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The Highlander's Dangerous Temptation
Terri Brisbin
Cursed by past tragedies, notorious highlander Laird Athdar MacCallum has devoted himself to leading his people – and has vowed never to marry again.Until he is utterly disarmed by the innocent beauty in the eyes of Isobel Ruriksdottir… Isobel is drawn to the vulnerability she senses behind the fearsome façade of the clan-chief. But with his formidable reputation, he is strictly forbidden.Being together can only lead them into danger, yet the temptation to risk all for their perilous passion is impossible to ignore.


He had crossed a line with her.
A very desirable and pleasing line, but one that an honourable man did not cross with an innocent unless there was an understanding between them.
When he attempted to step back she resisted, tightening her grasp on his shirt and leaning against him. She let him go but watched him with wide, intent eyes. Uncertain of what to say, he waited for her, expecting she would be overwhelmed by the power of the passion between them. When she did not speak, he finally found words.
‘Do you regret this?’ he asked softly as he leaned over and picked her shawl up from the floor.
‘Regret?’ She shook her head. ‘I regret only that you stopped.’
The Highlander’s Dangerous Temptation
Terri Brisbin

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
TERRI BRISBIN is wife to one, mother of three, and dental hygienist to hundreds when not living the life of a glamorous romance author. She was born, raised, and is still living in the southern New Jersey suburbs. Terri’s love of history led her to write time-travel romances and historical romances set in Scotland and England.
Readers are invited to visit her website for more information at www.terribrisbin.com, or to contact her at PO Box 41, Berlin, NJ 08009-0041, USA.
Previous novels by the same author:
THE DUMONT BRIDE
LOVE AT FIRST STEP
(short story in The Christmas Visit) THE NORMAN’S BRIDE THE COUNTESS BRIDE THE EARL’S SECRET TAMING THE HIGHLANDER SURRENDER TO THE HIGHLANDER POSSESSED BY THE HIGHLANDER BLAME IT ON THE MISTLETOE (short story in One Candlelit Christmas) THE MAID OF LORNE THE CONQUEROR’S LADY* THE MERCENARY’S BRIDE* HIS ENEMY’S DAUGHTER* THE HIGHLANDER’S STOLEN TOUCH† AT THE HIGHLANDER’S MERCY†
And in Mills & Boon
Historical Undone! eBooks:
A NIGHT FOR HER PLEASURE*
TAMING THE HIGHLAND ROGUE
And in M&B:
WHAT THE DUCHESS WANTS
(part of Royal Weddings Through the Ages)
*The Knights of Brittany†The MacLerie Clan
Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
To all of my readers
You make me stay up nights, struggling to capture the words and images swirling inside my brain and to forge them into a story that’s worth reading! You make me want to write the next word, the next chapter, the next book, even when it makes more sense to give it all up and hit ‘DELETE’. Your notes, mail, e-mails, FB posts encourage me all along the way and especially during those long, intense, deadline binges o’writing.
All I can say is THANK YOU.
Contents
Prologue (#ub5a39d4f-e88b-5ec8-b8d6-2338840f048f)
Chapter One (#u54663056-682b-5bfd-948e-be300822581d)
Chapter Two (#u99142721-95a3-55e9-9b69-53362d6e8e65)
Chapter Three (#ub2308346-9b73-5011-bc3e-dfab49739036)
Chapter Four (#u57021986-d17a-596e-9b4d-c4ca6092403d)
Chapter Five (#u8c973cd6-69d2-5d92-92b7-26ecae9cbf46)
Chapter Six (#u3c704b86-b1ac-5a97-960c-a91554ae5f84)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Author Note (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue
‘Come with me!’ Athdar called out like the commander of his father’s warriors would. With his wooden sword brandished high in the air, he pointed deeper into the forest and nodded. ‘Our enemies have taken to the woods!’
Athdar led his friends, two his cousins and two the sons of a villager, all almost the same age as him, through the thick growth of trees and bushes. Following the rough path along the river, he sought any sign of movement deep in the shadows.
There! Something moved and he called out orders once more. Deer or some other wild animal—it mattered not to him what the target—scampered ahead of them as the sun’s light flickered through the leaves and branches above them. Laughing, they followed the sounds ahead of them as the creature outraced them. After some time and distance, the sound of the river quieted, telling Athdar that their path had changed. Glancing around, he realised that nothing looked familiar to him. Athdar paused for a moment and then raced off, calling for the others to follow him. Without warning, he reached a small clearing bordered by a gully, a remnant of the river’s previous path, that blocked their way.
He was tall enough, strong enough, a good runner and jumper, to make it across so he speeded up and crossed the pit with little effort. Skidding to a stop on the other side, he landed in a pile of leaves and quickly stood up.
‘Come now!’ he called out. ‘It is not wide enough to stop us.’
As the chief’s son, Athdar was used to being in charge and making the decisions for his ragtag collection of friends and followers. He waved them on now, waiting for them to obey.
‘Are you afraid to jump?’ he asked, challenging them to the edge. ‘Get a running start and you will make it.’ He saw the uncertainty on their faces and would not allow that to ruin their adventure.
‘Cowards!’ he shouted at them. ‘Only cowards would disobey their chief.’ The words burned his mouth as he said them, but he knew his friends only needed some encouragement to do as he did and cross the gully.
Athdar watched as they nudged each other, nodding and backing up to get a good running start to their jump. Smiling, he crossed his arms over his chest the way his father often did and waited for them to reach his side. One and then another soared into the air above the deep gash in the ground....
Their cries turned to screams as they plummeted down into the dark crevasse below them. Athdar watched in horror as the screams faded into a deathly silence. Only the sound of his breathing broke that stillness as he crept over to the side and peered down.
The bottom lay about twenty feet below him and his friends lay strewn across the small floor of the gully. Even his seven-year-old mind understood some were dead and the others badly injured. Arms and legs and heads twisted to impossible angles foretold of much sorrow.
He was the cause of this! Searching through his sack, he looked for the rope he always carried and could not find it. More soil loosened as he crept to the edge once more and poured down on his friends. A faint cough told him that someone yet lived. Shaking, he called out names until Robbie groaned back.
‘Robbie! I am coming down!’ he said, easing his legs over the side and planning to slide the rest of the way down to his friends.
This was his fault. His fault. He must help them.
‘Stay,’ Robbie moaned out. ‘Ye’ll be of no help if you get trapped here.’
Athdar paused, grabbing on to the exposed roots of a tree to keep from sliding down into the pit. ’Twas true. Without the means to pull his friends up, he was of no help. The winds rustling through the trees reminded him of the time passing. Soon it would be dark and new dangers would arise.
‘I will go for help,’ he called out in a loud voice. When no sound answered, he called out again, ‘Robbie! I will go for help!’
Gathering up his sack, Athdar glanced around, trying to get his bearings. They’d run through the forest from east to west. Or had they? Now, it all looked the same and he took deep breaths, trying to keep the panic at bay.
He had to find his way back home. He had to get help. He had to...
Athdar ran, ducking through the low branches, seeking the edge of the river.
* * *
It took him hours to find it and then he could not tell which direction was home. Every time he grew too afraid or too tired, he thought about his friends at the bottom of the gully and ran on. Night fell while he searched for home and he collapsed at some point, sleeping a few hours before waking and continuing on.
* * *
Daybreak found him no closer to finding home or help and he gave in to the terror and the guilt and cried for his friends.
And that’s when his father and uncle came charging through the forest on their horses. In a matter of hours, Athdar had managed to lead them back to the place where his friends lay injured and then he watched as the men in his clan rescued Robbie and the others from the ground below.
It was terrible. His heart hurt as each one was carried out. Only one moved and the silence as the boys were examined tore him apart. Soon, the completely desolate group made their way back to the keep.
Though the parents mostly whispered about the terrible accident, Athdar knew the truth—this was his doing. He had killed his friends just as much as if he’d pushed them from a cliff. For he had pushed them—with words, with insults—using their pride to edge them to the end and fling them into the darkness of the earthen pit. And when he could have saved them, he’d stumbled in the forest, losing his way and wasting precious hours that could have meant saving their lives.
And, even if no one pointed an accusing finger at him, he saw the sidelong glances and questioning stares as three of his friends were buried. He heard the whispered doubts about his part in it and wanted to scream out his guilt. But his father and mother tried to convince him it was not his fault and it had not happened the way he said it had. It was a terrible accident to be put behind him. A horrible event which would fade in time.
* * *
And it did. No one ever mentioned it—his father, the laird, forbade it. No one mentioned the children who had died or their parents who had moved away or the injuries to the other one who had survived. No one asked too many questions and Athdar was told relentlessly he must push it all away. In time, all thoughts and memories of it and those friends faded, until, within a few years, it was a muted, empty part of his past.
A part he no longer remembered.
But someone remembered.
Someone mourned their loss and sought solace in the madness brought by the sheer anguish and pain of it.
And that someone decided to seek justice against the one responsible, even if he did not remember.
Someone remembered.
Chapter One
Lairig Dubh, Scotland—AD 1375
‘Look! Look! There he is.’
The excited whisper drew Isobel’s attention. Her friend Cora rarely took notice of the opposite sex, so this was something different, something special. She turned to see who her friend was watching.
Athdar MacCallum, brother of the laird’s wife Jocelyn, strode through the yard, heading for the keep. From the decisive way he walked, looking neither right nor left, he had business with the laird and would not be slowed from his task. Still, he was a fine-looking man to gaze upon.
‘He is leaving to return home,’ she said. At Cora’s questioning frown, she nodded. ‘My father mentioned it this morn.’
‘Will he be here for the evening meal, do you think?’ Cora asked, watching her closely for her reply.
Isobel wanted to show her excitement much as Cora did, but she held back. If she showed her interest in Athdar, word would make it back to her father and then trouble would begin. Just mentioning his name usually caused her father to look extremely bothered. And bothered was not something she, or anyone, wanted her father to be.
The half-Norse, half-Scottish natural son of the Earl of Orkney did not suffer fools easily and at some time in the past, before even her birth, Athdar had done something very foolish and her father would never let it go. It mattered not that Athdar had been young and tended towards brash acts. It mattered not that he had suffered for his misjudgement. And it mattered not that the result had brought Jocelyn MacCallum to Lairig Dubh as the laird’s wife. All that mattered to her father was that Athdar’s character was lacking then and possibly still. Isobel turned away from the path and faced Cora.
‘I know not, Cora. I do not keep watch over his comings and goings.’
Though she would if she could.
As Isobel had watched her various cousins being matched and married these last couple of years and as she’d reached what she considered a marriageable age, the only man who had caught her attention was Athdar. Oh, it had nothing to do with his strong, muscled body or his piercing brown eyes or the way his long, brown hair framed the masculine angles of his face. Dabbing at the perspiration on her forehead with the back of her hand, Isobel realised she’d noticed his physical attributes much too much!
There was also the fact that he intrigued her. Always respectful of her, he spoke to her as though she had a mind and did not shy away from her as all the other men did. Someone who would stand up to her father was not a bad thing. He was a fair and competent man, according to the earl. Compassionate, according to his sister.
And Isobel could sense the pervasive sadness that lived within him and it called to something deep within her soul—she needed to be the one who gave him solace. Rather than drive or scare her away from him, it appealed to her. She shivered now as she glanced at him again.
Cora noticed her reaction, for her friend squinted and stared at her face. Then the girl smiled and nodded.
‘I think you are not so unaffected as you want me to believe, Isobel.’
‘Cora, he is kin through my father,’ she offered, hoping Cora would allow the issue to settle. Wiping her damp hands on her gown, she tossed her hair over her shoulders and took her friend’s hand. ‘Come, we have tasks to see to before dinner, whether Athdar attends or not.’
That had been a near thing. Her friend wisely let the subject drop though the man walked half the yard ahead of them as they also headed for the keep. Her mother was attending Lady Jocelyn in the solar and that gave her the reason to follow him inside. Her heart raced in her chest and she tried to keep the anticipation of speaking to him under control...and she might have if someone had not called out his name from behind her. Athdar paused and turned to see who had called out to him. As he did that, his gaze, those intense, brown eyes, fell on her.
Any attempt to continue to behave as though his attention was usual or customary in her life dissolved away when he winked and then smiled at her. She stopped where she stood and tried to remember to breathe. Cora had not been looking so she continued forwards a step or two before realising she’d left Isobel behind. Isobel forced a breath in and out and then glanced back, returning his smile. She was trying to think of something pithy to say to him when Ranald brushed by and stepped between them.
‘I am working in the practice yard, Dar,’ Ranald called out. ‘Come there when ye finish with the laird.’
Isobel watched as Athdar waved to Ranald, nodded his agreement and then turned to enter the keep. Ranald greeted both of them and then went back to the yard. Cora’s gaze followed his every step until Isobel cleared her throat to gain her attention. The blush that crept up her friend’s cheeks must be similar to the one she could yet feel heating her own. She waved her friend along, not commenting on Ranald’s obvious appeal to Cora.
As they entered and walked the corridor to the lady’s solar, Isobel decided that she would find a way to watch the two men practice in the yard later. Surely Cora would accompany her on her mission.
* * *
Athdar swore under his breath as he walked ahead of the two young women into the dark stone keep to find his brother-by-marriage. He had to meet with Connor and several of his advisors over changes to their plans. As he nodded to those he knew, he cursed himself for his stupidity. Smiling and winking at Isobel? Truly, he was wanting in the head to do such a thing in front of others.
Nay, to do such a thing at all.
Isobel was Rurik’s daughter and if Rurik learned of any attention paid by him to her the man would have his head...or nether parts! He’d already faced death at Rurik’s hands once before and he never intended to do that again, not even for the lovely Isobel.
Damn his eyes, but she was a beauty! He’d watched as she’d grown from gangly girl to this stunning young woman of confidence and intelligence. Her parents had seen her educated as most of those in the MacLeries’ immediate families were. And like many of the other girls and women, they had been encouraged to know and speak their minds. Most unusual, he knew, but here in his brother-by-marriage’s keep and village it all seemed the norm.
He sought the chamber that Connor used as a workroom and found him there with several others he knew. As they began their discussion, Athdar found his thoughts distracted by a heart-shaped face surrounded by pale blond curls and the blue-green eyes that were ever filled with merriment when they met his. And the full, pink lips that tempted him to madness. His body went along with these thoughts and reacted in surprising manner. Athdar shifted in his chair, gaining Connor’s attention.
‘Are you well?’ Connor asked, offering him a cup of wine.
‘I am,’ he replied, taking a mouthful of wine to give him a moment to focus his thoughts on the business at hand and not on the lovely and forbidden Isobel. ‘About the preparations for winter?’
Try as he might, even as Connor went back to explaining their plans, and his clan’s part in them, Athdar thought about Isobel.
And the fruitlessness of any interest he might have in her.
Glancing around the chamber and realising that most of those there were happily married, he felt the heartache pierce through him as it always did.
Happy, he might be, but married he would never be again.
The disasters of his previous marriages and the most recent betrothal had made his decision for him—he would not subject any woman to the dangers of marrying him.
Especially not the lovely Isobel.
The tragedies of his past would haunt his every day and night, but he would not risk someone as precious and vibrant as her to the chance that he was truly cursed.
Some would laugh and call him foolish. People died. Women died, especially in childbirth or such manner. But then they would recall that he’d lost two wives to death, a betrothed to an accident and two possible wives to the fear of all that would befall them if their fathers agreed to matches with him.
So, in spite of any desire he had to find a wife and have a family as these men had, Athdar understood that the fates stood against him. Standing and walking to the window, he listened and replied to Connor from there.
As though his thoughts had conjured her up, Rurik’s daughter passed into his view as she walked through the yard in the direction of the practice yards. She and her friend had their heads close together, conspiring no doubt on some feminine matter, as they laughed and glanced at the men practising their fighting skills. He emptied the cup and placed it on the nearby tray.
‘I will accept your invitation to stay for a few days, Connor.’ He strode towards the door, ignoring any questioning glances. ‘I must check with my man about some of the supplies we need.’
‘Your sister is in her solar, Dar,’ Connor said.
‘I will seek her out later.’ Lifting the latch on the door, he pulled it open. ‘I will return shortly.’
His feet led him outside before he could consider how strange his behaviour was. Something, someone drew him as though a rope connected him with...her. When he realised his dangerous actions—dangerous to his own well-being and hers—he slowed down and sought Ranald instead.
A good fight might beat this madness out of him. It might make him remember his reasons for being here. And his reasons for avoiding marriage completely.
* * *
His plan almost worked, too, until he heard Isobel gasp out his name as he landed face first in the dirt from a well-aimed punch. How was he ever going to ignore her when every fibre of his body and soul wanted to claim her?
* * *
‘Rurik thinks to marry her elsewhere.’
Connor stepped closer, watching the scene in the yard from above—in his favourite place and standing behind his beloved Jocelyn. He leaned nearer, placing his arms on each side of where she stood, and inhaled the scent of whatever she used to wash her hair. His body grew hard just thinking about her...taking a bath...naked. Shaking his head, he laughed at the ever-present temptation she presented to him, regardless of their decades-long marriage and age.
‘Has he finally realised she is of age to marry?’ Jocelyn asked, turning into his arms. ‘He has resisted for a long time.’
‘Two offers have come in recently. We discussed them at length which forced him to accept that it is time.’
‘And you support these matches?’ she asked. A hint of something—suspicion? sarcasm?—entered her voice as she asked.
Connor laughed. ‘Is the game on then, wife?’ Kissing her, he watched as her eyes lit with mischief. ‘So it is, then.’
He released her and looked over the side of the battlements down to the yard. Her brother had left their meeting abruptly and now he fought with one of the younger warriors, Ranald, before a shouting and cheering crowd. Even from this distance, Connor could read the distraction in Dar’s fighting style. And, if he was right, he knew the person causing it.
‘He notices her.’ He felt Jocelyn tense and waited for her to object to his guess. ‘Rurik will not be happy.’
‘Athdar has sworn not to marry again,’ Jocelyn whispered as they watched her brother losing control of the match below. ‘He keeps so much pain within himself.’
Connor remained silent then, knowing that it could be telling their own story again—the pain, the refusal to marry, the inability to hope that love could be within their grasp until it was nearly too late. Only the woman before him had saved his soul and his heart from eternal darkness.
‘Rurik has hopes she will settle her heart elsewhere, and that’s without Dar’s name being mentioned.’
‘I did not think Rurik one to hold a grudge for so very long,’ Jocelyn said, facing him once more and searching his face. ‘It was so long ago and Athdar was so young. And it was only an insult, not an attack.’
‘You have not involved yourself with Dar’s affairs before. Why take up this challenge now?’ he asked. He was trying to figure out if this would indeed become their next matchmaking challenge.
‘It was not my place, Connor. I had accepted that,’ she said, as sadness filled her voice.
‘Had?’ That was not good.
‘I see the longing in his gaze at gatherings. He wants what we have. He wants a wife, bairns. Love. He wants it and yet he fears taking another chance.’
‘So mayhap you should leave him to making that decision?’ It could not hurt to nudge his beloved in the right direction. ‘He is a chief now, with responsibilities. I do not think he would take it well to know you plot about him.’ Hoping that was enough to push her away from making this attraction between Dar and Isobel more than that, he added, ‘I have to see to things. I will see you at table?’
She smiled, acquiesced even, but he knew in his soul that she would not turn her efforts from a possible match between her brother and Rurik’s daughter. And there would be hell to pay on all sides if that happened. He did not have the time to make her see the folly and danger in her choice, but he would see to it later. This night. In their chambers.
‘Until then,’ she whispered, reaching up on her toes to touch their mouths together.
He watched the seductive sway of her hips as she walked away and realised she’d not denied that she would pursue a match. Outplayed once more by desire for his wife, Connor cursed under his breath and walked away in the other direction. He needed to have a conversation with Rurik.
Or mayhap not.
For, once fired up, the commander of all his troops was formidable even for him. Mayhap this time he would hold back and see how this all played out?
With thoughts of what would await him in his bedchamber tempting him, Connor walked off to find someone to fight. It was a good way to clear his mind and sharpen his wits. And if his wife and the other mothers had decided on a match, he and the other fathers would need their wits about them.
From the smug expression that lay across her lovely face as she turned from him, he knew that even his wits might not win this battle.
Chapter Two
Since he was a visiting nobleman and considered more family than ally, Athdar was not surprised by the lack of formality during the evening meal. He’d shared many meals here in Connor’s hall and most of them were like this one—family, friends, villagers and anyone in need of a meal. Conversations ebbed and flowed throughout the meal, laughter echoed high into the rafters and those dining moved between the small gathered groups to talk with others.
As always, his eye was drawn to Connor, his brother-by-marriage for this last score or so of years. His mentor in many things, his nemesis in others, Connor never minded his presence or his opinions, but, watching as the man’s gaze softened each time he glanced at one of his children or at his wife, Dar’s gut tightened with a mix of envy, jealousy and admiration. That the fearless, ruthless Earl of Douran could yet have a soft place in his heart made Dar want everything Connor had...yet again.
Drinking deeply from his cup of ale, he nodded to several who passed by and offered greetings to him. Glancing around the hall, he found Rurik sitting at a table with his wife and their children. The son, a year or so younger than Isobel, would be as formidable as their father in a few years. His height and build spoke of his Norse forebears and heritage. Then Isobel laughed and Dar felt it ripple across his skin. As she raised her eyes, their gazes met.
He knew he should look away. She was too young for him. She was too innocent of life and the horrors he’d seen. She was her father’s daughter. For once, he simply enjoyed the innocence and freshness he saw in her eyes and did not question his need for such things...from her. At least he did until someone stepped between them, ending whatever connection had begun.
‘Athdar,’ his sister said as she sat on the bench next to him. ‘When will you return home?’
He laughed at her remark. If he did not know her as he did, he would have thought his welcome was over.
‘I expect to be on the road in the morn, dear Jocelyn,’ he replied. ‘My business with your husband is complete now.’
She reached over and plucked a morsel from his plate. ‘I have been thinking...’ she said, before tossing the bit of roast fowl into her mouth and savouring it.
Jocelyn thinking usually meant trouble for him—it had as a boy and it usually did now that he was grown and laird in his father’s place. ‘That is never good, Joss,’ he said. ‘Connor should discourage such things.’
She smacked his shoulder and shook her head at him. ‘You are a lackwit at times. ’Tis no wonder...’ Her words faded off as she realised that any jest about married life would fall like rocks thrown in the air. But the pity that replaced the mirth in her eyes hurt more than the memories. ‘Dar...’ She reached out to touch his hand, but he pulled back before she could.
‘What have you been thinking about, then?’ he asked, hoping she would allow the change of topic without comment.
‘Will this be your last visit before the year’s end? I know you and Connor made arrangements for supplies and other things, but I knew not if that meant your journeys here are done until spring?’ she asked.
‘Connor invited me to visit again and I will, unless the weather turns.’
Jocelyn glanced away from him. ‘Unless the weather turns...’ She remained silent for a few moments and then shook her head. ‘Good. I am always glad to see you.’
He was certain she wished to say something more, but Connor called out to her first. She stood, as did he, and nodded to him. After taking a couple of steps towards her husband, she turned back to face him. ‘Did he speak of...helping you to find...arrangements...?’
Athdar knew of what she spoke. Though he’d couched his words in diplomatic terms, his sister’s husband, his overlord, had offered to broker a marriage contract. He’d done so many times in the past for other allies and kin, so it was not so strange. But he had no need for such aid.
‘Aye, he did, Joss,’ Dar replied. ‘I declined his offer.’ Best to have things clear between them. An unexplained frustration and anger grew within him then.
‘You need a—’
‘Stay out of this.’ His voice must have been louder than he thought, for most in the hall stopped talking and looked over at them.
Including Connor.
Including—damn him for noticing!—Isobel.
And her father.
Rurik had long been Jocelyn’s champion, loyal to her in every way, so an insult to her would not go unnoticed or unanswered by him. The commander of all the MacLerie warriors began to walk towards him, but was waved off by Connor who reached them first.
‘Jocelyn?’ he asked as he held his hand to his wife.
‘I am meddling as you have warned me not to, husband,’ she said, smiling into the laird’s concerned face. ‘My brother has been my target and an unwilling one at that.’
And as usual during their lives, she tried to take the brunt of displeasure for him. She ever did so when they were children and would still do so now in spite of their ages and positions. It had changed their lives irreparably before.
‘Your pardon, Jocelyn, for my sharp tone,’ Athdar offered the apology so that all could hear. Brother or not, laird in his own right or not, here he was a guest and she was their lady. Jocelyn’s reaction removed the tension from the situation as she threw herself into his arms and hugged the breath out of his chest. He allowed himself a moment of weakness and then eased himself from her grip.
‘I take my leave now, sister,’ he said. Nodding to Connor, he waited for the laird to give him leave. ‘I leave at first light and would not disturb you so early.’
Connor offered his hand and Rurik, convinced now that his services were not needed, walked back to his own wife. The others drifted back into their own conversations and Dar finished his ale. Walking back to his room, he realised that, once more, he was alone.
And no matter what he’d said to his sister, it was a condition he did not like and he did not want. But the danger of taking steps to make it different overrode his own personal needs or desires. For after the death of two wives and one betrothed, he would not put any woman in danger by being associated with him.
That dark night passed slowly and he rose at dawn to ride out as he’d planned.
* * *
Isobel had watched as he’d finished his meal and spoken to Lady Jocelyn. Something very strange and strained happened between them and she winced as he uttered the harsh words that made the lady turn the colour of Isobel’s newest chemise. Then her father and the laird both went to her side and the hall grew silent.
Somehow, she could not imagine the lady needing protection or aid against Athdar. Her father had championed Lady Jocelyn for as long as Isobel could remember, and if the laird questioned it he never put a stop to it. Isobel’s mother did not seem bothered by this protectorship, for she and Lady Jocelyn were the closest of friends. When the laird was absent, her father stood behind the lady. When the lady travelled, her father made the arrangements. It had always been that way.
So why had the hostility between her father and Athdar started? As she had watched the scene resolve, she tried to remember any clues about the beginning of the bad feelings. Then her father had returned and Athdar left the hall and she knew she would not see him again on this visit. As her father bade them go with him back to their cottage in the village, she knew that, unless she did something, Athdar would always wear the expression of grief in his eyes. And that she simply could not accept.
As she had lain in her bed, seeking sleep while finding a restless night, Isobel realised that the only way to make that happen would be to get her mother on her side. Lady Jocelyn’s support would be a good thing because her father would listen to the lady. Plans and ideas had come and gone as the hours did and soon the weak light of a cloudy dawn had begun to seep into her bedchamber.
* * *
Dressing quickly and quietly, she made her way through the dark cottage, trying not to wake anyone. If her luck held, she could be back, in her bed, before the rest of her family rose. Already some of the villagers were about their daily tasks and she nodded as she passed them. Uncertain of why she wanted to speak to him now, she accepted it and continued walking towards the main gate.
She wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders to fight off the early morning chill and lifted her head to watch as those gates opened. A small group rode through and in her direction, so she stepped back off the path to let them pass. The lead rider waved the others on and drew his horse to a halt before her.
‘’Tis a bit early to be out this morn, lass,’ Athdar said in a quiet tone. ‘Does your father know you prowl about the village alone?’ His voice was deeper after sleep than it usually was, sending shivers through her for some reason. She tried to ignore the reprimand.
‘I have an errand to see to with Lady Jocelyn, if you must know,’ she said. Turning towards the keep, she walked around him, now hesitant to say too much to him.
Why and how could he do this to her?
The poise and self-confidence that her parents often praised in her deserted her, leaving her feeling like a halfwit in his presence. Instead of carrying on a reasonable conversation—as she could with most any of her kin or those who visited the MacLerie laird—she turned into a babbling fool who could not utter a bit of sense.
Even now when she wanted to speak to him about his journey or his duties as laird, to ask sensible questions or offer a sensible suggestion, she could only blush and stammer.
‘I would not keep you from your duties to my sister.’
He turned his horse once more so that he was headed down the path through the village and out to the main road. Before he spurred it on, he nodded and smiled to her and she wanted to melt into the ground beneath her feet.
‘Go on now, lass. I will wait until you go inside,’ he said.
Athdar was making certain she was safe before leaving.
‘Safe journey, Laird MacCallum.’
‘My name is Athdar, lass.’
She had never called him that to his face—he was older than she was and held a higher position, as well. But...
‘Safe journey, Athdar,’ she repeated with a nod.
The edges of his mouth curled and a rough smile changed his entire countenance from foreboding and serious to wickedly handsome. Her breath caught at how very handsome it did make him. Grasping for some of the boldness that would have caused her father’s brow to rise, she called out once more, ‘And my name is Isobel.’
His laughter rang out in the quiet of the early morn and a ripple of satisfaction pulsed through her at the sound. ‘Good day, Isobel!’ he called out as he turned his mount and rode off down the path to join the rest of his men.
Isobel walked quickly in the gate, greeting those on guard duty as she did and fighting the urge to turn and watch Athdar with each step. Winning that battle but not having a specific errand in mind, she decided to seek out the lady and begin her campaign to fight for Athdar.
Chapter Three
MacCallum Keep—Two months later
Athdar rode back through the gates and called out to his men as he approached the stables. He’d spent two days riding his lands, overseeing the end of the harvest and the laying in of the crops for the coming winter. Though he’d lived through many changes of seasons, this one felt different somehow and he wondered if the winter storms would come through the mountain passes sooner than usual.
‘Laird.’
Athdar turned to find the steward walking in his direction. ‘Broc,’ he said, waiting for the man to reach him. ‘The preparations look well in hand...as you said they were.’
‘There is still the butchering to be seen to, but that will be done in the next weeks.’
‘Will this be a quiet winter, then?’
Padruig MacCallum had a habit of sneaking up on people, having perfected a silent, light step. It helped many times in dangerous situations, but he could drive Athdar to madness with the habit, too.
‘The MacLerie has strengthened his control and his influence over the entire south-west of Scotland since the king does not act. Connor predicted no outbreak of hostilities...yet.’
From the expressions on the faces of the two men who served him most closely, he could not tell if they were joyful or saddened by this news. He liked a good fight the same as any man. Yet, now that this clan and its welfare was his responsibility, and now that supplies, crops and food were ready, he could admit a quiet winter had its appeal. Well, he could admit it to himself.
‘What other news do you have for me, Padruig? How is training coming along? Has your son mastered swordplay yet?’
A good way to change the direction of his friend’s talk was to bring up his son. Padruig doted on the boy, now almost a man, and his skills and talents. As he watched the man’s usually dour face brighten, he knew the conversation would turn and braced himself for the pain he brought on himself once more.
And it did.
It took Broc only minutes to utter about things to do and leave and return to his duties, as Athdar wished to do. With each passing moment and with every word Padruig spoke, another dagger plunged into his own heart. But Padruig was his friend, in addition to being the commander of the MacCallum warriors, and it was not long before he realised what he’d said and the price of it to Athdar’s heart and soul.
‘Did Broc tell you?’ he asked while kicking the dirt at his feet.
‘About the cattle?’
‘Nay, about your sister. Lady MacLerie,’ Padruig said.
‘Broc!’ he shouted as he walked towards the keep. Padruig grabbed his arm to stop him.
‘Jocelyn is on her way here. An outrider brought the message.’
‘Why is she coming here now?’ he said, tugging free and continuing to head for the keep...and some answers. He paused. ‘Send two men out to meet them.’
‘Dar.’ Padruig let out an exasperated breath.
If Jocelyn was travelling, and Connor knew about it, she would be well provisioned and well guarded. Connor would never allow it any other way. So, his sister’s safety was not an issue. ‘Never mind.’
Still, he needed to know more so he walked into the squat, stone keep and searched for his steward—the one who’d conveniently forgotten to tell him of the visit. When he found him, Broc stood in the corner in one of the storage rooms under the kitchens.
‘My sister?’ he called out, trying to gain the man’s attention.
An unexpected visit could be because of a problem or not. His sister and her husband did journey here several times a year, sometimes to see him and sometimes as they travelled onwards to other places, so there was no way to know. Except for Broc, who had not answered him.
‘Broc!’ His shout echoed through the small chamber and caused the servants in the kitchen and corridor to stop and stare. Finally, his steward straightened and turned to face him.
And that was also when a comely young woman stepped out from behind Broc’s shadow and made her way out of the chamber and past Athdar. Damn, but Broc moved quickly with the lasses. From the smile on her mouth and the blush in her cheeks, he knew Broc had another conquest.
‘Laird,’ she said quietly with a nod as she passed him.
‘Ailean.’
Broc waited as she sauntered down the corridor before coming to meet him at the door of the chamber.
‘Another minute and you would have had her naked,’ Athdar said. ‘My God, man, you move quickly. You left the yard only minutes ago.’
His steward had always been so—a man with more women than other men could handle. It had been like that through their younger years and showed no sign of diminishing now that they’d reached manhood and more. Broc shrugged and smiled, accepting his words as a compliment...which they were.
‘My sister is coming?’
Broc pulled the door closed and walked with him back to the kitchens. ‘Aye. Her messenger said they are about a day’s ride from here and should be here by midday on the morrow.’
‘Is aught wrong? Did she say the reason for the visit?’
‘Nay, no word about why. Just that she travels with a small group and will stay about a week. I was just on my way to ready the large chamber for her and her women.’
His keep was nothing like Connor’s with its many storeys and bedchambers and towers. There was one large chamber on the lower floor, off the main hall, that was used for guests along with four chambers on a second floor. And one small tower for the guards. The great hall and kitchens took up most of the lower floor, with a stable and chapel set apart from the rest. But it was clean and comfortable and it was his.
A chill raced along his spine and he wondered if it was the weather or the visit that worried him more. ’Twas unlike his sister to visit without an invitation or arrangements being made in advance. With her many duties as Lady MacLerie and the Countess of Douran, she simply did not rush off across Scotland to visit him. He hoped the ill-at-ease feelings he had were not portents of something bad.
He nodded as Broc went off to see to arrangements and then he went to the small chamber he used to keep his records and rolls. As they were not significant enough to warrant the use of a priest as clerk, Athdar kept his own records and was proud of that. Reviewing them now, he was confident his kith and kin would weather the coming winter well.
The chill of foreboding built within him, even as he saw to his duties throughout the day.
* * *
By the next day, he’d convinced himself that he was getting up in years and would soon be complaining of the aches and pains of the elders in his clan. He laughed at himself as the call came from the gates announcing his sister’s arrival.
But when he saw who accompanied Jocelyn into his yard, he knew the feelings had been a warning of things to come, for following his sister on her horse was the woman who confounded him the most—Isobel Ruriksdottir.
* * *
Excitement hummed inside her as the gate and the stone keep beyond it came into view. Isobel could not believe her plan was succeeding so well. Oh, there were no guarantees that her mother would support her in this or that Lady Jocelyn agreed that she was the perfect choice for a new wife for her brother. There were so many things that could yet go wrong.
As they rode on through the gate, Isobel sat up a little straighter on her mount and glanced around the yard, hoping he was here waiting. Lady Jocelyn had sent him scant warning of their arrival and nothing of her reasons for visiting her brother.
The lady did have a reason—a flimsy one, true—but it would make sense. The herbs that Athdar’s healer needed to replenish her own stores had not been included in the last supplies sent here. Those herbs and plant cuttings lay wrapped carefully in moist cloths in her own bag, just as Margriet had prepared and instructed. These would be needed before winter fell, so there was a need...other than hers.
Their party drew to a stop and Isobel waited as she heard Athdar call out greetings to his sister. From her position behind and to the side of her mother’s horse, she could not see him or be seen, so she listened as he greeted the lady and helped her down. Several young men approached to help with the horses and one lifted her down to the ground. With his help, she also untied the bag from her saddle and took it with her. Her mother held out her hand and Isobel took it, walking with her to greet the laird appropriately.
‘Margriet!’ he called out as he saw her mother. ‘Isobel,’ he said as he met her gaze. ‘Welcome to my home.’
Although her mother had visited before, this was her first time in his home. She followed as they walked into the keep, looking at everyone and everything. Jocelyn had grown up here until her marriage to Connor MacLerie—something caused by Athdar’s youthful antics, if she understood it correctly. She’d only heard bits of the story, but the results had turned out more happily than anyone at the time had dared hope.
The keep was stone—not as large as the MacLeries’, having only two storeys and one guard-tower. Athdar had made changes since becoming laird and since marrying that made the keep more comfortable, according to Jocelyn. More importantly, the MacCallums had become close allies with the powerful MacLerie clan.
Soon they reached the other end of the large hall and Athdar led them to a table set with platters of food and pitchers of ale.
‘Broc thought you might need something since you have been on the road,’ he said. The lady and her mother both acknowledged the man who must be Athdar’s steward.
Broc seemed of an age with Athdar, but where Athdar always wore a serious expression that furrowed his brow, Broc wore one that spoke of mirth...and something more that she could not decipher. He wore his long black hair pulled back and his eyes were the colour of the stone that lay in the walls around them. His smile caught her eye and she could feel the heat of a blush moving into her own cheeks. Athdar brought him closer just then so he could greet her and her mother.
‘Margriet, welcome,’ he said, bowing to her mother. ‘It has been several years since you last graced us with a visit.’
His deep voice affected even her mother and a blush that matched Isobel’s filled her cheeks. Then she giggled! She’d watched untold numbers of women react this way to her father, but had never expected to see her mother fall under this kind of spell.
‘Isobel, welcome,’ Broc said, taking her hand and smiling. ‘We met a few years ago at Lairig Dubh, but you were only a wee lass then. Now...’ Athdar cleared his throat loudly and Broc continued, ‘I hope you enjoy your stay here.’
She thought herself immune to such clear and blatant flirting, but she was not. And since neither her mother nor Jocelyn was resisting it, she smiled back, too.
‘My thanks for such a warm welcome,’ she said. ‘I am certain I will enjoy my visit here.’ Broc guided her to a seat.
‘Can I have your bag placed in your chamber?’ he asked while waving to the waiting servants to begin.
‘That is for Laria,’ Lady Jocelyn said before she could. The healer for Athdar’s village would be in need of what they’d brought.
‘Should I have it taken to her or would you rather have her come here?’ Athdar asked.
‘Mayhap Isobel could take them after we finish here?’
‘Certainly, lady,’ she replied. It would give her a chance to look about the village. And stretch her legs after long days of riding.
Taking the seat that Broc indicated, she watched as Athdar spoke to his sister in hushed tones. An expression of relief crossed his face—he must have been expecting bad news with this sudden visit. Then the tension between brother and sister eased and his face took on a boyish look and it took Isobel’s breath away.
She allowed herself but a moment of appreciation before turning to speak to her mother about the plants they’d brought. Marian, Duncan’s wife, had a talent with herbs and plants and oversaw the keep’s gardens. Isobel herself had worked with Marian at times, learning from her store of knowledge for use when she married and supervised her husband’s household. The plants they brought would add to the ones needed to treat fevers and pain, important for the winter and in time to have them dried and ready for use.
Athdar and Jocelyn joined their conversation and brought him news of the comings and goings at Lairig Dubh. Soon they had finished eating and the steward directed them to the chamber where their bags had been taken. Isobel excused herself from her mother and the lady and approached Athdar.
‘Can you tell me how to find Laria’s cottage?’ she asked, smoothing her hair back from her face.
‘Come, I will take you there,’ he said, guiding her down the steps.
‘You must have more important things to do,’ she said. Though it worked into her plans well, she did not want to take him from his duties as laird.... At least not yet.
‘One of a laird’s duties is to show hospitality to a guest, so you take me away from nothing more important.’ From the tone of his voice and the serious look in his eyes, he did not seem to be joking. So, neither did she.
‘I am honoured, Athdar.’
Isobel nodded at him and took his arm when he held it out to her. He matched his longer stride to hers as they crossed the hall and left the keep through the kitchens. He introduced her to relatives as they passed by, pointed out places along the path and kept up a steady flow of conversation along the way.
The keep was not as large as that in Lairig Dubh and neither was the village, but everyone they met looked hearty and well. No one seemed to fear approaching the laird and speaking to him, whether they were old or young, man or woman. The completed harvest and the coming winter were the two most common subjects raised, but some of the younger boys challenged Athdar to battles and he accepted them in good cheer.
Though he released her arms several times as they stopped to talk with others, he offered his once more as they began walking again. When she tripped over the exposed root of a tree, he held her steady and did not let her fall. The path meandered through a thick stand of forest before opening into a clearing. A small cottage lay within a still-lush garden, surrounded by a low wall. Curls of smoke drifted up from the chimney and wicked away into the air, leaving a hint of peat to scent the coolness. Athdar opened the low gate and let her pass him. Before they reached the door, it opened and a woman stepped out.
‘Laird,’ she said, nodding to Athdar. ‘Good day,’ she said, as she glanced at Isobel.
‘Good day, Laria,’ Athdar said, letting her arm slip down now. ‘This is Isobel Ruriksdottir, from Lairig Dubh. She has something for you from my sister.’
‘You are Margriet’s daughter, then?’ Isobel nodded as the woman continued to examine her face. ‘You do have her look.’ Laria stepped back and motioned for them to enter.
‘I must return to matters in the keep. I will send someone for you?’ Athdar remained on the narrow walk, waiting for her answer.
‘I can find my way back,’ she said as she followed Laria inside. ‘Again, I am grateful for you bringing me here.’
The short, wonderful walk they had together over, Isobel watched as he strode away from the cottage and her. No matter that he had spared her this time, he was an important and busy man here among his clan with much to do besides seeing to one guest. Still, it had been a boon granted to her and it pleased her.
‘You brought the plants?’ Laria asked.
Isobel realised the woman had moved across the cottage’s main room to a large worktable already crowded with jars and bowls and plants and leaves. She walked over and placed the bag she carried in a clear spot.
‘Marian sent along the ones you asked for and a few others she thought you might have need of,’ she said as she opened the bag, lifted out the wrapped bundle and handed it to Laria.
Isobel watched in silence as the older woman handled the cuttings and plants with almost reverence, unwrapping and gently easing the stems and roots and leaves apart. Some she placed directly in bowls of water, others she pressed into bowls filled with soil. Isobel did not know enough about the various herbs to know which ones were which or which needed what. Laria worked on, without giving any attention or notice to Isobel, so she wandered around the cottage, examining some of the covered jars, sniffing some of the more aromatic plants. But when she reached out to touch one, Laria called out to her.
‘Do not!’ she said sharply.
Her words and tone surprised Isobel and she jerked her hand back away from the dark, dense plant that had gained her attention. ‘I am sorry,’ she offered as she returned to the table where Laria yet tended to the newly arrived plants.
‘Some of these are more de...delicate than others and must not be touched,’ Laria explained and she held out the empty bag to Isobel. For a moment, Isobel thought the woman was going to say something else, something other than ‘delicate’.
‘Your pardon. I will be more careful, Laria.’
Isobel felt a shift in the tension between them in that moment. Something had changed and she was at a loss to explain it. Mayhap the plants had been damaged before by a careless touch? Laria’s next words confirmed her feelings.
‘If you have nothing else for me, I must get to work with these,’ she said, motioning to the plants she’d unwrapped and separated. Though her face was emotionless, her eyes showed something more, for a dark, suspicious glare met Isobel’s gaze for a brief moment.
Mayhap she was overtired? Or was it simply the woman’s disposition? Isobel brushed the few strands of loosened hair away from her face and nodded.
‘We are visiting for a sennight. If you have need of anything else from Lairig Dubh, just inform me or Lady MacLerie and we can arrange to have it brought to you before the winter sets in,’ she said.
Isobel walked to the door, but stopped before leaving. She could not explain, even to herself, why she asked the question.
‘Athdar has spoken many times about your skills and talents in healing with them, Laria. If I promised to be careful and obey your instructions, would you teach me some of what you know? While I am here?’
‘Why?’ the woman asked, with no inflection to reveal if she was even thinking about her request.
‘My knowledge of plants and herbs is sorely lacking. With my parents considering offers of marriage, I realise that I may be overseeing such matters in my husband’s home much sooner that I thought. I would gain some knowledge before I marry.’ It was true, even though another, less identifiable reason lurked deeper in her mind.
Laria stared at her as though evaluating her words in a silence that drew out past the simple few seconds Isobel thought she needed to refuse her. Then, surprising her, Laria agreed, though it was clear with some reluctance.
‘I can spare you some time each morn, if you want to come,’ she said.
‘Aye, I would like that. My thanks, Laria,’ Isobel said.
‘And you touch nothing without my saying so.’
‘Certainly.’ Isobel lifted the latch on the door. ‘I will come on the morrow then.’
At once pleased and puzzled, Isobel gained her bearings and headed back through the forest towards the keep in the distance. Passing some, she offered greetings as she walked back. All were friendly, many having seen her pass this way earlier with Athdar and some whom she had met when they’d visited Lairig Dubh with their laird on previous occasions. She did not remember all the names, but a number of faces were familiar to her.
She arrived at the gates and was waved through by the guards watching from their posts. Everything along the way was pleasant and welcoming and she saw her mother sitting with Lady Jocelyn and other women at the end of the hall.
So, if all was well, why did she feel the distinct chill coursing through her bones? Why did it feel as though someone had just walked on her grave?
Chapter Four
Jocelyn sat with Margriet and several of her own cousins in the hall, all of them working to repair a large tapestry. It had always been one of her favourites, a scene that included figures of all the animals that inhabited the forests and lakes in the surrounding area. As a child, she would look at this on the wall and make up stories about all the animals, giving them names and occupations. She’d noticed the damaged and fraying corners on her last visit and took advantage of this one to work on it.
This was one disadvantage of Athdar being without a wife—there were simply some things that a woman needed to see to in the keep and village. One of their cousins had stepped in, and oversaw the keep and the duties of chatelaine, working along with Broc. And Laria served as healer and watched over the village concerns.
But Athdar needed a wife. His clan, their clan, needed their laird to marry.
More than that, her brother deserved a lasting happiness. Her heart ached for all he’d lost and all he lived without and the fact that he wanted it, but would not allow himself to hope for it, tore her soul in pieces. That was the reason she had decided it was time to meddle here. Winning or losing the matchmaking challenge between her friends and their husbands meant nothing to her in the face of Athdar’s continued pain and unhappiness.
Everyone deserved the chance for a family. If her husband, the Beast of the Highlands, had found redemption, her brother should, too.
‘Do you think this is wise, then?’ Margriet asked her quietly as they passed threads around the circle of women embroidering. The other women spoke amongst themselves, carrying on conversations about their tasks and their families.
‘Should you even be asking me that question? You know our agreement,’ Jocelyn said, smiling at her friend.
‘You broke all the rules when you brought me along on this mission of yours,’ Margriet replied, resting her hands on her lap and pausing in their work. ‘You cannot expect me to sit back and observe when my daughter is part of your plot.’
‘Margriet, there is no plot. We know Isobel is attracted to Athdar and he to her. I wanted to see if there is any true spark before encouraging this match to proceed.’
‘But he has sworn not to marry again. How do you think to overcome that?’ Margriet asked.
‘I think the better question would be how do we get your husband to accept a marriage between them? Neither one has got over their incident.’ Margriet blanched at Jocelyn’s words, her pale skin going even whiter at the mention of her husband.
Rurik and Athdar’s first meeting and the altercation that followed Athdar’s stupid behaviour and insults had led to Jocelyn’s forced marriage. For some male reason, the eventual happy outcome between her and Connor had not smoothed the road between two of the important men in her life and her connected family. Each of them gave the other the respect they deserved due to their roles and positions, but it was a begrudging deference and nothing more.
‘He is protective of her,’ Margriet said. ‘He did not take Connor’s suggestions for possible matches any better. Rurik yet sees her as a child. If he has time to consider the good things about a marriage between them...’ Her words drifted off into silence as they each contemplated Rurik’s reaction.
Jocelyn snorted first, laughing aloud, and then Margriet joined her, gaining the full attention of the rest of the women there. Greeting their puzzled looks with a shrug, Jocelyn waited until everyone had returned to their own conversations before speaking again.
‘Mayhap ’tis better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission?’ Jocelyn asked in a whispering voice, not really wanting an answer.
If Tavis MacLerie had asked permission to marry Marian and Duncan’s daughter Ciara, it would have been refused. If Ciara’s betrothed had asked permission to break their arranged marriage to marry another, it would have been refused. Sometimes it was better to take matters into your own hands than doing the proper, formal thing.
‘That may be premature, Jocelyn. We do not even ken if this is anything more than a mere attraction between them. If my daughter is to marry, I want her to be happy in that marriage.’
‘True. Which is the reason I invited her, and you, on this visit. To see how they are together. In a place where he is in charge and not affected by Connor’s, or Rurik’s, presence. To see the real man that Athdar is.’
They fell back into companionable silence and worked on the tapestry for some time before seeing Isobel enter the hall. Jocelyn had been pleased when her brother offered to escort Isobel himself to the healer’s cottage and from the blush in her cheeks and smile on her face, it had been a good idea.
‘Lady Jocelyn,’ Isobel said, with a bow of her head as she approached. ‘Mother.’
Margriet held out a needle and threads to Isobel, who took them and sat on a chair next to her. Isobel’s skills with a needle were excellent, but her other talents were more impressive and would be a boon for any man lucky enough to wed her. She had a level head, was intelligent and kind. She had grown into one of the best chess players amongst those in the family who played, beating her father and Marian with ease now. That demonstrated her logical mind and ability to see how things worked and progressed.
‘Did Laria have anything to say?’ she asked.
‘Nay, not much. I told her if there was anything else she needed, to speak to you.’ Isobel lifted the material closer to her and then glanced up at Jocelyn. ‘She is not a friendly person, is she?’
‘Nay, she is not,’ Jocelyn answered. ‘But she is skilful and has always worked for the good of the clan.’
She watched as Isobel absorbed the meaning of her words. Laria’s temperament had never been the same after losing her two children, but what woman would be unchanged by such tragedy? Still, she worked tirelessly to provide herbs and medicaments to anyone in need. Jocelyn’s father and Athdar after him always provided Laria with a living so that she able to continue her work.
‘Her gardens must be impressive when in full bloom,’ Isobel said. ‘I asked if she will teach me about her work while I am here.’
‘Did you?’ Margriet asked, putting down her needlework. ‘Why? You have never shown an interest in such things.’
‘I know that you and Father are considering possible marriages and that I will need to oversee such things for my...husband.’ She paused for a moment. ‘This seemed an advantageous thing since we are here and I have no other duties to see to.’
Jocelyn smiled to herself and glanced over at Margriet. Isobel did understand that it was time. Now, all she...they...had to work out was if marriage to Athdar was the right path for both Isobel and him.
A small thing to accomplish when she put her mind to it.
* * *
Athdar had accepted two things as inevitable when he received word of Jocelyn’s pending arrival with Isobel and her mother as travel companions. The first was something that always happened during Jocelyn’s visits—the keep would be better after she tended to things. The second was that he would be spending time, and a good amount of it, with the fair Isobel. Ever a man to know his limitations and his strengths, he understood the true purpose of his sister’s journey here and it had little or nothing to do with some damned plants for Laria.
As he swallowed another mouthful of ale and contemplated his reaction to Jocelyn’s, and Isobel’s, visit and his plans for this incursion into his life, he accepted another inevitability—Jocelyn had not given up on pursuing another marriage for him.
She said something then, about the cook’s recipe for the fowl before them, and he nodded and muttered something acceptable. But his mind turned the situation over and over. He knew she did most things to protect or help him. It had ever been that way between them—as children and even into adulthood, she had been the buffer between him and whatever came his way.
Her marriage to Connor, though now a happy one, had been her attempt to get him out of a bad situation he’d caused—one of many in his childhood and as a boy and even young man. Now, he wondered if the sins of his past were catching up to him, taunting him even, with the nearness of Isobel.
Isobel smiled just then and said something softly to her mother and Athdar watched her mouth curve and her eyes brighten. So young, so beautiful.
And so tempting.
He leaned back and listened to the discussion about some household matter and then realised he was not the only one watching and listening to her. She held the attention of Broc, Padruig and many other men at the table and nearby, whether they be married or bachelor. When Broc caught his eye and winked, Athdar knew she had another conquest if she wanted one or not. The way that she engaged in conversation, offering her opinion when asked and questioning to clarify, demonstrated her innate intelligence.
When had she grown from child into...this?
While he was living in hell.
The hell that began with his first marriage to the woman he’d loved for years. The hell that included watching her die, after she struggled to give birth to their child, and then losing the child, his son, within days. The hell that continued through another wife and another death and a betrothed and her death.
While Rurik had kept his daughter safe and sheltered, he’d failed three women.
No wonder he’d missed the changes in her as she reached womanhood.
He drank again trying to wash the bitter taste of those memories away and continued to watch the women discussing Jocelyn’s latest plan to improve the hall. He did not mind her ministrations, no matter that they reminded him that he had no wife to be in charge of his home, as his mother had done for his father. She saw that things were cleaned and repaired and freshened and they were usually tasks that he would never think of himself. Broc oversaw the important tasks a steward did—supplies, foodstuffs, livestock and such—but that left many less critical things undone. The empty platters were being removed when he drank the last of his ale.
‘Isobel, do you play chess?’ He knew her parents did as did his own sister and husband. Chances were Isobel did. Something within him pushed him to offer a challenge when she nodded. He wanted to speak to her, with her. ‘Play with me?’
‘Athdar, it has been a long day,’ Jocelyn answered before Isobel could. ‘On the morrow?’
Isobel responded as the well-behaved guest and lady would. ‘I must agree with Lady Jocelyn, Ath—my lord,’ she said quietly, as she slipped up and used his name in front of others. His body reacted to the hint of his name on her lips. Bloody hell to that!
‘We are kin here, Isobel,’ Jocelyn replied. ‘I am certain my brother has no objections to you calling him by his given name. We are families connected now.’ Jocelyn arched an eyebrow at him. As though he would refuse when he’d already given her leave to do so.
‘None, Jocelyn,’ he said. ‘You all must pardon my boorish ways. I should have remembered about your travels these last few days and not imposed.’ He stood and held out his hand to his sister. ‘I will see you in the morn.’
Athdar hugged Jocelyn and bowed to Margriet and Isobel and he waited for them to leave the table before sitting back down. As they walked towards the back of the hall and the chamber they would use, Isobel paused and looked around as though searching for something. He glanced to where she’d been sitting and saw her handkerchief on the table. Athdar grabbed it and walked towards her, holding it out.
‘You left this,’ he said.
‘If you will wait, I would like to play chess,’ she whispered.
He tried to hide his surprise, both at her acceptance of his invitation and her boldness in planning to return, clearly without her mother or his sister. If he did the right thing, it would be to order her to remain in her chambers until morn. If he did the right thing, it would mean lying awake another night. If he did the right thing... Damn! He always did the right thing.
‘I will be here.’
She turned and made her way back to where her mother waited and Athdar watched them leave, all the while smiling over this small transgression. Oh, Isobel was completely safe with him—he would never overstep with Rurik’s daughter and would never dawdle with an unmarried woman in a way that would call her honour, or his, into account. They were family, Jocelyn had said. So he would treat her as such.
And he would wait.
For her.
Chapter Five
Isobel lay on her cot in the darkness, listening to the sounds of her mother and the lady as they fell into sleep’s grasp and wondering at the boldness of her actions. Once their breathing grew deep and even, she waited a few more minutes and then climbed slowly and silently from under her bedcovers, pausing after each movement, committed to returning to the hall. It took her several more minutes to get off the cot, get dressed in her simplest gown and make it across the chamber to the door.
She did not know what madness claimed her in the moment when she told Athdar she would return, but it seemed simpler than contradicting Jocelyn and making it seem more important than it was. At the same time, she did want to see him and play against him...now, and not wait for another day. Their walk to Laria’s cottage had been pleasant and she’d managed to lose the nervousness that always plagued her when he was near.
Isobel lifted the latch with care and eased the door open. The hall lay quiet and in darkness. The hearth at the other end was the only thing giving off light to guide her path. She gathered her hair and tied it with a strip of leather and then inhaled a deep breath. Letting it out slowly, she took the first steps across the stone floor. As she grew closer, she saw a small table and two chairs arranged in front of the fire. Athdar stood, leaning his arm against the mantel of the hearth, staring up at the tapestry above it.
‘Did you help to repair that?’ he asked quietly. He had not acknowledged her arrival, so his words surprised her. Pleased that he had waited, she moved closer.
‘Aye. I worked with my mother, your sister and the others to fix it. It was unravelling there near this edge,’ she said, walking up next to him and pointing to the lower, closest corner of the large woven and embroidered piece. ‘Lady Jocelyn fixed the fraying bear and deer there.’
‘They were her favourites.’ He reached up and touched the edge of the tapestry before turning to face her. ‘She would tell tales about each of the animals after our mother finished them.’ He held out his hand and guided her to sit, still smiling at what must be pleasant memories.
Once they were seated, he held out a cup to her, one he had on a tray next to the board. She accepted it and sipped the watered ale.
The light of the low flames flashed to life for a moment and illuminated his face to her. For once, he lost the pain that she could see in his gaze and took on the look of the younger man she remembered from her childhood. She could imagine for a moment the adolescent who vexed his sister and his parents. The man before he...
Lost so much.
She lifted her cup and leaned forwards to look at the board. If she continued to think about the many tragedies he’d faced, she would cry.
‘So, are you better than your father at this?’ he asked, as he settled in his chair.
‘He will never admit it, but, aye, I am,’ she confessed quietly. ‘Though I cannot win over Duncan’s wife on a regular basis.’ Duncan’s wife Marian was a formidable opponent in this game. Even her father had given up trying to beat her.
‘But you have tried?’ he asked, as he moved the black pieces to his side. She scooped up the red ones and began to put them in their places.
‘She taught me the game.’
His swallow was audible and she laughed at his reaction. ‘Mayhap I should seek my bed after all?’
‘Nay. I will not surrender this early. Let us test our abilities before calling for a retreat.’ His eyes sparkled then and she found herself lost in them for a moment longer than it took for him to notice.
‘Very well, if that is what you want,’ she teased.
They fell into a comfortable silence as she made the first move and then studied the one he made. She neither rushed nor delayed, but took her time and learned his method and strategies. He was skilled, though he played discreetly. Several times he surprised her with a riskier choice, but each risk taken was rewarded with success. In the end, Isobel struggled to make her loss appear real and not to lose in earnest.
‘You are a dangerous opponent, Isobel Ruriksdottir.’
‘But you won, Athdar,’ she said. Lifting the cup to her lips, she drank before she said anything more.
‘You let me win. You should have claimed several of my pieces when I put them in jeopardy.’
She had learned long ago that men did not particularly care for women who could best them so she had no intention of admitting he was right. But, when she met his gaze, she decided differently.
‘Are you insulted?’ she asked, watching his response.
‘Aye. Insulted that you think I need to be coddled like a bairn.’ The sparkling was back in his eyes, so she doubted he was truly insulted.
‘We could play again...’
‘An honest game?’
‘If that is what you want?’
They launched into the game without another word, the play going back and forth between them and the outcome was never a certainty for either of them. Finally, Isobel made her last move and won. She placed all the pieces she’d collected in the wooden box next to the board before raising her eyes and looking at Athdar.
Would he truly accept defeat well? Or would he be angry in spite of his words?
‘Well played, Isobel,’ he said. ‘I thought I might be the victor until you made those last three moves. More than skilful, lass. You have a real talent for this.’
His compliment and his appreciation of her skills brought a blush to her cheeks. The warmth of it spread through her.
Athdar stood, gathered the rest of the pieces in the box and closed it. He lifted the board and tucked it under his arm. She waited for him to put it up in its place on the mantel.
Isobel had no idea of how much time had passed while they played. She looked at the hearth and realised it had burned down quite low. A few lamps around the hall still threw some light down its length and shadows into its dark corners. No one had entered since they’d been there—most likely all were in their beds asleep as they should be.
‘Athdar, I...’
‘Isobel...’
She laughed softly and waited for him to speak first. Just as he opened his mouth to begin, a cough echoed through the emptiness. They both turned to find her mother standing outside their chamber’s door.
‘I should go,’ she whispered.
‘Aye. Go on then,’ he said. ‘If you need me to speak to her, I will.’
‘Goodnight, Athdar,’ she said, taking the first step away from him.
‘Goodnight to you.’
She’d taken a few steps towards her chamber when his voice came as a whisper from behind her.
‘Isobel.’
She shivered at what her name sounded like when whispered so.
Isobel quickened her steps when in fact she had no wish to face her mother’s ire too soon. She wanted to savour the pleasure of being with Athdar, alone, as a man and woman. She let his words of praise repeat in her thoughts until she was but a few paces from her mother.
‘Who won?’
The words were not the ones she had expected to hear when she’d clearly misled her mother and Jocelyn. At the least, she expected a warning about such behaviour. Instead her mother surprised her by asking about the game.
‘I did,’ Isobel whispered as she followed her mother back inside the chamber. Lady Jocelyn sat up in the bed, watching her enter.
‘How did he take the loss?’ she asked, smoothing the bedcovers over her lap and pushing her long sleep braid over her shoulder. Isobel’s mother sat on the edge of the bed and listened.
‘He complimented me on my playing.’
The two older women exchanged some glance she could not read. Then they looked back to her.
‘’Tis now the middle of the night, child,’ her mother said softly. ‘Seek your bed.’
When she had expected a reprimand for ignoring the lady’s words and for sneaking out of her chamber in the dark of night to meet with Athdar alone, all she received instead was an enigmatic expression. Isobel sensed that both women supported her exploring the possibility of a relationship with Lady Jocelyn’s brother. Though separated in age by almost a score of years and though her parents must have some other marriage plans in mind, her mother did nothing to warn her off. And the lady had specifically invited her along on this visit. Knowing they would both speak their minds when they wished to, Isobel undressed and slid back under the bedcovers on her cot.
Try as she might, sleep would not come to her. She tossed and turned, reliving each moment spent with Athdar, replaying the games in her thoughts. And watching the way his mouth curved when he laughed...and the way his eyebrows gathered tight when she’d made an unexpected move. But mostly she thought about the way they’d simply been together and how comfortable it felt to be in his company.
* * *
If they’d played through half the night, then she had spent the other half going back over every minute of it. Sooner than she thought possible, the faint light of the rising sun pierced the darkness of the chamber with thin beams around the edges of the window shutters. Isobel turned for the final time and listened as the sounds of the keep’s inhabitants waking and beginning their day also crept into the room.
She waited for her mother and Lady Jocelyn to stir before sitting up on the cot and loosening the tangles in her hair, which had come undone from its braid during the restless hours. Stretching her arms over her head, she settled at the side of the cot and watched as a serving woman brought in a bucket of steaming water to them, then it took little time to wash and dress and prepare for the day.
* * *
Planning on breaking her fast and then seeking out Laria for her first lesson, Isobel was surprised to find Laria in the hall.
‘Good morrow,’ she said to the older woman as she walked towards the table in the front of the room. ‘I did not expect you to come for me.’
‘I need to finish harvesting some plants to the south of here, so it seemed the practical thing to do,’ Laria replied before turning to Lady Jocelyn and Isobel’s mother. ‘Lady. Margriet,’ she said with a nod. ‘The air has turned colder. Bring a sturdy cloak.’
Lady Jocelyn smiled at her, letting her know that this brusque approach was the custom for the healer. Isobel rushed back to their chamber to get her heavy cloak and leather gloves. Knowing she would be working alongside Laria this morn, she’d already pulled on her short boots which would protect her feet from the damp grass and mud. Within minutes she was ready and back in the hall, listening to Jocelyn talking with Laria. Her mother held out a small parcel to her as Laria turned to leave.
‘You did not eat. Some bread and cheese.’
In many other noble houses, great store was placed in the conducting of meals with formality, but as long as she could remember the laird and lady ate among their kith and kin. If tasks were to be done, a simple meal like this one was enough. So, it might seem unusual to many others of the same rank as Lady Jocelyn to dispense with a meal with little comment, yet it was not for them. If Laria thought it strange, she did not say. A nod to the others was the only signal that they were leaving and would be about their day’s work.
* * *
She spent the chilly, cloudy morning following Laria across fields and into forests as she collected the last fresh leaves and cuttings from many different plants. The healer spoke about each one as she cut, wrapped and placed it into the large basket she gave Isobel to carry. There seemed to be none of the reticence that Isobel had first felt from the older woman. Indeed, she now seemed pleased to have an assistant as she carried out this important task in preparing for the coming winter.
They spoke little other than Laria’s instructions about how each plant would be preserved and prepared, all the time walking across MacCallum lands. Though the air warmed a bit as the sun rose higher in the sky, it lost only the coldest bit of chill and never grew to the point that she could remove her cloak completely.
* * *
After several hours, they neared the keep and Laria dismissed her until the next morn.
Isobel had never thought herself pampered or lazy. That is until Laria dragged her to and fro for these last hours, leaving her exhausted. She drew nearer to the gates of the keep, watching villagers on the way back to their cottages, and found a place where the sun’s rays warmed a section of the low wall of a narrow bridge. She sat, gathering the cloak around her and leaning her face back to feel the sun’s warmth on her cheeks for a few moments before going inside.
Some quiet seconds passed and Isobel thought she might doze, tired as she was, so she leaned back against the trunk of a tree that grew next to the wall. Sitting still for the first time since getting out of her bed this morn just past dawn felt good. She knew people passed her by, but the sounds faded away as sleep overtook her.
‘Isobel?’
She heard someone saying her name. Sleep held her firmly and she just could not open her eyes.
‘Lass?’
Then she felt a large hand on her shoulder, squeezing it as her name was spoken again in that deep, appealing voice.
‘Isobel? Are you well, lass?’
He watched as her eyes fluttered open and, as she recognised him, Athdar began to reach out to steady her, placing his other hand on her shoulder and waiting for her to wake completely before letting go. There was going to be hell to pay from her mother already from last night’s infraction of manners, but if Margriet saw her daughter asleep on the bridge because he’d kept her up half the night, body parts might be maimed or removed. His body parts.
‘Athdar,’ she whispered as she straightened up and stretched her neck and shoulders a few times. Then she smiled at him and stood. ‘The sun felt so good when I sat down, I must have drifted off to sleep.’ A wonderful blush crept up into her cheeks, showing her embarrassment about being caught.
‘It was a cruel thing I did to you, Isobel. Kept you up most of the night. Then I allowed Laria to find you just as you left your chamber. And now, puir wee lass, you’ve had to find sleep sitting on the bridge. I am a terrible host.’
Isobel stood and he moved back so she could. He wanted to touch the dark shadows that marred the creamy colour of her cheeks and make them go away. As he lifted his hand towards her, he heard people nearby. People walking across the bridge. People who could see everything he did and hear everything he said.
He took another step back and then another and then waited for her to step away from the place on the wall where she’d been sitting. After she shook out her cloak, he held his arm out to her.
‘Come, let me see you back to the hall.’
Isobel glanced around them and nodded to the men he’d left sitting on their horses waiting for him.
He’d forgotten them when he noticed her asleep on the wall.
‘You have duties, Laird MacCallum, and I must not keep you from them,’ she said, loudly enough for them to hear. ‘But I thank you for your kindness.’
Athdar wanted to thank her for saving his dignity in this. He’d, again, lost his mind at the sight of her and forgotten the tasks he was in the middle of doing.
‘We go to check on the repairs to the mill.’
From the sly glances from Padruig and the others, he would suffer for this. So, after she bid him farewell, he nodded and watched as she turned and walked towards the gates. He’d only just climbed up on his horse when the whispered taunts began. He listened in silence, for responding to them would make it worse and draw attention he did not want. Then as they reached the road that led to the mill, his destination, he realised what he must say.
‘I was showing her the hospitality of my home,’ he said to them. ‘But what excuse do you have for not paying attention to a young, attractive woman who is of marriageable age?’
He rode off then, while kenning two things. He knew that the young bachelors among his men, especially Fergus and Niall, and even the recently widowed Connal would look a bit differently at Isobel at supper. And he knew that he had made a grievous error in dealing with his own attraction to the lass. If he did not strengthen his resolve never to marry again, a lass like Isobel could make him change his mind.
Chapter Six
Warmth surrounded her and Isobel did not wish to move. She pulled and tucked the bedcovers high around her neck and dipped her face down to stay warm in the cooler air of the chamber. Dawn must have come and gone some time ago from the brightness of the room. Still, considering that yesterday had been busier than she’d thought possible when she accepted the lady’s invitation to visit her, a sense of guilt filled her as she realised how late it must be.
She’d expected to be a guest, possibly working on embroidery—which she had—or making the acquaintance of some of the lady’s other kith and kin—which she had. Instead she’d worked more and harder than she did at home, mending clothes and linens, cutting and cooking vegetables for preserving, cleaning two storerooms and visiting most, if not all, of the villagers.
And she’d spent most of each morning working with Laria and learning about the healing arts and herbs. She now kenned the difference between an intinction, a tincture, an infusion and a tea, a poultice, a posset and a rub, and how to grind the dried leaves of many plants to make a passable paste to treat all sorts of ailments and complaint.
The most disappointing part of all this work was that she had not been able to challenge Athdar to another match—because each night she’d barely made it through supper awake. And try as she might, she could not rouse herself once she’d got into bed to see if he’d waited for her in the hall.
Now, on her fourth morning, she decided she was going to have a lazy day and remain abed until the sun. No more climbing through bushes and marshes. No more crawling along the streambed searching for certain grasses and flowers.
No more.
Mayhap she would read, selecting a book from the MacCallums’ collection, which Jocelyn had described to her, and finding a sunny place in the hall to enjoy it. Then, after a day of leisure, she would be rested enough to stay awake and try to sneak back and play chess with Athdar.
Or...
The knock surprised her. The second, louder knock forced her from her cocoon. The third, more relentless knock told her clearly that lazy day was at an end.
‘Come in,’ she called out, still lying abed.
The maid called Glenna entered and closed the door behind her. She waited until Isobel had climbed from the cot and faced her before speaking.
‘Lady Jocelyn said to tell you she is waiting at table for you, mistress,’ Glenna said.
‘At table? Has she not broken her fast?’ she asked as she dug into her travelling trunk and found a clean shift, gown and stockings. No matter the place or time or reason, she did not want Lady Jocelyn waiting for her.
‘Aye, lady. She called for a small meal for you since you...’ The words drifted off when the girl could not come up with a polite way of saying ‘since you have been lying in your bed like a lazy twit’, no doubt.
‘Tell her I will be there,’ she said, tugging the shift she’d worn to sleep in off and pulling the clean one on.
She was struggling with her gown when she felt Glenna’s hands make fast work of the laces. Isobel sat down and pulled the stockings on, tying them to keep them in place, as Glenna began untangling her hair. Within a few minutes, she was dressed and ready to find Lady Jocelyn. Glenna handed her a shawl before they left the room.
‘The weather has turned colder, lady. You may need that,’ Glenna said, walking just behind her to the front of the hall.
Isobel looked up to find that it was not only the lady waiting for her at table. Her mother smiled at her as she approached...as did the five young men and one older man who sat there. All of them stood as she grew nearer. If expressions could tell tales, her mother’s would be an endless one filled with laughter. Isobel paused and offered a slight curtsy to Lady Jocelyn.
‘My lady,’ she said as she sat in the empty chair, ‘forgive my tardiness.’
‘Isobel, Athdar asked that we introduce his kin to you,’ her mother said. ‘He thought you might like to meet Tomas, Dougal, Angus, Connor and James.’
Each man nodded when introduced to her. Once they were all named, and at her mother’s behest, they sat on the stools that now surrounded the table. Isobel understood her duty in this and engaged each man in conversation, eating the stew that appeared before her in between questions. Though she doubted any of these men could lay claim to a title, she suspected that they were among the wealthier landowners or craftsmen of the village.
The meal progressed and her mother and the lady joined in to keep it moving if she slowed. Soon, a reasonable time had passed and Isobel thanked them for visiting with her. The men each nodded, but no one moved until all the others did, apparently not willing to give any of them an advantage the others did not get. They walked away as a group and Isobel was so tempted to laugh at their boyish antics.
‘Your father would never approve of any of them, I fear,’ Lady Jocelyn said.
‘I wonder why your brother suggested they meet Isobel?’ her mother said.
That was exactly her own question. She waited for the lady’s answer, but none came. If she had not glanced up at just the right moment, she would have missed the look shared between the other two women. Now, she was more puzzled by their reaction than even to Athdar’s decision.
‘I told Laria I would come later today if I was able,’ she said, standing. ‘If neither of you needs me for anything, I will go there now.’
‘Do not exhaust yourself, Isobel,’ Lady Jocelyn warned. ‘I think this turn in the weather is a bad sign and we may have to leave sooner than we’d planned.’
‘Very well,’ she replied. In her mind, she made plans to work with Laria for a short time and return well before it grew dark. As the winter drew nearer, that happened sooner each day.
‘And take your heavier riding cloak. The day grows colder,’ her mother advised.
Isobel sent Glenna to bring her cloak and left through the kitchens, checking with the cook and the steward to see if they needed anything from Laria before making her way through the yard and gates and village to the woman’s cottage.
* * *
‘So, you came,’ Laria said, greeting her in the same brusque manner as was her custom. ‘I am nearly done my chores for today.’
‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’ Isobel asked. She’d learned the first day not to try to assume that Laria meant anything more than she said. And it seemed that no one was addressed any differently by her—whether man or woman, visitor or villager, laird or servant.
Lady Jocelyn’s words ran through her thoughts about Laria’s past and her manners now, but she hesitated to ask anything of a personal nature. Isobel was a guest and had no place to ask such things. She would ask Lady Jocelyn or her mother instead.
The cottage filled with the smell of some concoction cooking in the hearth. The aromatic puffs of steam that rose from the bubbling pot scented the entire room with something very appealing and soothing. Isobel paced around the work table, looking at the various piles and bowls.
‘The winds have changed. Winter will be upon us sooner than we thought.’ Laria pointed to two sacks on the end of the table. ‘I must get these to the miller.’
‘Is there someone to take you there?’ she asked, uncertain of what arrangements were made for this.
‘Nay, not now. The mill is not a far walk.’
The mill. Athdar was overseeing some work on the mill. He’d arrived back at the keep late each day because of it.
‘Should we go now?’ The words were out before she could stop them.
‘Aye. Let me move the pot,’ Laria said. She wrapped her apron around her hand and pushed the pot over into the corner and away from the flames. ‘That will keep.’
Though she’d not walked to the mill, Isobel knew the direction of it and estimated it would take about an hour or so to reach it.
‘Is this to be milled?’ she asked once they were on the road that led along the stream to where it grew wider and where the mill sat. ‘Athdar has been overseeing repairs to it these last few days.’
Isobel felt that same shift between them that she’d noticed the first time they’d met—and at the mention of Athdar. Mayhap Laria was offended by her casual way of speaking about the laird? Glancing over at the woman, she thought it might be something more than that. But as quickly as the chilliness came, it left Laria’s voice and face, making Isobel question whether it had happened or not.
The rest of their journey was accomplished in silence, only occasionally interrupted when Laria pointed out something of interest. A scurrying animal moving in the bushes. A different plant or tree she’d not seen before. A villager passing by on their way to their chores. Although the day was colder than the previous one, Isobel hardly noticed it as they walked away from the village.
And as they walked, the anticipation grew within her at the expectation that she would see Athdar. They had not really spoken since they met on the bridge the day after her arrival. Now she would have a chance to watch him in his duties as laird. Familiar with him more as kin or family of kin, she’d had little experience with him in his position over his clan.
* * *
They heard the sounds before they reached the curve in the road. As the mill came in sight, Isobel saw a group of men struggling to move a new millstone into place. The side wall of the millhouse was gone, taken down to allow them access. She looked for Athdar, but she did not recognise the man directing the work.
Walking closer, she watched as the men hauling the stone worked together. Isobel recognised the man guiding it to its place on the frame—Athdar, in the thick of things, doing the hardest part of the labour. Not wishing to disturb or distract them, she touched Laria’s arm and held her back.
It took only a few more minutes before the stone dropped into place. A cheer went up from those watching at the successful—and critical, she knew—placement of it. Soon, others began reattaching ropes and the connections that would allow the stone to be turned by the waters coursing beneath the mill. That was when Athdar glanced up and met her gaze. Waving to her, he left the millhouse and strode towards her. Laria walked towards the man who had been directing the work—he must be the miller or stonemason—while Isobel waited for Athdar.
She tried not to notice that he wore no tunic. She tried not to stare at his sculpted chest and stomach. More, she tried not to imagine what the rest of his body looked like as he grew closer. Suddenly the day was not cold at all. Now, she wanted to peel off the heavy cloak and dab her face.
Athdar did not seem to notice the cold, either, his body giving off steam as he reached her. Isobel fought the urge to follow a trickle of moisture down his chest as it made its way beneath the trews he wore. Thankfully, he seemed not to notice her own discomfort.
‘Your mother said you were indisposed this morn. ’Tis good to see you up and about.’
She held up the sack she’d carried from the cottage. ‘Laria needed my help,’ she said. It was the weakest excuse she’d ever given, but Athdar didn’t seem to recognise it.
‘Broc! Take this to Lyall,’ he called out to his steward as he took the sack from her. ‘Ask Laria about it.’
Broc, the sinfully handsome man, stopped before her and bowed. ‘Isobel. How do you fare?’ His green eyes sparkled and his gaze focused on her mouth. ‘I feared you were taking ill when Lady Jocelyn said you would remain abed this morn.’
Athdar elbowed Broc before she could say anything about her condition, or lack of one, to either of them. He stumbled away, with a nod to her. The man was an unrepentant flirt and she’d watched as other women fell under his spell. For some reason, though she would admit she liked him and had blushed at their first meeting, his antics did not affect her the same way now. Not after spending more time with Athdar.
‘In all seriousness, Isobel...’ Athdar began. He took his shirt and a cloth from the young boy who brought them to him. ‘How do you fare this day? In speaking to your mother, I realised that you have been doing much during your visit.’
‘I am well, Athdar. Truly,’ she said. ‘I was simply feeling lazy this morn and my mother and your sister indulged me in it.’
‘You are a guest here, Isobel. I would not see you abused and overwrought because you fear saying no to someone’s request. Even my sister can be a bit of a tyrant at times.’
He used the cloth to dry his chest and back and then pulled the shirt over his head. She did not turn her gaze away as a demure maiden should—she could not help but notice the way his muscles rippled and flexed as he tugged on the shirt. Her cheeks heated then and she touched them as he finished putting his belt in place, accepting the length of plaid from the boy who tended him. He sent the boy back to the others and then held out his hand to her. She gave him hers and he wrapped his fingers around her hand, tugging her along with him.
‘Come meet Lyall and his sons.’ He held her hand tightly until they reached the others who continued to finish work on the mill’s walls. ‘He and his father before him have worked the mill for my clan. Lyall, meet Isobel Ruriksdottir.’

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