by Carol Arens
It took him no time at all to reach the top floor and find himself standing before the door of the chamber he’d sworn not to enter. Had he unconsciously indicated to Broc to place her in Mairi’s old chamber? Athdar hesitated for several minutes there, fighting off the old demons and memories without uttering a word. If Isobel stayed, he would move her...
If she stayed?
Hell, not even putting her in Mairi’s room lessened the hope or the knowledge that not only did she not want to leave, but he did not wish her to. Before that thought could finish, he knocked on the door.
‘Come.’ He lifted the latch and opened the door, forcing his feet to move into the room he’d not entered in years.
‘Athdar,’ she whispered once she saw that it was him. ‘Have the men arrived?’ She wore a plain gown with a woollen shawl around her shoulders. Her hair lay in loose waves of curls and floated around her hips with each step she took towards him.
Part of him, the heart that had never healed after Mairi’s death in this room, was horrified that he noticed her appearance. Another part of him, the randy part that found her immensely appealing, pushed him to watch the way her eyes brightened when she spoke to him and the way his heart pounded when he listened to her voice.
‘Nay,’ he said, clearing his throat and trying to concentrate on his reasons for coming to see her. ‘I fear they may have had to escort Jocelyn all the way through the pass.’
‘Are they safe?’ she asked, clenching her hands and twisting them. A worried frown marred the usual bright expression. ‘I should have been with them.’
‘Aye, you should have,’ he said, a bit sharper than he wanted to. ‘But, you are here and safe and my men and the MacLeries will have one less woman to worry over.’ She nodded. ‘If not this night, we will know by the morn.’
She shook her head but did not look reassured. ‘Will you send more men?’ Isobel met and held his gaze. ‘On the morrow?’
‘I sent a man out ahead of them, two days ago. He will reach Lairig Dubh and let Connor know of their early departure.’ He should not have, but he reached out and touched her hands. ‘They will be safe.’
A trembling smile lifted the corners of those tempting lips and she nodded as she laid one of her hands over his. ‘Thank you for your words. Especially when you have every right to be angry with me.’ She acknowledged his original reason for coming here just as he remembered it for himself.
‘I am not angry with you, Isobel. I do not understand why you engaged in such subterfuge or why my sister helped you.’ He paused when she started to object. ‘Or why my sister inspired you to such behaviour,’ he finished, convinced completely that Jocelyn and Isobel had conspired—either openly or in secret—for her to remain behind.
Something inside pushed at him to be honest with her. Something strong forced the words out of his mouth before he could stop them.
‘I am not unhappy that you wished to remain here.’
Isobel looked up at him, unable to believe the admission he’d just made to her. ‘You are not?’ He shook his head and his stern expression softened just the scantest of bits. ‘But you are angry?’
He let out a breath and released her hand. Walking back to the door, which she noticed he seemed to glance back to every few seconds, he shrugged.
‘I should be. You purposefully misled your mother, my sister and me. Although I think my sister knew or prodded you in this matter.’ The stern look was back in his brown eyes, making them darken to almost black. But the attractive dimple in his cheek twitched and she knew now he fought back a smile. ‘Still, I am glad you are safe.’
‘And glad I am here?’ she asked, not wanting to miss the chance to see his reaction. He stood now in the frame of the door and shook his head once more. In regret?
‘Since no one offers me such a challenging game of chess, I suppose I am.’ She could tell he would give her nothing more than that, but it pleased her. ‘I came up here to invite you down to the hall for dinner. If you remain up here, they will all think you are more prisoner than guest.’ Athdar extended his arm to her. ‘Worse, they will know I subjected you to my terrible temper.’
‘I do not remember your temper flaring at me in the past. But I thank you for that warning—I will have a care for overstepping your hospitality,’ she said and she meant it.
Isobel had heard tales of his temper from kith and kin who visited here and she’d witnessed a few strange outbursts from him during his visits to Lairig Dubh, but never directed at her.
But any man, be they laird or servant, could reach their limit and strike out. Though she knew her father had never lifted a hand to any woman, she’d also seen many a man who did. Embarrassing a man in front of others risked his displeasure and her being discovered here without the laird’s knowledge could be embarrassing.
‘Does this reluctance to anger me mean you will not defeat me in chess again?’ he asked, his eyes narrowing as he waited for her reply as though trying to discern the truth of her words.
She walked to his side and placed her hand on his arm. ‘If losing to me again will anger you, then I could promise to let you win.’ She knew him to be jesting, as she was. ‘Truly, I feared you were angry and did not want to force my company on you in front of your people.’
They walked down the corridor to the stairs and then down to the main floor. Before they entered the back of the hall where others had already gathered to eat, he drew her to a stop.
‘Isobel, we must have a care for your honour, now that you are here without my sister or your mother. So, before we go in, you should know...’ He stopped and faced her, his face once more serious. ‘We cannot meet for chess in the hall after supper. Well, not alone, we cannot.’
Athdar was having a care for her reputation, though knowing her father as they both did, she did wonder if fear of him was the cause. Almost as though he’d read her thoughts, he laughed then and began walking once more.
‘Besides, if word gets back to your father that I did anything the least bit questionable regarding you, drawing and quartering would be less painful than what he would do to me.’
They approached the table and Athdar led her to an empty seat next to his, and waited for her to sit. Those waiting greeted her and the meal was served. Strange, it seemed more companionable now without Jocelyn than when she was here. She wondered if Athdar felt pressured by her presence. She was, after all, his older sister, and had attained a position of higher power and wealth with her marriage to the MacLerie.
Broc seemed more subdued at this meal than before, as did Athdar’s commander, Padruig. Their quietness made her realise that they were distracted, not inattentive. Looking around the table, she noticed a similar expression on the faces of several others there.
Worried. They worried. Leaning over to Athdar, she spoke in a low voice so that only he could hear.
‘The men still out there—your people worry over them?’ she whispered.
‘Aye. Padruig’s son accompanied Jocelyn back. They wait for word.’
She felt terrible, as though responsible for this delay, and telling herself she was not did nothing to assuage her feelings. Isobel realised that the woman next to Padruig must be his wife. Then she felt Athdar’s hand on hers under the table.
‘You are not the cause of their delay. If anything, you being here, talking with them, is easing their worry. Speak to Nessa there about your weaving.’
He knew she liked to weave? Jocelyn must have shared that with him, for it was not something most men took notice of.
‘Nessa, did you know that Lady Isobel has a talent for weaving?’ Athdar asked.
‘My wife is one of the best weavers here,’ Padruig said, pride clear in his every word. ‘And our eldest is showing some of her skills, as well.’
‘Where is your loom?’ she asked, having not seen one here
in the keep. ‘Has the wool been carded and spun yet? Or dyed?’
Once they started talking, it continued for some time. Soon Isobel found the two of them alone at the table while the men had moved to one end of the long table and were now involved in some heated discussions—about what she could not tell.
After some time, the table was cleared, the floors swept and the hall readied for the night—and still the men did not return. Nessa stood and bid her farewell. Walking over to her husband, she took him by the arm and pulled him aside, whispering to him with a glance or two over at Isobel. Then Padruig said something to Athdar who also looked over at her.
She wanted to examine her gown for holes with the way the whole group began to look in her direction!
‘Glenna,’ Athdar called out. The young serving maid came at his call. ‘Take Lady Isobel back to her chamber.’
As she began to follow the maid away, dismissed with a simple command, he spoke again. ‘I will send word when the men arrive.’ It pleased her that he understood she worried over their safe return.
‘My thanks, laird,’ she said.
As she returned to the chamber above, she realised two things. In spite of its inauspicious beginnings, the day had some good results—the best one being Athdar’s admission that he was glad she’d not left. And she believed that he was beginning to see her as something other than too young or too this or too that, or just as Rurik’s daughter. Between their kiss and the way he touched her hand under the table and his attempts to ease her worries, she suspected he was thinking about her in the way she wanted him to do so—as a woman.
She’d been so exhausted the night before that she had fallen deeply asleep within moments of settling into the bed, but this night it took more time. Time enough to realise that Glenna shared her chamber, sleeping on a pallet near the door. And that only convinced her more that she was correct about Athdar’s attitude towards her.
* * *
Isobel felt as though she’d slept for only minutes when the knock came on the door, telling her that the men escorting Jocelyn and her mother had returned. She dressed quickly and hurried down to the hall to learn if the fates were going to be kind—to the men and to her plan.
* * *
Padruig grabbed his son and dragged him into what could only be a chest-crushing embrace. Athdar gave him a chance to privately greet Tavish, named after Athdar’s father, before asking the men to give their report. It did not take long for others to arrive at the hall—the men’s families as well as some of the servants. Athdar gathered everyone at the large table and let them eat and drink before asking them all the questions he had for them.
Just as he was about to begin, Isobel arrived.
She was sin personified walking across his floor, just woken and looking fresh from bed. Her hair was loose and tussled and it begged him to wrap it around his fist. From the way his body reacted at the sight of her, he knew he’d made the right decision in having Glenna share the chamber with her. When he glanced over at Padruig, the man winked at him as though reading the temptation Isobel presented to him on his face.
He rose and offered her his chair. She sat and he noticed she smiled when she saw Padruig’s son next to his father. She must be as worried for news of her mother as he was, but she waited for him to ask the questions.
‘Are they safe?’
‘Aye, laird,’ Dougal answered. ‘They made it through before the worst of the storm hit us. Gavin travelled all the way when he headed back.’ Her body relaxed at the news and he let out the breath he did not know he was holding. Jocelyn was safe.
‘What took so long?’
‘Well, Niall had to give over his horse for the lady’s group. The cart was slowing them down, so they took what they needed and used Niall’s to carry the extra supplies.’ Athdar realised that Niall was not with them.
‘Where is he now?’
Tavish and Dougal chuckled. ‘Still walking, laird.’
Athdar did not have to say a word. Padruig was on his feet, calling out orders to two of the men listening. The light of the moon was enough to see their way and retrieve Niall.
‘So the storms came, then?’ he asked.
‘Aye. One moment it was clear and sunny, the next it moved in like a wall of snow. Lucky we were far enough in that they could get through the rest.’
‘My thanks,’ Athdar said to them. He held out his hand to Isobel for he wanted her to hear news about her mother without the others listening.
‘Dougal?’ They walked far enough from the table so the others could not hear. ‘Did my sister or the lady’s mother give you messages for her?’
‘Only to tell you that they are safe and someone will come for you as soon as the pass opens once more.’
‘My thanks for your assistance to them, Dougal,’ Isobel said in a tone that made the man instantly her admirer.
Dougal left them and Athdar looked at Isobel, trying not to let his fear and pleasure over this setback show. He would have to take steps to ensure her honour was protected and that he protected her honour, as well. That, he suspected, would be the bigger problem.
‘It seems you will have me as a guest for some time longer, Athdar. I hope I will not be too large a burden to you.’
Words escaped him in that moment. This would be the biggest challenge he faced in a long time. To have her so close and want her so much and not to touch her. And not to let her batter down his resistance and his resolve about accepting another woman into his torn and shattered life.
Looking into those eyes the colour of the northern sea and knowing she was truly an innocent and must remain that way, he vowed to respect her honour...
For if he did not, he dishonoured himself, as well.
And he would end up in little pieces spread all over the Highlands of Scotland by her furious, half Scots, half Norse, very dangerous father.
Chapter Eleven
Although, from the sound of it, it was a severe early winter storm that had closed the pass, the weather at the village and in the lands around them was beautiful and sunny. Harvest was done and now everyone did their part from the oldest to the youngest, from fit to shut-in.
And for Isobel, guest or no guest, it would have been inconceivable to remain inactive and not help, so she did. She spent a few hours each day with Laria, helping her dry, crush and mix her various herbal concoctions. She spent other hours visiting with Nessa and the other weavers spread throughout the village, helping as she could and wishing she had her loom here so she could work alongside them.
But the best time of each day was the evening.
Supper brought her together with Athdar who seemed to enjoy her company and her conversations about many topics, from warfare and the political alliances in Scotland to how to preserve more meat for the winter. Sometimes she would catch him watching her or see him smiling over something she’d said to Broc or Padruig.
He was very much like Connor in that he did not mind having his opinions challenged, though when he made a decision, that was the end of the matter. She witnessed that when it came to arrangements for the village and when it came to some decisions about the training of some of his men.
They did play chess, but always in the middle of things, with others around and though she often found him staring at her lips, that kiss was never repeated. She certainly would have been willing to, she told herself, if he’d only try to. He did not.... Nothing about his behaviour towards her could be considered anything but polite and respectful and honourable.
And she wanted to scream!
Isobel had thought of ways to spend some time alone with Athdar and yet could come up with nothing that would not be obvious. With each day’s report of the snows in the mountains and her visit extending came the hope that something would happen between them. She just did not realise that weaving
would be the way it would begin.
Isobel was leaving Nessa’s cottage when she spied Athdar riding through the village. The cold winds whipped around her, catching up her cloak and her hair and tugging her along the path faster than she would have walked. Laughing as she went, she soon found herself standing before Athdar. He smiled at her and her heart warmed.
‘Come now, Isobel,’ he said, leaning over and reaching out his hand. ‘If you are making your way back to the keep, let me take you there.’ She accepted his hand and pulled herself behind him on the horse.
‘Are you certain I am not keeping you from duties?’ she asked, as she settled on the horse, tugging the length of her gown and cloak down to cover her legs. A cold burst of wind made her laugh once more as she fought it.
‘Isobel!’ he whispered over his shoulder as the horse danced beneath them. ‘Here now,’ he said, reaching around and dragging her across his lap. It took him no time at all to place her over his legs, wrap the bulk of the cloak around her, and surround her with his arms. ‘Ready?’
He asked, but did not wait for a reply, kicking the sides of the horse until the giant black lunged forwards carrying them both along the road to the keep. She sat, unmoving, both out of fear of upsetting the horse’s movements and out of the desire to not leave his arms. After they’d gone a short distance, she relaxed against his chest, enjoying the feel of his strong muscles and the warmth his body gave hers. He tensed for a moment as she did it, but then allowed it, even cushioned her more as they continued up the path. Several villagers called out or waved and she noticed more than one of them giving a knowing nod.
If the weather held out...
If she demonstrated her usefulness...
If she made him want her...
If only...
‘You do not need to work in the village, Isobel. You are my guest.’
‘Aye, a guest, but I cannot abide being lazy. And truly, I would rather stay busy than sit idly by when there is so much to be done.’