Bridgette nodded. “Lady MacLeod recovered, but she kept the vows in place. She was a fierce warrior in her own right”—Bridgette looked to Marsaili—“but I’m sorry to say nae a verra gentle woman. She placed skills as a warrior above all else.”
Marion drew in a long breath. “She was particularly hard on Graham. Iain says he believes it’s because she saw Graham’s potential as a warrior and felt he was not achieving it.”
Isobel’s stomach clenched at this news, and Marsaili shifted beside her.
Bridgette’s expression grew grave. “She made it apparent that Lachlan was much favored over Graham in her eyes because Lachlan grew into his skills as a warrior verra early. She nurtured jealously in Graham when it came to Lachlan until eventually Graham started to resent his brother.”
“That’s horrid!” Isobel cried even as Marsaili hissed her distress.
“She dunnae sound much better than Jean,” Marsaili muttered.
“I kinnae say,” Bridgette replied, “as I dunnae ken Jean, but what yer mother did had terrible rippling effects for many years. One day when Graham was supposed to be watching Lena, he went to chase a rabbit instead, and while he was gone, she was stolen by Jamie with the help of yer father,” she said, offering a look of apology to Isobel and Marsaili, though none was needed for the truth that had been spoken.
“I ken. Graham told me,” Isobel said. Still, her heart squeezed once again at the treachery. “What happened after everyone thought Lena drowned?”
“Lady MacLeod blamed Graham,” Bridgette said quietly. “She told him that if she had appointed Lachlan to watch over Lena as she swam, then Lena would nae have died. This destroyed whatever belief Graham still had in himself, and it planted his jealousy of Lachlan like a thorny vine inside of his heart. Graham had already spent years trying to win his mother’s approval, and she died never giving it.”
“Dear God,” Isobel murmured. “Ye spoke the truth earlier, I fear. He dunnae feel worthy of love.”
Bridgette and Marion nodded, and Marsaili squeezed Isobel’s hand.
Isobel bit on her bottom lip as she thought of what they had told her. “And to struggle so hard to obtain love from someone and never receive it makes ye feel verra vulnerable. A man like Graham would nae wish to feel that vulnerable again.” She’d not wished it after the way her heart had been crushed by her discoveries about her father and siblings, but she had never lived with them. She had not grown up being made to feel unworthy or belittled as Graham had and, she realized, glancing at Marsaili, as her half sister had.
“There’s something else,” Bridgette added, drawing Isobel’s attention once more.
“Aye?” Isobel encouraged.
“Even though Graham kens Lena did nae drown, he still blames himself for what happened to her. And I believe he blames himself for what happened to me, though he should nae,” she said fiercely. “I was taken for the simple reason that yer father and Jamie wanted to force an allegiance with my brother by marrying me to Colin. That had naught to do with Graham.”
“Yet Graham blames himself,” Marion said in agreement. “And Iain confided to me that he once overheard Lady MacLeod berating Graham for being so needy. He apparently followed her around like a pup. She knew he longed for her love, but she thought to make him a legend.”
Marion paused and Bridgette spoke. “She wanted all her sons to be legends, so she told Graham it was a wicked weakness in him that made him need anything but a sword and the ability to conquer his enemies. I fear Graham believes desiring love means he is weak and wicked. Honestly,” Bridgette said with a sigh, “I believe ’tis why he pursued me. He did nae truly desire my love, so I was safe for him to pursue. Besides, it struck at Lachlan.”
An anguish unlike anything Isobel had ever felt gripped her and made her chest ache. “He will fight to his dying breath nae to give in to love, then.” Her eyes filled with unshed tears, and she quickly dashed them away.
“Ye must make it impossible for him to resist ye,” Marsaili suggested. “And then in an unguarded moment, love will break through.”
“It is nae as simple as ye make it sound,” Isobel muttered, dejected. “I ken he desires me, but he has put up a wall between us and vowed to control his desire. I dunnae see how I can make it impossible for him to resist me.”
“Ye can seduce him,” Bridgette suggested.
Marion stared daggers at her, then looked at Isobel. “She once gave that advice to me. She thinks it’s the answer to all problems concerning men.”
“I dunnae,” Bridgette protested. “But it does work.”
“But I dunnae need to seduce him,” Isobel said. “We have already—” She cleared her throat, embarrassed. “We have already joined.”
“There is joining,” Bridgette said, “and then there is seduction. Two verra different things. In seduction ye are in control. Ye make the fantasies he did nae even ken he had come true.”
“You are wicked!” Marion said with a chuckle. “But you make a good argument.”
“Thank ye!” Bridgette crowed and then tapped a finger against her chin. “Now we merely need a course of action.”
An idea suddenly came to Isobel. “I have nae given Graham a wedding gift yet, and I ken just what to give him and how!”
“What?” all three women exclaimed at once.
“I’ll give him a breastplate blessed for his protection.”
Bridgette frowned and shook her head. “Ye have a great deal to learn about the art of seducing a man.”
Isobel could not help but laugh. “I will give it to him while donning only the breastplate.”
“Oh!” Bridgette cried. “That is a grand notion.”
Marion fanned herself. “You two are sinners.”
Bridgette blew out an irritated breath. “I’ve long said I’d rather die a sinner than live a saint.”
“Will it nae take a long while to make a breastplate?” Marsaili inquired.
Isobel started to slump, not having thought of that.
Marion waved a dismissive hand. “Go see Cameron. He is a master blacksmith and very quick.”
“But ye still need to begin yer seduction tonight,” Bridgette said.
“Do ye have any suggestions?” Isobel asked. “The nuns hardly discussed this sort of thing.”
Bridgette grinned wickedly. “’Tis lucky for ye, I’m far from a nun. Listen closely now,” she said. “I will tell ye some things that will make ye blush, will make Marion cross herself, and may well burn Marsaili’s innocent ears, but these secrets give ye a great chance of bringing yer warrior to his knees.”
Isobel nodded. “I’m listening, but what if it dunnae work?”
“Then perchance ye will have to take Marion’s counsel and flee, but with the hope that if Graham fears he has lost ye, he will see that he kinnae live without ye and succumb to love.”
Isobel inhaled a long shaky breath. She prayed it did not come to that, and she prayed she would not have to truly flee from him. The mere thought of it caused pain to slice through her, but the idea of living with a man who would never love her was a bone-crushing hurt she could not bear.
After Isobel learned the art of seduction—according to Bridgette, who sounded very knowledgeable—she strode to the smithy with still-blushing cheeks. Cameron was hunched over a table working on something and did not even notice her when she entered the room. She walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder, and he swung around in a flash, a gleaming dagger raised.
She scrambled backward, muttering, “Ye MacLeod men move with the speed of gods.”
Cameron grinned at her. “I thank ye. What brings ye here, Isobel?”
“I’d like ye to make me a breastplate.”
“Whyever do ye need a breastplate?” he asked, gaping at her.
She scowled. “It’s nae for me. It’s for Graham.”
Cameron gave her a stupefied look. “Isobel, we dunnae wear breastplates. We are excellent warriors.”
She took a lon
g breath for patience. “This is a special breastplate. I will bless it,” as the Ceàrdannan had taught her to do, but she did not want to mention the Summer Walkers when the day might come that she had to run to them for shelter. “It wards off darkness and makes the one wearing it righteous.”
“Graham is already honorable. Surely, ye ken that,” Cameron growled.
“Of course I do,” she snapped. “It’s Graham that dunnae ken it. I’m hoping he will take my gift and wear it when he hunts and goes into battle, or even simply when he travels.”
Cameron shook his head. “He’ll nae wear a breastplate.”
“We shall see,” she grumbled, doubt creeping in. Perchance the breastplate was a silly idea, but she was going to give it to Graham nonetheless because her plan of seduction involved it.
Once they had settled the details, she left to freshen up for supper, and after that, she made her way to the great hall. She entered the crowded room with slow steps and looked around for Graham. When she saw him already seated at the dais with Lena on his right and Cameron on his left, her steps faltered. Iain and Lachlan both sat by their wives, but Graham had not left a space for her. Or perchance it was Lena’s doing?
Glancing at Graham’s sister, who stared at Isobel with a look of triumphant malice, Isobel felt certain that Lena had simply taken her seat. Irritation and pity roiled inside Isobel, but as she looked at Lena with her matted hair, soiled gown, and dirty face, irritation won. She did not know what Graham and his brothers wished for her to do to help Lena, but the first thing the woman needed was a lesson in manners and a bath. Under all that grime and grimacing was surely a lovely woman. With that in mind, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and marched toward the dais.
Chapter Eighteen
As Graham watched Isobel approach, he leaned toward Iain and whispered, “Ye’re certain about this?”
Iain nodded. Moments ago, when Lena had taken Isobel’s seat and then Isobel had appeared at the great hall door with a fierce scowl on her face, he had murmured to Graham that now would be a good time to let Isobel deal with Lena. Graham’s chest tightened as only Isobel could make it. Worry stirred inside him as he watched her approach with her back straight, eyes blazing, and face set with determination. His instinct to protect her sparked to life, but he held still, reminding himself that if Isobel could not manage Lena, then he would interfere.
Iain leaned close. “Isobel looks like she’s breathing fire.”
“Aye,” Graham replied, not taking his gaze from her. How was it possible that every time he saw her, she appeared more beautiful than the time before? Her hips were swaying gently, despite her marching toward them, and that gentle swaying reminded him of grasping her lush hips and delving deep inside her to claim her. The memory sent a rush of heat to his groin.
He had the urge to leave the dais, throw Isobel over his shoulder, carry her up to his bedchamber and worship her body until they were both so spent that speech was not possible. The thought hardened him almost unbearably and sent desire surging through his veins with an intensity that clouded his thoughts.
He clenched his teeth as she neared. He would not bed his enchantress wife tonight for two reasons: he feared he had overused her body that was so new to being joined with his, and he wanted to gain mastery over the desire she elicited before he took her again. When she stopped directly in front of him, her pink tongue darted out to wet her full, rosy lips, and all he could think of was those lips around his staff giving him pleasure. He shook the thought from his mind as best he could. He knew he was right to deny himself her body. He was so close to losing control completely and releasing the longings he had long ago buried. He had to condition himself to stay in control in every interaction with her, no matter what.
She offered him a small smile and then glanced to Lena. “Would ye mind moving over a seat so I can sit next to Graham?” Her voice was pleasant, but her eyes burned with ire.
Tension rippled down the dais.
“I do mind,” Lena snapped. “Ye can sit at the end by Cameron, or ye can sit at another table.”
Isobel’s eyes narrowed. “Lena, I am Graham’s wife. Therefore, I should be seated next to him.”
Lena shoved a knot of matted hair out of her eyes. “If Graham wanted ye sitting next to him,” she hissed, “then he would have said so, or he can certainly do so now.”
“Lena!” Bridgette and Marion reprimanded at the same time.
Graham clenched his teeth. He wanted Isobel near him too damn much—and he did not want to destroy what they were trying to do by interfering—yet he did not want to embarrass or hurt Isobel. Before he could decide how to answer, Isobel made a derisive noise as a wounded look crossed her face. It was swiftly replaced by anger.
“He dunnae wish to hurt ye,” Isobel stated firmly, yet Graham thought her voice held a trace of uncertainty.
Lena’s scoff told Graham she thought so, as well. “Ye’re lying to yerself, Isobel Campbell.”
Isobel drew in a long breath. “Isobel MacLeod.”
“Ye’re nae a MacLeod,” Lena growled, and Graham had to take a swig of his mead not to correct his sister. He could feel Bridgette’s and Marion’s glares on him. He knew they wished him to say something, yet he remained silent and prayed that this worked and that Isobel would glean that this was all part of the plan.
“I am,” Isobel said with quiet intensity.
It was as if Isobel’s calm determination snapped the bind that was holding Lena together. She screeched, shoved back from her seat, and fairly fell down the steps of the dais in her effort to get to Isobel. Graham shoved out of his own seat, only to have Iain’s hand clamp on his arm. He glanced down at his brother.
“Nae yet,” Iain said. “Give Isobel a chance.”
All chatter had ceased in the great hall so that when Lena screamed her rage, Graham was certain no man, woman, or child could have missed what she said next.
“Ban-druidh!” Lena screeched.
Graham’s blood ran cold at his sister calling Isobel a witch. Such an accusation could cause whispers where none had been. It could also stir those who disliked Isobel to hurt her in the name of God.
“Lena!” Graham thundered. He shrugged out of Lachlan’s hold and started down the stairs of the dais as murmurs arose from those assembled in the great hall.
“Witch?” Isobel gasped. “Ye dare to call me ban-druidh!”
“I dare because ye are!” Lena screamed and then lunged at Isobel. Graham jumped down the last step to get to his wife to protect her, but there was no need.
Isobel sidestepped Lena’s lunge, grasped Lena’s hair where it met the nape of her neck, and tugged her face back until she was forced to meet Isobel’s gaze. “I’m nae a witch, ye foul-mouthed clot-heid!” Isobel hollered, bringing Graham to a shocked halt at her lack of fear. When Lena tried to scratch at Isobel’s eyes, Isobel pulled her head back harder, suffering an angry red scratch down her right cheek when Lena’s fingernails raked down her face. She recoiled, but did not release Lena’s hair.
“Grasp her around the neck!” Bridgette screeched, jumping up to demonstrate.
Isobel was a quick learner. She had her arm circled around Lena’s neck with a swiftness that shocked Graham, and then she settled her blazing gaze on him. “It’s way past time for yer sister to have her mouth, body, and mind cleansed of the hatred residing in it.”
A burst of gratitude and something else, something that felt suspiciously like much more than the simple caring a man must have for his wife, tightened his throat so that he simply nodded his agreement.
Isobel blew a strand of hair out of her eyes as Lena twisted to try to free herself and called Isobel foul words even Graham had never heard of, but Isobel did not seem to notice or care. She smiled sweetly at Graham. “Please have steaming water, soap, and a wooden tub brought to yer sister’s bedchamber.”
Even as Graham nodded, Isobel looked away from him to Marion and Bridgette. “I’ll need help if eithe
r of ye are willing?”
“Aye,” Marion quickly said and rose.
“Of course,” Bridgette agreed readily.
“Come along, Lena,” Isobel said in a kind but firm voice.
When Lena dug in her heels and screamed, “Ban-druidh!” once more, Isobel tsked. “Ye best come now without another word or I’ll show ye just what a witch I can be,” she warned.
As Graham followed the women’s progress to the door, he noted several tight faces and wary eyes upon his wife. And at the door to the great hall, Rhona, looking especially white and frightened, made the sign of the cross as Isobel passed her. Marion paused in front of Rhona, said something to the woman, and Rhona followed Marion out. Graham frowned. He needed to correct any misbeliefs about Isobel.
As the noise in the great hall grew to a roar and the doors closed behind Isobel, Lena, Bridgette, and Marion, Graham whistled loudly for silence. After a minute, the volume finally decreased to a dull murmur.
“My wife is nae a ban-druidh. Anyone who says otherwise will answer to me,” he said, his voice seeming to boom off the walls. He swept his gaze across the crowd to let them see how strongly he felt about this. None dared to meet his stare, except a few of his men and Rory Mac, who grinned at Graham like a clot-heid. Graham nodded, and feeling certain he had laid that problem to rest, he quickly left the great hall intent on standing guard and ensuring Isobel’s safety.
Rhona, with the help of several other women, brought steaming water and a wash tub in as Lena continued to scream that Isobel was a witch. Marion and Bridgette struggled to undress Lena, but when Isobel saw that they simply did not have it in them to be as firm with the woman they so loved as was needed at the moment, Isobel took Lena herself and fought her until she had her gown off.
The sight of Lena Campbell half-clothed made tears fill Isobel’s eyes. Marion turned away, and Bridgette quietly cried. Isobel curled her hands into fists as raw, primitive grief overcame her for what Lena had endured. But as Isobel’s gaze inadvertently swept over the woman and then froze on the myriad of long lash scars on her stomach and burn marks on her back, her emotions veered sharply to rage so strong and dark that she began to shake.
When a Highlander Loses His Heart (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 4) Page 25
