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

by Julie Johnstone

  Graham tensed. “I will give Isobel everything she needs—protection and to be treated well.”

  Lachlan grimaced. “Ye should ken from yer past that one needs more than to be treated well.” He stared hard at Graham, giving him the feeling his brother was trying to decide something. “Ye said ye trusted her…but do ye truly?”

  “I do,” Graham replied without hesitation, yet the last moments of their conversation where he was sure she had been lying to him came back to him.

  “What is it?” Lachlan asked.

  Graham told him of his conversation with Isobel regarding Father Murdock. “I ken she was lying, and it bothered me. Perchance it’s nae of import, but why lie?”

  “Perchance,” Lachlan said gravely, “she is more like her family than ye see.”

  Graham shook his head. He understood his brother’s wariness, but he knew in his gut she was good. “Nay. She has proven she is nae. I ken everyone’s hesitation to trust this, to trust her, but she is nae like them.”

  “I admit that her saving ye and Cameron speaks to her nae being like them, but ye just said yerself ye ken she lied to ye this morning. If ye dunnae even trust her completely, ye kinnae expect us to.”

  Graham gritted his teeth in frustration. He did trust her, yet he knew she had lied. “Perchance,” he said slowly, thinking upon Isobel and her protective nature, “she lied to me to defend Father Murdock somehow.”

  “From what?” Lachlan asked skeptically.

  “I dunnae ken,” Graham replied, but now that he thought on it, he knew it was a distinct possibility. “I’ll have to talk to the priest and find out.”

  “Take a jug of ale,” Lachlan advised with a chuckle.

  Before Graham could reply, Iain called out from behind them. “I’ve been looking for the two of ye.”

  Graham turned to greet his brother, but the greeting died on his lips at the worried look on Iain’s face. His brother rarely showed what he was feeling, so if he was showing it now, something disastrous must have occurred. “What’s happened?”

  “It’s Lena,” Iain said with a sigh. “I told her of the king’s demand that she be returned to Findlay and she started raging. It’s worse than I feared.”

  Tension rippled through Graham. “Should we tell her the truth?”

  Iain shook his head. “Nay. It’s too much of a risk that she would give away our plot, and then she could verra well end up back with Findlay instead of him getting what he richly deserves.”

  “Where is Lena?” Lachlan asked.

  “I left her with Marion and Bridgette. They were trying to calm her, but it did nae appear to be working.”

  “Aye,” Graham agreed. “She has worsened almost daily since returning home to Dunvegan.”

  Iain gave him a long, assessing look, then opened his mouth to speak, shut it, and with a sigh, opened it again. He blew out a breath of frustration. “I have something to propose.”

  Graham frowned at his brother. It was unlike Iain not to speak his mind. “So propose it,” he said.

  “I believe part of Lena’s problem is us.”

  “What say ye?” Graham demanded.

  “How is it us?” Lachlan added.

  “Each of us, nay—all the clan—harbor tremendous guilt that she was ever taken from us, that we believed her dead, and therefore, did nae search for her. We have all treated her as a fragile shell that may break because we kinnae bear to be harsh when we ken what she has suffered.”

  “Aye,” Lachlan agreed. “I kinnae bear it, either, nor can Bridgette.”

  Graham could not, as well, but Iain knew this. He stared hard at his brother, an uneasy feeling gripping him. “What do ye wish to propose?”

  “I think Isobel might be able to help Lena,” Iain said.

  “Nay,” Graham growled. His instinct to protect Isobel burning hot.

  “Before ye refuse, hear me out. Ye owe that to Lena.”

  Graham clenched his teeth and nodded.

  Iain sighed. “We have all tried gentleness. Ye even kept Isobel locked away to give Lena time to adjust to Isobel’s presence here, but perchance what Lena needs is someone nae to treat her gently. Perchance Lena needs someone to make her face what was done to her, what she lost, and what she has to still overcome.”

  Graham could see the wisdom in what Iain was saying, but he could not risk Isobel’s safety. “I’ll nae purposely put Isobel in harm’s way.”

  “I believe yer wife is stronger than ye give her credit for,” Iain said.

  “Ye dunnae even trust my wife!” Graham snapped.

  “It’s true, I have nae, but Marion has made me see I have judged unfairly.”

  Iain’s admission that Marion held such power over him surprised Graham. “Did Marion propose this?”

  “Aye. She believes that Isobel may be the only person who can reach Lena as she’s the only one who truly kens what it’s like to be separated from yer family.”

  “We could have guards near when they are together,” Lachlan suggested.

  Graham rounded on his brother. “Ye mean to get Isobel’s eyes gouged out by our sister.”

  “Nay,” Lachlan replied. “I wish to help Lena just as I ken ye do.”

  “Brother,” Iain said, clasping Graham on the shoulder, “if it seems Isobel kinnae handle Lena, we will interfere. I vow it.”

  Graham jerked his sword out of the ground. “I must speak to Isobel and see how she feels.”

  Both brothers nodded, but he could see their relief that he had agreed to that much. In truth, he didn’t want to ask Isobel because he knew damn well his wife would gladly put herself in harm’s way to aid Lena, even though Lena so clearly hated her.

  Growling to himself he started away, only to have Iain call to him. Graham glanced over his shoulder. “Aye?”

  “Will ye speak to her today?”

  “Aye,” Graham snapped. “I’ll give ye my answer at supper.”

  After going to talk to Father Murdock and learning the priest had been called to his sick sister’s bedside and it was unknown when he’d return, Isobel paced Graham’s bedchamber with worry. She’d passed Rhona on the way up the stairs, and the woman had made the sign of the cross when she saw Isobel. Trouble was thick in the air, and she needed Father Murdock to put out the flames that he had started. This talk could not continue or the MacLeod clan would never accept her.

  Just as she sat down on the bed, the chamber door opened and Graham stalked in, looking just as troubled as she felt. “What’s ailing ye?” she asked, certain he would not open up to her but just as sure that she had to try.

  When he came to sit beside her, he stared at her for a long moment, filling her with hope that he was going to actually confide something in her.

  “Iain thinks ye can help Lena,” Graham bit out, sounding none too happy about it.

  Isobel fought back her surprise and the happy smile tugging at her lips. “I presume,” she said slowly, “that he told ye this, and that ye have a reason for telling me?”

  “Aye,” he growled. “Iain wishes me to ask ye if ye would be willing to try to help her.”

  “Aye,” Isobel immediately responded.

  Graham scowled. “I kenned ye would say that. Ye’ve nae a care for yer safety.”

  Isobel had to clench her teeth to keep from grinning. Iain had to trust her at least a little to ask for her help with their sister, and that was a huge step forward. “Ye have a care for my safety, so I need nae fash,” she said sweetly.

  Graham snorted. “Honeyed words to soothe me.”

  She pressed her lips together, but the smile came anyway. “Possibly. Did they work?”

  “Nay,” he retorted, but she could see the smallest hint of a smile on his lips.

  “Well,” she said, choosing her words with care, “will ye allow me to aid yer sister anyway?”

  “I dunnae believe I have a choice,” Graham muttered. “I kinnae verra well sit and nae try anything as Lena withdraws more every day.”

&n
bsp; Impulsively, Isobel placed her hand on Graham’s arm, but when she felt him tense she withdrew it. Her heart twisted painfully, and she sighed. “What does Iain wish me to do?”

  Graham stood, and she suspected it was to distance himself from her. Her stomach twisted along with her heart. It seemed she was making progress with his brothers but not him.

  “I dunnae ken for certain. He says we all treat her like an egg that may break because we kinnae stand to make her face what she must do to heal. He believes ye could, though, as ye were separated from yer family as she was.”

  Isobel nodded, thinking now on Lena. “Aye, I was.” She had wondered why they let Lena go around filthy and acting so horribly, and now she knew that guilt restrained them from acting. She had no such guilt. She was not sure what she could offer Lena besides a good scrubbing of the body and the ear of someone who may just let out her heart when anger makes her forget to guard it. “I will do what I can. When shall I start?”

  “I dunnae ken, but I’ll tell ye as soon as I do.”

  She watched as Graham strode swiftly and purposely toward the door without a backward glance. It struck her then that he had been running from her. She scared her husband. That could be good or bad, she supposed, but time would certainly tell which it truly was.

  With a huff, she rose and walked out of the bedchamber intent on seeing Marion, as planned, to try to learn more of Graham’s past.

  She made her way to the healing room, where one of the servants had told her Marion was working. The door was ajar, so Isobel entered and called out to Marion. The room smelled strongly of incense and herbs, and was littered with pottery and small bottles, but no Marion. Then a small, nearly hidden door creaked open and Marion, Bridgette, and Marsaili suddenly appeared.

  Marion and Marsaili smiled warmly at Isobel, and when Marion nudged Bridgette in the side, Bridgette, to Isobel’s utter shock, gave her a small smile.

  Bridgette was the first to come to her. She paused directly in front of Isobel. “I am nae one to admit I have been wrong.”

  Isobel froze. Was the woman speaking of her? If so, she would do her best to aid Bridgette along the road to friendship. “I too am like that,” Isobel offered.

  Bridgette arched her eyebrows. “Marion and Marsaili are correct. Ye have a kind heart, nae the heart of a Campbell.”

  Isobel glanced swiftly at Marion and Marsaili, who both looked like happy conspirators, and gratitude swelled in her chest. “I am grateful ye will judge me on my own merits,” Isobel replied, turning her attention to Bridgette.

  Bridgette inclined her head, then grinned. “I see being married to Graham has nae killed ye yet.”

  “Nae yet,” Isobel replied, immediately thinking upon the intimacy of last night and today. Her cheeks heated with remembrance.

  Marion, Bridgette, and Marsaili laughed at once, and then Marion came to her and took her hand. “By the look on yer face, I take it Graham has pleased ye.”

  Isobel’s face grew so hot she wanted to fan herself. She had not grown up with girls with whom to confide in, so she had no notion beyond her few talks with Marsaili if it was customary to speak of such intimate things.

  She glanced around the group of three women. “He was pleasing…until we talked.”

  Marion and Bridgette immediately burst out laughing again and continued until there were tears streaming down their faces, while Marsaili frowned, having the same little experience with men that Isobel had.

  Marion was the first to get her laughter under control. She swiped at her eyes and motioned for Isobel and the others to sit. Once they were all seated, Marion spoke. “I’m sorry to say that it is often the case that when men talk, they displease their wives.”

  Bridgette nodded. “’Tis true. If Lachlan would simply learn I sometimes only want him to listen and nae try to solve all my problems, we would nae have half the arguments that we do.”

  Isobel bit her lip. “That is nae exactly what I meant. I wish to learn about Graham’s past because I feel it holds the answer to why he will nae open his heart to me. But he closes up when I try to speak of anything personal.”

  “I’m nae shocked,” Marion said.

  “I’m nae, either,” Bridgette agreed.

  Isobel wrung her hands. “He told me that he cared for me but never to ask him for more because he could nae… Nay, because he would nae—” she paused, trying to correctly recall his words “—give more.”

  Marion and Bridgette shared a quick, knowing glance that piqued Isobel’s curiosity.

  “Did Graham say any more?” Marion asked.

  “Nae then,” Isobel responded, “but later he told me that whatever else was nae between us, there would always be passion. But then he said that he would control the passion.” A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed hard, her heart thudding heavily against her ribs. “I spent a lifetime lonely. I will nae spend the remainder of my life lonely but married,” she finished, startling at how very strongly she feared such a fate. “I think perchance it would kill me. Perchance I’d still go on breathing, but my heart would die while the rest of me longed for death.”

  “But what could ye do?” Marsaili asked. “Ye are married to Graham now, whether he ever loves ye or nae.”

  “She could flee him,” Marion said in a hushed voice, sweeping a sorrowful yet knowing look over the group.

  Isobel had not even considered such a possibility. Instinctually it was abhorrent to her, but she could see by Marion’s face that she had more to say, so Isobel held her own words in.

  Bridgette did not. “Marion!” she cried out. “How could ye counsel Isobel to flee Graham?”

  Isobel held her breath, waiting to hear Marion’s answer.

  “I’m not! Not now, anyway. Not ever, I pray. Not unless there was no possible hope of him giving his love to her. He is one of the best men I know,” Marion said, each word punctuated with the passion of her conviction. “Yet you know what is in his past, Bridgette. You know what he needs to overcome to let down the walls he has built around his heart.”

  “Tell me,” Isobel demanded, not near ready to give up hope.

  “I will,” Marion assured her. “We will,” she corrected, looking to Bridgette, who nodded. “But first let me explain why I would even propose such a thing to you. I saw what it did to my mother to be married to my father. He never loved her, and she was dead inside long before her soul left this earth. Her life was horrid.”

  When Isobel sucked in a sharp breath, Marion gripped her by the hand. “My father was a cold, cruel man, and Graham is not, so there is a vast difference, but my mother longed for his love for many years, and when she finally gave up hope that he could ever be kind, ever love her, she died a little more day by day, minute by minute. I would not wish that fate on anyone. That is why I felt I had to mention it. I always believed that if my mother had fled she might have found happiness and still be alive.” Marion dabbed at the tears as they crept down her face, and Isobel swiped at the tears that had pooled in her own eyes.

  “She could nae ever flee because she dunnae have anywhere to flee to,” Bridgette muttered.

  Isobel suddenly thought of the Summer Walkers. They would take her in. Or perchance even her grandmother’s family would shelter her. “I do have somewhere I could go, but I’d rather have Graham’s heart.”

  “So you shall!” Marion vowed. Bridgette and Marsaili nodded their agreement.

  “Ye are a woman with an enormous heart, which is a verra good thing,” Bridgette added. “Graham’s heart was wounded severely as a lad, and he will need someone with a big heart to show him he’s worthy of love.”

  Isobel frowned. “I’m certain he kens he’s worthy of love.”

  Marion and Bridgette both shook their heads. “Nay,” Marion said.

  “He dunnae,” Bridgette added.

  “Likely he’s given himself some foolish reason why he cannot love you,” Marion ventured, looking suddenly thoughtful. “Perchance he has told himself you
will make him vulnerable somehow.”

  “Aye,” Bridgette agreed. “Only God above kens truly the workings of men’s minds.” She cocked her head. “Perchance he has told himself he should nae love ye because of what yer family did to his sister and to me. Perchance we—myself, Iain, Lachlan, Lena, and others in the clan—have added to the guilt he already carried with our initial and ongoing hostility toward ye.” Bridgette traced a finger over the branded initials on her skin, and Isobel’s heart squeezed painfully.

  “I’m so verra sorry,” Isobel offered again, unable to look away from the permanent marking on the beautiful woman.

  Bridgette raised her startling green eyes to Isobel’s. “As am I, Isobel, but dunnae fash yerself anymore. This”—she pointed to the marking—“brought me closer to Lachlan and gave me a deeper understanding of my love for him and his indestructible love for me, something I may nae have possessed if I had nae suffered what I did. I am verra sorry for how cold and harsh I was to ye. Ye are nae a Campbell but a MacLeod.”

  The way Bridgette had conquered what had happened to her and found something good that had come from it left Isobel in awe. “I wish I were as strong as ye,” she whispered.

  Bridgette patted Isobel’s hand. “I dunnae believe any of us ken our true strength until we are forced to reach for it deep within us. Now,” Bridgette said, glancing at Marsaili then back to Isobel, “let me tell ye of Graham’s mother—Er, yer mother, as well, Marsaili. I believe she haunts Graham even in her death.”

  Isobel’s and Marsaili’s gazes locked, and then Isobel grasped Marsaili’s hand as they both leaned forward.

  “When the MacLeod children were young,” Bridgette started, “their mother took ill.”

  Marion clucked her tongue as if in disapproval. “Their mother brought them to her bedside, thinking she was dying, and made each of them vow to watch over the sibling younger than them. Except Cameron, as he was the youngest. Graham was to watch over Lena.”