Her eyes brimmed with tears, and her voice quivered. “You can ask me that after all that we have shared? Have I not given you my body, my soul, asking nothing in return? Not even the promise of your name.”
Her words burned a hole in his chest. “I know what you have given me, Isabel. I treasure it, but I warned you how it must be. It is my duty as chief to ask,” he said gravely. “Just as it would be my duty to punish anyone who betrays me.”
“Don’t you know that I could never…” She stared at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Don’t you know?”
He didn’t. “Know what?”
His question seemed to unleash something inside her. As if all the tension and pent-up emotion that had been simmering beneath the surface between them finally boiled over. “Don’t you know how badly I wish that you would change your mind, how I wish that things were different, how I would love nothing more than to stay here with you forever? How I can’t bear the thought that you intend to marry someone else—” Her voice strangled in her throat. “To share your bed with another woman.”
His chest constricted; her pain was his own. “Isabel—”
He moved toward her, but she stepped away. “No, let me finish. You started this, now you will hear what I’ve wanted to say for some time but was too scared to for fear you would not want to hear it.” Her shoulders were shaking, but he dared not offer her comfort. “I’ll not hide my feelings any longer, even if it is easier to pretend they do not exist.” She took a deep breath. “I love you, Rory MacLeod, with all my heart, and I’ll not be sorry about it.”
He stilled, the impact of her words reverberating through him. She loved him. And though he knew he shouldn’t be, deep inside he was happy for it. More than happy. Her words touched a part of him he hadn’t realized existed. Selfishly, he wanted her love. He wanted to hold on to her and claim her for his own.
But her declaration had only further complicated an already difficult situation. Perhaps he’d known this would happen. Had wanted to protect against it. He never should have made love with her. Yet he could not regret it, though he did regret hurting her. She was right, he didn’t want to have this conversation.
He wiped a tear from the corner of her eye with his thumb. “Oh, lass.”
“Have you nothing else to say?” she asked plaintively.
Something hot lodged in his chest. But what could he say? Words that would only make parting more difficult? “I am honored, though it would be better if you didn’t.”
Isabel flinched. He wanted to reach out to her, but he knew if he did, he might say something he would regret. He knew how dangerously close he was to giving her what she wanted. When she looked at him, heartbroken, raw emotion swimming in her violet eyes, he could almost forget his obligations. Almost.
She held his gaze for a long time, waiting for what he could not give her. Finally, she smiled wistfully. “Easier, mayhap, but not better. I’ll never regret loving you.” She took a deep breath, looked him right in the eye, and did not hesitate. “In case you still are uncertain, you can trust me. I would never do anything to betray you.”
He believed her. How could he not? “Then we will say nothing more about it.”
She nodded. Rory pulled her into his arms and placed a soft kiss on her mouth, more relieved than he wanted to admit when she responded immediately. He told her with his mouth the words he could not say. Her arms slid around his neck as she pressed her body closer to his. The kiss deepened as he asked silently for forgiveness for his question. Forgiveness that she bestowed with the sweet caress of her mouth and tongue.
His breath was ragged when he finally pulled away. “We will not let Sleat cast his dark shadow across our day. Aye?”
“Aye,” she agreed.
He smiled. “Then let us return to our guests. The MacLeods have some contests to win.”
Though he’d spoken lightly, the yoke of duty weighed on him heavily. Never had he regretted more the burden of being chief. A marriage alliance was the only way to ensure the return of Trotternish to the MacLeods. A marriage alliance… The kernel of an idea took hold. His mind raced with possibilities. But it would require some thought.
He tucked her under his arm, placed a tender kiss on her head, and led her back toward the gathering, her words of love etched forever on his heart.
Chapter 19
“A kiss for luck.”
Strong, tanned hands encircled Isabel’s waist, lifting her effortlessly from her saddle before yanking her close to the warm, granite-hard body she recognized so well. Isabel tilted back her head and smiled with amusement at the twinkling eyes of the handsome man cradling her in his protective embrace. “I do not think you need any luck, Rory MacLeod. You have won nearly every event, with only the caber toss remaining. It seems obvious that the MacLeods will win the gathering for yet the third year in a row.”
A satisfied grin spread across his bronzed face. “It certainly seems that way. Does it not please you?” He feigned a frown and arranged his impudent features into the mock hurt look of a besotted squire who’d displeased his lady.
“Don’t play coy with me, Rory MacLeod. You know very well that it pleases me. Although I think you are enjoying the admiring glances of some of the more bold lasses far too much. Perhaps it is time for you to learn a wee bit of humility? Mayhap I should kiss a Campbell for luck instead.”
“You will do no such thing if you want the man to live to see another sunrise,” he growled in her ear. “Now who is playing coy?” His laughter tickled her neck as his lips nuzzled the sensitive skin. “Kiss me, then, if not for luck then as a favor, like the gallant knights of old who would ride in a tournament with the colors of their lady tied to their armor.”
Who could resist such a sweet entreaty? Isabel stood up on her toes and held his arms for balance, touching her lips to his in a chaste kiss.
Rory raised a sardonic eyebrow. “That is not exactly what I had in mind, but given our audience and the lack of time, I suppose it will have to do—for now. But when I win, I’ll be seeking spoils worthy of the victor.”
With one last grin, Rory turned and strode toward the other clansmen gathering for the caber toss. Isabel knew her eyes were probably shining with sensual anticipation, but she didn’t care. Her heart swelled with warmth and pride. Rory MacLeod was a man built to make women gush.
Thankfully, after their uncomfortable confrontation two days ago, things had returned to normal. Though Rory hadn’t been fully satisfied by her explanation for her uncle’s anger, he had believed her vow of trust. A vow she meant with all of her heart. Even if her plan did not work, she could never betray Rory or his family.
She hadn’t intended to tell him she loved him, it just happened. She’d been disappointed that he had not spoken in return, but Rory was not a man to wear his heart on his sleeve. She also suspected that he did not want to complicate her leavetaking, should it prove necessary. But in her heart, Isabel knew that he shared her feelings. Indeed, since her declaration, she’d caught him watching her, his gaze noticeably softer.
She must have been standing there staring for some time before Ian’s voice drew her attention from the magnificent specimen of her handfast husband.
“Come, Bel, you’ll miss all the excitement.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize it was about to start.” She allowed him to lead her toward the field. “You’ve acquitted yourself well in the games, Ian. Are you not participating in the last event?”
“No, Angus is the best of the MacDonalds at the caber toss. But even he does not stand much chance against the MacLeod. Rory Mor’s skill is fit for the bards. It’s too bad that we are not truly…Oh, well.” He paused, considering. “Tell me, Bel, is everything well with you?”
Isabel knew what he was really asking. She looked around nervously, this time making doubly sure that no one was close enough to overhear their conversation. Finding nothing amiss, she relaxed a bit and, meeting his concerned gaze, said truthfully, “As well as can
be expected given the circumstances of my being here.”
“I only ask because, well, you seem quite happy with the MacLeod, and I just wondered whether you were perhaps having second thoughts.” Noticing the panic that spread across her features, he grabbed her hand. “Don’t worry, I would not say anything to our uncle. Anything you say now will remain between us.”
Isabel detected the genuine concern in his voice. Rory was right. Ian was worried about her. She desperately needed someone to confide in. “Am I all that transparent? It seems I have fooled no one. Our uncle suggested much the same thing but did not put his concern quite so nicely. I think he fears I may not go through with our plan.”
“Will you?”
Their eyes met and held for a moment. Satisfied with what she found, she shrugged. “I don’t know what I should do, Ian, but our uncle has not left me with much choice.”
“I cannot tell you what to do, little sister, but there is always a choice. You just need to find the one that will make you happy. And I have never seen you as happy as I have these past few days. You’ve made yourself a home at Dunvegan. Not only your husband, but his entire family has obviously welcomed you. You’ve changed.” He put his hand to his chin, assessing her. “You’re happier, more confident”—he paused—“different.”
Different from when at Strome. He left the words unsaid, but Isabel knew what he meant. She had never found a place at Strome.
But Ian acted almost as if that embarrassed him. As if for the first time he realized that she’d always been excluded.
Isabel tiptoed into the room. The easy fall of voices broke off. Drat and double drat, she thought. How did they always hear her? “What are you talking about?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Ian said quickly.
Isabel scrunched her lips together, and put her hands on her hips. She hated always being left out of everything fun. “Are too,” she challenged as only an eleven-year-old could do.
“Run along now, Isabel,” Angus said. “I think Bessie is calling you.”
“You had friends,” Ian said, as if trying to reassure himself.
“Of course.”
His gaze sharpened. He didn’t believe her. “Who?”
“It’s not important.”
“Who?” he demanded.
Isabel felt her cheeks heat. She didn’t want him to feel sorry for her. “Bessie, Mary, Sari.” All servants.
“What of the girls from the village?”
She shook her head.
Ian swore. “I’m sorry, Bel. No wonder you were always following us. None of us realized…” His jaw hardened. “We should have, and I’m sorry for it.”
Isabel smiled, pleased by his acknowledgment. “It was a long time ago. But you are right, I have found happiness here. Margaret is a true friend.”
His solemn eyes grew merry with mischief. “I thought our uncle was going to trip over his tongue when he first beheld bonny ‘one-eyed Margaret’ without her patch. It was truly a horrible jest he played on her and the MacLeods with that atrocious procession. But ’twas he who looked foolish when she, as ethereal as a fairy princess, stood next to that great toad of a woman Mackenzie that he married instead.”
Isabel raised her hand over her mouth to cover her giggle. “His expression was rather humorous.”
Ian snorted at her understatement. “Well, Isabel, I do not envy your decision. Either way, you will anger a powerful man. I must admit that I have found much to admire in your handfast husband over these last few days. He is a strong chief, and he has the love and respect of his clan. But mark this: Whatever you decide, be very cautious with our uncle. I think he has something else planned that he has not told us about. Our father suspects Sleat may actually be in league with the Mackenzies. Although our uncle has promised to take our side in the dispute with the Mackenzies over Strome Castle if you are successful, Father doubts that Sleat will keep his word.”
Isabel was taken aback. “Why? What reason does he have to suspect treachery from Sleat?”
Ian sobered. “Father was furious when he found out about the Mackenzies’ attack on you. He blames himself.”
“Why should he do that?”
“He told Sleat of your letter, where you mentioned the MacLeod’s delay in Edinburgh. He believes that Sleat told the Mackenzie.”
Was that why Rory had questioned her? It took Isabel a moment to digest the fact that a seemingly innocuous comment in her letter could have led to the attack. “I don’t believe it,” she said dumbly.
“The Mackenzie’s rage at our family and the MacLeods is so strong after the death of his son, Father believes that even if Sleat were inclined to do so, our uncle could no longer rein in the vengeful Mackenzie.”
At the mention of the Mackenzie, Isabel shuddered. The old chief had watched her closely over the last few days, and she did not trust him. No matter what Rory claimed about the sanctuary of the gathering, she suspected that Mackenzie was planning something. But so far, he’d done nothing more than stare at her with the same flat eyes of his son. Except that his eyes were glazed with something more—the promise of vengeance.
Ian continued, “Even now, Father seeks an alternative alliance to wage our defenses against the Mackenzies.”
Isabel couldn’t believe her ears. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. She tried to contain her excitement, asking cautiously, “Do you think Father would accept the MacLeod’s help?”
“I’m almost certain of it. Could you convince him to do so?”
Isabel grinned. “I think so.”
Ian met her smile with his own. “It would be a solution to our problems.”
Almost all her problems. She still needed to find a way to return Trotternish to the MacLeods and forestall her uncle’s plan to tell all. “Don’t say anything to Father yet. I will write as soon as I know something definitive.”
“Good luck, Bel. For your sake as well as ours, I hope this works.”
The opportunity for further conversation was lost by the excitement surrounding the start of the caber toss.
But Isabel didn’t mind. Her conversation with Ian had lifted a huge burden off her. Everything, it seemed, was falling into place.
It was well past midnight by the time Rory made his way up the long, winding staircase to their bedchamber. The celebration that followed the MacLeod victory was still going strong, but he had other spoils to reap. Entering the room, he closed the door firmly behind him. Feet spread, folding his arms forbiddingly across his chest, he grinned. “I’m ready to collect my reward.”
Isabel, who’d retired a short time ago, turned from her seat at the table where she’d been brushing her hair to study him blocking the door. He loved the way the candlelight caught the flecks of gold in the flaming locks, tumbling around her bare shoulders in a glossy cape. His body heated as his eyes traveled over her naked arms, shoulders, and décolletage. She’d removed the gown she wore for the celebration, leaving only a thin sark between him and naked perfection. He felt a surge of masculine pride as her eyes flowed across his body—not bothering to hide her appreciation—and lingered on his crossed arms.
“I believe you’ve already had your reward,” she said primly, but Rory caught the gleam of naughtiness in her gaze.
“One wee kiss is not the reward I had in mind,” he said, making a move toward her. Laughing, she slipped past his reach, darting to the other side of the bed. He caught a lust-inducing glimpse of a slim bare leg. “Don’t play games with me, Isabel,” he warned.
“I thought you were good at games,” she taunted, leaning across the bed. “Did you not win nearly every contest you entered?”
His gaze fastened on her lush breasts slung forward, swaying enticingly. Blood surged to his already hard cock when he thought of the way they’d bounce as she moved on top of him, riding him.
He moved one way, and she moved the other. When he tried to slide around the bed, she dove across, again slipping past his grasp. “You’ll pay for your insolence
, wench,” he threatened.
Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “I’m counting on it.”
She was quick, he’d give her that. But he was done giving chase. He faked to the right, she went left to slide across the bed, and he pounced, pinning her underneath him.
“Captured,” he said with a wicked grin.
She made a halfhearted attempt to push him off. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, and her breathing quick from her exertions. Would he ever tire of looking at her? “Mercy?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Never.”
He tsked. “Oh, lass, you try my patience.” He clasped her hands above her head, giving him full access to the length of her body. She wiggled, but he had no intention of letting her go. He lowered his head, covering her mouth with his in a long, hot kiss as his hands began to caress the delectable curves of her body. Slowly, he lifted the hem of her sark, sliding his hand up her velvety thigh. He could feel her heart race as he brushed his finger over her heat. Her response to him never ceased to amaze him; he felt how she quivered, waiting for his touch. He knew how she would explode almost the moment that he stroked her.
“Mercy?” he asked again, his finger tantalizingly close to her most sensitive spot.
She peered at him from beneath her lashes. “You are a horrible man, Rory MacLeod.”
His grin widened. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes, you shall have your reward.”
“And you shall have yours,” he said huskily. He lowered his head again, this time sliding past her mouth, over her breasts, and between her waiting legs, where his tongue brought her to quick surrender. Her soft cries of release echoed in his ears, a sweeter sound he’d never heard.
She lay still, languid in the wake of her release. Rory helped shimmy her shift over her head, before quickly removing his plaid and linen shirt. After stretching out beside her, he rolled to one side to watch the delicate flush fade from her pink cheeks. Their eyes met, and a slow smile curved up her lips. “Hmm…” Her fingers traced a delicate line down his stomach. The muscles flexed instinctively. “What reward would you have of me?” she asked, her hand moving achingly close to his arousal. Stroking the lines of his stomach, she teased him, her hand hovering just out of reach.
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