“So by marrying me, you will be able to reclaim the land you’ve sought.”
He knew what she was thinking. “Aye, but that is not why I want to marry you.” He had to tell her how important she was to him. “You are a MacLeod, you are part of my family.” I was lost without you.
Her brows knit together across her nose. “I don’t understand. You repudiated the handfast.”
“Aye, love, I’m sorry for that.” More sorry than she would ever know. Those were dark days indeed. He pressed a soft kiss on her mouth. “But don’t you remember the bard’s tale? Only a MacLeod can touch the Fairy Flag.”
Isabel tossed back her head and laughed. “I wish you had thought of that before you sent me back to my uncle, it would have saved me quite a lot of heartache,” she said sternly, but the amused twinkling in her eyes ruined the effect.
“I must admit, I didn’t think of it until later. But I think I always knew that you belonged to me. From the first moment I saw you.” He smiled at her look of disbelief. “Maybe it didn’t always seem like it, Isabel, but it was there.”
Thank God he’d recognized it before it was too late. Isabel had opened up a part of him that he hadn’t known existed. The life of a leader was a lonely one indeed. Consumed by duty and responsibility, Rory had lost sight of what was truly important. His sister’s happiness, his brother’s, and his own. He’d been wrong. Isabel wasn’t his weakness, but his greatest strength.
The intensity of emotion that he felt for this tiny lass humbled him.
Rory drew her into his arms and looked straight into her eyes, so there would be no mistaking his next words—words that would bind them together forever. “I love you, Isabel, with all of my heart.”
Much later that evening, after tearful reunions with Bessie, Margaret, and Alex, Isabel sighed deeply and snuggled back against the warm, solid strength behind her. Awash in the sensation of happiness so complete, it took her breath away. She felt his arms tighten instinctively in response—drawing her even closer. Her bottom slid perfectly into the natural bend of his hips and legs. One arm slid snugly under her breasts, the other wrapped almost protectively around her still flat stomach.
A babe. Isabel still could not believe it. The discovery of the tiny life growing inside her had moved her beyond words. Never could she have imagined the intensity of emotion that had come with the knowledge that she was carrying Rory’s child. She was bound to this man in a way that she could not have comprehended a year ago. That such a blessing could spring out of such difficulty was a profound testament to the strength of their love and the power of forgiveness.
Her head still spun with all that had happened. He’d forgiven her, saved her from death at the hands of a madman, declared his love, and given her the gift of a child. All in the space of one day. An impressive feat, even for a man like Rory MacLeod. But it was what he’d almost given up that had struck her to the core. She’d been astonished when he’d confided that he’d intended to marry her even if the king had refused his request to include Trotternish in her tocher. He’d risked his duty for her. Knowing what that choice could have cost him humbled her.
Rory had given her so much, more than she’d ever dreamed possible. A place in his family, a new understanding of her own, a child, and, most of all, his love. Without him she would be incomplete—the impressionable, vulnerable child she had been before she came to Dunvegan.
She could feel his even breathing on the back of her neck. Having assumed he was sleeping, Isabel started at the sound of his voice.
“What are you thinking about, my love?”
Isabel smiled. “That I have never felt so gloriously happy. I think I could stay in this position for the rest of my life.”
Rory moved over her, rolling her on her back so that he could look in her eyes. Gently, he kissed the tip of her nose. “Hmmm,” he murmured, tracing feathery kisses down the side of her cheek. “Perhaps I have been derelict in my duty, then.” His tongue darted between her parted lips, sweeping the inside of her mouth.
Instantly, she felt the tingling waves of sensation spread through her limbs like a warm caress. Just the arousing taste of his mouth and he could leave her begging for more. “How do you mean?” she managed to ask through the haze of desire already spiraling through her body.
His mouth grew more demanding as he rolled on top of her and began vigorously seducing her with his lips and tongue, leaving her breathless. After a moment, he lifted his head and grinned. “We are not yet married and already you grow content with one position.”
“Rogue. You know that’s not what I meant. And you definitely haven’t been derelict in your duty.” She pushed him away with a laugh. “As to the other, now that I think of it, I don’t recall being asked to marry you.” She cocked a brow. “Are you so sure of my response?”
An endearingly befuddled expression crossed his face, before it was replaced by an arrogant grin. He sat up against the headboard and folded his arms across his chest. Isabel sucked in her breath. He was beautiful. All that strength. The smooth, tanned skin stretched taut against the rock hard muscles of his arms and shoulders. She would never tire of looking at him, delighting in the fact that he was hers.
“You have to marry me,” he pointed out, “for the child.” His gaze slid down her nakedness, resting on the rounded curve of her backside. He frowned. “Your hips are too narrow. I worry that our braw laddie will be too big for you.”
She savored a thought of their child for a moment, before she processed what he’d said. Her brows shot up. “And how can you possibly be sure that the babe will be a boy?”
Rory chuckled. “Of course he will be a boy,” he said, as if any other alternative were impossible. He drew himself up even more proudly. “We will call him John.”
Isabel shook her head. One day he would have to learn that there were just some things even he couldn’t command.
“Are there any other reasons I should marry you?” She was almost afraid to ask.
He’d finished his teasing. The playful arrogance was gone, replaced by a soft expression that warmed her to her toes. He lifted her chin to hold her gaze. “I’ve saved my best argument for last.”
She waited, her breath caught firmly in her chest.
“Because my life would be meaningless without you. You are my light. I made the biggest mistake of my life when I sent you away, and a curtain of darkness descended over my soul. I love you more than I ever thought possible.” He moved his hand over her stomach protectively. “I vow my eternal devotion to you and our child.”
Isabel was held spellbound by the deep, unerring love she beheld in his tender gaze. The stars at last aligned, shining bright in the twinkle of his eye.
He kissed her mouth softly. “Isabel, you have taught me what it is to love. Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
Unbridled joy spread through her. Her eyes blurred with tears of happiness. In his sparkling eyes, unveiled and brimming with emotion, she beheld the wondrous promise of a new beginning. A promise of forever.
Their love was not fragile as she’d thought—it was strong enough to weather the slings and arrows of the capricious fates that had brought them together. She would never doubt it again.
She nodded and said simply, “I thought you would never ask.”
Epilogue
Ye have heard that it hath been said,
An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.
—Matthew 5:38
Holyrood Palace, Summer 1603
Rory shifted impatiently in the audience chamber of Holyrood Palace, waiting for the presentations to begin. Sensing his disquiet, Isabel glanced up from the sleeping infant in her arms to give him an encouraging smile.
“Rory, Margaret will be fine. Don’t worry. She’s in good hands.” Isabel indicated the dour Viking positioned protectively at Margaret’s side.
“I know,” Rory said, returning her smile. His heart swelled, studying the beloved countenances of his wi
fe and child. A more perfect picture he could not imagine. If possible, motherhood had made Isabel even more beautiful, bringing a serenity to her expression and a maturity to her bearing that had not been there before. She bloomed with the confidence of love and of being loved in return. And the tiny cherub in her arms…He felt emotion squeeze his throat. Gently, with the back of his finger, he swept the velvety soft cheek.
Rory’s love for his wife and devotion to their child grew more powerful with each new day that dawned. He’d found a peace and contentment that he hadn’t realized existed. He thanked God for his good fortune and for the strange twist of fate that had brought Isabel to Dunvegan.
His gaze turned to his sister, resplendent in her court finery as she waited at the end of the room to take her turn down the aisle. Margaret’s golden blond ringlets caught up high on her head dangled becomingly down her back—glistening silvery white in the flickering flames of the ceiling candelabrum. His mind turned to a day not so long ago when he’d witnessed a very different kind of procession. “Margaret has gone through much worse,” Rory said, more to himself. “She’s stronger now.”
Or perhaps she’d always been strong, and it had just taken Isabel to remind them of that fact. Isabel, who with her unwavering faith had made this day possible. Holyrood was the final stop on Margaret and Colin’s extended wedding journey across the Highlands. As promised, Isabel and Rory had joined them for support. Rory knew it couldn’t hurt Margaret’s chances for acceptance at court to have the new royal favorites by her side—warning the king of a treasonous plot tended to have that effect. Still, though he knew how important this day was to Margaret, he’d fought it, unable to ignore the shadow of uncertainty.
“Rory, if you don’t stop frowning like that, you are going to terrify all the ladies,” Isabel teased.
He folded his arms across his chest and set his jaw in a hard line. “Good. Perhaps it will remind them to curb the lash of their harpy tongues.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You promised…”
He scowled. “Aye, I did.” Was there anything he would not do for his wife? The fact that he was at court right now probably answered that question. “Though ’twas not a fair fight.”
Isabel gasped with mock affront. “Do you impugn my honor, Sir Knight?” she asked, a teasing reference to the rumors that the king intended to bestow a knighthood upon him.
“No, just your methods of persuasion.”
Isabel shrugged, eyes twinkling. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“You are an impudent wench, Isabel MacLeod.”
“You’ll have to remind me of that later.” She giggled and turned back to watch the proceedings.
Rory held his breath as Margaret’s name was called, bracing himself for the jeers. Isabel slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze in silent communication. He watched as Margaret urged her shoulders back and allowed Colin to lead her down the aisle toward King James and Queen Anne, the newly crowned king and queen of England.
“Is that the one-eyed woman?” he heard someone say, and tensed. The same voice continued, “But she is so pretty, such a fey creature.”
More murmured voices followed her down the aisle.
“I thought she was maimed?”
A male voice entered the fray. “Why would Sleat repudiate her to marry the Mackenzie lass? Perhaps ’tis he who suffered the loss of an eye.” Laughter joined the stranger’s words.
Rory exhaled. As his sister floated regally by, Isabel turned to him with an I told you so shining in her lovely violet eyes.
His heart squeezed, overcome with love for the woman who had already given him so much.
They had come such a long way together. Ironically, brought together by the events of that horrible summer day four years ago when Sleat had cast Margaret off in that cruel spectacle. Sleat was no longer a thorn in his side, as he was currently enjoying the “hospitality” of the king’s guards. Although Rory knew Sleat would not stay imprisoned by the king forever, the MacDonald chief no longer concerned him.
Rory had everything he wanted.
Looking at the proud face of his sister, the beaming face of his wife, and the angelic face of his precious daughter, Mairi—whom Isabel insisted on calling John—Rory felt the last embers of vengeance dying in his heart.
He had won. Happiness was undoubtedly the best revenge of all.
Author’s Note
“The War of the One-Eyed Woman” happened much as I described it. The MacDonald of Sleat’s cruel repudiation of his handfast to Margaret MacLeod started a bloody two-year-long feud. History did not provide the cause or extent of Margaret MacLeod’s eye injury, so I opted for giving her a happy ending. I thought after the horrible way she was treated by Sleat that she deserved one.
Rory MacLeod married Isabel of Glengarry probably earlier than 1602. Unlike Sleat and Margaret, there is no evidence that Rory and Isabel were handfasted prior to marrying. And although there is no mention of love between Rory and his wife, the eleven children they had together suggests at the very minimum a unity of purpose.
Of late, there has been some debate about the way handfasting has been portrayed by novelists. Some argue that there was never any such thing as a probationary marriage and that the popular romance concept of “a year and a day” is pure fiction. They argue that a handfast was basically a betrothal and that once the “betrothal” was consummated, it became a marriage. Perhaps this was the “legal” definition, but I think that in practice a handfast probably was a sort of “probationary” marriage. “The War of the One-Eyed Woman” certainly suggests this. In nearly every book I used to research this story, I came across some reference to handfasting, and it was always assumed to be a sort of probationary marriage (with marital privileges).
The Fairy Flag of the MacLeods is merely a wispy scrap of fabric now, but it is still quite something to behold. It hangs framed in the great hall of Dunvegan Castle, which is still the seat of the present MacLeod of MacLeod.
Until the mid–eighteenth century, Dunvegan was accessible only by sea. Now there is a beautiful entry on the landward side of the castle. Although it seems that there should be one, there is no evidence of a secret entrance to the castle. Dunvegan is a wonderful place to visit, and the dungeon, as I described, is quite horrible. And a rather cruel MacLeod chief did have the kitchens vent into the dungeon.
Although there was no record that James VI brokered Isabel’s marriage, there is evidence that she was part of Queen Anne’s retinue. And as Rory was indeed “at the horn” around this time, I thought their marriage could have been a diplomatic solution by King James to unite the feuding MacDonalds and MacLeods.
The Lordship of the Isles represented the height of Gaelic political power and culture in Scotland. For almost 150 years, under the leadership of Clan Donald, the Lords effectively ruled a large part of west Scotland and the Isles independently of the rest of the country. The Lordship forfeited to the crown in 1493. There were a couple of attempts to revive it, including the purported attempt I described in a letter to Queen Elizabeth by Donald Gorm Mor, the MacDonald of Sleat. The fall of the Lordship ushered in the period of Highland history known as “the Age of Feuds and Forays” and a shift in power from Clan Donald to Clan Gordon and Clan Campbell.
Finally, King James was already in England by the time Margaret made her appearance at court in the summer of 1603. King James left Edinburgh for England on April 5, 1603. He returned to Scotland only once—in 1617.
Looking for more sexy Scottish adventure?
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Highlander Unmasked
by
Monica McCarty
Lochalsh, Inverness-shire, June 1605
It was going to rain. Perfect. Meg Mackinnon pulled the wool arisaidh, the full-length plaid she’d wrapped around her for protection from the elements, more firmly around her head and once again cursed the necessity for this journey. They�
��d only just begun, and already she was dreading long days on horseback, navigating the treacherous tracks of the drovers. Even had her father been able to arrange one, a carriage would have been useless along these paths. The “road” from the Isle of Skye to Edinburgh was barely wide enough to ride two abreast. The cart that carried their belongings had proved to be enough of a burden on this rugged terrain.
Meg had at least a week of discomfort left before her. It would take them that long to reach Edinburgh, where she must begin her search in earnest for a husband.
She felt the familiar flutter of anxiety when she thought of all that was ahead of her. Her father had entrusted her to find the right man for her clan; she would not let him down. But the responsibility inherent in her decision weighed heavily on her. The pressure at times could be stifling. A wry smile touched the edges of her mouth. Perhaps a week of travel wasn’t long enough.
Yet part of her couldn’t wait until it was all over. It would be a relief to have the decision made and behind her. Of course, then she would be married. And that brought a whole new bundle of anxieties.
Meg glanced over at her mother riding beside her and felt a pang of guilt for dragging her so far from home. It was difficult enough for Meg to leave her father and brother; she couldn’t imagine how her mother must feel.
“I’m sorry, Mother.”
Rosalind Mackinnon met her daughter’s gaze with puzzlement. “Whatever for, child?”
“For taking you away from father at a time like this.” Meg bit her lip, feeling the need to explain. “I just couldn’t bring myself to accept—”
“Nonsense.” A rare frown marred her mother’s beautiful face. “Your father is much better. A trip to court is exactly what I need. You know how I love all the latest fashions, the latest hairstyles”—she smiled conspiratorially—“and all the latest gossip.”