“Ye will cease yer activities with that group right away.”
“And ye think just because I am forced to wed ye I will do what ye ask.” She was a good four or five inches shorter than him, but she straightened her shoulders, tilted her chin up, and met his stare with no fear.
“Aye. I am yer husband and ye will obey me.”
“I obey no one,” came her curt reply. She stood, hands on hips, feet spread shoulder-width apart, not in the least intimidated by his rage. She should be, because it frightened him that he could be so angry with anyone.
“Ye are now my obligation, and ye will follow my orders.”
She crossed the small space between them to stand right in front of him. The top of her head came up to his nose, but her stare made it appear as if she were looking down at him. The lass didn’t even blink. And while he’d never assaulted a woman, she had no way of knowing what kind of man he was. She must be daft.
“I will do as I please.”
His fingers clasped the fabric on her shoulders, holding firm to make his point. “Dinnae force me to keep ye locked away.” Through the thin material, he felt well-muscled arms, tense and on alert, giving away what she kept hidden. She did have some sense of preservation somewhere in that thick skull of hers. She shuddered then tilted her head higher.
But he was distracted when the pink tip of Isobel’s tongue darted out to wet her lips and she swallowed. A light pounding started in his chest; it got louder, and he realized it was a rapping on the door.
His father called out, “Grant. Ye and yer bride are wanted in the great hall for a toast.”
Closing his lids, he blocked her out for a moment and took a deep breath. He was the MacDonald heir and had a duty. Opening his eyes, his gaze was drawn to the slight curve of her neck. She had glanced away and was scanning the room, probably looking for some means of escape.
Letting his hands slide down her arms, he took one hand and pulled her toward the door. Suddenly he was afraid to let her out of his sight, like she would flee if he didn’t keep a close enough watch on her. At the movement, her focus returned to him and her eyes dilated. He wanted to believe it was with desire, but it might actually be fear, and he wondered if the instinct to run had taken over. “Ye will stay by my side until we can finish this conversation.”
Her gaze darkened as defiance returned, but she didn’t protest when he opened the door and drew her out into the hall, guiding them toward the crowd waiting to see the happy couple.
Chapter Two
Isobel’s new husband pulled her through the cheering crowd toward the dais at the opposite end of the great hall. The movement thankfully shook free the odd stirrings his nearness had caused. The chamber was so large, she almost felt as if she were outside at twilight as the sun dribbled in through windows stained with blues, greens, and reds. The blazing colors imbued a sense of magic to the space. She attempted to ignore the majesty of the place and concentrate on the faces. These people looked friendly enough. If only they knew how she wished to be anywhere but here, maybe then they would let her leave.
She concentrated on not tripping on the silly gown she’d been forced to wear, cursing herself for actually liking the way it slid across her skin and how the fabric glowed in the tranquil light of the room, shimmering like pearls. She pushed away the thrill that her husband might find her appealing in the garment. Och, it was because his eyes were a bonny shade of blue that had distracted her the first time she’d seen him. And that was the reason she was in this mess. She’d been enthralled by the brawny man who’d been looking out for her safety the day she’d been identified. If she hadn’t been thwarted, Torsten never would have gotten away.
They took the steps up to a long table already filled with people. The scene reminded her that, at one time, she’d been an innocent, naive child who had wanted this—a marriage and to be nothing more than a happy bride. Buried emotions pricked at the back of her eyes. She couldn’t wait to get this gown off and burn it.
Her heart stopped and her steps faltered. Would this angry beast beside her want to bed her tonight?
She claimed her seat and Grant slid in beside her, finally letting go of the confining grip on her hand. Her gaze drifted farther down the table to notice her mother’s smile. Was it relief she saw there? Emilia had always wished for her to be a lady. When that dream had been taken from Isobel, she’d squashed it for her mother, too, by becoming who she was now.
Her husband’s hand landed on her leg. She flinched. His grip was firm but not overbearing, a reminder she was no longer free. Her skin tingled.
Pivoting toward the man beside her, she was struck by his calm presence despite the currents she knew waged war beneath his facade. That’s what had drawn her interest the last time they’d met in the thick of battle. All one had to do was glance upon his sapphire eyes to know he was born to be a leader.
Her thoughts again turned to the bedding, and heat crawled through her limbs. She wasn’t small, but Grant MacDonald was a large man. She had managed to keep her maidenhood this long because Alex Gordon, the leader of the Resistance, warned his men off her and because she always kept a knife at her side. Looking down at the table, she spied one just to the side of her trencher. Although it was dull and not meant for combat, she couldn’t help but smile as relief flooded her senses.
Grant’s hand held her under the table as if to keep her secured to his side should she decide to flee. His grip lessened and fingers slid up her sensitive skin as she fought back the gooseflesh rising in their wake; she kept her own hands studiously clasped in her lap. Glancing over at him, she met a stern, knowing gaze. Her husband shook his head, then his hand left her arm long enough to take the dirk from in front of her. He placed it out of reach before returning the vise-like grip on her leg.
The horde of MacDonalds quieted as their laird stood and raised his cup in the air. “To new beginnings and a renewed commitment between the MacDonalds and MacLeans to protect each other and the Highlands.”
Leaning in toward Grant, she gritted out behind teeth she hoped looked like a smile, “How am I to ensure the Highlands are safe if ye willnae let me leave?”
“’Tis no’ yer job to cause more conflict among our people.” Disapproval, perhaps even anger, darkened his gaze as it pinned her.
Is that what he thought of the Resistance?
He was wrong. “I am protecting our people.”
“Ye are a fool if ye choose to believe yer mischief is helping anyone.”
She sucked in, absorbing his words like a physical blow.
Her father stood up. “To a union blessed with peace and prosperity.” She wanted to add “based on treachery and misery” to her father’s list, but held her tongue as she raised her glass and took a long sip of the surprisingly smooth ale.
Overhearing Grant’s father speak, she turned to see whom he was addressing. “Ye dinnae have to leave so soon.”
“Aye. ’Tis best we were on our way at first light. The Macnabs seem to be eager to sign the Covenants, and I dinnae wish to leave our land vulnerable to traitorous neighbors.” Isobel had to struggle to hear her father over the throng’s noise, but she recognized the name of the clan whose loyalty was still in doubt. Thankfully, she was adept at reading lips.
“We’ll also be sending a delegation to Edinburgh to make a case against the Covenant before ’tis written into law.”
She couldn’t see or hear The MacDonald’s reply.
So, her family was deserting her at first light. If she was careful, she might be able to sneak out and stow aboard the ship that carried them to the other side of the fast-flowing waters that separated her from mainland Scotland. If she was caught, though, they would bring her straight back, and her horrid husband might make true on his promise to see her to the dungeons.
Was her freedom worth the risk? Glancing up, she caught her husband’s all too knowing glare as he shook his head.
“What?” She straightened her shoulders and attempted to
look demure and innocent.
“Dinnae even think of whatever ye are planning.”
Argh, she wanted to kick him under the table.
The rest of the meal she ate quietly, focusing on retaining her strength and coming up with a plan. If she did run and seek shelter with other Royalists in the Highlands, would the MacDonalds hold her clan responsible? Aye, they most likely would, since she was now wed to the laird’s heir. Half the Highlands would be hunting her to return her while the half that favored the Covenanters would still be after the bounty on her head.
When her husband stood and dragged her up alongside him, a thunderous roar erupted. Her ears ringing, she fisted her free hand, aware for the first time that she didn’t want to be alone with Grant.
“I would like another cup of ale.” She tried to sit back down, but he coiled an arm around her waist and held her tight, as if they were lovers and wanted to be together.
“I’ll have one brought up for ye.” He pulled her from the room as a group followed behind them chanting something about the bedding. She chose to ignore the bawdy words.
Grant led her down the hall to a flight of stone steps, and she struggled to keep from tripping on the hem of her gown as he urged her onward. It was dark, but by the light of the sconces she could make out the stairs as she trailed her free hand up the smooth rock of the unfamiliar walls. Walking toward the end of the new hall she found herself in, she noticed a second flight of stairs down the back side of the castle.
Her husband stopped at the door just before her projected means of escape. Pushing the solid wood, he let go of her hand and indicated she should enter. Stepping forward, she remembered something she’d heard years ago as a child, something she’d thought never to need. Never enter the bedchamber on your wedding night with your left foot. Too late she realized what she was doing and pivoted back around to stop her progression, bumping into her husband and earning a growl from him.
“We dinnae need more bad luck than we already have,” she snapped at him.
Surprising her, his face softened. “I agree.”
Arms wound around her back and thighs to pick her up and carry her over the threshold. Och, this was not what she’d had in mind. Still, she felt light and feminine cradled in the silk and his arms. Something in her fluttered. Argh, she was weak. She would not let marriage turn her into some simpering lass who couldn’t take care of herself.
Once in the chamber, her gaze skimmed the large room to see candles had already been lit. A woman she’d seen at the ceremony and then dinner sat in a chair awaiting their arrival. The woman floated toward them, all grace and poise.
“Ye can put me down now.” She hated the hitch in her breath and the throaty sound of the words.
His blue gaze dropped to hers and he held her a moment longer, his studious expression contemplating something about her that apparently vexed him. Good. She would continue to be a thistle poking at him until he realized this arrangement was not going to work.
Before she could insist that he let her go, the woman spoke, “Welcome to the family. May I call ye Isobel?”
Grant straightened and let her slide from his arms. “This is my mother, Fenella.”
She wobbled when her husband released her, but it had to be because of the fancy slippers she wore. It had nothing to do with the glide down his hard-muscled thigh or the sensations that remained on her flesh where his arms had held her. Nodding, she resisted the inclination to reach out and touch his leg to make sure she was mistaken by the strength she’d imagined there.
Instead, she returned the pleasant woman’s smile. “Aye, ’tis fine. Thank ye.”
Looking to her son, Fenella gave a knowing grin. “I have sprinkled and blessed the bed.”
“’Twas nae need for it. It didnae work last time.”
Last time? Heat stole onto her cheeks as gooseflesh rose on her arms.
Grant’s mother waved away his remark then started speaking before Isobel could voice any concerns. “We had yer things brought up earlier. Yer gowns have been hung.” Fenella nodded to the corner of the room, and Isobel followed the woman’s movements.
“Thank ye.” Gowns. What gowns?
“I’ll leave ye two alone now.” Fenella grinned at her son with a proud gaze and, for a moment, Isobel was jealous. She couldn’t remember the last time her own mother had given her such a look. Then Fenella looked upon her with a warm and genuine expression. “We are truly happy to have ye here.”
Isobel’s head bobbed in acknowledgment but no words came out. Her mother-in-law walked to the door.
Wait, she wanted to scream out.
She didn’t want to be alone with her husband. She didn’t have a weapon other than her hands, but they would be no match against this mountain of a man, should she wish to use them. Shifting, she started toward her trunks to make sure her knives were still hidden inside, but she stopped once she got closer. These weren’t her chests.
Her head started to hum as a request behind her registered. “Will ye have someone bring up another cup of ale, please.”
Well, he was nice to his mother, at least. What did he have against her?
Lifting up the first lid, she nearly choked on the bile that rose from somewhere deep inside. Slippers and stockings. She opened the second, which was filled with linen shifts. A piece of paper lay on top. Her fingers shook as she lifted it and read the words in her mother’s handwriting.
Dearest Isobel,
It is time for ye to become the woman ye are supposed to be. The MacDonalds are honorable, hard-working people and they will take good care of you. Please ken that we love ye.
Ye are always in our hearts,
Father & Mother
After balling up the letter, she tossed it back in the trunk and slammed the lid. How long had they planned to abandon her here?
Once she stood and turned around, she found her husband staring at her. “Did they take all yer weapons?”
Anger sparked. How had he guessed?
She should lie to him. Tell him he’d never find where she had them hidden, but he was just the type of man who would rip everything apart until he found them. He might not believe her and do it anyway. Hell, did she even care if he tore it all up? She just might do it herself.
“They took it all.”
Her shoulders drooped as all her hopes fled. Who would she be now? And who was this man she was married to?
“Ye ken who I am. Tell me something about ye.” She made an attempt to start a conversation, although even she could hear that her tone came across as one of an angry child instead of a lady trying to woo her husband.
“I am the man who is now forced to save ye from yerself.”
If she’d had her dirk, she would have flung it at him.
Instead, ignoring the barb, she walked to the window. This room was overlooking the cliff. There was just enough land at the bottom that she might be able to climb down, but it was a long way and she might break her neck trying. But, even if she did escape at this point, where would she go? She was on a bloody island.
Grant came to stand behind her. She hadn’t heard or seen him, but she could sense his presence. It was as if the air obeyed when he moved. He might be used to people doing his bidding, but he would learn quickly she didn’t bow to intimidation.
Turning, she glowered at him. “I dinnae wish to give my body to ye.” He needed to know she would put up a fight.
His lip quirked. “There is nothing about ye that makes me want to take ye to my bed.”
Her heart lurched and stuttered. Why did his comment sting? “Then ye shall give me a separate room.”
Hope blossomed.
“Nae.”
Hope faded.
Skirting around him, she moved to the chair, eased down and removed her slippers, confident she was safe, at least for the evening. She didn’t know much about her new husband, but he did seem to be a man of his word and didn’t appear to be interested in what little she possessed in the way
of womanly charm. A bit of her couldn’t help but cry out on the inside, though. Despite his disdain for her, she’d liked the way his hand felt in hers as he’d drawn her to this room. A man had never before held her so gently.
Standing, she took a deep breath and cursed the gown her family had forced her to don. The awful thing was already turning her back into the naive girl she was before. Making matters worse, the ties were in the back. She could just sleep in it, but would toss and turn so much she would find herself tangled in it all night.
“Will ye please help me with the ribbons?”
He visibly stiffened and swallowed. The arse. He was more interested in her than he let on. Or, he truly was repulsed by her.
She might have blushed, but she turned so he could not see. Then there was that presence again, right behind her, not moving, but demanding the attention of everything around him. She waited, and his fingers were pulling and loosening the bindings on her gown. Her skin tingled at the attentions.
“Did ye bring a maid to help ye with such tasks?” His angry tone from before had smoothed to one she couldn’t quite name. The tenor was husky and strained.
“Nae, my family didnae even tell me I was coming to be sold.” Maybe she should try to dull her tongue as well. Grant hadn’t seemed to have much of an option in the arrangement, either.
“I will find ye one then.”
“Nae.” She spun abruptly, her breath coming faster as her previous maid’s accusations beat in her head. She could not be responsible for another one. “I didnae have a maid at home. I dinnae want one.”
“Even if it means relying on yer husband to dress and undress ye every day?” His lip twitched as if he was either disgusted with the idea of helping her or intrigued by his suggestion. She chose not to entertain either idea.
“I will find clothes that dinnae require it.” She folded her arms over her chest.
Grant backed and she waited for him to turn before she pulled the soft fabric over her head and placed it on the nearest chair. Dressed only in her shift, she bolted toward her new bed and slid in before her husband had the chance to turn back around, drawing the covers up to her chin. The scent of cedar after a fresh rain filled her nostrils. Grant’s smell. She wanted to inhale deeper and learn it, but instead she jerked the blankets back down to her chest.
Highland Obligation (Highland Pride) Page 2
