Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Jillian thought it was ridiculous, really, how stoic all the women were as they stood on the sidelines.
If most of them weren’t dressed in jeans and t-shirts, you’d think it was a medieval reenactment or festival of some kind.
There was a simple stock fence that edged the field that ran between the manor house and the castle, mostly to keep tourists from parking their cars there.
The four of them leaned on the top rail and waited for the men to come to their senses, or to need an ambulance, whichever came first. Poor Isobelle didn’t even know about ambulances.
What worried Jillian more than a little spilled blood, however, was the danger of Montgomery Ross starting a new nightmare. If he did force Gaspar out of Isobelle’s life, his sister might do more than just haunt his dreams.
Swords in hand, the men gave a slight bow, then to Gaspar’s credit, he advanced first. It just wasn’t fair that he was weighed down by his heavy tunic. In fact…
Jillian looked at her sister and shared an idea. Then together, they put their hands around their mouths and chanted, “Take it off! Take it off,” over and over again.
Monty stood in the middle of the field and waited for Gaspar to come to him. But the yelling distracted them both until finally, Monty demanded to know what they meant.
“Tell Gaspar he can take off the tunic,” she yelled. But she wasn’t about to tell him it was the kind of thing you shouted at strippers.
Monty nodded at Gaspar. The man handed his sword to Ivar and pulled off the gray tunic, leaving him wearing a strange shirt with sleeves actually tied onto the arm holes.
But that didn’t keep her attention long because the only other thing the man was wearing was an incredibly revealing pair of hose.
There was no codpiece. Just a lot of…stuff… where that codpiece should be.
As one, Jillian, Juliet, and Morna turned to look at Isobelle.
Isobelle frowned. “Why do ye look at me?” But it didn’t take long for her eyes to stray back to Gaspar’s body. Her eyes widened, and she bit her lips together.
Monty actually blushed and raised his sword to point at Gaspar, but lowered it quickly. “Quinn,” he shouted. “Ye’re of a size with the man. Lend him some clothing. And for pity’s sake, show him the loo.”
Jillian couldn’t help snorting because there wasn’t a chance in hell what they’d just seen was the man’s full bladder. Juliet suppressed her laughter, but just barely. She moved next to Isobelle and put her arm around the worried and still-innocent young woman.
Morna scooted closer to Jillian. “Poor Monty,” she said.
“I know, right?”
“‘Tis just as it was that day he found me with Ivar at The Burn, aye?”
Jillian gave her sister-in-law a wink. “He’s going to catch on any minute now. Surely.”
“I pray so.”
Jillian gave the worried woman a grin.
Morna’s eyes widened and she leaned even closer. “Ye ken something. Tell me.”
“Let’s just say he’s about to have his memory refreshed.”
“Ooh. I like the sound o’ that, aye?” Then she frowned. “We canna allow him to send the Englishman back, Jillian. No matter what happens here.”
“Anything for Isobelle.”
Morna nodded and put her arm through Jillian’s. “And if the man turns out to be a monster, we send him back at the first show of fang or claw.”
While they waited for Quinn and Gaspar to return, she watched Monty as he looked the rest of them over like so many children—and he was the babysitter.
He spent an especially long time frowning at Ivar while his friend smiled lovingly at Morna.
And Jillian suspected the man was refreshing his memory all on his own.
Gaspar walked from the manor back to the field trying to block from his mind the things he’d just seen.
The loo was impressive, as he’d been promised.
But the carriage he’d seen rolling down the hillside had moved along without the aid of horses!
As if it floated along some unseen waterway that remained constant no matter the angle!
What had truly frightened him was a second carriage that had floated up the same hill!
He wished he might have been able to stay in this place long enough to discover the mechanism for that. Of course, he also would have liked to linger long enough to kiss Isobelle until she never had need of kissing again…
But that was not likely, and he prepared himself for the truth—that Isobelle would need more than just kissing and he wouldn’t be there to satisfy that need.
She needed, and deserved, to be loved and cherished, to have a worthy man at her side and a hand to hold all her waking hours.
To be appreciated for her wit, and to be unspeakably happy.
And it was highly likely he would not be the man to supply any of it.
After all, the chance was remote that Lady Ross’ instruction might aid him, even if he used it.
It was hardly honorable, and therefore, unlikely that he would employ the tactic.
The one called Quinn had been quite hospitable.
The manor house was his, as it happened, returned to him when his sister and her family had moved to Edinburgh.
He had a nearly-grown son, although he was wed to the young woman, Juliet, the lass with the strange hair.
Quinn had confided that his marriage to Juliet had taken place in that very loo, only months ago, but it was never to be discussed.
Would that he might have lingered long enough to understand how two men so similar, but not brothers, had come to marry sisters that also mirrored one another. For all their lives, their children would likely mistake the wrong people to be their parents.
What brought his attention back to the battle at hand was his disgust with these people who took Isobelle’s wishes so lightly. Did Morna and Ivar not owe their happiness to Isobelle’s attempts to reunite them?
For shame. On them all. And it grieved him to think of leaving her in their hands, especially with the brother who worried more about his pride than the truth.
Montgomery Ross didn’t wish to believe his sister loved an Englishman, or that the Englishman loved her.
He simply excused his actions with whatever of Gaspar’s sins he could find.
Imprisoning Isobelle was certainly a dreadful sin, though it was a sin for which he’d been forgiven.
He should have known better than to remain when the barbarian greeted him with his fist. He should have fought his way back into the travelling tomb and pulled Isobelle up with him. They would have found another home, one they could have shared. Together.
Gaspar finally set his regrets aside and watched the line of women standing along the side of the field with their backs to the sun.
Why then did they have need to shade their eyes while he walked past them?
Did he look as foolish as he felt with his legs wrapped so tightly?
And the tunic he’d been given was little more than a second skin.
He felt decidedly naked, but he could not worry over such things with his last chance to impress Isobelle looming before him.
Ivar held his sword out to him, but he hesitated. He turned and held out a hand to the woman who inhabited every fathomable inch of his heart and unfathomable inch of his soul, and he thanked God when she hurried to his side.
“Dinna fight him,” she begged. “We will refuse to obey him. We shall leave here, run away. My sister will aid us, I know she will.”
He smiled down into her eyes. “I will not run away, Isobelle. And neither will you. You have wanted so long to be back with your family, I will not take that from you.”
“I doona care, my love. If they send you back, I go as well. I go where you go.”
She twisted the thin cloth at his neck and pulled him down to meet her embrace. Her lips tasted like the most precious of nectars and he willed himself to remember it always.
“Swear it to me, Gaspar. Tell it back to me. I go where you go.”
He smiled again. “I vow…that as long as you live…I go where you go.” And he sealed it with a kiss.
She nodded and stepped back, but the tears on her cheeks told him the truth, that she knew he’d just lied to her. Did she also know that it broke his heart to do it?
“Enough of this bletherin’!” Monty bellowed. “Ivar, restrain Isobelle if ye must,” he pointed his sword at Gaspar, “but it is time to defend her honor.”
Isobelle raised her chin and walked back to the fence without an escort. Gaspar took the offered sword from Ivar, then faced the Scotsman. “Yes. It is time. But it is I who defend her honor. En guard.”
And with that, he attacked. The jolt of first engagement seemed to come just a hair’s breath before the sound of it. His bones shuddered as each blow was met with equal force, and he reveled in it. Occasions for concentrated battle had been rare of late.
If Ross was surprised by his strength, he hid it well. The man’s attention to his swordplay was frightening. Since he’d met the man, a storm of emotions had ever been at play across his features. But as soon he lifted his sword, all expression fell away. Gaspar did his best to do the same.
“I see ye ken yer debole from yer hilt,” Ross said, beating Gaspar’s blade sideways, trying to knock it from his hand.
“I have spent a good deal of time fighting pirates, my lord.” He spun on his heel and came around to strike the back of Ross’s blade, but the man’s fingering was as sure as his own. He retreated a step when the man answered in kind.
A few blows later, they had their just distance.
Gaspar was surprised to find his reach was slightly longer than his opponent, but he took no false hope in the knowledge.
The man could easily pound him into the ground like a troublesome spike if he chose to, he was that powerful. And yet, his blows were restrained.