Highlander Untamed (26 page)

His soft voice drew her eyes back to his. “Your father is not unusual, Isabel. Most men do not concern themselves with the raising of their girl children. ’Tis the way of the world. As chief of a clan facing constant attacks, no doubt your father did not have much time for you
or
your brothers. He had his duty to the clan.”

“You are not that way,” she pointed out. “I see how you care for your family, including your sisters.”

Rory smiled. “I didn’t say I agreed with it, I said ’twas the way of the world. My father was much as yours.”

“But you had your brothers and sisters.”

“Didn’t you?”

She thought for a second. “For a while, but as I got older they changed. My mother was a lady. My father thought that I should be one, which meant that I was no longer able to spend as much time with three older brothers.”

His fingers reached out to cup her chin, tilting it upward until their eyes met. “Perhaps they did not realize how lonely you were, perhaps they did not know any other way. I watched your family with you. To me it looked more awkwardness than lack of regard.”

His words startled her. Was he right? Was it simply that the men in her family didn’t know how to deal with a young girl? Could she have misinterpreted her family’s feelings so greatly? Memories, snippets of conversations, shuffled through her mind. Reframed with Rory’s perspective, it felt right. Isabel allowed a glimmer of hope to build in her chest.

He looked at her as though he wanted to say more, but instead he chose to let the subject drop. They merely stared at each other, each afraid to move and break the spell of connection that had sprouted between them.

“Was there something you wanted?” she asked breathlessly, more moved by the moment than she thought possible.

“Yes. I would ask a boon of you. As Margaret has been so busy with her duties and her new practice schedule, I was wondering whether you might find the time to help me organize the Highland gathering that will be held at Dunvegan in the spring.”

He was including her. She thought her heart would burst with happiness. “Of course, I would love to help. What can I do?”

Rory returned her smile. “First, we will need to prepare a list of the clans that will be asked to participate and send a messenger with an invitation.”

Isabel was already making a mental list of the surrounding clans: MacCrimmons, Mackinnons, MacLeans, Argyll and the Campbells, Ramsays, MacDonalds. MacDonalds. Her brows shot together with the sudden realization. Her heart sank with dread. If her family were here, she would be forced to provide a report of her progress—or lack thereof.

“Does that mean my family will be invited?”

“Of course, Glengarry and even Sleat must be invited. Our recent handfast has made allies of former enemies. Is that not what the king has ordered?” He looked at her with a challenge in his eye.

Given his good mood, Isabel decided not to point out that Rory had once questioned that very premise.

Another thought occurred to her, this one even more treacherous and unwelcome than the last. “What about the Mackenzies?”

“
All
the local clans, Isabel.” He placed his hand over hers in a gesture of reassurance. “All feuds will be set aside for the duration of the gathering.”

“But what if they try to retaliate?”

“They would not dare break the sacred obligation of Highland hospitality. They’ll come and seek to best the MacLeods on the field of games. We can expect an attack from the Mackenzie, but not at the gathering.”

His confidence calmed her anxiety. “What types of games should we organize?”

“The usual challenges: the tossing of the caber, throwing the hammer, archery, stone throwing, wrestling, swimming, leaping, and hill running. Most of the games will be held in the village or in the forest. Of course, the swimming will be in the loch. We’ll also need to provide for accommodations both here and in the village, as well as coordinate the food and drink for the feast. Are you sure you’ll have time to help?”

“Very sure. I’ll get started immediately preparing a list of guests for your approval. Then I can begin drafting the invitations. Whom shall I send to deliver them?”

Before he could answer, a knock came upon the door. He bade them entry, and Isabel was surprised to see Colin.

Displeased, Rory frowned at the interruption.

Colin explained, “A missive has arrived for the lady.”

Finally a letter from my father,
she thought. But her relief was short-lived.

“From your uncle, my lady,” Colin said, handing her the folded parchment with the waxed seal. A seal that she recognized immediately:
Per Mare per Terras,
the badge of Sleat.

She turned to Rory in time to notice the almost imperceptible sharpening of his gaze. “How convenient. If you prepare the invitation for your uncle, you can give it to his messenger personally.”

The false sense of tranquillity she had been experiencing for the last few weeks was instantly shattered by one innocuous folded piece of parchment. Isabel knew what she held in her hands.

Her reminder had come.

Chapter 15

Isabel knew it was bound to happen sometime. But why did it have to be just when she and Rory had found a new intimacy and she was starting to feel that she had established a place for herself at Dunvegan? A place that mattered.

The forced reminder of her true purpose in handfasting with Rory MacLeod was a bitter draught to swallow. She had almost succeeded in convincing herself that it might never come. That perhaps they would forget about her.
Fool.
This was not some silly game; her clan’s fortunes would rise or fall based on her success. Her uncle had not forgotten her or devised another way to claim the Lordship of the Isles for himself.

Thankfully, Rory had left her alone in the library to read the letter. She could tell by the speculative turn of his brow that he was curious—but he did not inquire into the contents of the missive. And she did not volunteer the information.

She settled back in her chair before the fire, cracked the seal carefully, and began to read.

Her uncle sent a thinly veiled reprimand for her failure to report her progress at Dunvegan. Claiming that he was “dismayed” not to have heard from his “dear niece” since the handfast, he hoped that she might find the time to assure her “concerned family” that she was adjusting to her new married life at Dunvegan and that she had “found all that she was looking for” with her new husband. He also mentioned that he had heard “rumors” that the Mackenzies were readying to mobilize an attack on the MacDonald clan and Strome Castle.

So much for subtlety.

The letter fell to her lap as she stared in a daze at the glowing embers of the once blazing fire. Suddenly shivering, she tightened the plaid about her shoulders.

The moment had come. She had to make an impossible choice—one surely fit for the wisdom of King Solomon. Either way, it meant betrayal. Betrayal for the MacLeods or betrayal for the MacDonalds. She must choose between the family she’d grown up with or the family she’d always wanted.

At Dunvegan, she’d found friendship, happiness, and something else that she dared not contemplate. Of Margaret’s friendship, she was sure. And so too of Alex’s. Rory’s feelings were more complicated. But somehow, in her heart, she knew that he too had softened toward her. Otherwise, he would not have asked her to help organize the games. A task that would bring them into close contact during the day—something he had previously sought to avoid.

But perhaps it was what he had not done that was the most persuasive evidence of his changing affections. He had not moved her from his room, forbade her from taking over the accounts, discouraged her from instructing Margaret with a bow, or prohibited her from nursing Alex. Indeed, in the days following the attack in the forest, he’d treated her gently and with the utmost consideration. She could only conclude that he was beginning to accept her place in his family.

But he still intended to send her away.

And though he wanted her, and the passion between them could not be denied, he’d yet to make her his bride in truth.

Her brow furled with frustration. Each time she felt their connection growing strong, something always seemed to interfere. Like this letter, reminding him of her connection to his enemy. She grabbed a lock of hair, twisting it around her finger as she grappled with her uncomfortable thoughts.

How could she align herself with a man like her uncle against a man like Rory? If it were only a matter of her uncle’s quest for the Lordship of the Isles, her choice would be clear in favor of Rory. But there was her clan to consider. The MacDonalds of Glengarry desperately needed Sleat’s men to withstand a prolonged attack by the Mackenzies. Without her uncle’s help, her clan was doomed to lose its lands. And a clan without land was a broken clan. Their people would be forced to scavenge for food, land, and protection from another clan. The thought was too horrible to contemplate.

Isabel had a duty to her family, but deep down she wanted to be selfish. She wanted to be happy. She wanted Rory for herself. But though she no longer felt an overwhelming drive to be the savior of her clan, she didn’t want to let down her family. She could not live happily knowing that her failure had led to the destruction of her people. She desperately needed to find an alternative solution to help her family defend against the Mackenzies. As at Dunvegan, the Mackenzie attack on Strome Castle could come at any time.

Something clicked, and a kernel of an idea began to take hold. The Mackenzies. They were the key. Her father and the MacLeod shared the same enemy.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
The ancient Arab proverb brought back from the Crusades could be her salvation. She tried to contain the burgeoning hope brimming inside her.

Maybe she didn’t have to choose.

Rory’s fighting force was nearly as large as her uncle’s. If her father had the MacLeod’s support, he would not need Sleat. And Isabel would not need to betray the MacLeods by stealing the Fairy Flag or disclosing the location of a secret entrance—if one existed.

Her mind raced as she began to consider the possibilities. Could this work? It might be the perfect solution. But how could she get Rory to agree? She couldn’t just go to him with her request. Not while he still intended to send her back. Not while his alliance with her family was temporary.

So how, then, to prevent him from sending her back?

He had to fall in love with her. If he fell in love with her, he would not
want
to send her back. She frowned, realizing it was not simply a matter of earning his love. She knew Rory was counting on the alliance with Argyll to help sway the king to decide in his favor on the disposition of the disputed Trotternish peninsula. She would have to find a way to make the union with her equally as profitable.

However, there was also the fact that she was a MacDonald. Rory hated Sleat. But perhaps if Rory fell in love with her, he would be willing to forgive the connection.

One thing was certain: She knew Rory would never forgive betrayal. She shuddered, remembering his face when he’d discovered her searching the Fairy Tower. She dared not contemplate his fury if he ever found out she’d handfasted with him intending to deceive him. But if she was successful, maybe he need never find out about her treacherous purpose. She considered confessing, but she dared not. Not while she was uncertain of his feelings. And she couldn’t take the chance that her plan wouldn’t work.

It wasn’t perfect, but she had to try.

And if she succeeded, she would have her heart’s desire: a place at Dunvegan and the respect of her family. And most important, Rory’s love. For deep down, Isabel realized that earning his love had become vital. As necessary as the food she ate or the air she breathed. He’d become a part of her.

Letting her hair fall from her fingers, she stood up, suddenly anxious to begin. She looked down and watched as the wretched letter floated to the ground. Uttering a small oath, she picked it up, crumpled it in her fist, and tossed it into the fire. She smiled grimly as the flame caught the parchment, curling the edges with blackness until it vanished into a small billow of gray smoke—the hateful words of betrayal obliterated into nothingness.

Her decision freed her from the inertia of the past few months. It gave her the excuse she needed to go after what she really wanted. Simply waking up in Rory’s arms wasn’t enough. She wanted the intimacy and closeness that could come only from making love.

Isabel knew what she had to do; he would not come to her. Seduction it must be. She tried not to think about his warning not to manipulate him. Her motives were pure. She would fight for Rory’s love and seduce him—not to betray him, but because she wanted to hold on to him.

She squared her shoulders and headed up the stairs to change for the evening repast. Tonight. After the meal, she would retire to their room and wait.

She bit her lip. What was she going to do when he got there? She had learned much about kissing over the last few months and had a vague idea of the rest courtesy of their previous interludes. But there was a vast difference between knowing in the abstract and instigating in the reality. How would she let him know that she was ready to take the final step?