When Isabel stepped into the room, the man’s face split into a grin, and he swept his arms wide in reception. “Welcome to Kisimul, my dear Lady Isabel. Ye are just as beautiful as I remember. Think of this as yer home away from home.”
She didn’t react, but stopped in the middle of the room, her expression neutral as her gaze swept the space. Tav settled off to one side, under the second-floor walkway, his thumbs hooked in his sword belt as he tried to stay inconspicuous.
“Domnall MacNeil.” Isabel finally acknowledged their host with a graceful nod. “I assume?”
The bearded man cocked his head to one side. “Ye dinnae recall me? Well, I remember ye, oh aye. I’ve thought of ye often.”
Tav watched her as she struggled not to react to the lasciviousness in MacNeil’s tone. He wondered if the other man saw her struggle, or if ‘twas only because Tav knew her so well—
What? Ye’ve kenned her only a few days, laddie!
Suddenly, MacNeil’s gaze swung to pin Tav. “And who is this?” he barked.
Not wanting her to have to lie, Tav shrugged with a good-natured grin. “I’m Tavish MacLeod, the laird’s youngest brother.”
“Och, aye. The sailor? Ye’ve brought my Isabel to me.”
My Isabel…?
Tav had to swallow down the burst of possessiveness—and anger—that claim brought. Luckily, MacNeil didn’t notice because he’d already turned back to Isabel.
“Now, let us get down to business, milady. I willnae force ye to ask, because I ken there’s only one reason ye would’ve come this far to see me.” Smirking under his beard, MacNeil propped his fists on his hips. “Ye want yer son back.”
Isabel had done such a good job pretending nonchalance, but at that casual statement, Tav saw her jerk forward.
“Ye have him?” she asked in a strangled tone.
“Aye, and I was verra angry at my men for allowing witnesses to remain, pointing ye in the MacNeils’ direction.” He shrugged casually. “They’ve been punished for that.” Then, as if he weren’t speaking of horror, he grinned. “But then I decided ‘twas just as well ye kenned who I was, because that way ye would come to me. And here ye are,” he added, spreading his arms wide, as if Kisimul was some grand destination.
She took a step forward. “I am here to get my son back.”
It was then that Tav realized she hadn’t mentioned the princess—and neither had MacNeil. Was it possible MacNeil didn’t have Princess Margaret? Or was he holding her for another reason?
Easy, lad, ye’ll have nae luck understanding how a madman thinks. Best just to keep yer ears and eyes open to find answers.
MacNeil folded his arms across his chest and smiled chillingly at Isabel. “Ye’re no’ curious why I took him?”
“Verra curious.” Her response sounded strangled, but she appeared so damn serene, Tav ached with pride.
“Well, milady, I want something from ye. I will return yer son once I have it.”
He was going to make her ask. Twice, Tav had to stop himself from stepping toward her, or from pulling his sword and demanding the bastard stop these sick games.
Pirating is much more straightforward than spying.
After a long moment, Isabel finally inclined her head. “What is it ye want from me, Laird MacNeil?”
The man’s disgusting grin grew. “I want ye.”
Tav’s fists dropped to his sides as he fought to keep from blurting that the man would rot in hell before he could ever think of claiming Isabel.
But she had more control. Her chin rose once more. “Ye cannae have me.”
“Dinnae be so certain.”
He stepped up beside her, and Tav watched her stiffen in disgust, although her expression stayed neutral, even when MacNeil leaned closer to her.
Without touching her, he whispered in her ear, and whatever he’d said caused her to flinch.
“What?” she choked in a whisper.
His grin was back in place as he straightened before her. “I want ye as my wife, Isabel.”
Tav’s heart dropped into his stomach as he began to understand the bastard’s plan.
* * *
Isabel thought mayhap she’d been turned to stone. Aye, as stiff and cold as the stones which built Kisimul and just as unfeeling.
Nay, ‘tis shock.
Indeed, she wasn’t unfeeling; she was full of fury and disgust and terror and a fierce determination to save her son. She just had to convince this sick man to let her see him.
MacNeil was speaking again, pacing before her. “Yer lad is a bright boy. He’ll grow into a smart man because he has a smart mother. And that mother is smart enough to ken the young earl needs a father, a stepfather, who will care for him and teach him to become a powerful ruler.”
Isabel was already shaking her head. “And ye think that should be ye?”
“I ken it should be me. I fought with yer—with the lad’s real father. I ken how Edward would want Alexander to be raised by a strong man who can teach him strength.”
She had to clench her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking with indignation. “Ye’re wrong. He should be raised with compassion and—”
“How naïve,” MacNeil interrupted in a bored voice. “Strength is what is required to survive, and I am strong. Ye have only to look around Barra to see how strong and determined the MacNeils really are.”
Aye, this scheme certainly proved how determined—and twisted—he truly was.
But if this was the only way to save her son…
It took two tries to make her voice work. “If I agree to marry ye, ye’ll return Alex?”
His laugh took her by surprise. “I’m strong, but no’ stupid. Yer son will be returned to ye after we are married. Then he will return with us to Carrick.” Lazily, he flicked his fingers toward the wall where Tavish stood, although she couldn’t afford to turn and check on him. “The MacLeods can be dismissed. My clan is full of sailors, and we will transport ye back to Carrick, along with Alexander and that annoying serving lad my men were stupid enough to steal as well.”
Serving lad?
That little comment—and the confusion it caused—was enough to distract Isabel from the horror of the rest of MacNeil’s proposition. In fact, she welcomed the confusion, because it allowed her to latch onto something which didn’t make her nauseated.
She cleared her throat. “Serving lad, milord?”
“The one who won’t shut up. Yer son’s companion?”
She made a noise of understanding, if only to keep him speaking. MacNeil seemed to accept that because he began pacing once more. “Ye see, Isabel? This is what I mean—a strong leader wouldnae keep a vassal just because he feels sorry for the clot-heid. The wee lad is obviously addled and willnae cease crying, and yer son—soon to be our son—obviously feels obligated to care for him.”
A wee lad who wouldn’t stop crying? A wee lad whom Alex protected?
The truth crashed over Isabel, so suddenly and profoundly, she felt her knees buckle and had to force herself to stay upright.
Princess Margaret had been dressed in one of Alex’s old plaids and had been as dirty as any fun-loving lad. MacNeil’s men had taken them both, and everyone in Scone had assumed Margaret was their target and Alex a mere afterthought.
Was it possible Alex had been the primary target, and MacNeil didn’t even realize he held the princess?
And Alex is doing all he can to protect her, bless him.
Tears were pricking at her lids, thinking of the terror her son and the wee lassie must have gone through. She wanted to turn, to catch Tavish’s eyes and ask him if he understood as well but knew she couldn’t.
But just thinking of Tavish reminded her of her strength—or the strength he believed she possessed. Remembering the way he held her yesterday, and how safe she felt in his arms, made her determined to find a way out of this quagmire without marrying MacNeil.
Her back straightened, and she forced herself to breathe evenly and not give
into despair.
But remember to be humble. MacNeil cannae ken yer strength.
So she ducked her head and kept her voice soft when she said, “Milord, I must ken my son is safe.”
He sniffed. “Ye’ll take my word for it.”
Resisting the urge to snort in disbelief, Isabel struggled to remember to stay humble. He expected weakness, so she would act weak. “I’m sorry, milord. I would do naught to anger ye and possibly endanger Alex, but ye kidnapped him and his companion. I must ken he’s safe before I contemplate yer proposal.”
MacNeil’s laugh was chilling. “ ’Tis no’ a proposal, and ye’re smart enough to ken that. ‘Tis an ultimatum, my dear. Ye will get a father for yer lad, who is weak-willed and needs a strong hand, and I will become stepfather to a powerful earl and raise him the way a man like that ought to be raised.” He spread his hand across his chest proudly, even as he leered at her. “I will also get a young and very desirable wife.”
He was too far away to touch her, but the way his gaze raked her body made Isabel feel as if she were naked in front of him, and the thought made her shudder with revulsion. She hid her reaction by staring at the rushes on the floor between them, doing her best to appear meek.
“Milord, please,” she whispered, “I want to trust ye, but ye have proven ye are cunning and ruthless. Please, please allow me to see him, just so I ken he is safe.”
Although she wasn’t looking at him, keeping her gaze locked on the floor by his feet, she could hear his approval as he hummed. “I’ve always preferred humble wives. I look forward to seeing more of this side of ye.”
Isabel didn’t answer but held her breath as he considered her plea. Finally, she saw him gesture to the MacNeil men standing on the balcony above Tavish. “Bring the lads!” he called, as he whirled and strode toward the steps.
Breathing out a little sigh of relief—both at the prospect of seeing Alex, and at being free from MacNeil’s scrutiny for just a moment, Isabel glanced toward where Tavish stood. Whatever he saw on her face was enough to make him step toward her, but she stopped him with a little shake of her head. They couldn’t afford MacNeil to think them anything other than what they’d claimed.
Above Tavish’s head, a door slammed, and she looked up to see MacNeil striding toward two of his men, who were each carrying a small struggling body. One was crying softly, and the other was kicking and shouting, “Put him down! Dinnae hurt him!” in her beloved son’s voice.
Alex.
Isabel couldn’t stop the whimper which escaped her, but she pressed the fingers of both hands to her lips, as if she could lock in further sounds of distress.
Above her, uncaring of the way he was ripping apart her heart, MacNeil chortled. “Och, I’m glad to see yer spirit, laddie, but ‘tis directed at the wrong person! Remember, the weak dinnae need our protection.”
Isabel shuddered, knowing the blasphemy the man spewed was the opposite of how she wanted Alex raised.
She could see her son was dirty and frightened but appeared to be unharmed. Mayhap the laird truly did intend to keep his word and only held Alex as leverage in achieving his goal: marriage to her.
MacNeil grabbed hold of one of Alex’s arms and pulled him toward the railing. When the lad saw her, he cried, “Mother!” and lunged forward, but MacNeil’s hold on him kept him from plunging over the railing.
His cry alerted Princess Margaret, who twisted in her captor’s arms to call out, “Lady Isabel!”
Careful to keep her attention on Alex, Isabel prayed MacNeil wouldn’t suspect the “serving lad” was more than he seemed.
“Ye see, milady, yer son is unharmed,” the laird declared, in a mocking tone.
Forcing herself to remember the strength she knew she possessed, Isabel met his eyes. “Will he remain so?”
“He is to be my son, as well. Of course I will keep him safe.”
When the big man pulled Alex close—in an attempt to show affection or was it intimidation—Alex struggled.
“Please, my love,” Isabel blurted out in warning, “do naught to anger him.”
Her son froze, obviously confused by the tone of her voice. “Mother?”
Holding Alex’s gaze—so like her own—she prayed he would understand how much she would sacrifice to keep him safe. “If I marry Laird MacNeil, he will release ye, Alex. He will become yer father.” Swallowing down her disgust, she closed her eyes and finished in a near whisper, “So please, my love, just be patient.”
MacNeil all but tossed her son back to the man who’d been holding him. “The priest will be here momentarily. I sent for him when my men saw ye approaching the bay.”
Isabel folded her hands in front of her once more, gripping her fingers to keep them from shaking. She forced herself not to look at Alex, for fear she’d break down when she tried to use the wee bit of cunning she possessed.
“Milord, please understand that I cannae undertake such a sacred sacrament without some preparations. Please allow me time to pray and consider yer kind offer.”
When his brows rose mockingly, she hid a wince. Kind offer? Mayhap ‘twas taking the flattery too far.
“Ye think to deny me, milady?” He grabbed Alex by the arm, shaking him fiercely enough that the lad bit off a cry. “When I hold the power?”
She didn’t have to fake the tears in her eyes. “I dinnae see how I can deny ye,” she choked out. “I have nae choice but to marry ye.”
The man held her gaze for a long moment, and then, apparently satisfied with her humility, nodded proudly. “I am glad ye recognize that, but I also understand that a woman might no’ want to rush a wedding. ‘Twill be yer first one after all.” He chuckled cruelly, and Isabel refused to react; all of Scotland already knew Edward had never married her.
“Please, milord,” she whispered, trying for meekness, while inside, she was shaking with fear and anger, “a few days to prepare for such a sacred event?”
“Verra well,” he snapped. “The wedding will take place here at Kisimul three days hence. I would offer ye gold for a new gown, but since I plan on removing it from ye as soon as possible, I really dinnae care what ye wear.”
She hid her disgust and asked the most burning question. “And my son?”
With a laugh, MacNeil shook the lad again. “He will remain here with me of course.”
Alex jerked in the man’s grip. “Mother!”
Even knowing she couldn’t touch him, Isabel reached for her son, frantically trying to calm him. “Dinnae worry, Alex! I’ll be back.” Please God, let him understand I’m no’ abandoning him! “I love ye so much! Everything will be fine, I swear!”
“Mother!” the boy whimpered, and her heart nearly broke.
But MacNeil shook Alex again. “Shut yer mouth, lad! See? This is why ye need a strong father! Ye’re too attached to a woman! This makes ye weak.”
Nay. Nay, it made Alex compassionate, which is what she wanted for him.
“I love ye,” she whispered, hoping he’d understand her feelings, even if he didn’t hear them. His wide, tear-filled eyes reminded her how young he was, and she wasn’t certain she could go through with it.
Aye, she’d bought herself three days to negotiate a plan, but was she strong enough to leave her son in this man’s clutches? And the princess! The wee “lad” was still sobbing quietly, and Isabel knew, no matter how much she ached to hold Alex, her first duty was to ensure the royal heir’s safety.
But how could she?
From his place near the wall, Tavish cleared his throat and stepped forward. “I have a thought, Laird MacNeil.” He looked relaxed, and Isabel wondered if MacNeil was too far away to see the rage in Tavish’s dark eyes. He kept his voice nonchalant when he shrugged and said, “I dinnae pretend to understand what truly goes on here, but the lady clearly has doubts. Why no’ offer her a gesture of good faith?”
Barking out a harsh laugh, MacNeil stepped toward the railing, looking down at Tavish. “Ye think I should cut off one of the lad
’s ears? His mother willnae like that.”
Margaret’s sobs increased, and Isabel’s stomach roiled.
But Tavish merely shrugged. “Why no’ send the lad’s companion with Lady Isabel? ‘Tis clear the dim-witted lad means something to the family. If ye do that, she’ll ken ye’re no’ heartless and really do mean to keep her son safe.”
Above them both, MacNeil’s lips curled into a cruel smile behind his beard. “And I’ll get rid of an annoyance. Ye’re smarter than ye look, Tavish MacLeod.”
His chuckle sounding forced to her ears, Tavish shrugged. “Surely not, milord.” He was better at pretending to be humble than she was.
“Well, I like yer idea,” MacNeil declared, “because I’m sick of hearing the lad’s blubbering, and sick of seeing my future son pampering the idiot. Here”—his grin turned evil—“catch.”
Without hesitation, MacNeil stepped toward his man holding the princess, ripped her from his arms, and tossed her over the balcony.
Alex had time to scream, “Nay!” but Tavish was there, catching the princess and pressing her face against his neck. He murmured something to her, then was back to looking nonchalant as he returned to his place against the wall, as if all of their hearts hadn’t just skipped a beat.
MacNeil was grinning as he gestured expansively. “There ye go, milady. A gesture of my goodwill. But Alex…? He will stay with me. When ye return for our wedding, then ye can see him again.”
The princess was safe. She and Tavish could leave and ensure Princess Margaret would be returned to her parents and her place as the King’s heir…but how could Isabel leave her son?
How could she do otherwise? She had a duty.
Her chest ached at the realization.
“Ye swear he will be safe here with ye?”
“On my honor as his future father,” MacNeil declared.
The vow wasn’t worth much, because although she’d do anything to see Alex safe, her time on Kisimul had shown her she’d much rather have anyone else as a father for him.
The Pirate’s Angel Page 7
