Chapter Nineteen

Although Isobel’s husband and the other clan representatives hadn’t been able to sway Parliament, the trip to Edinburgh had been a success. Grant had let her sit in on the meeting where the representatives of the Royalist clans talked about how to keep peace in the Highlands without drawing notice to their clans because they would continue to practice their religion in secret.

Friends she didn’t know she had were also willing to stand up for her if Argyll ever learned of her involvement with the Resistance. And the best thing yet, as Grant’s wife, she could advocate for the safety of the clans as well. She felt as if she had a whole new group of people to safeguard, her new family.

Shortly after the meeting, they retrieved the rest of their band and headed back to the Isle of Skye.

Isobel had become accustomed to the silent, steady pace they’d set; even the weather cooperated, providing sunny days with a pleasant wind. As the terrain turned more mountainous, she found peace in studying the patches of lavender on the inclines and security in the tree-lined paths.

After hours of scouring the landscapes, she felt certain Torsten Campbell was not lying in wait, but must be actively hunting for her. If he knew her whereabouts, there would have been a confrontation by now. They’d passed several groups of people on the roads north, farmers on their way to markets, mothers heading into the villages for supplies, and once some young children running with a black, wiry-haired dog whose protruding tongue was almost as long as its snout.

In the middle of their fourth day, the sun disappeared, clouds filled the sky, and a strong wind blew in a storm that pelted them so hard, it felt like tiny stinging daggers on her skin.

“We’ll stop at the next village,” her husband called from behind.

She recognized the little town and the church that stood in its center. Many priests in the area were connected with the Royalist Resistance, not as actual members, but as conduits between groups, delivering messages and storing knowledge. This village was near the middle of the Highlands and was the hub of Resistance activities.

“Isobel,” Grant’s voice broke in. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped and was staring at the church. In the back of her mind, a plan had started to develop. “Did ye see something?” He seemed on edge for the first time in days.

“Nae. I’ve been here before.” She couldn’t lie to him. Aye, she’d seen this place before, but his tone had made it seem as if he were asking if she’d seen something threatening.

After stabling the horses and taking shelter in the only inn, the group gathered together at a large table in the common area. Despite the time of year, the storm had brought with it a drop in temperature, and the innkeepers lit a fire to keep the room warm.

Thunder boomed, shaking the windows. Grant scanned the room, taking in every corner, every space, as if on the hunt for a lost item. When his gaze finally fell on her, he seemed to calm, taking a breath and leaning back as a maid brought a tray of ale.

She was quite uncomfortable, however—her exposed back to the open room and door to the outside sent shivers down her spine. She’d have to trust in the men with her that they would be vigilant. It felt odd putting her safety in others’ hands, a little freeing and a lot terrifying.

Taking a sip of the warm amber liquid, she relaxed into the chair and studied the wall behind her husband. For her plan, she had to come up with an excuse to get over to that church.

Would he let her go? And would he follow?

Confession.

He couldn’t follow her there, giving her just enough time alone with the priest.

“How’s yer head today?” Annis, who was seated next to her, peered across the table to Ian.

“’Tis much better. The stabbing pain in it has finally gone away.”

Taking another sip of ale, she noticed her hands had started to heal, although the ache in her side still bothered her when she mounted the horse or made awkward movements. And the bruise on her face had been barely noticeable this morning when she’d looked in the mirror.

“I still dinnae ken how ye took all three of them, lass.” Ian shook his head.

“I’ve never seen a lass, much less a man, take on so many at one time.” Owen, who was by Grant’s side, gave her an appreciative nod, raising his glass to salute her.

“’Twas only because there was nae choice. And because they didnae think I was a threat until ’twas too late and Annis distracted them.”

Looking down, she wasn’t sure if she felt embarrassed, proud, or pleased with what she’d accomplished. The conflicting emotions gave her the excuse she needed.

“Grant, I noticed a church no’ too far away. My conscience would feel better if I could go to confession.”

He studied her with hardened suspicion, and her shoulders drooped, but then his gaze softened, as if he worried he’d hurt her feelings. “After we eat, I’ll take ye over.”

“Thank ye.” She had the oddest urge to lean over the table and plant a kiss on his lips. Although they’d barely spoken the last few days, she enjoyed the sight of him laughing with his friends or his dark hair blowing back from his face as they trotted onward and he watched the shadows around them.

The fact he trusted her endeared him to her. To tell the truth, she’d found herself growing fond of him for some time. She’d never thought she would enjoy married life, but now that she was a wife, she could think of no better husband than the man who sat across from her. He might have been reading her thoughts, because his mouth twisted up in a wry grin.

After a meal of roasted meat with vegetables and stewed apples, Grant stepped across to where she was seated and took her hand, lacing his fingers between hers, an intimate touch they’d only shared at night. “The rain has lessened. I’ll take ye now.”

“Aye. I remember now, ye dinnae like the rain.” She, on the other hand, loved the feel of the drops cleansing away false security that came with the beautiful weather.

They took off, running through the rain, fingers still entwined. It didn’t take them long to reach the small church, but they were soaked. Stopping in the doorway, Grant’s gaze slipped to the rise and fall of her chest then back up to her mouth. Under his scrutiny, her core heated and her mouth parted mere seconds before his lips brushed hers.

His warmth mingling with the cool droplets of rain sliding off his dark hair onto her neck made her feel alive, made her feel wanted, told her that she was a woman to be desired.

He deepened the connection. As his tongue swept over hers, the doubts of the last few days faded. In the embrace she felt more than wanted, she felt cherished. She was lost in that kiss, lost to her husband, and…

A throat clearing caught her attention and Grant pulled back. Not only had she forgotten herself and possible dangers, but their surroundings. They were at the entrance to God’s house.

Knowing the man would recognize her and welcome her, she asked, “Father, will ye hear my confession?”

“Aye, ’tis good to see ye, Isobel. And looks to be I should be listening to the sins of this one as well.” She cringed when the priest acknowledged he knew her. She felt a pang of regret for not telling Grant about her ties to the church and the network of intelligence gathering that happened through these men of God. But the priests trusted her and she couldn’t betray that faith.

Grant stiffened. “I’m her husband.” His deep burr rolled over her in possessive waves, and there was a new edge to it—he was probably wondering how the priest knew her name.

The priest ushered them in and shut the door. “All right then, lass. This way.” The man motioned Grant to a bench. “Ye can wait here.”

Grant took a seat and his gaze pinned her with accusation. She had no doubt he’d be questioning her as soon as they were out of earshot of the holy man. Gulping, she wished the sweet man hadn’t acknowledged their past acquaintance. It was going to be hard to explain away.

Shielding her embarrassment from Grant, she swirled to follow the priest.

“Married now are ye, lass?”

“Aye.” She couldn’t help but peek over her shoulder as they made their way to the large wooden enclosure toward the side of the building. Grant was on the edge of the seat and listening intently, pinning her with an angry gaze that spoke of heated words to come.

“’Tis glad I am to see ye have found a man.” Father John rubbed at his head, just where the balding patch on top hit his graying hair.

She started to confess she hadn’t wanted this union, but she could no longer say it in truth—she’d come to care for her husband a great deal. But that was the problem. He mattered now, and people close to her always got hurt.

“I hope ye are truly here to confess. A wedded woman shouldnae be roaming the countryside with a group of renegades.” His eyebrows, also flecked with silver, rose in question while he held a red curtain back from a booth.

“I just have one more thing to do and I can leave that all behind, but I need yer help.” She entered once he drew the curtain, darkness enveloping her. She knelt, the cool dampness of the day and the old building invading her bones.

“Why are ye here today?” he asked after the curtain swung closed behind him. She peeked through hers to make sure Grant had not followed, but he still sat on the bench, glaring.

“Information.” She leaned in, whispering into the screen.

“Aye.” The skepticism in his voice signaled he didn’t believe she would leave the Resistance.

“Torsten Campbell kens who I am. If he comes for me, I’m afraid he will hurt someone in my new clan.” Saying the words sent renewed dread twisting through her.

“And have ye talked to yer husband or Alex about this?” The reproach in his voice was gentle but stern.

“Aye, but ’tis my place to protect them. ’Tis my fault I was recognized.”

She was met with silence.

“Please, Father. I cannae let Torsten hurt anyone because of me.”

“I do ken something. I ken he’s been looking for ye, and he was just on MacLean lands. Probably figured ye were headed home.”

Relief washed over her when she realized he hadn’t gone to Argyll, or there would have been a whole army out looking for her. It just cemented what she believed—Torsten wanted the recognition for turning her over. His cousin’s praise and admiration meant more to him than anything else.

“He probably kens ye are wed by now and will come looking for ye.”

It was important she be vigilant the rest of the journey back.

“Isobel, ye have a way out. Tell yer husband and be done with this life. Ye deserve to be happy.” She’d seen the priest on many occasions, but never told him of what had happened to her. She also knew her brother had been to this church as well and she wondered for the first time how Ross had felt about that day. He’d changed too. Did he place the blame at his own feet and had he confided in Father John?

“I will when the threat is gone. He may hurt someone if I dinnae go with him, and if I go he will take me to the earl.”

The priest’s sharp intake of breath let her know he understood the consequences of turning herself over.

“’Tis time ye started taking care of yerself instead of everyone else.”

“I plan to be a good wife.”

“And soon ye’ll be a mother.”

Tingles started in her shoulders and seeped down her back to land in her gut. She’d never considered being with child. How could she fight and put that life at risk? And when she had babes, she would have to stay near them and keep them safe.

How would she keep a wee bairn safe?

Suddenly, the space was too confining, closing in on her, and her breath came in short gasps.

His next words barely registered. “Do ye have anything ye wish to confess while we are here?”

“Aye.” She held her trembling palms up. “I killed three men recently.”

“Go on.” She heard disappointment.

“If I hadnae, they would have killed my maid and one of the Cameron men.”

“I see.” And the resignation in his voice told her that Ross had indeed told the man of the past.

Despite what her husband and the rest of the Highlands believed, she had killed very few men and each time it had torn at her soul. It never brought her pleasure, only drenched her in sadness that men so cruel had to be dealt with in such a way.

“Will ye pray for me?” she choked out.

“Aye, ye ken I will. Now, get back to yer husband, tell him the truth, and leave all this behind. Ye are too good to live life as an outlaw.”

…

Isobel’s skin had paled in the time she’d been in the confessional with the short, balding priest. Grant was convinced the holy man had something to do with Alex Gordon’s Resistance movement. The man had amassed an amazing network of spies and informants. And now, Grant was coming to learn too much about the group that sought to fight this war with violence instead of peace.

As his wife returned to him, the short man hurried up behind. “Was there anything ye would like to be confessing today?”

“Nae.” Grabbing Isobel’s hand, he dragged her toward the door. He wasn’t going to accuse her of lying in God’s house, so the sooner they got to their room at the inn the better.

As he stormed out into the early evening rain, his temper rose. Lightning flashed. He saw his uncle’s face. Thunder crashed.

He was taken back to the day in the clearing. Isobel’s bonny gaze met his and for a moment, they’d both been mesmerized. Until Torsten came upon her. Before he could get to her side, the man’s sword slid across her arm. Then, he turned and saw his friend slashed by one of the men who had attacked their group. His assemblage of men, who had been on their way to Edinburgh to meet with Covenanters and Royalists and agree to a peaceful solution.

If he’d not been enthralled by Isobel, he’d have been by his friend’s side. His friend might still be alive. But he’d seen Isobel and had been captivated, so much so, that he’d worked his way toward her to keep her safe from the large man hovering over her with a sword.

It dawned on him it hadn’t been Isobel’s fault, it had been his, for being distracted by her. Damn, he was still distracted by her every day. And here they were out in the open, men hunting her, and until they’d walked into that church he’d only been thinking of bedding her, not the danger she was in.

He had to get them back to Skye with haste. If he didn’t get her back to safety, he could lose her, too. The faces of people flashed in his head—his uncle, his first wife, Lyall’s brother, then Isobel. He could not lose Isobel.

“Slow down.” She struggled with holding her skirts.

“I told ye. Nae more to do with that group.”

“He isnae one of them.”

“I amnae a fool.”

“He just shares information,” she pleaded.

“Which makes being around him dangerous.”

“He is safe.”

“Aye, he may be, but if others ken who he is, someone else may recognize ye. What if someone is watching him? Now they’ll ken ye are here.”

They reached the inn, and he flung open the door. Not letting Isobel go, he made directly for the stairs. It had been unwise to dine out in the open as well. What if someone had seen her? What if Torsten Campbell was around?

“’Twas a quick confession, Isobel. I dinnae think ye covered everything.” Boyd chortled from the room, but Grant already had her halfway up the steps.

Once they were in the room, he bolted the door. “Why were we there?”

“To confess.” She tilted her chin up at him.

“Nae. What did ye ask him?”

“If he had heard where Torsten Campbell was.”

“I told ye to let me handle that.”

“Well ye’ve done a fine job of ignoring it from what I can see. Yer no’ handling a thing. Nothing except yer silly quest for peace.”

His fists clenched. Is that what she thought? That he’d neglected protecting her? He’d considered telling her his plan, but if he did, she might try to stop him, or worse, attempt to be present for the confrontation. She was capable of defending herself, but last time she’d faced Torsten, she’d almost died, and he couldn’t keep his wits if he thought her in danger.

And did she think his desire to find a solution to the Highlands problems made him foolish?

She looked at him with soulful brown eyes, remorseful and pleading. She twined her fingers with his, lessening the tension. “I am sorry. ’Tis no’ a small thing to wish peace. I wish it, too, and I admire that ye so openly argue for it. I hope one day I have the faith ye do in humanity.”

She respected him? He’d not seen past her arguing and mistrustful ways, but the sincerity in her gaze and the honesty in her voice gave him hope they could share more in common than he’d thought possible.

“Please forgive me for rushing to see the bad instead of the good.” She placed a hand on his chest.

He nodded, pulled her in, and relaxed at the feel of her in his arms.

“I never told ye why I was at that battle,” she whispered as she nestled into him. “Those men were going to kill the Cameron brothers because of their religion, no’ because of anything they had done. I kenned ’twould destroy Kirstie if something had happened to them.”

He knew the Cameron laird and his younger brother had gone to Edinburgh for a meeting that ended with an attack on Royalist lairds. There were other parties attacked on the journey as well, and those groups had not fared as well as his, losing many lives.

He’d never made it to Edinburgh because of his friend’s death, and he had to concede that if the Royalist Resistance had not been waiting to help his men, everyone in his party, including him, could be dead.

“I only wanted a peace of sorts. I just wanted my friend’s family safe and I had to watch over Stew. He was too young to be out there. Someone had to protect him.” Isobel continued as his thoughts simmered, “I just want to keep ye safe.”

The admission stung, because he wasn’t sure if she had become as attached to him as he was to her. At the same time, it freed the part of him he’d been holding back. “I ken now, ’twas no’ ye I was angry with all this time. ’Twas me for letting my guard down in yer presence the first time I saw ye. If I let that happen again, I’m afraid I could lose ye.”

As the rain pounded on the window, he tightened his grip, drawing her near. He remembered another day where the rain beat down relentlessly, a battle between two men. It was the afternoon that had colored every moment of his life since. A vision of his uncle’s head falling from strong shoulders after the disagreement with the MacLeods.

He would not let that happen to his wife. If Torsten Campbell wouldn’t accept his offer, there would be war because he refused to hand the lass in his arms over to the Earl of Argyll.