She gazed up into his cold, unyielding face. His eyes glinted with steel, his mouth a tight line before the hard square of his determined jaw. “You must believe me that I planned to tell you as soon as I was sure you would not repudiate the handfast. I wanted to tell you the night you were injured, but I was scared. I feared that you would not forgive me.”
“You were right,” he said stonily. His eyes never flickered.
“You claim to love me, Rory, won’t you even hear my explanation?”
He laughed ruthlessly. “Surely you realize that I lied when I said I loved you, Isabel. I felt sorry for you. Sorry that your family had so obviously neglected you. I was grateful for all that you had done for Margaret, and you seemed so pathetically needy. Remember, when I spoke those words I thought I was dying.”
Her head jerked back as if he’d slapped her. It couldn’t be true. He had to love her. It couldn’t be just pity. Could it? She felt the stab of truth. He wielded his weapon well; he knew just how to hurt her. Still, she knew they had shared something.
“Deny you love me if you will, but after the happiness we have shared these past few months, I know you must care something for me.”
“What we shared was lust, Isabel. Do not confuse it with sentiment or depth of feeling.” He boldly looked her up and down as if he were evaluating a horse at market. “You are an extremely beautiful woman with an undeniably alluring body. I assume that it’s not a coincidence that Sleat chose you to be my bride.” His eyes flared at her blush of confirmation. “He chose well. From the first, I have wanted to bed you, as I would desire to bed any beautiful woman. But beauty wears thin. Even before today I was growing weary of our temporary arrangement. Your treachery has only hastened the inevitable.”
A beautiful shell. That is what he thought of her. That was all he saw.
Maybe that was all there was.
Stunned by the vehemence of his denial, she could feel his words snuffing out the dreamlike happiness, shrinking her heart until she felt nothing but a profound emptiness. But something in her refused to die—refused to give up.
“Please, won’t you give me a chance to explain? I only agreed to help my uncle because he would not help my father fight the Mackenzies if I didn’t.” Her voice took on a desperate urgency reacting to the finality of his tone. She grasped his arm pleadingly.
He shrugged off her hold. “I believe there was a time for explanation. That time has passed. I warned you never to betray me. There is nothing more to discuss. You spied on me. You’ve deceived me and deceived my family.” He paused to catch her gaze so there would be no misunderstanding. “You are dead to me.”
And deep in her shattered heart, she believed him at last. The look in his eyes left no doubt. He was a Highlander. Highlanders did not forgive or forget betrayal.
Past caring, pride all but forgotten, she wanted to get on her knees and beg him to listen, to understand. Paralyzed, she watched their future slipping through her fingers. Her pleas as effective as trying to melt rock. Never had she wanted anything as badly as she did at this moment. Please don’t ask me to leave, please say some
thing, just one word, her heart cried.
“This handfast is over.”
No, not that! And as simple as that, it was gone. As completely as if it had never been. All that remained was a painful burning in her chest where her heart had only hours ago soared with joy.
She watched, transfixed with horror, as he turned on his heel and left the room. The door closed forcefully behind him, an effective exclamation to his words. She collapsed in a heap on the floor next to Bessie’s shawl, crushed by the force of the hatred that seemed to radiate from him.
She sank her head in her hands, weaving her fingers through her hair to clasp her head in disbelief. How could this have happened? Isabel felt her soul violently ripped from her body as perfectly and decisively as he had cut her from his life. Her hope and dreams for the future extinguished, she slipped into darkness.
“My poor poppet,” Bessie mused sadly when Isabel managed haltingly to explain through the choking tears what had happened.
But there were no magical words of wisdom that Bessie could utter to repair the horrible debacle Isabel had made of everything.
Bessie cupped Isabel’s chin and lifted her face, brushing aside the tears that sped down her cheeks. “I know ’tis difficult to hear, Isabel, but I think it is best if you leave now as Rory has ordered. He is angry right now; there is no telling what he might do. The pride of a Highlander is a powerful thing, and by betraying his trust, you have damaged not only his heart, but his honor before his men. Time will be your greatest ally. You need time to think of a way to make him understand, and he needs time to forget some of his hurt.”
Isabel knew she was right, but how could she bear to leave? Everything that she loved was here. Even Bessie.
As if she knew what Isabel was thinking, Bessie offered, “I could come with you. Robert would understand.”
Isabel clasped her hands and kissed her cheeks, moved by the selflessness of her beloved companion. “Dearest Bessie. Your life is at Dunvegan now; I would never ask you to leave. The decision was mine; I knew what I risked when I agreed to my uncle’s plan. I just never dreamed that I would have so much to lose.”
Enfolded in the gentle, loving arms of her nursemaid, Isabel allowed her grief to spill over. She wept with the intensity known only to those who have loved greatly—and lost. She wept until the tears refused to fall. Unable to keep the nausea at bay any longer, Isabel retched under Bessie’s worried gaze.
Time passed too quickly. She stood at the window, watching as dark clouds gathered across the sky. Watched as the orange sun began its slow descent off the edge of the western horizon. It was almost dark. She knew she should pack her things, but instead Isabel remained fixed at the window. Waiting.
She was vaguely aware when Bessie began to gather her belongings. Picking up the strewn clothing, separating those things she would take with her, and placing those things she would send for later in the trunk before the bed. But Isabel continued staring out the window, waiting as the slow movement of the sun extinguished her last moments of happiness.
Floundering in the dark chasm of heartbreak, she did not immediately process the sound at the door. No, not yet. The sobs that racked her body did nothing to dispel the despair she suffered as Bessie rose to answer the knock.
It was not all a horrible nightmare from which she would wake. A silent, grim-faced Colin stood before her, waiting to escort her from their—now his—bower. She managed one last glance around the room, then walked toward the door. She passed the bed, still mussed from their passion-filled night. A stab of searing pain twisted in her gut. Everywhere she looked there were painful reminders—she closed her eyes, blocking out the memories. Quietly, she gathered the meager belongings that Bessie had managed to assemble for her hasty departure and left the room, not daring to look back.
The Viking refused to meet her eyes as he led her down the twisting stairs, through the barmkin, and down the slick sea-gate stairs to the waiting boat. She looked around anxiously, praying for a reprieve. Praying for a chance at least to say farewell. But Rory was not there. And either he had not told them or they had chosen not to come, but Alex and Margaret were not there to say good-bye. She bowed her head, willing herself not to cry.
She felt Bessie’s reassuring hand on her arm. “I am sure they would be here if they knew you were leaving.”
It was uncanny how Bessie always seemed to guess what she was thinking. Isabel managed a wobbly smile. “I am not so sure. Please tell them—”
“You shall tell them when you return,” Bessie said firmly.
Isabel knew Bessie was trying to ease her suffering, pretending that she would return someday. But both knew that day would likely not come. After what she’d done, she knew Rory would never forgive her. He’d given her something sacred—his trust—and she’d deceived him.
She fought to control
the tears once again as she felt Bessie’s strong arms gathering her in a tight embrace. Too tight. Indicating that Bessie, despite her words to the contrary, also worried that they might not see each other for some time—if ever.
Colin cleared his voice, signaling that the time for good-byes was at an end.
“Dearest Bessie, be happy. Robert and his daughters need you. Don’t worry about me, I’m strong.” With one last kiss on the soft cheek of her childhood, she turned and climbed into the waiting birlinn.
Smoky fingers of haze threaded the perfect circle of the iridescent moon above her as the birlinn pulled away from the castle. She lifted her hand in silent farewell to the shrinking figure of Bessie poised forlornly at the base of the sea-gate stairs.
The droning sound of the oars dipping and pulling the water filled the silent boat. No one spoke a word. Men who had laughed easily with her only yesterday now acted as if she were a leper. On a birlinn full of MacLeod clansmen, she felt completely alone. Isabel sat huddled on the boat, her puffy, tearstained face hidden from the curious stares by the deep hood of her cloak.
She had traveled full circle. Fate had won. Star-crossed enemies they had begun, and star-crossed enemies they would end.
For the last time, she lifted her red-rimmed eyes to the gray walls receding into the mist, hopelessly memorizing with watery vision the grim castle that she had come to love. A fresh spasm of despair filled her heart as her gaze was drawn to the top floor of the Fairy Tower, to that familiar window where she had looked out in happiness only yesterday.
As if sensing the shift of her eyes, a shadow moved away from the window. Her breath caught for an instant. Her heart pumped frantically with hope. Please give me a sign, any sign. She refused to blink lest she miss it. She kept her eyes glued to the window in the Fairy Tower, hoping and praying with every fiber of her being for a sign of forgiveness. She stared until the tower slipped into ghostly gray, swallowed by the ephemeral mist.
The dream was over.
Her heart had been cleaved in two—part of her was gone forever, left behind to rot in a much beloved old castle.
Chapter 23
The sound of a door opening shattered the peace of deadening solitude. Rory knew he’d been fortunate to avoid them for this long. Isabel had been gone now for almost a day. Margaret and Alex had shown remarkable forbearance considering the circumstances, but their patience had finally run out and they’d tracked him to the library. He didn’t want to talk about it, but he understood their questions. If only he had answers.
Rory directed his gaze back to the fireplace, where he had spent the last few hours staring placidly into nothingness. The sting of betrayal had dulled. Sinking deep into his chair, he took a long swig of cuirm, allowing the drink to ephemerally kindle the emptiness smoldering inside him.
They stood beside the chair, waiting.
Finally, Margaret dropped to her knees beside him and took his hand in hers. “What happened, Rory? Won’t you tell us why you sent Isabel away?” She lifted the empty jug next to him. “I’ve never seen you like this, it scares me. Never have I known you to try to dull your senses with drink.”
If only it were that easy, Rory thought. He looked down at the confused, heartbroken face of his sister and cursed Isabel MacDonald again. This time for her betrayal of his family; he was not the only one who would be devastated by her treachery. Rory took a deep breath and dispassionately recounted the events yesterday leading to his discovery of Isabel with the Fairy Flag—or what he’d thought to be the Fairy Flag.
Their bewildered expressions mirrored what his had been, so thoroughly had Isabel charmed them.
“I don’t believe it,” Alex said dumbly.
“Oh, Rory,” Margaret said at the same time. “Did she offer no explanation?”
Rory couldn’t bite back the burst of sarcasm. “What for? For coming to Dunvegan under false pretenses as a pawn for her loathsome uncle, for spying on us, or for—” He stopped himself. Making me love her. He glared back into the fire so they would not see the pain twisting through him. He still couldn’t believe he’d been so wrong.
Margaret bowed her head on his hand, and her shoulders began to shake. “Oh, Rory, it is all my fault.”
Rory stroked her pale cheek. “Don’t be ridiculous. What part could you have played in this treachery?”
Margaret raised her tearstained face to his. “I overheard Isabel speaking with Sleat at the gathering, I heard him threaten her and say something about the flag. I should have come to you.” Her hands twisted. “I never thought…I knew she was hiding something, I just assumed she would eventually confide in you.”
Rory stared hard at his sister, unable to prevent the momentary flash of anger that went through him for another betrayal, from yet another unexpected source. He took another long drink and allowed the moment to fade. It would do no good to lash out at Margaret, not for doing what he’d done himself. Trusting Isabel.
“You should have come to me,” he said. “But don’t blame yourself, Margaret. You were only showing loyalty to your friend. She was an accomplished liar. You were not the only one she fooled.” He couldn’t hide the bitterness in his tone.
Alex shook his head, still stunned. “So she admitted coming to Dunvegan for the flag?”
Rory nodded tersely.
Margaret’s brows gathered across her nose. “But it wasn’t actually the flag she’d placed in her trunk?”
“No, it was an old shawl of Bessie’s. Though the resemblance was uncanny. For a moment it even fooled me.”
“But if she meant to steal the flag, why did she not do so when she had the opportunity?” Alex asked.
“She claimed that she’d decided she couldn’t betray us and was planning to use the shawl to trick her uncle.”
Margaret bit her lip, thinking. “Do you believe her?”
That was the question he’d spent the last day trying to avoid. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”
“I think it does,” Margaret said softly. “She loved you, brother. Of that I am sure. I know that she admitted coming to Dunvegan under false pretenses, but from what you said, she only agreed to help Sleat so he would help her clan against the Mackenzies. It sounds like she had no choice, her clan needed her. I know how important it was for Isabel to earn the respect of her family. She spent her childhood recklessly trying to attract their notice. I suspect coming here was her opportunity to finally prove her worth.” Margaret’s face filled with compassion. “It must have put her in a horrible position: being forced to choose between her family and us. But if what she said is true, Isabel chose us.”
“Can you forgive her so easily, Margaret, when she chose to ally herself with Sleat. Have you forgotten what he did to you?” Rory demanded.
“Of course I have not forgotten what Sleat did to me. Sleat is worthy of your wrath. I, too, burn for revenge. But I shall bide my time and wait for the right opportunity to present itself. I do not excuse what she has done, but I do understand the circumstances. From my own experience, I know how cruel and unyielding Sleat can be. He will twist anything to his purpose. If he wanted something from her, he would not be gainsaid.” Margaret paused. “Have you forgotten what she did for me?”
“I have not forgotten,” Rory replied stonily.
“It doesn’t make any sense. I agree with Margaret, Isabel loves you. Why did she not confide in you?” Alex asked.
“Apparently, she started to after I was injured but was scared that I would not forgive her. She claimed that she intended to tell me when she was sure I would not repudiate the handfast.”
Alex lifted his brow in surprise. “You hadn’t told her?”
Rory shook his head. “Not until I heard from the king.”
“It sounds like she had reason, then, not to confide in you?” Margaret asked quietly.
Rory clenched his jaw. “She lied to me.”
“Yes, but she also loves you,” Margaret said. Taking a deep breath, she added, “And I thi
nk you love her.”
Rory stiffened, refusing to look at his sister, not wanting to give credence to her statement. Love didn’t matter, not without trust. “It’s done.”
He turned to his unusually quiet brother. “And what of you, Alex? Do you agree with our sister—should I forgive my traitorous bride?”
Alex shook his head, his eyes shining with anger. “Isabel betrayed us all. In your place, I might have done worse.”
Rory nodded.
Alex turned to leave the room but looked first to his sister. “Leave him be, Margaret. He has a right to his solitude.”
Margaret smiled sadly, leaned over, and placed a kiss on his cheek. “I’m sorry, Rory, I know how this must have hurt you. What she did has hurt me, too. You must do what you think is best. But are you sure there is no other way?”
Rory sat mutely, steeling himself from considering Margaret’s question.
“And remember this,” she said in warning. “If you do not want her, someone else will.”
Rory’s fingers tightened around the stem of his goblet until the silver began to bend. His reaction was instantaneous. Violently, he tossed the now ruined goblet to the floor, where it clattered conspicuously in the otherwise deathly quiet room.
Margaret turned and followed Alex out the door. “I think you have your answer, Rory. If what she said about her clan needing Sleat is true, you might not have much time to figure out what you want. Her family may be forced to seek another alliance soon. One that could take her from you forever.”
Rory did not give any evidence that he had heard her. Once again, he sat motionless before the flickering flames of the soul-cleansing fire.
But he had.
Three days later, the MacDonald of Sleat watched from the battlements of Dunscaith Castle as the group of MacLeod clansmen approached over the tangled, grassy moors. He recognized the hooded woman astride the palfrey immediately—after all, he had provided her cloak.