Seduced by a Highlander (37 page)

“Worse than when ye put poison oak in Colin’s bed?” Rob asked, then laughed with Will when their cousin remembered the incident and tossed his head back, howling.

Tristan gave Tamas a sinister smile. “And ye thought I wouldna’ do it.”

“It still would not have equaled what I did to ye,” Tamas replied with another dismissive shrug.

“Och, hell, he’s bold!” Will clapped the boy on the shoulder, almost driving him into Finn’s lap. “Tell us what ye did to him, lad.”

“Well,” Tamas began, sparing Tristan a triumphant grin first. “I shot him in the forehead with my sling and knocked him out cold.”

All four Highlanders turned to Tristan in unison, their mouths gaping open.

“There’s more,” Tristan told them, unashamed of his
suffering at the hands of such a wee opponent. He knew the warriors around him would not be angry with Tamas, but rather appreciative of his brash courage. He was, of course, correct, and he drew closer to Isobel while his kin laughed at the hornets and the broken walking stick. He would likely be teased about it for weeks to come, but he smiled and took Isobel’s hand in the dim light of the fire.

“They like him. ’Tis a good beginnin’.”

Isobel wished she was as optimistic as Tristan, but each time she looked at the MacGregor laird, she saw him burying his sword in her father—into Cam if he ever discovered the truth. How could she smile with him, laugh with him? She hadn’t spoken the truth when she’d told him she wasn’t afraid of him anymore. She was terrified of what he might still do.

His laughter drew her eyes to him. Dear Lord, but he was an imposing man. Even sitting, he towered over all the others, save for his son Rob. Where Tristan was built for speed and agility, both his father and his brother were built for combat. Their bare legs were long and muscular beneath the knee-length hem of their plaids. Their shoulders were wide and straightened with pride and confidence.

As if feeling her eyes on him, the Chief angled his head and looked directly at her. Isobel turned away.

“Are ye feelin’ unwell again?”

He hadn’t spared her a word on their journey so far, and Isobel did not want to talk to him now. She shook her head. “I am fine.”

“Ye look as pale as the moon,” he said, inviting the others to turn to her as well.

Isobel cringed. “I am weary, that is all.” Briefly, she met the Chief’s gaze again, meaning to give him her most resolute look. He smiled at her. It was neither pitying nor mocking. Nor was it the kind of lip-curling, heart-stopping smirk that Tristan possessed, but it softened the uncompromising angles of his face just enough to reveal another man hidden behind the gruffness.

“Ye better sleep then, Bel.” She blinked and turned to Tamas when he spoke. “Ye know how foul ye get in the morning when ye do not get enough sleep.”

She was about to admonish him when Will clipped him on the shoulder. “Dinna’ speak so to yer sister, runt.”

Isobel clenched her jaw. Luckily for him, there was something about William MacGregor that she liked. He possessed the same carefree laughter as Tristan, only his was tinged with a bit of ruthlessness—as if he could laugh and sing a merry Highland ditty while he cut his enemy’s throat. She should keep Tamas away from him for that reason alone, but if he struck her brother one more time, whether he was right to do so or not, she was going to crown him over the head with a stick.

On instinct, she reached out her hand to stop him when Tamas plucked a beetle from the ground and set it gingerly on Will’s bread while the Highlander turned to agree with something Rob said. Tristan saw him do it and called out to Will when he brought the bread to his mouth, but it was too late. The beetle crunched, Will went three shades paler, and Tamas rolled over on his side laughing with glee.

“Aye, go on and laugh,” Will told him, spitting a beetle leg out of his mouth. “Tomorrow ye ride wi’ me.” He turned to Tristan, a shadow of wicked intention darkening his diamond-colored eyes. “He rides wi’ me.”

“Aye,” Tristan agreed easily, offering Tamas a pitying look.

Isobel glared at him. “What do ye mean, aye?” So was this how it was going to be then, with Tristan stepping aside and letting his family do as they pleased to hers? She fumed. She would protect them herself, as she always had.

Turning to Will, she gathered her courage around her like a mantle and spoke softly, meaningfully. “If ye dare harm a hair on my brother’s head, I vow I will poison ye in—”

“Mayhap”—Will swung back to Tamas in the middle of Isobel’s quiet tirade—“ye are no’ so brave after all if ye need yer sister to protect ye.”

Immediately, Tamas puffed up his chest. “I can take care of myself. I will ride with ye tomorrow and prove it.”

Isobel wanted to shout at the both of them, especially Will. Her threats failed to impress or interest him in the slightest. And how clever of him to use her maternal instincts against her. And Tamas! Dear God, Tristan had warned her that he was headed down a dangerous path. He deliberately provoked men’s anger. Someday it might get him killed.

“He is prideful!” she said quickly and with a bit more humility, hoping to annul the deal her brother had made.

“Too fearless fer his own safety,” Tristan added promptly.

Isobel let out a surrendering sigh. She turned to Tristan knowing he was not trying to save Tamas from Will, but from himself. Behind him, Cam nodded.

“Yes,” she finally admitted aloud. “He is.”

Tristan smiled and pulled her in, resting his forehead
against hers and speaking low enough so that only she could hear. “He shall ride with Will.”

It was one of the most difficult things she had ever done, but she nodded, completely trusting her brother’s life in someone else’s hands.

Luckily, Tristan wasn’t just anyone. No man of honor ever was.

T
hey started out early the next morning, about a quarter of an hour after Will discovered his saddle had been loosened during the preparations. For Tamas’s sake, no one remarked on the fall Will would have taken had he mounted.

Isobel gave them all that much.

The terrain was treacherous along the rocky coast of the Firth of Clyde, or at least it was to Isobel’s rump. She was still sore from the day before. If it wasn’t for Tristan’s supple warmth against her back, she would have cringed the entire way. When she leaned against him, his arms enveloped her, making her smile despite what lay ahead. Soon, she would step into the MacGregors’ lair, and she was bringing Cam with her.

“I dinna’ like when ye go stiff in my arms.” His voice, so close and coarse against her ear, sent a ripple up her spine. “I would have ye soft and willin’ in them always.”

“And ye will always have yer way.” She closed her eyes and purred against him. How would she ever leave him?

“Aye.”

She heard the smile in his voice and smiled with him. “Would ye vanquish all my dragons fer me, knight?”

“Aye, if ye let me, I would.”

He would. Oh, how she wished they were alone so she could turn in her saddle and kiss him. For one mad moment, she wished Camlochlin were closer so they could get there and lock themselves away one last time.

A horse trotted beside her and she opened her eyes and smiled at Tamas as he and Will passed her.

“Tristan?”

“Aye, my love?”

“When did ye first begin to love me? I want to remember it always.”

Tamas’s shriek halted Tristan’s reply and turned her blood cold. She bolted straight up and watched, horrified, as Will, having dismounted with Tamas dangling fitfully from his fist, strode to the water’s edge and let him go.

“Tristan!” Isobel gasped, clutching his shirt. “He cannot swim!”

Terror drained the color from his face as he leaped from the horse. She was close behind him until his boots hit the ground and he took off running. He sprinted toward the shoreline, leaping over rocks and narrow inlets, leaving Isobel and his gaping relatives with nothing to do but watch. Without breaking stride, he dove into the water only inches from Tamas’s flailing arms.

Isobel nearly fell to her knees with relief as Tristan clutched her brother to his chest and began to swim back to shore. She tried to hold back the spring of emotions rushing though her, but when she saw the way Tamas’s little arms were coiled tightly around Tristan’s neck, she had to let her tears come.

Someone stormed past her. She looked up to see MacGregor bend over the rocks and reach down to separate Tamas’s dripping body from his son’s. When he straightened, his eyes smoldered like deadly blue embers on Will.

“Let that be enough.”

“Aye, Laird,” Will answered without quarrel.

“D’ye hear me, boy?” Gripping Tamas by the forearms, the giant Chief held him up to his level gaze. “That is enough!”

“Yes, Laird.”

Isobel blinked. Was that her brother’s voice, trembling and obedient? She held out her arms to take him when the Chief reached her, but he stepped out of her path and swung Tamas over his shoulder.

“I have him,” he said. And then he said nothing more as he leaped to his mount, set her brother upon his lap, and wrapped him in his plaid.

When Tristan reached her a moment later, she helped him out of his wet shirt and kissed his chest. He had saved Tamas’s life, just as he’d saved John’s and Patrick’s when the Cunninghams attacked. “Thank ye.” Oh, how she loved this man. “Let me get ye into yer dry plaid.”

Will stopped them as they headed back to Tristan’s horse. “I thought he could swim. I didna’ know—”

“There’s nae harm done, cousin,” Tristan eased him quickly with a pat to his shoulder. “He is safe.”

He is safe.
Isobel looked to where Tamas sat nestled in the arms of one of the most dangerous men in Scotland, and something in her heart went soft. Mayhap the terrible MacGregor Chief was not so terrible after all.

They rode for many more hours, and by the time they
stopped to eat, Isobel wondered if she would ever see a bed again.

“Do ye have yer own room at Camlochlin?” she asked Tristan, rubbing her sore backside before he lifted her to his saddle when their quick rest was over.

“Of course. ’Tis a castle. There are many rooms.”

“Do ye think I could have a bath when we arrive? Truly, I have never felt so grimy.”

Vaulting up behind her, he dipped his mouth to her ear and sent hot tremors to her belly when he whispered, “Only if I can join ye.”

“In the bath?” She turned in his arms, and his smile deepened at the flush creeping across the bridge of her nose. The color of his eyes changed from warm golden brown to smoky amber when he nodded.

“In the bath, on the floor, against the wall… wherever I can have ye.”

Her muscles ached, but not for rest. She wanted to peel away his plaid and taste him with her tongue, her teeth. She wanted to see his lithe, naked body hard and ready for her, feel him sink deep inside her while his teeth raked across her pulse. She remembered to breathe, drawing in a deep gulp of air, only to have it snatched away again when he slipped his hand behind her nape and bent his lips to hers.

“Of course, we have to call the priest in first. I gave Cam my word we would be wed quickly.”

Her heart sank to her feet. She broke their gaze. How would she tell him? How
could
she tell him? Mayhap it was better if she didn’t. He would only try to persuade her that she was wrong, and he would easily succeed, for she wanted too desperately to believe that their love could conquer anything that came against them. It couldn’t, of
course. Tristan could never be happy with his family continuing to hate her. And if they ever hurt Cam…

“Isobel?” He spoke her name on a quiet breath and fit his fingers beneath her chin so she would look at him. “I know what it is that brings fear to ye. I—”

“It is a monumental quest,” she agreed over him. “But I will do all I can to help ye see it through. If I have to smile at an army of MacGregors to make them like me, I will do it. I love ye and I want ye to be happy always.”

His smile began slowly and then broke into a grin as wide and as dazzling as the vast, cloudless sky. He turned to the closest man who could hear him and said, “Did ye hear that?”