There were so many times Isabel wanted to declare her love. But the knowledge that her words would only cause him discomfort, and perhaps even guilt, held her back. She wanted honesty between them more than she wanted anything else, but until she secured an alternative to the alliance with Argyll, she dared not risk it. Nor could she risk upsetting the delicate balance they’d fought so hard to achieve.
Time slipped away too quickly. Especially the nights. Her cheeks reddened. And sometimes the days, she thought, recalling the fragrant, downy meadow of heather. A few weeks into March, Rory had finally relented and allowed her to spend a day outside the castle walls. Little did she know that behind his acquiescence lay an ulterior motive. Making love outside had been an entirely new experience for her. She smiled. Rory had kept his word to teach her much, and Isabel had proved an apt, and attentive, pupil. So much had changed since that wild, passion-filled night before Christmas. Gone was the nervous virgin, replaced by a confident, sensual woman. A confident, sexually adventuresome woman.
When she wasn’t occupied tumbling through meadows of heather, Isabel kept herself busy with the accounts and organizing the festivities for the Highland gathering and, much to her delight, a wedding. Since Margaret had pointed it out to her those many months ago, Isabel had noticed Robert’s blatant interest in Bessie. Nevertheless, she was surprised when Bessie came to her with the news of her proposal. She was overjoyed for her dear nurse, but Isabel would miss her terribly if Rory repudiated the handfast.
She was painfully aware that only three months remained in their handfast period. With the Highland gathering fast approaching, Isabel would be forced to see her family and report her progress. She hoped to broach the subject to her father about shifting alliances.
But today, Isabel’s mind was turned to other matters. After much anxious preparation, the day of Bessie’s wedding had finally arrived. Following the small ceremony, long tables and benches had been set up in the courtyard for the celebration to take advantage of the favorable weather. Isabel knew she wasn’t the only one tired of being cooped up in the castle.
Standing in the crowded courtyard, she leisurely swept her eyes over the scenic vistas surrounding her. She inhaled the fresh breath of spring that was in evidence all around. The lemon yellow sun hung all alone in its azure frame, its extreme brightness seeming to defy heavenly competition. The sea rolled and glistened, its turquoise waters unusually clear and vivid. Behind her, the landscape seemed to turn more colorful by the moment, the forests flourishing green, the horsetail standing proud on the heathered hillsides, the purple thrift and yellow iris blanketing the coastal cliffs. A lazy breeze tickled the rustling leaves and gently cleared away the vestiges of winter dankness.
Spring had certainly arrived.
Lost in thought, Isabel didn’t notice when Margaret moved to stand beside her. “’Tis a beautiful day for a wedding,” she said.
She grinned at Margaret. “It’s absolutely perfect.” Isabel couldn’t have asked for a more fitting stage for this special occasion. She and Margaret had worked tirelessly in preparation, with very little time. She shook her head with bemused chagrin, only two weeks to plan a wedding as important as this. Bessie had complained that she was far too old to wait any longer; she didn’t want to give Robert time to change his mind.
Isabel’s gaze fell on her beloved nurse. Her heart swelled with pride as she watched the beaming bride and groom greet their guests. “I’ll miss her.” Isabel didn’t realize she’d spoken her thoughts aloud.
She felt Margaret’s sympathy as surely as if she’d put her arms around her. Margaret knew Isabel had not told Bessie of Rory’s plan to repudiate the handfast. Only those closest to Rory knew of his intentions: Alex, Margaret, and Rory’s guardsmen. Fortunately, Bessie’s curiosity had waned after Rory had made Isabel a bride in truth.
“Bessie will always belong to you. She loves you as if you were her own child.”
“For so many years, she was all I had.”
“I know.”
Margaret didn’t need to say more. Isabel knew she understood. Margaret was the best friend Isabel had ever had; she knew her almost as well as Isabel knew herself.
Almost. There was one thing they never spoke of directly: Rory’s plan to send her back and repudiate the handfast. It was a subject too painful for them both.
“Enough of these maudlin thoughts. This is a day for celebration. By the way, where is your Viking?” She expected that Margaret would also have some happy news soon. The Viking’s interest in her was as plain as the perpetual scowl on his face. And Isabel’s secret plan for Margaret was about to be divulged.
It was Margaret’s turn to blush. “He’s not my Viking,” she said primly.
Isabel raised an eyebrow. “He’s not?”
“Well, at least not in so many words.”
“I suspect that will change soon.”
Margaret was saved from replying by the arrival of her brother.
Rory made a sweeping motion with his hand. “Is everything as you wished, Isabel? I see even the weather has followed your directives.”
“Oh, Rory, it’s perfect. Thank you so much for making this such a special day for Bessie. It has meant so much to her, and to me.”
Rory grinned broadly. “I’m glad you are well pleased. Between planning a wedding and planning for the gathering, you have not had much time to rest.”
He was so irresistibly handsome and charming, the thought flashed through her mind for perhaps only the hundredth time. His hair glimmered more golden than brown in the bright sunlight. So tall and muscular, he looked like a bronzed god. That this man belonged to her was overwhelming. She loved him beyond measure.
Still, she frowned. “That reminds me, I’d almost forgotten something I meant to do today for the gathering. The clans will start to arrive in a few days, and I have not yet checked to make sure we have enough space to stable all the horses in the village.”
Rory interrupted her. “Not today, Isabel. Today you will enjoy this wedding that you and Margaret have worked so hard on. It’s almost time for the dancing to begin, and I’ll not let you go.” To demonstrate, he twirled her around in the air as if she weighed no more than a bairn.
“Put me down right now, Rory MacLeod!” She laughed, banging on his arms for release. “I have work to do. I will make you regret this high-handedness.”
Watching him now, so playful, Isabel was struck by just how much he’d changed in the past few months. He was lighter, happier. She wanted desperately to believe that she was the cause of the change.
“Promise?” He smiled wickedly.
“I promise,” she whispered breathlessly. Locked in the blue twinkling of his eyes, she felt her heart flutter at the sensuous promise lacing his words.
“Leave be, you two.” Margaret giggled. “Please try to refrain from discussing your private bedroom exploits before my innocent, burning ears.”
Rory dropped his head and pressed a light kiss on Isabel’s parted lips before releasing her. “Oh, very well, Margaret. I never knew you were such a tight-laced prude. I’ll have to warn Colin to temper any illicit advances he has planned.”
“I’m sure I don’t know to what you are referring, brother,” Margaret said primly, hands on her hips.
“Don’t you? Hmm. We’ll see.”
Isabel still loved to stand witness to their lighthearted sibling teasing.
“Do you know something, Rory? What are you not telling me?” Margaret narrowed her eye threateningly at her much larger brother, looking as though she might attack.
“Patience, Margaret. You always were a demanding little brat.”
“How dare you, Rory MacLeod! Brat, was I? You’ll regret those words.” She pounced on him, beating his arms with her tiny fists where Isabel had left off.
“Margaret, you should not punch the chief. It’s not seemly,” Colin interrupted.
Speak of the devil, Isabel thought. Another booming, proud voice of authority�
�how many could this castle possibly hold? She smiled at the handsome Viking. Even when he was teasing, Colin frowned forebodingly. Well, Margaret cared for him, and that was all that mattered.
“I was not punching the chief, Colin. I was merely reminding my brother that I am no longer a bairn.”
“Ouch. I’ll try to remember that in the future, Margaret,” Rory said, holding his arm. “You’ve a heavy fist for such a wee lass.”
Isabel turned to Rory, clasping her hands together with excitement. “Before the dancing begins, Margaret and I have one more surprise for this day of celebration. Are you ready, Margaret?”
Margaret glanced at Colin as if she were going to be ill, then drew up her shoulders with forced confidence. “I think so, yes.”
Isabel motioned to Rory, Colin, and Alex, who had just walked up. “You stay right here. We’ll be right back.”
“What are those two up to this time?” Alex asked, confused.
Rory looked at the two men next to him and shook his head. “I can’t even hazard a guess. But we better do as we were told. Margaret looked quite serious. For a moment, I thought she seemed almost frightened.” His gaze fell back to the Fairy Tower, where Isabel and Margaret had just disappeared inside.
Moments later, he was the only one facing them when they alighted from the tower. He blinked in disbelief, then reached up to shield his eyes from the sun. It was not an apparition. His heart stalled. All he could think to say was, “Dear God in heaven. How did she do it?”
“Do what?” Colin and Alex asked in unison before they turned to follow Rory’s gaze.
Three men stood stunned as the women came toward them. Others around them began to realize that something important was happening, and as quick as summer fire, an unnatural silence spread through the crowd.
Silence, before the dam burst and a resounding cheer pierced the air.
With his long stride, Rory reached Margaret first. Tentatively, as if she could not be real, he placed his hand on her cheek. His fingers brushed the now empty place where the monstrous patch had once covered his sister’s injured eye. A thin, star-shaped white scar trailed from the inner corner of her eyelid up to the brow. Although he knew she had lost the vision in her eye, it was impossible to tell from looking at her. Two round sapphire blue eyes sparkled directly into his. His throat tightened as he let the shock filter through his body. Margaret was just as bonny as he remembered. The scar in no way detracted from her beauty. It was barely noticeable.
He turned to Isabel and asked in a voice rough with emotion, “How did you do it?”
“All Margaret needed was a wee bit of encouragement”—she laughed—“and a looking glass. I just convinced her that what was under the patch was not nearly as terrible as what hid it. The rest was up to Margaret.”
Colin descended upon them and ignobly pushed his chief to the side. He reached for Margaret’s hand and raised it to his lips reverently. His gaze locked with hers. “What fairy spell is this? I had never thought…Margaret, you are even more beautiful than I remember you before the accident.” His hushed voice was full of admiration.
He said it with such sincerity that Isabel knew Margaret could not doubt his words. She smiled shyly but proudly. “Thank you, Colin. I assure you there is no fairy magic, but only my stubborn sister to blame. Isabel has badgered me for months to remove the patch and show her the scar. That first step proved the most difficult. I haven’t looked in a mirror for years, so even I was surprised to see how much the scars had faded. ’Tis not nearly as bad as I remember. I must admit, I was very nervous just now to see your reaction. I’ve been wearing that horrible patch for so long.”
Isabel watched with amusement as the corners of Colin’s lips lifted up in what could only be described as a smile. Inconceivable, she thought, now there is a true bit of fairy magic.
Alex interrupted to lift Margaret in a great hug, her feet dangling in the air. “I hate to think what this will mean for your archery skills. I fear I have lost my only advantage,” he teased. “As you will not be needing it any longer, perhaps I can borrow your patch and try my luck?”
Margaret leaned her head back and laughed. “Alex MacLeod, you are incorrigible. It is yours, I have need of it no longer.”
Rory was overwhelmed.
He thought Isabel could not surprise him, but she had. He had learned so much these past few months. Not just the feel of her skin melting against his or the erotic sensation of himself rock hard deep inside her; no, he had learned much more. It was not just lust that propelled him to her over and over. He’d been a fool to think once would be enough. With Isabel, a thousand times would not be enough—he should know. He’d come to care for her more than he had ever thought possible, more than he had ever cared for another person.
Over the last few months, Rory had taken pleasure in discovering all the little things that made Isabel unique. He knew that she crinkled one side of her nose when she was displeased, that she twirled her hair when she was anxious, that if she said “as you wish,” he was in trouble. He’d learned that she was truly interested in the business side of the castle, enthusiastically suggesting improvements in efficiency. He’d come to respect her mind, finding pleasure simply in her company.
What was so special about her? Undoubtedly, he was attracted to her beautiful face, but there was so much more. She was kind, charmingly stubborn, quick-witted, and spirited. The vulnerability and loneliness he’d noticed on her arrival had faded.
She made love with such openness and sharing, it humbled him.
Moreover, Isabel had helped him realize that by his unrelenting focus on duty, he’d lost sight of what else was important. His family. Rory’s quest for revenge had the unintentional consequence of prolonging his sister’s shame. And his reluctance to cede control of his duties had prevented Alex from forgiving himself for his losses on the battlefield. He’d begun to delegate more to Alex, and already Rory noticed that Alex seemed to thrive on the responsibility. For the first time since he’d become chief, Rory was beginning to relax.
Isabel had brought laughter back to Dunvegan.
She’d given him so much, but still he could not give her what he knew she wanted. He’d purposefully kept a tight rein on his growing affection over the past few months, not wanting to give her false hope. He knew how much his reluctance to talk about the future pained her. He wanted to reassure her, but how could he when he couldn’t reassure himself?
Thus far, his attempts to find alternative means to sway the king had proved fruitless. He was no closer today than he was that first night to finding a way to avoid the alliance with Argyll. But how could he send her away? With each day that passed, their attachment deepened.
If there was a way to hold on to her, he would find it.
He reached for Isabel and pulled her against him without care for such a public display. His fingers found her chin and tilted up her face so that she could look straight into his eyes. “Isabel, I don’t know what to say.” He paused, at a loss how to put to words what he felt. “You have given me the greatest gift. You have returned my sister. Completely. You have my eternal gratitude and devotion.”
He dropped his head, his lips finding hers in a gentle caress. Oblivious to the crowd surrounding them, Rory tightened his hold, pressing his body close to her curves, seeking that perfect fit he knew would mold them together. It was so much better naked, skin to skin, but this would have to do—for now.
His chest swelled to bursting even as he touched the softness of her lips beneath his. How he loved to taste her. His mouth moved over hers in a seductive dance. Her lips parted, and he slid his tongue deep in her mouth, savoring her sweetness. His fingers stroked the ivory smoothness of her cheek. She is so soft and desirable, he thought. He felt the instinctive press of her hips against his heavy loins and knew he had to stop.
Regretfully, he lifted his head and said hoarsely, “We will finish this later.” He fought to control his immediate response to her, yet still he
stiffened like a lad with the merest touch. As much as he’d like to toss her over his shoulder and take her upstairs like one of his pillaging ancestors, it would have to wait. There was a wedding feast to be had.
And later, they would share their own private celebration.
Chapter 18
A short two weeks later, Isabel stood beside Rory at the top of the sea-gate stairs, welcoming the clans gathering at Dunvegan for the noontide feast to launch the Highland gathering. Gowned in a simple but elegant yellow silk day dress, Isabel felt every inch the proud lady of the castle. Only the anxious twisting of her hands betrayed her nervousness at confronting her family for the first time in over nine months.
The castle itself was bustling with energy and excitement. The lilting notes of the pipes beckoned the ear while the tantalizing aroma of roasted meat beguiled the nose. The Highlanders swarming the castle reacted with the expected exuberance: When not feuding, feasting and gaming were undoubtedly what a Highland warrior loved best. Most of the clans had arrived earlier and were already enthusiastically partaking of the renowned MacLeod hospitality in the great hall. If she listened closely, Isabel would undoubtedly hear the clanking sound of flagons slamming on the tables, demanding replenishment.
Amid the celebrating, her heart beat nervously as she watched her family slowly make their way up the sea-gate stairs.
They had arrived.
She fought to control the steady stream of high notes in her voice betraying her nervousness. “Welcome to Dunvegan, Father, Uncle. I trust your journey was uneventful.”
“Quite uneventful, Isabel. It is an uncommonly pleasant spring. You look well. Your time at Dunvegan has agreed with you?” Her father kissed her cheek politely, his gaze flickering pointedly over Rory’s hand resting possessively at her waist.
“Very well, Father,” she murmured, stifling the joy that rose unbidden to her face by looking down at the tips of her yellow slipper-clad feet, lest her emotions be displayed for all to see. She hoped she was imagining her uncle’s glare fixed on her pink cheeks.