Across a Dark Highland Shore (Hot Highlands Romance Book 2) (10 page)

“Logan was always reciting poetry for Lady Katherine,” he said, “Gaelic and some Latin. When they were apart, he sat in his room and wrote her foolish, flowery letters full of his declarations of love. I think he wrote her no fewer than one hundred love sonnets.” He rolled his eyes. “And he lavished gifts upon her at e’ery opportunity.”

She walked passed him and he grabbed her arm. “Will ye stop that pacing!”

She began to tap her foot in response.

“Och,” he said, releasing her arm. “Will ye stop that tapping! All that poetry was foolish. All those flowery words. Why can a man no’ just say what he feels with straightforward words?” He sighed. “I’m afraid that Logan was much more eloquent than I.”

“What about yer dancing?”

“Logan danced with Lady Katherine whene’er there were entertainments. I thought that a foolish waste of time as well.”

“So what did ye do, Highlander, hide in the shadows while e’eryone else danced about?”

“Yea. So? Ye said once ye preferred the shadows, too.”

“There will be foolish feasting and dancing this evening?”

“Aye. And it will be foolish. Did I mention that? But ‘tis the sort of foolish thing the clan needs now. A distraction.”

“Do ye dance at all, Highlander?”

In response, he snorted.

“Tonight ye will dance. With Lady Katherine.”

“Nay.”

“Aye. Ye will. She willna expect it. It’s a
romantic
gesture. What woman doesna enjoy dancing with a handsome man? Surely dancing is something Lady Katherine is quite familiar with. And she quite clearly enjoys an audience for her charms.”

“So ye think me handsome, Isobel?”

“I think ye arrogant, Highlander.”

His lips twitched. “Ye’ve said that before, mayhap on more than one occasion.”

“We dunna have much time. Now sit. I will tell ye how to dance with a woman. Where to place yer hands, how a woman likes to be commanded and led during the dance, how she likes to be looked at, how she wants to feel in yer arms….”

“Nay. Ye will no’
tell
me how to dance. Ye will
show
me. I am a slow learner when it comes to such sophisticated graces. It’s been…a long time since I danced.”

10

“Vera well, Highlander. Ye vex me so. But we ha’e no musicians, so we will ha’e to imagine the music.”

“Ha’e ye e’er danced with a man, Isobel?”

“I ken ‘tis hard for ye to imagine a man asking
me
to dance, but yea, I danced, once or twice. And many times during the festivals I would watch my mum dance, when she thought I was sleeping. When she danced with Brodie, my father, ‘twas one of the few times I remember her being truly happy. Brodie’s wife was a miserable, wretched woman who ne’er attended any of the festivals herself. She felt them beneath her. She chose to be a hateful, bitter person. I didna expect any kindness from her, but she treated her own daughters the same hateful way.”

“Tell me of a night when yer father and mother danced,” he said gently.

“We were in a wide glen. There was a great bonfire and fiddles were playing. The light of the campfire glowed on the faces of the women, men, and children. The first stars had started to appear, and there was a thin crescent of moon. He took her in his arms and I could tell she felt like the rest of the world just fell away. They only saw each other. I’m glad she experienced that once in her short life, for it must make all the difference to know that someone loves ye and desires ye that way.”

Isobel cleared her throat nervously. “Anyway, that’s how ye need to make Lady Katherine feel when ye dance with her.”

Isobel began pacing again and found herself standing at the front of the chapel. He closed the distance between them, placing his hands roughly on her shoulders.

She rolled her eyes. “Ye walk as though ye own this place and e’ery other place.”

“What a terrible tragedy that I have confidence in my swagger.”

“Yer no’ taking this seriously.”

“I assure ye, Isobel, I am.”

“Then let me show ye. I will try to remember that night, when my mum danced with my father. Give me yer hands.”

He let her take his hands and reposition them on her body.

“Ye dunna grasp a woman as ye grasp a leather targe or that constant companion of yers, the prized battleaxe.” She closed her eyes.

“Imagine the music. Are ye imagining the music?” She opened an eye to peek at him and then closed it.

“Oh, aye, Isobel.” She heard the deep rumble of laughter in his chest but continued on.

“Yer touch needs to be firm but soft. Dunna just dump yer hands on her shoulders or her waist. Despite her pride and strong nature, Lady Katherine will want ye to lead her in the dance, but she’ll want a deft touch, a touch that says, as a man, I know a woman’s soft body. I know how to make it tremble and ache with desire and love.”

He stopped laughing and pulled her close, his rough cheek grazing hers, and she opened her eyes in alarm.

“That’s too close.” She repositioned his hands and his arms so there was more space between them. He seemed amused. “Now we begin to move, Highlander.”

He looked down the aisle. “I canna dance in a straight line. There’s no’ much room in here.”

“It will ha’e to do. Now, remember what I said. A woman wants to feel like she is the only one ye see, that the world has fallen away, that ye could spend the rest of yer life dancing in her arms and be quite content. Imagine I am Lady Katherine. And that ye desire nothing more than to touch and hold me. Oh, and please dunna step on my toes. If I…if a lady steps on
yer
toes, ye are to ignore it and act as if ne’er happened.”

“A lady’s concern for her dancing partner’s feet is always to be marveled at.”

Isobel laughed; she could not help herself.

“Ye seem to enjoy laughing at me, Isobel.”

“I dunna deny it. Yer no’ like anyone I e’er met. Now, however, we must be serious. My mum used to say that sometimes love comes quickly but ye have to recognize it for the real thing. She told me that many people think they’ve found it because they
want
to. But they are merely in love with the
idea
of being in love. Now think of Lady Katherine when ye dance, think of how ye feel when she is near. Think of how ye love her, how she is different from all other women. Think of how love is a good and true feeling and will no’ lead ye astray. My mum used to say in true love there is no fear.”

They began to dance, and she realized it was he who had been in control from the beginning. He was actually a skilled dancer, commanding her body with a deft touch, making her respond almost without trying.

The heat of his big body in the cold church made her warm, and the touch of his strong hands and lean fingers wrought a response in her that she wasn’t expecting. He stared into her eyes and she truly felt the world melt away.

He whirled her toward the other end of the chapel, the impassive faces of the carved, wooden saints a blur, and then stopped abruptly, imprisoning her in his arms and leaning so close to her face that his lips nearly touched hers. Her heart thudded in her chest and her breathing was quick.

“How is my dancing, my lady? Am I a quick learner after all?” His breath was warm and his body was powerful; he was pressed so closely to her that she could feel the muscles in his thighs. His nearness made her tremble as he stared intently at her lips.

“Yer dancing is passable,” she breathed.

He laughed because he knew better, and she pulled away. ‘Twas foolish of her to be affected by this man’s nearness. He was laird of the Macleans, he was the feared Black Wolf, and he’d been imagining he’d been dancing with the beautiful Lady Katherine.

Isobel was a woman with scars, a woman with the Sight who, ironically, often seemed invisible to others. He was a man, experienced at seduction, strong, powerful, virile, and confident. He was a man who would cause many feminine hearts to race, but what of the man underneath? Somehow in this moment, he did not seem a stranger but seemed like someone she’d known for a vera long time.

Yet next to him, Isobel felt inexperienced at life and foolish. Why had she thought for the merest instant that this man needed her help in winning any woman’s hand?

They rode back to the keep in silence, Isobel all too aware of the broad chest at her back, of the muscled thighs that cradled her intimately while at the same time expertly guided the horse through the great, white swirls of snow.

11

Lady Katherine sought them out as soon as they returned to the Maclean keep.

“Leith, I’d like to take Isobel to my chambers and show her what needs to be done with my garments.” Lady Katherine turned to the two young women trailing her, one with raven-black hair and another with bouncy auburn curls, who was coughing into her fist, and snapped her fingers. The auburn-haired girl had a scar above her left eye, giving the impression that her eye was half closed, but she was still pretty. “Rowena and Mary Francis attend quite adequately to my various needs but neither is a seamstress of any repute. And ‘tis obvious in this weather I canna send for my seamstress to be brought here. She is auld, and wouldna survive the trip, but no one is as talented with a needle. She lives to sew my beautiful gowns and would be distraught at the thought of another performing those duties, especially a
healer of sorts
,
but there is no help for it.”

Leith nodded. “I’ll see ye tonight, Isobel.” He gave her a wink and walked away and Lady Katherine frowned. “Where have ye two been?”

“Ye wanted to show me yer gowns, Lady Katherine?”

“Yea, posthaste. I will be wearing mourning garments for some time to come, but sometimes I wear them over my colorful gowns. And since the tragedy, I haven’t eaten much and my gowns need to be taken in.”

Isobel was tired and sore from spending several hours riding, but she was taken to Lady Katherine’s room, where she was presented with a pile of sewing that made the towering mountains ringing the Island of Mull look like tiny ant hills. Rowena smirked but Mary Francis said nothing as they tended the fire in the hearth and fetched whatever items Lady Katherine requested.

Though the bedchamber was not as grand as Logan’s, it was, of course, lavishly furnished with an ornately carved poster bed with canopy curtains, a carved chest, chairs, and a small table with mirror and combs. Lady Katherine sat at the table and held the costly silver mirror in front of her face, and Mary Francis began combing her hair in preparation for the evening’s entertainments.

“I think I should like to wear my hair swept up this evening,” Lady Katherine said. “The ruby comb is most becoming. Do ye agree, Mary Francis?”

“Oh, aye, my lady, the ruby comb is dazzling.”

Lady Katherine’s dark, fiery hair shimmered in the firelight. She studied herself in the mirror while she spoke to Isobel. “Yer sewing skills are acceptable, Isobel? Ye can sew an even line? I know, given yer humble origins, that ye must be experienced working with linen and wool, but have ye e’er taken needle to silk or velvet, or even fur? I daresay yer used to cloth made of coarse, flax fiber.”

“A poor woman cannot afford to be wearing clothing that falls off of her,” Isobel said, detecting a smile on the face of the shy Mary Francis. “I have mended rich and varying fabrics for ladies of my own clan and for visiting nobles when the need arose. My mother taught me well before she died. I’ve also stitched closed gaping, bloody wounds from battleaxes, swords, and arrows. Does that suffice?”

Lady Katherine frowned. “I ha’e everything ye need. Sewing needles in leather cases, thread, snips, thimbles, and pins. Tonight, ye can sit o’er there, by the window. I imagine during the day, the light will be best in Logan’s room, by the window that looks out o’er the sea.”

Lady Katherine was clearly familiar with Logan’s room and had been in it, and Isobel sensed she was not happy that a MacKinnon healer was now inhabiting it.

Isobel listened impassively as Lady Katherine explained, in excruciating detail, what needed to be done with her gowns, kirtles, stomachers, tippets, and hose. “I know, Isobel. As a reward for all yer hard work, ye can ha’e one of my auld gowns. Ye are slimmer and smaller than I, with a smaller bust, so ye’ll need to alter it to fit, but ye can have yer pick. Rowena, Mary Francis, what color best suits Isobel?”

The girls looked at each other.

“Well, she’s a slight thing, and no’ much to look at,” Rowena said, “so I’d choose brown.
Mud
brown.”

“And what do ye think, Mary Francis?”

“She’s really quite exquisite with that shining flaxen hair and her luminous green eyes. I’d choose emerald green or peacock blue. Yea. Both colors would be magnificent on Isobel.” Mary Francis coughed into her hands again.

Lady Katherine’s eyes narrowed and Rowena’s mouth gaped.

“Well, I was leaning toward the brown myself,” Lady Katherine said, “but when will anyone e’er give ye such a gown again, Isobel? This may be the only time ye’ll e’er receive such a costly and lavish gift. I’ve received many gifts from admirers but I doubt ye e’er will. So I should be generous. I can afford to be generous. And for once, Mary Francis is right. So I’ll give ye the peacock blue gown. That one.” She pointed to a marvelous gown heaped atop the others. The folds of the blue silk fabric shimmered. “Mary Francis can help ye with the fitting of it. I ha’e no use for it anymore.”

“I’ll be happy to,” Mary Francis said, coughing once more into her hand.

“I’ll be happy to,” Rowena mimicked, rolling her eyes. “Mary Francis does whate’er anybody tells her to. Isn’t that right Mary Francis?”

Mary Francis stared at her feet and frowned.

“Better no’ to give Mary Francis needle and thread!” Rowena said. “Ye know how she got that scar o’er her eye? When she was a younger lass, she displeased a previous mistress with her awful sewing and her mistress stabbed at her face with a needle.”

“What a heinous thing to do,” Isobel said.

“I may no’ be a good seamstress,” Mary Francis said. “But the partial blindness in my one eye has made it possible for me to see other things more clearly. Many things. Things that ye dunna no’ think of or bother with, Rowena.”

“Stop now, I bore of yer idle chatter,” Lady Katherine said. “Which gown shall
I
wear? I’m getting tired of black. It’s so dreadful. But there’s no help for it now. I’ll wear the black one with the green satin trim. Leith said he likes to see me in green so it will have to do.”

“My lady, an excellent choice,” Rowena said. “’Tis very becoming and shows off yer ample woman’s bosom.”

Lady Katherine smiled. “Isobel, do ye know I wore that gown to the chapel the day of Logan’s funeral and the priest became red-faced and angry with me? He pointed at my chest and told me my bosom was the window to hell. Imagine.” She laughed and so did Rowena. “Quite a churlish, rude little man.”

“’Twas an ignorant thing for a priest to say on such a sad day,” Isobel remarked.

“Mary Francis, please put the comb down for a moment. I need to talk to Isobel about her tasks.” Mary Francis obeyed and busied herself folding linens.

Lady Katherine rose and walked to the pile of clothing that covered the bed. “Now Isobel, these are Eastern and Italian materials.” She ran her fingers lovingly over them. “Since Logan died, I dunna have much of an appetite most days and so my clothes no longer fit me well. They need to be altered. And some of the kirtles and hose need to be mended as well. This gown, here, this green gown, ye can start with that. I think Leith will admire it.”

Mary Francis and Rowena helped Lady Katherine remove her clothing so they could start fitting the green gown to her slimmer figure. She stood fully naked and proud and Isobel could understand why many a man became ensnared with her charms. Then she slipped the gown on. 

Isobel had to concentrate hard in order to stop herself from stabbing Lady Katherine with pins. “Ye must ha’e really loved Logan,” she said quietly, wondering if Lady Katherine had burned her clothing that day as ‘twas rumored when she’d heard of Logan’s death. “Leith told me his twin was quite romantic, that he often read ye poetry, both Gaelic and Latin, and brought ye gifts and was a vera good dancer.”

Lady Katherine gave Isobel a catty look. “Leith talked to ye about Logan? I should think he’d want to limit his conversations with ye to yer visions. I mean, what else could ye possibly have to talk about?” She paused, her fingers caressing the soft fabric of the gown she wore. “Well, Logan
was
a vera graceful dancer. Very handsome and attentive and
he
didna have an ugly scar dividing his face in half. Aye, Logan often read me poetry and brought me charming gifts.” She smiled wistfully. “But I dunna like to talk about him now. ‘Tis too sad.”

“The more we talk about the ones we’ve lost, the more we keep them alive,” Isobel said, pinning the green cloth at Lady Katherine’s trim waist. “And sometimes if there’s a close bond between people it does no’ necessarily end with death.”

Lady Katherine, however, preferred to talk about the attention each item of clothing needed. The fitted gown was finally removed so Isobel could start the alterations. Clad now only in a soft chemise, Lady Katherine motioned to the chair she’d been sitting in when Mary Francis had combed her hair. “Sit, please.”

Warily, Isobel sat. “I think ‘twould be best for me to sit by the window?”

“Aye. In a moment.” She picked up the comb and began to brush Isobel’s hair.

Isobel jerked away and Lady Katherine laughed. “Isobel, yer hair does shine. It has the color of the summer sun. Do ye know in Italy flaxen hair is much prized? ‘Tis no’ prized here so much. In Italy, the ladies spend whole days bleaching it in the sun and they wear crownless hats. I’ve been to Italy. It’s magnificent. A beautiful, romantic place. No’ a place ye’ll e’er visit, of course, with yer lowly status.” She looked at Isobel’s hair with pity. “It will grow back.”

“I dunna need yer cast-off gowns or yer pity!” Isobel stood up and fetched the green gown, bringing it to the window. Then she sat down and carefully began to arrange the sewing implements.

“’Tis true,” Rowena said. “What need does a witch have of gowns? Will she wear it when she mucks out the stables or hauls in the stinking peat or recites her silly charms and made-up visions? Will she wear it on the battlefield when the battle is done?” She smiled cruelly.

“Oh Isobel, it’s just that as a commoner, ye must be used to dirt and filth,” Lady Katherine said. “Chandeliers and candles always dripping wax, pots dripping gravy or porridge, spilled wine, rotting rushes, the stink of peat, working in the gardens, and of course, removing arrows from dead men’s chests and thighs. I canna imagine having to perform any of those odious tasks.”

Isobel concentrated on the gown she was sewing. “I may be a commoner, Lady Katherine, but my life thus far has been rather uncommon and I have learned to be grateful for e’ery day of it.”

“Leith gives ye a place beside him at the great table. He gives ye Logan’s bedchamber to sleep in. He treats ye with the vera same respect he gives his war councilor. But ye dunna belong here. It’s a mistake. It is best, Isobel, that ye dunna get used to such a lofty position. Many people have tumbled from such heights, and when they fall, it hurts. It hurts vera badly.”

“I dinna ask to be brought here,” Isobel said. “Ye should ken my loyalties are to Leith for saving my life. His wishes will be put above all others, including yer own. I only help ye with yer garments because I need something to do other than sit around waiting for dreams and visions. I’m volunteering my services, no’ being forced into serving ye.”

“We’ll see about that. Leith is in love with me. He’s been in love with me for a vera long time. Even before Logan died. Anyone fool can see it. I’ve always known it. He will do anything I ask, so ye best ken yer place here, for I may tire of ye and ask him to send ye away. And then where would ye go? Ye canna return to yer own clan, for they would surely roast ye like a rabbit on a spit, given another chance. Yer nothing more than a lying fortune teller who merely guesses at the future.”

“I dunna lie, Lady Katherine. I have a gift that is misunderstood.”

Lady Katherine waved her hand in the air. Rowena and Mary Francis scurried to help her into the black gown with the green satin trim. Fully dressed now, she returned to sit before her mirror and Rowena and Mary Francis busied themselves with her final preparations. They sprinkled gold dust on her upswept hair and placed a beautiful necklace of rubies that matched her ruby comb around her graceful neck.

“Rubies are the most prized of all, Isobel. Do ye know why?”

“’Tis said rubies protect from poison,” Isobel said. “But they dunna seem to make the wearer’s tongue any less venomous.”

Lady Katherine’s mouth tightened as she dabbed perfume onto her wrists, the smell of roses and ambergris drifting across the room.

“The sewing and mending will require much of yer time. ‘Tis a shame ye’ll miss tonight’s festivities, especially the song and storytelling, I daresay. Mayhap ye should be allowed to come down to watch the last of the dancing. I will dance with many men this evening. I often encourage Rowena and Mary Francis to watch me dance with distinguished male guests; they enjoy being that close to privilege and rank. It’s a special pleasure for them, a relief from their duties.”

Rowena looked haughty while Mary Francis kept her eyes averted.

Lady Katherine rose to leave and then paused at the door. She turned and looked at Isobel. “The gloves, my dear, please be careful with them. In warmer months especially I make use of them for hunting and riding. They’re embroidered with silk and jewels. Emeralds and sapphires. A gift from one of my many admirers.”