Kerr turned his head to watch Isobel retreat from the great room and down the passageway toward the kitchens. From there, he suspected she’d exit into the bailey and continue setting her trap for Gavin. He longed to go after her, but he knew she needed time to stew, time to regain what he and his brothers had taken from her.
He understood why the men didn’t want to talk about the battle. They’d lived through it, and war was never what the poets and bards made it out to be. It was bloody and desperate. Horrific. Until you’d been in battle, seen men being cut down around you, crying and writhing in the dirt, you could never understand it. The sounds of war stayed with you. The smell of it.
When she was no longer in sight, he turned his gaze back to his foster family.
Callum caught his eye. “You’ll do yourself no favors, keeping things from her.”
A wave of irritation shot through him. “You doona have to tell me that. I’m well aware of what Isobel wants, of how she thinks and feels. Besides, I doona need advice from a man whose wife climbs out of windows to escape his nagging.” Snorts and chuckles exploded around the table.
When the amusement died down, Darach said, “’Twas not the time or place to talk about death and destruction. We’re all tired and in no mood to revisit the battlefield.”
“Aye, but it doesn’t lessen the denial she felt, the rejection,” Kerr said. “She wants to know everything—needs to know.”
“Queen Isobel,” Gregor said. “She’ll rule where’er she goes—and not by dumping sour milk on people’s heads. Are you prepared for that?” he asked Kerr.
“I look forward to it.”
The men nodded in approval.
“Verily, she’s much too good for you,” Lachlan said.
Kerr chuffed out a laugh. “Aye, that’s the honest truth. The first you’ve told in ages.”
“’Twas a lesson I had to learn with Maggie,” Callum said. “I almost lost her because I told her only what I thought she should know, trying to keep her safe and separate from my clan’s troubles, when together we could have solved the problem sooner. ’Tis not for me to decide what is or isna appropriate for her to hear. Or what she can or canna do.”
“’Twill be the same with me and Isobel.”
“Only once you’re married,” Gregor cautioned. “You doona know for sure she’ll have you, and if she marries someone else, her loyalty will be to her husband and not to you.”
Outwardly, Kerr stilled, and he pinned Gregor with a lethal gaze for daring to suggest Isobel might marry someone else. Inside, however, the blood raged through his veins, and his deadly warrior rose, yelling and beating his chest. He wanted to fight the man he considered a father—fight them all.
“Isobel will not marry someone else.” Even his voice sounded different. Deeper and harder. Unforgiving.
“Good. Then tell her only that which does not compromise the safety of your allies. The rest can wait until after you’ve married her…ye wee ablach.”
Laughter burst out again, and the tension eased. Kerr sighed, and that part of him—his dark Celt—retreated with a growl. He rubbed his palm over the back of his neck, still considering slicing off some of Gregor’s whiskers for daring to suggest Isobel wouldn’t marry him.
And if she doesn’t?
With a grunt, he shoved the thought aside, and then dug into his meal. By the time he finished eating, she wouldn’t be so angry—although the feeling might lurk beneath the surface…as it had for years.
Is that why she fights our union? Is there something unresolved between us?
The question stuck with him, and he frowned. “How did you convince Maggie to forgive you?” he asked Callum. “I know about the marksmanship contest between the two of you, but surely there was more to it than that?”
“You mean for not coming back for her when I said I would?” Callum asked.
“Aye.”
“Well, to start, I apologized. And I asked for forgiveness. Then it was a matter of time, of rebuilding our bond and earning her trust again. ’Twas good we were on our journey o’er the mountains, so we could spend our days together and work things out.” He cocked a brow at Kerr. “Why? Have you done something to Isobel?”
“I doona know, exactly, but…something is between us. Something I’ve said or done. Or not said or done. I doona know if she’s even aware of it.”
“She’s a complicated woman,” Darach said.
“Meant for an uncomplicated man,” Lachlan added, and he wasn’t teasing this time. Kerr’s needs were simple, and his thoughts were direct. Aye, a simple, deadly man.
He looked back in the direction Isobel had disappeared. “A second truth from you today, Brother.” Rising from the bench, he stepped over it. “I think ’tis time I figured it out.”
“Can I come with you, Uncle Kerr?” Ewan asked.
“Nay, lad. I’m going with your aunt Isobel—where’er it is she’s going. On a merry chase, no doubt.”
The men laughed and wished him luck as he walked across the Great Hall, the rushes on the floor crunching beneath his boots. The central area was busier now as more of Gavin’s men streamed in for the midday meal, and numerous servers darted around them. Once he reached the opposite end of the cavernous room, he entered the passageway into which he’d seen Isobel disappear.
He bypassed the kitchens and headed for the door to the bailey. After pushing it open, he stepped into a warm September day and waited for his eyes to adjust to the bright light.
His gaze found Isobel immediately, standing near the stables, her back to him, directing some of the groomsmen in their work. They’d attached a covered cart behind a pony whose reins were tied to Isobel’s horse’s saddle.
She was planning something—a trap for Gavin most likely, and a pang of envy shot through him.
Aye, he wanted Isobel to set a trap for him. He wanted her thoughts turned to him like his were turned to her, even if it was to devise some way to cause him discomfort and embarrassment. And to take him down a notch.
The embarrassment would come from being blind to her trap—chagrin that she had beaten him. But also pride that she’d done so. And amusement. And his brothers’ and Gregor’s amusement too. Those donkeys would like nothing better than to see him doused in honey and running from an ornery bear.
He approached her, keeping his hands loose by his sides when he wanted to slip them around her waist like Gregor had done. And if he could hold her close and swing her around like he had before, even better. Although Callum wasn’t here to punch his shoulder, causing him enough pain to overcome his body’s natural response to her nearness.
“Where are you off to?” he asked when he reached her side.
She stiffened but did not look at him. “’Tis not your business.”
He shrugged and whistled. A groomsman came running. “Prepare Diabhla. I’ll be going with Lady Isobel.” He didn’t say where, as he didn’t know yet, but he presumed out into the woods somewhere. He glanced around and saw her guard, standing back as they always did and sworn to secrecy. He nodded at them, and the one in charge, Lyle, with hard eyes and a battle-scarred face, nodded back. He would die before Isobel was harmed.
As would Kerr.
Gavin had chosen the guard well, vetted by Isobel, of course, and whittled down by her to as few men as Gavin would allow. Kerr would have chosen more, especially with the threat of the conspirators against them, but Isobel was a tough negotiator.
Another way she’d be helpful to him and his clan when she married him.
“Suit yourself,” she said. “But doona stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong. No matter how helpful you think you’re being.”
“I’m nothing if not helpful, sweetling.”
She made a dismissive sound, and he smiled. He stepped closer to the cart but didn’t need to look beneath the tarp to know what was under it. He could smell it.
Manure.
His darling Isobel was going all out to teach her brother a lesson. He hoped Gavin was enjoying himself with his wife, because he was in for a big stink of a surprise if Isobel was successful.
“Have you thought about what will happen if Deirdre is with Gavin? Or Ewan?” he asked.
Her nostrils flared as she inhaled sharply. In irritation, no doubt. “They willna be, not that it’s any of your business.”
“Aye, you said that before.”
She moved to her horse after the groom finished tying down the corner of the tarp. Kerr stepped forward to help her up, but she shot him a look, and he backed off. “How can you be sure they willna be with him?”
She huffed in exasperation and rolled her eyes. “I’m not an amateur, Kerr. If I say they willna be there when the trap is sprung, then that’s how it will be.” In a smooth movement, she put her foot in the stirrup, pulled herself into her saddle, and then urged her horse forward. The smaller horse, more a pony, really, was tugged along behind them, and the cart rolled into motion.
Kerr looked back to see Diabhla being led from the stable. He whistled, and the stallion leapt toward him, leaving the groom with empty hands and a startled look on his face. Kerr sprung onto his back without the horse even slowing, and they soon caught up to Isobel as she approached the portcullis.
Again, she didn’t look at him, but this time instead of her body stiffening, her shoulders relaxed.
So she wants me to follow her. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, he couldn’t decide. Either way, it made him happy, and a grin stretched across his face. “Lead on, my queen. I shall follow you anywhere!”
“I’m not a queen.” Her tone was dismissive—or tried to be—but he could hear the hint of excitement beneath her words.
What was she up to?
“Aye, you are. Queen of my heart,” he said it with the exuberance of a lovesick fool, and when her cheek twitched like she was trying not to laugh, he almost punched the air in triumph.
She pinned a frown in place, still refusing to look at him, and pursed her lips. “Are you my subject, then?”
“Depends. Do you want to subjugate me?” He dropped his voice an octave as he said subjugate, so the word rasped from his chest. The question sounded dark and forbidden…like temptation.
She jerked her head toward him—finally—her eyes wide with disbelief. A flush rose up her cheeks, and he could practically see her mind whirring, wondering what he’d meant exactly, or if she’d misheard him. For all of his and Isobel’s verbal sparring over the years, they’d never spoken about carnal things—about how it might be between them.
Maybe he should change that.
She bit her lip, an unconscious gesture, he was sure, and then looked forward again. “Nay, I want to dunk you in that cart full of manure behind me.”
He snorted. “I think I’d prefer subjugation.”
“I’m sure you would, but we doona always get what we want.”
“Ah, sweet Isobel. That’s where you’re wrong. You may be my queen, but someday soon, I hope, I’ll be your king. And I’ll subjugate you too.”
***
Isobel pressed her lips together before she made some sort of embarrassing sound—a high-pitched squeak or, God forbid, a witless giggle. Her mare tossed her head, reacting to her tightened grip on the reins and the tension in her legs. She tried to inhale slowly, deeply, to calm herself without alerting Kerr to the fact that she was doing so, but it was almost impossible because of the way her heart raced.
He would hear her, see the tiny changes in her body, and know he’d affected her—no matter how much she’d try to pretend otherwise.
What had he meant? Subjugation. Was that…some kind of physical intimacy she’d never heard of? Aye, she was still a maid, but she’d been privy to many bawdy conversations amongst the castle folk and the warriors—without their knowledge, of course.
She hadn’t imagined Kerr’s tone, the look he gave her. Then again, he could have been playing games with her—confusing her on purpose.
She could ask him his meaning, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
Besides, she should be happy. He was doing exactly as she wanted, following her toward the trap she’d set for him, while believing it was a trap for Gavin. Instead, a confusing mix of emotions careened inside her—uncertainty and nervousness, indignation and irritation. All swamped by an overwhelming yearning for…for what?
For him?
Nay, that couldn’t be right. His talk of subjugation, and his raspy tone of voice, had simply brought to mind the intimacy of her dream this morning—and how she’d woken up with an ache in her body she hadn’t assuaged.
And it wasn’t the first dream, either. She had one recurring dream of him holding her down while he—
Nay! Kerr in real life is my nemesis, not king to my queen.
She huffed out a frustrated breath, unable to contain it any longer.
“Just ask me,” he said with a hint of laughter.
“Ask you what? Surely, your mind is addled.” She glanced at him sideways, then wished that she hadn’t, as the sight of him on his horse, so big and brawny beside her, a devilish grin on his face, made her cheeks heat up…again.
“If you wait much longer, your head may burst. ’Tis too much fire to hold in, dearling. Havenae you been to the blacksmiths? Verily, so much heat and pressure will lead to an explosion. What am I to tell poor Gavin and Deirdre?”
She gave him an icy smile and turned away. He wanted to rile her and ’twas hard not to give in. Maybe she should start yelling at him. That always made her feel better, in control, especially if he yelled back. Their argumentative back and forth was a dynamic she was used to—one she excelled at—not this talking about sexual deeds she didn’t understand…but wanted to.
What did he mean?
“You want to know,” he said, almost mimicking her thoughts. “Your curiosity is boundless.”
When she bit her tongue instead of answering, he shrugged and looked forward. “Or you can play it safe and skip over all those unsettling feelings that are making your pulse quicken and your mind fluster like a—”
“I am not flustered!”
“Then ask me a question…anything. About the battle, about war in general, about what I supped on last night. Rabbit, by the way, roasted over the fire.”
She squeezed her lips together again before she blurted out something else she’d regret. Or worse yet—laughed. She did not want to go back to talking about subjugation—at least not with him. But she did want to know about the battle. And the conspiracy. And about his childhood, and his father, and how Kerr had killed him.
She’d wanted to know those details for years. He was right; she had an insatiable desire to know everything.
“Was it good?” she asked.
“My dinner? Aye, it was verra good. Gregor always brings along some of his special spice to put on it. The flavor bursts in your mouth.”
The talk of spiced rabbit only reminded her that she hadn’t eaten much of her midday meal and she already felt a twinge of hunger. She ignored it and turned her horse away from the castle in the opposite direction of the village.
“You asked earlier about the battle,” he said. “We weren’t trying to exclude you. But…”
“But what?” she prompted.
“We killed men, Isobel. Young men who had wee sisters who adored them and mothers and fathers praying for their return. Older men with lads and lassies at home and wives who couldnae feed them on their own. Even if you manage a quick kill, their deaths stay with you. As they should. We do what we can afterward to help the innocent victims, but it’s ne’er enough.”
“I’m sorry. I know that, of course, but…”
“But you want to know about the strategy we used. How we outsmarted them. Our triumphs, our mistakes. The broad strokes. I’ll tell you, but understand that for you, it’s an intellectual exercise…for the men who fought—including Gregor and my brothers—it’s a horrific reality.”
Guilt swamped her. “Forgive me. You doona have to say anything. I shouldnae have asked.”
“Nay, I want to. My brothers go home to their wives and perhaps share the details that bother them most. I’ll tell you what I can. Maybe it will ease my mind too.”
She looked down and squeezed her hands around the reins. Why, if she knew it hurt him to tell the tale, did she want to know? Why couldn’t she be more like Deirdre and be happy raising her bairns, loving her husband, and helping her clan?
She was certain Deirdre had never been struck with the burning desire to see justice done over what some may consider small slights within the clan—a scorned woman, a bullied man, a child made to feel like an outcast.
“I feel…incomplete without the knowledge,” she said hesitantly, trying to make him understand, to make herself understand. “Like I’m missing pieces of the picture. I doona need all the details, but I do need to know. Even in broad strokes, like you say—the order of events, why you made the decisions you did, how you executed your plan.”
Kerr didn’t answer immediately, and she found herself holding her breath. When he nodded, she let it out quietly. They were almost at the forest’s edge and that would give them another ten minutes to talk before they reached the trap site.
“The MacIntyres knew we were coming, of course,” he began. “The village had been abandoned, and everyone was walled up within the castle, which is set up much the same as Castle MacKinnon—no moat, no mound that it was built upon, but tall, strong walls, and set within cleared land so they could see us coming.”
“Why did they fight, when their laird was already dead from the attack on us last spring?” she asked.
“He’d left someone in charge of the castle. It was that man’s decision.”
“Did you parlay with them first? How did you approach the castle without being stuck with arrows, like Lachlan said?”
“We tried to parlay, but they refused. We set up just out of range—surrounded the castle—and waited.”
“For what?”
“For our men inside—our spies—to aid us in taking the castle, mostly. But we also hoped that seeing our greater number would weaken their resolve, and they would surrender before lives were lost.”
When he didn’t elaborate, she raised her brow. His answers so far only made her want to know more.
He continued. “The night before we attacked, some of our men approached the wall by crawling across the open field unseen. They were hidden at the base of the curtain wall when the assault began. Inside, our spies had created a diversion by starting a fire that raged quickly in the tannery. MacIntyre men had to be diverted from manning the walls to put out the fire. Before that, a small group of us had entered through a hidden door into the castle, let in by the steward, who sided with us. Once inside, we waited for the fire to start, and then split our forces. Half of us headed to the portcullis to open the gates for our approaching army, led by Gregor, who charged the wall on horseback. The other half searched for the MacIntyre leaders to take them out.”
“And it worked?” she asked, her breath held tight in her throat.
He nodded. “We took the castle in less than an hour and were able to put out the fire with only minimal damage to the other buildings. We started rebuilding the tannery, with the help of the MacIntyre tanner, the next afternoon.”
“What group were you with?” she asked.
“I snuck through the passageway and then fought to open the portcullis.”
“And Gavin?”
“He killed the man who was leading the MacIntyre defense.”
The breath gushed from her lungs on a sharp exhale. Suddenly the battle didn’t seem so exciting. This was what Kerr had meant—the intellectual experience of the battle versus the reality of war.
“Did he try to surrender?” she asked.
“Of course not. Gavin would ne’er have killed him if he had. The man was a good fighter, defending his home—doing what he was charged to do. His mistake was in failing to take into account that his people came first. His laird was dead. He was their leader now. He should have negotiated a surrender.”
She nodded, still deflated. “Your reputation for fairness and justice should have swayed him.”
“That was our hope.”
The trail they’d been following narrowed, and Kerr moved closer, his leg brushing hers. A tree branch protruded into her path at eye level, and before she could push it out of her way, he reached across and snapped it off, his massive, muscular body looming over her. He then tossed the offending branch to the ground and sat back in his saddle.
As much as she denied it, a melting sensation invaded her muscles. It was the same feeling she’d felt when he’d swirled her around and her head had tucked up so perfectly beneath his chin.
She’d turned soft then too—and hated herself for it.
Or maybe she hated being perceived as soft—as weak and ineffective. Wasn’t it the same thing? Maybe not. Deirdre was soft, but she wasn’t weak or ineffective.
Gah! It was too much for her to figure out right now. Especially with Kerr riding so close.
Up ahead, a glade appeared, and Isobel brought her attention back to the task at hand. She reined in her mount at the end of the trail and surveyed her handiwork, trying not to let her eyes rest anywhere that might give the trap away. Kerr stopped beside her and also perused the glade.
She held her breath and wondered what he saw.
She’d marked the edges of the pit with a fallen twig on one side and an overturned stump on the other. To her eyes, it looked natural. She’d carefully chosen the spot to dig and then spent a full day shoveling manure into the hole and weaving the long grass, leaves, and twigs to go over top. The moment he stepped on it, Kerr would fall through.
High up in the tree branches on the other side, she’d rigged a second trap that was a decoy. That was the trap she wanted Kerr to see, to focus on. She’d also laid a trip wire near the stump that would release the trap up in the tree and send “manure” raining down on him. Of course, there wasn’t really any manure up in the tree, only dirt, so the cloth bag, covered in leaves, had the proper weight to it.
She wanted Kerr to see the trip wire and walk across the glade to investigate it, telling her the entire time that she needed his help, that Gavin would see the trap like he had.
Right up until he stepped into the pit of manure.
A perfect plan…that she now felt reluctant to set in motion. He’d been so open with her, shared the emotional toll of war with her. How could she reward him for it by dumping him in horse shite?
“Dearest, do you intend to sit here all day?” Kerr asked. “Are you so enamored with my presence that you doona want to proceed? ’Tis not often we get to sit so close.”
Her cheeks heated, and irritation raced through her, chasing away her hesitation. She threw him a look that would shrivel a weaker man.
Pit of manure it is.
She dismounted, and her guard settled into the trees around the glade, staying far away from her handiwork. They knew better than to warn one of her targets what they were walking into.
Isobel grasped her mare’s reins, led her to a tree in the glade, and tied the horse to a branch. Then she unfastened the pony’s lead from the saddle and pulled it toward the stump, the cart following behind. She parked the manure on the safe side of the stump, leaving the pathway over the pit the most logical way to reach her side.
It also camouflaged the smell of the manure she’d already shoveled into the pit yesterday.
She didn’t look at Kerr as she crouched to tie the pony’s lead to the overturned stump—she didn’t dare—but she strained her ears for any sounds of his horse, or his feet, walking across the grass toward her.
Surely he’ll tie his stallion beside mine and then cross to my side? And be looking up.
When she heard his mount on the opposite side of the glade, she jerked her head toward it, only to see the horse happily munching on some grass…alone.
Kerr had to be behind her. Either watching her or looking for her traps. Had he seen them?
She straightened and glanced up at the decoy in the trees before quickly dropping her gaze—as if she hadn’t wanted him to see her doing that. Then she turned around and gasped.
He stood right behind her…so big and tall, his wild hair snarled across his shoulders, his gaze—dark and rapt—on her face.
Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart thrummed in her chest—even more than it had from the excitement of finally getting the better of him. His gaze held hers, and she shivered.
This wasn’t the Kerr bent on riling her, or the noisy and boisterous one who was full of mirth and loved playing with the bairns, or the Kerr who scared her sometimes when he sensed danger, and all that energy within him coiled into deadly readiness.
Nay, this Kerr was someone else entirely. He peered at her like he wanted to swallow her whole, his every sense tuned to her—her eyes, her expression, every twitch of her body—and right into her mind.
He raised his hand, gently rubbed his knuckles down her cheek, and then squeezed her chin between his thumb and knuckle. “What are you up to, love?”
She froze in place and had to swallow before answering. “I told you. ’Tis a trap for Gavin.”
He continued to stare at her and then slowly glanced up at the trees where she’d looked moments before. His eyes shifted down and she knew he was tracing the trip wire all the way to the stump by her feet.
He released her and squatted on his haunches, studying the glade with his eyes alone and not moving in any direction. Certainly not to the edge of the pit like she’d planned for him to do.
She turned away and fussed with the tarp tied over the cart. When he didn’t say anything, she swung back and glowered at him, hands fisted on her hips. He rose to his feet, and she had to tip up her chin to maintain eye contact. “I suppose you’re going to say that Gavin will see the trap. That if you can see it, then he’ll see it too. But you were looking for it. Gavin will be too intent on Deirdre and Ewan to see anything out of the ordinary.”
“Nay. He’ll be even more diligent with his wife and son here. But earlier you were adamant that they wouldn’t be, which is it, dearling?”
Before she could respond, he took a slow step sideways away from her. Not toward the pit, exactly, but now, at least, he was directly in line with it. The urge to move behind him and shove him into it struck hard, but she knew she had about as much a chance of doing that as she had of moving a mountain. She spun around and strode three steps down the side of the pit away from him—the suspense was killing her, and she couldn’t stand still doing nothing.
After a small hesitation, she also stepped sideways so now she was directly across from him—on the other side of the pit.
How can I make him step forward?
She looked up at the decoy and placed her hands on her hips. Then she sighed. Loudly. “So how do I make him not see it, then?”
When he didn’t answer, her muscles tightened until she felt pulled taut, like the strings on a lute. After what seemed like forever, she glanced over her shoulder. He stood in the same spot. Watching her.
Nerves tightened her belly and caused a muscle to twitch in her cheek. Thankfully it was the cheek facing away from him or he would have noticed; he stood only three paces behind her.
“Or have you not seen it, after all? Have my trap-making abilities finally outpaced your trap-detecting senses?”
“I’ve seen it. And I’ve seen you too.”
“Of course you have. I’m right here, Kerr.” She smiled at him, softly, enticingly, and then lowered her eyes before turning back.
She strained her ears, waiting to hear a yelp or a grunt. A thud as he stepped toward her into the pit. It wasn’t deep, only about three feet, but it was filled halfway with animal dung from the stables—mostly horse manure, but goat, sheep, and cow dung too. He would fall in almost up to his knees, at least.
And he would ne’er forget it. More importantly, neither would she, or his foster family, or either of their clans—the MacAlisters or the MacKinnons.
More time ticked by. She felt like ants were crawling all over her as she waited. What is he doing?
She couldn’t risk glancing back again. Instead, she reached with one arm behind her neck and slowly pulled her long swathe of hair forward over one shoulder, exposing her nape.
And then she waited.