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

by Julie Johnstone

  “Until she dies?” Marion whispered. “I cannot say for—”

  “Nay!” Grief tried to enter him, but he ruthlessly battled it back. “How long until she should awaken?”

  Marion’s mouth dropped open. “Graham—”

  “She will nae die,” he insisted.

  Marion nodded. “Yer love will keep her alive.”

  “Aye,” he agreed, refusing to ever deny it again. “It must.”

  That night and the next day blurred into one endless nightmare. Graham held his wife’s cold, naked flesh to his, rubbing her back, whispering his love, and begging her forgiveness. She did not respond. Not to his touch, nor his words, nor his fervent prayers.

  As night descended once more after Marion, Bridgette, and Marsaili had come and gone after seeing to Isobel, Graham sat at the side of her bed for a moment to simply stare at her and drink in every detail. He touched his shaking fingertips to her face, and when he felt the new warmth, such relief filled him that he laughed. He leaned close to her to look at her lips and eyelids, which he vowed held more color than they had before.

  A shudder of relief flowed through him as he stripped his clothes off again, climbed into his bed, and pulled Isobel tightly to him. When a sigh of contentment escaped her and she turned her body into his, he had never known such sweetness, such profound love and gratitude for a person in his life. He could do little more than hold her as he thanked God repeatedly for giving a fool such as he another chance. When she awoke, he would spend his life proving to her how much he loved her.

  Isobel awoke wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and strength. She’d died. She was sure of it, because this felt exactly as heaven must feel. She moved, and when pain shot through her legs, she knew she was still alive. She let out a groan, and the arms around her stiffened, then suddenly released.

  “Isobel!”

  Graham’s worried voice pierced the thick fog surrounding her thoughts. She blinked her blurry eyes, and when her vision cleared, she squinted against the sun filtering in the window and found her husband very near and staring at her. Dark circles were under his beautiful eyes and lines were at the sides. Heavy whiskers covered his jaw, and she could swear he looked as if he had been near death.

  “Ye look awful,” she croaked, trying to sort out in her head what had happened.

  He grinned, which seemed rather odd to her. “Ye look like the woman I love with all my heart,” he replied.

  She frowned, certain she was dreaming. Her eyes were heavy, very heavy, so she closed them.

  When she awoke again, darkness blanketed the room, except for the warm orange glow of fire from the grate. Delicious heat swirled in the air, and she started to smile. But then she noticed Graham was gone. His strength was gone. She must have been dreaming before. Tears gathered in her eyes and slipped underneath her lashes as she squeezed them shut.

  “There now,” a voice suddenly soothed. “Dunnae fash yerself, mo chridhe. I love ye. I’m here.”

  She felt her brow furrow. He loved her and called her my heart? Was she dreaming or awake? She could not decide, and she was still so very tired.

  The next time she opened her eyes the room was filled with sunlight. She gingerly tested her limbs, which protested greatly but not so much that she did not manage to sit up. She glanced around the bedchamber and instantly recognized that she was in Graham’s room. She sat for a long time, trying to remember what had happened, and just as she squeezed her eyes closed in frustration, the creak of the door had her jerking them open once more.

  Graham stood in the doorway, wearing only a pair of braies that hung low on his hips. He smiled and desire pooled in her belly as heat rushed low between her legs. He had discarded her, yet she still wanted him. She should be ashamed, yet she only felt a sudden horrid sadness and confusion. The smile flitted off his face, and pain and regret replaced it. As he silently entered the room, she realized he was carrying a tray laden with food. He walked to the bed, and she could not help but admire the graceful way he moved, his muscles rippling in perfect time to answer the commands of his body.

  She looked away, not wishing to stare like a lovesick fool, though she was surely that. The bed squeaked as his weight came upon it, and she knew when he set down the tray by the clank of it against wood. She jerked in surprise when she felt his heavy hand settle upon her leg. He was touching her!

  But is he?

  Yes. That was his large, strong hand upon her leg. But her husband did not touch her. He held himself aloof and cold, denying her love.

  She frowned. “What happened?”

  “Ye dunnae remember?” he asked softly.

  She started to shake her head, but water dripping from his wet hair onto his bronzed chest and sliding down his taut stomach caught her attention. There was something about the water that sent a shiver through her. Fear suddenly overcame her, and she brushed his hand off her to pull her knees up tight.

  “Isobel?”

  She heard genuine concern in his voice, and as she stared at his wet chest, the memories of being hit and awakening in a sinking skiff slammed into her. “Rhona!” she cried out, pulling her gaze to her husband’s.

  “Dead,” he replied with little emotion, though she could see his jaw tense.

  “Did ye—”

  “Nay,” he interrupted. “Though she likely would have been put to death for attempting to kill ye had she not thrown herself from the seawall cliff. She hit the rocks below and died.”

  Isobel shivered and hugged herself more tightly, looking away from Graham to the bed. She started to tremble and could not seem to stop it.

  “Isobel, I—”

  “Ye dunnae want me,” she said simply. “I ken that now. I accept it. Ye dunnae need to tell me again.”

  He gently took one of her hands in his, surprising her once more. “Isobel, please look at me.”

  Churlishly, she thought to deny him, but mayhap he would make her. Though, he likely would not. Graham had never been cruel physically, only to her heart. She settled her gaze upon him, and the torture she saw in his eyes sucked her anger away and left her with only sadness. “It’s fine, Graham.”

  “Nay, mo chridhe, let me speak.”

  She stilled at his words and could not help but nod.

  “A Dia, Isobel. I am dying inside at the pain I caused ye. At almost losing ye. At making ye believe ye might have to flee me if I could nae ever offer ye love.”

  Isobel gasped. “How did ye ken that?”

  “Marion,” he replied, “but it dunnae matter how I ken it, just that I do. I wish to pull ye into my arms and hold ye tenderly, but I’m afraid it’s too late. That I have pushed ye too far away.”

  Isobel’s throat tightened with intense emotions. She remained silent so her husband could finish, though she had much to say herself.

  “I love ye, mo maise,” Graham professed. “Ye are mo chridhe. I ken I dunnae deserve yer love. I am nae worthy of it. But I am desperate for it. I want to be worthy. Teach me to be worthy. Make me good.”

  She pressed a trembling finger to his lips. If she heard one more word of his plea, her heart would break with pain for him. “Ye are more than worthy,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “It was yer mother who was nae worthy of yer love. Ye have always been worthy. It takes strength to wish for love, Graham. Ye are nae weak but strong. Ye dunnae need me to make ye good, as ye already are so. If ye truly wish to give me yer love, I will take it gladly and give ye all that is in my heart.”

  He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Reverence filled the kiss, along with love and the promise of passion unbridled.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  A fortnight later, after seeing Lena off with Alex MacLean, and after saying a tearful farewell to Marsaili, Bridgette, and Marion, Isobel rode by her husband’s side for Brigid, where they would make their home together. It had been decided that this secret passage they were now on was safer to travel to Brigid than by the sea where they would be easily spotted by the
ir enemies. She glanced at him on the horse beside her, wearing his kilt and the breastplate she’d had made for him, and love flowed through her.

  Unlike before when they had journeyed together, Graham stopped so frequently out of concern for her health that she was about to go mad. She wanted nothing more than to reach Brigid, because he had vowed to her that once they were there and in their bed, he would finally take her into his arms and join with her once more.

  She would have felt utterly unwanted by him, but she knew it was fear of setting her recovery back that had stopped him from joining with her and not fear of losing control as before. She suppressed a chuckle at that thought.

  He had vowed profusely that it was precisely because he intended to forfeit all control that he not yet joined with her again. Marion, her well-meaning but much too meddlesome friend, had warned Graham that she needed time to recover before he took his wife to his bed once more. It was hard to be angry with Marion, though, as Isobel knew she was well intentioned.

  But when Graham held up his hand to call for them to stop yet again, she decided she would simply ignore him. As the men around her halted, she did not slow her horse, but before her destrier managed to move completely past her husband’s, she found herself unseated and in Graham’s arms.

  “Isobel,” he hissed, “we are being followed.”

  Fear cloaked her immediately, and she looked behind her at the long stretch of valley they had just ridden through. On either side of them steep mountains rose, and in front of them there were thick woods. It afforded many places for someone to be waiting to ambush them.

  “How long have ye kenned this?” she hissed back, recognizing that his voice lacked the panic of one who had only just realized they were being hunted.

  “Long ago,” he assured her. “My captains all ken, but I wanted to get us somewhere I could send ye to safety.”

  “Nay!” she protested. “I will stay and fight with ye.”

  He shook his head. “I love ye, Wife, and I welcome the strength ye give me, but ye’re in need of many more lessons with a sword, before ye can battle another warrior.”

  She knew the truth of his words, so she sighed but nodded her agreement.

  Graham gave a low bird call and suddenly Cameron was beside them, grasping her around the waist as Graham shoved her at his brother. Cameron locked one strong arm around her while setting his destrier at a dizzying pace toward the thick woods ahead.

  As they galloped away, the sound of horses’ hooves thundered in the quiet, followed by a war cry that she recognized as Graham’s. She craned her neck to look behind her and her heart seemed to stop.

  “Cameron!” she cried, grasping his arm at the sight of arrows flying from the mountains toward Graham and his men. Fear punched her in the gut as Graham was struck with one arrow, then another, and yet a third. He fell from his horse and lay unmoving on the ground.

  “Ye must turn around!” she demanded. “We must help them.”

  “Nay!” Cameron shouted. “I will get ye somewhere safe and—”

  The first arrow struck Cameron in the shoulder, the next in the leg. As he started to slide off the horse, Isobel screamed and grabbed at him, but he was too heavy and she could not hold his weight on the destrier. He fell to the side, barely missing being trampled by the horse. Isobel leaned over the galloping horse that carried her away from Cameron and into the woods, and she struggled to grab onto the reins. When she secured them in her hands, she sat up while pulling on the reins, and then she let out a scream of surprise. In front of her was Findlay seated on a destrier and flanked by more Campbells with their swords drawn.

  She looked behind her, and her heart fell. Ten more Campbell soldiers had come out of the forest to surround her.

  “We’ve come to rescue you, Isobel,” Findlay said, his tone mocking her. He held up a hand and motioned as if calling someone forward. Suddenly, the men to Findlay’s left parted, and a destrier carrying James of Dunbar moved toward her. James offered a chilling smile that made the hair on the back of Isobel’s neck prickle.

  “It seems we are to be married today,” James drawled.

  “I’m already married,” Isobel snapped, her belly tightening with trepidation.

  “Nae anymore, Sister. Yer husband is dead.”

  “Nay!” she denied fiercely, even as fright threatened to suffocate her.

  “If he is nae dead yet, he will be shortly. He’s surrounded on every side by my men, Isobel. And their only order is to kill Graham MacLeod so we could free ye from the marriage we ken ye were forced into.”

  Pain squeezed her heart in a viselike grip.

  “Ye may thank me later when we arrive at Brigid,” Findlay said with a chuckle. “Bring forth the priest to perform the ceremony!”

  It took a moment for Graham to get his breath back. As he clambered to his feet with his sword in hand, he touched the hidden breastplate which had saved his life and thought of Isobel and then of the king, who was the only person other than his brothers who had known the secret passage Graham was taking to Brigid. Had the king betrayed them or had the king told someone who had was not loyal to him?

  A swift look around him ripped a curse from his lips. Most of his men were scrambling to their feet, but he counted five lying unmoving, dead. As he let out the bird call intended to warn the men he had ordered to fall back to now come forward, the second wave of the attack came. Campbells streamed down the sides of the mountain, but Graham was prepared. His additional men surged through the valley toward them. The Campbells advanced, too, and it almost seemed the majority of them seemed to be intent solely upon him. But he cut them down easily as they came. By the time he had struck his seventh deathblow to a Campbell, his other men had joined in the fight, which was over quickly.

  Panting, he looked around the fallen Campbells and frowned. If they had meant to kill him and all his men, they had grossly underestimated how many warriors they needed. Unless…

  He looked to the woods where he had sent Isobel to safety with Cameron. Fear lodged in his throat with the awareness that he had not sent his wife to safety at all. He had sent her into the arms of his enemy.

  “Rory Mac!” Graham roared as he swung up onto his destrier and galloped toward the woods. The first thing he saw when he entered the thicket was his brother limping toward him. Graham swept his gaze over Cameron, noted the arrow lodged in his leg, and slowed his horse. “Brother?”

  “I’ll live,” Cameron assured him. “Ride fast for Isobel.”

  Graham nodded, and with Rory Mac and ten more of his men joining him, he set a thundering, swift pace through the woods.

  Isobel gripped the slight waist of James, who she had just been forced to marry with the point of a sword to her throat, except she refused to believe she was actually married. Her brother led them into the woods. Toward Brigid, she presumed. Worry pumped through her veins as the trees flew by in a blur, putting more distance between her and Graham. Or possibly not, she thought, as she noted a new hum in the air.

  She listened for a moment, almost sure it was horses in pursuit, and when the distinct call of a bird filled the air, she knew well it was her husband. She smiled grimly. “James,” she said, pressing her lips close to the ear of the disgusting man in front of her. “Ye will die this day.”

  James’s response was a chuckle. “Soon I’ll show ye just how virile I can be, Isobel, and ye will wish for yer own—” A dagger flew so close to Isobel’s head that it hissed in her ear. The dagger lodged in James’s skull, and Isobel released him as he fell from the horse.

  All around her men were drawing swords, but it was too late. Graham was the first to arrive, and the rage on his face made Isobel shiver. He cut a path through the men, striking deathblows as if he were killing horseflies. He was beside her, pulling her off her horse with one hand while battling a Campbell with the other. Once she was seated behind him, she wrapped her arms around him, feeling his back tense with the strain of his anger.

  His men
surrounded them, placing her and Graham in the center of a protected circle. Graham jumped off the destrier, and his men parted to let him through. Even as she protested, the circle closed once more. She could see nothing, but she heard the steady clank of metal meeting metal. Suddenly, the noise stopped, and Isobel realized Graham’s men had felled all the Campbells, but when she glanced through a crack in the circle, she saw Findlay on his knees with Graham standing behind him, his sword raised high.

  “For Lena!” he shouted, swinging the sword down to end Findlay’s life.

  When the deed was done, Graham dropped his sword and came to her, taking her off his destrier and silently leading her a short distance away from his men. His breathing was heavy and took a long spell to slow. As he faced her, their gazes locked. Sweat dampened his brow and hair, and it took many slow, steady breaths before the rage faded from his eyes.

  He cupped her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers. Love flowed through her as she reached up and cradled him as he did her. “Mo chridhe, ye saved me,” he said. “Yer gift saved me.”

  She nodded as tears of thankfulness coursed hotly down her cheeks. “I told ye, ye stubborn man. Ye are stronger with me.”

  “Aye,” he agreed. “I am that, mo chridhe. I love ye,” he murmured before giving her a long, deep kiss that held the promise of so much more love to come.

  Not long later, they rode up the long, narrow stone bridge that led to Brigid. At the end of the bridge, standing between two towers, was a lone figure. Deep in her bones, Isobel was certain it was her grandmother. A long cloak flapped around the tiny figure, and long silver hair fluttered around her shoulders.

  Isobel began to tremble the closer Graham drew them to her grandmother. When they were so near that Isobel could make out the older woman’s features, she startled, seeing her resemblance to her grandmother in the color of her eyes and set of her mouth, and wondering if she also looked like her mother.