Chapter 4 #2
“But it is a good beginning,” she said. Something else was bothering her.
“About what happened yesterday … it was wrong of me to try to interfere. Nor did I intend to question your decision.” It had been wrong of her.
She was chastened to realize that despite the harsh punishment, there were no grumblings among the MacLeods. His decisions were respected.
Rory nodded, accepting her apology. “Why did you?”
“I didn’t want anything to mar the celebration. And when I saw my brother, I guessed what had happened. I know my brothers. They mean no harm, but I realized that your men do not know them as I do. Ian was very sorry for the trouble he caused.”
“He told me so himself.” Rory must have seen her look of surprise. “He apologized for disrupting the celebration and admitted he did not know the lass was wed. He is young yet, but I admire his integrity.”
Isabel smiled, pleased that the MacLeod acknowledged how difficult it must have been for Ian to apologize after the matter had already been decided in his favor.
“You are fond of your brothers?” he asked.
Isabel nodded. “Very much so.”
He stared at her intently. “And they of you?”
She hesitated. “Of course.”
Rory must have heard the uncertainty in her voice. “I am sure it was difficult for them to leave you as well. But it is for the best. With your family gone, your adjustment at Dunvegan will be easier. Unless you are having second thoughts?”
“No, of course not,” she said too quickly.
He lifted a brow that suggested he did not believe her. “I noticed your intense conversation with your uncle. I thought perhaps you might be reconsidering.”
Isabel felt her pulse quicken.
He stared at her hard, waiting for her to explain, which of course she could not. “If you were watching, then you must know I was simply bidding my uncle farewell.”
“It seemed rather more than a simple farewell. He appeared to be giving you some sort of instructions.”
Isabel sucked in her breath, her pulse now racing frantically. How could he have possibly guessed? Rory MacLeod was much too observant.
Think, Isabel.
Well, she thought, men loved obedient women, didn’t they?
She smiled demurely, fluttering her long lashes at him. “Very well, you are right, Rory.”
His brows lifted in surprise.
She forced what she hoped was a becoming blush. “My uncle was giving me instructions.” She paused. “Instructions on how to be a proper and obedient wife. Instructions on how to please you.”
He seemed to tense, as if her words had knocked the breath from him.
His eyes met hers. This time, there was no mistaking the flash of heat.
“I would like to hear those instructions.” His gaze slipped to her mouth and down the length of her body, lingering on her breasts.
“On how exactly you intend to please me.”
Isabel felt her insides quiver, not missing the sexual innuendo in his words. Her cheeks flamed. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean, Isabel?” The huskiness in his voice sent a shiver of awareness down her spine.
Dear God, he was standing close to her. So close that she could feel the heat from his body and smell the alluring scent of sea and spice that was strangely his.
She wanted to sink against him, dissolve into that heat, and feel the strength of his arms around her.
She wanted it with an intensity that was nearly overwhelming.
His wet hair fell in thick chunks across his ruggedly handsome face. She had a brazen urge to reach out and tuck it behind his ear. Anything to touch him.
Isabel couldn’t answer. The air between them crackled. Unconsciously, she leaned closer, caught in a warm magnetic pull that seemed to draw her in.
He continued to stare at her, looking deep into her eyes. His mouth was achingly close. She could see the stubble along his jaw and remembered how it felt scraping over her skin when he’d kissed her. She remembered the softness of his lips. The spicy taste of him. Her lips parted, waiting.
Did he see how much she wanted him to kiss her?
How all she could think about was the taste of his mouth on hers?
For a long moment, they stood like that, staring at each other in the rain.
Isabel searched for something, anything, to suggest that he felt it, too.
She was to be disappointed. He deliberately broke the connection, turning his gaze from hers.
“Now we are both soaked,” he said sternly. “Return to the keep. I have work to do. And in the future, stay inside during dangerous storms. I don’t want to have to fetch you again.”
He turned on his heel and left her feeling even more alone than before.
The MacDonald of Sleat watched Dunvegan sink into the gray mists of the storm clouds, but not before he caught sight of the two people standing on the battlements.
A sight that brought a satisfied smirk to his mouth.
There was no mistaking the identity of the woman or the man.
His plan was progressing smoothly. The MacLeod would fight his attraction, but in the end, Sleat had no doubt that Rory MacLeod would succumb.
Sleat still could not believe the good fortune that had brought his niece to his attention.
Isabel MacDonald was a rare beauty indeed.
A redheaded Helen of Troy. Men would see her and want her.
Wars could be fought over her. She embodied the perfect combination of innocence and sexuality.
Aye, his niece would serve their needs well. Very well, he congratulated himself.
Rory MacLeod had been a thorn in his side for too long.
It would amuse him to see his enemy, the great “Rory Mor,” brought down by a mere lass.
The MacLeod had put up quite a show pretending not to notice her, but Sleat knew better.
His indifference had been his unmasking.
The MacLeod wanted her. Badly. Who wouldn’t?
What man could refuse such riches? Sleat chuckled, well pleased with himself.
Aye, using a woman to get inside the MacLeod’s stronghold had been a stroke of genius.
The MacDonald scratched his scraggly beard, absently flicking the crumbs from this morning’s bread into the churning sea.
He frowned. There was one weakness in his plan.
His little niece. The ultimate success of his plan depended on her.
He abhorred relying on a woman for anything, useless creatures that they were, but in this it was necessary. There was no other way.
Was the chit strong enough to do her part?
She was very young and inexperienced. It was part of her charm.
But it also made her a liability. He hadn’t missed her fascination with the MacLeod chief.
Sleat would keep a close eye on her progress and make sure she understood the consequences for her clan if she failed.
For this Helen would not start a war, but end one.
And in the process deliver him a kingdom.