‘You brought the plants?’ Laria asked.
Isobel realised the woman had moved across the cottage’s main room to a large worktable already crowded with jars and bowls and plants and leaves. She walked over and placed the bag she carried in a clear spot.
‘Marian sent along the ones you asked for and a few others she thought you might have need of,’ she said as she opened the bag, lifted out the wrapped bundle and handed it to Laria.
Isobel watched in silence as the older woman handled the cuttings and plants with almost reverence, unwrapping and gently easing the stems and roots and leaves apart. Some she placed directly in bowls of water, others she pressed into bowls filled with soil. Isobel did not know enough about the various herbs to know which ones were which or which needed what. Laria worked on, without giving any attention or notice to Isobel, so she wandered around the cottage, examining some of the covered jars, sniffing some of the more aromatic plants. But when she reached out to touch one, Laria called out to her.
‘Do not!’ she said sharply.
Her words and tone surprised Isobel and she jerked her hand back away from the dark, dense plant that had gained her attention. ‘I am sorry,’ she offered as she returned to the table where Laria yet tended to the newly arrived plants.
‘Some of these are more de...delicate than others and must not be touched,’ Laria explained and she held out the empty bag to Isobel. For a moment, Isobel thought the woman was going to say something else, something other than ‘delicate’.
‘Your pardon. I will be more careful, Laria.’
Isobel felt a shift in the tension between them in that moment. Something had changed and she was at a loss to explain it. Mayhap the plants had been damaged before by a careless touch? Laria’s next words confirmed her feelings.
‘If you have nothing else for me, I must get to work with these,’ she said, motioning to the plants she’d unwrapped and separated. Though her face was emotionless, her eyes showed something more, for a dark, suspicious glare met Isobel’s gaze for a brief moment.
Mayhap she was overtired? Or was it simply the woman’s disposition? Isobel brushed the few strands of loosened hair away from her face and nodded.
‘We are visiting for a sennight. If you have need of anything else from Lairig Dubh, just inform me or Lady MacLerie and we can arrange to have it brought to you before the winter sets in,’ she said.
Isobel walked to the door, but stopped before leaving. She could not explain, even to herself, why she asked the question.
‘Athdar has spoken many times about your skills and talents in healing with them, Laria. If I promised to be careful and obey your instructions, would you teach me some of what you know? While I am here?’
‘Why?’ the woman asked, with no inflection to reveal if she was even thinking about her request.
‘My knowledge of plants and herbs is sorely lacking. With my parents considering offers of marriage, I realise that I may be overseeing such matters in my husband’s home much sooner that I thought. I would gain some knowledge before I marry.’ It was true, even though another, less identifiable reason lurked deeper in her mind.
Laria stared at her as though evaluating her words in a silence that drew out past the simple few seconds Isobel thought she needed to refuse her. Then, surprising her, Laria agreed, though it was clear with some reluctance.
‘I can spare you some time each morn, if you want to come,’ she said.
‘Aye, I would like that. My thanks, Laria,’ Isobel said.
‘And you touch nothing without my saying so.’
‘Certainly.’ Isobel lifted the latch on the door. ‘I will come on the morrow then.’
At once pleased and puzzled, Isobel gained her bearings and headed back through the forest towards the keep in the distance. Passing some, she offered greetings as she walked back. All were friendly, many having seen her pass this way earlier with Athdar and some whom she had met when they’d visited Lairig Dubh with their laird on previous occasions. She did not remember all the names, but a number of faces were familiar to her.
She arrived at the gates and was waved through by the guards watching from their posts. Everything along the way was pleasant and welcoming and she saw her mother sitting with Lady Jocelyn and other women at the end of the hall.
So, if all was well, why did she feel the distinct chill coursing through her bones? Why did it feel as though someone had just walked on her grave?
Chapter Four
Jocelyn sat with Margriet and several of her own cousins in the hall, all of them working to repair a large tapestry. It had always been one of her favourites, a scene that included figures of all the animals that inhabited the forests and lakes in the surrounding area. As a child, she would look at this on the wall and make up stories about all the animals, giving them names and occupations. She’d noticed the damaged and fraying corners on her last visit and took advantage of this one to work on it.
This was one disadvantage of Athdar being without a wife—there were simply some things that a woman needed to see to in the keep and village. One of their cousins had stepped in, and oversaw the keep and the duties of chatelaine, working along with Broc. And Laria served as healer and watched over the village concerns.
But Athdar needed a wife. His clan, their clan, needed their laird to marry.
More than that, her brother deserved a lasting happiness. Her heart ached for all he’d lost and all he lived without and the fact that he wanted it, but would not allow himself to hope for it, tore her soul in pieces. That was the reason she had decided it was time to meddle here. Winning or losing the matchmaking challenge between her friends and their husbands meant nothing to her in the face of Athdar’s continued pain and unhappiness.
Everyone deserved the chance for a family. If her husband, the Beast of the Highlands, had found redemption, her brother should, too.
‘Do you think this is wise, then?’ Margriet asked her quietly as they passed threads around the circle of women embroidering. The other women spoke amongst themselves, carrying on conversations about their tasks and their families.
‘Should you even be asking me that question? You know our agreement,’ Jocelyn said, smiling at her friend.
‘You broke all the rules when you brought me along on this mission of yours,’ Margriet replied, resting her hands on her lap and pausing in their work. ‘You cannot expect me to sit back and observe when my daughter is part of your plot.’
‘Margriet, there is no plot. We know Isobel is attracted to Athdar and he to her. I wanted to see if there is any true spark before encouraging this match to proceed.’
‘But he has sworn not to marry again. How do you think to overcome that?’ Margriet asked.
‘I think the better question would be how do we get your husband to accept a marriage between them? Neither one has got over their incident.’ Margriet blanched at Jocelyn’s words, her pale skin going even whiter at the mention of her husband.
Rurik and Athdar’s first meeting and the altercation that followed Athdar’s stupid behaviour and insults had led to Jocelyn’s forced marriage. For some male reason, the eventual happy outcome between her and Connor had not smoothed the road between two of the important men in her life and her connected family. Each of them gave the other the respect they deserved due to their roles and positions, but it was a begrudging deference and nothing more.
‘He is protective of her,’ Margriet said. ‘He did not take Connor’s suggestions for possible matches any better. Rurik yet sees her as a child. If he has time to consider the good things about a marriage between them...’ Her words drifted off into silence as they each contemplated Rurik’s reaction.
Jocelyn snorted first, laughing aloud, and then Margriet joined her, gaining the full attention of the rest of the women there. Greeting their puzzled looks wit
h a shrug, Jocelyn waited until everyone had returned to their own conversations before speaking again.
‘Mayhap ’tis better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission?’ Jocelyn asked in a whispering voice, not really wanting an answer.
If Tavis MacLerie had asked permission to marry Marian and Duncan’s daughter Ciara, it would have been refused. If Ciara’s betrothed had asked permission to break their arranged marriage to marry another, it would have been refused. Sometimes it was better to take matters into your own hands than doing the proper, formal thing.
‘That may be premature, Jocelyn. We do not even ken if this is anything more than a mere attraction between them. If my daughter is to marry, I want her to be happy in that marriage.’
‘True. Which is the reason I invited her, and you, on this visit. To see how they are together. In a place where he is in charge and not affected by Connor’s, or Rurik’s, presence. To see the real man that Athdar is.’
They fell back into companionable silence and worked on the tapestry for some time before seeing Isobel enter the hall. Jocelyn had been pleased when her brother offered to escort Isobel himself to the healer’s cottage and from the blush in her cheeks and smile on her face, it had been a good idea.
‘Lady Jocelyn,’ Isobel said, with a bow of her head as she approached. ‘Mother.’
Margriet held out a needle and threads to Isobel, who took them and sat on a chair next to her. Isobel’s skills with a needle were excellent, but her other talents were more impressive and would be a boon for any man lucky enough to wed her. She had a level head, was intelligent and kind. She had grown into one of the best chess players amongst those in the family who played, beating her father and Marian with ease now. That demonstrated her logical mind and ability to see how things worked and progressed.
‘Did Laria have anything to say?’ she asked.
‘Nay, not much. I told her if there was anything else she needed, to speak to you.’ Isobel lifted the material closer to her and then glanced up at Jocelyn. ‘She is not a friendly person, is she?’
‘Nay, she is not,’ Jocelyn answered. ‘But she is skilful and has always worked for the good of the clan.’
She watched as Isobel absorbed the meaning of her words. Laria’s temperament had never been the same after losing her two children, but what woman would be unchanged by such tragedy? Still, she worked tirelessly to provide herbs and medicaments to anyone in need. Jocelyn’s father and Athdar after him always provided Laria with a living so that she able to continue her work.
‘Her gardens must be impressive when in full bloom,’ Isobel said. ‘I asked if she will teach me about her work while I am here.’
‘Did you?’ Margriet asked, putting down her needlework. ‘Why? You have never shown an interest in such things.’
‘I know that you and Father are considering possible marriages and that I will need to oversee such things for my...husband.’ She paused for a moment. ‘This seemed an advantageous thing since we are here and I have no other duties to see to.’
Jocelyn smiled to herself and glanced over at Margriet. Isobel did understand that it was time. Now, all she...they...had to work out was if marriage to Athdar was the right path for both Isobel and him.
A small thing to accomplish when she put her mind to it.
* * *
Athdar had accepted two things as inevitable when he received word of Jocelyn’s pending arrival with Isobel and her mother as travel companions. The first was something that always happened during Jocelyn’s visits—the keep would be better after she tended to things. The second was that he would be spending time, and a good amount of it, with the fair Isobel. Ever a man to know his limitations and his strengths, he understood the true purpose of his sister’s journey here and it had little or nothing to do with some damned plants for Laria.
As he swallowed another mouthful of ale and contemplated his reaction to Jocelyn’s, and Isobel’s, visit and his plans for this incursion into his life, he accepted another inevitability—Jocelyn had not given up on pursuing another marriage for him.
She said something then, about the cook’s recipe for the fowl before them, and he nodded and muttered something acceptable. But his mind turned the situation over and over. He knew she did most things to protect or help him. It had ever been that way between them—as children and even into adulthood, she had been the buffer between him and whatever came his way.
Her marriage to Connor, though now a happy one, had been her attempt to get him out of a bad situation he’d caused—one of many in his childhood and as a boy and even young man. Now, he wondered if the sins of his past were catching up to him, taunting him even, with the nearness of Isobel.
Isobel smiled just then and said something softly to her mother and Athdar watched her mouth curve and her eyes brighten. So young, so beautiful.
And so tempting.
He leaned back and listened to the discussion about some household matter and then realised he was not the only one watching and listening to her. She held the attention of Broc, Padruig and many other men at the table and nearby, whether they be married or bachelor. When Broc caught his eye and winked, Athdar knew she had another conquest if she wanted one or not. The way that she engaged in conversation, offering her opinion when asked and questioning to clarify, demonstrated her innate intelligence.
When had she grown from child into...this?
While he was living in hell.
The hell that began with his first marriage to the woman he’d loved for years. The hell that included watching her die, after she struggled to give birth to their child, and then losing the child, his son, within days. The hell that continued through another wife and another death and a betrothed and her death.
While Rurik had kept his daughter safe and sheltered, he’d failed three women.
No wonder he’d missed the changes in her as she reached womanhood.
He drank again trying to wash the bitter taste of those memories away and continued to watch the women discussing Jocelyn’s latest plan to improve the hall. He did not mind her ministrations, no matter that they reminded him that he had no wife to be in charge of his home, as his mother had done for his father. She saw that things were cleaned and repaired and freshened and they were usually tasks that he would never think of himself. Broc oversaw the important tasks a steward did—supplies, foodstuffs, livestock and such—but that left many less critical things undone. The empty platters were being removed when he drank the last of his ale.
‘Isobel, do you play chess?’ He knew her parents did as did his own sister and husband. Chances were Isobel did. Something within him pushed him to offer a challenge when she nodded. He wanted to speak to her, with her. ‘Play with me?’
‘Athdar, it has been a long day,’ Jocelyn answered before Isobel could. ‘On the morrow?’
Isobel responded as the well-behaved guest and lady would. ‘I must agree with Lady Jocelyn, Ath—my lord,’ she said quietly, as she slipped up and used his name in front of others. His body reacted to the hint of his name on her lips. Bloody hell to that!
‘We are kin here, Isobel,’ Jocelyn replied. ‘I am certain my brother has no objections to you calling him by his given name. We are families connected now.’ Jocelyn arched an eyebrow at him. As though he would refuse when he’d already given her leave to do so.
‘None, Jocelyn,’ he said. ‘You all must pardon my boorish ways. I should have remembered about your travels these last few days and not imposed.’ He stood and held out his hand to his sister. ‘I will see you in the morn.’
Athdar hugged Jocelyn and bowed to Margriet and Isobel and he waited for them to leave the table before sitting back down. As they walked towards the back of the hall and the chamber they would use, Isobel paused and looked around as though searching for something. He glanced to where she’d been sitting and saw
her handkerchief on the table. Athdar grabbed it and walked towards her, holding it out.
‘You left this,’ he said.
‘If you will wait, I would like to play chess,’ she whispered.
He tried to hide his surprise, both at her acceptance of his invitation and her boldness in planning to return, clearly without her mother or his sister. If he did the right thing, it would be to order her to remain in her chambers until morn. If he did the right thing, it would mean lying awake another night. If he did the right thing... Damn! He always did the right thing.
‘I will be here.’
She turned and made her way back to where her mother waited and Athdar watched them leave, all the while smiling over this small transgression. Oh, Isobel was completely safe with him—he would never overstep with Rurik’s daughter and would never dawdle with an unmarried woman in a way that would call her honour, or his, into account. They were family, Jocelyn had said. So he would treat her as such.
And he would wait.
For her.
Chapter Five
Isobel lay on her cot in the darkness, listening to the sounds of her mother and the lady as they fell into sleep’s grasp and wondering at the boldness of her actions. Once their breathing grew deep and even, she waited a few more minutes and then climbed slowly and silently from under her bedcovers, pausing after each movement, committed to returning to the hall. It took her several more minutes to get off the cot, get dressed in her simplest gown and make it across the chamber to the door.
She did not know what madness claimed her in the moment when she told Athdar she would return, but it seemed simpler than contradicting Jocelyn and making it seem more important than it was. At the same time, she did want to see him and play against him...now, and not wait for another day. Their walk to Laria’s cottage had been pleasant and she’d managed to lose the nervousness that always plagued her when he was near.
The Highlander's Dangerous Temptation Page 4
