Highlander Untamed (14 page)

“A dress like that is an invitation,” he said flatly. “Have care what you offer, Isabel. You just might get it.”

Isabel swallowed hard and nodded.

Without another word, he tossed her the dress he’d chosen for her, thankfully one that laced in the front, and watched—from a distance—her struggle to clothe herself. The heat in his penetrating gaze was contained, but no less volatile.

When she’d finished he led her from the room as if nothing had happened, which, given her confused state of mind, was just as well. Had he just intended to teach her a lesson, or had she finally managed a chink in his impenetrable armor?

Chapter 8

The crowd gathered in the great hall was conspicuously quiet as Rory led Isabel back to the dais, though no one stared too openly. Everyone in the room was keenly aware of what had happened, but none would dare shame his lady by making it known. Returning to the table, Rory offered Isabel a seat beside him, sat down, and resumed his meal as if he hadn’t just ripped her gown from her body and ravished her honey-sweet skin with his mouth. And as if she hadn’t just combusted like wildfire in his hands.

He’d made his point. She’d overstepped the bounds with that dress and pushed him too hard. Isabel had learned her lesson, but, he realized, so had he.

Not wanting to think any further about what had happened, Rory turned back to his conversation with Alex, engaging him in a heated debate about the fastest roads to Edinburgh. A good argument was exactly what he needed to release some of his pent-up tension.

Isabel must have been listening, because when he’d finished she asked, “Have you visited court recently, my lord?”

Rory relaxed. It seemed she, too, was anxious to put what had just happened behind them. It was a warning, nothing more. “No,” he said. “Though I must return soon.” He masked his annoyance at having to present himself to the king.

Her face lit up. “Oh, how I envy you.”

Rory ignored the strange pull in his chest at the burst of pleasure on her face. But he’d also heard the longing in her voice. “You were fond of court?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Very much so.”

“You were a lady-in-waiting to Queen Anne, I believe?”

“Yes, for almost a year.” She sighed. “It was a difficult adjustment at first, but I grew to love my time there.”

Rory realized it had probably been hard for her to leave her family. “You did not find it tiresome, all that pomp and formality?”

“It wasn’t like that at all,” she said. “The queen and king are very different when they are with their family.”

Her choice of words was telling. Rory was beginning to understand what she’d found at Holyrood. “And you were part of the family?” he asked gently.

He noticed the flash of loneliness cross her eyes, before she covered it with a wobbly smile. “Of course not,” she chided as if he’d only been jesting. “Though I was made to feel as if I were.”

And Rory realized how much she’d savored the experience. At court, she’d found what she’d been missing with her own family. She’d found happiness, but he also sensed a sadness—a certain vulnerability—in her, as if she were used to being on the outside and wanted desperately to be included but didn’t know whether she deserved to be. He guessed that although she approached things openly and enthusiastically, she pushed herself recklessly at times in response to those feelings of insignificance.

“And I learned so much,” she continued. “The king considers himself quite a devotee of literature and learning. He openly encourages the queen to pursue her scholarly endeavors. I was fortunate enough to join along.”

Rory lifted his brow. “You read?” When she nodded, he asked, “What are your favorites?”

“The great romances and the old chansons de geste, especially
Le Morte d’Arthur
and
La Chanson de Roland.
” The tempo of her speech increased with her passion on the subject. “I also fell in love with a new playwright from England. Have you heard of William Shakespeare?” He answered yes. “My favorite is
Romeo and Juliet.
”

“I’m familiar with the work,” Rory said carefully. He did not miss the irony of her choice. Like King James, Queen Elizabeth detested feuding. It was to please his royal patron that Shakespeare had written the cautionary tale of star-crossed lovers fated to die as a result of their families’ incessant feuding.

Rory was impressed. Not many women of his acquaintance were proficient readers, and none, with the exception of Margaret, were as voracious. He shared her appetite for literature and added to his extensive library whenever he traveled. He found himself offering, “There is a library in the Fairy Tower. You may borrow whatever you like.”

When she smiled, his chest constricted until the air left him. Her delight was so poignant, he had to turn away or he’d find himself devising ways of keeping her happy.

Isabel was disappointed when Rory returned to his conversation with Alex. She thought he’d been enjoying talking to her. But her heart fell when she saw the beautiful dark-haired woman, Catriona—Isabel had learned her name—approach the dais. This was the first time they’d crossed paths since the handfast ceremony. Though they spoke for only a few moments, the reminder of his liaison shattered whatever joy she’d experienced from his kind offer to allow her access to his library.

He might have kissed Isabel’s shoulder and ripped off her dress, but he was taking his pleasure with someone else.

There was no denying that Rory seemed extremely comfortable—no, intimate—with the woman. Isabel’s already shaky confidence crumbled. The unexpected burst of passion she’d felt in his arms tonight had confused her. She’d hoped she’d found a crack in his reserve, but now it seemed he’d only been trying to teach her a lesson. She’d embarrassed him before his clan, and that was all.

Trying to hide her disappointment, she turned away, only to watch as someone slipped from the shadows into the seat next to her. She smothered the gasp that rose involuntarily to her throat as she noticed the large black patch that covered half her face. It could only be Margaret.

She was grateful that Bessie had forewarned her of the lass’s disturbing appearance. Even so, Isabel was taken aback, but she managed to hide her consternation with a serene smile. The patch was as loud as a blaring trumpet heralding her disfigurement. She wondered whether the damage to the eye was worse to look upon than the menacing mask that was meant to hide it.

Isabel had been very nervous to meet her new sister, fearing that Margaret would attribute the sins of her uncle to her. But Isabel’s nervousness vanished at the sight of the timid creature next to her. Once she noticed Margaret’s discomfort, her heart immediately went out to her.

“You must be Margaret,” she said. “I’ve so looked forward to meeting you.”

Margaret peered shyly at her from beneath her lashes.

Without thinking, Isabel reached out and covered Margaret’s shaking fingers with her own. “I have never had a sister, but I know I should like one.”

Margaret stared at her hand in shock, but after a minute she seemed to relax. Her voice quivered when she spoke. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Isabel. I apologize for missing the celebration of your handfast, but my sister Christina had sent for me during her confinement.” She met Isabel’s friendly gaze with a feeble smile.

Isabel knew that Margaret’s journey to the neighboring Isle of Lewis, home to the Lewis branch of the MacLeods, had probably been conveniently arranged, but she could not blame the poor lass for wanting to avoid such proximity to Sleat. Isabel took a closer look at her new sister. Except for the patch, Rory’s sister was quite lovely. Long golden blond curls cascaded in soft ringlets down her slender back. Dainty fair features were somewhat hidden but still evident. Her one visible eye was the same transfixing deep sapphire hue of Alex’s and Rory’s eyes. Although Isabel was small of frame, Margaret was much smaller. Why, Isabel thought, grinning at the obvious similarity, she was as sprite as a wee fairy—compliments of her supposed ancestors, perhaps?

Once again, Isabel questioned her uncle’s actions. How could he have treated Margaret so harshly? She couldn’t reconcile her uncle’s handling of Margaret with the deeds of a worthy chief. It was unsettling, especially when compared with the strength and honor of the man beside her.

“I hope the birthing went well?” Isabel inquired politely.

“Yes, thank you, but I’m sorry to have missed your arrival.”

Isabel made a dismissive gesture with her free hand. “A babe is much more important. What did she have?”

Margaret smiled. “A girl.”

“I hope to meet her one day,” she remarked. “And Christina as well. How many sisters and brothers do you have?”

“Only one other. My youngest sister Flora. But she resides with her mother.” Margaret gave her a hesitant look. “Are you finding Dunvegan to your liking? I know you have just come from court,” she continued with a far-off look in her eye. “I doubt I’ll ever have the chance to travel to Edinburgh.”

“Whyever not? I would be happy to escort you to court and make the proper introductions. Queen Anne would be most happy to meet you, I’m sure. She is wonderful; I know you would like her. And of course I shall tell you all about my time at court whenever you wish. But I know you are busy with your duties, so you must tell me when it’s convenient.”

Margaret squirmed a bit in her seat, as if the fact that she was still chatelaine made her uncomfortable. “I’ve been very busy of late, but I’ll certainly find the time to hear about your stay at court. It sounds so exciting. But I could never show myself there…with the way I look and all.”

Isabel heard the deep sorrow and shame in Margaret’s softly lilting voice. She took hold of Margaret’s tiny other hand and said with complete sincerity, “You are lovely, Margaret. If you want to go to court, you should. Don’t let the unkindness of others dissuade you from living your life with purpose. There are many cruel people at court, but I think you’ll find there are many more who are good and compassionate.”

“You are kind, Isabel, but I have not the strength to bear the inevitable gossip.”

There was such sadness in her that Isabel could not resist trying to find some way to help. Her uncle was to blame for the shame that must have turned Margaret into this wounded fey creature. She sensed a kindred spirit in the young woman and thought perhaps she could right a wrong while she was here. It was the least she could do, since she would be making an enemy of Margaret’s brother.

Her mind was made up. She wanted to help Margaret find the strength that Isabel could sense was buried within her. Isabel did not wish to examine her own motives. If she did, she would probably recognize the guilt she assumed for the actions of her uncle. And for her relationship with him.

“The women who are inclined to gossip will always find something to gossip about. I don’t know if they even realize how hurtful it can be, especially to someone unfamiliar with life at court. When I first arrived at court, they laughed at my rough Highland manners. I seemed to always say the wrong thing, as I was used to speaking my mind when at home with only a father and three brothers. Not the most appropriate behavior for a woman, I assure you. Then the next new person arrived and they forgot about me.”

Margaret looked at her with a mixture of admiration and awe.

Isabel chuckled. “I don’t mean to suggest that I was immune to the gossip. I admit I was hurt initially, but that’s because I didn’t anticipate that I would be so different from the other ladies at court. I felt rejected, but I soon realized they weren’t rejecting me personally but merely finding something interesting to talk about. But you’ll know what to expect and will not be as unprepared as I was.”

“I don’t know. You make it sound so simple, yet I am not at all brave, Isabel.”

Neither am I,
Isabel thought. Instead she said, “Don’t worry. If you want to go to court, we will find a way. I’m sure that with the two of us working together, we will be able to devise a plan of attack.”

Isabel’s confidence must have been contagious because Margaret smiled.

From his seat on her right, Rory observed the conversation between Isabel and Margaret. He was concerned about Margaret’s reaction to Isabel. His first instinct was to protect his sister from the pain of her memories that seeing a MacDonald was sure to evoke, but he knew they would have to meet eventually so he forced himself not to interfere.

Isabel’s kindness was immediately apparent. He noticed the way she looked Margaret directly in the eye and unconsciously touched her hand, not shying away as most did from Margaret’s injury. Not many had offered their friendship since Margaret’s return; his sister’s disfigurement made people nervous and uncomfortable. It infuriated him, but he could not force people to treat her as before. Fear and superstition were powerful forces. He felt the tightness in his shoulders dissipate, not realizing how tense he’d been while observing the two women.

Rory couldn’t hear their discussion, but he was amazed after only a few minutes to see a carefree smile transform Margaret’s face. He was flabbergasted. Margaret hadn’t smiled like that in two years. By all appearances, they seemed to be fast friends. It warmed him to see his sister relaxed and enjoying herself; it had been far too long.