Chapter Three

Isobel groaned as her only means of escape sailed toward her old home, leaving her in a place she knew nothing about. Really, though, if she’d managed to go, what would she have done? Lived on the run, underground with members of the Resistance? They weren’t loyal to her, and what would they expect from a woman for a warm bed and food? She bet it would be a price she wasn’t willing to pay.

When she’d first joined the group, she’d told herself it was to keep her clan safe. That was no longer her main reason for staying. With her gone, who would look after Stew? He had joined their group in the last year and was too young to be on his own. None of the men would look after him the way she had. Stew needed her.

Everything hinged on finding Torsten Campbell and ensuring he didn’t give her away to Argyll. If he had already exposed her, she’d be in custody. With the price on her head so high, it would only be a matter of time before he came for her, but if he did, how could she protect herself or these people without a weapon?

“Come,” Grant ordered as he eyed her with what appeared to be a mixture of resentment and curiosity.

“Where are we going?”

“Since we are stuck together, ’tis nae better time to learn about yer new home.”

Nodding, she glanced to the choppy waters once more. There was something soothing about them, even though they kept her from searching out the man who might hand her over to Argyll. She didn’t know the first thing about how to sail a boat. If she wanted to get back to the mainland, she’d have to somehow convince her husband to get her there.

She turned back to Grant. Studying all of him for the first time, she found him an attractive man, well-muscled and lean. Although he’d stopped her from destroying her foe on that fateful day near Edinburgh, he appeared to be competent and would one day be a good leader. “What shall we see first?”

“I think the village, then Cairntay.”

She took one last look across the water, then let her gaze roam the shoreline of her new home. They were perched high on a stony cliff. Trees and full blooming bushes dotted the steep incline. She admired how the island’s natural landscape lent itself to the protection of those who called it home.

Stone steps led to a small beach where boats were moored to the coast. The bobbing vessels and the residents of Skye were protected by the chopping waters that prevented enemies from the mainland making the journey without notice. At the edge of the sand, trees littered the landscape in pleasing shades of green, making her think of apples, lush grassy fields, and emeralds.

Perhaps this place did have its merits. But what threats could come from farther inland? Surveying the village sounded like a good idea, so she followed her husband.

She strolled beside him, but they kept a respectable distance between them as they ambled away from the cliff that overlooked the water separating her from the world she knew. Anyone watching would never guess they were husband and wife. And that they had shared a bed last night.

At one point during the night, he’d rolled into her side and murmured, “I’ll do it for the clan.” He continued to talk, but she could only make out snatches as he’d become more restless.

She’d placed her hand on his chest, hoping to ease his troubled sleep so she could doze again. His heart raced, but his fingers came up to close around hers and he settled. The tempo within her chest had increased, because his touch was gentle yet protective, as if he counted her as part of the clan he was to lead and care for. Silly, but in that moment, she’d felt safe and was able to slide back into slumber with an ease that usually evaded her.

A flush of warmth stole up her neck, but the heat didn’t make it to her cheeks. Why had he not claimed his husbandly rights last night? Did he despise her that much, or had it to do with what his mother said?

“Have ye been married before?” She shuddered. Once the words left her lips, she wanted to take them back, thinking they sounded too intimate, personal. She didn’t want to get to know her husband.

“Aye.” He said nothing else as a cool wind blew in from the waters at their backs, her hair whipping into her face. He seemed reluctant to share his past with her, a past with a woman he may have cared for. It was probably for the best.

Pulling her wayward tresses back, she felt her gown bunch and gap in the front, giving a nice view of the clean new shift beneath. Darn her family for taking her things and leaving her with trunks of useless dresses and frivolities she wanted no part of.

She was startled when Grant grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her over to the side of the path, letting others pass as she stared up into a gaze that had no right to be as bonny as the bluest of skies. Suddenly she felt…inadequate…the words from long ago coming back to haunt her. Och, too scraggly. It looks more like a boy to me.

It was no surprise her husband didn’t want her.

But still, as his hand slid to the front of her gown and pulled at the laces she’d never bothered to learn how to tie, an odd tingle spread through her limbs and for once she wanted to be fair of face and know what it was like for a man to desire her. And she wanted to feel his lips on hers again, not be interrupted by the roar of his clan celebrating. His mouth had been soft and tender. Despite his anger at her, during that short embrace she’d felt treasured, even desired.

Hell. The salty air on this island was doing something odd to her.

“Was she bonny?” Foolish, so foolish and lack-witted. How could she ask a question like that, and why did she care?

“Who?”

“Yer first wife.”

“Aye,” he said, his face darkening as if she’d insulted him.

Of course she was, she thought, a knife stabbing into her chest. She’d never wanted to marry, but if she had, she would have wanted to be the one who made her partner’s world complete. Another woman had beaten her to the heart of her husband, even if she’d stood a chance.

“What happened to her?” A lump caught in her throat as he finished tying off the knot and turned away.

“An illness took her.”

“I’m sorry.” And she truly meant it, because it was obviously painful for him. Despite their predicament, she suspected him to be a good man.

“’Twas a long time ago.” He married young then. Och, but he’d be expected to produce heirs. A chill from a new burst of wind made her shudder.

“Do ye have any bairn?” She couldn’t stop the questions leaping from her mouth.

“Nae.”

Trees near the edge of the clearing swayed and their leaves rustled in the breeze that gentled as their distance from the shore increased. Their appendages danced and swished in a soothing pattern, reminding her of evenings spent falling asleep, camped near deep brown trunks of strong timber in a lush forest. They walked with only that sound until he filled the void. “Ye need a maid. We’ll see to one while we are in the village.”

Panic welled inside her. “I told ye before, I dinnae want one.”

“My wife will be properly fitted into her gowns, and yer hair is a mess.” She had the urge to try to fix her hair, but her hand was frozen. Argh, she would not let his words hurt her.

Halting again, she enunciated the words as clearly as she could as she said, “I dinnae want a maid. I will learn how to do it myself if it offends ye so.” She pulled her wayward curls back, tying the unruly locks into a knot at the top of her head. She stomped ahead, up the path and toward the village where she hoped there wouldn’t be another thing said about the issue.

…

Despite her reluctance, his wife would have a maid. Normally, Grant would honor a lass’s wishes, but with her wind-tossed hair and loosened clothing, his thoughts kept turning to nights sequestered under their covers.

All he’d been able to think about as he’d fallen asleep was tasting her lips and discovering if she would gently inhale him again. The idea that she’d been so affected by their simple kiss caused an ache in his cock. Perhaps he’d been too long without a woman’s touch, but he wanted to explore every inch of her sleek form. Damn, if he were honest, he’d been infatuated with her the first moment he’d seen her.

He had needed a new wife, but had not wanted this lass, one who would go to war with Argyll himself if given the chance. The first time she’d caught his eyes, she’d been covered in dirt and wearing men’s clothing in the heat of a battle. She’d looked like an avenging angel then, but he’d certainly not expected her to look like a conquering goddess of mythology or a wanton temptress no matter the time of day.

Her disheveled garments made him think of bed play. He didn’t want to be having these thoughts, so she had to be dressed properly or he might be tempted to plunder her spoils and forget himself before he fully trusted her.

He’d pulled her gown together and tightened the laces, but the desire to loosen the bindings farther and take her to the hidden cave down the shore where they could be alone had been all too real and too sudden to examine.

Thankfully, she had asked about Lyall, bringing him back to his senses and reminding him not of the complacent wife who had been of an arranged marriage, but of her brother, his friend, the one who now lay cold in the ground. The man he’d not been able to protect because Isobel had distracted him from the battle. She was a seasoned killer and not a woman to underestimate.

Maybe it had been the sadness that had crept into her brown gaze as her family deserted her to a man who despised her which had given him some misplaced sympathy for the lass. But, damn, she didn’t have the right to even know Lyall’s name.

As they approached the stables at the top of the hill, she spoke. “Will I be allowed the use of a horse?”

“Aye. Despite what ye believe, ye arenae a prisoner here. I will provide ye with yer own.”

“There is nae need. I will only use one occasionally. I dinnae mind sharing.”

He felt his brow quirk. Who only wanted to borrow a horse? How could a person rely on a steed or it have faith in you without a bond formed by familiarity?

Once they reached the stables, he had his horse and one belonging to his cousin, Skye, brought around. The lass had moved back to Cameron lands, and her mount needed some attention; maybe the mare and Isobel would suit until he could find her a horse of her own.

As they trotted down the tree-lined path to the village, he wondered how he would feel about his wife if he’d not come upon her on that fateful day and didn’t know about her association with the Resistance.

“Why do ye fight?”

“How can I no’ when my family will be forced to accept the Covenanters’ wishes?” Her flippant response disturbed him.

“There are other men to fight this battle. What if we can win the war with peace?”

“And do ye believe that can happen?” she scoffed.

“There is a chance.”

She laughed and anger crept in, but he tamped it down. Sun peeked through the thick foliage canopy and lit her light brown hair, almost giving it a golden glow.

“We must always choose peace if we have the option.” He had men to protect and throwing them into battle without proper thought was reckless.

She mumbled something under her breath as she stared straight ahead.

“What?”

“Then ye are a fool,” she repeated, turning cold and distant as her chin tilted up defiantly.

Fury roared in his chest. Did Isobel have no sense of self-preservation? Clenching his fists, he counted as he worked to control his breathing. “Dinnae ever call me that again, wife,” he ordered, his voice booming and echoing through the trees and dense shrubbery they rode past.

She didn’t apologize, but she did nod. Maybe Isobel possessed some intellect, and perhaps he even witnessed a little bit of remorse creep into her eyes.

He wouldn’t believe she was right. He couldn’t afford to let go of hope, but how was he to broker peace in a nation divided when he couldn’t even find harmony with his wife?

“Yer hair has fallen down again.” Damn if she didn’t look like one of the fae come to Earth to wreak havoc on a man’s desires. He fought the urge to extend his arm and twirl the tresses between his fingers to test its softness.

Shrugging, she smiled.

“A maid would help ye keep it in place.” And possibly keep his mind from straying toward reaching out to touch her.

“A maid would poke me with pins and cause my head to hurt,” her voice clipped.

“Is there nae subject we can talk about without arguing?”

“The weather,” she said as they reached the edge of the village.

Maybe she would be onto something if the weather weren’t so boring to talk about. He tried anyway. “What is yer perfect day, then?”

“I love storms. Not just a rain, but the kind that crashes around ye and makes ye aware of every second and that ye are alive.” Her voice lightened.

Of course she would. “And what is wrong with a beautiful sunny day like we have now?” He breathed in the fresh air and glanced toward the nearly cloudless blue sky before guiding them to a post where they could secure the horses.

“It fools ye into believing that everything is right with the world, and that men can be trusted.”

He dismounted and, without thinking, stepped over and took her by the waist to help her down. Her skirts brushed against him and he caught her exotic sent. He wanted to breathe it in until he knew it, until he could put a name to the fragrance of Isobel. He pulled her nearer than intended, her body so close to his that he could feel her warmth.

As he set his wife on her feet they both froze. They stood locked together, face to face, her warm gaze calling to him. His fingers still clutched her trim middle. They tingled. And he wanted to kiss her. Swallowing, he dropped his arms and put some distance between them.

Then he remembered her words. “How do ye no’ have any belief that some men can be good?” he questioned.

“They aren’t.” She shook her head.

“’Tis foolish to judge a man before ye ken him.” He turned to tether their mounts and she started walking.

“I thought ye wanted to stop arguing,” she said when he came up beside her.

Isobel tilted her head away. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so harsh, but what had irritated him was that they couldn’t even agree on the weather and she had no faith in men. Rain had its merits, but storms always reminded Grant of the day his uncle died. His father’s youngest brother had only been three years older than Grant and they’d grown up as if they had been siblings. And if the man had had more faith in others and not rushed into battle, he might still be alive.

After hours of exploring the village and introducing his bride to his people, they settled in at one of the taverns for an afternoon meal.

After the server brought them trenchers filled with roasted meat, potatoes, and sugared carrots, he asked, “What will ye miss most about yer home?”

Isobel remained silent, but he could see her turning the question over in her head. He expected her to come back with something like her best friend or her brothers or her bed, but she surprised him and maybe herself as well when she replied, “I dinnae ken.”

“Is there nothing?”

“What would ye miss if ye were pawned off by yer family to another?” Bitterness entered her tone.

“’Tis easy. My family, my horse, the mist, and the salty smell of the air on the water that protects us from enemies.”

She perked up and smiled. “My sword and my daggers. That is what I miss.”

Shaking his head, he remembered the disarmingly bonny lass in front of him was actually the fierce battle-hardened warrior he’d first met with blood on her blade. If she hadn’t been there. He pushed the image from his head and took a bite of the potatoes, concentrating on the buttery taste and forcing his thoughts somewhere else. He wanted to find common ground with his wife, but he didn’t know where to start.

Isobel looked dejected after working so hard for an answer, but it had soured his mood and quite possibly was the worst thing she could have said. They ate the rest of the meal in silence, then he stood. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Strolling over to the tavern owner he’d known his whole life, he pulled the man aside. “Did I hear one of yer daughters is qualified to be a lady’s maid?”

“Aye. Annis has had some training.”

“My wife needs a maid. Would she be interested?” He spared a glance back to the table to assure himself Isobel couldn’t hear him and that she hadn’t fled.

“Aye, she would.” The man’s head bobbed and a large smile presented itself.

“Then send her to Cairntay to start tomorrow.”

“Will yer wife no’ want to meet her first?” The man seemed confused.

“Nae, she needs someone now, and I know she’ll love Annis.” Grant smiled back at the tavern keeper.

“She will be there tomorrow early, then.”

Pleased, he returned to the table to collect Isobel. After they gathered the horses, they headed back toward Cairntay. About halfway there, his wife stopped and he turned to see she was climbing from the mare’s back. What was the crazy lass doing now?

He dismounted while she was tying off the horse to a nearby tree. Once it was secured to the solid, low-hanging branch of an oak, she tiptoed toward the small, fast-flowing creek that filled the air with sounds of soft running water and ran parallel to the path. Following her gaze, he noticed a small roughhewn bag lying haphazardly on the bank as if someone had attempted to toss it in the water. It was secured at one end with a length of rope.

A little squeal came from the bag, then another. Isobel rushed straight for the bag as if her life depended on it. After untying the rope, his wife opened the bag, and a tiny gray-and-white head with ears that flopped down and big rounded eyes popped up.

She sank to the ground, pulling the bag and creature closer to her, heedless of the dirt. The wee creature clawed the rest of the way out of the bag, climbing into his wife’s lap and rubbing its head against her hand as it complained loudly.

“Who would do such a thing?” she said to herself more than to him.

Moving closer, he glanced down at the small cat making itself at home in Isobel’s skirts. “It appears to like ye.” Trusting little creature, he thought, but then let his gaze rise to his wife’s, which was fixated on the wee little thing with kindness.

She glanced up at him and he could see her eyes had grown wide. She shook her head. “Nae, it cannae. We will find it a home.” Isobel stroked the kitten’s cheek and then its back. “How could someone toss a defenseless animal into the water?” He heard compassion in Isobel’s voice and leaned in closer, almost wanting to be near her. Almost wanting her to feel that way about him.

“I find it hard to understand others, sometimes. The creature is lucky the person missed the water and also fortunate ye found it.”

“What do we do with it?” After scooping it into her hands, she held the kitten up and pushed it toward him, but he didn’t move to claim it.

“’Tis up to ye. I think it wants to stay with ye.”

“I cannae care for a pet.” Was that panic in her typically fearless gaze? She pulled the wee thing back into her lap, but looked away from it.

“Why?”

Her mouth fell open but she didn’t answer. Then he remembered what Isobel’s brother, Ross, had said about her pushing people away. Perhaps the creature would be good for her.

The kitten crawled over her hand and climbed up her gown to snuggle into Isobel’s neck. The bewildered expression on her face softened her somehow, made her look vulnerable and reachable, like a lost child.

Could it be that his wife actually had a nurturing side?