It seemed to him that the more all of them—himself, his brothers, Marion, Bridgette, the entire clan, really—treated Lena as if she were a shell that could be easily crushed, the more she acted like one. When they had first rescued her, she had been angry about what had happened to her, but she had seemed strong, as if she were going to be able to overcome it easily. But no longer. He was not sure if it was because her future was still tied to Findlay, but hopefully that would soon change.
Graham swept his gaze around the room and found Lena standing in a corner with Rhona. He frowned. He didn’t like how much he had seen those two together lately considering they both harbored ill-will toward Isobel for different reasons. He caught Rory Mac’s eye and inclined his head toward his sister. Rory Mac gave a quick nod of understanding and made his way over to Lena, and then she was following him out onto the dance floor where Isobel was still dancing.
Graham scowled as jealousy gripped him. His wife had been dancing with Cameron, which had been fine, but now she was dancing with Broch, one of their largest and best commanders, who considered himself a gift to the lasses. Graham had liked Broch, despite his cockiness, until now. He narrowed his eyes and started to stand, but Iain clamped a hand over Graham’s forearm.
Astounded, Graham glanced toward his brother. “Would ye mind if we finish this discussion in the morning?” he asked, realizing he’d need Iain to repeat most of what he had said since the feast had started anyway.
Iain smirked. “I dunnae mind it at all, especially since I ken ye have nae heard a word I said, and it is important that ye are actually listening to me.”
“I’m sorry,” Graham offered distractedly and moved to rise once again, thinking Iain would release him, but his brother held firm. “Was there something else?” Graham demanded, his impatience to go to Isobel growing.
“Aye. There is. I recognize the look on yer face because such jealousy is a daily part of my life when it comes to Marion.”
Graham gritted his teeth. What he was feeling should not be so obvious.
Iain waved a dismissive hand. “Dunnae fash yerself. ’Tis how it should be to care so for yer wife.”
“I dunnae care for—”
“Ye do,” Iain interrupted, “whether ye ken it or nae. But I’ll nae argue with ye. I did nae recognize it until after ye offered for her, but I could see it clearly when we spoke afterward.”
Graham shrugged out of his brother’s hold. “Ye see things that are nae there,” he growled. He departed the dais before Iain could argue further. Graham moved through the crowd but was forced to stop when a group of his fighters surrounded him. Bran, one of his younger and more outspoken warriors, put a hand on Graham’s shoulder. “We are all in awe at the sacrifices ye make for our clan.” The men around Bran nodded.
Cormac, Bran’s brother, said, “If ye dunnae wish to keep her in yer house after the required joining, I’d be happy to take her into mine as a leman. She may be a Campbell at heart, but she is bonny.”
Graham’s swift fury at the man’s lurid suggestion shocked him.
“Look at her skin,” Cormac continued, speaking to one of Graham’s other men. “Do ye nae wonder if it’s that white under her—”
Graham clamped his hand around the man’s neck, his rage pumping in hot surges through his veins. Around him, he heard murmurs. Cormac’s hands came immediately to Graham’s, but with a swiftness cultivated by relentless hours of practice, he brought his dagger from its hold to the man’s gut as he squeezed Cormac’s neck until his face started to turn purple. He began to gasp and claw at Graham’s hands.
To his right, Lachlan fast approached, and Iain to his left. He knew the music of the pipers still played because it trickled in through the pounding in his ears. He shifted his razor-edged gaze to Bran to see if the man would interfere on his brother’s behalf, but Bran held up his hands—palms facing Graham—and shook his head. The rest of the men in the group had a mixture of stupefied and uneasy expressions on their faces.
Graham jerked the now-wheezing Cormac to him. “Dunnae ever speak of my wife again,” he growled, seeing her still dancing across the room, oblivious that she was the subject of such lurid talk by his men, who should respect her. It struck him then that they did not respect her because they thought he did not. That would change.
He clenched his teeth for a moment. “Dunnae let her name fall from yer tongue or I will slice it off. Dunnae glance her way or I will cut out yer eyes. Dunnae even think to touch her or I will lop off yer hands. She is mine. Do ye ken me?” He asked the question of Cormac, but he swept his gaze around the group of his warriors, pinning them each with a brief stare.
Swift nods were the response. Satisfied, Graham released Cormac, who immediately brought his hands to his neck and rubbed as he backed away a few steps. Warily, he looked at Graham. “I’m sorry. We all thought ye only married the lass for retribution and gain.”
Guilt sliced through the haze of red filling Graham’s head. Of course they thought that. Likely even Isobel thought that. He was not exactly sure what had compelled him to marry her beyond the fact that he felt responsible for her, admired her, and could not imagine letting another man take her as wife. She was his. The feeling was so strong that he flinched. He cared for her.
The room seemed to spin around him for a moment. When had that happened? He cared for his wife. He could manage that emotion—maintain it and control it. “My reasons for marrying her dunnae matter. All ye need to ken is that she is mine, and ye will respect her. Aye?”
“Aye,” the men chorused.
“Be at the shore at first light to train,” he added, his anger still hot. He looked at Cormac once more. “Ye finally get yer wish, Cormac. Ye’ll train against me.”
The man looked frightened, which pleased Graham greatly as he made his way to the far side of the room where Isobel and Broch were still dancing. His ire cooled slightly as he walked, but when he drew near and Broch whispered something in Isobel’s ear and she responded by looking at him with that shy smile Graham loved, the air in his lungs seemed to turn more scalding with each breath he took.
He strode up to Broch and, without a word, took Isobel by the arm and pulled her to him. She scowled and started to twist away, but he increased his hold as he held his commander’s questioning stare. “She is mine.” He felt Isobel flinch away from him at his declaration. Did she not care to be his? He pushed the question aside. “And what is mine, ye dunnae touch. Do ye ken me?”
Broch, who Graham had known since they were both bairns crawling on their knees, gave Graham a lazy grin but tipped his head in acknowledgment. “I ken ye. I was nae sure, but now that I am, I’ll nae even speak to the lass without yer consent, though she be verra beguiling. Does that satisfy ye?” the man growled.
Graham barely resisted the urge to hit Broch square in the nose for adding the beguiling part. Instead, he clipped, “Be ready to train on the shore at first light.”
“I’m always ready,” Broch replied and sidestepped away before Graham could decide if he should shut the man up with a swift hit to the chin.
As Graham watched Broch walk away, he could feel Isobel’s angry stare on him. For the love of Christ, he had no notion what to say to this lass, his wife. She made him feel and act unlike himself. She would make him weak, and until he controlled the effect she had on him, he had to be careful. She huffed out a breath, which washed over his neck and made his body harden in awareness of her. He wanted her. He wanted her so much he feared he’d not be patient enough with his innocent wife.
“I am not yer possession,” she seethed.
He could hardly think beyond the desire that coursed through his veins hot and thick, but he turned his gaze down to his wife. She was a vision in her fiery anger. Her blue eyes flashed sparks, rosy color infused her face, and her lips had deepened to a shade of dark red. And with every panting breath she took, her breasts rose upward and his fingers twitched to cup them, encircle her buds, and show her the pleasure th
at awaited them both.
He stepped forward and clasped her body tightly to his, not caring about the music, the dance, the hundreds of eyes upon them. The delicate bones of her back molded to his hand, and the rapid beating of her heart fluttered against his chest. He leaned down until his lips brushed her soft ear. She shivered, and her reaction caused triumph to flare within him. “Ye are mine. I will possess ye, body and soul. Dunnae try to fight it. I give ye my sword arm, my honor, and my name. Give to me the submission I desire.”
Chapter Fourteen
She should say no. Any woman with the smallest sliver of self-respect would fight being called a possession and being told to simply agree to it by a man who did not, and never would, love her. Still, his words seeped first into her mind, then into her blood, and made their way to her heart, which squeezed with hope that kept stubbornly resurfacing. Mayhap Graham was simply a man who wanted what was his to be known by all, but what if he had been so fierce with his warrior a moment ago because there was the tiniest part of Graham that was starting to care for her? She was surely a clot-heid because she knew that no matter what she did, she was going to cling to the second possibility and discard the first…for now.
She’d not deny that she cared for him. It was in the way her heart skipped whenever he drew near. It was in the way her breath hitched just looking at his commanding profile. It was how her gut had twisted into a thousand knots that refused to loosen until she had heard his fever had broken.
She did not utter her agreement, though, for to give it would open her up to hurt if things went horribly wrong between them, and she feared she’d never recover. Instead, as the pipers started the notes of a new dance, she pushed back from Graham until he released her with a frown. She took his right hand with her left, his eyes with hers.
With a thudding heart, she said, “Let us start with a dance.”
The unspoken agreement to try was there, and she watched with bated breath for his response. His gaze swept over her seductively as a slow smile came to his lips. “The perfect place to start,” he replied, his deep suggestive tone making her heart jolt.
They came together with their arms twined like serpents, and then they circled slowly to the left while dipping up and then down. For as big as Graham was, he moved with utter grace and made her feel as if she did, too. They stepped away from each other, with hands clasped, and then came together once more, gazes still locked as they circled in the other direction.
Halfway through the movement, Graham’s gaze dropped to her lips, and then he leaned in and brushed his mouth to hers. The kiss was searing and sent a dizzy current racing through her body. He pulled back, and an awareness that they were being watched crashed into her, sending heat to her cheeks, chest, and neck.
“I want ye,” he said on a low, throbbing whisper.
Her hope grew a bit, but fear kept it from spreading. “Aye, because ye need to ensure we are joined to gain Brigid.”
“Nay,” he denied with such force it startled her. “I desire ye for ye alone. If there was nae a Brigid, I would still yearn for ye. Will ye come with me now?”
His words sounded so honest and penetrated all her doubts. Then she recalled Marion’s counsel. Mayhap desire was a place to start? Mayhap they could build from there. Isobel nodded, realizing as he led her from the great hall that she had not even bothered to ask where he was taking her. Yet as he placed his hand at the small of her back and guided her toward the stairs, she knew instinctively that he was leading her to his bedchamber.
Anticipation and fear swirled within her. She yearned for him as he seemed to yearn for her, though she was too embarrassed to say it in words. And she wanted to please him, but she certainly had no notion how to do that. The nuns had never discussed such things.
She took a quick glance around the large but sparsely furnished room and frowned. There was an enormous bed centered in the room with a thick blanket on it. In front of the bed was a dark, wood chest, and pushed against the wall to the right of the bed was a single chair. On the wall to the left hung five gleaming swords and a bow and arrow. The room was cold in temperature, as well as in welcome, and a shiver shot through her.
Graham came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her against the strength of his chest and the warmth of his body. “Ye’re cold?”
“Aye,” she replied, though his heat was chasing away the chill.
“I’ll stoke the fire,” he said close to her ear, his breath fanning her neck and making her belly tighten. He strode across the room in four long, powerful steps, and a sharp yearning to know him stabbed at her. He bent down before the fire, his muscles shifting under his skin. What had he done to become such a warrior? She knew from comments Cameron and others had made that he had not always been this strong.
As he stood and faced her she caught the desire burning in his eyes, and her fear blossomed. It would help if she could just learn him a bit. “What were ye like as a lad?” she blurted as he started toward her.
Her question stopped him and caused him to arch his eyebrows. “Why do ye wish to ken what I was like as a lad?” he asked, his voice guarded.
“I dunnae ken ye really, and I’m fearful,” she admitted.
He fixed an unblinking stare upon her. “Ye’re fearful of me?”
“Aye,” she whispered nervously.
He rubbed a hand at the back of his neck as his lips pulled into a frown. “I will nae ever hurt ye, Isobel. I vow it. If it’s the joining ye’re fearful of—”
“’Tis nae just that,” she rushed, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “I dunnae ken much about yer life and what has made ye the man ye are.” She bit her lip. “I dunnae really even ken the man ye are. And ye dunnae ken me. We dunnae ken each other’s desires.”
A wary look crossed his face, so swift she would have missed it had she blinked, and it was gone just as quickly. Then he offered a wicked, teasing smile that she knew masked whatever he was truly feeling. Sadness tightened her chest. He did not want to truly know her, and he did not want her to know him.
“I believe ye ken my desires,” he replied in a deep, velvet voice that both filled her with yearning and anger.
“Nae those desires,” she mumbled. Lena’s earlier words rang in Isobel’s head and pushed away the sadness to allow only anger. She was so tired of not knowing things. First she had not known if her father loved her, and now she didn’t know if she would ever be loved by this man before her, nor why she could not simply make herself not care.
“Why did ye put in yer name to the king to marry me?” she demanded. She knew what she had heard, but mayhap Marion had been right and what she had heard was not so simple. She wanted to hear what he had to say when he knew she was listening.
His face clouded with distinct uneasiness, which almost made her wish she had not been so bold to ask, but no, she wanted the truth. “Does it matter?” he asked, his tone mirroring the uneasiness she saw on his face.
She nodded, unable to speak because of the large lump that had formed in her throat.
He let out a sigh, and gave her a measuring look. “I took ye,” he said, “and once done, I kenned that by doing so, I had made ye my responsibility.”
She flinched at his words. “Ye married me out of a sense of responsibility?”
By Christ, Isobel looked as if he had stabbed her, her eyes already shiny, as if she might cry. He jerked his hand through his hair. Good God, he could not make his wife cry on their wedding night. What did she want from him? He tugged his hand through his hair again. “I also did nae wish to see ye used by the king or anyone else.”
She laughed bitterly. The reaction was understandable. She thought he was using her. He closed the distance between them in three short strides and gripped her by the arms. Instead of turning her face away, she glared up at him. Good. He was pleased she was not fearful but bold. She had said she feared him, but deep inside, she had to know he would never harm her in order to be so courageous with him.
>
“I did nae marry ye for revenge or for Brigid, though I’ll nae deny obtaining Brigid is good for my clan.”
“I heard ye speaking in the great hall with the king!” she cried out, turning away from him.
He could no longer see her face, but he knew she was upset by the catch in her voice. He had to make her believe him. The idea that she thought herself of so little worth made his chest ache. He knew well what it felt like to feel that way. “Isobel, look at me.”
“Nay,” she said with a sniff.
He took her chin and turned her face to his, expecting tears, yet his wife was stubborn. There was one streak down her right cheek where he suspected a tear had trickled, yet she had conquered the reaction. Her lower lip trembled, and she pressed her upper lip to it in an effort, he suspected, to stop. The desire to brush his lips to hers and take away her pain struck him, but he was certain that would not ease her pain for long.
“What do ye want from me?” he asked.
“That which ye will nae ever be able to give,” she said softly while averting her eyes.
Good Christ. He felt as if his heart had suddenly stopped beating. She wanted his love as she had clearly wanted her father’s. He clenched his teeth. She was right: he could not give her love. “Isobel, I will be good to ye, and I will keep ye safe, as is my duty as yer husband.”
Sparks of bright anger flashed in her blue eyes. “What do ye see as my duties as yer wife?”
“It is yer duty to care for me.”
“Ye kinnae command someone care for ye,” she snapped.
“I can,” he grumbled. “Ye will care for me.”
She jerked away from him and glared at him defiantly. “I’ll nae. I wasted enough of my life caring for my father who never offered the same in return, and I’ll nae waste any more time caring for a man who will nae ever care for me!”
“I care for ye enough to wish to keep ye safe!” he roared. “I offered my name to the king because the thought of ye becoming another man’s wife was intolerable.” His head pounded with frustration. “So dunnae tell me I dunnae care for ye. I do, but dunnae ask more of me, Isobel. I kinnae. I will nae give more. What I offer now is all I will ever offer, so it will have to be enough.”
When a Highlander Loses His Heart (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 4) Page 20
