Bound by Wish and Mistletoe (Highland Legends, Book 1.5) (8 page)

Isobel’s soft voice interrupted her thoughts. “Lavender soaps are beside you on the table, Susanna.”

She opened her eyes to see Isobel waddling over to a wooden chair on the other side of the table. Brigid had grabbed the arms of another chair, and its legs scraped across the floor as she dragged it beside Isobel’s.

Once Isobel finally reached her chair, she turned, gripped its arms with her hands, and lowered her body down onto the seat. She moaned softly and closed her eyes, relaxing back against a black velvet, rectangular pillow with gold-braided edges and tasseled corners.

Susanna let out a soft laugh. Apparently, life had been rough for more than just herself.

Isobel opened a single eye and peered at her, snorting with a smirk on her face. “Iain forbids me to
strain
myself in my condition. I’ll not let that man govern my every finger lift and step. But on occasion, I’m grateful to take a much needed break and rest.”

Isobel dropped her head a degree and squinted at Brigid before she directed a severe look at Susanna. “Don’t either of you dare breathe a word of that to Iain.” She winked at Susanna.

“Och!” Brigid said. “I’d no sooner give information to my brother than he’d give it to me.”

“Amen, sister,” Isobel said.

Both women laughed with unguarded abandon, and their light-hearted banter amazed Susanna. A jovial bond between two women was something she’d never experienced before—and immediately loved.

Susanna dipped a linen square beneath the steaming water and brought it up, rubbing the lavender-scented soap into the material as she enjoyed another luxury she’d never had before. After a cloud of fragrant suds formed, she ran the decadent cloth from her wrist up her arm to her shoulder, pressing hard in a long stroke. A thousand muscles slowly relaxed, including her mind. She failed to remember a time when she had no cares, when she and Mama hadn’t worried about the very next minute
...each minute of their lives.

The peace and safety of Isobel and Brigid’s home, the happiness abounding everywhere—the love evident in the hearts of the people she’d encountered—ran directly against everything she’d been taught. It opposed everything she believed about the world.

All men
are
bad. They’re at the root of every woman’s sorrow.

Susanna exhaled, lowering the cloth beneath the surface as she cleaned the rest of her body. She decided to worry about the greater world later, opting to enjoy this glimpse of happiness God had granted.

She cupped water into her hands and tried to wet her hair, but more splashed outside the tub than within.

Brigid laughed. “Doona drown us. Relax. I’ll help.”

Her volunteer bath attendant crossed the room, fetched a ceramic pitcher off a far table, and gripped the vessel with one hand on the handle and the other cradled beneath as she carried it over.

“Why are you both bein’ so kind to me?” Susanna bit her lip the moment she inadvertently voiced the candid question.

Brigid rested the water pitcher on the lip of the tub and looked down at her, tilting her head. “I doona know any other way to be to someone in need of a friend.” She glanced up at Isobel. “On a rare occasion, a person comes into your life and you doona know how or why, but you
know
them. You feel connected in ways you canna explain. I never question the uncommon gifts of friendship and love—I embrace them.”

Isobel smiled. “Brigid, you are a generous soul. Were it not for you, who knows what would’ve happened to me.” She glanced at Susanna. “We’re here to support you. It’s not easy being thrust into an unfamiliar situation. Trust me. I
so
know about being a stranger in a foreign land. Relying on the strength of the people around you will help you discover the same within yourself.”

“Close your eyes,” Brigid said.

Susanna began to process what Isobel had said as she closed her eyes. An unexpected rush of warm water flowed over her head and face, and she sputtered as it splashed into her nose and mouth. She laughed, wiping her face with a hand.

Brigid took the soap from her, dunked her hands in the water, and rubbed them together, creating a thick lather. She dropped the soap into the tub and buried her hands into Susanna’s hair, pulling the locks up into a heap atop her head and rubbing her scalp with firm fingers.

Relaxed by Brigid’s massage, Susanna sighed and settled back against the tub.

“Susanna, where are you from?” Brigid asked.

The muscles in Susanna’s back stiffened, a line of instant tension shooting from her spine into her shoulders. Unable to stop the sudden emotional reaction, her heart raced like a rabbit’s.

“Shhh
...’tis fine, Susanna. No one cares if you doona tell us. I dinna mean to pry.” Brigid urged her back against the tub with gentle pressure until she relaxed once again.

“Hmmm
...” hummed Isobel while keeping her eyes shut. “You’re very curious when it comes to others, but you and your brother are the best secret keepers I know, when it suits your amusement.”

“Or need,” Brigid huffed. “Some details are shared only when the time is right.”

Isobel opened one eye again, arching her brow as she peered at Brigid. “Funny how need is subjective—viewed differently from the
secret keeper
and the one who would most benefit from said secret.”

Brigid’s tone softened. “Close your eyes again, Susanna.”

She did as instructed and held her breath as warm water flowed over her head. A second pour came down, streaming back and forth over both sides of her face.

“You’re no worse for wear, Isobel. You’ve become happy as a fat cat now,” Brigid said.

“Hey! Watch the fat commentary, or I promise to be merciless when it’s your turn to be with child,” Isobel said.

Brigid snorted. “Go ahead and stand, Susanna. I’ve a wee bit of water left to rinse, if you’d like.”

Susanna stood in the tub while reflecting on the playful teasing between the two close friends—on what Isobel had said about relying on the kindness and strength of others—and she began to believe in the tempting promise of the unanticipated notion. She still found the thought of trusting strangers difficult to grasp with everything that a lifetime of self-preservation had ingrained in her. But for whatever short time she had with the two compassionate women, she wanted to be a part of their special connection in whatever small way she was granted.

While Brigid poured the last of the water in the pitcher over her body, Susanna took a deep breath, readying to pour her heart out to her new friends. “I’m the daughter of Broc MacEalan. I’ve run away, and I’m never goin
’ back,” she blurted.

Isobel’s eyes popped open, but no other muscle in her body moved; she remained slouched in the chair. Brigid wrapped a warm linen towel around her from behind. Neither woman uttered a word in reply to her outburst.

Susanna took a second deep breath as her nerves calmed by a minute degree. “They dinna treat women right there, especially Mama. Laird Broc ripped her from the arms of her father in England, when she was just sixteen summers...against her will. By the time he removed her bindings and set her free to walk around, she’d become a prisoner in his castle.”

Brigid gasped.

Isobel’s hand flew over her mouth. She lowered her fingers to her chin, whispering, “Did she try to escape, to return back to England?”

“Nay,” Susanna replied. “Broc learned how much her family meant to her and used it against her. He promised that if she ever tried to run away, it would matter not whether she succeeded. He would send his men to kill her papa, her mama, and all of her five younger brothers and sisters. Because she loved her family, she gave him her word that she would never attempt escape. She never did.”

Susanna stepped out from the tub with the towel wrapped around her and turned to face them. Her friends’ faces were furrowed with pain and concern.

“After he repeatedly
...
raped
...her, I soon took shape in her belly. I’ve grown up in that castle as a prisoner in my own home. Mama and I have been subjected to his cruel barbs, and she’s suffered his physical mistreatment. ’Tis all I’ve known.”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Isobel stood from the chair with a grunt and some effort. She walked over and enfolded Susanna in the best hug her swollen belly would allow. Brigid wrapped them both in her arms.

Susanna closed her eyes and just...
breathed.
Something as simple as comfort from two strangers, who’d become trusted friends in the span of a soul-baring bath, washed over her like a healing balm.

Isobel broke their tight embrace and grasped Susanna’s shoulders, staring at her with a hardened expression. “Enough talk of the past. We need to get you fed, and I’ve a decorating party to orchestrate.” She winked at Brigid. “Ready to eat well and have some fun, Susanna?”

Susanna’s mouth fell open, her brain struggling to process all of Isobel’s words.
Fun
hung in the air like a glittering dust mote caught in a moon beam. Delicate and elusive, she’d always hoped to capture such a treasure for more than a fleeting moment. Yet in a stranger’s home, something that seemed but a fairy tale was being offered as if an everyday occurrence.

She inhaled, shifting her gaze between the two companions who still loosely held her. On a slow exhale, the memory of a random snowball fight filled her head, and she smiled.

“Aye. I’m verra ready to have some fun.”

CHAPTER
EIGHT

Were it not for the supportive arm of Brigid on her right and Isobel on her left, Susanna would’ve tumbled down the unforgiving stone steps straight to the bottom. Stuck in a fog of wonderment, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the bustling activity and festive adornment in their great hall.

Small candles in suspended glass jars flickered every few feet, appearing to float in the air. Greenery had been draped across the wide mantle high above the hearth, small red bows and white berries pinned within its lush branches. Two dozen people filled the room in comfortable groups of three or four, their animated conversations, and their laughter, drifting up to her ears.

Isobel briefly squeezed her forearm then tore away in haste, clutching the skirt of her emerald gown as she rushed down the steps. “Iain Brodie! Get that wolfhound away from the tree’s water. It’ll dry out!”

Iain turned from the men he’d been with, his dark hair glinting flashes of copper from all the firelight in the room. Isobel’s husband was as formidable a man as Susanna had ever seen. A good bit taller and broader than her father, the fierceness in his eyes and the unmistakable power emanating from him broadcasted that he’d well earned his title as laird of their clan.

In spite of his daunting fearsomeness, a broad grin broke out on the man’s face the moment his eyes met Isobel’s. Susanna’s heart warmed at seeing something so rare between the young couple.

In garbled Gaelic, Iain issued a harsh command to the three beasts hovering near the iron base at the bottom of the tree. They flattened their ears and cowered away, curling up behind chairs on the far side of the hearth.

Iain directed an arched-brow look at one of their maids, and she disappeared. She returned moments later with a pitcher and poured its contents into the iron tree-holder. “Doona worry, my love. Your tree shall be cared for as if it was a treasured member of this family.”

Isobel smiled and kissed Iain while he moved his flattened palms to either side of her belly. She raised her hands to his face, and any further words they spoke were lost to the rising buzz of resuming conversations.

Brigid tugged at Susanna’s arm, leading her down the
remaining steps. Susanna’s gaze drifted across two long tables being set with a sumptuous feast. Her mouth watered as the tempting scents of cooked meat and freshly baked bread wafted beneath her nose.

She scanned left toward a sudden, compelling presence. A commanding man stared up at her, standing directly in their path with one boot propped upon the bottom step.

Robert.

At once, her breath caught and her heart fluttered. He looked spectacular
...and intimidating. He’d donned a fresh plaid in his clan’s dark green and black pattern and wore it perfectly pleated over a crisp linen shirt that set off his sun-bronzed skin. Long, black hair fell beyond his shoulders, a fresh braid at each temple shining in the light of the room. His dark brows drew together over those expressive dark-brown eyes.

His broad chest expanded as he inhaled a deep breath. “Susanna, you’re a
stunnin’
sight.”

A heated flush began beneath the low-cut neckline of her dress, where his gaze had fallen. In slow pace—as if he didn’t want to miss a thing—he lifted his face until his intense stare met hers. She vaguely felt Brigid loosen her hold and slip away, the entire room vanishing with her.

All Susanna saw was the fearless warrior standing below, gazing up at her like he adored her.

Spellbound, as if caught in a haze of fairy dust, she descended the last two steps and slid her trembling hand across his outstretched palm. Warm. Solid.

“You look strikin’ yourself, Highlander.”

He tipped his head at her while she tried to define what was different about him, but she couldn’t quite place it. Perhaps it was the way he carried himself or the tone in his voice. He seemed to have changed in some small way since she’d last
seen him.

His familiar scent enveloped her, a unique woodsy fragrance that she hadn’t clearly noticed until she’d been deprived of it. She inhaled the alluring spice and felt an odd peace, an inexplicable rightness.

“Come, Susanna. Let me introduce you to Iain before we eat.”

With his warm hand placed firmly at her lower back, Robert led her toward where his laird and lady stood amid a small group. As they approached, Isobel’s face lit up with a radiant smile the instant she caught sight of them.

Susanna smiled back, unable to hide the joyous feeling in her heart of having an unexpected first friendship. With each step, her budding confidence built.

Iain’s gaze swung toward them as they neared, and he pinned an intense glare on Robert.

Isobel leaned toward her husband while still smiling at Susanna. “Iain, this is the guest Robert brought. Susanna, this is my husband, Iain.”

Iain continued to hold Robert’s gaze while the two women waited in silence. A muscle tensed in Iain’s jaw. Susanna swallowed hard, beginning to feel uncomfortable as Robert’s hand slid further around her, gripping her possessively.

Unfortunately, she was familiar with barely veiled hostility. As a child born into a world of hatred and contempt, she’d become acquainted with the mild form of aggression. The men carried on a silent conversation, and they didn’t care if anyone else took notice. Iain’s attention slowly shifted from Robert to her, but his expression didn’t soften. Two piercing eyes stared at her, penetrating deep into her soul, as if seeking some response to a wordlessly bellowed question.

Her spine straightened of its own accord. Not once had she wilted under the threat or reality of men, and she had no intention of doing so now.

The corners of his lips twitched. “’Tis an honor to meet you, lass. Please, join us and enjoy the generous and unendin’ hospitality of the Brodie.”

Iain extended his arm, but Susanna caught sight of Isobel elbowing him in the ribs. The man held his posture, but inhaled deeply, as if challenged to restrain himself and not grunt.

Robert leaned down, whispering into her ear. “Doona mind him, Susanna. His temper flares with surprises. ’Twill be my issue to handle.”

“’Tis unfortunate I’m an issue at all,” she muttered then instantly bit her lower lip, shocked that she’d given words to her thoughts. “’Tis not because I’m half English, is it?”

Robert chuckled softly, nipping her earlobe. “Nay.
You
are not the issue. My reckless actions are. And I think he better enjoy havin’ English lasses in his castle. His wife is one.” His voice lowered into a rumbled growl. “I’ve taken a sudden interest in the English myself.”

Blushing, she pulled her ear away from his scorching mouth and turned, glaring into dark mischievous eyes. “You should be careful what you take an interest in. The English are verra unpredictable.”

He laughed louder and ushered her behind the thinning crowd as everyone found a place at the table. Iain sat at the head with a glowing Isobel beside him. Robert led Susanna to a place on the wooden bench next to Brigid, who sat on Iain’s other side. An imposing man sat a little further down from Isobel, across from Robert. He was engaged in a heated debate with the soldier to his right. Susanna thought he bore a striking resemblance to their laird; even from her view of just the side of his face, she observed the similar shape of his eyes and the angle of his jaw.

Isobel noticed Susanna glancing between the man and Iain. “Susanna, this is Gawain. Gawain,” —Isobel elbowed the man in the back of his ribs— “this is our guest, Susanna.”

He turned, the dark-brown braid at his temple spilling over his shoulder as his dark, greenish eyes cast an impatient glance at her. Definitely related to Iain, in both his eye color and the power he barely restrained. He tipped his head respectfully but returned to his discussion, his fist pounding the table as he defended his position in a debate she hadn’t caught the beginning of.

Susanna watched and waited. Everyone across the table began eating before she lifted her hands from her lap. In a flash of movement, Robert confiscated her plate before her fingers touched the silver, and she glanced to her left, surprised to find he hadn’t put one piece of food on his plate either.

“Doona wait for me, Robert,” she said.

He gave her a heavy look, arching a brow and staring for a brief moment, before turning toward the feast and loading her plate. He gave her generous helpings of venison; pheasant; stewed turnips, beets, and parsnips; and a piece of apple tart the size of her fist. He laid her plate onto the table with a clang.

Savory and sweet scents wafted up, making her mouth water. She lifted her provided two-pronged fork, twirling it between her fingers as she stared at the pile of food. “Robert, you’ve clearly mistaken my size. How am I to eat all this?”

He paused, sliding a peacock leg beside stewed kale on his plate. “Like we all do, Susanna: one bite at a time.” Roars of laughter ignited on their end of the table at his loud remark, and she burst out laughing along with them.

“I shall do my best,” she replied, snorting despite trying her damnedest not to.

Isobel smirked, glancing at Robert. “It’s a plan to help himself to more food without looking like a pig.” Isobel winked at her.

“’Twas not a plan, but should the lass not finish her plate, I’d be most happy to assist,” Robert replied, his tone sober.

Susanna began eating, carefully chewing and savoring each bite. Conversations erupted all around her on topics ranging from the newest sword the smithy had crafted to the amount of snowfall they’d received over the last two days. The talk eventually shifted to the mysterious tree Robert’s men had brought back from the forest.

“Well, gather around and see for yourself what the tree is all about.” Isobel pressed her palms onto the edge of the table, attempting to stand. Iain shot behind her and assisted his wife, who smiled up at him, taking his aid with grace.

Benches and stools were moved from the tables and brought closer to the hearth. Piled under the lush pine tree were small objects of all shapes, wrapped in linen and tied with bright jewel-colored ribbons. The packages were neatly stacked upon a crimson and dark-green cloth bearing tiny designs embroidered in gold thread that glittered in the firelight. Isobel pulled her husband by the hand to a wide armc
hair nearest the tree.

Susanna hesitated, hovering near the outside edge of everyone, uncertain where to go. Robert gave her a gentle push toward another large, carved-wood armchair. He dropped onto the seat, yanking her down with him.

“Robert!” She gasped in surprise as she toppled into his lap. The second her bottom hit his hard thighs, she struggled to get up, but he banded his arms around her, and no amount of effort allowed her freedom from the compromising position.

He winced. “Easy, lass. You’ll rip open the stitches in my side.”

Her mouth fell open, then she shut it. “Doona take liberties not offered.”

“I dinna take, Susanna. I
gave
you a seat.” Robert smirked at her, a glint of mischief glimmering in his eyes.

“Fine,” she huffed. “Keep your hands still, and I shall accept your offer.” Her voice softened as she thought of his injury. “Does it hurt much?”

He tipped his head, gazing at her for a long moment. “Aye, it hurts a great deal. But I’d suffer the pain of a thousand sword strikes to have you safely in my arms.”

Her skin flushed over her entire body, the warmest weight pressing heavy within her chest. “Thank you, Robert. I hope you never have to endure another scratch for me again. But
...”

“What is it, Susanna?”

She sucked a slow breath through pursed lips, trying to calm a dark, unbidden panic creeping in from the fringes of her mind. “We let Dougal escape, and my father will stop at nothin’ to force me to his will. While I’m here, I endanger you. I’m a risk to everyone here.”

Robert tightened his embrace until she could hardly breathe, then loosened his hold. “Doona worry about your father or Dougal. No matter how they’ve threatened you, within these walls, you’re under the shelter of my clan. Above all, you’re protected by me.”

She shook her head, unable to fathom mere walls keeping a beast like her father out. Tales of his astounding victories whispered into her memories like they had through Clan MacEalan’s great hall. “You doona know what he’s capable of.”