Chapter 6
“We meet because we must.” Isolde stood in her bedchamber and met the MacLean’s gaze. “You would not be here otherwise.”
“At least you speak plain. So shall I.” He glanced briefly to Bodo. “Your pet was more welcoming. I could see you just as content - if you are in need of a belly rub?”
Isolde’s breath caught. “I shall pretend I did not hear that.”
“Why?” Something akin to amusement glinted in his rich brown eyes. But then his face hardened. “Is that no’ why I am here?”
“Laird MacLean-”
“To be sure, I could pleasure you.” His gaze slid over her, boldly as his name. “If I wished to, which I do not.”
Isolde’s eyes widened. “You, sir, are overbold.”
“So some say.” A corner of his mouth quirked up. “How do you think I earned my by-name? Picking heather on the moors?”
“I do not care if you are called pig’s eye.”
“Aye, you would,” he said as the night’s thunder echoed around them.
He was right, damn him. Her plight was bad enough without having to lie with an ogre. Enemy or nae, he was anything but repulsive. Indeed, something about him made her heart beat wildly. She could almost feel his hands moving over her, his mouth claiming hers, plundering.
“No’ daring enough to admit it?” He lifted a brow. “I am no’ surprised.”
Dear gods…
He knew!
He leaned toward her, a glint in his eye. “Are you fond of carnal delights, lady? Can it be you crave such attentions?”
“This has nothing to do with pleasure,” she returned, frowning at him.
“Ah, well.” He shrugged. “A pity.”
Heat crept up her neck. “I would have words with you.”
“Words that make you blush?”
She bristled. “A private matter of great importance.”
“Indeed?”
“I’ve asked for dinner to be brought up.” She went to stand beside the table, anything to steer the conversation in a different direction.
Away from what they must do together. What had to happen, and would, if only she could summon the nerve to seduce him.
Not yet ready, she clasped her hands. “I’ve also arranged to have clothes fetched for you.”
He nodded. “You are kind.”
Isolde knew he didn’t mean a word.
“If you give me no reason for concern, I shall have you unchained.”
“So you are brave as well as caring.” He had the nerve to smile.
“I’ve no need for courage. You do not frighten me. Further, two of my best warriors guard the door.” She didn’t mention that they now stood a good distance away, out of hearing range.
“They are armed,” she added, fighting the sense that her words amused him. That she was a fool to be here alone with him. “Harm me and they will skewer you in a heartbeat. More of your insults and-”
“My insults?”
“Your slurs – I heard them.” Irritated more by his arching brow than his tone, she crossed the room to a row of tall, arch-topped windows. Cut deep into the thickness of the wall, the windows were the room’s best feature. In fine weather, they offered sweeping views of the neighboring isles.
They were shuttered now, not that it mattered. The storm raging beyond them suited her mood. And it was far wiser to stare at closed shutters than to turn around and face the MacLean.
Him, and the heavily curtained bed looming so close behind him.
“What slurs do you mean, my lady?” Again, his voice held a trace of amusement.
Isolde frowned and wished herself anywhere but here, suffering his intolerable presence.
Plague take him!
“Have you forgotten?” She whirled around. “I have not. ‘May your manhood wither and fall off,’” she quoted, not caring if she sounded like a fishwife. “‘You’d sooner-’’’
“‘Plunge my staff into a she-goat,’” he finished, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“I knew you remembered.”
“So I do. But tell me, lass…” He glanced at the iron band around his ankle, the chain binding him to her bed. “What man with blood in his veins wouldn’t protest at such confinement?”
“You deserved no better.”
“Say you?”
“I do.” Isolde could feel heat spreading up her neck, over her cheeks. “We – my entire clan and I – hold you responsible for my sister’s tragic end.”
“Keeping me here only gives her murderer time to flee. You and your elders are fools. It’s the lot of you who will bear the guilt if he isn’t caught.”
“Many would say that coldhearted bastard now stands before me.”
“Aye - lackwits.”
Isolde pressed her lips together, unable to think of a scathing reply because someone else’s words crowded out her own.
Devorgilla’s voice… ‘How many men do you suppose wouldn’t anger under such circumstances?’
Something light and cool brushed along her nape then, lifting fine hairs and sending a ripple down her spine.
Glancing over her shoulder, she half expected to see the crone hiding in one of the room’s deep window embrasures. But of course, she wasn’t there.
Nothing stirred except the wind racing through the night beyond the stronghold’s walls. The rain pelting the roof and lashing at the shutters. Isolde was half-tempted to add her own cries to the wild and angry night.
Resisting the urge, she turned back to the MacLean, not surprised to see his stony expression. “My men have reason to distrust you. Their wits are sound.”
“That is a matter of opinion. Know this, Isolde of Dunmuir, ne’er have I harmed a woman, and ne’er shall I.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Nothing could drive me to do so. No’ even” – he looked her up and down – “a fool woman unable to see the truth before her.”
Isolde’s chin came up. “You, sir, are the most annoying man I have ever met.”
“You have great experience with men?”
“Nae, I-”
“So I thought.” He gave her another of his slow, irritating smiles.
She held his gaze. “You know nothing of me.”
“True enough.” His gaze traveled over her again.
“A shame I was on the other side of Scotland when my brother wed your sister. We would have met then.” He angled his head, something wicked sparking in his eyes.
“Seeing you now, I’ll wager you are pure, chaste, and wholly unaware of the dangers you’d face should you persist with your ludicrous scheme. ”
“I do not know what you mean.” She could feel her face flaming.
“You needn’t look so fashed.” He leaned against her bedpost and crossed his arms. “I’ll no’ be tempted into obliging you. No’ this night or any other. Your virtue is safe with me.”
“My-”
A strong gust of wind rattled the shutters, a howling gale followed by a sharp clap of thunder, as if the heavens meant to spare her from admitting her sins.
Her plan to seduce him.
“I see we understand each other.” His tone challenged her. “As for the slurs you overheard, be glad I didn’t say what I truly think of you. If you knew, you’d abandon your quest for revenge and run for the safety of your mother’s skirts.”
Isolde flinched. “That isn’t possible.”
“A shame.” He didn’t look at all sympathetic.
“My cares are not your concern.”
“True enough.” He pushed away from the bedpost, took a step closer. “I mean to keep it that way.”
Isolde stood tall, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her retreat – or the sorrows of her heart. The truth was she wished she could seek the comfort of her mother’s understanding. But the light had gone out of her mother’s eyes long ago, and with it, her senses.
So she kept her chin raised, her gaze locked on her foe.
Oh, but she despised him.
“Be glad I am lady enough not to voice my opinion of you,” she said, noting his arrogance. “You would not smirk then.”
“What we think of each other matters less than a dust mote, lady.” He took another step closer, the chain dragging on the floor rushes. “All I care about is my freedom.”
“And I care about my sister, the good of my clan.”
“So you’d risk a war with mine?”
“I seek peace.” Isolde looked at him, his smugness stirring her temper.
How could she ever think to share intimacies with him?
Turning away, she gripped the back of a chair, grateful for its support. Exhaustion weighed heavy on her, and she was weary of the turmoil that had swept into her life since Lileas’ death.
“My sympathy on your mother’s passing,” he said then, sounding almost sincere.
Isolde stiffened, a sharp pain spearing her heart. “My mother lives, but her mind is unaware.”
Damn him for reminding her that she’d ‘lost’ her mother as well.
Even now, Lady Edina sat belowstairs in Dunmuir’s great hall, comforted by warm blankets and the respectful care of the clan elders. But her vacant-eyed mother might as well be in her grave for what little notice she took of the world around her.
“Forgive me, I didnae know.” A shuffling sound came from behind her, the chink of his chain. But she wasn’t about to turn around. Some crazy notion entered her mind that he sensed he’d pushed her too far, that his next words might touch her in a dangerous way.
She didn’t want his sympathy.
Even so, she slipped her hand into the folds of her skirts and fingered the leather-wrapped flagon of Devorgilla’s anti-attraction potion. It would purge her of any flare of interest his unexpected courtesy – or his dark good looks - might awaken in her.
Before she could think better of downing the bitter-tasting tincture, she unstopped the flagon, and lifted it to her lips. Praise be, it didn’t smell as bad as it tasted. Still, three rapid gulps were all she could manage before a shudder swept over her.
Making it worse, the MacLean’s chain rattled loudly behind her – as if he meant to lunge for her. “Mother of the gods!” he snarled. “What are you doing?”