No such luck.
“You look very well, niece—such a becoming rosiness to your cheeks. I feared, from the one short note that I received from you, to find you exhausted from the many tasks that keep you so well occupied. Glengarry and I have been quite concerned about you, yet here you are obviously thriving in your new home. And from the satisfied look of MacLeod here, it appears that your handfast agrees with you both. Such an inspired custom is handfasting, having a year and a day to decide whether a permanent arrangement is desirable. Never know what can happen in a year.” He paused dramatically.
Isabel fought to control her temper at the slight to Margaret. Rory dropped his hand from her waist. With a surreptitious peep from beneath her lashes, she detected the inflexibility in his square jaw and the slight muscle twitch on his lower cheek, nearly imperceptible signs of anger that she would not have noticed nine months ago. Isabel knew him well enough now to realize that he itched to attack Sleat for his crass reminder, but Rory would never snap at bait dangled by her uncle.
Instead of the anger Sleat sought, Rory smiled. “I believe my sister made a similar observation just the other day. Though she did remark how long a year could drag on.”
Sleat’s face turned red as he took Rory’s meaning. Isabel fought the urge to giggle. Sleat turned to her with a sharp look. “I trust you have found everything you were searching for here at Dunvegan, Isabel?”
His emphasis was not lost on her. So much for biding his time and waiting until they were alone. Obviously, Sleat was not fooled by the short note she sent him with the invitation, pretending not to understand his request for a detailed report. “I find everything much to my liking, Uncle.” She glanced meaningfully to Rory. “I’m sorry to have worried you, but I have been quite busy the last few months with my duties at the castle and organizing the gathering. I’m sure over the next few days I will have plenty of time to allay your concerns.”
“I’m most anxious to hear all that you have to say. Let us not delay our little reunion for too long.”
Thankfully, further conversation between Rory and Sleat was prevented by the boisterous arrival of her brothers.
“Good to see you, Bel, I’ve missed you.” Ian smiled warmly and swallowed her in a firm brotherly hug.
At only three and twenty, Ian already possessed the formidable height—without the awesome bulk—of their uncle. Each of her brothers was exceptionally handsome, but there was something special about Ian. Of the three, Isabel supposed he most resembled her, albeit a large emerald-eyed version of herself. Their hair was a similar shade, though his was streaked with a wee bit more golden blond than red from the extended periods of time he spent in the sun. His features, although masculine, were classic in their perfection. Fortunately, he was saved from true beauty by a square-clefted chin and a thin puckered scar that ran down the side of his slightly crooked nose. A warrior’s mark that if anything only added to his rugged appeal.
Isabel was taken aback by the genuine emotion she detected behind the undeniable roguish charm. Had he really missed her? Was Rory correct? Had she misread her family’s inattention? Hope soared unfettered in her heart. She’d found the respect and sense of belonging she’d dreamed of her whole life with the MacLeods; perhaps she could find some semblance of closeness with her father and brothers.
“I’ve missed you as well, Ian, missed all of you. We’ve much to discuss, but that will have to wait until after the feast. Come, let’s join the celebration in the great hall.” Noticing the eager faces of her carousing brothers, she chided teasingly, “But have care with the MacLeod cuirm—if you wish to compete at your best tomorrow.”
Laughing at the mock affront in her brothers’ expressions at the slur on their ability to hold their drink, she turned and started toward the great hall, Ian on one side of her and Rory on the other.
“I trust MacLeod hasn’t decided to permit lasses to participate in the trials this year, Bel. Or maybe he’s discovered that the MacLeods would be unbeatable in the archery competition with you on their side?”
Isabel basked in Ian’s playful compliment. “Ah, but you should see Rory’s sister Margaret—of late, her skill surpasses mine.”
“You jest. I did not think you could be beaten.” Glancing at Rory, he quipped, “You never know when having a sister skilled with a bow may come in handy.”
Startled, Isabel fixed her eyes firmly on his face, but he would not meet her curious gaze. Was that just an innocuous comment, or was he outright acknowledging the arrow that saved his life? Isabel felt a warm burst of surprise and pride.
Ian paused and considered something for a moment, then asked Isabel hesitantly, “But what of Margaret’s injury? Does that not interfere with her ability to use the bow?”
Isabel shook her head. “Margaret has an extraordinary natural ability for archery. It is sometimes a challenge for her to gauge the depth, but for the most part she is able to compensate for the loss of vision in that eye.” Unable to resist looking at Sleat with a triumphant smile, she added, “I think you will all find Margaret very changed.”
Rory seemed tempted to say something, but they had reached the hall and the opportunity for conversation was lost by the overwhelming din of the celebratory feast inside.
By late afternoon of the next day, Isabel was wishing she had followed her own sage advice. In a mistaken attempt to assuage the tension she was feeling from the disrupting presence of her family in the midst of her fool’s paradise, she’d imbibed too freely of the cuirm and was now suffering the consequences of a blaring headache. But the games were far too entertaining to retreat to the quiet sanctuary of her chambers to rest off the lingering effects of the drink. Besides, watching Rory compete in the various trials of strength and skill made her heart race like an excited girl.
Not surprisingly, the MacLeods, in large part because of Rory, were leading early in the competition. This morning, Rory had easily defeated the field in the swimming competition held in the loch, not an unexpected result given that he’d grown up swimming in those crystalline waters. He’d come in second, barely, in the steep hill foot race behind Alex, who’d then good-naturedly spent the better part of the day teasing him unmercifully for being an “old man.”
Isabel eagerly looked forward to the stone toss and the dance competition that were to be held later that afternoon. Tomorrow, the wrestling, leaping, and throwing of the blacksmith’s forge were scheduled. But the final day of competition would see her favorite events: the tossing of the great tree trunk and the archery contest. Of all the events, Isabel thought the “caber toss” the most remarkable. A great tree trunk was tapered and cut to a height of about eighteen feet. The warrior ran with the caber balanced against his body, then tossed the trunk, hoping that it would flip end over end to land in a straight line. This was a trial of great strength, but it also required tremendous precision and accuracy. Likely the caber toss trial developed as a result of the Highlander’s penchant for novel methods of breaching enemy defenses.
A quick perusal of the happy faces of the clansmen around her produced a satisfied smile. All in all, the gathering was proceeding quite well, even with the arrival this morning of Clan Mackenzie. Her duty of hospitality aside, she was grateful they had missed the feast last night. She had been able to avoid confronting the Mackenzie chief, the father of Murdock, who was killed by Rory not too far from the clearing where the clansmen were now gathered for the stone toss.
“Enjoying the competition, niece? Your handfast husband is putting on quite a display.”
Ouch, the pain in her head just got much worse. Isabel looked around for a graceful means of escape. No luck. Sleat had cornered her in a perfect spot for private conversation. Undoubtedly, he’d patiently bided his time for just such an opportune moment. Thanks to her pounding headache, Isabel had lingered in the shade on the edge of the forest a short distance away from the contestants and other spectators.
Taking a deep breath to bolster her confidence for t
he harrowing conversation that was sure to come, she ignored his scornful tone and replied, “’Tis hardly unexpected. The renowned strength and skill of Rory Mor are legendary throughout the Highlands. And of course, the MacLeods are heavily favored this year, as they’ve won the last two gatherings in a row. But I think you do not wish to discuss games, Uncle.”
He raised a brow, surprised by her directness. Lowering his voice, he issued a reprimand in the clipped timbre of a verbal slap. “No, I do not want to discuss the games. I want to know why you have not seen fit to communicate your progress in locating a secret entrance or the flag.” He grabbed her arm, as he was wont to do, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh. “I want to know why you have forsaken your duty to your clan.”
Her uncle’s words were a bitter reminder of her precariously wrought happiness. Guilt swept over her, descending on her conscience like a dark cloud snuffing out the flaming sun. But she reminded herself that if her plan was successful, she would not fail in her duty to her clan. She refused to contemplate what she would do if it didn’t work. She tried to shrug off his hold, but he held firm. She lifted her chin defiantly. “I’ve not forsaken my clan.”
“Have you found the entrance or the Fairy Flag?” he asked skeptically.
“No,” she admitted.
He lowered his head, locking his cold, unblinking eyes on hers. “Or perhaps you have found it and have decided not to tell me where it is. Do not take me for a fool, Isabel MacDonald. Anyone can see the way you are traipsing about after the MacLeod like an adoring pup. Stupid chit! You have fallen in love with your husband. He was supposed to fall in love with you.” His blotched face turned crimson with rage.
She stepped back, instinctively retreating from the danger posed by her belligerent uncle. His contorted features, unappealing at best, were positively ugly. “No, you are wrong. I have not found the flag or an entrance, Uncle.” Though he was right about the rest. Forcing herself not to flinch, she drew on all the reserves of her pride to hold her back straight and not cower before him.
“You had better hope you find them soon. The only thing keeping the Mackenzies from Strome Castle is my forbearance. Do not deceive yourself. Without my help, your clan will suffer. Badly. And people will die. Ask the Mackenzie how easy it is to lose a son.”
Isabel blanched, and her blood ran cold. She forced back the guilt. Her brothers would not lose their lives and her clan would not need to suffer, not if she could convince Rory. Sleat was only trying to scare her with his threats. Never mind that it was effective. “I know well the dire situation of our clan, you need not remind me.”
Sleat studied her with a calculating glare. “Yet I do not sense the urgency in your actions. Is he in love with you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Has the MacLeod spoken of marriage?”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed. “Does he suspect you?”
“Of course not. I’ve been very careful.” She tried to move farther away from him. But his hand was still gripping her arm, and he used his hold to propel her forcefully back toward him.
“I am not finished with you, Isabel. I won’t be finished with you until you have found what you came here for. Do you comprehend the importance of this mission—the importance of what you were sent here to do? I refuse to allow the future prominence of the MacDonalds in the Isles to be compromised by the whimsical heartstrings of a mere lass. There is far too much at stake. Look over there—” He motioned to the clearing. “See how your husband converses so intimately with Argyll, our clan’s most vile enemy. Since the dissolution of the Lordship, Argyll has usurped our power in western Scotland. Soon, Argyll and his Campbell clan will be nearly as powerful as the king. We must act now, reclaim our Gaelic heritage for the MacDonalds, before it is too late. You will do what you were sent to do, or you will live to regret your foolish decision.” The corners of his mouth lifted in a sinister, yellow sneer. “Perhaps MacLeod would be interested to learn of your traitorous purpose here?” He laughed cruelly at her expression of horror. “I wonder what your adoring husband will make of your explanation—do you think he will forgive you for deceiving him? For spying on him?”
No! You can’t tell Rory. Panic gripped her, choking her ability to think rationally. Would Rory understand that she’d had no choice? Would it be enough that she had changed her mind? Could she take the chance? She intended to confess when the time was right—when she could be sure of his affections and had all the parts of her plan in place—but the truth coming from her uncle would be disastrous. She should have anticipated that her uncle would not let her get away without a fight.
“The MacLeod is a proud man,” Sleat taunted. “How will he react to having been duped by a MacDonald lass? At my bidding.”
Isabel forced a nonchalance to her expression that belied the fierce pounding of her heart. “But if you tell him now, you lose all chance of my finding the flag and an entrance, if it exists. I do still have two and a half months left in the handfast period.” Ten weeks to find a solution, and then she could confess all to Rory—before her uncle.
He scowled at her as if he gleaned her true purpose for delay and wanted to refuse, but then he gave a curt nod. “Very well, dear niece,” he said, smiling grimly. “But as you now seem to be a reluctant spy in our family endeavor, we shall have a new codicil to our original arrangement. Bring me what I want within ten weeks and I will not tell the MacLeod the true purpose behind your handfast. Fate will decide the future of your marriage, as it will the future of the MacLeods. But if you fail, your handfast husband will learn your little secret.”
Isabel lost all pretense of composure. “You can’t even be sure there is a secret entrance. And what if I cannot find the flag by then? It must be well hidden. You can’t force me to find something that doesn’t exist or is impossible to find.”
“’Tis not my problem. Where you fail, others may succeed.”
“What do you mean?”
“It is not your concern. You should be concerned only with what you were handfasted to do. When you are ready, send me a letter; my man will find you. Do not think to trick me. My man is familiar with the flag.” He turned on his heel, abandoning her to the agony of her own introspection.
What am I going to do? Panic squeezed her chest. She’d thought she would have time to work it all out. But if her uncle told Rory, it would ruin everything. Now she had to find a way to satisfy her uncle, until she had convinced Rory not to repudiate the handfast and to support her father in the feud with the Mackenzies. But what if it didn’t work?
It had to work.
But in her heart she knew she could not betray Rory, whether he loved her or not. It was a staggering realization. Would her family ever forgive her failure?
Tears of frustration built behind her eyes and threatened to burst. She wanted to fall to her knees and bow her head in despair but knew she could not risk Rory finding her in such a state. There would be too many questions. Questions she dared not answer.
A sudden rustling noise behind a tree caught her attention, distracting her from the tumultuous quandary of her horrible predicament. She held her breath and stared at the space. Minutes passed before she dared exhale. She could see nothing out of the ordinary, and so returned to the agony of her own burdens.
But her uncle’s words came back to her. Was someone watching her? Had her uncle hid another spy in their midst?
Rory watched Isabel’s conversation with her uncle with marked interest and growing unease. Isabel would never betray him. Of that he was certain. She cared for him and his family. No one could be that accomplished an actor. But something else was at work. He didn’t like the way Sleat was talking to her; he seemed to be threatening her. When Sleat grabbed her arm, Rory decided he’d waited long enough.
It was well past time he found out what hold her uncle had on her.
He approached the edge of the clearing, where she stood under a canopy of trees. “Are you well, Isabel?�
�
She startled, her eyes jumping to his face. “I’m fine,” she said too quickly. “It’s too warm in the sun, that’s all.” She tried to smile, but it faltered.
He picked up a small yellow flower, broke off the stem, and tucked it behind her ear. His mind immediately flew to another time when he’d tucked flowers behind her ear. The day he’d taken her outside the castle walls and they’d made love on the hillside of heather. If only he could stall time. He caressed her wan cheek with the back of his finger. “I noticed you speaking with your uncle.”
If he hadn’t been touching her, he might not have noticed her slight flinch. “Yes.”
“He appeared to be angry with you.”
“Yes.”
Rory dropped his hand and unconsciously clenched his fists. “If he is threatening you, I will—”
She stopped him with a small hand on his arm. “It’s nothing like that.”
But something was clearly bothering her. She was hiding something from him, but what? He couldn’t help her if she continued to be evasive. “Will you not tell me, Isabel?” he asked, more gently this time.
She turned away, almost as if she didn’t want to look at him. “He merely sought assurance that our handfast would be formalized into marriage.” She paused, giving him an opportunity to speak. “Assurance I could not provide.”
He felt the sting of her accusation, but he could not argue. “Your uncle seems to take an unusual interest in our handfast.”
Her eyes flashed. “Shouldn’t he?” she challenged. “’Tis because of him that I am here. And isn’t it our handfast that is forestalling the feud?”
She was right, but Rory wondered if that was Sleat’s only interest. “Did you tell him?” The words knotted in his mouth, but Isabel understood.
“No. I did not tell him you intend to repudiate the handfast. He’ll find out soon enough.”
Rory hated this feeling. He wanted to be able to wipe away her hurt. And his own. But he couldn’t, not until he had a reason to. Instead he cupped her chin. “Your uncle is plotting something, and I do not trust him.” He hated to ask her, but it had to be said. “I want to trust you, but you are making it difficult. Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”
Highlander Untamed Page 23
