Chapter 2
Isolde shivered. She’d rather be anywhere but in her castle’s dungeon, inside a cell with Donall MacLean, her clan’s greatest enemy. But she was here. And as so often since learning of her younger sister’s death, waves of cold washed through her even as her heart burned to avenge Lileas’ murder.
“You lie,” she repeated, fixing her gaze on the opposite wall rather than look again at the naked man at her feet. “No one else could have done the deed.”
She thrust her rushlight into her uncle’s hands, then began pacing the bracken-strewn floor. She’d seen more of the MacLean than she could bear. His unclothed state unsettled her. Knowing she’d soon be even closer to him, to his nakedness, made her heart pound with trepidation.
But near him she would.
For Lileas.
For her people.
And for herself, she couldn’t deny. But her own reasons seemed insignificant now. Still, she’d be strong. Brave. She’d follow her secret plan, even if it meant giving her virginity to a man she reviled. Her sister’s murder must be avenged and she had to ensure the survival of her clan.
Her council wanted the MacLean laird to die. But such a plan, justifiable though it was, would destroy the MacInnesses. Vengeance would come swift and hard. She might as well unbar the gates and let the MacLeans storm inside.
Yet almost all within her household seemed bent on such folly.
And that could not be allowed.
So she’d plotted a strategy to assure the MacLeans posed no threat. For such a gain, the loss of her maidenhead was a small price. Especially if her couplings with the MacLean left her blessed with a child.
“If you believe me a liar, Isolde of Dunmuir, are you as bloodthirsty as your kinsmen?” He challenged her. His voice was stronger now, deep and cold. “Are you, too, determined to torture me?”
What I would do to you shall be a torture unto myself.
The words echoed so loudly in her ears, she half feared she’d blurted them.
“No’ as vocal as your wild-eyed elders, fair lady?” He cocked a brow. “Have you nae desire to recite the cruelties you’d inflict upon me?”
“I believe my men have said enough.” Isolde held his gaze. “There are reasons you are here.”
“Aye, I brought your poor sister home. In thanks, I was ambushed by grizzle-headed madmen.”
“Insulting my elders serves nothing.” Isolde joined Lorne, the youngest of her advisors, in front of the cell’s narrow window. “You should hold your tongue, sir.”
“Why? So one of your aged buffoons can cut it out?”
“If necessary.” Isolde turned to the window, needing to escape his dark and furious eyes. Keeping her back to him, she clasped her hands before her and took a deep, cleansing breath of salt-laden air. The whoosh of waves washing over the pebbled beach beyond the dungeon wall made her heart wrench.
How often had she and Lileas raced along the shore’s narrow reaches in the carefree days of their childhood?
And how many times had their father scolded them for venturing onto a beach he deemed dangerous because of the strong, quick-changing currents?
Now Lileas and her father were gone.
Isolde blinked.
A speck, something, must’ve gotten into her eye.
She unclasped her hands and smoothed her palms against the folds of her belted arisaid. The shawl’s soft woolen folds comforted her with its familiarity and provided a small but reassuring link to gentler times. She needed that, now that so much had skittered out of her control.
Not yet ready to turn around, she stared out the window slit. Too narrow to reveal more than a slim swath of brilliant blue sky, the view taunted her.
How could the sun shine when such darkness had settled over her heart?
She blinked again, no longer able to blame the stinging heat at the backs of her eyes on a speck of dust. But rather than let her eyes leak, she squared her shoulders and braced herself to face her enemy.
The man she held responsible for her sister’s demise.
Vengeance must be had, but neither was all lost. She had much to be grateful for, and she wasn’t alone.
She had the support and devotion of her clan. Her people now, for upon her da’s passing, and following his wishes, she’d accepted her place as chieftain.
She had to do what was best for the good of them all. Especially in times of trouble, and including the task of saving them from their own stubborn and foolish selves.
“One our own has been killed upon the Lady Rock.” Lorne spoke beside her, his voice grim. “A fine young woman murdered by her MacLean husband in the same manner as her ancestress so many years ago. You, Donall the Bold, as MacLean laird, will do penance by-”
“Lorne, please.” Isolde swung around and touched the elder’s arm. She couldn’t bear to hear the gory details. “The MacLean is aware of what he faces.”
Returning to her uncle Struan’s side, she hoped nothing about her expression revealed her turmoil.
“I am weary.” She touched his arm. “I shall retire early. See that I am not disturbed before sunrise.”
Her uncle frowned. “You should stay with us in the hall. I will see you abovestairs after dinner.”
She shook her head. “There is no need for such concern.”
Struan’s eyes challenged her. “If aught happened to you-”
“I will be fine, truly.” She glanced at the MacLean. “Niels and Rory have insisted on guarding my door so long as he remains within our walls. They’ve sworn to let no one cross my threshold.”
“Humph.” Struan looked at the other graybeards, but no one sided with him. “I still dinnae like it.”
“You worry overmuch. I will see you in the morning.” Isolde kissed her uncle’s bearded cheek, gave the MacLean a nod, and then sailed from the chamber as quickly as her pride would allow.
A safe distance from the cell, she paused before an alcove set deep in the passage’s wall. “See that he is properly bathed and brought to my chamber this eve,” she whispered to the man concealed by shadows. “It must be late, when everyone has settled. Whatever you do, let no one catch you.”
The man opened his mouth to reply, but she hitched up her skirts and hurried away down the corridor.
If her well-meaning cousin Niels tried once more to dissuade her, she might abandon her goal of securing peace with the MacLeans.
Indeed, after seeing her enemy so close and stripped bare, she had serious concerns about the wisdom of her plan.
Donall stared after Lady Isolde long after she’d gone, conflicting emotions whirling inside him. She riled him with her refusal to listen to reason, yet even as fury boiled his blood, he admired her courage and spirit.
“An uncommon beauty, is she not?” Lorne MacInnes drew Donall’s attention with a kick to his ribs.
Biting back a groan, Donall glared at the graybeard.
“She’s a sweetmeat the likes of you will ne’er sample again,” Lorne taunted. “If good fortune is with you, perhaps she will grace your dreams,” he added, and then strode from the cell, the other ancients trailing after him.
“Surely you cannot deny her appeal?” yet another male voice came from the darkness, robbing him of the welcome quiet that had settled over his cell since the graybeards’ departure. “There is no finer lass in all of the Isles.”
“That may be.” Donall wouldn’t lie.
He did search the gloom for the elder, only to have the words lodge in his throat when he spied the man in the shadows of the still-open door.
A towering giant, this man had a broad face, a crooked nose surely broken more than once, and a wild mane of red hair. His beard was equally untamed, and dressed with a few silver warrior rings. His eyes glinted, showing amusement at Donall’s surprise.
“No’ all MacInnes men are old and bent.” The big man held out his well-muscled arms and flexed his fingers. “You’d be wise to remember it.”
“Who are you?” Donall held his gaze, silently damning his shackles. “Your lady’s executioner, sent to begin my torture?”
“I am Niels.” The giant stepped closer. “Lady Isolde did send me. But I am no’ here to break your bones, though I’d enjoy getting my hands on you.”
“So why are you here?”
“I asked if you find my lady appealing. You didn’t answer.” Niels folded his arms. “Do you?”
“If I did?”
“It would make things easier for you, and my lady.
“How so?”
“She will be offering you a covenant.”
Donall leaned toward the man. “Release me is what she should do.”
“I will come for you sometime after the evening meal,” Niels said, ignoring Donall’s command. “If you don’t cooperate, your daylight hours will be made as miserable as the night ones could have been pleasurable.”
“You speak in riddles.” Donall frowned. “I am no’ interested in pleasure. I want nothing to do with your lady and her covenant.”
“Either way, you will be gentle with her. If you are not, I shall grind your bones to powder. The decision is yours.” Niels nodded once, and then stepped back to the doorway. “Misery or paradise,” he added, and then disappeared from view.
Miserable, indeed, Donall stared at the rough planks of the door the giant had closed and locked behind him.
What had he meant about Donall ‘being gentle with’ Lady Isolde? Heat sprang to the base of his neck at the obvious conclusion.
Nae, it couldn’t be anything so outrageous.
Beautiful, lushly made, and surely untouched, Isolde MacInnes would be the finest paradise.
Did she want him to bed her?
Surely not.
Yet…
How else could he understand Neils’ warning? Wishing he knew, he fell back against the wall and stared at his cell’s water-stained ceiling. May the old ones preserve him, but a trace of the lady’s scent lingered in the air.
A mere whisper of wildflowers, but enough to tempt him. And to mock his determination to remain unmoved by her.
Should his suspicions prove true.
Donall closed his eyes and groaned. A deep, full-bodied moan ripped from the bottom of his soul. Had the giant truly said the decision was his?
Indeed, that was so.
The trouble was he didn’t trust himself to make the wisest choice.