Chapter Twelve
By midday, Isobel was tired of the pounding rain, and poor Annis had barely spoken a word. The lass probably didn’t have much experience being out in the elements. She could handle it, but a coldness had crept in as soon as she’d seen Grant staring at her like she were a ghost or like he could see through her.
It had been unnerving, and since then he’d put distance between them, not even wishing to help her when they’d mounted their horses again. The man she’d only met this morning, Owen, whose twin, Ian, also rode with them, helped Annis onto her horse.
Sometime in the afternoon, the rain gave them a short break and they huddled around a small area that had been used as a campsite by previous travelers. She sat on a log, stuffing bread and cheese into her mouth, and wished it had been dry enough to start a fire. She shivered and when she glanced up, it was to find Grant watching her. She gave him a weak smile. She was certain she looked like a drowned rat, and her husband would never want her affections again if he was put off by her appearance.
Och, she didn’t know why she cared.
Once they finished up, she walked back to her horse. Really, she shouldn’t think of the animal that way. It was the same horse she’d ridden into the village the other day, but it belonged to Grant’s cousin, not her. And it was better that way, even if the horse neighed and looked at her with big eyes that reminded her of the chocolate she drank as a child on special occasions back home.
She turned away from the beguiling eyes to find her husband beside her, ready to lift her. She smiled and let him, pulling her skirts up so as to ride easier.
Grant stiffened, then his hands were on the bottom of her gown, inching it up to see the knife she had fastened to her thigh. “What the hell do ye think ye are doing?”
“Protection.” She leaned down and hissed at him. She didn’t want the attention from the others his outburst had generated. The rest of their party was now watching them, although they studiously pretended not to.
“Ye willnae be needing this. Ye have us to protect ye.” His fingers deftly untied the cord she’d used to secure the dirk she’d found on her search in the kitchen.
At first she felt anger, but the rain started again, pelting her, and a bone-deep resignation and sadness washed over her. How was she to guard Annis if she didn’t have a weapon? She couldn’t count on the men to be there.
No one had been there when she needed help.
Her eyes blurred but instead of letting a tear escape and show her weakness, she turned her head as the weight of the weapon slid away. It was replaced by a warm weight on her shoulders as Grant covered her with a dry plaid.
The rain continued the rest of the afternoon, although the pace was slower. It had done its damage to their progress and by the time they found an inn for the night, Annis was ready to fall over with fatigue.
They ate a quick meal in the common area then went above stairs. Grant had secured three rooms, one for Ian, Owen, and Boyd, another for Annis, and the last for himself and her. As soon as the door was shut and bolted, he pulled the laces from her gown and peeled it from her body. He laid it across a chair to dry then removed her shift. She would shiver under his intense gaze, but she actually felt warmer with the wet garments off.
After kicking off her shoes and removing her stockings, she hung them and found Grant was naked, too. He backed her to the bed and they were joined and panting before she knew it.
The next morning, sun shone through the window like the storm from yesterday was a distant memory. When she scooted toward the edge of the bed to rise and retrieve her clothing, Grant drew her back to his hard body and wordlessly took her again. A closeness in his gaze she hadn’t seen before pulled her under, intensifying the feelings and odd emotions swirling in her chest as she fell to pieces beneath him.
When he collapsed to the side of her, he traced his fingers along her curves. She blushed then reached to draw the blankets up and hide from his study of her body.
“What are ye doing?” Grant took her hand in his. She let go of the covers and he reached to lay her arm over her head, which pushed her breast up for his viewing.
She tried to pull it back down, but he held it there, gentle but determined. She called on her reserves, the strength that allowed her to not care what others thought, but, exposed to him as she was, it didn’t work well, She hated she could feel the warmth creeping up her neck and her face redden. “I look like a boy.”
“Why would ye think that?”
“I’ve always looked like a boy.”
Grant’s brows knit together. “Ye look nothing like a lad. Is that why ye dress up in men’s clothes and fight?”
She tried to turn her face, because the question was not far from the mark and reminded her of that day. The one she wanted to forget. The day she hadn’t fought hard enough and had let her world crash around her.
“Nae. ’Tis just what I’ve been told.”
“Well, whoever told ye that is blind. Ye are quite bonny. Even dressed as a boy, ’tis no way ye can hide yer lovely face.”
She froze. What was he talking about?
“And these.” He trailed kisses across her breasts. His head rose and he gazed at her with blue eyes that made her want to fall into them. “Ye are bonny and dinnae let anyone tell ye different.” He planted a quick kiss on her lips then rose and started to dress.
As she pulled on her still damp clothes, she couldn’t help but think maybe he didn’t hate her. Her heart did this weird flutter, because things never worked out for her—people who cared for her got hurt and left.
The next week continued on in the same way, with them barely having time to speak during the day then coming together at night. But now, she avoided talking, deciding she needed to examine her feelings, because she was developing a fondness for her husband. It might be time to put some distance between them before he had the chance to make her care.
It had been easier to argue with him than to have conversations.
He didn’t seem to mind, because he made her body feel like she was a woman each evening and the next day left her to Annis’s company while he conversed with his men. But he always kept a watchful eye on her and the maid, and his smile seemed to be given more freely now.
As they traveled, her maid regaled her with tales of growing up on the Isle of Skye and of the MacDonald clan, even some involving her husband as a mischievous, carefree boy. What had happened to him? He always seemed so serious she couldn’t imagine he’d ever done anything without a purpose.
As they neared Edinburgh, she spied a familiar tree laid across the side of the road rotting, and she stopped to examine it. The scar on her shoulder where she’d been sliced by Torsten Campbell’s blade burned, and she remembered this was the spot of that skirmish. She tried to recall what had happened to Tomas MacPherson, but the memories remained elusive. She was certain she’d never seen the man.
It was evident Grant knew where they were as well. He stared down at a wooden cross that had been planted on the opposite side of the road. When he looked at her, the sadness in his gaze turned to resentment. Even from several yards away, she could see him shaking and feel rage and despair radiating from him.
Grant turned and trotted off without a word or a backward glance. He was back to his brooding, and he appeared to put distance between them again. Good, because that felt more normal than the flutter in her chest that ached because he blamed her for his loss.
When they stopped for the evening, it was to find the inn only had two rooms available. She would stay with Annis and Grant with the other men, which was fine by her. As she stretched out in one of the two small beds in the room, she fought the emptiness that tried to envelop her. She was becoming accustomed to sleeping near her husband, and that wouldn’t do.
Grant brooded the next morning over a quiet breakfast, and she didn’t mind. His disgust with her meant there was a chance he’d let her leave, which was exactly what she intended to do. She was not wife or mother material, and she had no desire to examine why the thought of him hating her made her chest feel heavy.
…
Grant hadn’t slept. He had almost thrown his arm over Boyd during the night, thinking the man was Isobel. He’d spent the rest of the evening stewing over how comfortable it had become to have her next to him and how he missed it after only one night apart. It was only because his body had become accustomed to spilling his seed inside her each night, he was certain of it.
He’d kept his distance during the day, but as they approached the city, he found himself falling back next to Isobel’s side. He would need to keep a close eye on the faces of strangers in Edinburgh to make sure no one recognized her and an even keener one on her to ensure she didn’t jeopardize her safety or that of their group.
“’Tis bonny.” His wife appraised Edinburgh Castle sitting high atop a hill with cliffs dropping from three sides. One roadway led to the proud, foreboding gate, barring any enemy who dared consider breaching its formidable walls.
“Aye, that it is. Have ye been here before?”
“Nae.” Isobel’s gaze darted around the city. “We had planned to come for the meeting, but once I was injured on the way here, Alex sent me home.”
He hadn’t made it to Edinburgh, either—he’d been helping to deliver his friend’s body back to MacPherson land. But he’d been here other times and knew the area well.
His hands tightened around the reins, but instead of his thoughts turning to his friend’s death, it was the unfamiliar name on his wife’s lips that sparked a burning in his chest. It felt similar to the anger he’d felt when his father had praised his cousin for besting him in a sparring match.
“Who’s Alex?”
She said nothing.
“Is this the man with the Resistance who looked after ye?”
“Aye.”
“Does he have feelings for ye, then?” The sun beat on him, and he could feel his brow heating. She’d told him no before, but she’d held back from him. He needed to be certain.
“Nae. Nothing beyond a familial concern.”
How could a man look on Isobel and not want her? “Ye are to stay away from him.” The order came out clipped, and he chided himself for not clarifying she was safer staying away from the man. And Alex would really be the one in harm’s way if Grant caught him anywhere near his wife.
“Ye willnae tell me who I can speak to,” she snapped.
“Ye have already caused enough trouble. If I catch ye with anyone from that group, ye will find yerself locked away at Cairntay.”
Isobel’s eyes flashed with defiance. “I willnae be caged like an animal.”
“I cannae let ye bring war to our clan.”
But that wasn’t really what worried him, because the MacDonalds were a fierce lot and if Argyll came to their shores, they would be able to defend themselves, especially with their allies, the Cameron clan, to the south. It was more the twist in his gut at the thought of waking without her.
It must be the fear of losing another wife. He had to prove he could keep this one safe. That was it. It had nothing to do with Isobel herself.
Isobel looked over to her maid and stilled, except for a slight nod of the head. Slowly, she turned her gaze back to him. “I willnae put anyone in danger.”
He nodded then pulled up to the front of the group, satisfied that his wife would behave. But even if she didn’t, he’d worked out a schedule with the men to keep an eye on her. Her innocent eyes didn’t fool him for an instant.
Turning his attention back to their surroundings, Grant admired the strength surrounding the castle on the hill. But as they trotted down the busy streets with the sun setting in the distance, he studied the faces of those they passed to see if anyone recognized his wife. None did.
He led the group to find an inn near Greyfriars Kirk, the place where he would present his case to the Scottish Parliament. As the crowds dispersed, he came to an inn called the Drowsy Duckling, where they secured three rooms. He left his wife in one and Annis in another, instructing the lasses to bolt the doors behind him. He met the MacDonald men in the common area.
“Ye will all have a watch on the lasses when I leave for the Kirk in the morning. I’m no’ sure when they’ll be listening to me and the other clansmen, so we may be here a few days.”
“We’ll no’ let them out of our sights.” Boyd raised a glass then pulled it to his lips.
“What are we supposed to do with them? I dinnae think yer wife is going to be pleased with being kept in her room.”
“Take them shopping.” A collective groan emerged from the group. She’d probably hate it as much as the men, but a fashionable lady was the best cover Isobel could hope to have. “But ye’ll have to make sure no one recognizes Isobel. And if they do, ye get her and Annis to safety straight away.”
“Where should we take them?”
“If something happens and we get separated, we’ll meet back up at the inn at that village we passed just before getting to Edinburgh. Another thing, watch Isobel closely and make sure she doesnae find a weapon. I dinnae want her causing trouble.”
After excusing himself, he made his way to the other side of the room to secure some writing instruments from the innkeeper then closed himself in the man’s study. He penned a letter to Torsten Campbell, hoping to be able to make his point without anyone else understanding the missive.
The letter folded and sealed, he tucked it away and went above stairs to dine with his wife. As he rounded the corner into the hall, he found Isobel pacing the corridor.
“What are ye doing out here?” He scanned the space and relaxed when he saw they were alone.
“I dinnae like her being in there without a guard.”
“Who?”
“Annis. Who else?” Her gaze darted back to the door.
“Did she lock the door behind her?”
“Aye, but I still dinnae think ’tis safe in such a place.”
“She will be fine. If ye like, I’ll have the men take turns keeping watch on all the doors.” He’d been rolling the idea over in his mind anyway.
Isobel sighed, but didn’t budge. “Well, do ye want to go get someone or should I?”
“I’ll be right back.” He returned shortly with Ian in tow.
“I can take a shift, too.” Isobel wrung her hands.
“Ye will do nae such thing.”
“But I can keep everyone safe.”
“I’m certain ye can, but if ye’ve been spotted and a group comes for ye, I’ll no’ have ye waiting outside alone for them to cart ye off.” He turned as footfalls sounded on the steps.
After grabbing hold of her arm, he steered Isobel to their room and opened the door, just as a lass crested the steps with a tray filled with roasted meats and vegetables along with bread and cheese. Stomach growling, he held the door open for the tavern maid to follow Isobel into the room.
Isobel glanced at the tray then looked at him.
“I’ve had some sent to Annis, too.”
She smiled at him, the first one he’d seen in a couple of days.
Once the serving lass had left, he closed the door and bolted it, turning just in time to see his wife attempt to swipe a dirk from the tray. “Put it back.”
“Surely ye willnae leave me defenseless while ye are at the Kirk?”
“Nae. Ye will have my men with ye. No need to draw attention to yerself. Ye have to look like a meek lady who would never consider touching such a weapon.”
“I dinnae like being dependent on men for my safety or anyone else’s.”
“’Tis just for a couple days, then we’ll be headed back to Skye.”
Placing the dirk back on the table, she sat and picked up a plate. He took the seat next to her and slid the knives from her reach.
After eating then retiring for the night, Isobel opened to him and when he entered her, she clung to him and matched every move he made. It was amazing how she’d come to trust him and give of herself so freely.
Lying sated next to her, a strange bliss assailed his senses and he fell asleep with hope that if he could tame his savage wife and he could help make peace in the Highlands.