“I know I heard something,” she insisted, a pink flush still staining her cheeks. But rather than offer another paltry excuse, she asked instead, “Why are you here?”
His gaze sharpened. A good tactic, he thought, but one that did not fool him. He studied her, wishing he could see inside that beautiful head. Why was she spending so much time in the underground kitchens, and what was she really looking for? He didn’t think it was a missing pearl. Allowing her to stay in the old keep by herself was an unnecessary risk. There was an easy solution, one that shouldn’t be difficult to make. Rory knew what he had to do, unreasonable lust or not.
“I was looking for you,” he said.
“You were?”
He nodded. “It’s time.” It had been for a while. The servants, he knew, had begun to gossip. He might not intend to wed the lass, but he would not shame her. In all but one way, she would be his wife.
“Time for what?” she asked cautiously.
“It has been long enough. You shall move your things into my chamber in the Fairy Tower.” Where it would be easier to keep an eye on her. Keeping everything else off her was going to be the difficulty.
That was a close call. Isabel exhaled slowly, noting the rigid set of his broad shoulders as he disappeared up the kitchen stairs. It shook her to realize just how close she’d come to discovery. As she’d done every day since her family’s departure, Isabel had been exploring the old keep from top to bottom, paying particular attention to the catacomb of tunnels located near the kitchens and dungeon for a secret entry. Rory, materializing out of nowhere, had startled and thoroughly discomposed her. Isabel’s heart had about dropped to her toes when he started questioning her…and then for other reasons.
She hadn’t set out to entice him with her explanation, only distract him. Instead it was she who had been distracted. The attraction that sizzled between them still warmed her. He radiated heat. Heat that drew her in. When he’d put his hand on her neck and brushed his finger over her breast, she’d felt a strange pull from deep inside her. Her skin prickled with awareness. Every movement, every touch, every hesitation, seemed emblazoned on her skin.
He left her wanting more. She’d wanted him to pull her into his arms and kiss her. To touch her. To ease the tension coiling inside her.
But she’d seen the flash of desire in his gaze and knew that he was not unaffected. And now he wanted her in his room. It could only mean one thing. He intended to make her his bride in truth.
For the rest of the day, Isabel was a bundle of nerves. All she could think about was what would happen that night. She might be innocent, but she was not without knowledge of what occurred between men and women. Traipsing after her profligate brothers had unintentionally taught her much.
Her virginity was a natural casualty of their plan. But she’d always imagined it would be a sacrifice. That she would have to grit her teeth and bear it. Never did she imagine the knot of anticipation swirling in her belly. Anticipation that had nothing to do with the plan and everything to do with the man who with only a touch made her tremble with newly awakened passion. She could not deny that he affected her. She would just have to make sure that she didn’t allow herself to get caught up in the unfamiliar sensations but stayed focused on her goal.
With Bessie’s and Deidre’s help, Isabel moved her belongings to his room. After instructing Deidre where to have her trunks placed, Isabel busied herself about the room placing her hairbrush and mirror on the large table beside the fireplace and the book of sonnets that she was currently reading on the table next to the bed. She was scattering her belongings among his just as if she were a young bride happily sharing a bower with her new husband.
Her new living space impressed her. Rory’s chamber, on the third floor of the modern Fairy Tower, was a beautiful, albeit definitely masculine, room sparsely furnished with heavy wooden furniture. Large windows provided a panoramic view of the loch. A small fireplace supplied heat. The wooden walls were painted a soft yellow but otherwise unadorned. Colorful jewel-toned carpets similar to those in the downstairs hall covered the floor.
But the enormous four-posted bed dominated the room. It was similar to the bed in her old chamber with its luxurious thick feather mattress and pillows, except that it did not have the colorful silk hangings surrounding it. There was a simple wool coverlet and cozy fur pelt for cold nights. A tall stack of books and haphazardly strewn parchments littered the top of the table that must serve as his desk. Another small table near the window held a basin for washing, and a large chest sufficed for storing his clothes.
Though stark, the room was warm and comfortable and a welcome departure from the rustic old keep. But all day long, her eyes kept drifting back to the bed. And her mouth went dry, as she wondered what the night would bring.
The little flutter in her chest started as soon as she took her seat next to him at the dais for the evening meal. He acknowledged her arrival with a curt nod of his head and immediately returned his attention to Alex. Isabel tried to hide her disappointment. Part of her had hoped today would be a turning point. That the virtually silent meals she’d endured for the past three weeks would be at an end.
Other than an occasional banality about her meal or other meaningless pleasantry, Rory paid her no attention and spoke mostly with his men at mealtimes. Occasionally, she would spy Alex sitting with the other warriors, watching her. As if understanding her loneliness, he would give her an encouraging lopsided grin. But even Alex assiduously avoided long conversations. Today was no different.
Rory’s courteous indifference frustrated her. Especially tonight, when every nerve ending in her body seemed set on edge. Still, sitting so close to him, her body tingling with awareness, Isabel kept thinking of the night to come. She peeked up at him from under her lashes. What would it be like? Would he have care for her innocence? Her thoughts stole to his impressive physique. His size intimidated her; she hoped he would not crush her with all that muscle. Yet as her questions multiplied, Rory seemed entirely unaffected. There was no indication that he anticipated tonight more than any other.
He must have felt the weight of her eyes on him, as finally he turned and addressed her. “Are you finding everything to your liking?” He paused significantly. Isabel blushed to have been caught so obviously staring. “In the new tower?” He finished with a smile, clearly amused by her discomfort.
“Yes, the bed is—” She stopped, mortified. Her cheeks burned. “I mean, the room is delightful.”
Something flickered in his gaze. “I’m glad you are pleased,” he said. Before she could respond, he turned back to Alex.
Somehow, she made it through the evening meal. For once, she was grateful that he ignored her. Her mind was racing in every direction, and she feared a repeat of her earlier blunder.
With Bessie’s help, Isabel donned a beautiful night rail of ivory silk, chosen by her uncle for this very occasion. Not surprisingly, there wasn’t much to it. The thin swath of cloth clung to all her womanly parts in a manner that left little to the imagination. Isabel felt a bit like a trussed-up goose, but she set aside her qualms and allowed Bessie to fuss over her.
After some uncomfortable last-minute explanations from Bessie that made her want to laugh and cry at the same time, Isabel was alone. She slid under the covers and waited.
And waited.
For hours, Isabel lay in bed clutching the coverlet to her chin, her nerves as sharp as the edge of a blade. Her heart pounded frantically. Her ears strained to hear the sound of booted footsteps from the corridor. But it was a sound that never came.
Eventually, it became painfully obvious that he did not intend to join her.
More disappointed than she wanted to acknowledge, Isabel blew out the single taper next to the big bed and slept. Restlessly.
Seven long nights later, Rory stared at the woman sleeping not five feet away and told himself he was being ridiculous. One wee lass should not keep him from his bed.
He hadn’t s
lept more than a few hours since he’d ordered her to his room. Isabel had invaded his room, his bed, and his thoughts. The room even smelled of her, enticing him with the sweet, seductive scent of lavender. Night after night, he found himself sitting by the fire, drinking whisky by the bottle to dull the edge of desire, gazing at the comfortable bed, and devising reasons why he should not sleep there.
Last night had nearly proved too much. She’d kicked off the covers in her sleep and lay on her side with her arm stretched above her head, her full breasts high and beckoning. Rory could see every curve of her lush figure, clad only in a wispy night rail. He ached to test the soft roundness of her breast in his palm, to run his hands along the curve of her hips and bottom, and to wrap those long slim legs around his waist as he plunged inside her. The images haunted him all night—it had proved to be a very long night.
But not tonight. Tonight he was sleeping in his own bed.
Rory removed his shirt and plaid, placed them over the chair, and, careful not to disturb her, slid under the coverlet. He held perfectly still. When nothing happened, he relaxed. Grinning, he called himself a fool. What had he thought? That lying beside her would be a temptation too impossible to resist? Ridiculous. He closed his eyes and slept.
The soft rays of morning teased his eyelids. But Rory didn’t want to wake up; he was too damn comfortable. He snuggled closer to the smooth silk coverlet. He buried his nose deeper into the soft spray of lavender that filled his pillow and inhaled deeply.
His eyes popped open. He didn’t have lavender in his pillows. Nor did he have a silk coverlet. The soft bundle in his arms was not a coverlet, but a scantily clad Isabel. And the lavender wafted from her hair and not from his pillow. It took him a moment to realize that his arm was tucked under her plump breasts, that she had her bottom pressed firmly against his groin, and that he had an erection the size of Mt. Olympus.
The weight of her breasts on his arm was too much. One hand slid up to cup her. He muffled a groan as all that soft, deliciously heavy flesh filled his hand. It felt too damn good. Her nipple hardened in his palm, and Rory ached to rub it between his fingers, to stroke her until she arched against him. She was so warm and soft, so sweetly feminine. And he’d been waiting too long. His hips moved closer, increasing the pressure of her tight bottom pressed against his now throbbing erection.
His little bundle sighed and wiggled mercilessly against him. His body clenched with agony as he thought how easy it would be to grab her hips and ease himself in from behind. He squeezed her a little harder, lifting her breasts together in his palms. The urge for relief roared through him.
Hell.
He quickly unfolded himself from her silken web before he did something he would regret.
Chapter 6
Lips pursed with frustration, Isabel stormed around the spacious bedchamber.
Moving to his chamber in the Fairy Tower was supposed to have solved her problems. But what was the use of sharing his room if he was hardly ever there? He spent just as little time with her as he had before. She’d begun to suspect that he’d moved her only to keep an eye on her.
Over a week in his bed and a month at Dunvegan, and she was no closer to her goal than when she’d first arrived. The MacLeod’s secrets were well hidden. Since her move, she’d conducted a few basic searches of the chamber for the Fairy Flag but didn’t dare attempt more. The MacLeod was suspicious of her enough already.
But the failure to advance her plan was not the only cause of her frustration. Her nervous excitement at the prospect of what might happen once her things were moved to his chamber had been completely unwarranted. It seemed he had no intention of bedding her.
For the first few nights she’d tried to wait up, but sleep appeared before he did. When he did come in, it was in the dead of the night, and by time she woke, he was gone. Until last night, she hadn’t even been certain he slept there. But this morning, she’d woken with a start. Chilled. And with a strange sense of emptiness, as if she missed the comforting shield of his presence. Somehow she’d known he slept beside her. The large indentation in the feather bed next to her confirmed it.
Isabel didn’t know whether to be angry or disappointed by his lack of attention. Probably a little of both. The worst part was that she had nothing to truly be angry for. He treated her with perfect civility. Given the history of their clans and her relationship to Sleat, it could have been much worse. Then why was she so disappointed? Because he’d not taken one look at her and fallen to his knees in besotted supplication as her uncle hoped? After meeting him, she had to laugh at the image, it was so ridiculous. Though the failure to advance her plan should be the reason, it was not.
What truly frustrated her was her own lack of indifference. The more she had learned of him and observed him, the more she had come to realize that Rory MacLeod was unlike anyone she’d ever met. She was attracted to him, she admired him, and it pained her to realize she’d made no impression on him at all.
Not only did he avoid her at night, he avoided her the rest of the time as well. If she did happen to see him during the day, after a few polite inquiries, he removed himself.
Being left on her own most of the day wasn’t aiding her in her quest at all. What had become painfully clear was that she could not succeed on her own. She needed him to confide in her. Earning his trust, to allay that suspicion, was what she must concentrate on. But how could she when he seemed determined to keep distance between them?
Indeed, Isabel felt less like a wife and more like a temporary guest. If she was to have any hope of success, she would need to change that. She must take the reins of the household by securing the keys that he’d neglected to give her after their handfast. She sat on the edge of the bed to think, twirling a long strand of silky hair through her fingers. She had to insert herself in his life whether he liked it or not.
She looked around at the stark masculine chamber.
What better place to start than with his room?
She would ask Rory for leave to add some womanly touches to his room, and then perhaps she would bring up the matter of the chatelaine’s keys.
Isabel stood up with a new sense of resolve and headed to the door. She had every right to make her request. She was the new mistress, after all, even if no one was treating her as such.
She hadn’t taken two steps down the corridor when she heard a voice behind her.
“Good day, mistress. May I be of some help?”
Since she’d moved to the Fairy Tower, someone always seemed to be watching her the moment she stepped outside the door. Isabel turned to find Deidre right on her heels. Deidre was short and round, with hair so white, it seemed that it must have always been that way. Since that first morning, Deidre was one of the few friendly faces around this dismal place. The others being Colum the cook, Alex, and Bessie.
At first she’d befriended the crusty old cook because she thought it might help explain why she was spending so much time in the kitchens. But that was not why she kept returning. Bessie, Colum, and Deidre were comfortable to be around since she was used to spending her days with servants. Before her time at court, it was all she’d known.
“No, no, I’m just looking for Rory. I need to speak with him about a matter of some import. Do you know where I can find him?”
“By this time he is already outside training with the men.”
“Thank you, Deidre, I will look for him in the courtyard.”
“Very well, if there is nothing else, then.”
Deidre turned and continued about her business—assuming that her business included shadowing Isabel until she left the building.
As Isabel headed down the stairs, she considered her treatment this past month by the MacLeods. By and large, the clan had taken its lead from Rory. They were polite but distant. Considering the history of feuding between the MacDonalds and the MacLeods, it was more than she’d expected. The feud might have nominally ended with their handfast, but only time would heal the damag
e wrought by years of bloodshed, and Isabel did not have that particular luxury.
Initially, being left to her own devices was fine, as it had provided her an easy opportunity to explore the old keep and search for the flag. But it was also lonely, reminding her distinctly of home. Left with nothing to do, she grew bored, and the days moved slowly.
By now, she’d hoped to be well on the way to having Rory fall in love with her. Men were simple creatures, the ladies at court had assured her. Isabel would compliment him on his prowess as a warrior, admire his superior intellect, and remark upon his handsome countenance. For good measure, she would act her most charming, agreeable, complacent self—giving him nothing to object to. Simple. But all the planning in the world was useless if they never spent any time together.
That was about to change.
Isabel stepped into the courtyard from the darkness of the great hall, squinting from the sharp contrast of bright sunlight. The unusually dreary weather that had descended over Dunvegan since her arrival was readily forgotten with the promise of a beautiful summer day. The full bloom of August was evidenced all around by the lush green of the grasses and the vivid saturated color of the wildflowers that peppered the coastal hilltops. A sprinkling of woolly clouds enhanced the crystal perfection of the crisp blue sky.
She sighed, letting the fresh air flow over her body. The salt from the sea spray tickled her nose as she inhaled deeply.
Already her heart felt lighter.
Surprisingly, there were few people about. Two women were hauling water to the keep from the main well near the sea-gate, but otherwise the courtyard appeared deserted.
She looked around for Rory. A great cloud of dust rising near the south side of the courtyard looked promising. As she drew closer, she could hear the sounds of raucous laughter interspersed with the clatter of steel crashing against steel.