Chapter 5
They’d chained him to her bed.
Her face flaming, Isolde slammed the door she’d just opened. Heart thundering, she whirled to face the two kinsmen guarding her bedchamber.
“What have you done?” She stared at them, disbelieving. “I never said-”
“We couldn’t just leave him there.” Niels folded his arms, not looking at all repentant.
“He cannae be trusted.” Rory sided with his friend. “None of his clan, and he is their leader. Who knows what he might-”
A strong wind rushed past the tower then, cutting him off as thunder rumbled in the distance.
Somewhere a shutter cracked against stone, as often happened when storms raced across Doon, bringing sideways rain and all manner of ruckus.
But this night’s clamor warred with the roar of her pulse in her ears.
Worse, she couldn’t banish the image of Donall the Bold’s splendor.
His naked magnificence.
Shocked to the core, she spun back around, grabbing the door latch. “I don’t believe this,” she gasped, slitting the door.
Peeking…
She pressed one eye to the sliver of space, seeing him clearly.
He stood shackled to her bed, fury all over him.
And nothing else.
“Dear gods!” She ran her gaze over him, noting how his black hair gleamed, damp from his bath. She looked lower, at his hard-muscled chest, at all of him. Merciful heavens, every glorious inch was so imposing. Something inside her jolted, an awareness she hadn’t expected.
He was taller than she’d realized, and more handsome than the poor light in his dungeon cell had revealed. Bathed and well-groomed, he bore an even more striking resemblance to her Beltane dream man.
Her senses reeling, she stared at him, seeing two images. The man conjured by the yarrow’s magic and Donall MacLean, both merged into one.
She also saw the chain hanging between her bed and the iron band around one of his ankles. Then, as if he sensed her gaze, he yanked a sheet off her bed and swirled it around his hips.
Still…
Such a courtesy came too late. She’d already seen that part of him in his cell, however brief the glimpse had been. She felt under siege by his blatant maleness.
Now she’d seen it again.
His nakedness.
Her stomach quivered with trepidation. If everything went to plan, she’d have to touch him, even lie on her bed with him, opening her legs and…
She closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. The sad truth was she had to deal with him. The faster she pressed on with what must be done, the sooner she could be rid of him.
So she closed the door again and turned to the taller of the two guards. “Why is he bound to my bed?”
Niels finally had the good grace to look embarrassed. “He’s less likely to attempt an escape if he’s chained, my lady.”
“But why is he unclothed?” She’d not expected that. Not yet, anyway. “Did you want to agitate him?”
A flicker of guilt in Niels’ eyes said that was so. “Aye, well…”
“What if he takes his annoyance out on me?” She looked between her cousin and Rory. As with Niels, a similar look of ill ease passed over Rory’s face and he avoided her eyes, gazing instead at the floor.
“Have you run mad?” Isolde pressed a hand to her breast, still struggling to regain her composure. “He knows I peeked at him just now. His fury came at me in waves.”
Niels straightened to his full height and patted the broadsword at his side. “You needn’t worry. He will no’ lay a hand-” he broke off, his face coloring. “I mean he’s no’ armed,” he amended, flushing a brighter red with every word. “He will no’ harm you, knowing we’re out here.”
“Do you think he would if you weren’t?” Isolde fought to keep a blush from her own cheeks.
Niels slid a glance at Rory, but the other man only shrugged. An uncomfortable silence welled up between them until Niels said, “I warned him I’d grind his bones.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Niels shuffled his feet. Rory pulled on his ear. Neither man said anything.
“I must know before I go in there.” Isolde didn’t blink. “Would he raise a hand against a woman?”
“He shouldn’t raise anything against you, the bastard,” Rory blurted, his meaning clear.
Niels mouth tightened into a thin line.
Isolde stood taller. “I know you do not approve,” she said, speaking to both of them. “Even so, I will do what I must. It would help me if you speak true.”
Niels blew out a breath. “Nae, I doubt he’d harm you from what we’ve heard and seen of him.”
“And you?” She glanced at Rory.
“I dinnae like this.” His brows swooped down. “No’ one bit.”
“Neither do I,” Isolde admitted. “And I can’t do what I must, knowing someone is outside the door, listening.”
“Och, save us!” Niels eyes almost bugged out of his head. “You cannae think to dally with him without us close at hand?”
“Why not? You just said he won’t hurt me.”
Niels rubbed the back of his neck. “Aye, but-”
“All will be fine.” Isolde hoped so. “I’m not asking you to leave. I only want you farther down the corridor. I can’t be expected to-”
“It’s dangerous in other ways,” Rory broke in. “What if someone comes looking for you? If we aren’t here-”
“You will be close enough to take up your positions should anyone approach.” She glanced over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. “Please. This is difficult enough.”
Niels frowned. “We’re only concerned for you.”
“I know.” Yet you’d see me betrothed to a man I revile.
Balloch MacArthur’s face flashed across her mind, an image even more unappealing than an unclothed Donall the Bold in her bedchamber.
Feeling sick inside, she glanced down the shadow-filled passage. As gloomy as the poorly-lit corridor and the stairwell beyond, so bleak would her life be as Balloch MacArthur’s bride.
She shuddered.
If she meant to rid herself of Balloch, she had little choice but to lie with the MacLean. Balloch, a brutish man, dull of wit but exceedingly proud, would surely break a betrothal if she told him she carried another man’s child.
Likewise, she’d have to conceive and bear that child if she hoped to forge lasting peace between her dwindling and weakened clan and the powerful MacLeans.
A bond she saw as her people’s only chance of survival.
Her resolve strengthened, she turned back to Niels and Rory. “Rory, you are about the same size as the MacLean. Please fetch him something to wear. A meal will soon be brought to my chamber, and I’d rather not dine with a naked man.”
Rory blinked. “We were told he’s to have nothing but table scraps, and he was stripped for a reason. The elders gave orders-”
“So have I.” Isolde remained firm. “Do you wish to make me more uncomfortable than I already am?”
Rory shook his head. “Nae, my lady. It is only-”
“I need you both to guard the top of the stairs. One of you can deliver the evening meal when it’s brought up.”
Rory frowned and started to object.
She didn’t let him. “No one else can be allowed to enter my quarters.”
Rory and Niels exchanged glances.
Isolde rushed on before they could argue. “If the MacLean proves he is courteous, I want him unchained.”
Both men stared at her, shock on their bearded faces. So much so, Isolde felt guilt twist inside her. But her present predicament gave her no choice but to remain firm.
“Please go to the stair-head.” She glanced that way. “Now, if you will.”
“As you wish, lady.” Rory and Niels spoke as one, then moved away.
Isolde winced at the injured looks they’d given her. Niels and Rory were among the few able-bodied men left beneath her roof. Too many of the clan’s best fighting men had been lost to a fever several years before, while others had perished at sea.
She loved these two like brothers and appreciated their concern.
And now that they were gone, the silence returned. A deafening quiet so thick that she could hear the rainwater coursing down the castle walls. No sounds at all came from the far side of her bedchamber door.
A strange silence, for she realized that in her haste to close the door, she’d shut in poor Bodo.
Her beloved little dog was inside the room with the MacLean.
And Bodo wasn’t barking.
Bodo!
All else forgotten, she pushed open the door and rushed inside. Her breath caught at the sight before her. The MacLean knelt beside her bed, relaxed and smiling as he rubbed Bodo’s belly.
The wee dog lay sprawled on his back, completely at ease, while the MacLean laird trailed his fingers down Bodo’s white-furred tummy.
And the little traitor appeared to enjoy his touch.
As if only now aware that she’d burst into the room, prepared to rescue him, Bodo turned his head to stare at her. Jaws open and tongue lolling, he appeared to laugh at her.
But his comical expression quickly changed to one of contrition as he leaped up, shook himself, and then bolted across the rush-strewn floor to his bed by the hearth. There, he circled a few times and then curled in a ball, his back to the room.
Isolde turned to the MacLean, but he, too, was watching her dog. A faint smile still played across his face, but it vanished as he met her gaze.
He pushed to his feet, the bedsheet still knotted at his waist. The smattering of dark hair across his chest emphasized his hard-muscled build, while the fine line of hair that arrowed down to disappear beneath the sheet drew her eye to his groin.
She glanced away at once, but she’d seen enough to unleash a flurry of tingles in the pit of her belly. She could feel her cheeks warming as well.
Nae, her entire body.
Praise the gods he was covered.
He was also looking right at her, and with a slow, wicked smile. “So we meet again, my lady.”