Chapter 21
The haunting sounds of the pipers playing their eerie lament for their dying chief echoed through the dark halls. The words of Patrick MacCrimmon gave voice to the anguish of a clan.
My pipe hand me and home I’ll go,
This sad event fills me with woe;
My pipe hand me, my heart is sore,
My Rory Mor, my Rory Mor.
It seemed as though the entire castle dwelt in a state of limbo for months, although in reality it was only a few days.
Endless days of waiting for the fever and infection to run its deadly course.
Endless days of praying for God to take him, to relieve him of his unbearable pain.
Endless days of praying for God to take her, so she would not have to watch him suffer.
In the end, He took neither.
By some miracle Rory survived, finding the strength to defeat the fever.
Never would Isabel forget those harrowing days when she thought she might lose him. Or the infinite joy she’d felt when at last he opened his eyes and his lucid blue gaze, strong and unwavering, met hers.
He took one long look at her and boomed in a surprisingly strong voice, “Get some rest. Now.”
Isabel never thought she’d be so glad to hear that uncompromising voice ordering her about.
Ignoring his instructions, she rested her head on the bed and wept with relief.
Relenting for a moment, Rory gently stroked her tangled hair.
But when her tears had dried, Isabel found herself forced from his bedside, not allowed to return until she’d eaten and slept.
Over the long weeks that followed, Isabel nursed Rory during his recovery, her happiness tempered only by the fact that she knew she might lose him still.
He loved her, but he still had not promised to marry her.
Each day that passed was like the tolling of a bell reminding her that the time of reckoning drew near.
Would Rory go through with the repudiation?
His silence on the subject of their future seemed only to confirm her fears.
Her uncle’s threat to tell Rory of her perfidy weighed heavily on her mind.
Sleat acted with the single-minded purpose of destroying the MacLeods, heedless of her happiness or security.
She had no doubt her uncle would hold to his promise if she did not bring him the flag by the end of the handfast period.
If he waited that long. Isabel knew she had to do something about her uncle soon.
She would do whatever was necessary to protect her secret until she was sure that Rory would not send her back; only then would she dare risk his anger.
Rory had given her his love and trust, and she had not been completely honest with him.
She should have told him that night as he lay dying, but she’d been too scared.
Their love was too fragile. There were too many forces trying to keep them apart.
Isabel didn’t have much experience with love, nor was she confident that she could hold the love of a man like Rory.
The scars of her past were too deep to erase with words spoken in the face of death …
and not repeated. How could she be confident in the strength of his love when the threat of repudiation hung like a reaper over her head?
She needed to buy time. Time to ask the queen for her help in the disposition of Trotternish and time to dissuade her uncle from blasting a hole right through the delicate bond of their love. But how could she satisfy Sleat without betraying Rory?
The answer had come to her unexpectedly, while praying for Rory’s recovery. Bessie walked into her room wearing an old silk shawl, and Isabel had her divine response.
That was where I’ve seen it. The flag that she’d glimpsed through the door looked just like Bessie’s shawl.
A plan formed quickly in her mind. She would write to her uncle and tell him that she’d found the flag.
But instead of the flag, she would give him Bessie’s shawl, or if her uncle insisted the spy retrieve the flag for himself, she would switch it temporarily.
Once her uncle’s spy removed the “Fairy Flag,” Isabel would replace the true flag and tell Rory the truth as soon as possible.
There were many risks, but she could think of no other way to satisfy her uncle that would enable her to stay at Dunvegan.
No doubt the ruse would eventually be discovered, but by then she would have garnered precious time.
And hopefully by then the issue of the repudiation would be solved by marriage vows.
Vows that, unlike a handfast, could not be easily set aside.
She quashed the wave of guilt at her deception, telling herself it would all work out in the end.
So nearly a month after the attack, when Rory had recovered enough to attend meetings with his men, Isabel sat down at the desk to compose a carefully worded letter to her uncle and another to the queen.
Moving some papers out of the way, she glanced down at a letter Rory had left unfinished only that morning.
The name leapt off the page: The Earl of Argyll.
She read the words that confirmed her worst fears: “I’m recovered … must see you to discuss the alliance.”
He still intended to go through with the marriage to Elizabeth Campbell.
The knowledge stung. But it also made her sure that she was doing the right thing.
Repressing the urge to crumple the offending letter into a ball, Isabel carefully put it to the side and began the letters that would garner her precious time.
Though frustratingly weak, after weeks confined to his bed, Rory was anxious to resume at least some of his duties.
It was not simply the endless cosseting of women that made him restless, though there was that, but while his wound healed, Rory had begun to implement his plan.
It could be a solution to all his problems, one that might enable him to marry Isabel and do his duty to his clan.
But even if it failed, Rory knew that he would never be able to let her go.
It was time to inform his men of his decision.
Careful not to reopen his wound, Rory slowly made his way down to the library, as Isabel had threatened to do him bodily injury if he attempted to take one step out of the Fairy Tower.
But he would not have a council with his men in his bedchamber.
Alex, Douglas, and Colin were already waiting for him.
Rory was glad to see that Colin had recovered from the injuries he’d suffered at the hands of the Mackenzies.
Two of Rory’s other men had not been so lucky, though Rory knew it could have been worse.
It was Colin who’d noticed the band of Mackenzies following his chief through the forest. He’d pursued, slowing Rory’s attackers and enabling their escape.
Once Rory, Alex, and Isabel had disappeared into the rocks, the Mackenzies had fled, preventing any further injuries.
But it was not the Mackenzies who concerned Rory right now. It was the reaction of his men, as he’d just laid out his plan.
“It is a good plan,” Alex said. “But do you think the king will agree?”
“James has been reluctant to interfere in land disputes between the clans,” Rory said. “But my proposal ceding Trotternish to the MacLeods as part of Isabel’s tocher gives James the opportunity to resolve the matter without actually having to decide the merits of the dispute.”
Alex nodded. “Something the king would rather not do, reluctant as he is to choose between you and Sleat. James will jump at the easy way out. A dowry is perfect.”
“But Sleat will never agree,” Colin pointed out.
Rory shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. By then the idea will already be in James’s head. Also, it was Sleat who proposed Isabel as my bride in the first place. Her tocher was not discussed when we agreed upon a handfast. But a dowry would be expected with marriage.”
“Argyll will be furious if you break the alliance. Can you afford to anger him? You might not find him as ready to intercede on our behalf in the future,” Colin said.
“I will find a way to mollify him. And any loss of Argyll’s support at court will be made up with the support we are gaining,” Rory replied.
“Isabel’s friendship with the king and queen is surely as beneficial as Argyll’s influence.
” Watching her act as hostess at the Highland gathering had made him realize that having Isabel as a wife would be an asset at court.
Rory was only sorry he hadn’t realized it earlier.
Douglas nodded his agreement. “You forget, Colin, I’ve seen her at court. I can assure you that Isabel is well connected in the royal household. She was the favorite of the queen amongst her ladies and a favorite of the king as well.”
“It’s done,” Rory said. “I’ve already written the king.” He paused. “And Argyll.”
He looked around the table, but if his men questioned his actions, they did not say so. His gaze fell on his brother. “If you have something to say, Alex, do so.”
Alex shook his head, but Rory knew what he was thinking.
An alliance with Argyll would have all but guaranteed a return of their land.
If Rory’s plan didn’t work, the MacLeods would lose Trotternish.
In deciding to break the agreement with Argyll before he was sure of the outcome with the king, Rory had put his love for Isabel above the good of the clan.
He would just have to make sure his plan didn’t fail.
But right now, if he did not want to collapse before his men, he would return to bed.
This short sojourn had sapped his strength.
Isabel had been right, though he would never admit it.
She already hovered over him as if he could disappear at any time.
But Rory understood her fear. And that was what had prompted this council.