Chapter 7
“You forget yourself, Laird MacLean. This is Dunmuir, not Baldoon.” Lady Isolde turned to face Donall, a leather-wrapped flask clutched in her hand. She’d gone a bit pale and her eyes glittered in the candlelight.
Her chin lifting, she finished, “Anything I do here is my business and mine alone.”
“Lady, I must disagree.” Donall eyed the flagon, hoping she wasn’t trying to poison herself. “As long as I am chained to your bed everything you do concerns me. So tell me, what did you swallow and why?”
“Perhaps I had a fever and am still taking a cough-soothing remedy?”
“Perhaps you are lying.”
“That would be you.” She thrust the flagon back beneath the folds of her skirts. “I do not tell falsehoods.”
“You are now.” Donall knew it.
She tightened her lips, her agitation proof enough.
“Aye, well. I will no’ ask again,” Donall conceded.
“See that you don’t.” She brushed at her sleeve, two spots of color now brightening the paleness of her cheeks.
“I gave you my word.” He had, and he wasn’t a man who took an oath lightly.
He should also be annoyed, yet he found himself almost amused.
He admired her spirit. She was so different from any woman he’d ever met – the simpering maids at court, always so flattering and aiming to capture a laird or lord with a grander title and more coin than their own clan.
The earthy tavern wenches, always smiling and laughing, ever eager to air their skirts.
Lady Isolde of Dunmuir was not just pleasing to look upon, she was proud, quick-witted, and obviously struggling to ignore the tremors rippling through her lush, well-made body.
Donall tried not to notice. But it was hard.
The tremors made her breasts jiggle and he wouldn’t be a man if wouldn’t enjoy stilling all that womanly provocation by holding her tight against him.
He pulled a hand down over his beard, knowing such thoughts shouldn’t enter his head.
Yet they had, the gods pity him.
Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the cold iron pressing against his ankle.
When he looked at her again, she’d moved to the hearth, and the fire’s glow limned her curves and gilded her thick and glossy braids.
His pulse quickened and he felt his brows swoop down in a frown.
How easily she roused him, firing his blood despite his anger.
Blessedly, the thought of Gavin dashed his ill-placed lust.
“Where are holding Sir Gavin?” He leaned toward her, not softening his glare. “What have you done with him?”
“Nothing. He is well enough. His cell is far more comfortable than yours. He will be released as soon as-”
“What?” Donall straightened. “The moment you and your graybeards see me draw my last breath?”
“I understand your anger. But you err in thinking-”
He waved a hand to silence her. “Lady, it is you and your buffoons who willnae see the truth.”
“What one sees depends on where one is standing.”
“Agreed.” He gritted his teeth. “A dungeon cell is nae good place to start.”
“You are no longer there.”
“So I’ve noticed.” He couldn’t keep his mouth from quirking.
“How did I earn such an honor?” He glanced about, his gaze flicking over the lavish room, taking in everything from the magnificent four-postered bed to the freshly-strewn floor rushes, the high-beamed ceiling, and the soft mound of furs for her dog.
Looking back at her, he folded his arms. “Why was I brought here?” I cannae believe the reason I suspect. His loins tightened at the thought, infuriating him.
She held his gaze. “If I said so we may speak privately, would you believe me?”
“Nae.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“I am no’ daft, lady.”
“That I know.” She began pacing in front of the bed, the skirts of her black mourning gown swishing softly.
Now and then, when she whirled about, her skirts’ hem rose, revealing her pretty ankles.
Equally distracting, her light, wildflower scent floated out to bedevil him each time she passed.
But it was her eyes that most snagged his attention.
They were still over-bright, as if she hadn’t yet recovered from the bite of whatever concoction she’d tipped down her throat.
With lightning speed, he seized her wrist. “Lass, you bring out the worst in me. I must know what you drank.”
“You said you wouldn’t ask again.” She tried to jerk away, but he clamped his fingers in an iron grip. “Do you always break your word so quickly?”
“If I think a lady – any lady – might otherwise come to harm, aye.” He took a deep breath to tamp down his temper. “Tell me what you tipped down your throat, or we’ll stand here all night. I’ll no’ release you.”
“I’ll call for my men.”
“You could.” He chuckled low, knowing she wouldn’t.
“Oh, botheration! It was a potion to banish my freckles.”
“Ah, well.” Donall captured her chin and turned her face toward the glow of a hanging oil lamp. “The cure is potent indeed for I see nary a speck on your fair skin.”
“Then your eyesight is as lacking as your chivalry.”
“Is that so?”
“In my experience, aye.”
“Lady, the womenfolk at Baldoon have tried every freckle-purging remedy known to man and no’ a one suffered such an eye-watering shudder as your potion gave you.”
She smiled, challengingly. “Perhaps my recipe is stronger?”
“To be sure.” Donall bit back a chuckle when he caught the sound of her foot tapping. “And if we throw open thon window shutters and peer out at the dark, wet night, we’ll see all the realm’s faeries riding lightning bolts.”
“Indeed.” She didn’t blink. “They will be coming to steal you away to their hidden world so the rest of us needn’t suffer your arrogant presence.”
Donall almost threw back his head and laughed. He also felt another urge to take her in his arms. Instead, he smoothed his thumb over her cheek. “I do believe I see a freckle now. Aye, ’tis a sore need you have of such an elixir.”
“My needs are greater than you know.” She glanced aside, but the vulnerability he’d glimpsed in her eyes caught him off guard and tugged at something inside him.
A disconcerting emotion he didn’t care to examine.
With effort, he concentrated on his own predicament rather than how soft her cheek felt beneath his thumb. He couldn’t forget who she was and why he stood, half-naked and fettered, in her bedchamber.
He did release her, stepping back as if she’d scorched him.
She remained where she stood, light from a wall torch falling across her face. Donall wished that wasn’t so because the light drew attention to the faint purple smudges beneath her eyes. Shadows that gave her an air of fragility he didn’t want to notice.
“You speak of needs,” he said, his tone softer than was good for him. “I, too, have cares, lass. Duties and obligations I must attend. Keeping me here serves neither of us.”
“My elders have no wish to detain you. They want to-”
“Kill me, I know. And that would bring endless grief to your clan.” He didn’t mention how swiftly such devastation would come. Or that even without his death, Iain’s temper could blow any moment. “You and your people stand on thin ice, my lady. Think hard on the consequences.”
She swung away from him, and then turned back as quickly, her eyes blazing. “I am aware of the foolishness of executing a MacLean. Most especially the laird. I have warned my elders.”
Donall lifted a brow. “You mean to stop them?”
“Of course.” She stepped in front of him, closer than she’d yet dared. “I have other plans for you.”
“Such as?”
“I propose a covenant. A pact between us-”
“So I have heard…” He spread his arms. “All that stands between us is thin air and a bedsheet.”
“I disagree. We share this island yet are divided by years of strife and the death of an innocent.” She straightened her back, clasped her hands before her. “I have a plan to ensure the long-lasting alliance my father sought and my sister died to achieve.”
Somewhere in the distance, more thunder boomed. The low rumbles jarred the shutters and echoed off the walls, giving him a moment to gather his wits.
He couldn’t trust the direction his mind was taking. Surely a maid as exquisite – and proud - as Isolde of Dunmuir wouldn’t barter herself?
“…the faster certain matters are addressed,” she was saying, seemingly keen indeed, “the sooner you may leave.”
“I will be gone at the first opportunity. Sir Gavin will tell you the same.”
“Leave your friend out of this.”
“He is here, and willnae be forgotten.”
“He won’t be.” She met and held his gaze. “But only you must fulfill my conditions. I want nothing from him.”
“What do you want?”
“Something only you can give me.”
Donall’s nape prickled. Her words, and those of her oversized guardsman – when the man had warned him to ‘be gentle with her’ lest he wished his bones ground to powder, combined to paint lewd and outlandish images in his mind.
Furious, he shook his head, scarce able to believe she’d go so far, risk so much. “Lady, if you seek peace by the means I suspect, by offering your bonnie self to me as my bride, then I must disappoint you. I willnae-”
“Marriage is not a consideration.” She stiffened. “What I seek is an alliance of convenience to benefit us both.”
“I am no’ interested.”
“So I see.” She turned and went to the row of tall, shuttered windows on the far side of the room.
There she placed her hands on the broad, stone ledge and stood with her back straight and her shoulders squared.
She looked cold, distant, and lost. After a long moment, she spoke again.
“I should have known better than to trouble you.”
Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. He also wished he could tear out his tongue.
Never in his life had he offended a woman.
But she’d pushed him too far.
Dragging his gaze from her, he stared into the hearth fire. Clumps of peat burned there, their soft glow not soothing him as Baldoon’s fires always did. Indeed, he wanted to grab the poker and jab at the peats, stirring a blaze to match the anger inside him.