Highlander Untamed (6 page)

For one precious instant it seemed as if he was going to wrap her in his muscular arms and deepen the kiss. His mouth moved over hers and the rough stubble of his jaw scraped over her skin, sending ripples of anticipation shuddering through her. His fingers tightened on her jaw as he pulled her closer. Unconsciously her lips parted, knowing there was something more.

Perhaps he noticed her reaction, for he stiffened and abruptly pulled his mouth from hers. Just before he released her, his dazzling sapphire eyes had briefly studied her upturned face. Her chin barely came to the middle of his chest. Isabel thought she glimpsed a smoldering fire in his gaze, but the aloof blank shutter dropped back into place, shielding any emotion.

He dropped his hand from her face, and the spell was broken.

He’d barely looked at her since. In fact, he seemed enthralled by the conversation of her father on his right and the lovely dark-haired woman seated next to Glengarry.

Unfortunately, Isabel was not nearly so indifferent.

Peering from under her thick eyelashes at the man seated next to her, she felt strangely aware of her new handfast husband. Indeed, she’d been aware of him since the moment she’d stepped out of the keep this morning, his tawny hair shimmering in the sunlight. He drew the eye like a fiery beacon on a moonless night, the magnificence of his presence not merely a result of his stature, but flowing from the aura of authority that surrounded him. He held himself like a king. A man born to rule.

Of all the men gathered in the
barmkin
for the ceremony, he was the only one who hadn’t seemed bothered by her late arrival. Apparently, his confidence extended to her.

Hers, however, had been shattered. After that heart-stopping kiss, Isabel drifted through the rest of the day in a bewildered haze. Vaguely, she recalled sharing the ceremonial glass of wine and returning to the keep for the signing of the contract between her father and the MacLeod, making it official. She was his for a year.

But only a year. She’d do best to remember it, no matter how thrilling his kiss.

Although she knew that their handfast was but a temporary bond, sitting at the dais in the great hall observing the jubilant celebration feast around her, she felt oddly unsettled. She could almost believe it was a marriage in truth, blessed for eternity. Isabel forced herself to remember that it was all a sham, no matter how official it seemed. The contract, the ceremony, even the dress, were all part of her uncle’s plan. The handfast was only a way out when her job was done.

This day was a farce. She had dreamed of the happiness of her wedding day since she was a little girl. Yet even with all the suitors she was presented with at court, she despaired of ever finding the right man. In many ways, Rory MacLeod epitomized the proud, handsome man she had imagined herself someday falling in love with and marrying. Just her luck. The first man to ever really intrigue her was the one she absolutely could not have. Of course, she reminded herself, he was not the man of her dreams.

In her dreams, her husband did not ignore her.

It was an unusual experience for her. Isabel was not used to complete indifference from men. He was unfailingly polite but distant. And annoyingly inscrutable. It was difficult to believe that this was the man who’d kissed her with such tenderness.

If only she could break through the icy shield he donned when around her and force him to take some notice of her. Not in the reckless way she drove herself to get attention from her family. No, for the first time in her life Isabel wanted a man to notice her as a woman.

That was going to be a challenge, if today was any indication.

In between the steady stream of well-wishers and the MacLeod’s odd question—“More beef, Isabel?” or “Would you care for some wine, Isabel?”—she’d managed to count every window in the great hall. Twelve. Though it was a stretch to consider the narrow slits in the ten-foot-thick wall windows. It took a determined beam of sunlight to penetrate such a formidable impediment. Instead, the large room was lit by candles and the smoky glow of peat from the fireplace.

The walls were sparsely decorated with only the occasional threadbare tapestry of no great artistry, but hung prominently on the wall behind the dais was an ominous-looking three-foot-long
claidheamhmór.
The enormous two-handed cross-hilted sword looked far too unwieldy to be of use, but it still gave her pause.

Did it belong to him?

If anyone could lift that thing, he could. Isabel stole a glance at the man sitting beside her. She noticed the way his shoulders and arms strained against the fine linen of his shirt. The knowledge settled low in her belly. Rory MacLeod was the most physically imposing man she’d ever met. Never had she been so aware of a man’s size and strength. Though it would be impossible not to be. He dominated the space beside her.

His heavily muscled shoulders were so wide, they brushed against hers each time he reached to take a piece of beef or a bit of bread smeared with butter from their shared trencher, sending a thrill shooting through her. Even the air seemed filled with his distinctive masculine scent of sea and heather, an alluring mix that seemed to permeate her skin and sink deep into her consciousness. She found herself responding to his raw masculinity, not with fear, but with something akin to excited curiosity. She thought of touching him. To see whether he was as hard and strong as he looked. She shook off the strange yearning. What was the matter with her?

While they dined, she’d also had the opportunity to observe him with his clan. It was clear from the countless men who’d approached the dais to offer their congratulations with honest admiration and pride that he was both revered and loved. With his men, he had an easygoing banter that was friendly and relaxed.

The complete antithesis of how he was with her.

Stymied by his monosyllabic replies, she had finally given up and turned to Alex for relief from her boredom. At least Alex was welcoming. But for some reason, his handsome face did not stir her senses in the same way as his brother’s. Nonetheless, Isabel relaxed a bit and found herself responding to his charming compliments with a smile.

After a few minutes, she turned to glance at Rory, expecting him to be ignoring her. Instead, she was surprised to find him watching her.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Isabel?”

She was taken aback by the chill in his voice. If she didn’t know better, she could almost think he sounded jealous.

His blue eyes had turned black. The man could melt rock, Isabel thought as she squirmed under his intense glare. She would give her eyeteeth to know what he was thinking. Determined not to be intimidated by his forbidding demeanor, she ignored the sudden nervousness twisting in her stomach.
I have done nothing wrong,
she reminded herself.

Not yet, at least.

She lifted her chin, her gaze leveled unflinchingly to his. She spoke lightheartedly, as if she had noticed nothing amiss. “Yes, your brother is most kind. We have been discussing your talented pipers. They are wonderful.”

He waited a long time to respond. When he did, she wondered if she’d only imagined his anger. “The MacCrimmons have played for the MacLeods for many years,” he said. His expression was perfectly bland as he toyed with the heavily encrusted stem of his silver goblet, the pads of his fingers gently grazing over the smooth ridges of decorative relief. There was something deeply sensual about his movements, and she couldn’t look away, imagining his fingers on her. Would he touch her with such care? A shiver of awareness slithered down her spine. The sound of his voice shook her from her musings. “They are the best pipers in Scotland,” he finished.

Isabel heard the note of pride in his voice. The Isles were the last bastion of the Gaelic culture that had flourished under the Lords of the Isles. Pipers and bards were deeply important to the preservation of that tradition.

He started to turn back to the conversation with her father on his right. Not wanting the conversation to end so soon, Isabel asked, “Who is that charming child over there?”

Rory turned in the direction she indicated, and a broad smile spread across his face. Her heart stopped. If she had thought him handsome in his severity…the transformation was dazzling. The small lines around his eyes deepened. Entrancing dimples appeared at each side of his mouth. Bessie would say the fairies had kissed him. Perhaps the stories of his fairy blood were not that far off. His attractiveness certainly had a magical quality.

But it was the softness in his eyes when he looked at the little girl that struck her. He had a genuine fondness for the child. Isabel realized it was the first time she’d seen honest emotion behind that stoic reserve.

Unaware of his effect on her, he continued. “Ah, wee Mary MacLeod is already something of a legend around these parts. She has a talent that is quite rare for one so young. You will enjoy her stories.”

“The child is a bard?” Isabel asked with genuine surprise.

“Mary is but five, but already she shows great promise. The clan is enchanted by her youth, and she often entertains us with her poems.”

“I can see it is not only the clan who is enchanted,” Isabel teased, and was rewarded with a boyish grin that caused her heart to beat erratically. “You like children?”

He seemed puzzled by her question. “Of course,” he replied, as if there could be no other answer.

But Isabel knew there was. Not all men were comfortable around children, and few showed such obvious delight. She knew that only too well.

He never looked up when she entered.

“Father?”

“Not now, child. I’m busy.”

“Then when?”

“Later.”

But, of course, later never came. The memory dimmed and a very different thought struck her. She bit her lip, trying not to betray her sudden unease. “You will be wanting bairns, then?”

The softness around his eyes hardened, and the charming grin was gone. “Not for some time.”

Furious to have angered him, Isabel turned back to their original conversation. “I thought the Irish O’Muireaghsain were the
seannachie
of the MacLeods.”

Rory raised one eyebrow. “You have learned something of our family. Yes, the hereditary bards are the O’Muireaghsain. But they have been so long from Erin, I doubt they consider themselves anything but true Islanders.”

“My knowledge of your family is quite limited. Nonetheless, you can’t be a MacDonald and not learn something of the MacLeods.” She met his gaze and added boldly, “Our clans share quite a history.”
No need to hide from the obvious.

He kicked his legs back under the table and took a long drink of
cuirm,
peering at her from over his glass. “I know you’ve had naught to do with the feud between our clans. I harbor no ill feelings toward you for what your uncle did to Margaret two years ago. But others may not be as accepting, Isabel.”

Isabel nodded. Overcoming the prejudice of being a MacDonald would not be easy, but it was to be expected. “Well, at least everyone seems to be enjoying themselves right now,” she said, indicating the mix of clansmen gathered for the feast. MacLeods, MacCrimmons, and MacAskills occupied one side of the hall, and her party of MacDonalds occupied the other. The former enemies kept to themselves, except for her three brothers. She shook her head with amusement as she watched them flirting shamelessly with the MacLeod serving girls. Those three never missed an opportunity to dally, even in the midst of a pack of wolves. She sighed.

He was watching her. “You must be exhausted.”

She smiled and admitted, “Perhaps a bit.”

“You may retire to your room at any time.”

Isabel tried to control the fierce pounding of her heart. The night loomed before her. “Will my things be moved to another room this night, my lord?” she asked softly.

As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. His momentary good humor vanished. “I thought we might take some time to get to know each other. You will stay where you are for now.” He spoke the last with cool finality.

Her eyes widened with shock, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. His reticence to consummate the handfast was unexpected, and unusual. She had been counting on the private time spent in their chamber to help him fall in love with her. She had even been preparing herself mentally for the possible bedding tonight.

She should be relieved. After that kiss, she’d been a mass of knots. If she reacted like that to a simple kiss, what would happen when he bedded her?

Isabel had hoped that he might give her some time to get used to the idea. Now that he had, she didn’t know what to think. Either he was very thoughtful or he was not attracted to her. She hoped it was the former—for the sake of the plan, of course. Still, she felt unaccountably disappointed.

A high-pitched tinkle of laughter mixed with Rory’s husky voice drew her immediate attention. When she spied a beautiful dark-haired woman next to her father, another explanation crept forward. Her heart twisted in her chest. Isabel hoped he was not finding his pleasure elsewhere.

Rory hadn’t missed the twinge of hurt in her eyes when he informed her they wouldn’t be sharing a room. But he hadn’t been prepared for the heat that surged through his body when she mentioned removing to his chamber. Extending his legs under the dais, he took another swig of
cuirm,
trying to repress the lust betraying his body. He could only imagine what it would be like to bed her when a chaste kiss set him on fire. Never had a kiss affected him so, setting off primal urges that had only worsened over the long meal. The sensual curve of her mouth taunted him. He wanted to taste her again. To feel her soft lips moving under his. She’d tasted so sweet and desire had hit him full force. His body hardened just looking at her. Damn. He shifted in his seat with renewed discomfort.

He was aware of the direction of her thoughts. He’d done his best to ignore her throughout the feast and had flirted shamelessly with the witless but beautiful Catriona MacCrimmon. He knew he was wrong to encourage Catriona, a past relationship that had outlived its initial excitement, but he had to find some way to distract himself.