Isobell inhaled sharply, horrified at the sight of the fevered woman’s abused face. She found it difficult to look at her, to see her as a victim instead of Patrick’s whore. She didn’t want to feel sympathy for the woman. In reality though, they were both merely pawns in the game the men played.
She could well believe Malcolm Maclay had done this. More than once, she’d witnessed his brutal treatment of serving women at her home. When she interceded, the man glared, though retreated. Why didn’t her father better control his henchman?
Patrick’s woman’s eyes opened slightly. The fever held her in its grip. Glancing around, Isobell located an ewer of water on a nearby table. She poured some into a cup and tried to get the woman to drink a wee bit.
A small amount passed her lips. The rest dribbled down her chin and onto her chest to soak her linen nightrail. Isobell turned to leave the chamber, planning to slip out unseen.
Too late. Patrick and Archibald stood in the doorway.
Rage radiated from Patrick, freezing her in place. He moved across the chamber with long, quick steps and grabbed Isobell by the wrist. “You poison her.”
She franticly tried to pull away, but he held her in a tight, painful grip. She winced, tears coming to her eyes. “Nae. Nae. I but gave her water to quench her thirst.”
Archibald strode across the room. He sniffed near the sick woman’s mouth then tasted the liquid in the cup. “Release Isobell. ’Twas but water.”
With a frigid glare, Patrick freed her from his hold and tossed her away. “What are you doing in Lady Laurie’s chamber? Where is Aine?”
Isobell wiped at the few tears on her cheek with the back of a shaky hand. “I came to see what your whore looked like,” she said before she thought better of sounding so mean.
“Get out.” Patrick stared at her with icy hatred. “Get out before I strike you.”
He went to the French woman’s bed and swept her hair away from her bruised face. Sitting on the bench at her side, he grasped her hand and murmured to her.
Isobell couldn’t believe how gently he handled the woman. He’d never been kind to her. She caught Archibald’s eye before she fled the chamber.
“Isobell wait. I must have words with you,” Archibald called.
If only it was he whom she was to wed.
* * *
Laurie leaned against the down pillows and raised her hand a few inches before the effort became too much and she dropped it back to the mattress. Her fever had broken, but she remained weaker than a newborn kitten, and when she moved too quickly, felt twinges of uncomfortable pain.
Time passed slowly. Nightmares haunted her. She often feared Maclay would sneak into the castle and abduct her again. For weeks, she’d remained in bed dependent on Aine and Elspeth to care for her. They forced bitter tasting potions on her to relieve the pain and to help build her strength, cajoling her with soothing words and praise. Patrick sat with her often, holding her hand and whispering gentle words of encouragement.
She wanted to scream.
At times when she gazed into his dark eyes, she caught a glimpse of guilt reflected there. It was there now.
“You’re not to blame. None of what happened is your fault.” Laurie took full responsibility for her actions and the consequences. She’d been at fault, not he.
“How can I not be to blame? You were harmed in my home. I should have done a better job watching over you. You are my responsibility.”
She clutched his hand. “I left of my own free will. You are not accountable.”
He shook his head and glanced away.
“Look at me.” She squeezed his fingers. “Thank you for sitting with me.”
A sheen coated his eyes when their gazes collided. Their time together was bittersweet. Patrick’s wedding to Isobell loomed in the too-near future.
* * *
Oh, no. Isobell dashed into a curtained niche and waited for Patrick to pass. While he locked himself away with Lady Laurie, she sought out Archibald’s company.
Isobell scurried along the passageway in the opposite direction and slipped into Archie’s bedchamber to wait for his return. She plopped into a chair and leaned her chin on her hands. At first, she’d been angry. After all, they planned to force her to wed a man who loved another, and worse yet, disliked her. She’d become another of his possessions, one he didn’t care for, possibly even hated.
She’d resigned herself to her fate, but didn’t truly accept it. What was she to do? She had no recourse. Her father was adamant.
While Patrick spent time with his mistress, Archibald made her laugh with entertaining tales of his journeys. They’d become friends. She wished it were he, not Patrick, to whom she was betrothed. Even when she was younger and betrothed to Donald, she’d wished it Archie to whom she would wed.
Archibald exemplified everything a husband should be. Kind and gentle. A strong warrior and a courtier.
When Donald died, her father had betrothed her to Patrick. How awful to be given to the wrong brother. She thrummed her nails on the wooden arm of the chair.
She eyed the big bed. If she gave her virginity to Archie, Patrick would refuse to wed her. Archibald was honorable. She’d have to seduce him.
Isobell dropped her gown and chemise to the floor and climbed into the bed. A chill prickled her skin. Archie better hurry, before she lost her nerve.
Several minutes later, she shivered. The room was cold without a fire. She covered herself. The fur tickled and she giggled. Archibald will be surprised to find me in his bed?
Excitement made her smile. Then she lost her smile.
She waited hours, but he didn’t come.
Fine. She’d search him out. She’d refuse to wed Patrick.
* * *
“Read these. Tell me how I can get out of it.” Patrick handed Archibald the pages from the forged contract.
The door to his private chamber flew open. They shot to their feet, ready to defend themselves. In the doorway stood Isobell, her violet eyes sparked fire.
“What now?” Patrick demanded, arching a brow.
Isobell stepped into the chamber, her arms at her sides, her small hands clenched into tight fists. Her lips pursed, she boldly stared at him.
He rounded the worktable and leaned against the front of it. He crossed his arms over his chest and stoically returned her stare. Would he ever get used to her temper tantrums?
Archibald stood before the hearth. Isobell’s gaze darted to him. He returned her look, shook his head, and quickly glanced away.
Patrick rubbed his chin. What did his brother have to do with this?
Isobell’s facade crumbled. Her eyes turned a deep shade of cool purple, the color of a stormy sea. She appeared vulnerable. Yet she straightened her back, raised her chin defiantly and held his stare.
“I will not wed with you.” A tear fell from her eye to drip upon her pale cheek.
He wanted to scream at her, to rant and rave, to tell her he didn’t want to wed her either. Instead, he glowered, his patience close to its limit. They faced an impossible situation.
“You have nae choice, lass. Your father demands it,” he bellowed. Tamping down on his frustration, he lowered his voice. “Little as I like it.”
“I cannae marry you.”
“Perhaps you should persuade your father to dissolve the contract.”
Isobell glanced at Archibald, beseeching him with her eyes, imploring him to intercede. His gaze sad, he shook his head once again before lowering his stare to his hands.
“You fools!” Patrick sighed heavily. “What a fine mess.”
“’Tis not Isobell’s fault. You should not take your anger out on her. You ken her father is determined she marry you,” Archibald said, frustrated anger burning in his eyes.
“Who then should I take my anger out on? You?” Twisting away, Patrick dragged both his hands through his hair, trying to compose himself before turning back. When he did, he caught another visual exchange between Isobell and Archibald.
He shook his head and fell into the chair at his worktable. “Isobell, you will leave us and return to your chamber.”
“Nae—”
“I have something to say and would have Lady Isobell stay to hear it.” Archibald stepped forward and straightened his shoulders. Isobell gave him a tremulous smile. He cleared his throat. “I wish to wed Lady Isobell.”
Patrick blinked several times, staring at his brother. “Do you ken what you are saying?”
“Aye, I do.”
Isobell’s demeanor bloomed and she broke out into a radiant smile. She glided across the floor to stand next to Archibald. They gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment. Archie took her small hand into his and they turned in unison to face Patrick.
“And you, Isobell, let me guess, you wish to wed Archie.”
She nodded. “Aye. With all my heart.”
This was the answer! Relief and joy slammed into him. But he needed to tread carefully. Lamont must be handled.
Patrick rose, paced across the chamber, and stopped. He stood erect with his back to them, his hands clasped behind his back. After several minutes, he turned to face them.
“I will consider your desires. Now, Isobell, return to your chamber until it is time for the evening meal.”
Both Isobell and Archibald moved to leave.
“Nae. Archie, you remain.”
Isobell gave Archibald a final glance and left.
“You want the lass?” Patrick faced his twin.
“Aye. We have become close.”
“Are you doing this for me, so I might wed Laurie?”
“Nae, I want Isobell for my wife.”
“So be it. You have my blessing to wed. And I will wed my lass as soon as I can make arrangements.”
“What of Lamont? Isobell’s father may not agree. I am not a chief, only second in line and not even that when your bairns are born. He may go to King Jamie and request your marriage to Lady Laurie be set aside.”
“Not if we wed before a priest. He has nae friends in Rome. ’Twill be impossible to set our marriage aside. Besides, Lamont should be happy to acquire you for a son. You are a MacLachlan. You are a good man, Archie. And well he kens it.”
Patrick clapped his hands. Now to share the news with his lady.
* * *
Laurie worried her bottom lip. She’d spent the afternoon in the great hall with only Alexander Campbell as companion. They sat before a glowing fire in chairs with soft sapphire cushions. Patrick left her in the other man’s care after placing a fur across her lap for warmth. He’d given her a kiss and went off to find the priest.
She shifted her weight on the cushion. Although Patrick corroborated her story, she doubted Alexander believed she came from France. Elspeth’s fiancé made her nervous. He had the tendency to ask probing questions she couldn’t answer.
Whenever Alexander was alone with her, he watched her with his all-too-knowing stare. “You ken there are many legends about the caves of the gray women.” He stared at her as a scientist would an insect under a microscope. As if, he wanted to learn her every secret.
“I’m sure,” she said softly.
“Countless tales of witches and strange happenings.”
Laurie frowned. The caves were eerie. “There was an old, gnarled woman in the cave with me. Did you find her when you rescued me?”
That was stupid. When would she learn to keep her mouth shut? Each time she spoke, she encouraged him.
“Nae. Nary a soul was there besides you. Everyone else disappeared into the blasted fog.”
Laurie rubbed her hand along the fur in her lap, the sensation comforting. “The old woman came often to tend my wounds. Although there was something unusual about her, she treated me kindly.”
“Mayhap she was one of the infamous gray women—the witches of the caves.” Alexander’s eyes twinkled as if he teased. Still Laurie sensed something else, something unnerving.
She continued to stroke the fur. “No, I don’t think so. Yet it was quite odd, actually. There was something very queer about her. She had the most intense green eyes. I’d the strangest sense I knew her before, but in a different form, as someone else. The idea was disconcerting.”
Alexander had a knack for getting her to say things she didn’t want to say, confide her deepest thoughts, voice her fears.
“The woman who came to enlist us in aiding you was verra beautiful with exquisite green eyes.” He watched Laurie closely. “She told us her name was Caitrina.”
“Caitrina?” Laurie gasped, unable to conceal her shock.
“Aye. You ken her?”
“No.” She shook her head. She couldn’t admit it. How would she explain Caitrina? She couldn’t tell a medieval man she believed in faeries. Or that Caitrina was a faerie from the twenty-first century.
Could it be possible?
Was Caitrina one and the same with the old woman? Had she been with her all that time, taking care of her? If so, why would she have let such a horrible thing happen in the first place? More questions with no easy answers.
Alexander continued to stare at her with that annoying penetrating look. He evaluated what she said, analyzing every word. He grinned devilishly.
“What?” she asked.
“You are a witch,” Alexander said with a chuckle.
“No. I—”
He raised a hand. “Many occurrences in this world are difficult to explain. Although, I dinnae believe witches exist, I find the concept of such superstition fascinating. Most who are accused are either a product of political revenge or illiterate prejudice.”
“I’m not a witch.”
“Nor is Elspeth, yet there are those who would accuse her because of her special gift.”
“You know about her visions?” Laurie inhaled sharply. She shouldn’t have said that. The family tried to keep Elspeth’s sixth sense a secret.
“Aye. ’Tis what makes her so desirable.”
“What do you mean?”
The sound of approaching footsteps distracted her from the grilling she wanted to give him.
Patrick strode across the hall, stopping beside her, a broad smile on his handsome face. “I am returned from the old priest. We will wed on the morrow, before Lamont hears of it. For that reason, ’twill be a small gathering, only our clansman who are already here at Castle Lachlan. I hope that won’t disappoint.”
“I couldn’t be happier.”
Patrick crouched in front of her and kissed her sweetly. She hung on him wanting more.
She would wed her Highland warrior.
* * *
The gilded chapel glowed with candlelight. Laurie’s gaze circled the small interior, filled with her new friends.
With a twinge of regret, she thought of her family. She would never take the long walk down the aisle at St. Patrick’s Cathedral on Uncle David’s arm. Nor would she see the expected smirk on her Cousin Finn’s face as she passed him on her way to meet her intended at the altar. She wholeheartedly wished they both could be here with her now, to share her happiness.
Lost in her thoughts, she startled when the chapel quieted.
Laurie raised her gaze to Patrick, forgetting all else. Only him, the man of her dreams. The man she desired for her own, the man with whom she wanted to spend the rest of her life.
Even if it meant staying in the past.
Her heart swelled and she smiled at him with love.
Patrick strode past those gathered, eyes only for her. His heated gaze scorched her. Her nipples puckered in response. Oh, how she wanted this man.
He came to stand before her. Their eyes locked in communion. Time and space no longer existed, they were alone, two souls united.
The old priest cleared his throat, breaking the spell. Directing them to stand together in front of him, he joined their hands and bade them kneel. He motioned for Elspeth and Archibald to step forward, for they were to witness this union before God and their clansmen.
Patrick squeezed Laurie’s fingers. The mass and ceremony buzzed by in a blur. She hardly remembered saying her vows.
Laurie accepted Patrick’s assistance to stand. With his hands on her shoulders, he twisted her to face him. He placed his fingers on her cheeks and lowered his head. His eyes smoldered.
His lips were warm and persistent. The kiss shot to her toes.
Everyone cheered, and her cheeks burned.
Patrick stepped back. “Wife.”
She stifled a giggle. “Husband.”
They left the chapel and crossed the passageway to the council chamber where they would celebrate their union with a wedding feast. Patrick’s warriors, some with their wives, and some with their sons and daughters filled the chamber when they arrived.
The cheer echoed from the rafters.
Laurie toyed with the large sapphire ring on her finger, the beautiful token of Patrick’s love. This was the happiest day of her life. Yet it was as if she walked within a dream.
Could this be real?
She sighted Patrick across the chamber, standing with some of his men. Jamie slapped his back with some jest and they laughed. Catching her eye, Patrick raised his cup to her, and she smiled.
The crowd moved in waves and she lost sight of him.
Her stomach clenched when Munn approached. He made odd sounds as if he couldn’t form words and handed her a beautiful bejeweled goblet.
Elspeth joined them. “He presents you with an offering of peace.”
The little man made a choking sound, but vigorously nodded.
“Thank you.” Laurie accepted his token and sipped the sweet wine. The ruby drink tasted delicious, fruity flavor burst on her tongue. More wonderful than any wine she’d ever tasted before.
Strolling around the hall, she accepted the best wishes from Patrick’s clansmen. She sipped from her goblet. The cup never emptied. Each taste was more luscious than the last.
She danced with Patrick, ate from the savory assortment of foods, and drank from the goblet given to her by Munn.
Later, she whirled around the floor with Stephen. When they danced past the trestle table where her goblet sat, she stopped to take more of the sweet wine. Delicious.
Laurie enjoyed the minstrels and more dancing. She moved to the side of the hall to rest her aching toes and sipped from the goblet. Whew. She blew out a puff of air. A feverish heat flushed her chest and neck, making her desperate for Patrick’s embrace. She wanted to consummate her marriage. She’d been waiting forever and didn’t want to wait any longer.
Taking another sip of wine, she spied him at the edge of the hall. She rushed across the oak flooring toward him. Everyone else faded away. She giggled as she stumbled into him. He caught her by the arms. He was so sexy, and tonight, finally, all of that glorious man would be hers. She wrapped her arms around him and breathed in his earthy scent.
He smelled different. Felt different. His eyes were different.
It gave her pause, but only for a moment. They were married now.
Everything was different.
She leaned into him. When she hit his hard chest with her sensitized breasts, she pressed even tighter to him. She kissed his neck, slid her tongue along his jaw.
“Lass, what are you about?” He chuckled, the sound rough against her throat.
Why was he trying to push her away?
Laurie wouldn’t allow it. She wrapped one leg around his hip, laced her fingers in his hair and shimmied up his body. Without losing her stride, she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth.
He let out a tormented groan.