Highlander Untamed Page 6

  His words chilled her. “Don’t worry, Uncle, I wasn’t thinking of changing my mind. I know well what I must do. No one will suspect what I am about.”

  Realizing that Rory was still watching them, she patted the MacDonald’s hand as a beloved niece might do to reassure a doting uncle. Her expression gave no hint of the consequence of her words.

  Sleat appeared mollified. He relaxed his hold around her shoulders. “Be extremely cautious. And whatever you do, don’t allow yourself to become seduced by the MacLeod. You must be wary of him at all times—he knows well how to make a lass fall for his dubious charms.” The MacDonald drew his fingers to his chin thoughtfully.

  He continued as if thinking aloud to himself, “You are very beautiful, but young and innocent. Perhaps it would have been better…Well, no matter. It is too late now. I will send word to you soon, Isabel. As a precaution, I will use a waxed impression of this ring on my missives. Look on it well, memorize the design so that you will recognize it.”

  Isabel took his hand and scrutinized the large ring etched with the badge of Sleat. For Rory’s benefit, she even leaned down to kiss his hand as if in homage to the chief of the family. If Rory were still watching, her study of the ring would not look too peculiar. The ring contained an armored fist holding a cross with the motto of Sleat scrolled across the top: Per Mare per Terras, “By Land or by Sea.”

  “I’ll know it, Uncle. You’d best be on your way before I have to explain what we were talking about. I wouldn’t want to arouse Rory’s suspicions.”

  “Very well, then, good hunting to you, lass.” The MacDonald snickered with a lewd yellow smirk.

  With a heavy sigh of relief, Isabel watched him go. Something about the man made her skin crawl. Her uncle was undoubtedly a powerful chief. But he inspired fear, not devotion.

  There was no denying Sleat’s cruel edge. His brutal repudiation of Rory’s sister proved that. It had been done for political purposes. The MacDonald had been carefully building support for his bid to reclaim the ancient fiefdom of the Lordship of the Isles lost by Clan Donald over one hundred years ago. It was simple: The MacLeods were out of the king’s favor, and the Mackenzies were not. Her uncle needed royal support if he was to reclaim the political power that went with the title Lord of the Isles. Thus, Margaret MacLeod became expendable. Isabel may have understood the motivation, but to reject the woman by ridiculing her misfortune seemed unduly harsh. Of course, that too must have been the point. The MacLeod would be forced to retaliate, and her uncle had hoped to destroy them with feuding. But the MacLeod continued to be a thorn in the side of the MacDonalds. A thorn that she was to remove.

  Sleat did not want simply to increase the power of the clan, he wanted to rule western Scotland and the Isles without interference from the king—or MacLeod. Knowing the king, Isabel thought the idea far-fetched. Nevertheless, it wasn’t her job to wonder about the legitimacy of her uncle’s plan; her job was to succeed. And to succeed, she needed Rory. Or more precisely, she needed Rory’s love and trust.

  Perhaps the MacDonald’s quick departure was not such a bad thing. Clearly, Rory loathed her uncle. Sleat’s presence undoubtedly reminded Rory of his sister’s tragedy. And that certainly wouldn’t help her cause.

  She drew up her shoulders and shook off her despondency. It would do no good to brood. She had a job to do. She would make her family proud of her, and then she could leave this dismal place. A year would not come soon enough. At least she hadn’t been completely abandoned. Bessie had agreed to stay for a few months to help her get settled.

  “You shouldn’t be standing out here in the rain.”

  Startled, Isabel jumped, her feet skidding on the stone walk of the battlements. She felt the heat of his body and the hard shield of his chest behind her as he steadied and then promptly released her.

  She knew who it was before she turned.

  Her heart had leapt for a moment, thinking from his words that he might be concerned. But when she met his blank gaze, she knew it was not so. The man had a face about as yielding as stone.

  “I wanted to make sure my kinsmen departed safely. I hoped that they might reconsider and remain at Dunvegan until the storm passed.”

  She winced, knowing that she sounded defensive.

  “Well, you can see that they have gone. Return to the keep and dry yourself before you catch a chill.”

  His brusque tone, coupled with the acute loneliness she was feeling at the moment, stung. She nodded, unable to keep the wounded expression from her face.

  He must have noticed, for he let out an exasperated sigh and offered her some semblance of reassurance. “’Tis for the best, lass. Your uncle will never be welcome at Dunvegan. And after the trouble yesterday, tensions between the clans were running high. The MacLeods and MacDonalds will never be friends.”

  Isabel thought she detected another warning in his voice. “Friends perhaps not. But no longer enemies. Our handfast has put an end to the feud.”

  His mouth tightened. “For a year, at least,” he qualified. Isabel experienced a moment of panic, thinking that perhaps he’d overheard something. But then he continued, “It will take longer than a year to repair the damage of a lifetime of feuding.”

  “But it is a good beginning,” she said. Something else was bothering her. “About what happened yesterday…it was wrong of me to try to interfere. Nor did I intend to question your decision.” It had been wrong of her. She was chastened to realize that despite the harsh punishment, there were no grumblings among the MacLeods. His decisions were respected.

  Rory nodded, accepting her apology. “Why did you?”

  “I didn’t want anything to mar the celebration. And when I saw my brother, I guessed what had happened. I know my brothers. They mean no harm, but I realized that your men do not know them as I do. Ian was very sorry for the trouble he caused.”

  “He told me so himself.” Rory must have seen her look of surprise. “He apologized for disrupting the celebration and admitted he did not know the lass was wed. He is young yet, but I admire his integrity.”

  Isabel smiled, pleased that the MacLeod acknowledged how difficult it must have been for Ian to apologize after the matter had already been decided in his favor.

  “You are fond of your brothers?” he asked.

  Isabel nodded. “Very much so.”

  He stared at her intently. “And they of you?”

  She hesitated. “Of course.”

  Rory must have heard the uncertainty in her voice. “I am sure it was difficult for them to leave you as well. But it is for the best. With your family gone, your adjustment at Dunvegan will be easier. Unless you are having second thoughts?”

  “No, of course not,” she said too quickly.

  He lifted a brow that suggested he did not believe her. “I noticed your intense conversation with your uncle. I thought perhaps you might be reconsidering.”

  Isabel felt her pulse quicken.

  He stared at her hard, waiting for her to explain, which of course she could not. “If you were watching, then you must know I was simply bidding my uncle farewell.”

  “It seemed rather more than a simple farewell. He appeared to be giving you some sort of instructions.”

  Isabel sucked in her breath, her pulse now racing frantically. How could he have possibly guessed? Rory MacLeod was much too observant.

  Think, Isabel.

  Well, she thought, men loved obedient women, didn’t they?

  She smiled demurely, fluttering her long lashes at him. “Very well, you are right, Rory.”

  His brows lifted in surprise.

  She forced what she hoped was a becoming blush. “My uncle was giving me instructions.” She paused. “Instructions on how to be a proper and obedient wife. Instructions on how to please you.”

  He seemed to tense, as if her words had knocked the breath from him. His eyes met hers. This time, there was no mistaking the flash of heat. “I would like to hear those instructions.” His gaze
slipped to her mouth and down the length of her body, lingering on her breasts. “On how exactly you intend to please me.”

  Isabel felt her insides quiver, not missing the sexual innuendo in his words. Her cheeks flamed. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then what did you mean, Isabel?” The huskiness in his voice sent a shiver of awareness down her spine.

  Dear God, he was standing close to her. So close that she could feel the heat from his body and smell the alluring scent of sea and spice that was strangely his. She wanted to sink against him, dissolve into that heat, and feel the strength of his arms around her. She wanted it with an intensity that was nearly overwhelming.

  His wet hair fell in thick chunks across his ruggedly handsome face. She had a brazen urge to reach out and tuck it behind his ear. Anything to touch him.

  Isabel couldn’t answer. The air between them crackled. Unconsciously, she leaned closer, caught in a warm magnetic pull that seemed to draw her in.

  He continued to stare at her, looking deep into her eyes. His mouth was achingly close. She could see the stubble along his jaw and remembered how it felt scraping over her skin when he’d kissed her. She remembered the softness of his lips. The spicy taste of him. Her lips parted, waiting.

  Did he see how much she wanted him to kiss her? How all she could think about was the taste of his mouth on hers? For a long moment, they stood like that, staring at each other in the rain. Isabel searched for something, anything, to suggest that he felt it, too. She was to be disappointed. He deliberately broke the connection, turning his gaze from hers.

  “Now we are both soaked,” he said sternly. “Return to the keep. I have work to do. And in the future, stay inside during dangerous storms. I don’t want to have to fetch you again.”

  He turned on his heel and left her feeling even more alone than before.

  The MacDonald of Sleat watched Dunvegan sink into the gray mists of the storm clouds, but not before he caught sight of the two people standing on the battlements. A sight that brought a satisfied smirk to his mouth. There was no mistaking the identity of the woman or the man. His plan was progressing smoothly. The MacLeod would fight his attraction, but in the end, Sleat had no doubt that Rory MacLeod would succumb.

  Sleat still could not believe the good fortune that had brought his niece to his attention. Isabel MacDonald was a rare beauty indeed. A redheaded Helen of Troy. Men would see her and want her. Wars could be fought over her. She embodied the perfect combination of innocence and sexuality. Aye, his niece would serve their needs well. Very well, he congratulated himself.

  Rory MacLeod had been a thorn in his side for too long. It would amuse him to see his enemy, the great “Rory Mor,” brought down by a mere lass. The MacLeod had put up quite a show pretending not to notice her, but Sleat knew better. His indifference had been his unmasking. The MacLeod wanted her. Badly. Who wouldn’t? What man could refuse such riches? Sleat chuckled, well pleased with himself.

  Aye, using a woman to get inside the MacLeod’s stronghold had been a stroke of genius.

  The MacDonald scratched his scraggly beard, absently flicking the crumbs from this morning’s bread into the churning sea. He frowned. There was one weakness in his plan. His little niece. The ultimate success of his plan depended on her. He abhorred relying on a woman for anything, useless creatures that they were, but in this it was necessary. There was no other way.

  Was the chit strong enough to do her part? She was very young and inexperienced. It was part of her charm. But it also made her a liability. He hadn’t missed her fascination with the MacLeod chief. Sleat would keep a close eye on her progress and make sure she understood the consequences for her clan if she failed.

  For this Helen would not start a war, but end one.

  And in the process deliver him a kingdom.

  Chapter 5

  Since the afternoon of the MacDonalds’ departure three weeks ago, Rory had done his best to keep his distance from his new bride. The more time he spent with her, the more he learned about her. And the more he learned about her, the more he wanted to know. It was a vicious circle that would lead him nowhere but to perdition.

  Even on that day of her family’s leaving, he hadn’t intended to go to her. But did the woman have no sense, standing on the slippery battlements in a torrential storm? He would have left her to the mercy of the elements, but that damn vulnerability had eaten away at his reserve. He’d spied her sad leavetaking from her family and tried not to be moved. Yet there was a poignancy to the moment that could not be ignored. Her father gave her an awkward pat on the head, and Isabel looked as though she wanted to throw her arms around him. Each of her brothers did give her a quick hug, but Isabel held on just a tad too long. She wanted to stretch out every minute, while the MacDonalds looked as if they couldn’t leave fast enough. She fought tears watching them make their way down the sea-gate stairs, as they left with nary a backward glance.

  Damn fools. Couldn’t they see how difficult this was for her? She’d seemed so alone and desolate as the boats departed that he couldn’t stand back and watch her catch ill. He knew she must be feeling abandoned and a bit scared at being left on her own with a group of strangers. Strangers who only days ago were her enemies. When she’d turned to face him, her luminous violet eyes blurry and red rimmed from crying, Rory could not remain unaffected. He’d felt sorry for the lass.

  But sorrow quickly turned to something else when she’d talked of pleasuring him. His mind had momentarily gone blank with erotic images. Of her beneath him, on top of him, wrapped around him. Images that were only too easy to imagine with her lush mouth a tantalizing few inches below his. The force of his lust for this woman annoyed the hell out of him.

  Only later did he wonder if her suggestive comment was meant to distract him from further inquiry into the strange conversation he’d witnessed with her uncle. Something about this handfast and Isabel didn’t sit right.

  He didn’t trust her. And with her living in the old keep, and him in the newer Fairy Tower, it wasn’t as easy to keep an eye on her. From Deidre, he learned that she’d been spending an inordinate amount of time in the kitchens. The information had piqued his curiosity, as did her current crouched position peering under the shelves in the storeroom.

  Rory waited until he was standing right behind her. “What are you looking for?”

  Startled, Isabel jumped. Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened into a wide O.

  He crossed his arms and stared at her. Hard. “Well?”

  “I…I…d-d-dropped something.”

  She was lying. “What?”

  Collecting herself, she pursed her lips, put her hands on her hips, and lifted a decidedly obstinate chin to his. “Why are you questioning me?”

  “I find you on your hands and knees in the storeroom looking under shelves and you have to ask?”

  She seemed to find humor in his description and grinned. “Oh, very well.” She paused, making a great show of brushing the dust off her skirts. “You found me out. Colum has promised to teach me how he makes his delicious marzipan cakes, and I’ve been sent to the stores to requisition the almonds and sugar.”

  Rory had learned from Deidre that Isabel had made a quick admirer of his taciturn and cantankerous old cook. “A good excuse for finding you in the storeroom, perhaps, but that does not explain what you were looking for under those shelves.”

  “I was getting to that,” she said haughtily. “While I was collecting the ingredients, I heard something drop and roll under the shelves. I feared it must be a pearl from my earring.”

  “Hmm,” Rory murmured. “Shall we see?” Slowly he reached out, slipping his hand through her hair to pull it away from her ear. The soft, silken waves slid across his skin and sent a shock rippling through him. Gently, he gripped the velvety skin of her neck with his fingers, breathing in the sweet bouquet of lavender as he bent to examine her earrings. The temptation to loosen the ribbon that bound her hair and bury his hands in the silk
en warmth was almost overpowering.

  His voice sounded unnaturally deep. “You don’t appear to be missing anything.”

  “I know I heard something drop.” She sounded flustered, but whether it was from his touch or her lie he could not tell. “Perhaps it was from my brooch,” she offered quickly.

  His eyes slid down to the piece of jewelry fastened between her breasts. Eyes wide, she followed the movement of his hand as it trailed from her ear to her bodice. When he brushed the heavy curve of her breast with the back of his finger, he heard her sharp intake of breath. The erotic sound filled him with heat—as did the immediate tightening of her nipple. Her gaze flew to his and awareness stretched taut between them. He could hear the unevenness of her breath coming between her softly parted lips as he inspected the brooch with his fingers. It would be so easy to slip his hand under the bodice of her gown, to feel the velvet of her skin, to massage his thumb across the hard tip. To feel the shudder of passion sweep through her.

  He leaned closer, inhaling the sweet perfume of her skin, feeling the heat of desire swirl over him. His cock thickened, and his loins grew heavy with need. Just one little stroke…

  But he knew it would not be enough. He’d want more. Much more.

  God’s wounds, no woman had ever affected him so effortlessly.

  Taking a step back, he removed his hand and allowed his pulse to return to normal, waiting for the vise hold of lust to dissipate before he spoke. “Again, there appears to be nothing missing.”