As the woman tried to skitter past her, Isobel moved in front of her. “Rhona, I am nae a ban-druidh. When Father Murdock said I bewitched Graham he did nae mean I was an actual witch!” When the woman simply glared at her, Isobel ground her teeth. “Surely ye dunnae truly believe this still? Ye see that Lena and I have made peace.”

  “What I see is that yer husband is nae natural around ye. He dunnae come to yer bedchamber. He—”

  “Have ye been watching me?” Isobel demanded.

  “Nay,” the woman replied, her tone smug. “Everyone kens by seeing yer husband’s avoidance of ye in the great hall, the courtyard, everywhere really. Everyone is whispering,” Rhona hissed. “He dunnae want ye. He dunnae love ye. He dunnae need ye now. He married ye, and now yer castle is his, and ye are nae important to him.”

  “Ye will die alone and miserable, ye wicked-tongued woman,” Isobel snapped, regretting the angry, cruel words the minute Rhona flinched as if slapped.

  “Ye be the wicked one,” Rhona accused and shoved past Isobel.

  Isobel stood shaking on the steps as Rhona’s words rang in her head. Every doubt she had struggled to silence became deafening, and she pressed her hands against her ears with a sob. For a long moment, she questioned if she should give up, if it was hopeless and she was simply not facing the truth staring her in the face. But as she watched her husband, so strong and good, helping a fisherman pull a skiff across the rocks toward the loch, she took a breath for courage and made her way down to him.

  He turned and watched her approach long before she thought he could hear her. Did he sense her presence as she always sensed his? Mayhap he’d seen her speaking with Rhona. She prayed that he’d not ask if he had. She didn’t want him to worry that the woman still thought her a witch.

  “We leave tomorrow for Brigid,” he said as she approached.

  She nodded as she looked down at the skiff. “Aye. Marion told me. What is the skiff for?”

  “We’re going to train in it.”

  She frowned. “What for?”

  A deep chuckle rumbled from his throat. “Do ye believe the only place ye will ever be attacked is by land, Isobel?”

  “Nay,” she relented, and when he motioned her to climb into the skiff, she immediately did so. The loch was fairly calm and the temperature had grown a bit warmer in the last few days, but the prospect of getting wet did not appeal to her in the least. “We will stay dry, aye?”

  He grinned at her, and it was such a rare carefree moment, that her breath caught and her chest squeezed with love. “Are ye fearful of getting a little wet, lass?” His eyes clung to her, and she got the distinct impression that he was not referring to the water. A thrill tightened her core. Mayhap not touching her and joining with her was as much of a hardship for him as it was for her.

  “Nay,” she replied. “I fear nothing when with ye.”

  “As it should be,” he said with a wink, shoved the boat out into the water, and after paddling for a moment, motioned for her to stand up.

  As she did, the boat rocked under her feet. “We kinnae train here, Graham. It would be impossible to spar without falling into the water.”

  He shook his head. “Nay. Ye’re wrong. The whole purpose is to teach ye balance. Ye still have nae mastered it,” he said, and she knew he was likely referring to when they had sparred yesterday, and she had toppled over when trying to swing around to meet one of his attacks. “After ye fall in enough, ye will learn what to do with yer stance and yer weight to keep yer balance.”

  She didn’t particularly care for the sound of that. She’d learned rather quickly that Graham gave no quarter when training someone, and that ruthlessness applied to her, as well. When he was teaching her, he was very serious, which was part of the reason—she thought—their being together in training every day had not led to so much as a kiss. He treated her, and she feared had the ability to look at her, as one of his warriors.

  “What if I lose my sword?” she hedged, trying to determine how to get him on land where at least she might be able to maneuver herself into his arms.

  He smirked. “We will get ye another, then. Raise yer weapon, Isobel.”

  With an annoyed sigh, she lifted her sword and spread her legs wide as Graham had taught her, but the first time he swung and she stepped forward to meet his blow, she toppled over the side of the skiff into the water. She came up sputtering and coughing. Graham dropped to his belly and reached down toward her. She raised her hand, thinking he was going to help her back into the skiff, but he grabbed the hilt of her sword, which was quickly disappearing below the surface. She stared at him in shock as he stood, holding her sword in one hand and his in the other, and looked down at her with that same carefree grin. “Make haste, Isobel. I dunnae have all day to train with ye, aye.”

  Glaring at him, she lumbered into the skiff with a great deal of effort and no help. By the time she was standing again, she was panting and her wet gown felt incredibly heavy. She shoved her hair out of her eyes, intending to blast Graham for not aiding her, but when she looked at him, hope shot through her. Undeniable hunger filled his eyes, and the tension it caused him was evident in the tight set of his jaw. “Again,” he said tersely.

  She knew in that moment that Graham had not considered how her falling into the water would make her gown mold to her body. She had to use this advantage. She took a deep breath, which she knew full well made her breasts strain against her thin gown. When he looked swiftly away and cursed, she grinned, and barely managed to school her features when he faced her once more.

  When he came at her next, she deflected the first blow without toppling into the water, but the second blow sent her swiftly over the edge and into the loch. Once again, Graham fished her sword out but forced her to heave herself into the skiff wit
hout aid. When they had repeated the same exercise ten times—and each time she ended up in the water without progress toward her own goal—her temper sparked.

  She set her hands on the edge of the skiff to climb in again when Graham looked down at her from his dry stance on the boat and said, “Are ye ready to quit, Isobel? Are ye ready to admit ye are nae strong?”

  She froze as realization struck and filled her with hurt. Graham was trying to get her to admit she was weak so it would be easier for him to go on believing she would somehow make him weak. But then another thought occurred to her. He must be getting horribly desperate to resort to such measures. He was cunning, and she needed to be more so.

  “I kinnae climb back in,” she lied. “My arms are too tired. Perchance I should quit.” She stared up at him and prayed she did not have a guilty look on her face.

  He nodded, as if this was the outcome he had been expecting, and setting both their swords down, he leaned over and reached out to her. She moved as quietly as she could to set her feet against the skiff, and she sent a silent plea to God to give her the strength to do what she had in mind. When Graham grasped her hand, she shoved back with her legs with all her might and yanked him toward her. Her husband toppled headlong into the water. When he broke the surface with an astounded look on his face, she laughed. “Ye underestimate me, Graham MacLeod. A very dangerous thing to do with yer enemy.”

  “Are we enemies, then?” he asked, moving toward her with a predatory look in his eyes.

  Her heartbeat ticked up a notch, and her body heated, despite the cold water they were in. “It certainly seems so as of late, Husband.”

  A pained look settled on his face as he glided toward her and came directly in front of her. “A Dia, Isobel. It was nae ever my intention to make ye feel as if we are enemies. I just need ye to accept how things must be between us and nae push for more.”

  Her heart was thudding like a drum as she felt all that could be hinged on this moment. If he could deny his desire and his heart even as she saw it burning brightly in his eyes, she feared the time to flee, to grasp at her last hope, was at hand. Sadness pressed down at the thought.

  “Kiss me,” she said impetuously. “I dunnae believe ye truly want what ye ask for, but I will ken the truth from yer kiss.”

  “A kiss will tell ye the truth?” he asked, his disbelief evident in his tone.

  She nodded as he closed the little distance between them and gave her a quick kiss on the lips that made her want to scream her frustration. “Nay,” she said and wrapped her arms around his neck, forcing him to keep her afloat. “A real kiss,” she taunted huskily, pressing her body against his.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  With his wife’s sweet, delectable body pressed so torturously against him, Graham was certain the ache of yearning denied would kill him. He had to prove to her once and for all that he would never lose control and fully unleash his passion again. He gently pushed her back against the skiff and set his hands on either side of her to grip the boat. “Keep hold of me,” he commanded.

  He brought his lips to hers as he had dreamed of every night for the last week, and he swept a feathery kiss across her mouth. Her shivery response and soft mewling sigh was like an expert blow to his will. He felt the vibration of the hit to his bones, yet he pushed forward, determined to prove to her that this would be how it was between them. He slid his tongue against the seam of her lips, and his groin tightened immediately. She parted her lips to welcome him inside her. His head screamed at him to retreat, but his body sought her like she was the one thing that could keep him alive.

  He slid his tongue inside her hot mouth, and as he did, one of her hands came to his groin and brushed against his hard staff, and all the discipline he thought he had gained disappeared, leaving in its absence nothing but a fiery, raw, aching need that demanded fulfillment. He could not think of anything but tasting her, touching her, pleasuring her. His frenzied hands moved of their own volition to her breasts, and he rubbed the hardened buds until she was whimpering.

  He brought his hand low in the water between them, and he pulled her undergarments down and then kicked off his own. As desire denied rushed through his veins to awaken him from the stupor not caressing her had left him in, he parted her legs with his knees, slid one hand under her bottom to hoist her upon his staff, and gripped the skiff with the other. He took her with an intensity of emotion that frightened him, one that he did not have the ability to control. This need for her was more than physical. Every time she matched each of his thrusts by pushing her hips to meet his and then met each of his guttural cries with moans of pleasure, he understood with more clarity that the yearning that gnawed at him for her was in his heart as well as his body. He could not get close enough to her or hold her tight enough. Driven by a force he did not wholly understand, he slid into her body with long strokes. Water lapped around them and her upper back smacked against the skiff.

  Inside him a great force built. It felt as if it would splinter his bones, and then it was as if hot liquid was pouring through his veins as his body tightened and his seed poured into her. He shuddered violently until it was all he could do to keep them afloat, and when her body tightened around his staff and she screamed her own release, he knew the pleasure that overcame him in that moment would be the greatest he’d ever know. He pressed his head against her thundering heart, and as her hand came to his head and she moved her fingers gently through his hair, he felt love and loss at once.

  He loved her. He could not deny it to himself any longer, but the love that he had been unable to hold back, just like the passion he could not control when he touched her, only served to make him certain he had failed. He was still weak. He’d always be weak as long as she was near him, despite how much he trained. And in that weakness he would lose her, either by his own mistake or when she finally saw him clearly.

  “I love ye, Graham,” she whispered as she wrapped her legs around him.

  Slowly, he untangled her legs and set her hand to the skiff where he knew she would hold on. “I’m going to go to Brigid alone,” he said in response, seeing now the only option he had.

  Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened. “What do ye mean?”

  “Ye will be safe here. I will go to Brigid alone, claim the castle, and make it a MacLeod stronghold. Yer grandmother will see that it was safest for ye to remain here at Dunvegan. Live here.”

  The tears that sprang to her eyes made him suck in a ragged breath to keep from recanting his words.

  “Ye intend to live separately from me?” she whispered, the torture in her voice shredding him like no sharp blade ever could.

  He nodded. “Aye,” he responded. “I told ye how it had to be. Ye kinnae accept it, and I kinnae—” He broke his words off, not wanting to say out loud what he was certain she knew. He could not control himself when it came to her. He could not contain the desire, the need, or the longing she sparked in him. The only way to bridle it was to put distance between them, and then surely time would reduce the heat she created in him with a look, with a smile, or by simply being near.

  Without waiting for her response, he lifted her into the skiff and climbed in after her, only to realize the skiff had water in the bottom of it, indicating a leak. He glanced toward the land in the distance and back to the water in the skiff. He was not worried. They had been out here for some time, and with such little water in the boat, he knew the leak was slow.

  She nodded but did not say more. Instead, she turned her back to him and wrapped her arms around her waist. She looked small, fragile, and defeated. Pain twisted around his heart and squeezed. He’d done this to her. He’d hurt her when all he had wanted to do was to protect her from himself.

  Isobel could not get away from Graham quickly enough. She left him to pull the boat out of the water on his own, and then she scrambled up the seagate stairs, falling to her knees at the top in her haste to escape him. Struggling to her feet, she brushed her cut hands against
her skirt, and rushed blindly into the castle and to her bedchamber. She closed the door, stumbled to the bed, and curled into a small ball. He had rejected her utterly. She had offered all her love, and the truth was, he simply did not want it. A small part of her mind whispered that she was being unreasonable, that it was his fear and not her, but she rejected those words. He did not want her. He likely never had, and she had fooled herself. She could not even hate him as much as she would like because he had told her from the beginning that he would never give her his love, and she had stubbornly refused to believe it.

  She had no hope left. Fleeing would not make him realize he loved her because he planned to leave her. Fleeing now meant finality for her hopes.

  She let the tears loose that she had struggled to contain, and they coursed hot and quick down her cheeks. She cried until her head pounded, and her nose was stopped. She cried until she was certain there were no more tears in her, and then she slept the deep, deathlike sleep of the brokenhearted.

  Graham was aware that a dull noise filled the great hall but not of the actual words being spoken. He was aware of the sharp ache in his gut and chest, too, but he was most aware that Isobel had chosen not to come to the great hall for supper, and her absence made each breath painful. Feeling Lachlan’s eyes upon him, he pushed food around his plate to seem as if he were eating, and he prayed to Christ that his brother did not ask him what ailed him. Iain already knew of Graham’s plan to leave for Brigid tomorrow without Isobel. He had needed Iain’s blessing and assurance that he would guard Isobel with his life. Iain had not said much when Graham had told him his intentions, but he had not needed to.

  Graham had seen the disapproval in Iain’s eyes and heard it in his voice. He knew his brother had told Marion though she had not made mention. She just glared at him when he entered the hall, and he felt the angry heat of her scowl even now.

  “What is the matter with ye?” Lachlan asked just as Rhona leaned over Graham’s shoulder to pour him more wine. Graham clenched his teeth both on his irritation that Lachlan was asking at all and on his brother’s bad timing. He did not want the other women believing Isobel was not wanted by him.