Chapter 6 #2
The warning floated to her on barely more than breath, obviously meant only for her ears.
As she fought to rein in her temper, she looked back to his face and recognized the fear in his eyes.
This felt more familiar, more along the lines of what she knew as normal.
Fear was, after all, the expression she had grown to expect from her grandfather.
Fear and loathing. Those were the emotions that had driven her out of this place that had never felt like a home.
Her thoughts sickened her, squeezing at her heart as much as her innards. At this moment, she wanted nothing more than to be in her own little house, far away from this castle and these people.
Away from the fear in her grandfather’s eyes.
She turned from him, surveying the hall from behind the soggy curtain of her hair.
Were there any here who still remembered her childhood?
Any who, like her grandfather, had been there that awful day she’d learned of her father’s death?
Unlikely. Long ago, her grandfather had sent away all witnesses to that frightening display. All save one.
Only Auld Annie had approached her that day. Only Annie had pressed on through the howling winds and destruction to scoop up the devastated child Isa had been and hold her close. Only Annie had tried to ease the unimaginable pain of her loss.
But Auld Annie was nowhere in this hall. The eyes fixed on her now were those of people she barely knew. Eyes filled with disgust, contempt, perhaps even pity.
None of these people mattered to her in the least. Neither they nor their opinions. She didn’t care one whit what any single one of them thought of her. And she certainly didn’t want their pity.
Jamie waited silently at her side, his face blanketed in the innocence of childhood. One look at the lad and she remembered her vow to speak with Roland, her grandfather’s second in command.
He sat to the right of the MacGahan laird, his lips drawn back in that arrogantly impassive sneer he always wore. How her grandfather tolerated the beastly man was beyond her. That she could be related to such as him by even the most distant drop of blood annoyed her greatly.
To her grandfather’s left sat Roland’s daughter, Agneys.
That was a change from her last visit. Agneys was moving up in the world.
Or at least she was moving up at the table.
Agneys had always been perfect. Hadn’t her grandfather held the girl’s name up often enough over the years?
Why must you be so difficult, Isabella? Why can’t behave as a lady, like Agneys?
Well, the perfect Agneys could have her place at the table, right at the MacGahan’s elbow. Be the perfect lady. Isa didn’t care. Not one little bit. Though her curiosity was piqued as to what had brought about the new seating arrangement.
MacDowylt cleared his throat, jolting her back to the problem at hand.
She took in a deep breath before facing him.
The delay had done its work. She was in full control of her emotions once again.
For the moment, both her curiosity about Agneys and her talk with Roland would have to wait.
She had more important issues to deal with now.
The warrior remained several paces away, his fists braced on his hips. When she turned her gaze to him, he flexed the fingers of one hand and openly caressed the dagger at his belt.
The fool thought to intimidate her? Obviously he knew nothing of her beyond her blood relationship to the laird of the MacGahan.
She lifted her chin and placed her hands behind her back. Tilting her head, she studied this MacDowylt long enough to see the corner of his eye twitch.
Not so confident as he tried to portray. Perhaps he had heard stories after all.
Isa stepped down from the dais and circled the man, making a show of examining him.
He was tall and big, obviously a man used to hard work, though she doubted he was more than a score and two, if that.
She was sure that with his dark hair and startling blue eyes, he would find many a woman who would be pleased with his offer. But she wasn’t many a woman.
At the conclusion of her circuit Isa stopped and shook her head slowly before looking back toward her grandfather.
“No. I’ll no be changing my mind. He willna do at all. I’ve no desire to take such a pitiful example of manhood to husband.”
The air around her thickened, the taste of violence so intense it almost masked the warnings of movement.
Isa pushed Jamie behind her as she whirled to face whatever came her way. She found the MacDowylt had closed the distance between them. He moved quickly, his fingers banding around her upper arm.
“Dinna mistake my offer for flattery. I’ve no interest in you as a woman.
I’d only take such as you to wife to seal the MacGahan lands.
” He jerked her arm as he spoke, pulling her face close to his.
“And I will have them for the debt I’m owed.
Since yer laird refuses to sign them over, if you dinna agree to marry, our clans will go to war.
Are you ready to sacrifice yer people? Because make no mistake, woman, if you dinna wed me, that’s exactly what will happen. ”
It had all occurred very quickly. Her senses, normally so sharp, were dulled by the smell and feel of so many people crowded around her.
Her eyes fixed on those of the man who held her, his face so close to hers she could feel his breath hit her cheeks in short, sharp slaps. Her own breath came quickly now as she felt her control slipping.
A crash of thunder so close it shook the building drowned out any words the MacDowylt was saying to her.
Concentrate. She had to maintain her tenuous grasp on her emotions.
She retreated into her own mind, shutting out the noises coming from the table behind her.
She focused on the pressure of his fingers digging into her flesh, on the red flush rising on his skin under the dark stubble of beard, on anything but how she felt about what he was saying.
Anything that could keep the anger, the fear at bay.
Anger, fear—both were strong emotions, but combined they would be too powerful for her to control effectively.
She couldn’t break down here. Not in front of her grandfather. Not again. She wouldn’t allow that to happen.
Withdrawn into herself as she was, she missed the warnings of another’s approach.
The shimmer of steel jolted her back to her surroundings as it flashed into the narrow space between her and the man who held her.
A sword tip poised over MacDowylt’s hand where it clutched her arm.
“You asked the lady a question about her willingness to sacrifice.” The voice was low, deep, almost mesmerizing in its tenor.
Isa’s gaze slid along the wickedly sharp weapon hovering so close to her body to the man who wielded it.
He was magnificent, a perfect example of a warrior, his deep brown eyes hard and withdrawn.
As he stared at the MacDowylt she had no doubt this man could dispatch them both in one swift move of his muscled arm without giving the action a second thought.
How could she have missed one such as this when she’d entered the hall?
Could he possibly be her grandfather’s man?
The emotionless smile he aimed at the MacDowylt sent a shiver down her spine.
“Now I have a similar question for you, MacDowylt. Are you ready to sacrifice yer hand? Because make no mistake, sir, if you dinna release the lady’s arm, that’s exactly what will happen.”
The threat, a replay of the MacDowylt’s own words, seemed to take the man by surprise. His fingers flexed and loosened on her arm, but he didn’t let go.
“I dinna ken who you are, stranger, but you’d be best served to leave this place. This is a matter between the MacGahan and meself, and no business of yers.” The reply sounded almost animal, more growl than words.
“That’s where yer wrong, MacDowylt. Anything that concerns Isabella MacGahan is very much my business.”
Around Isa, the air stilled as if the collective room held its breath, waiting to see which of the big men would blink first.
“Who are you to make such a claim? By what right?”
MacDowylt had asked the exact questions ringing in Isa’s mind.
“I am Sir Robert MacQuarrie, oath-bound to see to the lady’s welfare and protection.” The stranger flicked his gaze to her for a moment and then back to MacDowylt.
In that moment, Isa was struck again by this MacQuarrie’s eyes. Shielded. Eyes so hard they masked even the possibility of any emotion hiding behind them. What she wouldn’t give for that ability.
“Oath-bound,” MacDowylt repeated skeptically. “And just who would have had the audacity to accept such an oath from you?”
“Her father.”
His words tingled down Isa’s spine like tiny fingers brushing against her skin. What he claimed was impossible.
“What could you possibly know of my son?” the MacGahan laird demanded, once again on his feet, Roland rising to stand at his side.
“I know that his last words to me were of his concern for his daughter’s safety. I swore to him I’d see to her protection.”
Though MacQuarrie responded to her grandfather’s question, he did so without taking his eyes from MacDowylt’s face.
Roland snorted his disbelief, his normal sneer altered to one of contempt. “You’d have us believe you were there at his death? A score ago? You could have been no older than that filthy cur.” He gestured toward the spot where Jamie crouched.
“Nevertheless.” MacQuarrie shrugged as if their belief of his story was of no consequence to him. “I gave my oath to Thomas and I’m here to keep that promise.”
His body shifted toward MacDowylt, an almost imperceptible action, but the threat it held was unmistakable. As if charged with his intent, the air around Isa began to shift and flow with his movement.
“I’ll tell you one last time to release the lady’s arm.”