by Eliza Knight
“Isabel?” Alex reached over and touched her leg. “’Twill all work out, I promise you.”
“Do you worry that you will never see your kin again, Alex? If neither family will accept our marriage, will we be outcasts from everyone we ken and love?” Sorrow filled her then and made it difficult to keep the tears from flowing.
“Ah, but my love,” Alex whispered, bringing his horse closer and leaning towards her. “I am with the one I love and, together, we will start a new family.”
His love for her shone from his eyes as he said the promising words and she began to share her secret with him. But something made her stop. Isabel could not understand why she hesitated and yet she did. Mayhap she did not want to burden him with it until she was certain? Having thought she had lost the babe, she now worried that she would even carry to term. Isabel decided to leave it to another time, a better and safer time for such news to be shared.
Without another word, Alex turned and nodded towards the road. In minutes, she could see nothing behind them as they escaped into the thick fog that hugged the ground. She felt lost for the first time in her life.
Alex saw the distress in her eyes and the paleness of her face. Pain sat there as well and he suspected it was more than the physical discomfort from her father’s punishments. She had just learned her mother had helped her and then lost her in the next minute.
The best thing he could do was take her to safety and give her time to adjust to all of this. Though married for several months, if he counted all the hours they had had together, the truth was that they had spent fewer than four days together. So, they needed to learn each other’s ways and find a way to be husband and wife openly.
Would his father accept their marriage just to spite hers? ’Twas a possibility, aye, but his father tended to be more pragmatic and would accept or reject it based on what benefit it brought to their clan. His sons were just as much a means to an end as Isabel was to her father.
Alex glanced over at her and marveled in the strength of spirit she had. Living with such a man as her father should have made her fearful of placing herself under another’s control. Yet she had accepted his offer of marriage without hesitation. Even after he had revealed his identity. When the instant attraction between two strangers had exploded into something more, Isabel had been his equal. In desire, in passion, in love and in courage.
Now it was his duty to protect her against anyone wishing her harm. Whether that was her father or his or any others set against them mattered not. They had not gone about this in the customary manner, but stealing a bride was a long-standing tradition and he would find a way to make his family accept her.
They rode in silence for several hours, neither rushing nor dawdling so that they attracted no attention from others they met along the road. Their first destination was a small village some miles inland and away from Dunvegan. They would stay for a night or two in the same cottage where they had spent their wedding night. It seemed a fitting place to begin their life together.
Secluded. Private.
He swallowed against his body’s response to wanting and needing her then and led her to the cottage by a burn. Alex helped Isabel down from the horse and pulled the bags filled with supplies free. He carried everything inside and then bade her to sit while he saw to the horses. If he rushed a bit or was nervous, he knew it was his need to be with her.
She stood in front of the door, ignoring both the stool there and the pallet in the corner. She eased her cloak off as he entered. He read exhaustion and pain in her every movement, so he rushed to her side and helped her.
“Let me help you,” he whispered as he lifted the heavy cloak away from her shoulders. Unable to stop himself, he eased his fingers into her hair and loosened the long braid that kept it under control. Then, he slid his hand up to her head and gently caressed her there.
“That feels wonderful,” she said on a breathy exhalation, as she leaned against his fingers. “’Tis about the only place on me that does not hurt right now.” He hissed and stopped then, her words a reminder about the punishment she had endured. “Nay! I pray you, do not stop.”
She reached up and covered his hand to keep it there. If it gave her pleasure or relief, he would not withhold it even though a grimmer task awaited him. After a few minutes, her head bowed and let his hand drift down her neck towards her shoulders. He was ever watchful for a sign of pain. When she tensed her body the slightest bit, he paused.
“I want to see to your injuries, Isabel.”
He waited but she gave no response or reaction. Other than the breaths moving in and out of her body, she made no sound or movement. Then, she lifted her head and glanced at him.
“If you must.”
He could have said nay. He could have let it pass. But, truly, Alex could not. He’d worried over what had happened and until he saw it with his eyes and made certain she was healing, he could not be at peace with it.
“Is there a salve or ointment to place on the wounds?” he asked, trying to stem the rising anger and fear in his blood.
He had seen men whipped before, their skin torn and blood pouring down to mix with the dirt. He had seen some maimed for life by such punishment and the worst images had taken hold in his thoughts. Now, he would either confirm the worst or learn better.
She walked to where he had dropped her satchel and reached inside, retrieving a small covered jar. Then she held it out to him.
“My mother had it prepared. It has helped.”
Isabel turned her back and he watched as she loosened the laces on her gown and let it slide down over her hips to the floor. She stepped out of it and loosened the shift that hid little in the light of day, even in the dimness of the cottage. Clutching her garments in front of her, she stood for his gaze.
Alex found himself holding his breath as the thin layer of linen dropped away, revealing her form and her flesh to his gaze. He fought for control as the slashing lines and wounds came into view. Alex looked in silence at the terrible results, the damage suffered because of their vow.
Was it worth this? Was he?
He had been the reckless womanizer son, never taking responsibility for his actions, always seeking pleasure. His father had lamented his wayward behavior and lauded his older brother for years. If only Alex could be more like Connor. . . . If only he cared more about his duties. . . . If only. . . .
Now, his actions brought this remarkable woman into his life and put hers in danger. So much suffering because of him. Drawing in a breath, he knew he would be the man she needed. The man he should be. One who was worthy of such pain and love.
“I ken it is horrible to behold,” she whispered in a forlorn voice. “You do not need to do this. Just help me get my shift back up. . . .” She began to reach down.
“Nay,” he said. “I am not horrified by you or the sight of you in this condition.” He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. “If I am horrified by anything, it is my failure to return to you. That you had to suffer this, for me and our love.” He kissed the back of her neck and she shivered.
“I will get you to safety, Isabel. I will make this right between us.” He released her and opened the jar of foul-smelling ointment. “Now let me see to this so you can get some rest.”
Thankfully, the medicament eased her pain as it soaked into her skin. Even so, it took a while to apply it to all the wounds. There was not a place left unmarked down her back and buttocks and thighs. Sitting on that horse must have been hell. Wearing garments must be hell. Hell, every moment must be hell. Finally, he finished and helped her put her shift back in place.
“Rest now,” he said, pointing at the pallet. He gathered a few more blankets and watched as she knelt on the bedding and then lay down on her side, having a care not to lean on her back. “I want to sort through what we have and then take a look around the area.” And beat someone to a bloody pulp. And curse the heavens. And call for a war against the damned MacLeod. His anger must have shown the
re on his face, for Isabel frowned.
“Alex?”
“All will be well, love,” he said, going to her and kissing her gently. “I will see to my tasks and return quickly. If you have need, just call out my name. I will never be far.”
He moved quietly around the small chamber, sorting through the food and extra clothing he had brought along. They had enough for several days before he would need to seek more. Alex listened until her breathing grew even and slow and then left the cottage. He strode away, wanting to hurt something, someone, for what had happened to his brave Isabel. For fear of being heard, he held his fury inside and, instead, thought about his wife.
A strange thing happened then. He realized he must not react in anger. He must be the one to protect her and get them away. Anger could not accomplish that, so he must put it aside and see her to safety. He must convince his father of the seriousness of his vow.
He must be the man she needed him to be.
Chapter Six
Ranald MacLeod paced in front of the table in his hall.
Around him, the keep stirred to life as it did every morn and he was there to greet it. Every morn. He liked the quiet and solitude of the mornings here in the hall. No one to blather at him. No one to bother him with questions or stupid words. And they knew not to approach him until he called for his food and ale.
He had slept well last night, finding a woman waiting in his bed had eased him into rest for the first time since he had ordered Evanna to watch over his disobedient daughter. This one, what was her name?, did not have to same skills at pleasure as his leman, but she had a plump, soft body, a hot mouth and a tight cunny, both of which he used well.
And truly, what more did a man need in his bed but someone warm and tight? Mayhap he could get Evanna to teach this one that trick she did with her tongue that pleased him so much. Mayhap he would have both of them in his bed now that his defiant daughter had been taught the first of the hard lessons he had planned.
Isabel would next find her betrothed was a man who believed, as he did, that women needed to ken the cost of disobeying or disrespecting their master. With the betrothal done, Ranald would give her over to Grigor MacKinnon’s control. Then, he smiled thinking on it, her lessons in obedience would continue under a man of his own ilk and with an iron hand.
Now though, a buzzing of servants and guards interrupted his carnal thoughts and plans and he could ignore them no longer.
“What in the bloody hell is going on? Why are you disturbing me when you ken I have no wish to be disturbed in the morn?” he yelled.
Though it slowed their babbling, they did not go away. Ranald held out his hand for his cup of ale and walked to sit at the table. That was when he spied Evanna in the midst of the servants and guards waiting on his word.
“Evanna, what are you doing here?”
He motioned to her to approach and when she did not do his bidding quickly enough, he nodded to the guard. The guard spared no time or effort trying to be easy with her—he simply grabbed her by her arm and dragged her to Ranald.
“What is this about? Why are you not with my daughter?”
“My lord,” she began, her voice trembling with true fear. It both intrigued and excited him. She knew how to beg and when to beg and how to plead her case. He missed her attentions in his bed. “Your daughter. . . .”
“My daughter is. . . what?” From the fear on all their faces, Ranald knew he was not going to like the answer. He stood up, throwing his half-filled cup at her. She barely batted it in time but was covered with ale anyway. “Where is she?”
“My lord. . . .”
He grabbed her hair and pulled her up so their faces were even, causing her to stand on the tips of her toes. Shaking her once and then twice, he repeated the question he should not have to repeat to any of those in his household.
“Where is Isabel?” he yelled so loudly that he swore the shutters on the windows in the walls shook.
“She. . . she. . . she. . . .” The whore stuttered and stammered until he tossed her away.
“She is not in her chamber, my lord husband.”
He whirled around to find his wife watching the whole scene. Only because she wore the same fearful expression as the others did he not strike her, too.
“They do not wish to be the one to tell you,” Elizabeth said. “I went to tell her of her betrothed’s expected arrival as you told me to do and found her gone.”
“Gone where?” he asked of her before turning to the two people who should have been with his daughter at all times. “Where were you while my daughter was leaving her chamber?”
Evanna covered her head with her arms, waiting for him to strike. As he should. As he wanted to. As was his right. But now, he needed a clear head to decipher what was happening. So, instead, he stepped back and waited for her explanation.
“My lord, I was with her. As you ordered. Since you sent me to accompany her. The serving maid brought supper and I remember nothing after beginning the meal until your wi. . . Lady MacDonald came and released us.”
“Released you?”
“They were asleep, tied up on the bedchamber’s floor. Gagged as well.” He narrowed his gaze at his wife.
’Twas clear she did not mind finding his leman so. Turning his attention to the guard, he asked, “When did you leave your post?”
“I did not, my lord,” the guard began. “At least not that I remember.”
This was very strange. Two people tied and gagged with no memory of how it happened. His daughter gone. Ranald watched as others arrived to break their fast but remained to see what would happen. Well, he had been embarrassed by his daughter here before and would not allow it again.
“Bring them,” he ordered, pointing at his leman and the guard. “Wife, join us.” He stopped and called out to the commander of his guards. “Close the gates. Seal the keep. No one comes or goes until I say so.”
Elizabeth nodded without meeting his gaze as he expected. He had brought her to heel long ago and she would not dare disobey him now. Cowed. Obedient. At his feet. Like his best hunting bitch but less useful now that she could no longer bear him children and had never given him the son he wanted.
They gathered in the tower and he inspected his daughter’s chamber alone first. Nothing was amiss here. No struggle had taken place. The bonds that had held his leman and the guard lay in a pile by the bed. Last night’s tray sat on the table, scraps and bits still in the bowls.
Something was missing. Surely. He glanced around the room slowly knowing that something would be a clue to what had happened. Ranald lifted and smelled the bowls. He could detect nothing unusual in what was left over. He reached out and lifted the pitcher of wine. It was empty.
Not only was it empty, it had been rinsed out.
Checking, he discovered the cups in the same condition.
Strange that. His daughter usually drank watered ale. The leman would drink wine, but never that much. And even a pitcher of wine would not have robbed the guard and the whore of their memories. Isabel had used something in the wine to make them sleep.
“Search her belongings.”
And they found nothing out of the ordinary—no potions or bottles that could cause such a sleep.
It took hours but Ranald left the chamber with more knowledge about the possibilities than when he entered it. In his experience, the truth would out in the end, but the middle needed to be filled with just the right amount of force, threats and pain. With the correct balance, most any hidden knowledge could be outed.
The most surprising thing he had learned was from Evanna. Though she would suffer for keeping it from him as long as she had, the whore revealed that his daughter thought she was carrying.
Which meant a man had dared to ruin his daughter.
So, the tidiness of her disappearance now made more sense to him and he knew she must have had help to get away. Who would be bold enough to do something like this? Who would defile his daughter and then take her f
rom under his watch?
With the betrothal to a MacKinnon, they would not have done so and risk the dowry she would bring. That left only one other clan on the isle to consider—the MacDonalds. His family’s oldest enemy and the clan whose leader carried the title Lord of the Isles. Had that old bastard sent his nephew’s man in to ruin Ranald’s heiress? To insult him personally? To stir up a war between them or to reclaim lands lost to them? They were the only ones foolish enough or, possibly, strong enough to take on the MacLeods.
He would quietly send trackers south toward the MacDonald keeps and lands on Skye even while searching his own. They would find Isabel and those behind this. No one, especially not a MacDonald, played The MacLeod for a fool.
Chapter Seven
They had talked for hours, well into last night. Alex had taken care of her wounds again before they sought their bed and it helped the pain and tightness in her skin. Then, he had helped her to her side and lay next to her so carefully, it made her smile. Isabel could feel the caution he used so that his embrace did not hurt her more. He’d wrapped his arms around her so carefully and held her body close to his as they sought rest.
And they’d kissed. And touched. But they sought not a passion consummated but the extraordinary comfort in being alone with each other. With their fingers entwined, her body next to his, even their breaths mingled.
The words spoken had little to do with the danger around or trailing them and more to do with connecting once again where they had left off when they parted more than a month ago. Soft words. Promising words. Silly love words.
Then they had slept. Even with the shutters closed on the small window of the cottage’s wall, she could tell it was now nigh to midday. The fog had thickened yesterday as they rode, covering them but making their journey slower than Alex had hoped. She watched his movements as she sat on the small but comfortable pallet in the corner as he paced the small chamber.
