Tournament of Hearts (3 page)

“I do apologize,”
Isobel said shyly as her face flushed pink once more.  “And I am most repentant
for laughing at you after I…” Isobel trailed off, unable to find the correct
words to describe her most grievous offense.

“Apology
accepted,” Tristan said, saving Isobel from the further embarrassment of
confessing her crime.  “It bode well to laugh a bit,” he said, eyes twinkling. 
“It has been far too long since I have laughed like that,” he confessed as he
smiled lop-sidedly at Isobel.

“Aye, it did me
well too,” Isobel agreed.  “Pray forgive me?” she asked hopefully with a sweet
smile.

“Forgiven,”
Tristan nodded.  “But I shall remember not to underestimate you, milady.  You
prove to be a worthy opponent,” he said with a wink as he raised his dagger.

Isobel smiled in
agreement, pleased with herself for earning Tristan’s praise.  Although she
regretted bringing injury to him, she thoroughly enjoyed their playful banter. 
Their laughter had done her well, causing her to forget her ever-present
worries and lightening her mood.

 “We need to work
on how you grip the dagger or you’ll never do much harm with that blade,”
Tristan said as his eyes focused on the dagger that hung by Isobel’s side.

Isobel’s eyes
flashed down to the dagger that she held in her right hand.  Her grip on the
weapon seemed fine.  How many ways could their possibly be to hold a dagger?

“If your opponent
separates you from your weapon, you’re as good as dead,” Tristan warned as he
held out his dagger and demonstrated the correct grip to Isobel.  “When I
grabbed your wrist, you dropped the weapon too easily.  Hold it as if your life
depends upon it, because someday it just might.”

Isobel’s eyebrows
scrunched together.  She held her dagger out and mimicked the manner in which
Tristan held his weapon.

“Correct me if I
am wrong, dear blacksmith, but if my memory serves me, I was not the only one
who dropped their weapon,” Isobel goaded, arching her eyebrow in provocation.

Tristan arched his
eyebrow in return.  “As I stated previously, I underestimated you, Lady
Isobel.  Rest assured that it will not happen again,” Tristan said with a
mischievous smile.

..oo      Chapter Five     oo..

“They must not know
of my weakened state,” McLaughlin warned as he gathered the quilts about
himself and leaned his head back against the headboard.  Despite the mountain
of quilts piled on top of him, he could not find warmth.  The cold had settled
in his bones and nothing would dissipate it.

Hodges nodded.  It
pained him to see the Laird dwindling into a shell of his former self.  McLaughlin
had been a great leader, strong and valiant in battle.  His disease had reduced
him to a weak old man.  Hodges understood the need for secrecy.  If the clan’s
enemies knew of the Laird’s illness, they might take the castle by force. 
Finding a powerful successor was of greater urgency now more than ever.

“Aye.  I shall
send riders out this morning to notify our outlying clansmen of the
tournament.  Do you have any further requests, milord?”

“Bring my daughter
to me,” McLaughlin said as he coughed into the quilts.  The cough racked his
frail body.

“Aye, milord,”
Hodges said as he stood and nodded in farewell to the Laird. 

..ooOoo..

“I’ve searched
everywhere for you, milady!  Where have you been?” Hodges scolded as he stood
with his arms crossed, blocking Isobel’s escape route.

“To state the
obvious, I’ve been out riding, Hodges,” Isobel said coyly as she dismounted her
horse.  Her face was flushed pink from the chill in the autumn air and her hair
was wild from blowing in the breeze.  The solid weight of Tristan’s dagger in
its sheath was a delicious secret against the skin of Isobel’s thigh.

“You’ve been
warned not to go out unaccompanied.”

“It seems that I
forgot,” Isobel said dismissively as she flipped the reins of her horse over
the mare’s head, grasping them now in her right hand.

Hodges shook his
head in dismay.  He knew that arguing with Isobel would get him nowhere.  The
lass was as strong-willed as they came.

“Your father
wishes to speak with you,” Hodges said as he trailed after Isobel.

She handed the
reins of her horse to the stable lad and turned around to face Hodges.  There
had been something in the tone of his voice that had alerted her to the urgency
of her father’s request.

“Is he quite
alright?”

“I will not
withhold the truth from you, milady,” Hodges said sorrowfully.  “He’s much
worse.  I do not think that your father has much more time on this Earth.  Go
speak with him and make the most of the time that you have left.”

Isobel nodded,
swallowing past the giant lump that had just taken up residence in her throat. 
She was not ready to lose her father.  Isobel felt a sudden pang of guilt for
not being by his side at present.

“I appreciate your
directness, Hodges.  You have been a most loyal servant to my father,” she said
as she brushed past Hodges and walked purposefully out of the stables and
towards the keep. 

Unshed tears were
stinging her eyes and she bit her lip in an effort to hold them back.  Her
father was dying.  She would have time to cry for him later.  She knew that it
would break his heart to see her grieving for him now.

Isobel ran her
fingers through her hair as she walked up the staircase and towards her
father’s chamber.  Thinking better of leaving the unruly masses unbound, she
knotted her hair upon itself at the base of her neck, hoping that the style
would give her appearance a semblance of order.

She rapped quietly
upon the door of the Laird’s chamber.

“Enter,” he
boomed, then quickly followed the order with a sputtering cough.

Isobel’s heart
sank.  The cough had worsened and plagued him now night and day, making sleep
nearly impossible for her poor father.  Forcing a smile, she opened the heavy
wooden door and walked into her father’s chamber.

“Good morning,
Papa,” she said with a sweet smile as she walked over to his bedside.  Isobel
leaned down and placed a kiss upon her father’s cheek.  His white whiskers
tickled her lips. 

“Good day,
sweetheart,” he said weakly.

“Why did Hodges
not open your curtains?” Isobel huffed as she turned from the bed and busied
herself with letting some light into the dank chamber.  She tugged open the
heavy draperies and sunlight spilled forth into the room, causing McLaughlin to
squint as his eyes adjusted to the sudden burst of light.

“Hodges is not a
maid, my dear,” he sputtered as he began to cough into the quilts. 

Isobel cast him a
chastising look over her shoulder.  She knelt to the hearth and kindled the
dying fire, adding a fresh log and stirring the coals with a stick of kindling.

“Stop fussing,
sweetheart,” McLaughlin commanded as he struggled to get comfortable against
the headboard.  “I would have called for the maid had I wanted the curtains
opened and the fire re-lit.”

Isobel tossed the
stick of kindling into the fire.  She exhaled slowly and stood, walking reluctantly
over towards her father’s bed.  Keeping busy about the chamber was her only
defense against the harsh truth. 

Her father was
dying.

Isobel sat on the
edge of the bed and took her father’s hand in hers, stroking the back of his
weather hardened hand with her thumb.

“What is it Papa?”
she asked as her blue eyes searched his face.  Her father was literally wasting
away before her eyes.  He had been a strong, vibrant man only months ago and
now he was but the shadow of his former self.  His muscles had wasted away and
his skin hung over his bones, slack and pale.

“I have instructed
Hodges to send riders out this morning, announcing the tournament for your hand
in marriage, sweetheart.”

Isobel took in a
shaky breath and forced a half-smile.

“I fear that I’ve
failed you, Isobel,” McLaughlin admitted as he squeezed her hand with his own.

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

“You’ve never
failed me, Papa!” she exclaimed.  “You’ve been the best…”

“I’ll hear none of
it, Isobel!” he rasped in objection.  “I should have seen to your marriage
sooner.  I should have seen to your safety by securing you a husband to protect
you in my absence, but as it turns out I was selfish and could not reconcile
myself to let you go.”

“Oh, Papa!” Isobel
said softly as tears began to cascade down her cheeks.

“Wipe your tears away,
lass.  The time for crying is later.”

Isobel sniffled
and did as she had been told, wiping her tears on the sleeve of her gown.  She
straightened her posture and looked at her father.

“I am going to die
before the tournament,” McLaughlin said matter-of-factly, his blue eyes
imploring Isobel to understand the full implications of his words.

Isobel swallowed
hard.  She bit her lower lip in an effort to remain in control of her
emotions.  Her father had forbid her to cry and she would not defy him.

“You must be strong,
sweetheart.  No one can know that Clan McLaughlin is without a Laird.  You must
oversee the tournament yourself, with the help of Hodges of course, but no one
else must know.  The fate of the clan and your marriage will depend upon this
secret.”

Isobel nodded. 
She wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand, still struggling to hold back
her tears from falling.

“There are those
that would take the Lairdship if they knew that it was vacant,” McLaughlin
warned.  “Look at me, Isobel,” he instructed as he studied his daughter’s face.

Isobel brought her
eyes back to her father’s, holding his gaze with blue eyes that matched his
own.

“No one must know
of my death until a successor has been chosen and you have consummated your
marriage.  Only then will the successor be confirmed as Laird of Clan McLaughlin. 
Do you understand, sweetheart?”

“I understand,
Papa,” Isobel said with conviction, her voice struggling to get past the lump
that had again settled in her throat.

“Choose wisely,
sweetheart,” McLaughlin said as he slumped back against the pillows.  His blue
eyes were filled with tears that he would not allow to fall.  “And know that I
love you.  Know that I’ve loved you now and always, despite my shortcomings.”

“I love you too,
Papa,” Isobel whispered, holding her father’s fragile gaze.

Rudy McLaughlin’s
heart ached for what he had done to Isobel, or rather for what he had neglected
to do for her.

 Failing his
daughter was the greatest regret of his life.

..oo      Chapter Six     oo..

Tristan had tried
everything.

 He had spent
hours at his forge, melding shards of metal into useful bits. 

It had not worked.

 He had paced the
floor, tearing his fingers through his hair in exasperation.  He could not get
the lass out of his mind.  It was as if Isobel was the sunlight, her sudden
appearance in his life threading through the darkness that had overtaken his
world.  He could think of nothing besides her beautiful face.  Her high,
melodic laughter floated through his mind, plaguing his thoughts with its sweet
torment.

Tristan ripped off
his leather work apron and tossed it over the back of a chair.  He needed fresh
air to clear his mind.

Saddling his
stallion rather hastily, Tristan tossed a small loaf of bread and a wedge of
cheese into the saddle bag.  On a whim, he added a jug of summer ale, hoping
that the spirits would quell his racing mind. 

He swung up into
the saddle and kicked Justice into motion.  The stallion was eager for a ride,
having been neglected for the past few days.  His hooves pounded the solid
ground, kicking up bits of earth as they left the village and thundered towards
the forest. 

Tristan lost
himself in the pounding of the stallion’s hooves, steady and strong as they fell
against the earth.  He pushed the beast harder, willing the animal to outrun
his racing thoughts.  Isobel had stricken him to the very core of his being.  He
felt as if her blue eyes looked effortlessly into his soul, stripping him of
his guise and making him consider thoughts long repressed and forgotten.  Isobel
had brought back the person that he used to be – the person that he had been
before the tragedy.

Tristan had never
expected to desire a woman again.  In his darkest moments, he had sought companionship
with the odd willing lass, but he had never again expected to want a woman for
more than that. 

Isobel McLaughlin
was a beautiful woman.  At first Tristan had believed that it was her beauty
that fueled his raging attraction to her.  Their meeting in the meadow had only
intensified this attraction.  Now Tristan knew that his attraction to the lass
was fueled by something deeper.  Isobel had a lightness of spirit, a raw
innocence that enflamed Tristan’s protective nature.  He wanted to wrap her in
his arms and spirit her away from whatever troubled her.  He wanted to keep her
safe.

Mo sonuachar. 
My soulmate.

She was such a
small thing, so startlingly different from himself.  And contrary to how most
women regarded Tristan, Isobel was not afraid of his commanding presence.  She
had actually challenged him!  Her confidence and wit coupled with her catty
sense of humor made Tristan feel recklessly alive.

His sudden rush of
feelings for Isobel overwhelmed him.  He wanted her badly.  He wanted all of her,
damn the consequences.

Tristan was
consumed with thoughts of Isobel as Justice raced away from the village.  The
horse was lively and carefree, exuberant at the chance to run freely and
stretch his neglected muscles.  Tristan at once felt guilty not exercising the
beast as was his daily custom.  The welcome solace of the trees approached
quickly and Tristan felt his anxiousness quiet.  The seclusion of the forest
had always provided him with peace. 

After galloping
into the security of the trees, Tristan pulled back on the reins, slowing
Justice to a walk.  He stopped the beast completely, closing his eyes and
listening to the soothing sounds of the forest.  Tristan swung down from his
horse.  He flipped the reins over the beast’s head and led him forward, further
into the cool shady trees.  Arriving at a small stream, he tied the reins to a
fallen log even though he knew that Justice would never leave his side. 

The rushing of the
stream calmed him, soothing him with the babbling sound of the cool water
running over the rocks.  Perhaps he would go for a swim later.  The weather had
certainly been warm enough despite the fact that it was late October.  Tristan slowed
his breathing and leaned against the trunk of a tall tree.  He closed his eyes,
trying to calm his spinning mind.

“Ye canna have
her,” he whispered aloud as he shook his head slowly from side-to-side.  “Ye
are a fool for thinkin’ that ye could have her.”

Isobel was the Laird’s
daughter.  Tristan was in no position to take a wife.  He had spent years
building a wall around his heart, protecting himself from the pain that he knew
would come if he allowed himself to be vulnerable again.

Never again. 
Never again.

He repeated the
words over and over in his mind.

Tristan’s eyes
flew open when he heard the first stick crack near the edge of the forest.  He
flew silently to his feet and unsheathed his dagger.  Secreting himself behind
the tree he stood poised for attack.

His heart raced
when he saw her approaching.  Isobel walked down the forest path, leading her white
horse and stepping on every stick and dry leaf in front of her.  The lass could
not have been louder had she tried.

Tristan smiled
ruefully at the irony of his situation and moved stealthily to sheath his
dagger.  He muttered underneath his breath and raked his hand through his hair.

“Tis not safe for
you to be out alone,” Tristan said without a cordial greeting as he revealed
himself to his unexpected visitor.  Seeing Isobel out riding un-chaperoned
caused his protective nature to flare.

Tristan intended
to have a word with Isobel’s guards the next time he encountered them.  He
gritted his teeth together as he planned exactly what he would say to them.

And then he
promptly reconsidered.

The fact that
Isobel could so readily slip the watch of her guards allowed him precious time
alone with her.

“Tis nice to see
you too,” Isobel huffed as she tethered the reins of her mare to a low hanging
branch.  “I needed some fresh air and went for a ride.  I saw you lead your
horse into the trees and thought to see that you were well.”

“I am capable of
protecting myself, milady,” Tristan said with a chuckle.  “Your father has you
well guarded for a reason,” Tristan said as he walked towards Isobel, intent on
not allowing her to change the subject.  “A Lady out by herself can meet many a
danger.”

“Which is exactly
why you are instructing me in the use of a dagger.”

“One lesson in how
to wield a weapon is hardly enough to protect yerself, lass,” Tristan chided
reproachfully, having closed the distance between them.  He now stood directly
before Isobel.  She looked up at him sweetly but he would not be detoured. 
“You should not be riding alone. ‘Tis dangerous.” 

“I’ve heard that
there are villains in this forest,” Isobel said suggestively as she looked up
into Tristan’s hazel eyes.  “Have I underestimated my safety in your company,
blacksmith?”

“For all you ken,
I may be a villain,” Tristan retorted.

Isobel bit her
lower lip, making it difficult for Tristan to concentrate on lecturing her
regarding the perils of traveling alone.

“I may not always
be about to protect you, milady.  We shall arrange our meetings henceforth to
assure your safety.  No more slipping your guards unless you have arranged for
me to accompany you.”

Tristan’s words
were authoritative.

Isobel lifted up
onto her tip toes and kissed Tristan’s cheek, startling him visibly.

“Thank you for
fussing over my safety,” she said sweetly, conceding the argument.

Tristan was
stunned for a moment.  Isobel’s beauty took his breath away.  Her cheeks were flushed
from her ride and her hair was unbound, falling in loose flaxen tendrils about
her thin waist.  Tristan felt his heart beat speed up in response to the lass
and he looked away from her sharply, willing his body to control itself.

“I was not in as much
danger as you imply,” Isobel said with a sly smile.  “I have a very good
teacher and I am intent upon learning how to protect myself.  I need to learn
more and learn it quickly.  In fact I had hoped to find you when I had the
chance to slip away.”

Tristan said
nothing.  He silently acknowledged the irony of the situation.  He had come to
here to escape the lass, to sort out his confounded thoughts about her.

 And here she was.

A sudden image of
his dream invaded his mind.  Isobel’s golden curls surrounding them like a
curtain as they kissed.  Tristan clenched his teeth and pushed the image from
his mind.

“Hungry?” he asked
as he stalked towards Justice and began rummaging in his saddlebag.  He drew
out the bread, cheese and ale and arched an eyebrow in invitation.  He knew
that arguing with Isobel over his concerns for her safety would get him
nowhere.  She was a head-strong lass if he had ever seen one.

“Aye,” Isobel said
with a slight smile.  “That would be lovely.”

She lifted her
skirts and settled herself daintily atop a fallen log.  Isobel crossed her feet
at the ankles and smoothed her skirts.  She was a well born Lady and even in
the midst of the forest, her manners did not escape her.

Isobel shifted her
gaze back to Tristan, who was still digging in his saddlebag while his horse
picked over the grass at the edge of the glen.  She knew that it had been
dangerous to come here, but she did not care.  Everything about Tristan
intrigued her.  From his broad shoulders to the muscles that rippled under his
linen shirt. His unruly hair was bound hastily at the nape of his neck and she
suddenly found herself wondering what it would be like to run her fingers
through his hair.  Isobel knew that she should repent her scandalous thoughts,
but she could not force herself to do so. 

On the contrary,
she was curious.

Her mind wandered
further still and Isobel wondered what it would be like if Tristan was the man
chosen to be her husband.  Would that he could be the one to do the unspeakable
things that her maids had whispered about.

 Tristan’s back
was turned to her now and she watched him openly.  His plaid was belted about
his narrow waist, which was decorated with an array of weapons.  Isobel knew
that Tristan would protect her, a fact which she found both exhilarating and
comforting.  She felt undeniably safe in his presence.

Isobel had a pang
of guilt as she thought of the small mistruth that she had told him.  She had
not wanted further instruction with the dagger.  She had simply wanted an
excuse to see him again.  Tristan had overtaken her thoughts since their
meeting in his blacksmith shop.  His lop-sided smile and intriguing hazel eyes
had plagued Isobel’s dreams each night since their first encounter.

Although Tristan
was a handsome man, it was not just his physical attributes that drew her
towards him.  He had a charming, playful nature that she found quite
endearing.  Isobel loved how Tristan joked with her.  He was quick of wit and
it was evident that he loved to badger her.

“Perhaps I should
empty these out sometime!  I can never find exactly what it is I’m looking
for,” he said with a chuckle as he found what he was rummaging for in the
saddle bag and turned towards Isobel.  Tristan walked towards her carrying an
array of small packages.  There was an earthenware jug suspended precariously
from his pinky finger that Isobel reached out to grab.  He settled himself
carefully to the ground so as not to drop anything, and then went about the
business of arranging the food.

Tristan opened the
linen wrapped parcels and tore off a hunk of bread, which he handed to Isobel.  He
took a bite himself and then uncorked the jug of ale, taking a deep dreg of the
cool refreshing liquid.  He handed the jug to Isobel and her eyes flew open
widely.

“What is it?” she
asked as she sniffed the jug experimentally, scrunching up her nose in
distaste.

Tristan laughed
heartily at her comical expression.

“Ale.  What else?”

“My father has
never let me try ale!  He says it’s unladylike to partake in spirits,” she said
with a rueful grin.

“When opportunity
knocks, milady, ‘tis best to let it in,” Tristan said in means of invitation.

Isobel arched an
eyebrow and lifted the jug to her lips.  Closing her eyes, she took a hearty
swallow of the amber liquid.  Its bitterness made her pucker her lips and she
shuddered involuntarily.

Tristan laughed
genuinely, his smile reaching the corners of his eyes.

“I thought it
would taste better!” Isobel exclaimed as a giggle fell from her lips.

“It will if ye
drink more,” Tristan said, still laughing as he motioned for Isobel to take
another sip.

Obliging him, she
tipped the jug upwards and took a deep swallow of the ale, bracing herself for
the bitterness.  Her nose scrunched upwards and she squeezed her eyes shut,
eliciting a muffled laugh from Tristan.

“Tis hardly that
bad, lass!  Pass me some,” he said, still chuckling as he reclaimed the jug and
took a robust swallow of ale.  “Tastes fine tae me,” he said, jokingly.

“Must be an
acquired taste,” Isobel said as she made a face of mock disgust.  She reached
over to Tristan and took the jug of ale.  Raising it to her lips she took
another hearty sip.

“Slow down, lass,
or ye willna be able to ride back to the keep!” Tristan warned as he took the
ale from her hands.

Isobel passed the
jug back to Tristan and giggled as she wiped the remnants of ale from her lips.

“I reckon that yer
father will be right cross when he discovers that ye have snuck away from your
guards.  And if he were to find out that I’ve corrupted you with ale…I shudder
to think!” Tristan teased.

“Pay no mind,”
Isobel said freely.  “I shall do as I please,” she said as she leaned back in
the grass and closed her eyes, delighting in the feeling of the sun warming her
face.  Being with Tristan made her feel slightly reckless but completely carefree. 
Being with Tristan was an escape from her well-guided, proper life.