Highlander Untamed (37 page)

“R-rory,” she faltered. “You’re back so soon. I thought you were training.” She ran to him, pressing her soft body against his chest and circling her arms around his neck. But he barely noticed. “Did something happen? Are you feeling well?” she asked, the concern in her voice a bitter mockery.

Shock propelled his inane response. “I thought I saw something in the window.” He spoke tonelessly.
I didn’t want to believe it.

The flag. Isabel had the Fairy Flag. But how…?

The truth hit him hard, striking him cold. He looked down at her, not wanting to believe it. Eyes wide, her perfect oval face lifted to his in silent entreaty. That soft mouth he’d kissed so tenderly only moments ago was now trembling. The longing was almost unbearable. He hated his weakness. How could something so innocent and beautiful mask such treachery?

Betrayal.

Rory forced himself not to turn away, though it hurt just to look at her. The pain in his chest was like nothing that had come before. It ripped through him, tearing a fiery path along its trail. He’d take a thousand arrows in the gut before he faced the raw, excruciating agony that was Isabel’s treachery.

“You bitch,” he growled. Forcefully, he pushed her aside. “How could you?”

She staggered but did not fall. “Rory, you don’t understand. I can explain. It’s not how it looks.”

“I’m sure it’s exactly how it looks,” he snapped. There was only one explanation. “You spied on me when I told Alex where the flag was hidden.” His penetrating gaze fell on her guilt-stricken face, daring her to deny him. But she could not.

His earlier suspicions rushed to the forefront of his consciousness, no longer blinded by emotion. The pieces fell into place, and it all made horrible sense. Sleat’s ready agreement to a handfast, Isabel’s searching of the kitchens, the tempting, sometimes indecent clothing, and her eagerness to share his bed even when she knew there was no future. All led to one unmistakable conclusion. Isabel was in league with her uncle. She’d come to Dunvegan under false pretenses.

A fresh stab of pain shot through his chest.

She’d never loved him.

She’d lulled him into a besotted trance, bewitching him with her beauty, and led him down a treacherous path he had sworn never to travel. He’d fallen in love with the enemy and allowed his judgment to be clouded by beauty, lust, and love. Worst of all, because of her, he’d broken the alliance with Argyll. He’d chosen a woman over his duty to his clan. And for that failure, he could never forgive her. She’d made a fool out of him.

Blood pounded through his body. The initial tumult of emotions gave way to an all-encompassing rage. His fists clenched at his side as he felt the pressure building from inside, threatening to erupt in a violent maelstrom. The intensity shook him to his core. He held himself rigid, not trusting himself to move. For a moment, he could have killed her for doing this to him. To them.

“God damn you, I trusted you.” His hands gripped her arms as the force of his fury unleashed like a whip.

Her eyes widened. “Rory, please—”

The vein in his neck pulsed as every muscle in his body strained with restraint. “You are in league with your uncle. You came to Dunvegan under false pretenses and planned to steal the flag. The handfast would be your way out.”

“Yes, but—”

Confirmation squeezed him like a vise. Something inside him died. She might as well have slipped a dirk into his back while he was sleeping; the effect was the same. He felt as if someone had splayed open his chest, pried out his heart, and twisted it until there was nothing left. Nothing but the cold, aching void where there used to be something beautiful.

He did not let her finish. “You’ve spied on me and my family, intending to betray us. You’ve whored yourself and manipulated your way into my life. I assure you, further explanation is not necessary.”

She recoiled at his crudely spoken words. But he didn’t care. “No, Rory, you have it all wrong. I may have come here under false pretenses, but once I grew to love you and your family, I knew I would not be able to go through with what my uncle had planned—”

“Enough!” he roared. The mention of Sleat had snapped whatever tenuous control he had over his anger. He thought of how completely he’d fallen for her lies. But he was fooled no longer. “I refuse to listen to any more lies from you. Consider yourself lucky that I do not dress you as the harlot you have acted so convincingly and send you back accordingly. Your uncle might appreciate the irony.” He looked at her with all the contempt that filled his blackened heart. “Pack your things and leave before I decide to put you where you deserve—do you know what we do with spies at Dunvegan, Isabel?”

This couldn’t be happening.
Dear God, what had she done?

The panic that rose in her throat seemed so palpable, she could almost taste it. It thickened her tongue and smothered her breath. But it was not the threat of imprisonment in that dank dungeon that caused her fear. No, it was Rory who terrified her. The thought that he might not listen to her frightened her more than she had ever dreamed possible.

He couldn’t send her away. She had to make him understand.

Tears streaming down her face, she clutched at his sleeve, trying to force him to listen. “Rory, please, I would never give my uncle the means to destroy you and your family. I intended to trick him. See, look.” She turned around, raced back to her trunk, and pulled out Bessie’s shawl. “See, it’s not the flag. I intended to send him this instead.”

Rory studied the shawl, seeming to recognize that it was not in fact the flag. “It doesn’t matter. You spied on me. How do I know that you did not intend to switch that for the real Fairy Flag?”

“It was an accident. I did not mean to spy on you. I heard noises….” She lifted her chin and met his gaze, ready to weather his scorn. “And as to the other, you’ll have to trust me. I love you, I would never betray you.”

“Trust,” he spat. “Never. You will leave here immediately. I wish to never lay eyes on you again.”

His voice was like a shard of ice cutting through her heart, stopping her cold. This was the man she’d feared if he’d ever discovered the truth, the emotionless stranger who looked at her with wintry eyes. He stood so close, she could see the golden tips of his lashes, the dark shadow of stubble already appearing on his jaw, and the subtle, angry flare of his nostrils as he spoke. An hour ago, she’d had the right to touch him. To place her hand on his face and lift her lips to his. No longer. He was so close, but immanently unreachable.

She gazed up into his cold, unyielding face. His eyes glinted with steel, his mouth a tight line before the hard square of his determined jaw. “You must believe me that I planned to tell you as soon as I was sure you would not repudiate the handfast. I wanted to tell you the night you were injured, but I was scared. I feared that you would not forgive me.”

“You were right,” he said stonily. His eyes never flickered.

“You claim to love me, Rory, won’t you even hear my explanation?”

He laughed ruthlessly. “Surely you realize that I lied when I said I loved you, Isabel. I felt sorry for you. Sorry that your family had so obviously neglected you. I was grateful for all that you had done for Margaret, and you seemed so pathetically needy. Remember, when I spoke those words I thought I was dying.”

Her head jerked back as if he’d slapped her. It couldn’t be true. He had to love her. It couldn’t be just pity. Could it? She felt the stab of truth. He wielded his weapon well; he knew just how to hurt her. Still, she knew they had shared
something.

“Deny you love me if you will, but after the happiness we have shared these past few months, I know you must care something for me.”

“What we shared was lust, Isabel. Do not confuse it with sentiment or depth of feeling.” He boldly looked her up and down as if he were evaluating a horse at market. “You are an extremely beautiful woman with an undeniably alluring body. I assume that it’s not a coincidence that Sleat chose you to be my bride.” His eyes flared at her blush of confirmation. “He chose well. From the first, I have wanted to bed you, as I would desire to bed any beautiful woman. But beauty wears thin. Even before today I was growing weary of our
temporary
arrangement. Your treachery has only hastened the inevitable.”

A beautiful shell. That is what he thought of her. That was all he saw.

Maybe that was all there was.

Stunned by the vehemence of his denial, she could feel his words snuffing out the dreamlike happiness, shrinking her heart until she felt nothing but a profound emptiness. But something in her refused to die—refused to give up.

“Please, won’t you give me a chance to explain? I only agreed to help my uncle because he would not help my father fight the Mackenzies if I didn’t.” Her voice took on a desperate urgency reacting to the finality of his tone. She grasped his arm pleadingly.

He shrugged off her hold. “I believe there was a time for explanation. That time has passed. I warned you never to betray me. There is nothing more to discuss. You spied on me. You’ve deceived me and deceived my family.” He paused to catch her gaze so there would be no misunderstanding. “You are dead to me.”

And deep in her shattered heart, she believed him at last. The look in his eyes left no doubt. He was a Highlander. Highlanders did not forgive or forget betrayal.

Past caring, pride all but forgotten, she wanted to get on her knees and beg him to listen, to understand. Paralyzed, she watched their future slipping through her fingers. Her pleas as effective as trying to melt rock. Never had she wanted anything as badly as she did at this moment.
Please don’t ask me to leave, please say some

thing, just one word,
her heart cried.

“This handfast is over.”

No, not that!
And as simple as that, it was gone. As completely as if it had never been. All that remained was a painful burning in her chest where her heart had only hours ago soared with joy.

She watched, transfixed with horror, as he turned on his heel and left the room. The door closed forcefully behind him, an effective exclamation to his words. She collapsed in a heap on the floor next to Bessie’s shawl, crushed by the force of the hatred that seemed to radiate from him.

She sank her head in her hands, weaving her fingers through her hair to clasp her head in disbelief. How could this have happened? Isabel felt her soul violently ripped from her body as perfectly and decisively as he had cut her from his life. Her hope and dreams for the future extinguished, she slipped into darkness.

“My poor poppet,” Bessie mused sadly when Isabel managed haltingly to explain through the choking tears what had happened.

But there were no magical words of wisdom that Bessie could utter to repair the horrible debacle Isabel had made of everything.

Bessie cupped Isabel’s chin and lifted her face, brushing aside the tears that sped down her cheeks. “I know ’tis difficult to hear, Isabel, but I think it is best if you leave now as Rory has ordered. He is angry right now; there is no telling what he might do. The pride of a Highlander is a powerful thing, and by betraying his trust, you have damaged not only his heart, but his honor before his men. Time will be your greatest ally. You need time to think of a way to make him understand, and he needs time to forget some of his hurt.”

Isabel knew she was right, but how could she bear to leave? Everything that she loved was here. Even Bessie.

As if she knew what Isabel was thinking, Bessie offered, “I could come with you. Robert would understand.”

Isabel clasped her hands and kissed her cheeks, moved by the selflessness of her beloved companion. “Dearest Bessie. Your life is at Dunvegan now; I would never ask you to leave. The decision was mine; I knew what I risked when I agreed to my uncle’s plan. I just never dreamed that I would have so much to lose.”

Enfolded in the gentle, loving arms of her nursemaid, Isabel allowed her grief to spill over. She wept with the intensity known only to those who have loved greatly—and lost. She wept until the tears refused to fall. Unable to keep the nausea at bay any longer, Isabel retched under Bessie’s worried gaze.

Time passed too quickly. She stood at the window, watching as dark clouds gathered across the sky. Watched as the orange sun began its slow descent off the edge of the western horizon. It was almost dark. She knew she should pack her things, but instead Isabel remained fixed at the window. Waiting.

She was vaguely aware when Bessie began to gather her belongings. Picking up the strewn clothing, separating those things she would take with her, and placing those things she would send for later in the trunk before the bed. But Isabel continued staring out the window, waiting as the slow movement of the sun extinguished her last moments of happiness.

Floundering in the dark chasm of heartbreak, she did not immediately process the sound at the door.
No, not yet.
The sobs that racked her body did nothing to dispel the despair she suffered as Bessie rose to answer the knock.

It was not all a horrible nightmare from which she would wake. A silent, grim-faced Colin stood before her, waiting to escort her from their—now his—bower. She managed one last glance around the room, then walked toward the door. She passed the bed, still mussed from their passion-filled night. A stab of searing pain twisted in her gut. Everywhere she looked there were painful reminders—she closed her eyes, blocking out the memories. Quietly, she gathered the meager belongings that Bessie had managed to assemble for her hasty departure and left the room, not daring to look back.

The Viking refused to meet her eyes as he led her down the twisting stairs, through the
barmkin,
and down the slick sea-gate stairs to the waiting boat. She looked around anxiously, praying for a reprieve. Praying for a chance at least to say farewell. But Rory was not there. And either he had not told them or they had chosen not to come, but Alex and Margaret were not there to say good-bye. She bowed her head, willing herself not to cry.