Highlander Untamed (40 page)

The meager food supply she had managed to save from her last dinner at Dunscaith had run out yesterday. The persistent headache she’d had since then from lack of food had subsided a bit, but she knew that once she dismounted she would fight dizziness.

At least she was familiar with this part of the road. At times, she worried that her poor navigation skills would lead her down the wrong road. On her first day of travel, she had narrowly avoided taking the wrong fork in the path—heading toward Port Righ instead of Dunvegan—at the base of the great Cuillin Mountains. She was much more careful after that. During the day, she used the path of the sun to keep her heading due north, but navigation was more difficult at night. She dared not stop and ask for directions for fear that her uncle’s men would use this to track her.

That they had not caught up with her was surprising. For the first few hours after sunrise on the day she’d left, when she’d known they must have discovered her missing, she’d jumped at every sound, looked warily at every village, and caught herself looking behind her so much that her neck had begun to hurt. She had brought her bow for protection but so far had not needed it. Either her uncle was not aware of where she was headed or, more likely, he must have decided to wait for her father to arrive before following her.

Utter weariness prevented her from noticing the lavish bounty of the countryside spread out like a banquet before her. The hills were scattered with a kaleidoscope of summer wildflowers. Lavender bunches of heather formed a natural border to the road. The sea sparkled on her left, and the green, grassy moors undulated with the gentle breeze on her right. The lush density of the forests beckoned ahead of her.

A sudden inexplicable chill, perhaps the cold wind of remembrance, crept down the back of her neck. This was just about the place where the Mackenzies had attacked Rory.

Dunvegan was just ahead.

She steered her palfrey off the trail and headed into the copse.

She would take no chances. She would have to use the secret entrance. She dared not risk that Rory might refuse her entry to the castle. This time she would not give him a choice: Rory would listen to her whether he wanted to or not.

Isabel focused on the task before her, concentrating on remembering the way to the entrance. The closer she drew to the hidden entrance, the more she checked her surroundings. Nothing. There was nobody following her; of that she was sure. She retraced their steps along the inlet of the loch and paused before the dramatic rocky cliff.

Dunvegan, in all its forbidding splendor, sat perched high on the rock above her. The walls were situated so close to the edge of the cliff, it looked as if it might slide off with only the slightest nudge. The sheer, thick, gray stone edifice hardly offered a warm welcome. But rather than dissuade Isabel from her purpose, the sight of that grimly beautiful pile of rocks filled her heart with bursting joy and brought a broad smile of accomplishment to her weary countenance. Her back straightened as she drew up her shoulders.

Dunvegan. Rory. She’d made it.

Almost.

Isabel held her head completely still, chin lifted, ears alert, eyes scanning back and forth, listening for the smallest sound or flash of movement. Hearing nothing other than the steady movement of the loch on her left and the sound of the breeze flitting through the leaves and underbrush of the forest on her right, she looked carefully once more behind her, then headed for the jagged, rocky entrance that lay hidden before her.

She urged the frightened horse forward, straight into the face of the cliff where it joined with the edge of the forest. Taking a deep breath, praying for strength, she pulled the reins for a sharp turn to the left and slid into the cool, dark dampness of the tunnel.

Chapter 26

Hold fast that which is good.

—I Thessalonians 5:21

Isabel was cold, exhausted, and hungry. She’d waited in the tunnel until the sounds above in the kitchens had quieted before pulling herself carefully through the secret door, winding her away through the darkened corridors, and stealthily making her way to the Fairy Tower.

Unsure of her reception, Isabel approached the tower with burgeoning unease. What would Rory do when he found her in his room? Would he toss her out without listening to her? Or worse? She wished she could be sure she was doing the right thing. But she thought of her misery the past week and a half and knew that she had no other choice. She had to try to make things right.

She paused in the doorway of the Fairy Tower, casting a quick glance around before darting across the entry. She’d just started to climb the stairs when someone grabbed her from behind, yanking her momentarily against a chest as hard as stone. A scream caught in her throat.

Her captor spun her around to face him, and she exhaled. Rory. She was so relieved to find him after all that she’d gone through to get here, after the days of agony that had marked their separation, after thinking she might not ever see him again, that she could have collapsed and burst into tears. Her knees weakened; if not for his support, she would have slid to the floor in a grateful heap.

Then he spoke, and her relief stalled. “By all that is holy, Isabel,” he swore, “what are you doing here?”

She shrank from the fury in his voice. Cautiously, she raised her eyes to his. So long had she been anticipating this moment, the rush of emotion in just seeing him again was far more overwhelming than she could have imagined. She took in every beloved detail of his face. The strong, hard lines of his ruggedly handsome features, the brilliant blue eyes, the square jaw, the thick golden strands of his…She stopped and frowned. Actually, Rory looked horrible. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. In truth, he looked as awful as she surely did. Something kindled inside her. Was it possible? Had he missed her? She dared not allow herself to hope.

So desperately did she want to touch him, she placed her hand against his chest, savoring the heavy beat of his heart under her palm. She wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms and beg his forgiveness, but she couldn’t bear the pain of his rejection. Not again. Not until he’d heard what she had to say. If he would listen.

His eyes were hot as he scanned her face, almost hungrily. For a moment, she thought he wanted her, and her body responded, softening with awareness. He tightened his grip on her arms, pulling her imperceptibly closer, and she felt the heat radiating from his body, smelled the beloved scent of heather and spice. He was so achingly close, it hurt not to press her body against his.

He seemed tight with restraint. His teeth clenched, and she noticed the telltale tic in his jaw. “Well? Explain why I find you here and not at Dunscaith or on your way home to your father?”

“I needed to see you. I know you said you never wanted to see me again, but I have to explain.” Before he could argue, she burst out, “When I agreed to help my uncle, I did not know you or your family. I was only trying to help my clan. I should have told you the truth as soon as I realized how I felt about you, but I couldn’t. Not while I was unsure of your intentions. Spying on you when you told Alex where you kept the flag was wrong, and unintentional. I’m sorry for it, but even by then I knew I would never betray you or your family.” Her eyes raked his face, looking for any indication that her words might have penetrated his steely barrier, but all she could see was a man barely keeping a check on his anger. “I know you have no reason to believe me, so I’ve brought you proof of my loyalty.”

“And this proof of your loyalty is the reason I see you like this? So weary you can barely stand?” His eyes turned black. “Where is your escort?”

She looked down sheepishly, shifting uncomfortably beneath his piercing gaze.

“You traveled almost the length of Skye by yourself?” Incredulous, his voice shook with anger. “Forsooth, don’t you realize what could have happened to you? Dear God, Isabel, how could you be so reckless?”

He was livid, but Isabel also detected a thread of alarm in his voice. His hands still gripped her shoulders, and she didn’t know whether he wanted to shake her or crush her against his chest. She wanted so badly to believe that he was happy to see her, was she only imagining his concern? Unshed tears burned behind her eyes. “I was desperate. I had to see you. I’d hoped you…”
wanted to see me.
She couldn’t get the words out.

Something flickered across his face. For a moment, she thought he was going to pull her into his arms and kiss her. Instead, he dropped his hands and turned away, raking his fingers through his hair. After a few minutes, his eyes found hers again. “You used the secret entrance.”

Isabel bit her lip. She knew he’d be angry about that. “I was very careful. I feared you would refuse my entry if I came by the sea-gate.” She looked up. “I couldn’t take the chance.”

“I forgot how many of our secrets you share.” He reached down to stroke her cheek, wiping the dirt and grime from her face. The gentleness of the movement stunned her. Emotion gathered in her throat, hot and raw. The longing for the closeness they’d once shared was nearly unbearable, the times when she didn’t have to stop herself from touching him. “What am I to do with you, Isabel?” He took an ominous step closer. “First you will explain what has brought you here in such haste and with disregard for your own safety.”

Isabel felt light-headed with relief. She had a chance.

But sudden fear gripped her, so much was riding on this. She took a deep breath and began. “While at Dunscaith a few days ago, I was helping Willie recover some missives that he dropped on the floor when I noticed Sleat’s badge on a letter addressed to Robert Cecil, the first Earl of Salisbury.” She paused, waiting for Rory to glean the significance.

She caught the sudden spark in his eye and continued, this time excitedly. “I immediately questioned why Sleat would be writing the queen of England’s secretary of state. I suspected that my uncle was trying to find another way to obtain the Lordship for himself. He hinted as much to me in a conversation we had at the gathering. When I found the letter, I realized that Sleat and probably Mackenzie were in treasonous contact with Queen Elizabeth.”

“You deduced this from the name on a missive?” Rory asked, clearly impressed.

“I was desperate to find
anything
that would make you understand that I would never betray you. And the letter, well, it just seemed odd. Of course, when I read it I could not believe what I’d stumbled upon. Sleat proposed a new rebellion in the Isles. He offered his service to Elizabeth, actually precipitously referring to himself as the ‘Lord of the Isles.’ He proposed to unite the Highland chiefs to the queen and keep the Lordship for himself. And destroy the MacLeods in the process. With the MacLeods in shambles, there would be no one powerful enough in the Isles to contest his claim.”

Rory shook his head. “’Tis even worse than I expected. I knew he wanted to reestablish the Lordship, but I didn’t think he would commit treason to assure it. I may be at the horn, and do not agree with James’s plans for the ‘barbarians’ of the Isles, but to invite the bloody English into Scotland is an extremely dangerous—and foolish—proposition.” He looked back at her, his expression inscrutable. “Do you know what you risked in coming here? If your uncle realizes what you know, your life will be in danger.”

“He doesn’t know.”

“You’re sure?”

She nodded, and her head spun with dizziness. Something was wrong, she didn’t feel very well.

“Do you know what this means, Isabel? If the king discovers what Sleat has done, he will be destroyed.”

“I know.”

“And you rode for days to tell me this?”

Isabel nodded again, too teeming with expectation to speak. Would it be enough to prove her devotion? Would he ever be able to forgive her? She forced herself to look at his face. What she saw there made the tears that she’d been holding start to fall. He gazed at her with such emotion, such longing, that her fear abated and the hope she’d been holding inside burst free, overwhelming her with the sheer intensity of emotion.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said roughly.

“Say that you believe me.”

He wiped the tears from her cheeks, his thumb running over her trembling lips. “Aye, lass, I believe you. But unfortunately, without the letter we have no proof.”

She reached into her waistband and pulled out the folded parchment. “You mean this letter?” She smiled through the haze of happy tears.

And promptly fainted.

Rory thought his heart had stopped when Isabel crumpled to the floor. He lurched forward, catching her just before she hit the ground. The same fear gripped him that he’d felt that day in the forest. Only when he’d assured himself that she’d fainted did it dissipate—a little. But what the hell had she done to herself?

Carefully, he lifted her in his arms and carried her up the stairs to his solar. Looking at the wan, dust-smeared cheek resting peacefully against his chest, he felt his heart flip. All that he could have lost hit him full force.