Highlander Untamed (42 page)

Unfortunately, Isabel seemed to have the same idea. Rory could see how terrified she was, but heedless of the risk, she drew the Mackenzie’s gaze to her, innocently allowing the sheet to fall low on her breasts.
Damn.
A hot burst of anger erupted inside him. She’d sworn not to endanger herself. He was going to throttle her when this was done. The only thing that kept him from doing it right now was that he knew she was trying to sacrifice herself for him, and her distraction was working. Too well.

“How did you get here?” Rory asked, though he’d already figured it out.

The Mackenzie’s eyes still gorged on Isabel’s body, but at least he did not move to touch her. “Why, I followed the gel, of course.”

“That’s impossible!” Isabel exclaimed. “I made sure I was not followed.”

“You were careful to make sure no one was
behind
you. But I had an advantage. I knew where you were headed—where you had disappeared last time. So I waited for you to come to me.”

Isabel cursed softly and turned to Rory. “I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault.”

Instinctively, Rory moved to reassure her, only to stop at the pressure of the blade against his neck. He sat back. “You couldn’t have known, love.” He turned back to the Mackenzie.

The castle was silent. It was a good sign. “Where are the others? Did you come alone?”

The Mackenzie shrugged. “Patience, MacLeod. All things in good time.” He threw a lascivious glance at Isabel. “Some things can’t wait.”

The Mackenzie was too eager to kill them. Rory’s mind worked quickly. It might work to their advantage if the Mackenzie had followed Isabel inside by himself or with only a few men. But Rory knew they must work fast. Sleat would not be far behind. He drew the Mackenzie’s attention back to him. “What do you want?”

“Why, the Fairy Flag, of course. To start with.” The Mackenzie leered again at Isabel. Rory fought the urge to rip the lewd smile from his face.

“Never,” Rory said evenly. Cool authority rang clear in his voice, despite the presence of the claymore pressed to his neck.

“We shall see.” The Mackenzie turned to Isabel. “You, whore, bring me the flag. And no tricks, I know what it looks like.”

“Never.” Isabel met Rory’s eyes, her voice imitating the calm authority she had heard in his.

“You dare defy me? You, the strumpet that lured my son to his death? I will enjoy watching you beg. How much do you care for your former handfast husband?”

The Mackenzie flicked his claymore, and the razor-sharp sword sliced a deep gash across the top of Rory’s bare shoulder. Rory didn’t flinch, but Isabel cried out with horror as blood gushed from the wound.

“We’ll see how determined you are to defy me as I cut him apart limb by limb. How long do you think you’ll be able to stomach his pain? By the time I’m done, you’ll be begging me to cut his throat.”

Pleasure transformed the Mackenzie’s face as he spoke. The quest for revenge had deadened the man; there was nothing left in his soul but evil. Rory knew that the Mackenzie would kill them, with or without the flag. He did not doubt his ability to take the man one-on-one, but if the Mackenzie turned on Isabel…He needed a distraction—and not the one Isabel proposed—so that he could get his weapon.

His gaze moved around the room from the fireplace to the chair to Isabel’s trunk that she’d never sent for—

His gaze jerked back. The fireplace. Isabel’s trunks. A slow smile slid over his face. He would give the Mackenzie what he wanted.

Rory turned to Isabel. “Isabel, love, we have no choice. Give him the flag.” He pointed to her trunk. “It’s in my trunk over there.”

Rory saw relief and understanding flash in her eyes. She moved toward the chest, pulling the sheeting along with her to cover her nakedness. Slowly, she opened the lid and retrieved Bessie’s shawl from the stack of linens. Reverently, she held up the shawl for the Mackenzie to see. When her eyes looked to Rory’s, he flicked his glance over to the fire.

She nodded, and he knew she understood.

Isabel took a seemingly innocent step toward the fireplace. “Here it is.” She held it up for Mackenzie to see, then quickly crumpled the thin silk into a ball.

“Give me the flag, gel, or I will sever his head from his body. Now!”

Rory waited, making sure the Mackenzie’s greedy eyes stayed on the “flag.” A few seconds were all he needed.

“Here, if you want it—catch.” And before the Mackenzie realized what she was about to do, Isabel tossed the shawl into the crackling flames of the fire.

“No!” the Mackenzie yelled.

He lunged for the piece of cloth, using his claymore to lift it from the flames, and Rory rolled off the bed naked and pulled a dirk from beneath the pile of his discarded clothing.

“Get back, Isabel,” he ordered softly.

She ran to the far corner of the room, as far from the Mackenzie’s reach as possible.

But there was no need; the distraction had worked.

With the Mackenzie’s gaze focused on the “flag,” Rory was afforded the precious seconds he needed to attack. The familiar hot rush of blood and clarity of mind descended on him, as it always did in battle. Dirk raised, Rory lunged toward the Mackenzie. He moved with lethal precision, his eyes narrowed in on the kill.

Too late, the Mackenzie realized his error. He turned at the last minute to ward off the blow, but his efforts were futile. Rory would not be denied—he easily blocked the swing of the Mackenzie’s sword. With the steely determination of a man intent on protecting the woman he loved, Rory plunged his dirk deep into the heart of his prey.

The Mackenzie’s eyes rounded, and his mouth opened in surprise. The horrible sounds of a gurgling death echoed in the room as he remained pinned by the dirk against the fireplace. Rory released his hold on the dirk, and the Mackenzie chief slipped to the floor, his face a death mask of shock, his cold, flat eyes fixed on eternal nothingness. Like those of his son months before.

It was over.

Isabel ran into his arms. “I thought he was going to kill us.”

Rory smoothed her hair. “I would never let anyone harm you.” But the fierce pounding of his heart told him danger was much closer than he would have liked. There were still no sounds of an attack, but he would have to be ready. The Mackenzie had not come alone.

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “Oh, Rory, I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t know he was watching me.”

His fingers pressed against her lips. “Shush, love. I trust you.” He held her out to look at her, a black scowl suddenly descending across his handsome face. “But I thought we agreed that you would not do anything reckless ever again. Allowing that sheet to slip was no accident.”

He could see the color spread across her cheeks, knowing very well to what he referred. She tried to look contrite. “I had to get that blade away from your neck. I could think of no other way to distract him.”

“I know what you were trying to do, but next time save your seductions for me. And only me.”

She frowned. “If you’ll recall, I tried, but you were immune. Frustratingly so.”

Rory shook his head. “Nay, lass, never immune.” He pulled her close again and kissed her, telling her with his mouth and the hardness of his body how much she affected him. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss. “Later. I have to raise the men and see to the safety of the keep.” His mind was racing. He realized that the Mackenzie must have traveled fast to arrive before Isabel, but he could not be sure how far the rest would be behind.

“The entrance?”

Rory nodded. “Aye, it’s where they will try to enter.” He turned away to gather his clothes when he heard Isabel gasp.

The sheet she held was covered with blood. “Your shoulder, it’s bleeding.”

“’Tis nothing, just a scratch.” One that hurt like hell.

Their eyes met. He knew she wanted to argue, but there was no time. “Just see that you don’t get any more.”

He dropped a quick kiss on her mouth. “I’ll do my best.”

It was easier than Rory expected. The thirst for revenge had driven the Mackenzie to act precipitously in anticipation of Sleat’s arrival. The guardsmen who had accompanied the Mackenzie were waiting for the return of their chief by the secret entrance, only to be surprised by Rory and his men. When Sleat did arrive, there would be no one left to meet him. No one left to pass on the location of the secret entrance. Within a few hours, Rory had secured the keep and returned to his room. Isabel was waiting with a needle to stitch up his wound.

Later that morning, they sat across a small table that had been set up for Isabel to eat in his chamber. Rory stretched out his long, muscular legs, sat back in his chair with a goblet of
cuirm,
and watched her, reluctant to take his eyes off her lest she disappear. He still couldn’t believe she was here.

“I don’t think I have ever seen you enjoy a meal more,” he said, amused.

Isabel looked somewhat shamefaced, aware that she had attacked her platter with a rather unladylike gusto. “I’m afraid I’m quite ravenous. I’ve been fighting bouts of nausea for the past couple of weeks.” She wrinkled her nose. “I can’t abide the smells of certain foods, especially herring,” she said with a shudder.

Just like my mother when she was…

Rory froze, forcing himself to stay calm, but his pulse quickened with possibility.

She couldn’t be.
But he, more than anyone, knew that she could. The memory of their night of celebration almost two months ago when he’d lost control and spilled his seed deep inside her. His heart dropped.
Their child.
Could Isabel be carrying their child? Emotion gripped his chest with an intensity that stunned him. He wanted it with every fiber of his being.

He took a long sip of
cuirm,
his fingers squeezing the goblet so hard that his knuckles turned white. As casually as he could muster, he asked, “Isabel, do you remember the night after the gathering?”

She looked at him questioningly, her brows a perfect V above her tiny nose. “Of course.”

He held her gaze intently. “Have you had your flux since then?”

She tilted her head, considering. “No, I don’t think so. Why—” She broke off with a sharp intake of breath, and her hand flew over her mouth as understanding dawned. She looked at him, eyes wide with disbelief. “A babe?”

“’Tis possible,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Her hand dropped to cover her stomach. “Dear God, how could I not have guessed? I’ve been so worried about everything else, I never even considered…”

Rory could have put his face in his hands and wept. From joy, that something so precious could have been created from their love. And from regret.
I sent her away. I could have lost them both. Never again.
He stood up and pulled her into his arms, cradling her gently against him, overwhelmed by what he could have lost, but had now been returned to him.

“Oh, Rory, I’m sorry,” she sobbed.

He tilted her chin to his, peering deep into tumultuous seas of violet. “What foolishness is this? Why would you be sorry?”

“I know you did not want a child to complicate matters.”

Rory smiled. “A bairn will not complicate anything.” In truth, he could think of nothing more perfect.

“But what of the alliance?”

“There is no longer an alliance with Argyll. I’d decided some time ago that I could not let you go.”

She looked as though he’d handed her the moon. She realized what it could have cost him. “But what of Trotternish?”

Quickly, he explained about the letter he’d received from King James. Rory knew that James would be angry about the Mackenzie’s death, but the king would not fault him for killing a man who’d attacked him in his own bedchamber.

A huge smile spread across her face. “So my letter to Queen Anne helped?”

“Coming on the heels of my letter to the king, I’m sure it did not hurt. Although with what you’ve brought from your uncle, I think James would have been persuaded to our way of thinking in any event.” He looked deep into her eyes. “So you see, I knew before you’d arrived that you would not betray me.” He smiled. “Not that I’m not pleased with what you brought me. But I’d already made plans to come after you.”

“You did?”

“I wrote to your father. In fact, I think we can expect him soon.”

“My father, here?”

“I hoped to persuade him that a marriage, a real marriage this time, would be to his benefit. I believe I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

Her eyebrows drew tight together. “What kind of offer?”

“I offered him my support against the Mackenzies in his defense of Castle Strome.”

She threw her arms around his neck. “You agreed to do that for me?”

Rory grinned. “In truth, ’twas not a very difficult decision. The Mackenzies are no friends of ours, especially today. And with your letter, I may have some influence with the king soon.”

“So by marrying me, you will be able to reclaim the land you’ve sought.”

He knew what she was thinking. “Aye, but that is not why I want to marry you.” He had to tell her how important she was to him. “You are a MacLeod, you are part of my family.”
I was lost without you.

Her brows knit together across her nose. “I don’t understand. You repudiated the handfast.”

“Aye, love, I’m sorry for that.” More sorry than she would ever know. Those were dark days indeed. He pressed a soft kiss on her mouth. “But don’t you remember the bard’s tale? Only a MacLeod can touch the Fairy Flag.”

Isabel tossed back her head and laughed. “I wish you had thought of that before you sent me back to my uncle, it would have saved me quite a lot of heartache,” she said sternly, but the amused twinkling in her eyes ruined the effect.

“I must admit, I didn’t think of it until later. But I think I always knew that you belonged to me. From the first moment I saw you.” He smiled at her look of disbelief. “Maybe it didn’t always seem like it, Isabel, but it was there.”

Thank God he’d recognized it before it was too late. Isabel had opened up a part of him that he hadn’t known existed. The life of a leader was a lonely one indeed. Consumed by duty and responsibility, Rory had lost sight of what was truly important. His sister’s happiness, his brother’s, and his own. He’d been wrong. Isabel wasn’t his weakness, but his greatest strength.