A Highlander’s Homecoming (15 page)

“What the hell have you done to yerself?” Robbie demanded, an angry frown creasing his handsome features. “You stink to high heaven!”

“This?” She tried to ask it innocently enough. “Only what I always do.”

“No. Yer no going about like that. No anymore.” Robbie crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head as if he could tell her what to do. “Go in the house and clean yerself up. We’ll wait right here for you.”

“I’ll do no such thing.” Was he witless? She’d carefully cultivated her disguise over the past eight years. She wasn’t about to ruin all that hard work. “I’m ready to go as I . . .
urmph
.”

The wind was knocked from her lungs when Robbie lifted her from her feet, tossing her over his shoulder and walking away.

“What do you think yer . . .”

Before she could even finish her sentence, she was flying through the air and landing with a splash, on her bottom, waist deep in the stream that ran beside her home. The only sound her brain could form was a scream of rage.

Thunder rolled and lightning streaked across the sky as a distant storm raced in their direction, but Robert seemed not to notice anything as he glared at her.

“Now climb yer pretty arse out of the water, get inside the house, and get yerself ready to go. I told you once before, you’ve no need to pretend to be anything
other than yerself. I’ll no have you humiliating yerself, yer father’s memory, and yer grandfather on his wedding day. He deserves better from you.”

“My grandfather?” She yelled at him, indignation filling every inch of her soaking wet frame. “What do you ken of my grandfather? Nothing! You ken nothing of my life or of what my grandfather deserves.”

One look at Jamie’s white face, peering at her from behind Robbie’s massive body, and she gasped for air, fighting to regain her control. Of all the things in the world she might want, frightening the lad was not one of them.

“I ken he was laird and father to my friend Thomas. And I ken that Thomas loved his father as he did his daughter. And though I may not understand the troubles between the two of you, I have enough care for Thomas’s memory that I’ll show his father respect. And you’ll do the same as long as I’m here.”

He reached out his hand to help her up and she stared at it a long moment before accepting his assistance. How dare he try to shame her into changing her behavior.

“Then perhaps you should get on yer big horse there and go, Robert MacQuarrie. I dinna want you to stay. I dinna need you to watch over me.”

For a second, she thought he might let go of her hand, plunging her back into the water. But then his expression hardened and he pulled her to her feet, though a bit more forcefully than necessary, to her way of thinking.

When she was on the bank, he released her hand and stepped back, holding out his arm as if he were a great gentleman inviting her to enter her own home.

“Dinna keep us waiting long, woman.” He crossed his arms in front of him, one eyebrow cocking imperiously. “And for the record, Isa, whether you want me to stay or go is of no matter to me. I pledged my word to yer da to watch over you, and watch over you is what I intend to do. As long as yer here, I’m here, so you might just as well get that through yer stubborn little head.”

It would do no good to argue. That much was plain to see. Swallowing her anger, she stomped off toward the cottage.

He knew nothing of the man her grandfather was. Nothing. How dare he throw her father’s feelings in her face.

Damn him. Damn the Fates for bringing him here.

Thunder rumbled again in the distance as she slammed the door closed behind her, still struggling to bring her roiling emotions back under her command.

She fought back the tears that clouded her vision and the tightening in her throat, refusing to even think about whether they came from rage or sorrow.

Had she thought the Fates were unkind earlier? She’d been absolutely wrong. They weren’t unkind. They were downright vindictive as hell.

So there was indeed a temper to match all that red hair. Robert stared at the back of the retreating woman he’d just plucked from the waters. He wasn’t sure he’d ever met a woman who bottled up her emotions as tightly as Isabella did. She was going to blow one of these days, and when she did, heaven help whoever set her off.

“It’s because of her mother,” a quiet little voice said from behind him.

“What?”

Robert turned to find Jamie all but cowering a few feet away. The sight almost broke his heart. He strode over to the boy, and reached out to place his hand on Jamie’s shoulder. When the boy flinched, Robert felt a flush of guilt and dropped to his knees, facing the child.

“Isa would not like to have me tell you so, but it’s because of her mother that his lairdship wanted nothing to do with her when she was little. Please dinna be angry with her. It’s no her fault.” Though his chin quivered, he met Robert’s eyes with an oddly familiar piercing blue stare, his shoulders back like those of a little soldier.

“I’m no angry with Isa. Dinna you worry yerself about that, lad.” Robert forced a smile for Jamie’s sake, relieved to see the boy visibly relax. “How do you come to know about these things you say?”

Jamie shrugged. “My grandmother used to tell me stories about when Mistress Isa was a girl at the castle. She said his lairdship hated her mum because she’d up and left Master Thomas with a broken heart and that Isa was the very image of her mum.”

Robert nodded as he stood, ruffling Jamie’s hair with one hand. The backstairs grapevine always had been the best place to learn what went on in a keep.

“Come along with you, Jamie. Let’s get mounted and ready to go.” He lifted the boy up onto the back of the old horse he’d ridden from the castle before climbing into his own saddle. “Thank you for telling me about Isa and her grandfather. It helps me to know. I guess
I can see how a father might resent the woman he thought had hurt his son. And if, as yer grandmother says, Isa looks so much like her mother, I suppose it would stir old feelings.”

The door to the cottage slammed again and Robert turned, watching as the Isa he’d come to know over the past few days made her way toward them.

“Aye,” Jamie agreed. “Between the way she looks and the terrible magic she inherited from her mum, she and his lairdship have had a hard time of it.”

“The what?” Robert swiveled his gaze back to the boy.

“Magic,” he answered innocently, waving as Isa approached. “Isa’s mum was a Faerie.”

Chapter 13
 

“The laird’s solar is just down this way.” With an emphatic nod, Jamie loped off ahead of them down the gloomy hallway at Castle MacGahan.

“As if I dinna remember where my own grandfather’s solar is located,” Isa muttered irritably, pushing in front of Robert to follow the boy.

The whole of their trip from the cottage she’d been quietly irritable. On the rare occasion where she seemed to feel the necessity to add her comments, they’d been snippy, as now. That her temper was on display was a given.

Robert had quickly decided that if this was her convoluted female logic trying to teach him a lesson by not talking to him, she had sorely misjudged his need for conversation.

So she was angry with him, that much he understood and accepted. Fine. She could be as angry as she liked. It didn’t change for one moment what was right and proper. He might have missed his opportunity to guide Thomas’s child, but he wouldn’t allow the adult she had become to dishonor her father.

He also wouldn’t allow her to continue to dishonor herself. She was a beautiful, intelligent woman who deserved the respect of her clan, not their pity and derision.

She’d have it, too. He’d do whatever was necessary to see to that. And if her being angry and refusing to talk to him was the price he’d have to pay, so be it.

Besides, he and Jamie had passed the time pleasantly enough discussing their fence and making vague plans for future projects, so her lack of participation was of no concern to him.

Jamie’s claim that Isa’s mother had been Faerie was another matter altogether. It had to be a flight of imagination, a story told by an old woman to a small boy to bring on sleep.

Though he knew better than most the reality of the Fae, stories of the Faerie were rife in the legends of the Scots. And while he suspected that some of those legends might be based in fact, this particular story was difficult to accept without some proof. That his whole life could be so intertwined with the Fae seemed simply too much of a coincidence. And yet, this could certainly explain Thomas’s contention that Isa, like her mother, was “different.”

Whatever the truth, he planned to learn more about this story, though the opportunity to follow up hadn’t
appeared yet. He was especially interested in learning whether or not Isa knew anything of it.

“Here we are,” the boy whispered loudly before pushing open the heavy door to announce their arrival.

“They’ve come, yer lairdship. I’ve brought them directly to you, just as you commanded of me.”

Jamie bowed his head and moved to the side of the old laird’s chair while Robert followed Isa into the room, stopping two steps behind her.

Randulf MacGahan stared at his granddaughter, the thoughts behind his piercing blue gaze impenetrable. At length, he rose from his chair.

“Apologies for my delay in welcoming you, Isabella. When you first entered, it was as if Elesyria herself were standing in the room.”

“I canna help the way I look,” Isa muttered, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. She stepped back a pace, casting a dark scowl over her shoulder in Robert’s direction before returning her attention to her grandfather. “I’ve come as you ordered, for yer wedding to . . . to that Agneys. Though I canna for the life of me ken yer decision to tie yerself to that woman.”

The anger in her words surprised Robert, giving him pause to consider that Isa’s behavior this day might actually have less to do with him than he’d originally suspected.

“It was no an order, Isabella. Only the request of an old man to have his granddaughter at his side on this day.”

Though Robert could not see her expression, the rigid line of her back gave clue aplenty as to her mood.

“I should no be surprised. You made yer choices known long ago. And either way, you have what you wanted, do you no? You’ll guarantee the perfect little Agneys will be at yer side now for all time.”

“Isa.” The laird extended his hand and started toward her, but she held up her hand as if to stop him.

“I canna do this now. I’ve a need to speak with Auld Annie. Is she still in the room off the kitchens?”

Randulf’s hand dropped to his side and he nodded his answer.

Isa turned, bumping into Robert in her haste to leave the room, her eyes filled with unshed tears as she pushed past him.

“My son Thomas chose his daughter’s guardian well.”

“Thank you.” Robert backed to the door, wanting only to follow the footsteps he could hear even now fading down the hallway.

“No. Thank you, MacQuarrie. For bringing my granddaughter back to me.”

“I can take no credit for that.” Robert dipped his head in Jamie’s direction. “It was the lad there who brought us both to you.”

“No.” The old man shook his head sadly. “I’m no speaking of yer physical presence here, lad. It’s yer bringing home the lass who left here eight years ago. The lass I thought was lost to the madness I’d driven her to.”

Before Robert could respond, the laird seemed to recover himself, his emotions once again masked.

“Know this, guardian, yer work is far from done here. I’ve a concern for Isabella’s safety. You’ve a need to stay close to her side while she’s here.”

“And I will, Laird MacGahan. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to do just that.”

At the doorway, Robert paused one last time, thinking to leave with some appropriate pleasantry, but any words he might have spoken fled from his mind. The vague familiarity he’d sensed earlier suddenly crystallized for him.

Jamie had risen to his feet to stand at the old laird’s side. Both the boy and Randulf had fixed their attention squarely on Robert.

Two identical piercing blue stares of expectation followed him as he took off after Isa.

Outside the room, Isa picked up her pace. Though she stopped herself just short of running, she couldn’t get far enough away fast enough to suit her.

This entire day had been sheer hell, from her inglorious dousing in the stream this morning to her meeting with the MacGahan laird just now. As if having to watch her grandfather wed a woman who had been the bane of her life growing up wasn’t going to be bad enough, having to face him stripped of the protection of her disguise certainly had been.

Perhaps she should have been thankful he hadn’t cringed in fear at seeing her. Though accusing her of looking exactly like her mother was hardly any better. It had taken every bit of her control to hang on to her emotions and avoid disaster.

She knew she should have kept to her disguise.

The tatters and the filth had encouraged people to keep their distance. They’d turned away, ignoring her
as if she didn’t exist, secretly hoping that when they looked back she’d be gone. Without the disguise, she felt as if she were the center of curiosity, every head turning as she passed.