Chapter 19
“A kiss for luck.”
Strong, tanned hands encircled Isabel’s waist, lifting her effortlessly from her saddle before yanking her close to the warm, granite-hard body she recognized so well.
Isabel tilted back her head and smiled with amusement at the twinkling eyes of the handsome man cradling her in his protective embrace.
“I do not think you need any luck, Rory MacLeod. You have won nearly every event, with only the caber toss remaining. It seems obvious that the MacLeods will win the gathering for yet the third year in a row.”
A satisfied grin spread across his bronzed face. “It certainly seems that way. Does it not please you?” He feigned a frown and arranged his impudent features into the mock hurt look of a besotted squire who’d displeased his lady.
“Don’t play coy with me, Rory MacLeod. You know very well that it pleases me. Although I think you are enjoying the admiring glances of some of the more bold lasses far too much. Perhaps it is time for you to learn a wee bit of humility? Mayhap I should kiss a Campbell for luck instead.”
“You will do no such thing if you want the man to live to see another sunrise,” he growled in her ear.
“Now who is playing coy?” His laughter tickled her neck as his lips nuzzled the sensitive skin.
“Kiss me, then, if not for luck then as a favor, like the gallant knights of old who would ride in a tournament with the colors of their lady tied to their armor.”
Who could resist such a sweet entreaty? Isabel stood up on her toes and held his arms for balance, touching her lips to his in a chaste kiss.
Rory raised a sardonic eyebrow. “That is not exactly what I had in mind, but given our audience and the lack of time, I suppose it will have to do—for now. But when I win, I’ll be seeking spoils worthy of the victor.”
With one last grin, Rory turned and strode toward the other clansmen gathering for the caber toss. Isabel knew her eyes were probably shining with sensual anticipation, but she didn’t care. Her heart swelled with warmth and pride. Rory MacLeod was a man built to make women gush.
Thankfully, after their uncomfortable confrontation two days ago, things had returned to normal.
Though Rory hadn’t been fully satisfied by her explanation for her uncle’s anger, he had believed her vow of trust. A vow she meant with all of her heart.
Even if her plan did not work, she could never betray Rory or his family.
She hadn’t intended to tell him she loved him, it just happened.
She’d been disappointed that he had not spoken in return, but Rory was not a man to wear his heart on his sleeve.
She also suspected that he did not want to complicate her leavetaking, should it prove necessary.
But in her heart, Isabel knew that he shared her feelings.
Indeed, since her declaration, she’d caught him watching her, his gaze noticeably softer.
She must have been standing there staring for some time before Ian’s voice drew her attention from the magnificent specimen of her handfast husband.
“Come, Bel, you’ll miss all the excitement.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize it was about to start.” She allowed him to lead her toward the field. “You’ve acquitted yourself well in the games, Ian. Are you not participating in the last event?”
“No, Angus is the best of the MacDonalds at the caber toss. But even he does not stand much chance against the MacLeod. Rory Mor’s skill is fit for the bards. It’s too bad that we are not truly … Oh, well.” He paused, considering. “Tell me, Bel, is everything well with you?”
Isabel knew what he was really asking. She looked around nervously, this time making doubly sure that no one was close enough to overhear their conversation.
Finding nothing amiss, she relaxed a bit and, meeting his concerned gaze, said truthfully, “As well as can be expected given the circumstances of my being here.”
“I only ask because, well, you seem quite happy with the MacLeod, and I just wondered whether you were perhaps having second thoughts.” Noticing the panic that spread across her features, he grabbed her hand.
“Don’t worry, I would not say anything to our uncle.
Anything you say now will remain between us. ”
Isabel detected the genuine concern in his voice.
Rory was right. Ian was worried about her.
She desperately needed someone to confide in.
“Am I all that transparent? It seems I have fooled no one. Our uncle suggested much the same thing but did not put his concern quite so nicely. I think he fears I may not go through with our plan.”
“Will you?”
Their eyes met and held for a moment. Satisfied with what she found, she shrugged. “I don’t know what I should do, Ian, but our uncle has not left me with much choice.”
“I cannot tell you what to do, little sister, but there is always a choice. You just need to find the one that will make you happy. And I have never seen you as happy as I have these past few days. You’ve made yourself a home at Dunvegan.
Not only your husband, but his entire family has obviously welcomed you.
You’ve changed.” He put his hand to his chin, assessing her.
“You’re happier, more confident”—he paused—“different.”
Different from when at Strome. He left the words unsaid, but Isabel knew what he meant. She had never found a place at Strome.
But Ian acted almost as if that embarrassed him. As if for the first time he realized that she’d always been excluded.
Isabel tiptoed into the room. The easy fall of voices broke off. Drat and double drat, she thought. How did they always hear her? “What are you talking about?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Ian said quickly.
Isabel scrunched her lips together, and put her hands on her hips. She hated always being left out of everything fun. “Are too,” she challenged as only an eleven-year-old could do.
“Run along now, Isabel,” Angus said. “I think Bessie is calling you.”
“You had friends,” Ian said, as if trying to reassure himself.
“Of course.”
His gaze sharpened. He didn’t believe her. “Who?”
“It’s not important.”
“Who?” he demanded.
Isabel felt her cheeks heat. She didn’t want him to feel sorry for her. “Bessie, Mary, Sari.” All servants.
“What of the girls from the village?”
She shook her head.
Ian swore. “I’m sorry, Bel. No wonder you were always following us. None of us realized …” His jaw hardened. “We should have, and I’m sorry for it.”
Isabel smiled, pleased by his acknowledgment. “It was a long time ago. But you are right, I have found happiness here. Margaret is a true friend.”
His solemn eyes grew merry with mischief.
“I thought our uncle was going to trip over his tongue when he first beheld bonny ‘one-eyed Margaret’ without her patch. It was truly a horrible jest he played on her and the MacLeods with that atrocious procession. But ’twas he who looked foolish when she, as ethereal as a fairy princess, stood next to that great toad of a woman Mackenzie that he married instead. ”
Isabel raised her hand over her mouth to cover her giggle. “His expression was rather humorous.”
Ian snorted at her understatement. “Well, Isabel, I do not envy your decision. Either way, you will anger a powerful man. I must admit that I have found much to admire in your handfast husband over these last few days. He is a strong chief, and he has the love and respect of his clan. But mark this: Whatever you decide, be very cautious with our uncle. I think he has something else planned that he has not told us about. Our father suspects Sleat may actually be in league with the Mackenzies. Although our uncle has promised to take our side in the dispute with the Mackenzies over Strome Castle if you are successful, Father doubts that Sleat will keep his word.”
Isabel was taken aback. “Why? What reason does he have to suspect treachery from Sleat?”
Ian sobered. “Father was furious when he found out about the Mackenzies’ attack on you. He blames himself.”
“Why should he do that?”
“He told Sleat of your letter, where you mentioned the MacLeod’s delay in Edinburgh. He believes that Sleat told the Mackenzie.”
Was that why Rory had questioned her? It took Isabel a moment to digest the fact that a seemingly innocuous comment in her letter could have led to the attack. “I don’t believe it,” she said dumbly.
“The Mackenzie’s rage at our family and the MacLeods is so strong after the death of his son, Father believes that even if Sleat were inclined to do so, our uncle could no longer rein in the vengeful Mackenzie.”
At the mention of the Mackenzie, Isabel shuddered.
The old chief had watched her closely over the last few days, and she did not trust him.
No matter what Rory claimed about the sanctuary of the gathering, she suspected that Mackenzie was planning something.
But so far, he’d done nothing more than stare at her with the same flat eyes of his son.
Except that his eyes were glazed with something more—the promise of vengeance.
Ian continued, “Even now, Father seeks an alternative alliance to wage our defenses against the Mackenzies.”
Isabel couldn’t believe her ears. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. She tried to contain her excitement, asking cautiously, “Do you think Father would accept the MacLeod’s help?”
“I’m almost certain of it. Could you convince him to do so?”
Isabel grinned. “I think so.”
Ian met her smile with his own. “It would be a solution to our problems.”
Almost all her problems. She still needed to find a way to return Trotternish to the MacLeods and forestall her uncle’s plan to tell all. “Don’t say anything to Father yet. I will write as soon as I know something definitive.”
“Good luck, Bel. For your sake as well as ours, I hope this works.”
The opportunity for further conversation was lost by the excitement surrounding the start of the caber toss.