by Alyssa Stark
Tristan shook his head ever so slightly, understanding exactly why Laird McLaughlin had kept his daughter so heavily guarded. If every man who looked upon the lass felt the same rush of impure thoughts that Tristan had just experienced, Lady Isobel McLaughlin needed her present guard doubled.
The men who had spoken of Isobel had been dead wrong. Lady Isobel McLaughlin was no rare beauty. She was absolutely exquisite.
“No blame shall come to you,” Isobel assured him, her voice clear and confident.
Tristan’s thoughts snapped back to the present.
“Is that so?” he asked in a teasing voice.
Isobel’s heart raced in her chest as she felt the blacksmith’s eyes upon her. His angular jaw and expansive chest were the picture of male perfection. Isobel had overheard her maids discussing the blacksmith’s many virtues yet this was the first time that she had seen him with her own eyes. The maids had been quite accurate in their descriptions of him. He was indeed a very handsome man.
Handsome yet troubled. Cold and devoid of feeling. That was what they had said. Isobel found herself suddenly wondering what troubled the blacksmith. Her present interaction with the man was quite contrary to what the maids had described. The blacksmith had conversed with her in a pleasant, almost teasing manner. Isobel found him to be quite amiable indeed.
Her cheeks flushed with color when she realized that she was quite enjoying his attentions. Carefree banter with a man was a harmless pleasure that had never been allowed under the watchful eye of her guards. Perhaps that was what caused the fluttering in the pit of Isobel’s stomach. Speaking so freely with the handsome blacksmith was exhilarating.
“I will make you a proposition,” Tristan said. The logical part of his mind screamed for him to tread cautiously.
His words whipped Isobel’s thoughts back to the conversation.
“A proposition that will allow my conscience to be at peace should I choose to sell you a dagger,” he continued.
“Go on,” Isobel said, her interest piqued.
“If I sell you the dagger, you shall allow me the pleasure of teaching you how to use it properly. So that I may ensure your safety.”
“Will that be all?” Isobel asked. She was unnerved by the way that the handsome blacksmith was watching her. His eyes seemed to look directly into her soul.
“That is my side of the bargain. And if I uphold my side of the bargain, which I fully intend to do mind you, you shall tell me with complete honesty why you find yourself in need of the blade.”
Isobel thought for a moment, holding eye contact with the blacksmith. She barely reached his shoulder and she realized that she had to look considerably upward to meet his gaze. Fear bloomed within her suddenly, thick and black as it settled in the pit of her stomach. She had spoken of her plight to no one and the thought of divulging her desperate secret to the blacksmith was unsettling.
Isobel’s fear was quickly replaced by a delicious, secret joy. The blacksmith intrigued her and she wanted to spend more time with him.
And yet, she had but precious little time. And she needed that dagger.
“You have my word,” she told him as she nodded in agreement. “Know that I keep my promises, blacksmith.”
“Call me Tristan. And I shall call you Isobel.”
Isobel’s hand flew up to cover the fact that her mouth had just dropped open. She had taken every care to secret her identity and this man had known who she was without the merest hint of hesitation.
“And mind you, Lady Isobel, I am in the habit of keeping my promises as well.”
..ooOoo..
The dream had plagued Tristan for as long as he could remember.
When he was younger it had taken on many innocent forms. He had chased after her on horseback, watching with a smile on his face as her long blonde tendrils flew behind her in the breeze. She ran up a spiral staircase, her laughter warming his heart and spurring him onward as he delighted in chasing after her.
She was always just beyond his grasp and never had he seen her face in his dreams.
The dreams always left him with an overwhelming sensation of happiness. The sort of happiness that filled the heart and overflowed such that a hint of a smile would linger upon his face when he awoke. He would waver for awhile, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, yearning to get back to her. Yearning for her to turn around so that he might see her lovely face.
Happiness was an emotion that visited Tristan Finnegan infrequently. And thus, he cherished his dreams and the lovely flaxen haired lass that occupied them.
As he had grown into a man, the dreams had become more intimate. It was if he could feel her in his arms, her skin warm and vibrant beneath his fingertips. Her blonde hair would surround them like a veil as they kissed. His fingers would thread through her satiny tendrils as he kissed her. She lay on top of him, her hair enveloping him with its sweet softness and the delicious scent of lavender enticing his senses.
When he would open his eyes to look upon her, she was gone. He would awake with a start, breathing heavily and thoroughly aroused to find himself alone in his bed.
He missed her as soon as she was gone.
She left a void that he had been unable to fill with the attentions of other women.
He needed her.
She was the only one who could heal the wounds of his heart.
Tristan had told a wise woman of his dream once, many years ago.
The wise woman had smiled and then closed her eyes.
The girl in your dream is the very lifeblood of your heart.
She is your Sonuachar.
When you meet her beyond the world of your dreams, do not let her get away, lad.
The woman’s words had given Tristan hope for his future.
As long as the dreams returned and the flaxen haired lass visited in him in the darkness of night, he had room to hope.
Perhaps she would someday come for him.
Tonight’s dream had been different. When he opened his eyes to look upon the lass that he held in his arms, he saw her face for a brief moment before he awoke.
Lady Isobel McLaughlin could never obscure her identity.
Table of Contents
At the tender age of three, there were only two things expected of Campbell sons.
..oo Chapter One oo..
..oo Chapter Two oo..
..oo Chapter Three oo..
..oo Chapter Four oo..
..oo Chapter Five oo..
..oo Chapter Six oo..
..oo Chapter Seven oo..
..oo Chapter Eight oo..
..oo Chapter Nine oo..
..oo Chapter Ten oo..
..oo Chapter Eleven oo..
..oo Chapter Twelve oo..
..oo Chapter Thirteen oo..
..oo Chapter Fourteen oo..
..oo Chapter Two oo..
