Chapter Two
Isobel’s new husband pulled her through the cheering crowd toward the dais at the opposite end of the great hall. The movement thankfully shook free the odd stirrings his nearness had caused. The chamber was so large, she almost felt as if she were outside at twilight as the sun dribbled in through windows stained with blues, greens, and reds. The blazing colors imbued a sense of magic to the space. She attempted to ignore the majesty of the place and concentrate on the faces. These people looked friendly enough. If only they knew how she wished to be anywhere but here, maybe then they would let her leave.
She concentrated on not tripping on the silly gown she’d been forced to wear, cursing herself for actually liking the way it slid across her skin and how the fabric glowed in the tranquil light of the room, shimmering like pearls. She pushed away the thrill that her husband might find her appealing in the garment. Och, it was because his eyes were a bonny shade of blue that had distracted her the first time she’d seen him. And that was the reason she was in this mess. She’d been enthralled by the brawny man who’d been looking out for her safety the day she’d been identified. If she hadn’t been thwarted, Torsten never would have gotten away.
They took the steps up to a long table already filled with people. The scene reminded her that, at one time, she’d been an innocent, naive child who had wanted this—a marriage and to be nothing more than a happy bride. Buried emotions pricked at the back of her eyes. She couldn’t wait to get this gown off and burn it.
Her heart stopped and her steps faltered. Would this angry beast beside her want to bed her tonight?
She claimed her seat and Grant slid in beside her, finally letting go of the confining grip on her hand. Her gaze drifted farther down the table to notice her mother’s smile. Was it relief she saw there? Emilia had always wished for her to be a lady. When that dream had been taken from Isobel, she’d squashed it for her mother, too, by becoming who she was now.
Her husband’s hand landed on her leg. She flinched. His grip was firm but not overbearing, a reminder she was no longer free. Her skin tingled.
Pivoting toward the man beside her, she was struck by his calm presence despite the currents she knew waged war beneath his facade. That’s what had drawn her interest the last time they’d met in the thick of battle. All one had to do was glance upon his sapphire eyes to know he was born to be a leader.
Her thoughts again turned to the bedding, and heat crawled through her limbs. She wasn’t small, but Grant MacDonald was a large man. She had managed to keep her maidenhood this long because Alex Gordon, the leader of the Resistance, warned his men off her and because she always kept a knife at her side. Looking down at the table, she spied one just to the side of her trencher. Although it was dull and not meant for combat, she couldn’t help but smile as relief flooded her senses.
Grant’s hand held her under the table as if to keep her secured to his side should she decide to flee. His grip lessened and fingers slid up her sensitive skin as she fought back the gooseflesh rising in their wake; she kept her own hands studiously clasped in her lap. Glancing over at him, she met a stern, knowing gaze. Her husband shook his head, then his hand left her arm long enough to take the dirk from in front of her. He placed it out of reach before returning the vise-like grip on her leg.
The horde of MacDonalds quieted as their laird stood and raised his cup in the air. “To new beginnings and a renewed commitment between the MacDonalds and MacLeans to protect each other and the Highlands.”
Leaning in toward Grant, she gritted out behind teeth she hoped looked like a smile, “How am I to ensure the Highlands are safe if ye willnae let me leave?”
“’Tis no’ yer job to cause more conflict among our people.” Disapproval, perhaps even anger, darkened his gaze as it pinned her.
Is that what he thought of the Resistance?
He was wrong. “I am protecting our people.”
“Ye are a fool if ye choose to believe yer mischief is helping anyone.”
She sucked in, absorbing his words like a physical blow.
Her father stood up. “To a union blessed with peace and prosperity.” She wanted to add “based on treachery and misery” to her father’s list, but held her tongue as she raised her glass and took a long sip of the surprisingly smooth ale.
Overhearing Grant’s father speak, she turned to see whom he was addressing. “Ye dinnae have to leave so soon.”
“Aye. ’Tis best we were on our way at first light. The Macnabs seem to be eager to sign the Covenants, and I dinnae wish to leave our land vulnerable to traitorous neighbors.” Isobel had to struggle to hear her father over the throng’s noise, but she recognized the name of the clan whose loyalty was still in doubt. Thankfully, she was adept at reading lips.
“We’ll also be sending a delegation to Edinburgh to make a case against the Covenant before ’tis written into law.”
She couldn’t see or hear The MacDonald’s reply.
So, her family was deserting her at first light. If she was careful, she might be able to sneak out and stow aboard the ship that carried them to the other side of the fast-flowing waters that separated her from mainland Scotland. If she was caught, though, they would bring her straight back, and her horrid husband might make true on his promise to see her to the dungeons.
Was her freedom worth the risk? Glancing up, she caught her husband’s all too knowing glare as he shook his head.
“What?” She straightened her shoulders and attempted to look demure and innocent.
“Dinnae even think of whatever ye are planning.”
Argh, she wanted to kick him under the table.
The rest of the meal she ate quietly, focusing on retaining her strength and coming up with a plan. If she did run and seek shelter with other Royalists in the Highlands, would the MacDonalds hold her clan responsible? Aye, they most likely would, since she was now wed to the laird’s heir. Half the Highlands would be hunting her to return her while the half that favored the Covenanters would still be after the bounty on her head.
When her husband stood and dragged her up alongside him, a thunderous roar erupted. Her ears ringing, she fisted her free hand, aware for the first time that she didn’t want to be alone with Grant.
“I would like another cup of ale.” She tried to sit back down, but he coiled an arm around her waist and held her tight, as if they were lovers and wanted to be together.
“I’ll have one brought up for ye.” He pulled her from the room as a group followed behind them chanting something about the bedding. She chose to ignore the bawdy words.
Grant led her down the hall to a flight of stone steps, and she struggled to keep from tripping on the hem of her gown as he urged her onward. It was dark, but by the light of the sconces she could make out the stairs as she trailed her free hand up the smooth rock of the unfamiliar walls. Walking toward the end of the new hall she found herself in, she noticed a second flight of stairs down the back side of the castle.
Her husband stopped at the door just before her projected means of escape. Pushing the solid wood, he let go of her hand and indicated she should enter. Stepping forward, she remembered something she’d heard years ago as a child, something she’d thought never to need. Never enter the bedchamber on your wedding night with your left foot. Too late she realized what she was doing and pivoted back around to stop her progression, bumping into her husband and earning a growl from him.
“We dinnae need more bad luck than we already have,” she snapped at him.
Surprising her, his face softened. “I agree.”
Arms wound around her back and thighs to pick her up and carry her over the threshold. Och, this was not what she’d had in mind. Still, she felt light and feminine cradled in the silk and his arms. Something in her fluttered. Argh, she was weak. She would not let marriage turn her into some simpering lass who couldn’t take care of herself.
Once in the chamber, her gaze skimmed the large room to see candles had already been lit. A woman she’d seen at the ceremony and then dinner sat in a chair awaiting their arrival. The woman floated toward them, all grace and poise.
“Ye can put me down now.” She hated the hitch in her breath and the throaty sound of the words.
His blue gaze dropped to hers and he held her a moment longer, his studious expression contemplating something about her that apparently vexed him. Good. She would continue to be a thistle poking at him until he realized this arrangement was not going to work.
Before she could insist that he let her go, the woman spoke, “Welcome to the family. May I call ye Isobel?”
Grant straightened and let her slide from his arms. “This is my mother, Fenella.”
She wobbled when her husband released her, but it had to be because of the fancy slippers she wore. It had nothing to do with the glide down his hard-muscled thigh or the sensations that remained on her flesh where his arms had held her. Nodding, she resisted the inclination to reach out and touch his leg to make sure she was mistaken by the strength she’d imagined there.
Instead, she returned the pleasant woman’s smile. “Aye, ’tis fine. Thank ye.”
Looking to her son, Fenella gave a knowing grin. “I have sprinkled and blessed the bed.”
“’Twas nae need for it. It didnae work last time.”
Last time? Heat stole onto her cheeks as gooseflesh rose on her arms.
Grant’s mother waved away his remark then started speaking before Isobel could voice any concerns. “We had yer things brought up earlier. Yer gowns have been hung.” Fenella nodded to the corner of the room, and Isobel followed the woman’s movements.
“Thank ye.” Gowns. What gowns?
“I’ll leave ye two alone now.” Fenella grinned at her son with a proud gaze and, for a moment, Isobel was jealous. She couldn’t remember the last time her own mother had given her such a look. Then Fenella looked upon her with a warm and genuine expression. “We are truly happy to have ye here.”
Isobel’s head bobbed in acknowledgment but no words came out. Her mother-in-law walked to the door.
Wait, she wanted to scream out.
She didn’t want to be alone with her husband. She didn’t have a weapon other than her hands, but they would be no match against this mountain of a man, should she wish to use them. Shifting, she started toward her trunks to make sure her knives were still hidden inside, but she stopped once she got closer. These weren’t her chests.
Her head started to hum as a request behind her registered. “Will ye have someone bring up another cup of ale, please.”
Well, he was nice to his mother, at least. What did he have against her?
Lifting up the first lid, she nearly choked on the bile that rose from somewhere deep inside. Slippers and stockings. She opened the second, which was filled with linen shifts. A piece of paper lay on top. Her fingers shook as she lifted it and read the words in her mother’s handwriting.
After balling up the letter, she tossed it back in the trunk and slammed the lid. How long had they planned to abandon her here?
Once she stood and turned around, she found her husband staring at her. “Did they take all yer weapons?”
Anger sparked. How had he guessed?
She should lie to him. Tell him he’d never find where she had them hidden, but he was just the type of man who would rip everything apart until he found them. He might not believe her and do it anyway. Hell, did she even care if he tore it all up? She just might do it herself.
“They took it all.”
Her shoulders drooped as all her hopes fled. Who would she be now? And who was this man she was married to?
“Ye ken who I am. Tell me something about ye.” She made an attempt to start a conversation, although even she could hear that her tone came across as one of an angry child instead of a lady trying to woo her husband.
“I am the man who is now forced to save ye from yerself.”
If she’d had her dirk, she would have flung it at him.
Instead, ignoring the barb, she walked to the window. This room was overlooking the cliff. There was just enough land at the bottom that she might be able to climb down, but it was a long way and she might break her neck trying. But, even if she did escape at this point, where would she go? She was on a bloody island.
Grant came to stand behind her. She hadn’t heard or seen him, but she could sense his presence. It was as if the air obeyed when he moved. He might be used to people doing his bidding, but he would learn quickly she didn’t bow to intimidation.
Turning, she glowered at him. “I dinnae wish to give my body to ye.” He needed to know she would put up a fight.
His lip quirked. “There is nothing about ye that makes me want to take ye to my bed.”
Her heart lurched and stuttered. Why did his comment sting? “Then ye shall give me a separate room.”
Hope blossomed.
“Nae.”
Hope faded.
Skirting around him, she moved to the chair, eased down and removed her slippers, confident she was safe, at least for the evening. She didn’t know much about her new husband, but he did seem to be a man of his word and didn’t appear to be interested in what little she possessed in the way of womanly charm. A bit of her couldn’t help but cry out on the inside, though. Despite his disdain for her, she’d liked the way his hand felt in hers as he’d drawn her to this room. A man had never before held her so gently.
Standing, she took a deep breath and cursed the gown her family had forced her to don. The awful thing was already turning her back into the naive girl she was before. Making matters worse, the ties were in the back. She could just sleep in it, but would toss and turn so much she would find herself tangled in it all night.
“Will ye please help me with the ribbons?”
He visibly stiffened and swallowed. The arse. He was more interested in her than he let on. Or, he truly was repulsed by her.
She might have blushed, but she turned so he could not see. Then there was that presence again, right behind her, not moving, but demanding the attention of everything around him. She waited, and his fingers were pulling and loosening the bindings on her gown. Her skin tingled at the attentions.
“Did ye bring a maid to help ye with such tasks?” His angry tone from before had smoothed to one she couldn’t quite name. The tenor was husky and strained.
“Nae, my family didnae even tell me I was coming to be sold.” Maybe she should try to dull her tongue as well. Grant hadn’t seemed to have much of an option in the arrangement, either.
“I will find ye one then.”
“Nae.” She spun abruptly, her breath coming faster as her previous maid’s accusations beat in her head. She could not be responsible for another one. “I didnae have a maid at home. I dinnae want one.”
“Even if it means relying on yer husband to dress and undress ye every day?” His lip twitched as if he was either disgusted with the idea of helping her or intrigued by his suggestion. She chose not to entertain either idea.
“I will find clothes that dinnae require it.” She folded her arms over her chest.
Grant backed and she waited for him to turn before she pulled the soft fabric over her head and placed it on the nearest chair. Dressed only in her shift, she bolted toward her new bed and slid in before her husband had the chance to turn back around, drawing the covers up to her chin. The scent of cedar after a fresh rain filled her nostrils. Grant’s smell. She wanted to inhale deeper and learn it, but instead she jerked the blankets back down to her chest.
She needed rest if she was to attempt to escape tomorrow.
…
Not yet ready to crawl into bed with the viper, Grant kicked off his boots. He pulled up a chair and studied his new wife as she tossed and turned, her brown hair still pulled up in pins. She was nothing like Lyall. His first wife had been perfect, a petite blonde. She had been quiet and obedient, always looking for a way to please and keep peace in their marriage bed.
This wife was the complete opposite and not at all what he wanted.
His thoughts turned to what he should be doing on his wedding night. Hell, he wasn’t opposed to sleeping with the lass who now occupied his space; she was well built, sleek, and muscled. Aye, he’d peeked when she removed her gown. How could he not?
It was like during the skirmish when he’d spied her large brown eyes. There was a fire in the depths of them, a spark that had called to him and had him enthralled. Although she’d worn men’s clothing, there had been no mistaking her curves or the gentle lift in her chin. He’d had the sudden urge to cart her away, protect her from the sights and sounds of the carnage that surrounded them.
And for a brief moment as her eyes had locked with his, they’d both been mesmerized. The noise around them had disappeared and all he saw was her. He had let down his guard completely because of his attraction to her, and that was something a leader could never do.
And then he noticed the lass wielded a sword some men would have trouble lifting. His quick appraisal had warned him she was dangerous, but something had made him want to get to know her better, shield her from the devastation that was raining down on them. Now, while watching her sleep, he was reminded that his lack of judgment in that moment was what had gotten his friend killed.
After he’d helped to bury Tomas, he’d searched for any information he could find on the famed lass who fought with the Royalist Resistance. He’d not been able to discover much because her identity was a closely guarded secret. But tales of her prowess with a weapon were legend, and Argyll had offered an award for anyone who could bring her in, dead or alive.
Isobel was a danger to him, his clan, and herself.
She’d settled and his neck was starting to ache. Rising, he undressed and strolled to the bed before he remembered the way Isobel had eyed the dirk on the table at dinner. It was probably prudent to make sure she didn’t have access to the kitchens until he was certain the wench wouldn’t kill him.
After moving back to the heavy wooden chair he’d just left, he picked it up and placed it by the door, just under the latch. She would have to slide it across the floor if she intended to leave, and he was a light sleeper. Just in case, he retrieved the table and put it there as well. Satisfied she wouldn’t be able to sneak out during the evening, he made his way back to the bed, slid under the covers, and shut his eyes.
Damn. He could smell her again and she’d fallen straight into slumber as if she had already come to trust him. Fighting the urge to reach over and caress her skin, just to see if it was as soft as it looked, he crossed his arms over his chest.
Waking in the early morning hours, Grant found his wife had turned and faced him. He studied her placid features, rounded cheeks, and long lashes. Despite the rumors of her being more man than woman, she was quite attractive with full wine-kissed lips and thick hair which had loosened from the pins and given her the disheveled look of a woman who had been thoroughly ravished. Of course it could be because she wasn’t covered in mud and blood, which was how tales of her had spread through the Highlands.
What had turned such a lovely creature into the animal she appeared to be?
His groin was starting to ache, but the last thing he wanted was to wake the viper’s tongue. He enjoyed her more this way. Sliding from the bed, he dressed, removed his barriers, and headed for the kitchens, stopping along the way to leave instructions for a man, no he made it two, to stand outside their room until he could return.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard voices coming from his father’s study, so he rapped on the door and entered after his father called out.
He discovered his wife’s parents, Duncan and Emilia MacLean, and her brothers gathered in the room. His father smiled when he entered. “Shut the door behind ye. The MacLean was just telling me that more clans are planning to sign the Covenants. It appears even the Macnabs will be sending men to England to fight against the king.”
“’Tis one of the reasons we must leave straight away. We cannae leave our lands unprotected with Argyll and his men so close.”
“When does Parliament vote on it?” Grant moved closer, knowing he had to do something. Too many clans were signing on to this agreement with the English Parliament.
“Mid-August.” Duncan MacLean shook his head. “Montrose is planning to have a group of men stand before our Parliament to speak against the agreement with the English Parliament and their Puritans.”
Grant had met James Graham, the 1st Marquess of Montrose. At one time, the man had sided with the Covenanters, but was now one of King Charles’s greatest supporters and a strong leader. If there was hope for a peaceable outcome, it would be with Montrose at the helm.
“There is still a chance they may see reason, then.” Grant rubbed his chin.
“Nae likely, but as long as there is a chance we’ll be there to help. I’ll be sending my sons to represent our clan.” The MacLean shook his head.
“We must try,” his father agreed. The words were met with silence, as they all most likely debated what would happen to the Royalist clans in the Highlands if they didn’t find common ground with the religious zealots who had control of Parliament.
After a moment, Grant spoke up. “Do ye ken who yer daughter is?”
The MacLean’s lips pursed and he gave a quick nod. The brothers looked equally ashamed. “We just discovered,” the oldest one, Marcus, said.
“Who is she?” His father stared at him.
“She is the woman who fights for the Royalist Resistance.” After answering his father, he turned to the MacLean. “Why did ye no’ share that information?”
The youngest of the brothers, Ross, chimed in. “We thought to guard her.” Shoulders straight, the man looked him dead in the eyes.
“Ye would bring war to our shores.” His father stood and stared down at the men.
“Nae, we wish to bring peace to all. We believe ye are the only ones to keep her safe. If her identity is discovered, the Campbells will attack and destroy our clan. They willnae dare attack on yer shores with us to their backs. We are trusting ye with someone very dear to us. And if ye can give her a home where she feels safe, she might stop fighting.”
If he could be certain she wouldn’t try to return to the rebels, it would go a long way toward easing his concerns. But she had a long road to make amends for her past, and so far her actions didn’t appear to be those of a woman who wished to change.
Ross continued, “The Campbells are the only Covenanters to be concerned with and if they see her as a diligent wife, no one will ever ken her past. Ye will also have strong Royalist clans surrounding yer lands. The MacLeans and Camerons to the south. And the Macnabs will surely fall on the side of the Royalists, now that their laird’s health is failing and the heir will soon be chief. He just wed his sister into the Cameron clan and formed an alliance. Ye also have the MacLeods to yer north and they are staunch supporters of the king.”
“Why does she do it?” Grant asked the question that had been plaguing him since the day he’d seen her wielding her sword in battle against the Covenanters.
“She feels as if she is protecting people, but in the process, she shuts out everyone who loves her.” Ross gave him a tight smile. Grant had the impression guilt lay somewhere beneath his pleading gaze. Ross moved in closer so that only Grant could hear. “She has a good heart. Dinnae let her fool ye.”
Shouting erupted in the hall, and Ross’s shoulders drooped.
Straightening, Grant walked to the door and pulled it open to admit his new bride, who was followed closely by the guards he’d set at their door. “’Tis all right. I’ll take her from here.”
“Am I a prisoner?” Isobel rushed up to him, cheeks flushed, hair pulled from the pins and left free to dangle to her waist in heaps of bouncing brown curls. She looked as if he’d done those things to her that he’d fantasized about during the night, just as he’d cursed himself for thinking them.
“Nae.”
She glared, brown eyes piercing him, and although he was exasperated with her already, he had the strangest desire to smile. He tamped it down as he studied her attire, a haphazardly donned deep blue gown that bunched around the bodice because the ties had not been properly secured. He had the urge to pull her in the corner and fix it or take her back up to their room and do what he should have done last night.
“Then why would they no’ let me leave the room?”
He wasn’t going to tell her he didn’t trust her. That didn’t seem the proper way to start a marriage, but surely she already knew. “I didnae want ye to get lost on yer first day here. ’Tis my intention to show ye around today.” He didn’t even know the thought was true until he spoke it. Although they would never have the relationship he and his previous wife had shared, she deserved to know about where she was to live.
“We will be leaving shortly,” Isobel’s father chimed in. As her gaze drifted to the MacLean lairds, her hands fisted at her sides, confirming his instincts had been correct—she had planned to be on that boat with them when they left.
“Why so soon?” Her words were quiet now. Her gaze darted around the room as if in search of a new plan, a new way out.
“’Tis time we let ye ken yer new family, and we have business to take care of.”
Her gaze drifted back to Grant’s and she looked like a lost puppy with those big soulful eyes, but she tamped down whatever she was feeling, sticking her nose up in the air.
“We must break our fast first,” his father said and gestured to the door.
“Aye.” He threaded his arm through Isobel’s and she flinched. She took a deep breath and nodded at him, trying to look like an obedient wife, but he saw behind those eyes. She was like a caged bird whose wings had not yet been clipped, still looking for an opportunity to fly.