Chapter 3 #4
He’d had to fight the urge to stare at his new bride all day.
He told himself it was only because he had a duty to observe those around him—especially those whose very presence demanded a certain level of suspicion.
Still, he wasn’t nearly as indifferent as he pretended.
He wished it was simply her beauty, but damned if he didn’t find her intriguing for other reasons.
Rory found himself noticing little things, like the way she twisted her hair when she was nervous or bit her lip when she was thinking.
But it wasn’t just little things that intrigued him.
He’d also witnessed her kindness and consideration in her dealings with strangers, like inviting Deidre to the handfast.
And after the ceremony, he’d noticed how she’d immediately sought approval from her father.
There was such eagerness in her expression, it was almost hard to watch.
But he had. So he hadn’t missed her acute disappointment when none was forthcoming.
Her relationship with her father and brothers seemed very awkward, almost stiff.
As if she were a fragile piece of porcelain, and they didn’t know quite what to do with her. Rory could commiserate.
Still, he felt sorry for her; he was close with all of his brothers and sisters.
He stopped himself and frowned. Except the youngest. Flora had left with her mother as a child after the death of their father and rarely returned.
It was a situation he intended to rectify to ensure that the girl didn’t grow up without knowing her kin.
Isabel was endearingly vulnerable, but not timid.
The strength with which she bore his uncharacteristic display of temper had proven that.
Initially, he’d been relieved when she’d finally given up and turned to Alex.
Let her be a burr under his saddle for a while.
Yet Alex seemed genuinely to enjoy her company, looking more relaxed than he had in some time.
This should have made Rory happy, but instead he’d lashed out. Leaving him to wonder why.
He was loath to admit it, but the girl’s bravery impressed him.
The black look he threw her had felled many men much stronger and more experienced.
Beneath that beautiful polished exterior there lurked an undeniable strength.
Most lasses would have taken to the hills by now, but she somehow managed to make him feel to blame for intimidating her.
Such vulnerability mixed with spirit and courage was an unusual combination. He shook his head. Damned if she didn’t remind him of his sister Margaret … before.
In truth, he didn’t know what to make of her.
She had far more substance than he’d expected and none of the haughty confidence of a beautiful woman.
She surprised him, and Rory didn’t like surprises.
Isabel MacDonald was almost too good to be true, especially coming from Sleat.
So far the lass had done nothing to deserve his mistrust, but it was early yet.
She bore greater study; he would have to keep his eye on her. From a distance.
Sitting so close to her all afternoon and trying to ignore her had been a lesson in perseverance.
She looked enchantingly dainty next to him, and so damnably lovely. They were squeezed close together on the bench, and each time she moved she brushed against him, sending bolts of awareness shooting through him.
Isabel MacDonald was a woman who seduced by mere proximity.
The subtle fragrance of lavender that wafted from her hair, the delicate way her fingers picked at the food on their trencher, the half-lidded expression of pleasure in her eyes as she savored a delicious morsel, the enticing way her tongue darted out to catch a stray grain of sugar on her lip.
He couldn’t watch her without imagining the same look on her face as he pleasured her or her tongue flicking out to taste other things with equal relish.
The blatant sensuality of her movements was made all the more powerful by the simmering passion he’d detected in her kiss.
Everything about her screamed soft, sweet femininity and hot, passionate sex just waiting to be released. And Rory, or at least his body, was listening.
He couldn’t look at her without getting hard.
Her breasts were incredible, lush and round, displayed to mouth-watering perfection in her gown.
He ached to feel them in his hands, in his mouth, and pressed against his naked chest. The temptation to take what was rightfully his proved more difficult than he’d imagined. He couldn’t wait for the meal to end.
His lustful thoughts were turned by a loud crash from across the room, shattering the peace of the celebration. He heard a table turning over and the unmistakable thump of fists and the sounds of a skirmish. A quick glance told him all he needed to know—two men, MacDonald versus MacLeod.
Rory stood up, rigid with fury. “Enough.” The boom of his voice snapped like a whip across the hall. The room fell to a deadly hush. The men stopped fighting as all eyes turned to him.
He heard Isabel gasp beside him. “Ian,” she cried softly.
Rory recognized Isabel’s youngest brother, still huffing from the exertion of the brawl, blood streaming down the side of his face from a cut at his temple.
Opposite him stood Fergus MacLeod, one of his own men.
A fierce warrior, but also a quick-tempered one.
Rory took in the situation, noting the horrified serving girl standing just to the side. Fergus’s wife.
“Here.” Rory pointed to the foot of the dais. “Both of you.” When they stood before him, he ordered, “Explain.”
Both men started at once.
“One at a time.” When they’d finished, it was as Rory thought. Ian had flirted with the pretty serving girl a little too vehemently for the likes of her husband. Fergus had reacted by slamming his fist into Ian’s face, breaking the peace.
Rory clenched his jaw and stared at his man, not bothering to hide his displeasure.
“I hope you intend to do something about this, MacLeod,” Sleat said, obviously relishing the situation.
Rory ignored him. He did not need to be reminded of his duty.
The heat of the battle had worn off enough for Fergus to realize what he’d done.
“What have you to say for yourself?” Rory demanded. “You’ve broken the sacred obligation of Highland hospitality and disturbed the peace of this hall.” He gestured to Ian. “This man is our guest.”
Fergus bowed his head, knowing his actions had shamed the clan. “I acted without thought.”
Before he could hand down the punishment, Isabel put a tiny hand on his arm. “Please—”
Rory stiffened. He knew what she was going to say. He was also aware of the eyes still upon them. “Don’t interfere, Isabel.”
“Please,” she whispered in a soft voice. “It wasn’t all his fault.”
Gazing down at her hand on his arm, Rory felt something strange twist in his chest. He should be furious that she dared question his authority before his clan, but instead he admired her sense of justice.
Even if it was misplaced. “Do I need to instruct you on the obligation of Highland hospitality?”
“No, it’s only that—”
“Enough,” he said, this time harsh enough for her to stop. He turned back to Fergus and made his ruling. “For your actions, you shall pay the fine of three spring calves. Two for the MacDonalds and one to me.”
A collective gasp followed his ruling, but the angry glares were directed at the MacDonalds and not at Rory. He heard the serving girl begin to sob. It was a harsh punishment, but a fair one. He sat down to resume his meal, though in truth he’d lost his appetite.
Rory sat quietly for a long time, furious at having his decision questioned but struck by her compassion all the same. Especially since the man involved was her brother.
“My decision displeased you,” he said. “You think it too harsh?”
She picked at the bits of food on their trencher before answering. “His family will suffer a substantial loss of income.”
“Aye. It will cost them severely, but they will not starve. Fergus broke a sacred obligation, disparaged the honor of the clan, and must be punished accordingly. That is my duty.” He cursed himself for explaining further. “What kind of chief would I be if I did not uphold our laws?”
“There is no shame in compassion.”
“Compassion is for those not charged with responsibility,” he said flatly.
He didn’t expect her to understand a chief’s obligation to act decisively and forcefully.
Women were softhearted creatures. He would have been within his rights to have Fergus flogged or put in irons.
He looked her straight in the eyes. “The obligation of Highland hospitality is absolute. If you break the law, you suffer the consequences.” The warning was unmistakable. “There is no mercy for wrongdoers.”
Rory didn’t fail to notice when she paled.