Highlander’s Veiled Bride: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highland Seductresses Book 2)

by Shona Thompson

  Angus watched Donal as he began to lead his clansmen away from the camp, and then he gave the order to his own men to do the same. Before he could jump onto his own horse, though, Diarmad approached him, a small frown on his face.

  “Dinnae ye blame him, m’lord,” he told Angus. “Weel . . . perhaps ye can blame him, but dinnae blame him too much. I’m sure that ye understand what he is going through, and . . . Laird Cameron isnae verra good with grief. I’ve seen him like this before, worse even. When his brother died, there was nay one who could speak to him without getting into an argument with him. He’ll come around, I’m sure. He’ll see that he’s wrong.”

  “Do ye think that he’s wrong?” Angus asked.

  “Aye, but dinnae tell him that,” Diarmad said, a small smile playing on his lips. “Trust me, he’ll remember that ye are friends soon enough.”

  It was rather comforting to hear those words from Diarmad. It was a nice reminder for Angus that no matter what happened between them, he and Donal would still be friends. After all, they had gone through worse times before, and Angus, despite his own anger, wasn’t willing to lose such a friendship.

  He reminded himself over and over that Donal was only dealing with his grief, just like he was, but his words had left a big cut inside him, one that was still tender and raw and one that hurt every time that he remembered what the other had told him. Every now and then, as he rode back to Knapdale, he would remember those words, and he would become infuriated once more, his rage threatening to spill out just like it had before.

  Give it time, he thought. Give him some time.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Ishbel had been waiting and waiting for Angus and the men to return. She had been pacing up and down the castle, to the point that she was now familiar with every corridor, every nook, and cranny of the building, and yet she still couldn’t hold still.

  She had tried several things to distract herself after her guests had left the castle. She had tried cooking with the women in the kitchen once more, she had tried taking walks in the nearby woods, and even embroidering, something that she always detested, and yet nothing had worked to keep her mind from wandering off to Angus and the battle. She would keep conjuring the worst scenarios in her head, and all she could see were images of Angus dead or dying, in agony and pain.

  She wished that she could sleep, just so that she would stop thinking about such terrible things, but when she had tried, her dreams were filled with those same images and having such terrifying, vivid nightmares was worse than simply thinking about all the terrible things that could happen to him.

  So, instead, she remained awake, and she spent her hours doing anything that she could to pass the time and distract herself.

  That was, at least, until she heard a commotion in the courtyard, and she ran outside to find Donal there, followed by his men, and behind them, right at the end of their procession, Angus.

  Ishbel ran to him, and the moment Angus jumped off his horse, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace. Relief washed over her, and she couldn’t wipe that grin off her face every time she pulled back just enough to look at him.

  He was alive and well; he hadn’t died. He had come back to her, and Ishbel couldn’t be happier.

  As happy as Angus seemed to be to see her, though, there was something behind that happiness that Ishbel simply couldn’t ignore. He was sad, sadder than she had ever seen him before, and when her eyes drifted to the carts that his men were pulling behind their horses, she understood why.

  “Angus . . . how many?” she asked.

  It took Angus several moments to reply to her, and when he did, he did so with a sigh. “Over two dozen,” he said. “Most of them ours.”’

  “God . . . Angus, I’m so very sorry,” Ishbel whispered softly, pulling him closer once more, as she tried to provide him with as much comfort as she could. As happy as she was to have him back alive, she couldn’t ignore the pang of sorrow that she felt when she looked at the carts.

  “Ishbel . . . I must tell ye something,” Angus said, pulling back from her, but still holding her hands in his. He seemed to be struggling to find the words, but Ishbel remained quiet, looking at him patiently as he spoke. “It’s . . . it’s Euan. He’s dead.”

  The news hit Ishbel with such ferocity that she was left gasping for air. Her eyes searched for him, and she found him in one of the carts, lying among the other soldiers that had died in that cursed battle.

  She couldn’t hold back the tears that spilled from her eyes. Isabel didn't know Euan as well as she would have liked, but she knew him well enough to know that he hadn’t deserved to die like that. None of the men had, of course, but Euan had helped her when she had asked him, and in the process, she had come to realize that he was a good man, a kind man, despite his cocky attitude. He was sweet, and he was funny, and Ishbel knew that he had been close with one of the young women in the castle, a distant cousin of hers.

  She would have to tell her about Euan’s death, she thought. She would have to be the one to deliver that news, and she would have to see her heart break into a million little pieces.

  He would have made a good husband for her, Ishbel knew. He would have made a good father, too, and perhaps even a good right-hand man for Angus.

  “Will ye tell Mairead?” Angus asked her. “I’d tell her, but—”

  “No . . . No, I should be the one to tell her,” Ishbel said. After all, distant or not, she was still her cousin. “It’ll be better for her to hear it from me.”

  Angus nodded, and Ishbel let go of his hands, before she began to walk around the carts, looking at the men that they had lost.

  There were so many of them there, even a few with wives and children, and Ishbel’s heart ached at the thought that those women and those children would be left all alone. She knew that Angus would provide for them, of course, but even though they would never have to worry about food or a roof over their heads, there was no replacing the men that they had lost.

  Before Ishbel could say or do anything else, she heard heavy footsteps retreating, and when she turned around, she saw Donal stomping his way into the castle without saying a word to her or anyone else.

  “Angus, what . . .”

  Then, she saw the look on Angus’ face when she looked back at him. He was trying to hide something that seemed to Ishbel like a mixture of anger and pain, and she knew immediately that it had something to do with Donal and the way that he had left without saying a single word.

  “What happened?” she asked, finishing her sentence. “What happened between you and Donal?”

  “Is it that obvious?” Angus asked with a sigh, his arm coming up to wrap around Ishbel’s shoulders. She leaned against him, seeking the comfort that his warmth provided, even though his clothes were drenched in old blood.

  At least it wasn’t his own.

  “Yes, it is,” she said. “It’s very obvious. Now tell me, what is it? What happened?”

  Angus hesitated. There were times when he didn’t wish to talk to her about certain things, and Ishbel was well aware of that, but that was one topic that she would force him to talk about if she had to. Whatever was going on between him and Donal, it had to be resolved before it could turn into an unresolvable issue.

  “It’s Vika,” Angus said.

  At the mention of Vika’s name, Ishbel pulled back from him with a frown, wondering what she could possibly have to do with the two of them. Once again, her mind jumped to the worst conclusions, such as that Angus had found her and had realized that he was, indeed, in love with her, little sense as that made.

  “What about Vika?” she asked.

  “She was there, Ishbel,” Angus said, confirming one of her fears. “She was right there, with Hamish.”

  “With Hamish . . . as in with him?”

  “Aye,” Angus confirmed.

  “It was no coincidence, was it?” Ishbel asked. It was too sinister to be a coincidence. It sounded like
something Vika would have planned, with her cunning mind.

  “Nay,” Angus said. “She escaped from the nunnery, and she found Hamish. She . . . she guided him through everything, Ishbel. She was the one who was behind everything that Hamish did.”

  Isabel couldn't help but stare at Angus, mouth agape as she considered what that meant.

  “Then . . . then that means that she had him kill my uncle,” she said in a whisper, shaking her head. She could hardly believe that Vika could have done such a thing, despite everything that she had heard about her. Cormag had been such a kind man, and even though he felt guilty for everything that Vika had done, Ishbel knew that he still loved her, up to the point when he died.

  The fact that she could do such a thing to her own father, who had been nothing but loving to her, left Ishbel with a bitter taste in her mouth.

  But then, Angus shook his head. “Nay, she told me herself that she had nae taken part in that,” he assured her. “Cormag’s death was all because of Hamish. What he did to the village, it was all him. Vika said herself that she didnae have anything to do with that.”

  It was a relief, though it didn’t mean that it did anything to absolve Vika of her crimes.

  “So . . . she was there,” Ishbel said. “But what does that have to do with you and Donal? And where is she now? Is she here? Did you bring her with you?”

  Angus shook his head once more. “Vika . . . she’s dead. She took her own life.”

  Isabel didn't know what to say to that. She couldn’t say that she was upset by Vika’s death, or that she wished that she were still alive, but she didn’t rejoice in her death either. She didn’t think she could be happy about anyone’s death, no matter what they had done.

  “And, Donal, he is a stubborn lad,” Angus continued. “I . . . I was there when Vika took her own life. This blood . . . this blood is all hers,” he said, as he glanced down at his soiled clothes. “I saw her cut her own throat and die right in front of me eyes and then . . . then I couldnae leave. I couldnae leave her body, not right away. Even after everything that she did, I couldnae believe that she had chosen that end for herself . . . but Donal is a stubborn lad, and he thinks that because he found me next to her, that I still love her. The things he said to me, Ishbel . . . ye wouldnae believe that they came from his mouth. I canna understand why he would say such things.”

  Ishbel sighed heavily, a hand coming to rest on Angus’ shoulder. “Because he’s in pain,” she told him. “And we say many things that we don’t mean when we are in pain. You should talk to him, Angus. You should try to make him see reason.”

  “Nay,” Angus said immediately, shaking his head almost violently. “Nay, I willnae talk to him, not when he is so verra angry. I canna talk to him the noo, because we’ll end up arguing again, and then nothing will be resolved.”

  “Perhaps if you managed to remain calm, then you two wouldn’t end up arguing again,” Ishbel pointed out.

  “Ye dinnae ken Donal that well,” Angus insisted. “He is a verra stubborn man, and if I talk to him the noo, he will be looking for a fight. He will be looking for the wrong thing to say, he will try to anger me.”

  Ishbel thought that even though Angus called Donal stubborn, he was nothing short of stubborn, too. Every time that he was angry, he liked to antagonize others, and it didn’t take much to make him angry, not when one knew what to say to rile him up.

  She was certain that Donal knew the exact words to say.

  “You should talk to him before he leaves, at least,” Ishbel insisted. She was certain that Donal would try to leave as soon as possible, but she hoped that she could stall him a little, just enough to change Angus’ mind. “You shouldn’t let him leave before resolving this . . . you shouldn’t let him leave while there is anger between the two of you. His resentment will only grow while you’ll be apart, you know that.”

  “I dinnae think he wishes to speak to me, lass,” Angus insisted. “But I’ll see what I can do . . . for ye.”

  “Don’t do it for me,” Ishbel said. “Do it for you. Do it because you and Donal are brothers.”

  Angus didn’t reply to that, but Ishbel didn’t need an answer. What she needed was for him to at least consider what she had told him. So, she cut the conversation there, and then she took him by the arm, leading him inside the castle.

  “You need a bath and a change of clothes,” she told him.

  “What I need to do is bury the men,” Angus said, though he followed Ishbel regardless. Ishbel could see that he was tired, the dark circles under his eyes dragging his skin down, stark against his pale complexion. He needed a bath and food, and then he could do everything else that he had to do as the Laird of the clan.

  “A bath and food first,” she insisted. “You’re in no shape to bury anyone, not with all that blood on your clothes, do you hear me? We’ll bury those men with every honor we can give them, but we can’t do that when you look like this. Also, you reek.”

  Perhaps it was a harsh way to speak to Angus, but it was the first thing she had said that drew a small laugh out of him. Ishbel smiled at him, soft and gentle, as she pushed him into their chambers, and then she left him there as she ran around the castle to arrange everything that he and the other men would need.

  Only when she had made sure that the servants all had their orders and that the wounded were being taken care of did Ishbel allow herself a moment to breathe. She found herself in an empty corridor, one that she had come to realize was often empty during her walks around the castle, and she sank down onto the ground, leaning her back against the stone wall.

  She took a deep breath, but it did nothing to stop the tears that began to flow once more from her eyes. It was fine, she thought. She could afford one moment to be overwhelmed with everything that was happening around her, one moment when no one could see her. It was all she needed before she composed herself, wiping her tears with the back of her hand and fanning her face a little to avoid any redness.

  She didn’t want anyone to know that she had been crying, that she had allowed herself that one moment of weakness.

  Then, she decided that if Angus wasn’t going to talk to Donal, then she would have to do it for him, or at least she would have to get the two of them in the same room so that they could finally resolve what hostility there was between them. She knew that if Angus lost Donal as his friend, it would destroy him in a way that nothing else could, and she wasn’t willing to allow that to happen.

  She was determined to fix their relationship, no matter what it took.

  Chapter Thirty

  Ishbel found Donal sitting alone outside, in the gardens at the back of the castle, as though he couldn’t even bear to be in the same building as Angus. When he saw her, he gave her a grimace, one that told her that she had made the correct decision.

  She had to talk to him; she had to make sure that he and Angus talked to each other.

  “Did Angus send ye, lass?” Donal asked once she approached him.

  Ishbel shook her head, and then she perched herself on the bench next to Donal, the two of them staying silent for a while.

  In the end, it seemed like Donal couldn’t handle any more of the silence.

  “What do ye want, then?” he asked, impatient. “And be quick about it, because I’ll be leaving verra soon.”

  Ishbel looked at him, trying to bite back the small, amused smirk that threatened to spread over her lips. She hadn’t known Donal for a long time, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t read him like an open book. He may have been angry, furious, in fact, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t want to resolve his issue with Angus deep down, too.

  “I want you to talk to him,” she said, and before she could even finish her sentence, Donal scoffed at her, putting his hands on the bench as he was about to stand and leave.

  Ishbel slapped a hand against his chest and shoved him back down on the bench, reminding herself of a governess who had to deal with an unruly child. Even Donal seemed to b
e surprised by that, and he retreated a little, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

  “I want you to talk to him,” Ishbel repeated, “because he refuses to talk to you, and not because he doesn’t want to. He wants to, but he thinks you need to calm down first.”

  “I’m calm,” Donal assured her, even though his leg was bouncing up and down as he tapped his foot on the ground. “And I’m fine. I dinnae need to talk to him.”

  “Yes, you do,” Ishbel insisted. “Donal . . . what are you so angry about?”

  “I’m angry because yer husband is lying,” Donal spat. “I’m angry because I ken that he still loves Vika.”

  “Do you?” Ishbel asked, keeping her tone low and even, as she didn’t want to match Donal’s own and make him even angrier. The man was not beyond words yet, though, and Ishbel was certain that she could talk him into doing what he should do.