Tournament of Hearts (13 page)

..oo      Chapter Sixteen     oo..

Tristan watched as
Isobel strode towards him like an angel.  He lay crumpled and exhausted in the
mud, completely unaware of the group of soldiers that had taken the field to
separate him from Rogan.  Hodges had expected them to kill each other and the
truth was that they had come damned close to doing so.

A slight smile
turned up the corner of Tristan’s mouth as he watched Isobel approach.  She
walked regally towards him, a look of concern clouding her beautiful features. 
Tristan could see tears welling in her eyes and he longed to brush them away.

It was clear to
the crowd that Lady Isobel McLaughlin had chosen her preferred husband.

Tristan’s jaw was
bruised and his nose was most likely broken, confounded by a rapidly swelling
cut on his cheek.  Despite his own injuries, he arrogantly knew that Rogan
Campbell had received the worst end of the bargain. 

Isobel stopped
abruptly in front of Tristan, her silken slippers sinking into the mud of the
battlefield.  Her blue eyes watched him intently, searching his face.  She
longed for him to reach out to her, to take her into his arms and assure her
that everything was alright.  Her heart beat an erratic rhythm in her chest and
she drew in a ragged breath.  Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe?

Tristan
repositioned himself so that he knelt before Isobel in the mud, his hazel eyes
never leaving hers.  He raked a hand through his unbound hair and swallowed
hard, taken aback by the beauty of the woman that now stood directly before
him.

Mo Sonuachar.

He reached up
slowly and took her hand, wincing as pain shot up his arm and reverberated
through the wound in his shoulder.  He had been so intent of fighting Rogan
that he had not even felt the tip of Rogan’s blade slice through his skin.  He
gritted his teeth and pushed through the pain, focusing all of his energy on
Isobel.

Lord, how he
loved her.

His thumb brushed
reassuringly over the back of her hand and she smiled slightly.  Then without
saying a word, without breaking eye contact with her, Tristan lifted Isobel’s
hand gently towards his lips and placed a soft kiss atop her knuckles.  The
corner of his mouth curled into a knowing smile as he watched Isobel’s resolve crumble.

A tear cascaded
down her cheek and she smiled fully at him now, gracing him with the full gift
of her love.

They had won.

“Will you marry
me, Isobel McLaughlin?” Tristan whispered, his breath warm against the back of
her hand.

“Yes!” Isobel
exclaimed as she dropped to her knees in the mud, eliciting a collective gasp
from the crowd.

 There was only
Tristan in her world now.  She did not even notice the hundreds of eyes upon
them.  She did not care that she had ruined her very expensive gown. The only
thing that she cared about was Tristan.

Tristan leaned
forward and drew her closer. 

Mo sonuachar.

His lips found
hers and he kissed her slowly and reverently as he savored the fact that he
could now kiss Isobel openly.  Kissing her felt so perfectly right and he was
no longer surprised that it was happening.

He had earned the
right to kiss Isobel like this.

His kiss was slow
and achingly deliberate, giving the crowd of onlookers plenty of time to watch
as he staked his claim to Lady Isobel McLaughlin in a very public manner.  The
corner of Tristan’s mouth turned up into the hint of a smile as he heard a few
disapproving gasps emanate from the crowd.  He hoped that they were enjoying
the spectacle and he deepened their kiss, eliciting a soft moan of pleasure
from Isobel.

She belonged to
him now and he wanted the world to know.

Isobel ended the
kiss and pulled away from Tristan.  The smile faded from her lips as she took
his face gently between her hands.  Her eyes scanned the myriad of cuts and
bruises that marred his face.

“How badly are you
hurt?”

“I’m fine,
sweetheart,” he said in an attempt to thwart her worry.  His shoulder pained
him greatly and he was looking forward to the solace of some medicinal whiskey.

“Do not lie to me,
blacksmith,” she scolded, her blue eyes riddled with concern.  “I was so
worried,” she confessed as she traced her fingers lovingly over his collarbone,
stopping just shy of the bloody wound on his shoulder.

“It pains me more
than I’m letting on,” he admitted stubbornly.  “But I’ll forget all about it if
you kiss me again,” he said suggestively.

Obliging him,
Isobel gave him a kiss of aching sweetness.  Her hands still clasped his face
and Tristan smiled against her lips as her blonde curls fell around them,
shielding them like a protective curtain.  The smell of lavender overwhelmed
his senses and he felt himself becoming aroused despite the hushed murmurs of
their on looking clansmen.

Kissing Isobel
like this and feeling her blonde tendrils surround him was like his dream coming
true.  Tristan’s mind flashed back to the many nights of fitful sleep when he
had dreamt of Isobel.

The wise woman’s
words echoed through his mind.

The girl in
your dreams is the very lifeblood of your heart.

Never had the
words resounded with deeper impact.  For Isobel
was
the lifeblood of
Tristan’s heart.  She had breathed new life into his soul and awakened his
heart from the brink of death.

Isobel broke the
kiss and moved just beyond Tristan’s lips.  She could feel his heated breath
warming her lips as she began to speak.

“Shall we my Laird? 
I hear that there is a wedding this evening,” she said playfully as she hoisted
him to his feet and listened as the crowd erupted in a sea of cheers. 

Tristan had won
the hearts and the trust of the McLaughlin clan by fighting honorably in the
tournament.  They would be proud to see him succeed Rudy McLaughlin and take
his rightful place beside Isobel as the new Laird of Clan McLaughlin.

As Tristan and
Isobel walked off the battlefield hand-in-hand, they watched in awe as the
crowd of on-lookers began to drop to their knees one by one.  The cheers fell
silent as the clansmen bowed their heads earnestly to their new Laird for the
first time.

Isobel’s heart
swelled with love and pride and she observed the reaction of her people.  Tristan
would be an excellent Laird, serving the clan as diligently and honorably as
her father had.

She had chosen
wisely.

..oo      Chapter Seventeen     oo..

Tristan rapped
twice on the heavy wooden door of Isobel’s chamber.  His knock was answered by
a flurry of excited female voices.

“Who is calling?”
one of Isobel’s maids asked from within.

“Tristan,” he said
in answer.  He suspected that they knew full well who was calling.

“Just one moment,
milord,” the maid answered. 

Tristan thought
that he could hear the hint of a smile in her voice.

There was the
sound of muffled giggles and scurrying within the chamber before the door
cracked open.

The maid peered
out into the corridor.

“Milady is being fitted
for her wedding gown.  ‘Twould not be proper for you to see her now.  ‘Tis bad
luck for the groom to see the bride in her gown before the wedding, ken?”

Tristan’s mouth
turned up into a soft smile at the maid’s superstition.  Nevertheless, he was
not one to tarry with notions such as luck.

“Will you please
ask milady to change out of her gown then?” he asked.  “I’d like to speak to
her.”

“Yes, milord,” the
maid said before closing the door promptly in his face. 

Tristan heard the
women resume their giggling behind the closed door.  It did his heart good to
hear Isobel so happy.

Quite some time
later, the heavy wooden door opened again and Isobel stepped into the corridor. 
Her cheeks flushed pink and she smiled up at Tristan shyly.

“Ye look well,
lass,” he said softly as he reached down to caress her cheek.

“Thank you,” she
said as she leaned into his touch.  Tristan had bathed and changed into clean
clothes.  He smelled of autumn sunshine and fresh soap, scents which Isobel
found highly arousing.  Isobel found her betrothed remarkably handsome and was
giddy with the prospect of touching him and kissing him.  Tristan Finnegan was
soon to be her husband and she could not believe her good fortune.

“Will ye walk with
me, Isobel?” he asked as he threaded her hand into the crook of his arm.  He
was careful only to touch her hand, but he delighted in its slight weight in
the crook of his arm.  He knew that if he touched Isobel now, if he allowed
himself the pleasure of kissing her as he longed wholeheartedly to do, he would
lose all resolve for what he needed to do.

Isobel nodded and
fell into step beside him.  She could not ease the near permanent smile that
had taken up residence upon her face since Tristan’s victory in the tournament.

“I can hardly
fathom that we can do this, ken?” Tristan said as he covered Isobel’s hand with
his own and led her down the steps.  “That we can walk together out in the open
for all to see,” he said with a smile as he looked down at Isobel.

She looked
breathtakingly happy.

“Tis wonderful,”
she said happily as they walked out the grand entrance of the keep.

Preparations were
underway for the wedding and the celebration that would follow.  Men scurried
about the grounds in front of the keep, setting up tables and bringing baskets
laden with food into the kitchens.  The kitchen maids had been a flurry of
energy, baking cakes and sweet breads whilst planning the menu for the feast.

With Laird
McLaughlin’s illness, it had been awhile since the clan had been so cheerful. 
Isobel knew that her marriage would have made her father happy.  She missed
him, but knew that he would be smiling down upon her now from heaven.

She also knew that
he would be proud of her choice in a husband.

They walked
without speaking for awhile, content with each other’s company and the newness
of being allowed to walk arm-in-arm so openly.  When they reached the large oak
tree at the edge of the forest, Tristan paused and motioned for Isobel to sit
down in the shady grass beneath the tree.

He lowered himself
down next to her as she smoothed her skirts about her legs.

Isobel watched
Tristan’s mouth intently.  She hoped that he would kiss her now that they were
well away from the prying eyes of McLaughlin keep.  Tristan had not kissed her
in the corridor as she had expected him to do and she felt herself longing for
the soft touch of his velvety lips.

Tristan squared
his shoulders and prepared himself to face Isobel.  He knew that he could not
hide the truth from her any longer.  She had the right to know the full truth
before choosing to carry forth with their marriage.  Tristan had given Isobel
his heart so fully that it terrified him.  He had vowed to never again be
vulnerable to a woman, but Isobel had rendered the walls around his heart to a
pile of rubble.

 Tristan feared
that if she rebuked him now, his heart would be hardened forever.  If she chose
to walk away from him after his confession, she would take with her his heart,
dragging it through the bracken and heather all the way back to McLaughlin
keep.

He let out a great
sigh and reached down to take Isobel’s hand.  He brushed the back of her
knuckles gently and then looked directly into her blue eyes.

“I need tae speak
with ye before the wedding,” he said with hooded eyes.  “There are parts of my
past that I feel I must confess to you so that if you change your mind, I mean that
if you decide that you do not wish to be my wife, there will still be time…”

“Tristan
Finnegan!” Isobel scolded sharply.  “There is nothing that you could tell me
that would change the way I feel about you!”

“Please, lass,” he
said, with hurt visibly welling in his hazel eyes.  “Ye must hush now and let
me finish.”

“I love you,”
Isobel said with conviction.  “And nothing that you say will change that.”

Tristan reached up
and raked his hand through his hair.  He was unsure of how to begin his
confession and decided that the best course was to be direct.

“I was married
once before,” he said, eyes searching Isobel’s for her reaction.

She said nothing
and her face remained carefully expressionless.

“It was not the
same as what is between you and I,” he said softly.  “We were married as part
of an agreement between our clans.  It was a marriage of convenience.  I did
not love her as I love you,” he said with palpable sincerity.  Tristan’s heart
ached as he confessed his hidden past to Isobel.  He knew that the omission of
his first wife would hurt Isobel and he cursed himself for not telling her of
the union sooner.

Isobel considered
Tristan’s words for a moment.  The shock of his revelation was still resounding
within her.

“But you did love
her?”

“Aye,” Tristan
admitted.  “I loved her because she was my wife, entrusted to me to protect and
care for.  But I did not love her as I love you.  There was no passion, no love
in our joining.”

Isobel bit her
lower lip as she contemplated Tristan’s words.

Tristan could feel
the warmth of her body next to him.  She was sitting so closely by his side
that the sweet smell of lavender wafted from her hair, tormenting his senses. 
He was encouraged by the fact that she had not moved away from him.  Her
silence was unsettling to him and the quiet of the forest unnerved him
further. 

He wished that she
would say something.

Tristan’s eyes
scanned Isobel’s face, which was still carefully expressionless save for the
nervous habit of chewing on her bottom lip.  Her blue eyes were intent on his
face.  It was as if she was waiting for him to speak further of the matter.

He shifted his
gaze to the ground and continued.

“I doona wish to
be so harsh as to say that I didna care for her.  Because I did,” he added as
his eyes again locked with Isobel’s.  “I do not ken how to explain it really,”
he said very softly as his eyes returned to the grass.  “We were bound together
by marriage and although it was not a passionate marriage, we were happy
together.”

Isobel drew in a
shaky breath.

Tristan had
been happy with another woman.

“What was her
name?” Isobel asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“Catherine,” he
answered.  It was the first time that he had spoken her name aloud since her
death.  Her name seemed to catch in his throat, causing a great lump to settle
there.

“Is she dead?”
Isobel asked, needing to know.  She hated the jealousy that had reared up
within her, but the thought of Tristan being with another woman ripped at her
heart.

“Aye,” Tristan
said.  He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat.  “And there is more to
tell, love,” he added as he forced his eyes up to face Isobel’s.

Isobel squeezed
his hand.

Tristan had told
himself that he would remain strong as he made his dreadful confession to
Isobel.  He felt the tears gathering behind his eyes and he raked his hand
roughly through his hair and then fisted his free hand by his side.  He knew
that he had to tell Isobel, he knew that he had to bear his sins openly for her
to see.  He had repressed thoughts of Catherine for so long.  Speaking of her
now, confessing his grief to Isobel had ripped his wounds open as if they were
fresh.

“I killed her,
Isobel,” Tristan said shamefully.  He gritted his teeth together in a final
effort to stop the tears from coming.

Isobel took in a
swift breath.  Her mouth fell open in shock.  Tristan was and had been many
things to her, but for the life of her, she could not see him as a murderer.

“She died trying
to bring my son into the world,” he said, chin quivering with emotion as he
confessed the full weight of his guilt.  Damn it, he’d sworn to himself that he
would not weep, but his grief was too much!  Tristan wiped at his eyes with the
back of his arm, viciously trying to wipe away the tears.

Isobel released
her breath slowly. 

Tristan was not
a murderer. 

She scolded
herself for pronouncing such a swift judgment on his character.  Her heart
broke as she watched him now, struggling valiantly with his flood of emotions. 
His eyes were downcast and he refused to look at her.

“Twas not your
fault,” she said softly as she leaned forward and gathered Tristan into her
arms.  He relaxed into her breast and allowed her to hold him.  “Shh,” Isobel
whispered as she stroked his hair.  “Twas not your fault.”

Tristan held on to
Isobel for dear life, his wounds fresh and torn open for her to see.  He waited
until he was sure that he would be able to speak without his voice cracking and
then forced himself away from the sweet solace of her chest.  His eyes still
stung from his unshed tears.

Leaning away from
Isobel slightly, his eyes locked with hers.

“I thought that my
heart had died after I lost them,” he confessed.  “Losing them is what caused
me to run from my family, my responsibilities and come here.  I ken that it was
cowardly, but I could not stand to live in the shadow of their memory,” he said
softly, his voice a shaky whisper.  “I thought that my heart had died, Isobel! 
I thought that my heart had died until I met you.”

His hazel eyes
were locked with hers.

Isobel saw him
wholly just then, his vulnerability and imperfections settling him even more
firmly into the fiber of her own heart.

“Are you asking me
if I still want to be your wife?” she said softly as she held his fragile gaze.

“Aye.  I thought
that I should tell ye of my past, tell ye of my sins so that you might have
full knowledge of me before we were wed.  So that you could change your mind if
you want to.”

Isobel shook her
head gently from side-to-side.

“I want you,
Tristan Finnegan.  I want you broken parts and all, so that I may spend the
rest of my living days piecing your heart back together and loving you with all
of my own heart.  I want to be your wife, now and forever,” she said with
steadfast conviction.

Tristan sighed
heavily.  He felt as though a burden had been lifted from his soul.  Isobel had
not rebuked him and he was thankful, for he knew not how he would have lived
had she cast him aside.

“I love you,
Isobel,” he whispered as he gathered her into his arms.

“And I you,” she
said with an honest smile.

Isobel reached up
and kissed him softly on the mouth.  She withdrew and lifted her hands to his
face, wiping away the last of his tears and beginning the process of knitting
his heart back together.