A Highlander’s Homecoming (17 page)

Ahead of them, a group of men and boys had gathered near the large gates that opened into the bailey. Their growing noise, angry jeers and laughter, must have been what first attracted Isa’s attention.

They had formed a circle around a man and woman holding a small child, hurling insults at the couple. He could feel the crazed excitement of the crowd building momentum, each person stoking the anger and suspicion of the one next to him.

How careless of him! He’d been so distracted in his banter with Isa, he’d failed to notice what was going on right under his nose. As he drew up beside her, he reached out to grab her elbow.

Too late.

She dodged his arm and bulldozed her way forward. “What do you men think yer doing? Stop that! Stop that right now!” Isa, her head barely level with the
men’s shoulders, stepped into the center of their circle to where the couple stood, taking a stand in front of them.

Robert elbowed his way through the men, too, likely shoving a bit harder than was actually necessary in his irritation. The instant he’d realized what was going on, he should have remembered her affinity for the underdog. Seeing the quarrelsome mob surrounding her triggered his own anger.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded, sizing up the situation even as he spoke.

The crowd that had gathered was little more than stable hands and castle servants. Dealing with the lot of them would be easy enough should it come to that, but Robert didn’t like their position in the least. Having both Isa and the woman with her child inside this circle was unacceptable. His most immediate priority was to shift them to a more easily defended spot. A spot with no one at their backs.

He chose the most expedient means he could think of to get people moving away. He drew his sword, pulling it hard against the scabbard to ensure the ring of metal would carry through the air.

The circle evaporated, with men and boys scattering off to both sides, all keeping their distance as he backed the couple and Isa toward the open gate.

“Now,” he demanded loudly. “Would someone like to tell me what the hell is going on here before I’m forced to lose my temper.”

“It’s them dirty tinklers,” one of the men called out from a safe distance away. “We caught ’em sneaking in through the gates. They’re here to steal something.”

“We dinna sneak,” the man at his shoulder asserted. “And we’ve no need to steal anything these people might have. My wife and I walked through the gates in broad daylight. We accompanied the cleric from Urquhart thinking to offer our goods and services for the wedding celebration to be held at this castle.”

“Who are you to be protecting them dirty tinklers?” one of the braver voices called out.

Before Robert could respond, another in the crowd answered for him. “He’s that warrior what claims to be guardian over the laird’s granddaughter.”

More rumbling ensued, but most backed away a little farther.

Robert spared the tinkler only a quick glance, keeping his attention focused on the men around them.

“This is no place to bring yer family, sir. There’s no amount of silver to be made that’s worth risking something so precious in a place as unsettled as this.”

Behind them, the wife edged closer, lifting one hand to her husband’s shoulder. “He speaks the truth, William. Can you no feel it on the wind? We should be away from here. Quickly.”

“Agreed.”

That was all Robert needed to hear. Once again he lifted his voice to call out to the crowd. “These people have meant you no harm and I mean for no harm to come to them. Do you ken my words? Now get away, all of you. Go back to what yer supposed to be doing.”

Gradually, in groups of two and three, they began to drift away, grumbling, casting suspicious looks over their shoulders as they left.

“Where are the guards to let this happen?” Isa’s cheeks were still pink, but Robert suspected the color resulted from her anger.

“Ha!” the man scoffed. “There’s none likely to come to the rescue of a tinkler, miss. Making your aid, good sir, all the more impressive.” He held out his hand to Robert. “William Faas, in yer debt. And this is my wife, Editha, and our son, Sean.

“He’s adorable.” Isa reached out a tentative finger, stroking the child’s soft plump cheek as she spoke.

“Thank you.” Editha’s shy smile broke beautifully over her ruddy face. “As my husband says, we’re in yer debt. If yer ever in need of us, you’ve only to call upon us for aid.”

Editha hefted the small boy higher up on her hip and turned, following William out through the gates to their wagon beyond.

“Right,” Robert muttered, watching the retreating couple. “I’ll keep it in mind if I ever find myself in need of a new pot.” He could only hope William Faas had learned a valuable lesson this day about using more care in where he led his family.

“I suppose it begins,” Isa murmured, brushing past his shoulder to move in front of him.

The doors of the great hall had opened and groups of people drifted down the stairs, all heading toward the little chapel at the far side of the courtyard. Robert and Isa followed, keeping to the edges of the crowd.

The MacGahan laird took his place on the steps of the chapel, Roland Lardiner at his side.

Robert studied the two of them, searching for any signs of trouble. The MacGahan laird must suspect
something was amiss at his castle, otherwise why would he have made a point of asking Robert to watch over Isabella? Did he see that the danger came from his own second in command, or was he so close to the man as to be blinded?

“What worry’s filling yer thoughts now, Robbie?”

He looked down to find Isabella staring at him, her gaze penetrating.

“Nothing,” he lied.

“You canna expect me to believe such as that when yer forehead is puckered up like a large dress tied about a small woman. Those wrinkles tell me yer worrying over something.”

When had Isabella become the expert at reading him?

“I was only wondering if the laird’s new wife might not be in danger from . . .” He stopped, looking around at the people close to them. “From the man we were discussing before,” he finally finished.

“Hardly,” Isa scoffed. “Agneys is Roland’s daughter.”

Roland’s daughter? “But that should mean . . .”

“Isabella! There you are!” Laird MacGahan’s voice rang out over the noise of the crowd and the people quieted, all heads turning to look in their direction.

Isa grabbed Robert’s hand, as if for support, scooting closer to him before the old man called out again.

“Join me up here on the steps, lass. I’d have my granddaughter at my side on this day.”

She looked to Robert, her eyes rounded, and he nodded his reassurance before leading her through the opening that formed in the crowd between the laird
and where they’d stood. He gave her hand a squeeze before she let go to stand beside her grandfather.

He moved back, but only a couple of steps. Though he wanted to watch Isa, to be able to give her encouragement if she needed it, his attention was completely taken by Lardiner.

The man glared at Isa in a way that made Robert remember the saying, “If looks could kill
.”
Which made no sense at all.

After all, Roland’s daughter would shortly be the wife of the MacGahan, so what threat could he possibly see in Isa?

Chapter 14
 

Isa fidgeted uncomfortably in her chair. She’d never been seated on the dais next to her grandfather before, and his insistence that she stay for the wedding feast and occupy this place next to him now was most confusing.

She sat on his right with Agneys on his left. Roland sat next to his daughter, his expression as close to a smile as Isa could ever remember seeing on the slimy man.

The only positive in her grandfather’s table arrangements had been that he’d seated Robbie next to her. More than once this evening she’d felt the need to let her foot linger close to his under the table. Each time, the look he’d sent her had settled her nervous stomach and given her strength to continue to sit here amid so many stares.

She slid her foot next to his now, waiting to catch his eye. The almost-smile he gave her warmed her heart and seemed to make the air in the room easier to breathe.

Not that anyone else would recognize his expression as a smile. Even with his sword hanging from his chair rather than strapped to his back, her guardian looked every bit the warrior tonight, his emotionless mask securely back in place.

She’d been fooled the first time she’d seen him, thinking the man was truly without emotion, but she knew better now. There was much more to her Robbie than mere warrior.

She’d seen with her own eyes the kindness in his face when he’d gently taken Jamie under his wing, slowing his progress on the task at hand to allow the lad to work with him on the fence. She’d watched this afternoon as justice had lit his expression when he’d come to the rescue of that family of tinklers in the courtyard.

And without a doubt, she’d seen the heat of desire in his expression a time or two.

If only her life had been different, she would have chosen a man such as Robbie to spend it with. A man of intense emotions but always in complete control of them. A man to fill her days and share her nights. A man to father her children.

She sighed at the hopeless daydream. Even if a man such as he were the least bit inclined to care for a woman like her, the knowledge of what she was, what she was capable of, would send him running in the opposite direction fast enough.

The clanging of metal tankards against the large
wooden tables jerked her attention back to the present. With a guilty start, she found Robbie staring at her, and she felt her face heat as if he could read her thoughts.

“Raise yer cups in celebration,” Roland announced. “Of our laird and his lady, Agneys.” He paused, waiting for the cheering to subside. “You’ve news yet to share with yer people, have you no, my laird?”

If Isa didn’t know better, she’d think her grandfather uncomfortable with the question. Though the idea seemed impossible to her, she could have sworn he stiffened in his chair before responding to Roland.

“I’m no sure what yer speaking of, Roland.” Randulf reached for the full tankard sitting on his left.

“Here, now, my laird. This is no time to be a modest man. Yer people deserve to hear from yerself the good news you and yer lady have to share with us.”

Randulf looked out over the faces in his hall before turning his gaze to Isa.

Isa had always believed her grandfather had the most piercing stare of anyone she’d ever known. When he’d trained that gaze on her as a child, she’d imagined herself a rabbit in the falcon’s sight. As she met his eyes now, she wondered how she could have ignored how much like her father’s eyes his were. How like Jamie’s. Frosty blue, like storm clouds on the horizon.

At this moment, with their gazes locked, she could almost allow herself to believe he was trying to share his thoughts with her through those eyes.

But, of course, that was ridiculous. Her grandfather had shared nothing with her since that awful day he’d come to tell her he’d received news of her father’s death.

At five, she’d had no understanding of how to control her emotions. She’d felt swallowed up by an unimaginable sorrow to know her beloved da would not be coming back to her. When the tears started, she couldn’t stop them any more than she could halt the thunder or the rain or the quaking of the earth that had followed.

Her fault, her grandfather had accused. The fault of her mother, the treacherous Fae whore who’d broken his only son’s heart and left him with a dangerous half-breed to raise.

Thunder boomed outside now and Isa closed her eyes to break the strange connection with her grandfather. To break the connection to her past. To stop the horrible memory that was all that she shared with the old man sitting next to her.

To her amazement, her grandfather patted her hand.

“Our laird is ever the modest man so I’ll share his news, my kinsmen.” Roland, still standing, seemed as if he could hardly contain himself. “Even now, our laird’s new wife carries his heir. In a matter of months, we’ll welcome the next MacGahan laird into the world!”

Cheers and applause and shouts of congratulations greeted Roland’s announcement, with people banging their tankards against their tabletops and stomping their feet on the stone floors.

Isa studied her grandfather’s pale face as he pushed back his chair and rose slowly to his feet. He looked so much older than she’d noticed before, the lines of his face etched more deeply than she remembered.

“Aye, what Roland tells you is true. My . . .” He paused, looking down at Agneys next to him before
continuing. “My wife, Agneys, tells me she carries my, our, child. And today, before all of you as witnesses, I declare that should this bairn be a male child, he will be the next MacGahan laird.” Here he paused again, allowing the hall to erupt into more cheers and clapping until, at last, he lifted a hand, motioning for silence.

“You also stand witness to this—should the bairn Agneys carries be a female child, I hereby name my granddaughter Isabella as my rightful heir, and declare that whoever Isabella chooses as husband will be the next MacGahan laird.”