Chapter 9
Perhaps the dress had served its purpose after all, Isabel thought as she caught sight of the discarded gown still lying in a heap on the floor of their bedchamber.
Though it had not exactly elicited the reaction she’d hoped for, it had elicited a reaction.
And as the night had drawn on, she had detected a subtle thawing in Rory.
For the first time, their conversation had been relaxed and at times even playful.
He was no less imposing than before, but not quite so remote.
She’d been enjoying herself with both Rory and his sister.
The story of the Fairy Flag, however, had jarred her back to reality.
If the tale spun by the seannachie was to be believed, she knew where the flag was kept: a locked box in a secret location safeguarded by Rory.
Now all she had to do was get Rory to tell her where he kept the box, retrieve it, find the secret entrance, and leave. Simple.
She scoffed. The man intended to send her home in eleven months, but would he confide the clan’s most precious secrets?
Not likely. But she had to try. The only other choice was to return home to face defeat and the destruction of her clan at the hands of the Mackenzies. In other words, she had no choice.
She dared not think of what Rory would do if he discovered her subterfuge.
How would he deal with a traitor? Would she be killed?
Maimed? Imprisoned? She didn’t think so.
Even in the beginning, when he had been so remote and cold, she had not sensed ruthlessness in his character, and less so now.
He did not seem the type to enjoy violence toward women.
In fact, he showed his love for his sister quite openly, something most men in his position would be reluctant to do for fear of being thought weak.
Perhaps he would be able to forgive her?
She laughed scornfully. Highlanders did not forgive—it was not in their vocabulary.
No, he was a proud man, and what she intended would be a blow to his pride. He would never forgive her.
The forlorn hollowness in her heart at the thought of betraying Rory tore bitterly at her sense of duty, her sense of responsibility.
Like a coward, she wanted to run from here, return to court as if nothing had happened.
Unfortunately, either way the result would be the same. She would never see him again.
Isabel doubted she would be able to look at herself in the mirror when this was all over, but the thought of the destruction her failure would bring to her own clan was equally unpleasant. She had to proceed with her plan.
She had to get closer to him, to change his mind. To make him forget she was a MacDonald. Tonight she intended to wait up for him, even if it took all night. He might be bedding another woman, but she wouldn’t let that stop her. He was not completely indifferent to her.
Nor was she to him. Tonight had established that well enough.
Her response to his touch earlier had given her more than a twinge of apprehension.
Even simply sitting beside him, she flushed with awareness.
When he smiled, she remembered the feel of his mouth on hers, and when his eyes lingered on her breasts, she remembered the brush of his finger and the intimate longing from within.
No, she was hardly indifferent. She just couldn’t let her attraction get in the way of what she had to do.
She must analyze her plan of action methodically.
If she was going to truly search for the Fairy Flag, it seemed logical to begin with Rory.
A talisman must be accessible to be of use in an emergency.
She would have to search the areas that Rory frequented but that were private enough not to be subject to accidental discovery.
Somewhere in his rooms seemed the most likely hiding place. It was named the Fairy Tower after all.
Isabel lay in bed gazing at the ceiling, watching the flickering shadows of candlelight, waiting.
She rolled from side to side, trying to get comfortable.
When that proved futile, she tossed off the coverlet, alighted from bed, and moved to stand before the window.
But not even the soft glow of moonlight or the tranquillity of a bright starry night could calm her strange restlessness.
What was keeping him? As if she couldn’t guess. Catriona. A sick, queasy feeling knit low in her belly. Admittedly, she intended much worse, but why did it feel like a betrayal?
Frustrated and angry, Isabel hurriedly donned her slippers and robe.
If she sat here all night with nothing to do, she’d go mad just thinking about it.
She had to relax. What she needed was a good book.
Something to free her mind from Dunvegan, from Rory, and from her wretched plight while she waited.
He’d offered her the use of his library; she wished she’d thought to ask him where it was, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to find.
Isabel frowned as she looked down at her wrap.
It was another of her uncle’s purchases.
The sheer ivory silk did little to hide her near undressed state.
Despite the modest night rail that she wore to sleep, the robe clung to her at all her most intimate parts as if she wore nothing underneath.
She pulled the sides of the gown tighter across her chest, attempting to further cover herself, but she only exacerbated the problem.
Isabel tiptoed softly across the room and hesitated for a moment, Rory’s warning not to flaunt herself echoing in her ears.
If she were caught in her present ensemble, it would be embarrassing.
But she couldn’t wait up with nothing to do, and she dearly missed her nightly read that had become an enjoyable ritual in Edinburgh.
Besides, she reasoned, the noise had quieted considerably in the last hour.
Certainly everyone except for Rory would be in bed by now.
But what if he caught her?
He wouldn’t be happy to see her traipsing around in her nightclothes.
A spark of recklessness kindled inside her.
She’d pushed him tonight with the dress, but perhaps not hard enough.
What would happen if she pushed harder? It was what she wanted, wasn’t it?
For her plan. Memories of hot kisses along her neck and his finger sweeping her nipple assailed her, calling that theory into question.
A shiver of fear and anticipation shot through her.
It appeared Isabel had a heretofore unknown penchant for courting danger.
She moved purposefully toward the door, then paused to rest her hands on the wooden slats, listening with her ear to the door to make sure no one was about. Hearing nothing, she cautiously opened the door.
She slid from her room and began the quest to find the library.
As she had yet to explore the Fairy Tower, she didn’t know where to begin.
Rory’s room occupied the third floor, and she knew that both Alex and Margaret had chambers on the second floor, so she decided to start with the bottom and work her way up.
Keeping to the shadows, she carefully began her long journey down the steep curved stairs to the lower level.
Despite her fear of being caught, Isabel felt a surge of excitement. Her skin tingled. Her body felt wonderfully alive, wonderfully sensitive. She grinned mischievously. It had been quite some time since she had embarked on a nighttime adventure.
Wandering around in the middle of the night through dark corridors reminded her of sneaking after her brothers when she was a girl.
Unbeknownst to both her father and uncle when they had sought her cooperation, she made an excellent spy.
She’d had more than enough practice. Even Bessie was not aware of how many times she had escaped her chamber at Strome Castle to follow her brothers on their midnight raids or their illicit trysts with the conquest of the week.
Early on, she’d been caught following them once or twice, earning her a sore backside for a few days, but she soon grew far more adept at her game.
As she grew older and realized the danger, she carried along her bow for protection.
On her last raid before leaving for Edinburgh, she’d followed her brothers, who had been “borrowing” some cattle from the Mackenzie of Kintail but had been surprised in the act by a handful of Mackenzie clansmen.
Her youngest brother, Ian, had been forced from the protective core of fighting MacDonald clansmen, and Isabel watched in horror as a Mackenzie warrior lifted his arrow and aimed it straight at Ian’s heart.
Without thinking, she released her own arrow from her hiding place in the trees.
As always, her aim was true, and the arrow struck the Mackenzie warrior right between the eyes.
She’d been sick on the spot. The sound of the arrow sinking into flesh and bone was one she would never forget.
Ian had been so shocked that he had not turned around right away to see who had rescued him from death. Only later, when he realized that none of his brothers or clansmen had noticed his troubles, had he figured out someone else had been there.
He might have suspected who it was, but he never said a word. After that night, however, Isabel detected a subtle change in Ian’s attitude toward her. From that day forward, he offered her a small token of respect.
Isabel was severely shaken by the incident.
When she followed her brothers on their adventures, she’d wanted only to be included; she’d never contemplated having to kill anyone.
She matured much in that moment, realizing by experience that her childish games had very adult consequences.
She vowed to leave her brothers be, but at the same time she couldn’t resist a wee bit of pride that her arrow had saved Ian, even if he didn’t know it.