Across a Dark Highland Shore (Hot Highlands Romance Book 2) (14 page)

Isobel started to defend Leith, but Mary Francis had already turned and gone. Perhaps she had been too ready to defend him. After all, she did not yet know him truly.

A few moments later there was a tall shadow and she knew Leith stood beside her.

“Yer cold?” he asked.

“Just warming my hands.”

“Ha’e ye had something to eat?”

“Aye.”

Her hand grasped the pendant at her neck and she began to caress it nervously. She turned and looked up at him, at his curious, intense amber eyes, and felt faint. The room started to fade and she clutched at him….

18

When Isobel awoke, she was lying on a bench by the fire, Leith sitting next to her and holding a damp cloth to her forehead.

“Ye gave me a fright,” he said. “Are ye feeling better?”

Isobel sat up and her head throbbed.

“Mayhap ye didna eat enough breakfast, lass. I know Cook’s porridge can be horrid, but there are plenty of other things ye can eat. Cook can make most things amazingly well. But for some reason, he canna make the simple things well, like decent porridge or bashed neeps.” He smiled.

Isobel chewed her lower lip in thought. “’Twas no’ the food. I had a vision.” She did not meet his topaz eyes.

He placed a finger softly beneath her chin so she had to look at him. “Ne’er feel embarrassed or ashamed to tell me about yer visions. ‘Tis why I brought ye here.”

She could not help drinking in the proud arrogance of his features. “I saw….”

“How dramatic!” Lady Katherine said, having appeared in the great hall. “The witch faints and suddenly proclaims to have a vision.” She stood near the hearth, malice glittering in her dark-lashed eyes. “Tell us, what did ye see? Something prophetic? A hanging of the man Rory perhaps, the one who calls ye ‘sweeting’?”

Leith looked at her and Lady Katherine either did not notice the hard set of his jaw or unwisely chose to ignore it. “Leave us, Lady Katherine. ‘Tis a private moment.”

She laughed. “A private moment with the witch! How rich.” She narrowed her eyes. “If I should change my mind about marrying ye Leith, and let me remind ye that would take
a lot
of persuading, we would share everything. No’ just our bodies.” She ran her hands seductively over her hips. “I dunna abide
secrets.
The witch is a waste of breath and life, and yet ye give her Logan’s room to sleep in, the vera bed where Logan and I made love, his soft coverlets! She sits by yer side at the great table. Ye clothe and feed the enemy and let her
advise
ye. Some would question yer sanity, my
laird.
And if I was yer wife, she would be banished from this keep posthaste.”

Leith’s eyes seemed to darken. “Ye go too far, Lady Katherine. Ye would be wise to curb yer acid tongue now. If ye were my wife, ye would no’ speak so unkindly about someone who is important to me, whate’er their station. As I said, ‘tis a private moment and it doesna concern ye. Leave us.
Now
.”

Lady Katherine’s pretty features twisted in rage and indignation. “’Tis no matter. She spins lies. We will hear soon enough what her foolish prophecy is. She will be proved wrong, whate’er her prediction.”

Lady Katherine walked away and Leith continued to study Isobel. “Ignore her harsh words. What did ye see in yer vision?”

Isobel met his eyes with honesty. Was she really important to him, as he’d said? “I saw the glen. I saw yer brother’s gold-tipped arrows lying beneath a gnarled tree, buried deep beneath the snow.” She thought about telling him that she’d seen Logan’s ghost, and that she’d also seen a dark-robed figure in a plague mask, but she held back. It was not the time to tell him, not when she didn’t know what it meant or if Logan’s spirit would appear to her again.

Leith’s rugged face did not betray whatever emotion he was feeling. “I will put together a party and we will search this place now.”

Isobel frowned. “But what if I am wrong? What if we cannot find the precise tree?”

“There is no harm in checking. If we canna find the arrows now, we will find them in the spring, when the snow melts. If yer vision is true, there is much to be gained from it. It will prove that the motive for Logan’s death wasna robbery, but something far more sinister.”

“And if my vision doesna mean anything?”

“As I said, there is no harm in looking. There is more harm in ignoring yer vision. Have confidence in yer gift, Isobel.”             

He stood, towering over her, and motioned to Ranulph, who was immediately at his side. “Ranulph, gather a party of men and include Errol. We need to investigate something in the glen where Logan was killed.”

“Aye,” Ranulph said, and quickly did his laird’s bidding.

Leith offered Isobel his hand. She did not take it. “What of Rory? Will there be a hanging today?”

Their eyes battled for a long moment.

“Nay,” he finally said. “As ye noted, he is worth more to me alive than dead.”

Isobel let out the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.

He offered his hand again and after a moment’s hesitation, she took it. As before, the warmth of his lean, strong fingers closed around her own was startling. She could not help but wonder how those hands would feel on her body. She knew how his lips felt on her own. She knew how soft his dark hair felt when she threaded her fingers through it. She remembered his warm breath, his masculine moans…and then remembered she’d been dreaming. Surely she could not have wrought such a lustful response from
this
man.

His gaze fell on their entwined fingers and then on her face and his eyes seemed heated. She quickly dropped her hand in embarrassment and thought she detected a faint, wolfish smile on his arresting face.

“Do ye have something warmer to wear, Isobel?”

“Nay. This tunic will do. My hose and boots are warm enough.”

“Of course ye’d say that while yer standing next to a roaring fire. But those will ne’er do. I’ve noticed that ye dunna ask for things for yerself, so I will ha’e Maida bring more clothing to yer room. We’ve plenty to spare. I will ha’e an extra cloak brought, too. ‘Tis a particularly brutal winter. Ye’ll need a fur-lined cloak, one that is warm. Change quickly then and when ye are ready, we will ride out.” He stood as if to leave.

“Wait,” she said. “I dunna need a fur-lined cloak. A simple cloak will do.”

“Ye’ll have a fur-lined cloak, Isobel.”

“Och! Dunna be so arrogant and dense! People will talk.”

“Who will talk, Isobel? What will they talk about?”

Isobel’s eyes flickered briefly to where Lady Katherine and Errol sat, watching them, but she said nothing. His gaze followed hers. He turned back to her but said nothing, the set of his jaw hard.

She felt the color rise in her cheeks yet she spoke her mind. “Ye give me Logan’s well-appointed room. Ye have me sit at yer table by yer side. Ye give me clothing and food and deny me nothing.”

“Would ye rather sleep amidst the servants and be given scraps like the hounds?”

“Nay, but I….”

“Isobel, ye are no’ used to kindness.”

‘Twas true. She could not deny it.

“I will say this only once for my patience grows short. While ye are here, ye will be treated well. ‘Tis better for the Macleans to see that ye are important to me. By seeing that, they are far less likely to talk, or worse. They see ye are important and protected by my hand and my orders.” He stared at her with an intensity that was unwavering. “Go and change.”

He walked away and Isobel rose slowly, aware she was being watched. And then she felt something different, a chill on her spine, and discovered a different pair of eyes watching her. She glanced at the bottom of the stairway that led to the second floor, where Rolph, half hidden in shadow, pierced her with his angry gaze.

She would have to pass him on her way to her chamber. She shivered. He stepped from the shadows and her heart leapt in her chest. But he continued on, staggering to the great table, as if he were drunk. He sat down clumsily and called for more ale. Isobel noted with disgust that he still wore his blood-spattered clothing from the night before.
That blood belonged to MacKinnon men, dishonorable reivers though they had been.

Quickly she hurried toward the stairs and her chamber to await the delivery of the clothing Leith had promised.

In her room, she flexed her fingers in front of the fire in the hearth, grateful that Maida always saw to her needs. Isobel had always been a servant. She’d never had someone anticipating her needs or stoking her fire throughout the day to make sure it did not go out and that she’d be warm at night. She wondered if Maida resented her duties and tasks, having to wait on a strange woman with the Sight.

She must stop thinking of all this and concentrate on Logan and the arrows. If she could help his spirit, solve the mystery of his death, she could help Leith heal. She could help Leith with Lady Katherine, so they could wed and she could bear sons and the peace of the clans would stretch on for a time before some thoughtless action or insult brought a hasty return of the blood feud.

Isobel no longer had a clan. They’d tried to burn her at the stake. She had no husband to protect her. She had no family or blood ties, except for Maighdlin MacAlister, whom she’d never met. She’d seen her from a distance but had never spoken with her. Isobel finally acknowledged that it hurt.

There was a knock and Isobel opened the door for Maida. She bustled in with an armful of clothing and placed the fur-lined cloak on the bed. With a smile, she put the other clothing in an ornate chest on the floor. Another servant brought wine and quickly left.

“Thank ye Maida, ye are always so kind to me when ye dunna have to be.”

Maida gave her a questioning look. “There is no reason why I canna be kind to ye, lass.”

Isobel nodded. Of course she’d be kind; their laird had ordered they accept her. Some were more ready than others to obey that order.

“Ye ride out this morning?”

“Yea.”

“Did ye have a vision?”

Isobel hesitated, but only for a moment. She could trust Maida, she was sure. “Aye. We ride to the glen where Logan was killed. I had a vision of his arrows being buried beneath a great gnarled tree there. I hope I am right.”

A stricken look crossed Maida’s features but she continued to pile clothing into the chest. “I hope ye are right too, lass.”

Isobel shivered. What if her visions failed her? She thought of herself sleeping in a stranger’s doorway or in a field, dependent on handouts to live, begging and digging through refuse to find morsels of food. Would Leith’s protection be withdrawn? There were some who if they were in her position, would lie; some who would make up ‘visions’. Isobel had never been very good at lying, and she would not do so now. If she could help Leith, and it was meant to be, she would do so. If not, then she would move on from this place and live day by day.

“I want to help, Maida, truly I do.”

“I believe ye, lass. And I believe ye
can
help. Since ye came here, I’ve seen a change in Leith that has nothing to do with ye having the Sight and all to do with regaining a tiny bit of hope. I was concerned that his brother’s death…well, that he would retreat too far into himself and his grief and we might lose him forever. But ye have had some sort of effect on him, lass. No’ e’en Lady Katherine has had such an effect,” she said, frowning.

“I am no’ used to kindness,” Isobel replied, remembering Leith’s words. “I am no’ used to such opulence.” Her eyes darted about the room. “And I am no’ used to being waited on. I can see to myself, Maida, if ye dunna have time to….”

“Och, but yer being silly. ‘Tis no hardship, Isobel. Now drink some wine to warm ye, and get ye changed and go downstairs. The men are eager to ride out.”

19

Three shivering men squatted on the ridge, their breath hoary, watching the Maclean keep from a distance. Their shaggy, ill-cared–for horses were tied to tree branches a few hundred feet away, hidden in a sloped valley.

“They ride out, some sort of patrol,” one of them said. “We could take them.”

“Nay, Keir,” said Malcolm, who was not the tallest of the three but the burliest. He wiped snow from his face and shifted his stocky frame. “Now is no’ the time. They have the scrawny village boy Tomas as prisoner, remember? And Rory McNeil, too. And they have the witch. I want them back. Especially the witch. So we can finish what my brother Bothen started.”

An icy wind blew and the men pulled their plaids tighter about themselves.

“’Twas the Black Wolf’s arrow that felled my brother Bothen,” Malcolm said. “I want his blood. I want to take him down. The Maclean rides in a small party now, but make no mistake, he is well protected. He probably has men hidden in the brush, keeping an eye out, after what happened to his brother. Ye heard about that? Braw! Perhaps we could learn from the coward who fired the arrow into Logan’s back and disappeared into the mist.”

The men nodded as they watched the riders leave the keep and head up a snowy ridge that was blue in the morning light.

Malcolm’s black eyes narrowed. “I canna believe what I am seein’. The witch rides with the Black Wolf.”

The moss-covered mountains, dark with snow, seemed to shiver. The land was white and still, like it was sleeping, but what was in the men’s hearts was black, moving, and alert.

“Do ye think the Black Wolf will kill the witch afore we have our chance?” Keir asked, sneezing and wiping his nose on his plaid. “They seem to travel with tools, looks like shovels to me. Do they plan to kill her and bury her in the snow?”

“Ye dumb arse,” the leader said. “I dunna know what they plan. But a man like the Black Wolf doesna pull a witch with the Sight from a fire only to kill her himself.”

He scratched his bearded chin. “He must have other plans for her. Mayhap she is becoming valuable to him somehow. Mayhap he wishes to know his future, for she has the Sight.”

“What think ye, Hamish?” Keir asked.

“I can predict his sodding future right now,” Hamish said. “Dead, by my battle axe to his skull.”

Keir and Hamish laughed. Malcolm did not. He sat back on his haunches. “We wait.”

“Och, by God’s bones ‘tis so cold and all we’ve been doing is watching and waiting!” Hamish said. “I canna feel my feet! It’s starting to snow harder. And e’ery little decision seems to require three days to make!”

Malcolm spun around and pinched Hamish with his brittle gaze. “We canna risk bringing the Maclean wrath down on our clan right now. We are too weak to face them squarely on a battlefield. ‘Twould be foolish. We must kill the Black Wolf in stealth, and take back Rory and the boy and the witch, and get away before anyone realizes what has happened or who has killed him. So we continue to watch and wait for our chance. If ye dunna like it, ye can go back to the keep and sit upon yer grandmother’s bony knee in front of the fire, and have her tell ye a nice bedtime story while ye suck on her drooping, withered tit.”

Keir guffawed and Malcolm swore, slapping the dim-witted man hard across his bearded face. “Keep quiet, Keir!” he hissed. “We wait, unless ye both wish to have my battle axe in yer thick skulls!”

Hamish and Keir made not a peep after that.