This was her fresh start. This place and this man and his child could fill the void and give her the peace she’d once craved.
Later, after bathing, having a large meal, and being reunited with the little furry creature, she fought to hold her eyes open. She waited for Grant to return, but he didn’t.
…
“I need men hidden on the other shore.” Grant leaned back in the chair in his father’s study. He arched his shoulders back and stretched his head to one side then the other, but it did little to assuage his tight muscles.
He’d thought once they were home the tension would lessen, but the threat to Isobel felt intensified. At least when they’d been moving about, she would have been harder to track, but now that they were back on MacDonald lands, she was well protected, but also easy to find. He’d have to post guards on her and make sure she didn’t leave the castle until he’d eliminated the danger.
“Why?” The lack of worry in Alastair MacDonald’s tone denoted the trust of a man who believed in him unconditionally. His father was a tough man, and he had earned Grant’s respect over the years. The laird moved to a table on the side of the room, picked up a decanter, and poured them both a dram of whisky.
“Torsten Campbell will be coming for Isobel.” The pressure on his chest at just saying the words threatened to steal his breath. “He’s been looking for her on MacLean lands, and I sent word that I wanted his audience.”
The laird nodded, his lips quirking to one side as they often did when he was deep in thought.
“He’ll be here. And nae, it seems he wants the reward for finding her and willnae risk telling anyone else.”
“I believe ye are correct if he has no’ betrayed her so far.” His father paced as he did when he was mulling over a problem.
“I’m going to offer him Lyall’s dowry.” He’d been thinking on the matter since the day he’d sent the missive to the Campbell for a meeting. Neither he nor the clan needed it, and it felt right. Despite their short time together, he knew Lyall would want him to be happy.
His father coughed, choking on the whisky he’d just sipped. “But ’tis a fortune.”
“Lyall was a generous woman. She would have wanted it. I think she would have liked Isobel.”
“Ye have had a change of heart.”
He gave a slight nod as he assessed all the things he’d learned about Isobel on their journey, and how he wanted nothing more for her than to have a life free of worry, to be able to form relationships again, and to feel safe.
“She isnae who I thought she was. But there’s more to my plan. I think ’tis necessary Torsten stay on Skye with us. He could live prosperously and never have to want for anything, but I dinnae trust him to take the money and still keep his mouth shut.”
“I agree.”
“Ye will honor the deal and put him under MacDonald protection?”
“Aye. Ye have my blessing.” Somewhere in his father’s deep burr and firm words, he heard approval, maybe even pride.
It was the right thing. If the MacLeans had offered a dowry for Isobel, he’d have thrown that in as well.
“Why do ye need men?” The laird settled into the chair behind his desk.
“The Campbell man may not accept the coin and our hospitality. I cannae take the risk no harm will come to Isobel or that he’ll not come back with an army and attack the clan. If a deal is not reached, I’ll have to kill him.”
“I am proud of ye, son.”
A moment of silence passed as his father’s gaze drifted to the portrait that hung to the left of the fireplace. A young man stared back at them with similar features to his father’s, a reckless spirit shining in his eyes.
“My brother would be, too.” A sheen glistened on his father’s eyes.
The laird stood and returned to the tray on the table, pouring a healthy serving of whisky into two more glasses. Striding back toward him, his father took Grant’s empty cup and offered the full one. He accepted it. “I didnae tell ye everything that happened that day. I couldn’t find the words and then there was never a good time because each time yer uncle’s name was mentioned ye closed yerself off so I just couldnae do it.” His father took a big gulp, seeming to be immune to the potent liquid, but then his eyes clouded.
“The MacLeods werenae offering him an agreement. It was all for show. Glen let his guard down and that’s when he was stabbed. What ye saw that day, when it looked like he had attacked first, it wasnae true. When Glen drew his sword, he was already wounded and defending himself.”
Chills erupted on his shoulders and spread to his arms and back. Implications washed over him as everything he’d believed came crashing down around him. His uncle had gone out with peace in mind and had never made it home.
Grant spent the next several hours planning with his father.
Later, as Grant entered his chamber to find his wife asleep, the kitten curled up near her feet, he studied Isobel in the candlelight. He had a sinking feeling, especially after the talk with his father, Torsten wouldn’t accept the bargain. The only way to truly protect his wife might be to take out the man who would see her harmed.
Not wanting to wake her, he undressed, blew out the candle, and slid under the blankets to join her. The last time they had shared this bed, he barely knew her. Now, he felt as if his universe revolved around the little lass and he drew her near, knowing he would do whatever it took to keep her safe and confident he had the MacDonald clan behind him.
The next morning when he woke, he found his wife petting the creature as it sat on her chest. A light rumbling sound vibrated from the happy cat. “I think he missed ye.”
Isobel turned toward him and continued to massage its ears, cheek and neck. “It’s a she.”
“How do ye ken?” Resting on one elbow, he scratched the scruffy thing’s neck. It leaned into his touch.
“The person who watched her while we were gone told me. She also said it kept coming up here looking for me and crying.” Her sideways smirk held a suggestion of a smile, like she was pleased the little fluffy creature had chosen her.
“Well, whether or no’ ye want the thing, it wants ye.” It was kind of like him. He wanted her, but he’d never stopped to think how she felt. She seemed more comfortable with him, but would she be happy here with the MacDonalds, with him, without the Resistance?
“Daracha,” Isobel said as her gaze drifted from him down to the creature. Now the smile was genuine.
“What?”
“That’s her name. We can’t keep calling her ‘it’.”
Awareness struck him. She had decided to make this marriage work. If she hadn’t formed an attachment to him, she had at least bonded with the cat, something he guessed she’d not done since her childhood. And Isobel had said “we.” A pressure on his chest lifted, because she had decided she belonged here, with him.
“So ye’ve decided, ye like it here and ye’ll stay.” He tensed with need for her, to claim her once again and seal their life together.
“Aye.”
He scooped up the kitten, put it on the other side of him, then leaned in to give his wife a kiss. His lips collided with hers, pure joy spreading through him as she leaned into his embrace.
A knock sounded and he reluctantly pulled back. “Och, ’tis too early for Annis.”
“Nae, I sent her home for a few days. She shouldnae be here.”
The noise sounded again, this time a deeper, more urgent pounding.
“Yes?” he called out.
“Grant,” Boyd said.
“What?”
“Ye are needed below.”
Resignation washed over him as a dark foreboding shadowed the joy he’d felt only moments earlier. He and his father had agreed to call a council this morning to discuss the danger facing the clan, but the sun wasn’t even up.
“Looks like we’ll have to do this later.”
Isobel nodded as he slid from the covers.
The cat, who had jumped to the floor, pace
d around him, crying as if hurt. “What’s wrong, wee one?” It rubbed against his calf then started to the door before looking back and meowing at him again.
“She’s probably hungry and needs to go out.”
After dressing quickly, he opened the door to let Daracha out, then turned back to look at the sleepy lass he was leaving.
A moment of panic assailed him at the thought of her wandering around on her own—she seemed to find trouble anytime he left her to her own devices, and he’d not had a chance to talk to her yet about the threat headed their way. “Stay in the castle until I can talk to ye. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She stretched and nodded.
Satisfied she might just go back to sleep, he stepped through the door, shut it, and met Boyd in the hall.
Daracha bounded for the stairs and then pounced out of sight.
Boyd started, “He’s on the other shore on the land of Clan Ranald.”
That was where they had been just yesterday before crossing over to Skye. “Do ye ken if he brought men with him?”
They reached the bottom of the stairs and rounded the corner toward his father’s study. “I dinnae ken yet. The laird just sent me to fetch ye.”
Grant pushed in the door and was not only met by his father but a roomful of men with silent, stony faces. Boyd followed and clicked the door shut behind them.
“What has happened?”
His father pulled out a piece of parchment, leaned forward on his elbows, and began reading.
MacDonald,
I’m here for the rebel. She needs to face justice for her crimes. I’ll be waiting at the Black Grouse tavern at sunset tonight. I have men watching both yer shoreline and the tavern, so only send the lass. If more come, I’ll be forced to tell Argyll ye are harboring a fugitive. And ye ken what he’s done to MacDonalds in the past. Dinnae give him a reason to bring war to yer clan over a worthless criminal.
A concerned Campbell
His father dropped the missive on his desk and peered across the room at him. Surely, his father wouldn’t expect him to hand her over. But the thought of all the innocent MacDonalds murdered on Rathlin Island on Ireland’s shores by Argyll’s men because they were kin made his pulse hammer out a furious pace that turned his stomach.
“What do ye wish to do, Grant?”
It was the moment he’d always dreaded, when his father had him make decisions for the clan. Was it a test, or would his father go with his wishes? Either way, the clan had to come first, but he would find a way to keep Isobel safe no matter the cost to him.
“She is a MacDonald now. One of us. We willnae hand her over to a Campbell.”
The laird nodded his approval, and relief flooded him that his father would stand beside them.
“We must contain this before he can get to Argyll, then. Let’s come up with a better plan now that we ken where he is.”
They spent the next few hours devising plans to keep his wife and the clan safe. When Grant finally emerged from the room, he headed straight toward their chamber to discover his wife missing.
Damn, he’d not even had the time to put guards on her. What if Torsten had come to the Isle of Skye for her?
He couldn’t lose someone else. No, it was more than that. He couldn’t lose Isobel. He had cared for his last wife as his friend, but it was more with her. Somehow she’d become part of who he was, of who he wanted to be. He could no longer see life without her.
A shiver ran down his spine and he rushed from the room to find her. Relief flooded him when he found her at a table with his mother, laughing as she rubbed the kitten that sat in her lap.
“Mother, can we have a few moments?”
Fenella MacDonald jumped up to rush over and draw him into a tight, reassuring embrace. He returned the hug.
“Aye. I’m so pleased ye two are back.” Looking to Isobel, she pulled back and continued, “I’ll be just outside. When ye are done come find me and I’ll introduce ye to the cousins ye havenae yet met.”
“Aye, I’d like that.”
Grant studied his wife, pleased that she and his mother seemed to be forming a bond as well.
Although Isobel wore a dark blue gown that had been made for her and given to her last night upon their return, the ties were loose and while he could see she had tried to pin up her hair, strands fell around her face, giving her the appearance of a woman who had been thoroughly ravished. Suddenly, he wanted to scoop her up and rush to their chamber to do just that.
But there were more important things that had to be taken care of first.
Isobel said, “I’d like to go collect my belongings.”
“What belongings?” He didn’t think she’d forgotten anything on their trip.
“From my old home.”
A chill ran down his backbone. How could she even think of leaving right now? “I’ll send for them.”
“Nae, I’d like to go see my brothers.”
Something about her persistence clicked—she knew exactly what she was doing and he wasn’t going to have it. Clenching his fists, he couldn’t help the anger creeping into his tone. “Then I’ll ask them to come for a visit.”
“I’d like to go.” She squared her shoulders, making it seem almost like an order.
Reserve gone, his temper sprang from the place he’d tried to keep hidden. “Until the threat is taken care of, ye will be going nowhere.” His words echoed through the empty hall, reverberating almost like a physical blow. He softened his tone. “Ye are safer here.”
“We cannae sit around and do nothing about it.” Her gaze pinned him with accusation.
“That is exactly what ye’ll do. I’ll have Owen and Ian guard ye until ’tis sorted out.”
“And we ken how well that worked out last time.” She stood, attempting to get an even footing with him, but he still stood several inches taller than her. Isobel had proven she was capable of handling herself, but also that she was good at getting into trouble.
“Ye will stay here on Skye for now.” He closed the distance between them and reached for her cheek, but she pulled back. “I promise I’ll take ye soon.”
Her sad gaze spoke of mistrust and stabbed at his heart. “Very well.” Skirting around him, she made her way for the door, but it didn’t seem right—she wouldn’t give in that easily. He’d have to find his friends. They were the only ones he trusted to keep her safe from Torsten Campbell and from herself.
A storm had rolled in and the walls inside the castle grew colder as he made his way back to his father’s study, hoping the men hadn’t gone far. Owen was still talking amongst the MacDonalds. Thunder boomed and he felt a shift in the air. A damp cool breeze blew in through the window.
“I need ye and Boyd to keep watch on Isobel.”
“Aye. Where is she?”
“With my mother. I think they were going to stay near the castle. Especially with the threat of the storm.”
Owen started off in search of her, but only minutes later he rushed in. “Isobel is no’ with yer mother. And she’s no’ in yer chamber.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Fear and anger ripped at Grant’s insides as he ran through the castle looking for Isobel. Surely she wouldn’t have gone out looking for Torsten. He hadn’t even had a chance to tell her how close the menace was.
He finally found a lad in the kitchen shooing Daracha from a chair as he mixed something in a bowl.
“Have ye seen my wife?”
“Aye, she went out that way just a few minutes ago.” The lad pointed to the door with a long wooden spoon.
He rushed through the open door, cold wet droplets assailing him as he dashed toward the nearest people who had taken cover beneath the overhang of the healer’s cottage roof.
Someone nodded that they’d seen her. His heart stopped beating when the man pointed to the beach—the same stretch of land Torsten Campbell was probably watching. He had to get to her before she exposed herself to the arse on the other side.
&nbs
p; Running, he paid little heed to the rain pelting his eyes, only brushed his hair back to see the stones that formed a path down the steep embankment to the shore below.
She’d only made it down a few steps when he reached her. He snaked his arm across her waist and pulled her back into his chest. She struggled and he realized she hadn’t seen him coming. “’Tis me, wife.”
Still, she tried to pull away but he couldn’t let her go any farther. He spied a patch of bushes a few steps away and said a quick prayer they were enough to shield her from anyone watching. Loosening his grip, he freed her, took her hand, and urged her back upward, careful to watch over his shoulder at the other shore for movement.
Once they’d cleared the top, he inhaled. While towing her across the muddy yard, he felt her stumble. Guilt at his haste niggled him, but it didn’t replace the relief he felt for getting to her in time or the fear he’d felt at the thought of Torsten Campbell delivering her to the Earl of Argyll.
As soon as they entered the castle and the rain was no longer beating down on them, his wife dug in her heels. “What are ye doing?”
He rounded on her, anger taking place of the fear. “What the hell do ye think ye were doing?”
She flinched, her eyes growing larger. Right now, he didn’t mind her trepidation, in fact she needed a healthy dose if he was to keep her safe until this mess was over.
“Yer mother was called to the hall to have an audience with a woman from the village, so I was just going to go for a walk.”
“In the rain?”
“Aye. It clears my head.”
“I told ye no’ to leave the castle.”
“So now that we are home, I’m relegated to prisoner again?” She pushed past him, starting for the great hall.
“Halt!” He grabbed her hand and lugged her toward the stairs. “We arenae done.”
He trudged up the stairs and hauled her into their chamber, her skirts swirling as he twirled her into the space and slammed the door behind them.
She looked sad, disappointed. He could take her anger, but not this. He didn’t like it.
Highland Obligation (Highland Pride) Page 18
