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

by Julie Johnstone

  She stumbled in an effort to keep up with the man who she might well soon call husband. He did not pause to help her but pulled her along and kept up a fast pace to the courtyard. Once they were outside, he swung her around and faced her. He was tall, but not near as tall as Graham. The thought of the man she had not long ago been so sure was her enemy made her want to cry, or possibly laugh at what a terrible fool she was. She had escaped a man who, though he had seized her, she felt sure would have wielded whatever influence he could with King David to ensure she was wed to a decent man, and now in turn, she was under her father’s care—who she had run to—and she was quite sure he would wed her to whomever he needed to get his hands on Brigid.

  “I dunnae wish to marry ye,” snarled the man in front of her, “but I will because I must or I shall face my father’s wrath.” He yanked a hand through his hair as he glared at her, and then his gaze slowly crawled down her body and back up, lingering on her chest. “My father says ye will make me like women.”

  She frowned at that statement. Did he mean—

  “I dunnae see how,” he said. When he suddenly reached behind her and squeezed her bottom, she yelped in shocked fright, and a smile of pure pleasure came to his face that stole her breath. “Perchance Father is correct. I will enjoy watching ye writhe in pain, and then I will watch my lover as he squirms in pleasure.”

  With those ominous words he shoved her away. “Seek out the healer Maria tonight. I’ve heard she can give ye something to prevent a bairn. Our fathers will demand a public joining in the morning, else I’d nae ever put my body in yers.” He shuddered with obvious disgust. He grabbed her by the chin and squeezed. “If I get ye with bairn, ye will be punished for yer error. Do ye ken?”

  Searing anger poured through her, chasing away every bit of cold with heat. She forced a smile. “James, I vow to ye, ye will nae ever get me with a bairn.” He would never have the chance.

  It did not take Isobel long to find Maria, though she did not go to the herb room for the purpose of getting a potion to prevent a bairn like the clot-heid James had ordered. She came for information that she somehow had to get without alerting the healer to what she was doing. Isobel needed to know how to get to Brigid Castle, and there was no one she could simply ask. Somehow, she had to learn if Maria knew the way and then she had to get the woman to tell her without considering what she was doing. Isobel sagged at the enormity of the task ahead of her.

  Isobel made her way carefully down the slippery, narrow stone steps, keeping one hand on the damp stone wall as she descended from the charred remains of the keep floor to the dungeon level, which was relatively intact. James had told her that Maria’s room was beside the dungeon. Isobel picked her way along the dark passage, lit only by shafts of light from flickering torches that protruded from a hook in the wall near the end of the passage.

  There was a door ajar, and humming came from within, along with a trail of white smoke that smelled strongly of some sort of incense. Isobel knocked on the door.

  “Enter,” came what sounded like the voice of a young woman. Isobel slowly walked into the room, and as she did, a woman with long silver hair and large green eyes turned toward her. The woman’s hair was an odd contrast to her unlined face. She smiled at Isobel, what appeared to be a genuine smile, and motioned to her hair. “It turned silver when I was but fifteen summers.”

  “I didn’t mean to stare,” Isobel hastily replied.

  The woman shrugged. “Yer staring dunnae harm me. Everyone does it. I’m used to it. The only person who did nae stare was Marsaili, and I ken that was because she kenned verra well how it felt to be stared at with Jean convincing everyone Marsaili was simple-minded.” Maria gave Isobel a long look before cocking her head. “Did yer sister make it to safety?”

  The blunt question—and what it implied this woman knew of Marsaili’s plan—surprised Isobel. She bit her lip, unsure what to reveal. She had no notion whether Maria was friend or foe. “I’m unsure. Ye ken Marsaili was taken by the MacLeods?”

  Maria snorted. “I ken Marsaili sent a note that brought them here.”

  Isobel’s eyes widened.

  Maria chuckled, quickly brushed by Isobel, and closed the door. When she faced Isobel, she had a smirk on her face. “Too many prying ears in this castle. I’m the one that helped Marsaili come up with her scheme, so ye dunnae need to feign as if ye dunnae ken what I’m talking about.”

  Isobel nibbled at her lip as she tried to decide whether to trust this woman or not.

  Maria nodded. “’Tis wise to hold yer tongue until ye ken ye can trust someone, but ye can trust me. I’m nae a friend to yer father, yer stepmother, or yer brothers.”

  “Then why are ye here?” Isobel demanded.

  “Why are ye here?” Maria shot back, giving Isobel an exasperated look.

  “Because I’m a woman blown about by a man’s commands,” Isobel muttered, her anger stirring.

  “Aye,” Maria said with a nod. “Ye may have noticed that I, too, am a woman,” she said in a sarcastic tone.

  Isobel laughed despite how tense she felt. “How did ye end up here? I take it ye’re nae a Campbell.”

  “I am by marriage,” Maria said darkly. “Or I was. Yer father had my husband killed when he refused to put out some women whose husbands had died in the raid on Dunvegan Castle.”

  Isobel frowned. “What do ye mean ‘put out’?”

  “I mean,” Maria said with a deep breath, “that yer father no longer wished to provide the women and their children homes since their husbands are gone and will nae be serving yer father anymore.”

  “But that’s awful!” Isobel exclaimed, feeling sick to her stomach.

  Maria suddenly grabbed Isobel’s forearm. “That is but a small example of the atrocities yer father has committed.”

  Sadness overwhelmed Isobel. It felt as if her father had died, yet he lived. She stared at the forthright woman before her and made the decision to trust her, which she prayed she did not regret. “Marsaili should be to Dunvegan now. She travels with Graham MacLeod, his brother, and their fighters, and they seem as if they are good men.”

  “Then if I were ye, I’d leave here tonight and make yer way to them.”

  Isobel shook her head. “I kinnae. They wish to use me as all men I ken do.”

  Maria sighed. “’Tis the plight of a woman, especially one such as yerself who is the heiress of a castle that is the key to great power. Ye say the MacLeods seem to be good men, and that is far better than what can be said of the man yer father means for ye to marry. James of Dunbar dunnae even like women. His taste runs for men, and I have heard he’s wickedly cruel to women.”

  “I dunnae doubt it,” Isobel replied, remembering what James had said to her. “He sent me here to get a potion to ensure I dunnae get with a bairn once he weds me and takes my innocence.”

  “Clot-heid,” Maria muttered but then gave Isobel a sharp look. “Are ye here for such a potion?”

  “Nay!” Isobel said with a scoff. “I ken well how to mix potions myself. A nun at Iona taught me. I’m here for information.”

  “What sort of information?”

  “I wish to get to Oban. I ken it’s south, but I wish to learn the fastest way there,” she admitted.

  “I can tell ye how, but it’s nae safe to travel alone. There are ferocious wolves in the woods, but worse than the wolves are the men who would ravish ye, torment ye, and kill ye. Ye need to travel with someone who can keep ye safe.”

  Isobel shook her head. “I dunnae have a man I can trust.” Yet when the words left her mouth, she thought of Graham. He had won a bit of her trust, though he had intended to use her. At least he had been honest about it. And he had not denied his brother’s claim of being her champion. The problem was, she had no notion of how much sway Graham had with King David, if any.

  Realizing Maria was staring expectantly at her, Isobel said, “I will be ravished and tormented if I stay. Nae killed, of course, because then my father w
ould nae get my castle,” she bit out, bitterness welling in her chest. “I’d rather risk death than have a life married to James of Dunbar. If I can get to Oban, I have someone there I hope can help me get a message to my grandmother and see if she is amiable to my picking my husband or if she will try to force me as my father and the king.” Saying it aloud made her feel even more sure that was what she needed to do.

  Maria’s eyes rounded. “Women dunnae get to pick who they marry, Isobel.”

  “Perchance it’s nae traditional for women to pick their husbands, but that dunnae mean it never happens.”

  “When has it ever happened?” Maria asked, her voice dripping with skepticism.

  Isobel thought of all the books she’d read at Iona, which was one of the things that kept her sane. “Empress Theodora of Byzantium picked the man she knew she wanted to wed, and after a time, his father changed a law to allow the marriage.”

  “I’ve never heard of Empress Theodora,” Maria said, giving Isobel a disbelieving look.

  Isobel was not shocked. Most women were not learned or encouraged to read. “Brunhilde, who was Queen of Austria long ago, chose her husband, and Queen Margaret—” They both crossed themselves at the mention of the deceased queen who was now a saint. “And Queen Eleanor decided upon her second husband after her first marriage was annulled.”

  Maria’s brow wrinkled. “How do ye ken all this?”

  “Reading. There were many scrolls where I lived.”

  “And this was all in these scrolls?” Maria asked.

  “Aye. Well most of it,” Isobel added. “One of the nuns’ great-grandmothers served Queen Eleanor, and that story was passed down by word of mouth, but Sister Charlotte swore by it.”

  Maria nodded, as if that was good enough for her. “I admire yer wish, but I fear it will nae be as simple as ye hope.”

  “Possibly nae,” Isobel admitted, realizing that even if her grandmother was amenable to Isobel’s desire, she had no notion who to marry. She didn’t really know any men, except—Well, she now knew the MacLeods. For a moment, she remembered the way she had felt so safe in Graham’s arms, but she shoved the fantasy away and focused her thoughts on truths. “Still, I will try. Will ye tell me the best route? Or better yet, do ye wish to travel with me?”

  “I would travel with ye,” Maria said, “but my sister is also here, and she will nae leave. Her husband is a Campbell, and she thinks him good. Only time will tell, and I must stay to watch over her as best I can.”

  Isobel nodded, a lump forming in her throat at her own lack of family, but then she thought of Marsaili. Perchance, if given a chance, they could be close. But the likelihood of them ever having the opportunity to be together again was not great.

  “Come,” Maria said, motioning Isobel to follow her to the other side of the room. Isobel stood behind Maria as she bent down to retrieve something. When she came up, she was holding a dagger. She offered it to Isobel. “Take this for protection.”

  “I dunnae ken how to use a dagger.”

  Maria grinned. “I do. My husband taught me,” the woman said quietly. For a moment, Isobel was sure Maria was going to cry. Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them away and sniffed loudly. Her voice shook as she continued. “I loved him, and he loved me. ’Tis something to be loved, heart and soul, by a man.”

  Isobel simply nodded. She’d never been loved by any man, not even her own father, and even if a man professed to love her in the future, how would she know the truth of his heart? How would she know he was not trying to gain her castle? She feared she may not be able to tell, and it scared her to think she might willingly commit herself in marriage to a man who would then treat her terribly. But that was a problem for another day. Today, she needed to escape.

  After Maria gave Isobel a few quick lessons on how to throw a dagger, Isobel said, “Tell me quickly how to make my way to Oban. I will go at nightfall.”

  “The wolves come out at night,” Maria warned, fright tingeing her voice.

  “Better the wolf I can see than the one in disguise,” Isobel muttered.

  When only the beam of the moon lit the night sky and silence blanketed the tower, Isobel crept toward the door of the room in which she had been ordered to stay. She’d been a prisoner all her life but no more. The cell may have been different—made of loneliness or wood or stone—but they had all trapped her. She’d not wait like a foolishly obedient daughter to be fetched at dawn by her depraved husband-to-be. She’d not wait for love from her father that was never coming. And she’d not wait to be rescued because there was no one who cared enough to make the effort.

  A picture of Graham seared itself in her mind, but she ruthlessly shoved it away. She tiptoed down the stairs with her heart thudding in her chest and her stomach tight. Though she knew she was making the right decision, tears stung her eyes and her insides felt like churned butter. All her life she had dreamed of being united with her father and hearing him say he loved her, and though she now knew that would never happen, it did not make fleeing any easier. In her darkest hours at Iona, she had clung to the belief that her father and brothers loved her, and one day she would live in a happy home. Now, she had nothing to which to cling.

  It was true that her grandmother was alive, but she had never met the woman. Isobel could not picture her, nor could she imagine that the woman cared for her at all since she had never once come to visit Isobel at Iona. Mayhap, she had been forbidden? Or mayhap she had been lied to by Father…

  Isobel didn’t know, and that was the problem. She knew too little about everyone, having been sheltered from the world for so long. She didn’t even have any notion if King David was a good king. If she knew for certain that he was, she might possibly relent and go to him and submit to his wishes. Yet, she feared such blind submission again. Too long had she not seen what was in front of her face.

  As she neared the foot of the stairs, the front door swung open and men’s voices filled the silence. Her heart was racing as she scurried down the last step and into the closest shadowy alcove. Her veins were pulsing with fear and her blood was humming in her ears as the men walked past the alcove. She hovered near the back, breath held and a prayer running through her mind that they did not see her.

  When the men passed by, she slumped in relief, but then they paused and she realized with a start that it was her father and Lord March.

  “Once we have Brigid under our control, we can tighten the binds around David until he acts as we please,” Lord March said.

  Her father nodded. “Aye. If the damned MacKinnon had nae been so weak, he would nae have lost the castle to Isobel’s grandmother Margaret and her father’s men.”

  “The MacKinnon was nae only defeated because of weakness,” Lord March said. “He feared his wife because of the curse she put on him.”

  Her father made a derisive noise in his throat. “I ken well why the man fears her, but I dunnae believe she is truly a witch who has cursed him with ill luck until the day his granddaughter takes the castle with her new husband.”

  “I’m nae so certain,” Lord March argued. “He has had ill luck since the day yer wife perished and Margaret cursed him.”

  “As I was saying,” her father continued, exasperation evident by the strain of impatience in his voice, “I’d have taken Brigid Castle years ago, and we would have the control we need over David if it weren’t for the MacKinnon and his witch wife.”

  “Aye. It must chafe to have to rely on yer daughter to gain the castle.”

  Isobel tensed, knowing what she was about to hear would hurt her, but also unable to turn away”

  “Ye kinnae ken how it irks me. For years, I have bided my time and gone to the girl to ensure her care is well enough to keep her alive and healthy because I kinnae take the castle if she is nae both, and I could nae take it by force. Thrice I tried,” he said with a growl.

  Isobel grasped her stomach, which roiled with pain from his words.

  “Each time I was easily repe
lled because of where the castle sits,” her father went on. “They have the advantage of seeing anyone who dares try to approach, and the wily Margaret has learned how to stop a ship and sink it. We will be invincible when we have that castle, and it will make it worth all the wasted time and trips to that convent.”

  Their conversation faded as they moved onward, and Isobel stood still, struggling to control her breathing and against the desire to sob and the need to drop to her knees and curl into a tight ball. Her throat ached with sadness and hot tears coursed down her cold cheeks, but she maintained her feet and silence, and for that small victory, she gave thanks to God.

  Wasted time. That’s what her father thought of her. Never had she been more heartbroken than in this moment. She felt worthless and sad, yet she burned with anger. She clenched her teeth against the melancholy and pity. She was not worthless, and not simply because a castle was attached to her.

  Shivering from the fear of the unknown and the horror of what she now knew, she waited until utter silence permeated the air, and then ever so slowly, she crept from her hiding place and made her way to the door. Maria had told her the best path to take to get to the woods, which would bypass the guards and hopefully give her a sufficient lead on the men her father would undoubtedly send to pursue her once they realized she was gone.

  She figured she had until morning to put as much distance as possible between herself and the castle. She was counting on the fact that her father, nor stepmother, nor anyone at Innis Chonnell, cared for her. As such, they would not come to see to her or even bid her good night. Taking the little comfort that thought offered, she pulled the plaid around her that Maria had given her, and she gripped the dagger in her hand as she set off down the rocky path that led into the dark woods.

  Dry leaves crunched under her feet, and she held her hands in front of her for fear of running into a limb. The moon shone high in the sky, but she could not see past her nose as the thick trees cast shadows everywhere. An unnerving quiet blanketed the woods, making it seem as if she were the only living creature there, yet she knew she was not. Maria had warned her of the wolves, and she had the most disquieting sensation of being stalked. She glanced around her, the beat of her heart increasing so that it sounded like steady clapping in her ears.