by Amy Tolnitch
“Lady Saraid,” Gifford said again, his tone soft. “Walk with me on the beach. I will search for a shell to match your beauty.”
When Saraid looked back, her expression was blank. “I thank you for the offer, but I promised to help Niamh in the kitchen.” She rose and pushed her almonds over to Ailie.
“Do you not wish to play anymore?” Ailie asked.
“I must go.” Saraid gave his daughter a faint smile. “Enjoy your game.” She left without another look toward Gifford.
Gifford frowned and took a drink. “Woman’s as skittish as newly captured falcon.”
Lugh sighed in relief when he spotted Branor entering the hall bearing a tray piled with food and drink. “What have you learned of her, Gifford?”
Ailie tossed the dice and let out a yelp of delight. “I won!”
After he pushed over two almonds, Gifford shrugged. “Not enough, apparently.”
“She lives alone in a cottage overlooking the sea,” Ailie commented as she scooped up almonds. “Before she came to Parraba, she lived in England.”
Lugh grabbed a chunk of cheese. “How do you know this, sweeting?”
“She told me.” Ailie gazed at him. “Saraid tells me stories too.”
Branor sat next to Gifford and munched on a piece of bread. “Did she tell you how she came to Parraba?”
Ailie shook her head. “Not really. I asked her, but she just said that she wanted to live in a place of peace and beauty.”
“Something about her seems familiar,” Branor said.
“Perhaps you met her before you had the foresight to come to Scotland,” Lugh suggested.
Branor shrugged. “Not that I recall.”
“A mystery, then,” Gifford said. He grinned and filled his cup to the brim. “Loveliness and mystery together in one woman. How can I resist?”
It struck Lugh that Gifford could have been describing the Lady Iosobal. That morn, exhaustion had stripped away much of her typical reserve, but she still held herself apart. He knew he was no closer to understanding who the real Iosobal was than when they’d arrived. He speared a piece offish and chewed.
Ailie wrinkled her nose. “You smell, Father,” she said.
Lugh laughed. “I have been laboring in the sun.”
“On Lady Iosobal’s cave?”
“Aye.”
Ailie’s eyes brightened. “What do you think is in the cave?”
“Probably more rocks,” Branor commented.
“There must be something special,” Ailie said.
“Aye,” Lugh agreed as he stood. “And we shall find it soon.” He grabbed up a hunk of cheese and a cup of wine. “Do you need to rest?” he asked Ailie.
She shook her head.
He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Do you know where Lady Iosobal is?”
“Said she was going for a walk,” Gifford said as he crunched an almond in his mouth.
“Alone?” Lugh barked.
Gifford’s head snapped up. “Of course.”
Lugh cursed under his breath. “I shall go find her.”
“What is wrong, Father?” Ailie asked.
“Naught to concern you, sweet. I have matters to discuss with Lady Iosobal, ’tis all.”
“Oh.” She smiled and wrinkled her nose again. “Perhaps you should wash before you look for her.”
Lugh shook his head. He saw the gleam in his daughter’s eyes. Ailie wanted a mother, he knew. But she did not have the vivid memories of Agatha that he did. No one could ever take her place in his heart. Still … though he thought to say that he didn’t care if his scent appealed to Iosobal, ‘twould be a lie. The woman intrigued him, and no man would deny her beauty. “Oh, I suppose I could take a moment to stop in my chamber.”
“And change your tunic,” Ailie advised. “The green one, I think.”
“Ailie, I am simply going to talk to the woman. I am not going to woo her.” His daughter just gave him an innocent look.
Lugh threw out his hands. “Verra well. I will do as my lady counsels.”
Ailie beamed a smile at him.
LUGH HALTED, ASTONISHED AT THE SCENE BEFORE HIS eyes. Within a small grove of trees, snowflakes whirled and fell, blanketing the ground with a sheen of white. He took a step forward and felt cool air wash across his face. But the snow was not the biggest surprise.
In the center of the snowfall, Lady Iosobal danced, her head tilted back, her joy evident in her fluid movements. The skirt of her lavender bliaut swirled around her, and the perfume of flowers filled the air, mixed with the cold, fresh scent of snow.
Lugh felt as if he’d fallen into a place out of time. He stood and watched Iosobal, realizing that he was seeing a very different woman than the one he’d come to expect. She flung out her hands and twirled like some kind of magical being embracing nature.
And, of course, she was.
Then, she whirled around and saw him. She stopped and pushed her hair back from her face.
The quiet was absolute, the snow falling heavily now, as they stood and stared at each other. “You need not stop,” Lugh said as he walked further into the clearing. He bent down and touched the snow, needing to assure himself that it was not an illusion of his mind. He took up a handful of cold, soft snow and slowly let it drift through his fingers.
“How long have you been watching me?” Iosobal asked, her voice as frosty as the ground beneath them.
“’Twas not my intent to intrude.”
She eyed him with clear skepticism. “You have a habit of intruding. Despite my instruction otherwise.”
He smiled. A part of him could scarcely credit that he was conversing with a woman who had created a snowfall which even now dropped big white flakes around them. What power she must possess to do such a thing, he thought. More power than you, his inner voice mocked. “Why?” he asked, gesturing around them.
The snowfall lightened, the sun reflecting off the falling flakes. “I have never felt snow. Ailie told me how much she liked it.”
Lugh’s chest tightened. “Aye, that she does. In the winter, she is forever trying to catch a flake on her tongue.”
“So she said.”
Before he could question himself, Lugh reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. He smoothed his hand down behind her neck and wrapped his fingers in her thick hair.
Her eyes widened, but she didn’t pull away.
“You’ve a way with your spells, Iosobal.”
He saw her swallow.
“’Tis quite a gift,” he continued.
“Sometimes,” she answered softly. “But as with all gifts, it comes with a cost.” She tensed against his hand, but he did not release her.
“Why do you not ensorcell a man to abide here with you?”
They were standing so close he could see the flare of pain in her eyes. “It would not be real. Even if I could do such a thing, it would be my desires, not his.”
At the word desire, Lugh suddenly saw a host of images in his mind. Images of the woman nearly in his arms, a woman with the kind of power men would gladly kill for, yet utterly alone.
He could no longer deny it—a woman he wanted.
Though his heart would forever belong to Agatha, he would not deny that his body craved the woman before him.
Iosobal gazed up into Lugh’s gleaming green eyes and wondered what she was doing. Once again, she found herself within the Highlander’s grasp and—Saint Brigid forgive her—she could not seem to make herself pull away from the strength and warmth he exuded like the endless tides.
She looked at his mouth and shivered. Actually shivered. The man had a mouth of a god, a very sensual god.
And then to Iosobal’s astonishment, that wonderful mouth was on hers. Caressing, warm and firm. She put a hand on Lugh’s shoulder and closed her eyes, beset by the most amazing feeling in her belly. When he pulled her against his body, she felt every hard inch of him. She sucked in a breath and he took advantage to deepen the kiss, plundering
her mouth. He tasted of wine and temptation, and she glutted herself on it.
Iosobal lost all sense of time and place, her very being narrowing to the delicious feeling of her first kiss. It was madness, incredible, dangerous madness. When he slowly pulled away, for a moment Iosobal nearly moaned in protest before she caught herself.
Lugh looked down at her with a knowing expression.
“Why … why did you do that?” Iosobal finally managed to ask.
He gave her a slow smile, the kind of smile that made her glad his supporting arm was still around her. “I want you,” he said baldly.
Iosobal blinked.
“You have never known a man, I ken.” He traced the outline of her lips with a fingertip and Iosobal had to remind herself to breathe. “I can be a gentle lover. Your pleasure will come first, I promise you.”
“You should not be saying these things.”
He cocked a brow. “Why not? ’Tis the truth.”
“Your visit here will soon be over and you shall return to your Tunvegan. There can be nothing between us.”
“On the last, I am thinking you are wrong.” His gaze grew intense. “There has always been something between us.”
Iosobal forced herself to pull away from him and crossed her arms. Recalling their first meeting, she said, “I am not available for your amusement.”
He looked surprised for a moment, then put his big hand under her chin and leaned close. “You would never be something so simple as an amusement.”
The man has probably lain with hundreds of women, Iosobal told herself, barely resisting swaying forward. He knows well what to say, what to do to lure a woman into his bed. And he will leave soon. She would never see him again. “No,” she said. She would not be as her mother, giving her body and heart to a man only to find it unwanted and impossible to retrieve.
“Your eyes say yes.”
“I’ve said I will do what I can to heal Ailie. I’ll not give you more.”
“But you want to,” he said softly.
God save her, he was right, but she would never admit as much. Remember who you are, she chided herself. You are the Lady of Parraba. You are apart from the world of men. She straightened her shoulders with resolve. “You are mistaken. Do not confuse inexperience with ignorance.”
“We shall see, Iosobal.” He said her name as a caress, and Iosobal gritted her teeth. “For the moment, however, I have another matter to discuss with you.”
Thank God, she thought. “What is it?”
“Walk with me.” He turned and began walking back toward the palace. Iosobal was tempted to remain where she was just to show the impudent man she did not take orders, but in truth she was ready to return to the palace herself.
She felt his gaze upon her as they walked, but she kept her own straight ahead.
“We made some discoveries at the cave today,” he said.
“Did you clear the opening?” She glanced at him. “You are not to enter.”
“So you said before. We are not quite there yet. What we found is most disturbing.”
“What?”
“’Twas no accident, Iosobal. Someone deliberately caused the stones to fall.”
Iosobal halted. “No. You cannot mean—”
He put a hand on her shoulder. “We found clear marks from a tool. Most likely a crowbar.”
Horror and disbelief thudded through her. “I cannot believe it. Why would anyone want to such a thing? No one on the island would wish to harm me. To what purpose? I take care of them.”
Lugh scoffed. “You assume that all perfidy must be logical. It is not.”
“Maybe not in your world, but Parraba is different.”
“Not so different after all.”
“No. We are different. There is no violence on Parraba. We lead peaceful lives. It is not like the mainland.” She knew she sounded defensive, but she could not believe one of her people would attempt to hurt her. Or that any of them would even dare.
“Iosobal.” He gripped her shoulder. “There is no question of it. Ask Piers or Branor. We all witnessed the marks. I can show you myself.”
“I cannot believe it. Why?”
“What people feel or believe is not taken away by living in a warm, sunny, peaceful place.
Iosobal shook her head. “But it does not make any sense. I have no enemies on Parraba.”
“’Tis possible whoever did this did not know you were inside the cave at the time.”
“Why block the cave? ’Tis no threat to anyone.”
“Iosobal,” Lugh said in a somber voice. “The animals fear the place. The villagers know you are not like them. Has it never occurred to you that they may fear what they donna understand?”
“No,” she said slowly. She’d never given it a thought. It just was as it had always been. The idea that one of her villagers would act against her was inconceivable.
Lugh sighed. “Is there anyone in particular that you think may harbor ill feelings toward you?”
“No, of course not. I have very little contact with most of them.”
“I will look into this. Until I find who was responsible, you will not venture outside the palace alone.”
She looked at him, utterly aghast. “I will not be made a captive in my own home.”
His expression was implacable. “You must be careful. You do not even have the barest of defenses.”
“I do not need them.”
“You do now. ’Tis fortunate that I am here.”
“You will not turn my home into a fortress.”
“I do not have the men to achieve such a feat. But I will find this coward who threatens you.”
As they walked into the palace gardens, Iosobal tried to work her mind around what Lugh had told her. She could not. She tried to find comfort from his calm, confident tone, but it would not come. Someone out there had tried to bury her in her cave.
“Do so quickly,” she ordered, and walked away.
THE MAN SAT IN THE VILLAGE TAVERN ALONE, SIPPING a cup of ale and listening to the fools speculate about the Highlanders and Lady Iosobal.
“The black-haired one is a brawny man,” Nan said as she set down jugs on a nearby table. “And a laird.”
Old Murdag scoffed. “Why would the Lady aid him?”
Nan shrugged and winked. “Any woman would wish to find favor with a man like that.”
“The Lady is not any woman,” Simon said.
Finally, one with a bit of sense, the man thought.
Over her shoulder, Nan said, “I heard that others have arrived, one a young man nearly as fair as the laird.”
“Where do you hear these tales?” Murdag demanded.
“My sister serves the Lady.”
Nan’s father half rose from his seat. His craggy face tightened in a fierce scowl. “You have no sister.”
The tavern quieted. All knew the story. Hamish had ordered the young Niamh to marry Calum, a friend of her father’s who’d recently been widowed. The girl had been so horrified at the prospect, and so failing in honor to her sire, that she’d fled straight into the Lady’s refuge. For some reason no one understood the Lady had protected her, leaving Hamish with the shame of his daughter’s disobedience.
Nan ignored him and began clearing tables.
“Who are these newcomers?” Simon finally called out.
“More Scots, no doubt,” Murdag muttered. “Soon we shall be overrun with them.”
The man gripped his cup tightly. Why was Lady Iosobal allowing this? Suspicion coiled in his gut like sour wine. Did the dark Highlander have some hold over her? Or could it be something worse? Could she actually want them there? He came out of his thoughts just in time to hear Nan’s answer.
“Nay, from England. They are kin to the laird’s bairn.”
The presence of such men in her home must be distressing to Lady Iosobal, the man told himself. Clearly, her tender heart and care for the child has overcome her reason.
Another silly wench gave o
ut a long sigh. “Perhaps they will come to visit the village.”
If so, the man had no doubt she would provide them a more than warm welcome. Even he had at times been tempted to accept her favors when he’d imbibed too much ale. But no, he was meant for the Lady.
As she is meant for me, he told himself as he sipped more ale.
Chapter
IX
Gifford burst into the kitchen, startling Saraid so much she dropped the bowl of eggs she held. Luckily, she was near enough to land it on the table, though one of the eggs rolled out of the bowl and cracked on the floor.
“Ladies,” he called out with a big grin. “I am thinking a celebration is in order.”
Saraid exchanged a glance with Niamh, who smiled at Gifford. “What do you mean?” Saraid asked.
He gazed at her with twinkling eyes. “Well, of course, because I have had the great pleasure of finding a rare woman such as you.”
Saraid couldn’t help but smile.
“And because my beloved grandniece not only trounced me at dice, but appears to be on the mend, thanks to the magnificent Lady Iosobal.”
“What kind of celebration did you have in mind?” Niamh asked as she chopped some onions.
Gifford clapped his hands together. “On the beach this evening. We shall dine as the sun sets.”
“I am not sure I shall still be here,” Saraid said, dropping her gaze.
“But you must! Everyone must attend.”
Saraid glanced up to find Gifford staring at her with a wounded expression. “I … I suppose I could stay.”
He nodded approvingly. “I have already dispatched Piers and Branor to catch fish and gather wood for a fire.”
“What of the child?”
“Lugh has persuaded her to rest a bit before going to look for dolphins.” He rocked back on his heels. “What victuals can you provide, fair Niamh?”
“I have pasties made,” Niamh said. “And Hemming is due back soon with more ale and wine.”
Gifford put a hand to his chest. “Bless you, mistress.” He glanced around and pointed to a jug on a nearby shelf. “Might I hope there is a drop of ale to be had?”
“Aye.” Niamh handed him the jug.
