Alasdair lifted a hand in farewell. “Thank ye, m’friend.”
With a curt nod, the commander urged his horse into a canter and rode away.
Chapter Eleven
Isobel eased around the roots of the ancient tree, then knelt down and peeped over the high embankment. There. Deeper in the ravine and downstream a bit was exactly what she sought. Well-hidden and comfortably cradled behind the mossy rise above the burn, she stretched out on her belly and propped her chin in her hand. Loving contentment flowed through her as sure and fast as the swift-moving water.
Naked as could be, Alasdair and Connor stood in the stream. Both eased their way through the water at a snail’s pace. Arms extended, Connor looked to Alasdair for approval before moving forward with each slow step. Their target lay ahead. A formation of rocks hanging over the burn, forming ledges and pools of water.
Alasdair had not only promised fish for supper but had also proclaimed it was high time Connor learned the fine art of guddling. If he managed to curb the five-year-old’s exuberance long enough to tickle a fish free of the stream, the man deserved sainthood. Isobel had sworn to clean and cook the fish for them.
And then after supper, she would seduce him. It was time to take Auntie’s wise advice. Seduction was the only way to convince Alasdair to forget about challenging Temsworth.
Isobel’s breath caught as she allowed her gaze to rake across Alasdair’s body. What a fine, sculpted arse he had, and the play of his muscles when he moved made her ache. Bitterness soured the view. She didn’t even know what she ached for. Submission to Temsworth’s twisted demands surely couldn’t begin to touch what a man and woman in love might discover in each other’s embrace.
She pushed away the thought and concentrated on the tempting spectacle in front of her. Aye. Alasdair was a fine man. She loved the way the wet, dark hair sleeked across his chest and legs, accentuating the outline of his hardened muscles even more. She bit the inside of her cheek. A man’s member usually shrank from the cold. Not Alasdair’s. Even with the water’s chill, he was a sight to behold. Saints a mercy, how large might he get with some encouragement?
Alasdair pointed at the slippery gray surface of the rocks peeping just above the waterline. Anticipation tickled a smile from her. She’d lay odds that one or both would end up thoroughly doused before this fishing lesson ended. At least they’d had the foresight to keep their clothes dry by leaving them on the bank.
As the two reached the ledge of stone, she gave the barest shake of her head. Merciful heavens, the boy would surely catch his death from the icy water and cool breeze. His teeth were chattering.
Motioning the lad forward, Alasdair knelt down and stretched over the ledge. Intense concentration hardened his features as he inched forward, running his hand under the ledge until the rushing water frothed against his shoulder. Connor crouched at his side, his tiny face aglow with awe and anticipation.
Isobel prayed Alasdair would be successful. She didn’t care overmuch for the taste of trout but didn’t wish Connor disappointed. She cringed as her son flopped down on his belly alongside Alasdair.
The longer Alasdair lay with his hand shoved under the rock, the deeper his brow furrowed. His face hardened into a predatory grimace, then he bared his teeth and shifted to reach deeper under the water. Just as Isobel had lost all hope, he let out a victorious roar and yanked a hefty, wriggling fish out of the water and tossed it high upon the bank. Connor crowed with excitement, scampering up the embankment.
“What a fine fish!” he proclaimed as he squatted down beside their flopping dinner and poked it with a finger. He hurried back to Alasdair, picking his way down the bank, flinching as his bare feet found sharp bits of rock. “Reckon there’s more?” he asked, shivering.
“We’ll have to go farther upstream, lad.” Alasdair rose from the rock. “If any others shared that one’s hidey-hole, we’ve frightened them away.”
Without a sound, Isobel retreated, crawling backward until she felt certain that when she stood, they wouldn’t spot her.
She busied herself gathering more fuel for the fire and kept it well fed. The sight of Auntie curled deep in the woolen folds of a plaid at the base of a tree, snoring softly, made her smile. Poor Auntie. This trip through the Highlands was a strain on her.
This was the first day that Alasdair had relaxed enough to permit a fire, and Isobel was glad of it. Ian and Sutherland had gone hunting in case no fish were caught. She pulled her knitted shawl close. As the shadows of the waning day lengthened, the thick woodlands grew chillier.
Isobel nudged the pot of water deeper into the coals and added the seeds and greens she’d foraged. She crumbled a chunk of dried venison into the mix, then sprinkled the steaming liquid with a few ashes from the fire for a nice, salty seasoning. A hot broth to go along with the fish wouldn’t go amiss on an evening such as this. Alasdair and Connor would surely be chilled to the bone.
“We’ve naught but a pair of hares to add to the fire,” Ian announced as he and Sutherland entered camp. “Best get the remaining oatcakes and bread to fill our bellies.”
“They be cleaned and on a spit already,” Sutherland said as he held up the pair of skinned carcasses skewered on a long stick stripped of its bark.
“We caught three fish!” Connor shouted as he burst through the trees. “I caught one of’m m’self, I truly did. All by m’self! And Alasdair let me gut the one I caught!” He hopped along beside Alasdair, hoisting his end of the stick even higher. Three good-sized trout dangled from it. “I did, didn’t I? All by m’self?” He beamed up at Alasdair.
“Aye, that ye did, lad.” Alasdair gave Isobel a subtle nod as he patted Connor’s shoulder. “He’s quite the fisherman.”
She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt such joy and contentment. If only life could stay like this. She rose from beside the fire and waved them forward. “Come to the fire. Warm yerselves whilst I finish cooking this fine supper ye’ve all provided.” She gave Connor a quick hug, her heart hitching as he pulled away and scampered over to the other men. It was obvious the lad was too excited over the fish to be bothered with a hug from his mother. He was growing up too fast.
Alasdair caught hold of her arm and kissed her cheek. He held her close long enough to brush his lips across the tender skin of her temple. “I saw ye watching us,” he whispered. His knowing look made her limbs weak.
She recovered quickly and gave a nonchalant shrug. “I was merely ensuring Connor was safe and behaving himself. I know how reckless men can be when excited by the hunt. The both of ye will be lucky if ye dinna catch yer death from that cold water.”
“After the papers are sorted, and we’re married, ’twill be up to ye to warm me.” Alasdair winked, then strode across the camp and pulled a leather flask from one of the saddlebags draped across a stump. With a sorrowful look at the vessel, he blew out a heavy sigh. “For now, I’ll have to rely on the uisge beatha and the fire.” He caressed her with another searing glance, then took a hearty swig.
Auntie Yeva crawled from her nest of plaids and hobbled over to Isobel. She gave a scowl as she took the fish. “I prepare supper. You plan.”
“Plan?” Isobel repeated.
“It is time you make him realize no good comes from trying to reason with a demon.” Her aunt paused and glanced back over her shoulder at the men. “You two can live as man and wife in the eyes of God. Does not matter what some paper says.” She pinned Isobel with a sly look. “Convince him. A child would help even more.”
“Connor?”
Auntie rolled her eyes as she cut the head from the largest fish. “His child, girl. A man like Cameron will listen to the woman carrying his child. Will do anything to protect her and the babe.”
Isobel decided not to share she’d already decided seduction was the only way. She took the knife from her Auntie and cut the heads off the other two fish, then handed them to the old woman. “Here. For the soup. Rake the coals higher around the pot, aye? And
I’ll thank ye to hush. Yer voice travels, ye ken?”
“You know I am right,” Auntie grumbled as she took the fish heads and headed for the pot.
Isobel wiped the knife on the ragged length of linen she’d knotted around her waist to shield the front of her dress. Aye. Auntie was right. If bedding Alasdair didn’t convince him to give up the foolish idea of petitioning the duke for a divorce, would his child?
She turned and watched him as he sat with Ian, Sutherland, and Connor around the fire. A tender wish filled with hope unfurled deep inside her. Alasdair’s child. What a joy it would be to have a babe with the man she had always loved.
Alasdair paused and turned to her as though she’d spoken the thoughts aloud. He smiled. A loving smile. A grin that sent a surge of heat flashing through her. Aye, she burned for him and didn’t possess the power to hide it.
She broke away from his attention and busied herself with skewering the fish and propping them to roast over the fire. She struggled to keep her mind from wandering as she turned the hares on the spit and stirred the bubbling soup. She had no thought for food. What might happen after supper was foremost in her mind.
“How much longer, Mama?” Connor’s impatience yanked her back to the present as he squatted beside her and reached out to poke one of the fish.
Isobel smacked his hand away and carefully turned the fish, their skins charring nicely. “A bit longer. Run and fetch those slabs of bark for the meat and the cups for the broth, aye?”
“Be there fried bread, too?” Connor circled the large fire, inspecting all that was cooking.
“Do as Mama said,” Auntie ordered with a shooing of both hands. “I fry the bread now.”
The old woman hefted an ancient cast iron griddle out of a cloth sack. The pan’s handle was broken, and its surface was blackened from years of use. She placed it dead center atop the chunks of glowing embers she’d raked into a pile. As she knelt beside the fire, she pulled a small cloth-covered crock from the deepest pocket of her skirt and scooped out a finger of a white paste. The fat slid across the surface of the pan, liquifying as it heated. Without looking up, she motioned to a rock behind her. “Fetch dough.”
Isobel hurried to comply, then crouched down and held out the bark with the mound of pale white dough. “I canna believe ye kept hold of yer wee pan all this way.” As far back as she could remember, Auntie had used the same pan for frying food. It had also come in quite handy when they’d made their escape from Hestlemoor—served as a good weapon, knocking the unsuspecting guard of the tower firmly into his dreams.
“Was my mother’s and grandmother’s and so on. I could never leave it behind.” Auntie pulled off sticky gobs of dough and dropped them on the sizzling surface of the pan. She gave Isobel an affectionate nod. “Will be yours someday.”
Isobel placed an arm around her aunt’s shoulders. “I shall treasure it.”
Alasdair approached, squatted down beside them, and leaned toward the pan. A look of sheer bliss settled across his features as he closed his eyes and inhaled. “Lord Almighty. It’s been ages since I’ve had yer fried bread. If I’d known ye had yer wee pan, I wouldha let us have a fire sooner. Tonight’s meal will be a true feast. A damned site better than dried meat and oatcakes.”
Auntie nodded. “I teach Isobel. She knows how to fry the bread. When you two have a daughter, I teach her, too.”
“I hope we’ll be blessed with many bairns,” Alasdair said.
“Me, too,” Isobel said, her mind made up at that exact moment on what she had to do. Auntie was right. Their only hope for a happy life was to live as man and wife. The rest of the world be damned. Nothing but sorrow would come from challenging the duke. She would do whatever it took to convince Alasdair of such. “Fetch yer board and cup from Connor. Supper’s ready.”
Alasdair rose but hung back as Ian, Sutherland, and Connor lined up for the meal. Isobel felt his gaze as she parsed out the food.
“Ye saved little for yerself,” Alasdair said as she placed the last of the fish and rabbit on his board and filled his cup with the choicest bits of the stew.
“I have all I need.” She couldn’t keep from smiling as she held up her half-filled cup and small chunk of fried bread. Well…she would have all she needed soon.
He followed her to a moss-covered hillock. “We should reach Tor Ruadh tomorrow, late.” He settled down beside her and tore into his food like a man starved.
Isobel nibbled at the savory edges of the browned bread and sipped her broth. She had no appetite for the meal. Her entire being was too caught up in how she should put her plan into play. She hadn’t realized they would arrive home so soon. That left her but one night. A bairn might come from one joining, but such odds were slim. Once they reached Tor Ruadh, sleeping with Alasdair would become a great deal more complicated. She was not so sure he’d be willing to share her bed—at least not without a great deal of coercing. She knew he wouldn’t want to risk opening her to ridicule or disrespect. After all, she was married to someone else.
Rage at the injustice of her past nearly choked her. Nay. She had never been married. Not in the real sense of the word. She had been enslaved for breeding purposes to give the duke an heir. Temsworth had extended no kindness toward her. She crumbled her bread into her cup, struggling to rise above the hatred threatening to drown her. She focused on tomorrow’s reunion with the rest of the MacCoinnich clan. “It will be good to see the MacCoinnichs after all this time. Do all the brothers live at Tor Ruadh?”
“All but Duncan.” Alasdair sopped his bread into his cup, popped the bite into his mouth, then licked the rich gravy from his fingers. “He and his wife live on an island far from here.” He stared off into the distance and smiled. “A warm place. Beaches of the whitest sand surrounded by the sea. Jungles filled with all manner of strange animals. Somberness clouded his features. “It’s a fine place, but it’s not our beloved Scotland.”
“Ye miss him.” Isobel set aside her cup. Alasdair had always been closest to Duncan. The two had been thick as thieves when they were lads.
“Aye.” He rose and stretched, rubbing his stomach with one hand, then smiled down at Isobel. “But I see him now and again.” He thumped his taut middle. “Lord Almighty, woman. Ye’ve stuffed me full.”
She stood and gave a graceful sweep of her hand. “I merely helped prepare what these fine hunters and fishermen provided.” She feigned a look at the sky and held out a hand for his cup. “I’ve little light left to rinse the cups and pans in the burn. I best hurry.”
“Connor and I will do.” Auntie toddled over to the boy, took hold of his collar, and pulled him to his feet.
“Auntie!” The lad made the mistake of attempting escape, but she latched onto his ear. “Ow! Leave go! Please!”
“Chores make a good man.” Auntie shook a finger within inches of the boy’s nose, then pointed around the camp. “Gather cups and pot while I get the griddle.”
“Dinna argue with Auntie,” Isobel warned, doing her best to keep a level tone. She knew exactly what Auntie was about. It was time to convince Alasdair to take a walk. She turned to him and smiled before her courage waned. “Care to join me for a walk? ’Tis good for settlin’ the meal.”
Suspicion flashed in Alasdair’s eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, he held out his arm to her. “It would be my pleasure, m’lady.”
Her hand firm in the crook of his elbow, she pointed toward a path leading deeper into the woods. With her most beguiling smile, she hugged closer to his side. “We shan’t stray far. With night coming, I fear we might lose our way without the fire.”
“I’ve just the thing.” He strode back to the saplings, hacked one free, and stripped it of its leaves. He pointed to the linen rag serving as her apron. “Ye dinna mind parting with yer fine covering, do ye?”
“Nay.” She untied it and handed it over. “What have ye in mind?”
Alasdair wrapped the linen tight around one end of the stick, then took Auntie’s smal
l crock of cooking fat and smeared a healthy amount all around the material. “And a bit of fat to light our way.”
“Auntie will have yer arse for using that.”
He dipped the rag into the fire and ignited the torch. Turning to Isobel, he gave her a sly smile as he held out his arm again. “Ye’ll be good enough to protect me from her, aye?”
She shook her head as she took his arm. “From Auntie? Nay, my brave torchbearer, ye must battle that fearsome dragon alone.”
Alasdair laughed, then paused before exiting the camp. “I know yer bellies are full, but see that the boy and Auntie make it back safe, aye?”
Sutherland waved them on with a knowing grin. “On wi’ ye, man. We’ll tend to the safety of camp, and see ye in the morning, aye?”
“Dinna mind him,” Alasdair cleared his throat. He held the torch higher as they left the clearing and pushed deeper into the woods.
They strolled along the winding path in silence, the rising breeze riffling through the leaves. Something skittered across the forest floor.
“A pine marten after his supper,” Isobel said. “Or a female marten in search of food to fetch back to her babies.”
He glanced down at her. “Ye always amazed me. Ye werena like the other girls only interested in cooking or sewing. I remember yer auntie and da both scolding ye more than once about acting like a laddie.”
“That seems so long ago.” The torchlight flickered across what looked like the perfect place for all she hoped would happen. She pointed at the mossy ground surrounded by oak trees. “Would ye mind if we rested over there? It looks like such an inviting place to ease away the weariness of the day.”
Alasdair abruptly halted and faced her. He gave her a narrow-eyed look. “Isobel.”
The man’s talent for saying her name in a tone that said he wasn’t fooled by her had always infuriated her. Damn him.
“We are married in the eyes of God,” she defended. “We’ve loved each other since we were bairns. Even promised ourselves to each other back in those caves we used to play in.” Another thought came to her. “We are also married in the eyes of Scotland. Back at the inn. Ye claimed me as yer wife in a public place. And I nay denied it.”
The Judge (Highland Heroes Book 3) Page 14