Across a Dark Highland Shore (Hot Highlands Romance Book 2) (17 page)

23

The great hall was full, fuller than Isobel had ever seen it. The air was scented with honey and lavender, wet wool, and peat. Whisky and laughter flowed freely.

It was easy enough to move along the walls and stay hidden in the shadows for the moment, and Isobel chose to sit on a bench far from the touch of candlelight or firelight.

She sat down next to an old woman whose hands, resting in her lap, were curled with age, her small frame curved like a wind-buckled tree. Her silver hair was swept up in a knot and several thin strands had escaped. She turned to look at Isobel.

“Lass, ye should be dancing with the handsome lads and no’ hiding yer beauty in the shadows.”

Isobel smiled. “I’ve always preferred the shadows.”

“I ken who ye are,” the woman said. “My name is Nora. I was once a Seer like ye. But I am auld and wrinkled now and the visions dunna come vera often. I too hid myself in shadow for far too long. I should’ve sought the things of my heart. I should’ve sought love and happiness, the things I thought I did no’ deserve. If ye look, those things are there, Isobel, e’en for ones such as ourselves.”

Isobel’s smile vanished as she looked at the sea of faces dancing and twirling, plaids and gowns floating and twisting with movement. Isobel shivered, thinking of the voices of the men she’d heard plotting to kill Rory. She examined the faces, wondering which two had murder in their hearts, but it could be any of them.

Then there was Errol, sitting at the great table, looking gruff and inhospitable as usual. Ranulph and Dugald both danced with comely women. Mary Francis sat shyly by the hearth next to Tomas. She could see by the light of the torches that Tomas had been given clean clothing and boots and his hair was no longer matted. Tomas looked on wide-eyed and clutched Mary Francis’ hand, and Isobel was glad to see he had made a friend here.

Rowena, her glossy, black hair swept up in a comely manner, danced boldly with a stable hand, bending low to give him an unobstructed view of her ample bosom. Isobel did not see Leith or Lady Katherine.

Then the crowd parted and moved back, Leith leading Lady Katherine in a new dance. He held her delicately but commanded her movements nonetheless, as he would command any woman he led in the dance. Isobel’s heart sank. She was dismayed to see that Lady Katherine was not dressed in mourning clothes but in the deep green gown that Isobel had expertly sewed. It flashed brilliantly in the candlelight, and Isobel felt her own green gown, though lovely, paled in comparison.

Emeralds adorned Lady Katherine’s pale throat, and her dark, fiery hair shimmered with jeweled combs. Leith wore a linen tunic over his trews, a cloak pinned by an amber brooch, and leather boots. His trews were tapered at the ankle and tightly fitted against his muscular thighs. His midnight-black hair was pulled back from his brow with a leather thong.

Isobel caught her breath as the firelight hit his face, highlighting his strong jaw, the hollows of his cheeks, his battle scar, his dark, amber eyes. He was fearsome, breathtaking. A warrior descended from men who had battled Vikings. Even when carefree, his movements were powerful, controlled, and confident.

He laughed as he danced, and Lady Katherine actually smiled at him. Her stance was practiced and direct, the creamy mounds of her breasts on display. Isobel was a fool to think Leith would notice her tonight, even in her new finery. She felt a flush of heat as she remembered the feel of his lips on hers, the feel of his masculine fingers between her legs, stroking her warmth and wetness. He had simply been upset about finding the arrows today and emotional, and she’d been a fool to think he truly desired her. It was only that they shared the bond of Logan’s spirit. It was clear that Leith forgot all others when Lady Katherine was near.

“Nora,” Isobel said, “love and happiness are no’ for Seers. I learned that long ago.”

Nora followed Isobel’s gaze. “Leith is a handsome and complicated man. ’Twould take just the right kind of woman to tame a man like that, to heal his wounded soul. Lady Katherine? She would destroy it. She’s like a cobra. E’eryone is so bemused by her beautiful hood they forget about the spitting venom in her soul. I saw one once, you know, a cobra. When I was a child, I went to a fair. There was a jester. He had the snake in a basket and would charm it with a flute.”

Nora’s eyes were milky and clouded but Isobel realized how astute she was and felt a flush rise to her cheeks. In Nora’s eyes she recognized days past, days future, visions and dreams both perplexing and beautiful. Her eyes were brown-green, like a vast moor, containing light, sky, water, and sadness, the rumble of summer sky and flashing things that could not be explained.

Nora’s aged hand clasped Isobel’s. “Our clan has always been a fightin’ clan,” she said. “Leith has always had to fight for what he wanted. He always will fight for what he wants. Though sometimes a man has to be thumped on the head to realize what it is he truly desires.”

She studied Isobel. “I heard of his dream, how he was called to yer side at just the right moment to save ye from the flames. ‘Twas a terrible thing yer clan tried to do, Isobel. What is the name of the man who tried to light the fire at yer feet?”

“His name was Bothen. He is dead by Leith’s arrow.”

She nodded. For a moment, her eyes went blank and dark and a tiny coldness shivered up the back of Isobel’s neck.

“He is dead, but there will be a reckoning,” she said. “Bothen’s kin shall also suffer. But there is still danger to Leith. And to yerself.” She put her bony hand on Isobel’s arm. “Stay away from the caves.” She came out of the trance she’d been in and squinted her eyes, which seemed dark green now, looking at the dancers’ faces again, finding Leith’s tall form. “He is striking, isn’t he, e’en with the battle scars?”

“Yea,” Isobel said. “And despite his fierce nature, he has a good heart.”

Nora smiled. “Ye ken he loved once and fiercely? It was vera different from his courting of Lady Katherine. He loved the lass. Her name was Jocelin. She died and his heart was broken. He was ne’er the same.”

“Why does no one speak of it?” Isobel asked.

“He was vera young and so was she. She fell from a cliff. ‘Twas odd because she was an excellent rider and she had ridden the path by the cliff where she fell many times. He was no’ the same after it happened.

“Soon after her death, he threw himself into battle after battle to try to forget his pain. He battled as fiercely as he had loved. ‘Twas then they began to call him The Black Wolf. He left many enemies dead on the battlefield. He is driven, guarded, hardened, but underneath, I believe he is lonely.”

“There will always be wolves in lonely places,” Isobel said quietly.

“There will always be heather on the moor,” Nora said. “There will always be proud, fighting clans. And there will always be those who hate us and dunna understand us. But lass, there will always be magic, too. You’d be wise to look for it now, before yer auld and wrinkled like me.”

“May I have this dance, my lady?”

Isobel looked up, startled, into the face of Ranulph. He offered his large, clumsy hand.

“Go, have a bit of fun,” Nora said. “Ye canna hide in the shadows fore’er.”

Isobel took Ranulph’s hand and stood. The fiddle music started again and Ranulph twirled her around, laughing. “Why Isobel, ye look lovely tonight. I didna recognize ye at first, with the ribbon in yer hair, and ‘tis a beautiful dress yer wearing. It matches yer lovely green eyes.”

“Thank ye, Ranulph.”

“Ye look far too serious, though.”

Isobel was disturbed by what Nora had told her. What did she mean when she’d warned her to stay away from the caves? What else didn’t she know about Leith? She didn’t have much time to wonder as the dance was fast, and at short intervals the dancers changed partners. Fortunately, Isobel had seen it danced many times in the MacKinnon hall and when she was a girl, and no one was watching, she’d practiced the steps with an imaginary partner. She found she did them quite well, with hardly a misstep.

The pace picked up and soon she was laughing and dancing and had changed partners several times. She forgot herself until she was whirled around and stood inches from Leith. She craned her neck to look up at his handsome face.

Instead of continuing the dance, he stopped and stared at her. The others stopped their dancing too, and began to murmur. His eyes touched her hair, her face, the top of her creamy breasts as they rose with her breathing, the pulse beating at her neck, her hands clutching the fabric of her soft green gown. His masculine face was sculpted by the light as he stared at her lips. “Isobel,” he breathed. “Ye look lovely.”

Before she had a chance to respond, he signaled to the fiddler and the music began again. He took her in his arms, pulled her close, and led her as the dance continued. It was hard to think with his male body pressed so close to hers. He smelled of fresh linen, and where her body was soft, his was hard. He leaned close and whispered in her ear, his breath warm. “Maida did well in choosing yer gowns.”

“It is suitable?” Isobel whispered back, having to stand on her toes to try to reach his ear.

“’Tis more than suitable.” It was strange, but she thought she saw a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“Leith, there’s an urgent matter I need to discuss with ye….”

“Later.” They whirled around and broke apart to join other partners. Isobel felt dizzy and ridiculously happy that he’d told her she looked lovely. But she had to tell him about Rory. It was getting closer to midnight.

When the dance stopped, she was in the middle of the crowd, Leith nowhere in sight. Frantically, she searched for him as the fiddle began a slower, more melancholy tune. And then there was a possessive hand on her shoulder. “Dance with me, Isobel.”

With Leith’s hands on her, the way he looked at her, the way he moved her body expertly and slowly, pressing against her, she forget everyone else but him. His dark hair flashed like fire in the light and they moved like they had in the chapel, as if they were the only two people in the room. Isobel felt warm all over, felt herself falling into dangerous territory where her feelings were concerned.

As he leaned closer, she caught the faint scent of whisky on his breath, but it was not unpleasant. He whirled her into a dark alcove, away from the others. “Yer going to kiss me now, Isobel.”

It was not a question; it was a command. Her heart thudded in her chest has he lowered his mouth to hers, gently at first, then madly when she responded, pulling her tighter, crushing her breasts against his hard chest. Her hand wound its way into his hair. Then he was kissing the hollow of her neck, and her mouth again, claiming it, making her dizzy with desire.

The music stopped and she heard the agitated and distinct rustle of chains. At first, she didn’t understand what she was hearing.

Isobel broke away from Leith’s lips to see a furious Rory, who glared at them from the shadows, under heavy guard, chains still binding his feet and his arms.

Isobel instantly sobered and stepped warily back from Leith. She searched his eyes.

Rory had watched the whole display, had seen Isobel lose herself wantonly to the Highlander’s kiss, and understanding dawned.

“Is this why ye danced with me…and why kissed me? Merely to punish Rory because he’s a MacKinnon and was once sweet on me? Was this yer plan from the beginning? Was this why ye invited me to the feasting tonight, why ye said tonight would be different?”

“If a man were sweet on ye, Isobel, ‘twould certainly be a harsh punishment for him to watch another man kiss ye. But nay….”

Isobel hurried from the alcove and almost ran into Lady Katherine, who looked at her with curiosity. Leith followed her.

“I did see Maida taking gowns from Jocelin’s old room and wondered about it,” Lady Katherine said. “Isobel does look
passable
in Jocelin’s gown.
Almost
pretty. Strange how it fits her so well.”

She was wearing Jocelin’s gown? Leith’s first wife?
Isobel’s dream flashed in her mind, the dream where Leith had pushed her from the cliff and said, “It was always Lady Katherine for me.” She realized she did not know the man standing before her, the laird, the warrior, a man whose first wife had died in a mysterious fall.

Isobel was on the verge of tears. How could Leith be a tender man one moment, making her feel things she’d never felt, and a hardened man the next, standing before her, intent on making her the entertainment of the evening? She was only important to Leith as a pawn, as a Seer, as an instrument to punish Rory, and she had been foolish to think otherwise.

Leith’s jaw tensed. “I didna know Rory had been brought up from the dungeons.”

She thrust her chin in the air and met his ark amber gaze. “I think ye knew, Highlander, and I think ‘twas vera cruel.” She had to tell him that someone was planning on killing Rory, but she could not do so here, where the murderers might be alerted that someone knew of their plans. To do so might cause Rory an earlier death. She’d have to take matters into her hands. And besides, she was no longer sure she could trust Leith.

Isobel left the hall, whispers trailing behind her.