by Amy Tolnitch
While they spoke, Gifford turned his attention back to Saraid. He took her hand with an expression of wonderment. “What is your name, fair one?”
To Iosobal’s surprise, Saraid flushed. “I am called Saraid.”
Gifford cocked his head. “Have we ever met, my lady?”
“I … I do not believe so.”
“Why is a goddess like you hiding away in this remote place?”
Saraid’s face closed.
“Saraid enjoys the beauty of Parraba,” Iosobal injected, noting the woman’s discomfort at Gifford’s question. “As we all do.”
“Aye. ’Tis a beautiful place indeed,” Gifford said. He cleared his throat. “I am parched with thirst. Could I impress upon you to provide a cup of ale, my lady?”
“Of course,” Iosobal said, glad for the chance to turn from Piers’s suspicious gaze.
“And Lady Saraid, would you do me the great honor of joining me?” Gifford added smoothly.
Iosobal glanced back to see Saraid slowly nod. It was clear that she wasn’t quite sure what to do about this man, or how to escape.
Piers set Ailie down with a frown. “Where is Lugh?”
Iosobal lifted her chin. “Working.”
Ailie pulled at his tunic. “Father is helping clear a cave for Lady Iosobal.”
Piers blinked. “Clearing a cave?”
“Aye,” Iosobal told him. “’Tis our agreement in exchange for my aiding Ailie.”
“I see,” Piers said slowly. “And where might I find him?”
Iosobal pointed outside the palace entrance. “Follow the path to the right.”
Piers nodded. “Thank you, my lady.”
“I shall stay here and entertain the ladies,” Gifford called after him. He settled on the bench next to Saraid and pulled Ailie up onto his lap.
PIERS KNEW HE WAS GETTING TO THE RIGHT PLACE because he could hear The MacKeir bellowing. As he turned a curve of the path, he spied The MacKeir chasing after possibly the mangiest-looking ox Piers had ever seen. Lugh was shaking his fist and hollering at the animal to stop.
“Damn you, ye gutless beast,” Lugh shouted. Beyond him stood another man shaking his head.
Piers started laughing, and Lugh whipped his head around. His hair was matted with sweat and the expression on his face was one of such frustration Piers laughed harder. “What in the hell are you doing?”
Lugh glowered at him; then his face cracked into a grin. “Damned if I know.” He grabbed up a jug and took a long pull.
Piers walked over, still laughing as he saw the ox lumber down the hillside. “Not having much success with the beasts of Parraba?”
“Nay.” Lugh took a drink and handed him the jug. “Not a blasted one will stay near this cave.”
Piers took a drink. “Lady Iosobal mentioned you were clearing a cave.”
“Aye.” Lugh plopped down atop a rock and stretched out his legs. “’Tis our bargain.” He eyed Piers. “Why are you here?”
Piers sat on another rock. “Gifford and I came in search of you and Ailie when we received your message.”
“How did you know where to find me?”
“From the marshal at Tunvegan, a man called Will.” Piers frowned. “’Tis not good news I bear.”
“What has happened? Did Einar forget to order sufficient seed?”
“I know of no Einar. When we arrived, a woman named Maura directed us to the laird,” Piers spat. “A lying whoreson by the name of Lachlann.”
“Laird?” Lugh roared as he shot to his feet. “I am laird.”
“Not according to this Lachlann.” Piers reached for the jug and took another drink of ale. “He claims you lost your wits after Agatha died, and left on a fool’s quest. He made it very clear we had no welcome there. If not for a woman loyal to you by the name of Triona, we would have had no idea where to look for you.”
“What of my men?”
“Triona said that the woman Maura drugged them long enough for Lachlann to see them put into the dungeon.”
Lugh paced back and forth. “Greedy bastard. I should have known.” He pounded a fist on his thigh. “Branor, you must return,” he ordered the other man.
“Nay. You need me here. Asides, it is you who must reclaim Tunvegan.”
“But I canna leave as yet. Not until Ailie is healed.” Lugh cursed again. “And Maura. I am no surprised. The wench has always wanted more than her due.”
Piers thought of telling Lugh of Lachlann’s cruelty, but decided against it. “Who is this Lady Iosobal?”
Lugh stopped pacing. “I am no sure, but she seems to be aiding Ailie. Somewhat.”
“Do you believe the isle is enchanted?”
Lugh rubbed his chin. “Again, I am no sure. ’Tis an odd place, to be sure. And the Lady Iosobal is not what I expected. Still, it does not matter if she cures Ailie.”
Piers eyed the mountain of rubble. “What happened?”
“I know not,” Lugh answered. “I find nothing to have caused the collapse.” He pointed above the cave. “The ground seems stable enough.”
“Mayhap it was magic,” Branor commented.
“Nay,” Lugh snorted.
“Gifford and I could remain with Ailie if you wished to attend to matters at Tunvegan,” Piers offered. At the spectacle Gifford was making over the woman Saraid, he would probably have to pry the man from the island anyway.
Lugh stared at him and slowly shook his head. Frustration remained stamped on his features, along with another emotion Piers easily recognized as deep concern. “I cannot. Not while Ailie still ails. I …”
“Do you trust this Lady Iosobal, Lugh?” Piers was not inclined to do so, but kept his opinion to himself.
“I am no sure, but none of the other healers did anything. At least here, Ailie has had times where she appears improved. ’Tis something.”
“Aye.”
“Where did you leave Gifford?” Lugh asked.
Piers grinned. “Gifford took one look at Lady Iosobal’s companion and turned into a drooling dog. When I left, he had requested ale, of course, and was settling in to charm the woman.”
Lugh chuckled. “We’d best see that he doesnae get himself into trouble. I get the impression that Lady Iosobal is verra protective of the woman.” He clapped Piers on the back, his smile fading. “My thanks to you for coming. I have need of the support of friends.”
With his words, Piers realized how odd it must be for Lugh to be away from Tunvegan, away from his clan. Even when he’d arrived at Falcon’s Craig in search of his betrothed, he’d had a group of his men behind him. “We shall stay to see this through. No matter what happens.”
Lugh’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “Ailie will live.” His gaze darkened. “I shall not allow it otherwise.”
Chapter
VII
How is this happening? Iosobal wondered as she finally made her way back to her chambers following supper. With the arrival of Gifford and Piers, the invasion of her usually tranquil palace was complete. Even Artemis had apparently thought it too much, and had abandoned her.
She smiled as she walked in and kicked off her slippers. It was amusing to watch Gifford do his best to charm an obviously uncomfortable Saraid. She’d thought Saraid would choke on her wine when Gifford launched into a song comparing a woman’s beauty to the unfolding of a rose’s petals in the spring. The man was so earnest, so forthright in his praises, it was impossible not to like him.
Not so the other one, she thought. He eyed her with clear skepticism when be thought she did not see. She sighed and sat on the edge of her bed, watching the pink and orange glow of the sun slowly sink in the sky. He reminded her of some of the villagers. Though they gladly accepted her aid, thrived on the lush island she looked after, they were still mistrustful. She held their respect, but not their affection.
She stood and tried to shake off her feeling of disquiet. Ailie had looked good this eve, she reminded herself. She was truly glad for that. But the cave is still blocked, she thou
ght, her hand going to her throat out of habit. Dear Brigid, how she longed for her necklace, yearned to sit within her cave.
Instead she was overrun with strange, loud men, including one Highlander who watched her much too closely for comfort. Releasing a sigh, she unplaited her hair and left the palace.
Hours later, the sun had nearly set, the shadows in the sky beginning to show the outline of the moon. Iosobal reluctantly emerged from the sea, its soft waves brushing against her hips and legs as she gained the shore.
And found Lugh MacKeir waiting for her.
She stopped, and briefly considered cloaking herself. Coward, she said silently. He is only a man. “What are you doing?”
The MacKeir lifted a brow. He looked her over once, then twice, his gaze lingering where the wet fabric of her chemise clung to her breasts and belly. “No woman who looks as you do should be out at night alone.”
The sea had been cool, but the intimate timbre of his voice sent warmth coiling through her body. “I am perfectly safe on my island. No one would dare to hurt me here.”
He stepped closer. “You mean that no one would dare approach you.”
She gave him an imperious look. “No one save one importunate Highlander.” She realized she was clenching the fabric of her chemise and forced her hands to relax.
“Who are you, Iosobal? Truly.”
“I told you. I am the Lady of Parraba.”
He took another step toward her. “Is that all?”
She closed her expression. “Aye.”
He gazed at her in silence. For some reason, Iosobal did not scramble for her gown lying in a puddle on the sand. No, she would not give him that, would not allow him to see how he continually managed to unsettle her, though she suspected those astute eyes of his had already discerned it.
“Are you happy living like this?” he asked softly. “Alone, your only companions an old man and a girl?”
She stiffened. “Yes.”
He frowned. “Who cheers you when you are sad? Who holds you when you are afraid?”
His questions shocked her. After their last encounter, she would have expected him to avoid her, to treat her with the mix of the condemnation and gratitude she saw in her villagers. But no, not The MacKeir. Instead, he boldly sought her out and asked questions she’d never thought to answer. “I do not need anyone,” she finally said.
When he reached out to take her hand, she flinched, cursing herself for the weakness.
“You are warm flesh and blood,” he murmured. “You are a woman.”
By Saint Brigid, she could not move. The saints aid her, she did not want to move. His hand was warm and firm, yet cradled hers with a tender touch. “Why do you not fear me?”
His gaze met hers. “Should I?” He reached up and trailed a calloused finger down her cheek. “I have thought long of this. I donna believe you meant to strike out at me.”
She swallowed. “Nay.”
“Come back to the palace with me,” he said, his face so close to hers that Iosobal felt herself swaying toward him, toward that mouth that brought images to her mind no virgin of twenty years should ever imagine.
He gave her a knowing look, and Iosobal wrenched free of his hand. She flung on her bliaut, her back toward him. “I shall accept your escort.”
She heard him laugh softly, before he put his big hands on her shoulders. “Should you find yourself unable to sleep, desirous of company, you need only—”
“Cease,” she said as she whirled around. “I do not care to be mocked.”
For a moment, their gazes locked, and Iosobal’s world shrunk to only him. Would he kiss her now? A part of her yearned to know how that would feel, but another part, the cold voice of reason, told her it would be a huge mistake. There is no changing who you are, she told herself. And no man will stay with such a woman.
“My lady,” The MacKeir said, holding out his arm. She placed her hand atop his hard forearm and they returned to the palace in stiff silence.
THE MAN LURKING IN THE SHADOWS AT THE EDGE OF woods barely suppressed a growl of rage. How dare she allow that Highlander to place his hands on her? To defile her with his touch. The thought of the two of them together roiled in his gut and he fell to his knees.
In his mind, he saw the Highlander take Lady Iosobal back to the palace and follow her to her chambers. He watched them lie on the bed, their clothing scattered about the room, the moonlight shifting over Lady Iosobal’s perfectly formed body, her smooth skin. He pulled clumps of grass out with his fists when he imagined the other man’s hand touching her breasts, stroking down her body.
He breathed hard, his body pulsing with both anger and desire.
“No,” he swore to the night. “She belongs to the island. She belongs to me!”
He’d forgotten that for a time, allowed Lady Iosobal and her mother’s seclusion and the villagers’ foolish talk dissuade him. The course he’d followed instead had ended in disaster, and he realized it was because he failed to seize his destiny. But now he knew. And Iosobal would soon know too.
PIERS BANGED ON GIFFORD’S CHAMBER DOOR, HALF expecting his uncle to still be off chasing after Saraid.
“Come in, Piers,” Gifford called out.
“How did you know it was me?” Piers asked as he entered.
Gifford sat sprawled in a chair before the open window, drinking a cup of ale. Naturally. “I cannot think of anyone else who would bother me this late.” He grinned and waggled his brows. “Yet.”
Piers rolled his eyes and helped himself to the jug of ale. “About this woman, Saraid.”
“Ahhh, is she not a vision? Who could imagined I would find such a jewel in our travels.”
“Gifford, you know nothing of the woman, except that she seems to be one of very few people near to Lady Iosobal.”
“You do not care for Lady Iosobal.”
“I am not sure. There is something odd about her. And about this place.”
Gifford took another sip of ale. “That, I agree with. The warmth of the place is a boon, but I cannot understand how it could be so.”
Piers gestured around him. As was his own, Gifford’s chamber was far more lavish than anything they had at Falcon’s Craig. “Look around you.” Deep blue silk hangings surrounded the bed, piled high with soft pillows and a thick mattress. A plush carpet nearly covered the floor, patterned in intricate spirals of blue and white. “All this under the control of one woman who has not a shred of defense.”
“’Tis an isolated spot. I doubt many travel here.”
“Do you not remember what Will said? He said the lady does not allow anyone to land.” “We did,” Gifford commented, seeming unconcerned about the oddity of it all.
“I wonder if she could be in league with Lachlann.”
“Why? What could such a man offer her?”
Piers shook his head in frustration. “I cannot imagine, but yet here Lugh stays while another man takes over his holding.”
“He stays for Ailie.”
“Who remains ill. ’Tis suspicious.”
Gifford eyed him. “When did you become such a distrustful sort?”
Piers clenched his jaw. “Since I came face to face with true perfidy in the guise of a friend.”
“Eli was a fool.” Gifford tilted back his cup and took a long drink.
“A fool who, unfortunately, was right.”
“Pah. You are Cain’s true brother, and neither he nor I will hear otherwise.”
“I am the bastard get of my snake of a mother and her lover.” Piers gulped ale, still unable to wholly suppress his anger and shame at discovering his mother’s betrayal.
“No.” Gifford rose and put his hands on Piers’s shoulders. “You are a true Veuxfort, blood kin to the earl and blessed in your life to call me uncle. I do not want to ever hear you say a word otherwise. ’Tis Ismena’s failing, God rest her conniving soul. The stain is hers alone.”
Piers nodded. Gifford was right. He should put the matter from his mi
nd. Eli was the only soul other than Cain and Gifford who had known the truth, and he was dead.
Gifford retook his seat and filled his cup. He slanted a look at Piers. “Did you happen to notice The MacKeir’s gaze upon the fair Lady Iosobal?”
Piers frowned again. “I am surprised that you did, given your attention to Saraid.”
“Hmph. I am an amazingly perceptive man, as you should know.” Gifford grinned. “The laird favors her.”
“Perhaps he seeks to engage her affection to aid Ailie.”
“Nay, he is not one to do so. He wants her.”
“He loved Agatha.”
“Yes, he did. But Agatha, God bless her soul, has been gone for years. And The MacKeir is the kind of man who needs a woman. Ailie needs a mother.”
“Not Lady Iosobal. Gifford, look around you. The lady lives in a lavish palace on a warm, sunny isle. Alone. This is not the kind of woman who would suit the Laird of Tunvegan.”
Gifford shrugged and again grinned. “We shall see. I am thinking that watching what unfolds between The MacKeir and Lady Iosobal might just be about the most interesting thing to occur in many a year.”
“You are an old romantic,” Piers said, softening his words with a smile.
“Aye, that I am; and unashamed of it.” He lifted a brow. “You should take heed of my thinking.”
Piers rolled his eyes. “I will leave you to your songs of love, Gifford. I am not interested in a woman beyond what comfort she can supply.”
“Comfort?” Gifford snorted. “There is more to a woman than bed-sport.”
“Is there?” Piers finished his drink and turned to leave. “I’ve not found that to be true.”
“Wrong kind of women you bring to your bed,” Gifford grumbled. “Loose with their charms, every one.”
“Aye, the very best kind,” Piers said as he left.
LUGH WOKE UP JUST BEFORE DAWN THE NEXT MORNING and felt an absence in their chambers.
He threw on a pair of braies and walked into Ailie’s bedchamber.
The bed was empty. For a moment, his heart raced in panic, then he forced himself to calm. She probably rose early and went in search of her beloved honey cakes.
