When a Highlander Loses His Heart (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 4)

by Julie Johnstone

  He offered a mock bow. “I welcome the challenge,” he replied, realizing with a start that he honestly did.

  Isobel had to double her pace to keep up with one of Graham’s strides, and she had to keep pace. The man had his hand locked around her wrist and practically dragged her behind him as he ran so quickly that she was panting. She could not believe he was taking her captive after she had saved him. And she could not believe the stubborn man refused to admit that she had, indeed, saved him. In truth, there was quite a bit she was having a hard time believing. She had been betrayed twice by her family in a matter of hours.

  Her heart squeezed as she resisted the urge to glance behind her to where Marsaili was running beside Cameron. Marsaili had said she would explain all, but how could she make excuses for such treachery?

  Unshed tears burned in Isobel’s eyes. Would she learn her father was betraying her, too? No, no! She could not believe it. To believe that meant everything she had ever thought was a lie. He had always shown her how much he loved her.

  She had to get to him, and she suddenly sensed that if she went with Graham MacLeod now, she would never see her father again. She looked wildly around her as she ran. Could she get away from Findlay and Jamie without Graham’s help? She didn’t know, but she knew she had to try. She could not go willingly with the enemy. Fear had clouded her judgment.

  As they neared the water and Graham secured his sword, then started pulling her toward the gentle waves, she dug her heels into the dirt, glancing behind her where she saw Marsaili—the betrayer—with a smile on her face, coming fast behind her by Cameron’s side. By the time Marsaili, Cameron, and the other men that were with Graham had reached the water’s edge, a cold sweat blanketed Isobel as she twisted her wrist back and forth in Graham’s iron hold.

  “Ye’re holding me too tightly,” she whimpered in a desperate attempt to gain release.

  “Too tightly?” He looked at her wrist, and she could see doubt flicker across his face.

  “Ye’ve the grip of Kratos,” she snapped.

  “Who?” he demanded, pulling her into the icy water.

  She sucked in a sharp breath. “Kratos,” she repeated, her teeth clanking together immediately. “The Greek god of strength.”

  He flashed a grin at her. “Thank ye for the praise.”

  Good God! She did not want his amusement but his compliance. “Ye’ve the brains of Koalemos.”

  “And he is?”

  “The god of folly,” she said through clenched teeth.

  The ground below her was mushy, so she curled her toes into the thick mud to slow their progress, but he dragged her along like a feather. With no other choice, she stopped swimming, thinking to make him let her go. Her head didn’t even dip all the way under the water before he had flipped her on her back, slipped his arm under her breasts, and crushed her to the full length of his body. His mouth came close to her ear as he kicked with powerful, amazingly quiet force, sending them rapidly away from the embankment and from her brother and his men. Each pump of his legs made every muscle he possessed ripple against her back and her bottom, and the man possessed a vast number of them apparently.

  Her body tingled with the friction of his against hers, just as the thought to bite him came into her head. She started to dip her head to his forearm, when he said, “Think on this, Isobel. If ye bite me, I will lose my temper, and perchance I will then prove to ye just what a beast I can be.”

  His menacing tone, along with the memories of the stories Colin had told her of atrocities committed by the MacLeod clan, made her clamp her mouth shut. She would have to escape when he was asleep or deathly injured. The latter held the greatest appeal, she decided.

  He released a chuckle that made her skin heat, despite the cold water, and Graham swam them farther and farther away from the shore. When he shifted his arm, it rested heavy and solid against her ribs, while his fingers pressed against the underside of her breasts as he held her securely.

  Her stomach tightened in the oddest manner, not with fear but something else. She thought upon it hard for a moment, then gasped. Her body was responding to this man, her father’s enemy who was seizing her!

  “Must you hold me so tightly?” she demanded in a choked voice, knowing full well the man would not release her and risk her swimming away.

  “Aye,” he answered, amusement lacing his tone, and she could swear that his fingers twitched against her breasts. When they did, she could not help but shift her body. Unfortunately, it was hard to control her movements in the water and she seemed to be even closer to him now. His arm tensed even more. “Dunnae wiggle in the water,” he said, his own voice peculiarly strained.

  Around them, she could hear low, almost imperceptible chuckles. It irritated her a great deal that his men were finding merriment in her predicament and that Graham felt he could treat her as he wished.

  “Dunnae order me about!” she growled.

  His arm whipped between her breasts, and his hand clamped over her mouth. “I order ye about for yer own good, Isobel.”

  She frowned. However did he manage to make her name sound like a curse?

  “Dunnae raise yer voice, and dunnae mistake that I kinnae give ye orders. Ye are my prisoner.” With those stern words, he removed his hand and put it back under her breasts.

  “I will nae be yer prisoner for long,” she snapped, seething.

  “I dunnae doubt ye will attempt to escape,” he replied in a tone that clearly implied he was not concerned in the least that she would succeed.

  As she stewed, he suddenly stood, bringing her with him. She was shocked to realize they had covered the distance between the island and the mainland so quickly.

  Light bloomed in the sky, chasing away the shadows. With the change, she felt less afraid and more confident in her abilities. She stole a look at Graham. His tense jaw and flexed arms told her he was prepared to spring at a moment’s notice. Without a word, Graham raised his arm and motioned everyone forward, and as one, the small group obeyed, leaving only Isobel standing alone with Graham.

  She stared at him as he studied her, and she prayed she did not look as nervous as she felt. He stepped toward her, his heat enveloping her, his scent—of the loch and the land—swirling around her. He did not touch her, but the power radiating from him brushed her like a caress. “How long were ye away from yer family?”

  “Why?” she asked warily.

  “Because I am trying to discern how ye can possibly vow fealty to a dishonorable man such as yer father.”

  Without thought, she slapped him. Anger flared in his eyes, and she quickly drew her stinging hand to her chest. “Ye dare speak to me of honor? Ye? I saved yer life, and ye’re taking me against my will to use me for my castle.”

  He scrubbed the back of his hand over his cheek as he stared unblinkingly at her. “If I were to let ye go, Isobel, ye would nae make it to yer father without being either seized by others wishing to gain yer hand for yer castle or seized by my uncle and yer brother, who ye must ken are evil if ye’re running from them and nae toward them. Worse, ye could be taken on the road and ravished so brutally ye wished ye were dead. Like it or nae, I am yer best hope at the moment.”

  She trembled all over at the awful but true picture he had painted. “Then I am hopeless,” she snapped, angry at him, at herself for not knowing how to get to her father, at her half sister and stepmother for their betrayals, and at Findlay, whom she had thought she had known but never really had. Sadness blanketed her in coldness, and she wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill.

  Surprising pity flickered in Graham’s eyes.

  “Please,” she begged, flinging her pride away in exchange for the slight chance that pity would motivate him to change his mind. “Please release me. Tell me where to find my father and let me go.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and she thought she heard a thread of actual remorse in his voice. “But ye are nae only too valuable to set free but ye represent the r
evenge I vowed I would get for my sister.”

  Panic struck, and she turned to bolt for the water, but his arm slid around her waist before she took more than two steps. “Release me!” she cried as he swept an arm under her legs and hoisted her body against his chest.

  She refused to offer him aid any longer. She pummeled his chest once, twice, but before she could strike a third time, he had slung her over his shoulder, and she was left no choice but to hit his rock-hard back. He didn’t speak as he strode away from the water, each step pushing his shoulder deeper into her stomach so that she was struggling for breath by the time he swung her upright once more and delivered her unceremoniously onto a large, black destrier.

  The beast danced for a moment in fright as Isobel attempted to jump off and run, but with a firm, “Dante, nay!” from Graham, the horse calmed. Isobel tried again to get off it, but before she could get both legs over the beast, Graham swung up behind her, encircled her waist, and yanked her hard against him, stilling all movement. She tried to twist and fight, but it was useless. His hold could not be broken, nor even budged. When he gave a soft whistle and started the group away at a rapid pace, she sagged in defeat.

  They rode in silence for a while, only slowing when the terrain made it necessary. It was then that Graham spoke. “Why are ye running from yer brother?”

  She thought about ignoring him, but she wanted answers and mayhap Graham MacLeod had some. He had said she was his revenge for his sister. She suspected Findlay may have harmed Graham and Cameron’s sister by the rage that had overcome Graham when Findlay had appeared in the courtyard. She would have never believed it possible before, but now she would be a fool to deny that he might have when he could so easily do her harm, his own half sister.

  “Findlay betrayed me. And I believe he is betraying my father.”

  Graham’s arms tensed around her. “What makes ye believe he is betraying yer father?”

  “Findlay tried to force me to marry yer uncle, and when I refused, he threatened me and said it was Father’s wish. But my father would never marry me to anyone from yer clan.”

  Graham made a derisive noise in his throat. “Yer father would wed ye to the devil himself to get what he wants, Isobel.”

  Graham sounded so sure that a moment of doubt seized her. Findlay had betrayed her. How could she be sure her father was not doing so as well?

  No! Graham wanted her to doubt so she would not fight him.

  “My father would never betray me,” she ground out between clenched teeth.

  “He already has,” Graham snapped, his warm breath tickling her ear. “Yer father is conspiring with my uncle and others to overthrow King David. He wants to marry ye to my uncle so that he will keep giving yer father support in his endeavors, and then Jamie will run Brigid as yer father commands, which would mean refusing safe sea passage to anyone who supports David. In return for all this, yer father has been helping and will continue to aid my uncle in trying to steal Dunvegan, my family’s castle, and my brother Iain’s lairdship from him.”

  “Nay!” Isobel cried and covered her ears with her hands. His words echoed in her mind anyway, and her heart raced with denial, but also with fear. What if he was telling the truth? What if she was wrong about her father? But how could it be? It simply could not! She knew her father. He loved her! He had kept her safe all these years.

  Mayhap, a nasty voice in her head whispered, he had kept her safe because he had not been able to use her yet. He could not gain control of Brigid through her until she was eighteen because he could not marry her off until then.

  She felt sick. She tried to gulp it down, but the feeling lodged in her belly, her throat, her heart. “Ye lie. Ye lie because ye wish me nae to fight ye. Ye lie because ye are a MacLeod,” she flung out in desperation as she pressed her palms harder to her ears. If her father had betrayed her, too, then she was truly alone…

  Graham yanked her hands away from her head. “I dunnae lie. I speak the truth. ’Tis ye who are lying to yerself. And either ye dunnae ken yer father or ye are just as wicked as he is. Which is it, Isobel?”

  “I am nae wicked,” she bit out. “Ye say my father is evil and he will use me, but ye are using me!” It seemed a wall of iron suddenly surrounded her, Graham grew so tense. She took in a breath, her anger and fear galvanizing her to say more. “Ye have taken me against my will! Ye are nae any better than yer uncle or Findlay!” she shouted over the increased pounding of the horses’ hooves as the beasts sped up.

  She saw his hands grip his horse’s reins so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Dunnae ever compare me to yer brother,” he said in a deathly calm voice that sent a chill over her.

  “And why should I nae?” she hissed. “Ye intend to use me just as he intended to.”

  “Nay,” he growled. “Yer brother would have seen ye married to my uncle, who would sorely abuse ye. I would nae allow ye to be married to such a man.”

  “Would ye nae?” she mocked. “Then ye intend to see me married to a kind man? Ye have the power to vow this?”

  For a long moment, he said nothing, and she knew her instincts had been right. He would use her for revenge, regardless of the consequences to her. But then he spoke. “I vow to ye here and now, I will ensure ye marry an honorable, decent man.”

  “But nae a man of my choosing,” she muttered. There was to be no love in her future, she feared, mayhap not even if she could get to her father. She was no longer certain of anything, and for that, she hated Graham with her whole heart. He had made her doubt her father, and that had made her doubt herself.

  Chapter Four

  Graham drove the horses relentlessly through the early-morning hours. Jamie and Findlay would stop at nothing to get Isobel back, and the best way to prevent that was to ensure the enemy did not overtake them. Findlay and Jamie had far greater numbers on their side, and Graham was not such a fool to believe his small party of men could defeat what appeared to be well over a hundred warriors that Findlay had brought back with him from battle.

  The air warmed as the sun took fully to the midday sky, but Isobel’s upper body still shook with the chill, and she looked as if she was hunched in on herself in an effort to find warmth. She had not said a word to him since accusing him of using her and harming her, and she had strained against his hold until he had released her and allowed her to shift as far forward as the space permitted.

  Graham considered reaching out and pulling her into his embrace to warm her, but two things stopped him: he knew well that she would fight him, and he did not care for the intense reaction she was causing in him. A combination of desire and guilt battled for dominance within him. Guilt was no stranger to him, of course. He’d lived with feelings of culpability all his life. First with his failure to protect Lena as he had been tasked to do by his mother, and then later with the shame of how his jealousy toward Lachlan had driven him to make such terrible choices. What was strange about this guilt was that it was caused by a woman whom he’d previously considered an enemy. Yet her actions were introducing doubt into his head, and he did not like it.

  The yearning she lit within him came as a surprise but not a shock. She was a beautiful woman, enemy or not. What shocked him was the force of the desire she sparked. When he had beheld the outline of her body for the first time, and when he had held her in his arms atop Dante, the need to caress her had almost overwhelmed him. It had taken great will not to run his hands along the smooth, perfect slope of her cheekbones. Never had he felt a yearning so strong before for such a simple thing as to touch a woman. He had no notion why he felt this way now, and for a woman of whom he was so wary.

  He had joined with women before, but most of those experiences had been purely carnal; his only thought at the time was to satisfy what felt like an itch. What Isobel elicited in his body was no itch. He could not allow desire for the daughter of his family’s greatest enemy. He’d made too many bad decisions in the past that had hurt his family, and he’d not make another. He carr
ied guilt in his heart for Lena, and he would spend the rest of his life making amends for failing his family when they had counted on him.

  In front of him, Isobel started to slowly lean far to the right, and with a start, he realized that she had fallen asleep. He reached out and grasped her around the waist to hold her upright while whistling for his men to decrease their pace. He fully expected Isobel to jerk awake, but instead, her head drooped forward, and she let out a deep sigh. Once Dante was walking, Graham gently pulled Isobel fully between his thighs and against his chest, and tilted her head back so that it rested on the front of his right shoulder.

  He stared at the hollow space between Isobel’s collarbones and watched her slow heartbeat. For better or worse, this woman was in his care and handing her over to the king would not be as simple as he had anticipated. He had taken her with only revenge on his mind, yet she was right. If he delivered her to David as promised and simply stood by and said nothing as the king married her to whomever he pleased regardless of how the man might treat her, then Isobel would be correct in accusing him of being no better than Findlay.

  Isobel could very well be as much a victim of the war for power as Graham’s sister had been. He sighed. He was not certain he could deliver her to David, but nor was he certain he had a choice. To defy the king’s wishes of husband for her, if the necessity arose, had consequences not only for himself but for his family.

  Whatever he did from this point forward, he suspected guilt would accompany each choice. He looked away from Isobel and found his brother’s gaze, as well as that of Marsaili Campbell, upon him.

  “Did ye slow us down for the woman?” Cameron demanded, his displeasure clear in his tone.

  “Nay,” Graham responded in a hard tone. “I slowed to give the horses a moment’s respite and drink.” That was partially true. The horses did need to cool, but he had also wanted to safely shift Isobel into a position where he was certain she would be protected while she slumbered.