Highlander Untamed (30 page)

“Patience, Margaret. You always were a demanding little brat.”

“How dare you, Rory MacLeod! Brat, was I? You’ll regret those words.” She pounced on him, beating his arms with her tiny fists where Isabel had left off.

“Margaret, you should not punch the chief. It’s not seemly,” Colin interrupted.

Speak of the devil,
Isabel thought. Another booming, proud voice of authority—how many could this castle possibly hold? She smiled at the handsome Viking. Even when he was teasing, Colin frowned forebodingly. Well, Margaret cared for him, and that was all that mattered.

“I was not punching the chief, Colin. I was merely reminding my brother that I am no longer a bairn.”

“Ouch. I’ll try to remember that in the future, Margaret,” Rory said, holding his arm. “You’ve a heavy fist for such a wee lass.”

Isabel turned to Rory, clasping her hands together with excitement. “Before the dancing begins, Margaret and I have one more surprise for this day of celebration. Are you ready, Margaret?”

Margaret glanced at Colin as if she were going to be ill, then drew up her shoulders with forced confidence. “I think so, yes.”

Isabel motioned to Rory, Colin, and Alex, who had just walked up. “You stay right here. We’ll be right back.”

“What are those two up to this time?” Alex asked, confused.

Rory looked at the two men next to him and shook his head. “I can’t even hazard a guess. But we better do as we were told. Margaret looked quite serious. For a moment, I thought she seemed almost frightened.” His gaze fell back to the Fairy Tower, where Isabel and Margaret had just disappeared inside.

Moments later, he was the only one facing them when they alighted from the tower. He blinked in disbelief, then reached up to shield his eyes from the sun. It was not an apparition. His heart stalled. All he could think to say was, “Dear God in heaven. How did she do it?”

“Do what?” Colin and Alex asked in unison before they turned to follow Rory’s gaze.

Three men stood stunned as the women came toward them. Others around them began to realize that something important was happening, and as quick as summer fire, an unnatural silence spread through the crowd.

Silence, before the dam burst and a resounding cheer pierced the air.

With his long stride, Rory reached Margaret first. Tentatively, as if she could not be real, he placed his hand on her cheek. His fingers brushed the now empty place where the monstrous patch had once covered his sister’s injured eye. A thin, star-shaped white scar trailed from the inner corner of her eyelid up to the brow. Although he knew she had lost the vision in her eye, it was impossible to tell from looking at her. Two round sapphire blue eyes sparkled directly into his. His throat tightened as he let the shock filter through his body. Margaret was just as bonny as he remembered. The scar in no way detracted from her beauty. It was barely noticeable.

He turned to Isabel and asked in a voice rough with emotion, “How did you do it?”

“All Margaret needed was a wee bit of encouragement”—she laughed—“and a looking glass. I just convinced her that what was under the patch was not nearly as terrible as what hid it. The rest was up to Margaret.”

Colin descended upon them and ignobly pushed his chief to the side. He reached for Margaret’s hand and raised it to his lips reverently. His gaze locked with hers. “What fairy spell is this? I had never thought…Margaret, you are even more beautiful than I remember you before the accident.” His hushed voice was full of admiration.

He said it with such sincerity that Isabel knew Margaret could not doubt his words. She smiled shyly but proudly. “Thank you, Colin. I assure you there is no fairy magic, but only my stubborn sister to blame. Isabel has badgered me for months to remove the patch and show her the scar. That first step proved the most difficult. I haven’t looked in a mirror for years, so even I was surprised to see how much the scars had faded. ’Tis not nearly as bad as I remember. I must admit, I was very nervous just now to see your reaction. I’ve been wearing that horrible patch for so long.”

Isabel watched with amusement as the corners of Colin’s lips lifted up in what could only be described as a smile.
Inconceivable,
she thought, now
there
is a true bit of fairy magic.

Alex interrupted to lift Margaret in a great hug, her feet dangling in the air. “I hate to think what this will mean for your archery skills. I fear I have lost my only advantage,” he teased. “As you will not be needing it any longer, perhaps I can borrow your patch and try my luck?”

Margaret leaned her head back and laughed. “Alex MacLeod, you are incorrigible. It is yours, I have need of it no longer.”

Rory was overwhelmed.

He thought Isabel could not surprise him, but she had. He had learned so much these past few months. Not just the feel of her skin melting against his or the erotic sensation of himself rock hard deep inside her; no, he had learned much more. It was not just lust that propelled him to her over and over. He’d been a fool to think once would be enough. With Isabel, a thousand times would not be enough—he should know. He’d come to care for her more than he had ever thought possible, more than he had ever cared for another person.

Over the last few months, Rory had taken pleasure in discovering all the little things that made Isabel unique. He knew that she crinkled one side of her nose when she was displeased, that she twirled her hair when she was anxious, that if she said “as you wish,” he was in trouble. He’d learned that she was truly interested in the business side of the castle, enthusiastically suggesting improvements in efficiency. He’d come to respect her mind, finding pleasure simply in her company.

What was so special about her? Undoubtedly, he was attracted to her beautiful face, but there was so much more. She was kind, charmingly stubborn, quick-witted, and spirited. The vulnerability and loneliness he’d noticed on her arrival had faded.

She made love with such openness and sharing, it humbled him.

Moreover, Isabel had helped him realize that by his unrelenting focus on duty, he’d lost sight of what else was important. His family. Rory’s quest for revenge had the unintentional consequence of prolonging his sister’s shame. And his reluctance to cede control of his duties had prevented Alex from forgiving himself for his losses on the battlefield. He’d begun to delegate more to Alex, and already Rory noticed that Alex seemed to thrive on the responsibility. For the first time since he’d become chief, Rory was beginning to relax.

Isabel had brought laughter back to Dunvegan.

She’d given him so much, but still he could not give her what he knew she wanted. He’d purposefully kept a tight rein on his growing affection over the past few months, not wanting to give her false hope. He knew how much his reluctance to talk about the future pained her. He wanted to reassure her, but how could he when he couldn’t reassure himself?

Thus far, his attempts to find alternative means to sway the king had proved fruitless. He was no closer today than he was that first night to finding a way to avoid the alliance with Argyll. But how could he send her away? With each day that passed, their attachment deepened.

If there was a way to hold on to her, he would find it.

He reached for Isabel and pulled her against him without care for such a public display. His fingers found her chin and tilted up her face so that she could look straight into his eyes. “Isabel, I don’t know what to say.” He paused, at a loss how to put to words what he felt. “You have given me the greatest gift. You have returned my sister. Completely. You have my eternal gratitude and devotion.”

He dropped his head, his lips finding hers in a gentle caress. Oblivious to the crowd surrounding them, Rory tightened his hold, pressing his body close to her curves, seeking that perfect fit he knew would mold them together. It was so much better naked, skin to skin, but this would have to do—for now.

His chest swelled to bursting even as he touched the softness of her lips beneath his. How he loved to taste her. His mouth moved over hers in a seductive dance. Her lips parted, and he slid his tongue deep in her mouth, savoring her sweetness. His fingers stroked the ivory smoothness of her cheek.
She is so soft and desirable,
he thought. He felt the instinctive press of her hips against his heavy loins and knew he had to stop.

Regretfully, he lifted his head and said hoarsely, “We will finish this later.” He fought to control his immediate response to her, yet still he stiffened like a lad with the merest touch. As much as he’d like to toss her over his shoulder and take her upstairs like one of his pillaging ancestors, it would have to wait. There was a wedding feast to be had.

And later, they would share their own private celebration.

Chapter 18

A short two weeks later, Isabel stood beside Rory at the top of the sea-gate stairs, welcoming the clans gathering at Dunvegan for the noontide feast to launch the Highland gathering. Gowned in a simple but elegant yellow silk day dress, Isabel felt every inch the proud lady of the castle. Only the anxious twisting of her hands betrayed her nervousness at confronting her family for the first time in over nine months.

The castle itself was bustling with energy and excitement. The lilting notes of the pipes beckoned the ear while the tantalizing aroma of roasted meat beguiled the nose. The Highlanders swarming the castle reacted with the expected exuberance: When not feuding, feasting and gaming were undoubtedly what a Highland warrior loved best. Most of the clans had arrived earlier and were already enthusiastically partaking of the renowned MacLeod hospitality in the great hall. If she listened closely, Isabel would undoubtedly hear the clanking sound of flagons slamming on the tables, demanding replenishment.

Amid the celebrating, her heart beat nervously as she watched her family slowly make their way up the sea-gate stairs.

They had arrived.

She fought to control the steady stream of high notes in her voice betraying her nervousness. “Welcome to Dunvegan, Father, Uncle. I trust your journey was uneventful.”

“Quite uneventful, Isabel. It is an uncommonly pleasant spring. You look well. Your time at Dunvegan has agreed with you?” Her father kissed her cheek politely, his gaze flickering pointedly over Rory’s hand resting possessively at her waist.

“Very well, Father,” she murmured, stifling the joy that rose unbidden to her face by looking down at the tips of her yellow slipper-clad feet, lest her emotions be displayed for all to see. She hoped she was imagining her uncle’s glare fixed on her pink cheeks.

No such luck.

“You look
very
well, niece—such a becoming rosiness to your cheeks. I feared, from the one short note that I received from you, to find you exhausted from the many tasks that keep you so well occupied. Glengarry and I have been quite concerned about you, yet here you are obviously thriving in your new home. And from the satisfied look of MacLeod here, it appears that your handfast agrees with you both. Such an inspired custom is handfasting, having a year and a day to decide whether a permanent arrangement is desirable. Never know what can happen in a year.” He paused dramatically.

Isabel fought to control her temper at the slight to Margaret. Rory dropped his hand from her waist. With a surreptitious peep from beneath her lashes, she detected the inflexibility in his square jaw and the slight muscle twitch on his lower cheek, nearly imperceptible signs of anger that she would not have noticed nine months ago. Isabel knew him well enough now to realize that he itched to attack Sleat for his crass reminder, but Rory would never snap at bait dangled by her uncle.

Instead of the anger Sleat sought, Rory smiled. “I believe my sister made a similar observation just the other day. Though she did remark how long a year could drag on.”

Sleat’s face turned red as he took Rory’s meaning. Isabel fought the urge to giggle. Sleat turned to her with a sharp look. “I trust you have
found
everything you were searching for here at Dunvegan, Isabel?”

His emphasis was not lost on her. So much for biding his time and waiting until they were alone. Obviously, Sleat was not fooled by the short note she sent him with the invitation, pretending not to understand his request for a detailed report. “I find
everything
much to my liking, Uncle.” She glanced meaningfully to Rory. “I’m sorry to have worried you, but I have been quite busy the last few months with my duties at the castle and organizing the gathering. I’m sure over the next few days I will have plenty of time to allay your concerns.”

“I’m most anxious to hear all that you have to say. Let us not delay our little reunion for too long.”

Thankfully, further conversation between Rory and Sleat was prevented by the boisterous arrival of her brothers.

“Good to see you, Bel, I’ve missed you.” Ian smiled warmly and swallowed her in a firm brotherly hug.

At only three and twenty, Ian already possessed the formidable height—without the awesome bulk—of their uncle. Each of her brothers was exceptionally handsome, but there was something special about Ian. Of the three, Isabel supposed he most resembled her, albeit a large emerald-eyed version of herself. Their hair was a similar shade, though his was streaked with a wee bit more golden blond than red from the extended periods of time he spent in the sun. His features, although masculine, were classic in their perfection. Fortunately, he was saved from true beauty by a square-clefted chin and a thin puckered scar that ran down the side of his slightly crooked nose. A warrior’s mark that if anything only added to his rugged appeal.