Dawn Marie Hamilton - Highland Gardens (3 page)

The moon cleared a cloud, shedding light onto the
clearing. A man screamed and fell. Another—one of the men she previously
led—replaced him. By some miracle the flying arrows kept missing the fighting
men. As an arrow landed in a nearby bush, she made a dash for Archie’s horse
and grabbed her sword from the scabbard attached to the saddle where he’d
stowed it earlier.

She hesitated, unsure what to do. An arrow winged
past. Her chances of surviving this night might be best served with Archie.

She jumped into the fray positioned at his back.
Thrusting and parrying, arm growing heavy, she at last yanked the blooded sword
from the dead man at her feet. The one Archie fought soon lost his head.

Her blade slipped from a trembling hand and landed
next to the gruesome sight. Archie grabbed the sword, swiped it over the dead
man’s tunic to remove most of the blood, and replaced it in the scabbard along
with his claymore.

Isobell slipped to the ground onto her bum, curled
forward, and sucked in large quantities of air, hoping the nausea would pass.

“Do you plan on telling me why your band of
renegades is set on killing you?” Archie dropped to sit beside her with a
grunt.

It could be only one thing—Maclay didn’t want
anyone to ken he survived the fall from the cliff.
’Tis probably in my best
interest to keep that wee secret to myself. For now.
She shrugged. “Dinnae
ken.”

Archie pursed his lips, looked at her hard, and
released a loud sigh. “Come on, we need to be away from here before the others
return with more arrows. He tossed her onto the horse and leapt up behind. Too
close for comfort.

“What do you plan to do with me?” Her voice
sounded as tired as she felt, but she’d had to ask so she could prepare for the
worst.

He didn’t answer, just kept riding. She held
stiff, leaning forward away from his body, so not to be affected by his manly
assets. She couldn’t allow fond memories to soften her feelings toward him.
Naught had changed between them. Escape remained essential, and she now had two
factions to avoid.

After she’d given up on learning Archibald’s intent,
he said, “Perhaps ’tis time for a truce.”

A
rchibald
smiled. Isobell hadn’t held the stiff position for long and, as they rode,
gradually leaned back against his chest, succumbed to exhaustion, and fell
asleep. Soft strands of raven hair teased his cheek. The lass was a mystery.
Being close, remembering the kiss, made him hard and needy. They’d been so in
love once upon a time. Lips thinned, he shook off the raw emotion.

After they reached Castle Lachlan and wed, he’d
need to learn the reason for her disloyalty and ensure no opportunities
provided for future betrayals. He’d put a son in her belly quickly, God
willing. That should keep her busy and out of trouble.

Unable to stop, he slid inquisitive fingers over
the curve of her face. Much changed over the past year—matured. Violet eyes
fluttered open and she smiled, until realizing she draped his lap. Isobell
bolted upright, putting symbolic distance between them.

He shouldn’t hang onto the hope of their love
returning. With a sigh, he guided the horse out of the trees and across the
moor above Loch Fyne. The weather had changed. A breeze off the water brought a
chill, and he wished the lass wore warmer garments.

The sight of Castle Lachlan on its islet in the
bay filled Archibald with pride. It always had. Each time he returned home.

“Snow.” Isobell sounded surprised. The first
flakes of the season floated to the ground and quickly melted.

“Aye. Aine claims to have read the signs. We
should expect an early winter.”

Aine MacTamhais had taken care of the household at
Castle Lachlan for as long as Archibald could remember. What would she think of
him wedding Isobell once she learned the lass participated in the most recent
raid?

Perhaps neither Aine nor the rest of the clan
needed to learn of the lass’s participation. Duncan would keep the secret if
asked. No one else needed to ken the particulars.

If only he could convince Isobell to keep their
battle private behind the closed door of the bedchamber. The thought of
wrestling with her on the big bed in the chief’s bedchamber brought a
half-smile and an image of other things they’d do together on that same bed.

The images shattered when realty arrived along
with the lad running from the stable to offer assistance. Archibald threw him
the reins, leapt from the horse, and then reached for Isobell.

“I hate you.”

Her declaration was a clear reminder of the battle
awaiting him. He lifted Isobell from the horse and purposefully slid her rigid
form down his front. Let her feel the demands of his body.

He wasn’t expecting the slap across the face, the
sound overloud, though he should have. The stable lad’s eyes rounded, and he
drew a blade. Another lad approached, dirk in hand, ready to defend his chief.

A shake of the head signaled them to stand down.
At the same time, Archibald grabbed Isobell’s wrists to stop any further
assault. The lads seemed unsure, but finally gathered he had things under control
and went back to their tasks. “The next time you lay a hand on me in anger, I
will put you over a knee and spank you until you beg forgiveness.”

Jaw tight, she tugged her arm free, which he
allowed.

“I ken. You hate me,” he said when she opened her
mouth to retort. She shut it with a snap. Their reunion was going poorly, but
he supposed it would be too much to expect more under the circumstances. “I
also ken you will agree to all my demands, from this day forward.”

Her brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“I plan to protect you from your foolishness.”

The brazen lass had the nerve to snort.

“Come.” He took hold of her upper arm and guided,
half-dragged, her down the slope to the beach where a
currach
waited.
“Get in.”

Isobell scowled, but did as asked. The wee boat,
made of skins and wicker, rocked, more so when he climbed in behind. He rowed
in silence.

He wanted to ask questions. Learn what role she
played in the raid. Had she been involved in other raids? Who was their leader?
Where were the cattle? Instead he held his peace, perhaps afraid of the
answers.

Was he daft to go ahead with the wedding? Did he
risk his life? Time would tell.

When they reached the opposite shore, he sprang
from the boat and dragged it onto the shingle. He took hold of her arm to help
her from the craft, but she pulled free. “Dinnae need your assistance.”

“Ach, but you do.”

He reached for her, but she hopped out and kicked
him in the shins. Before he thought better of it, he tackled her, rolling so he
took the brunt of the fall, then rolling again to pin her beneath his weight.
“You need discipline.”

She squirmed. Bucked. Tried to push him off,
without avail.

He held her prone. Hated treating her roughly, but
she fought him at every step. What had happened to the Isobell he’d fallen in
love with so long ago? Did she still exist?

“You bastard,” she spit, eyes taking on the hues
of a stormy night.

“And you have a dirty mouth.” Of which he felt the
need to possess.

Fraught with emotions held in check for far too
long, Archibald seized and conquered. Isobell yielded with a whimper then
responded in kind.

When the kiss ended, they both panted. He found it
hard to look at her eyes. Nor did she seem willing to look at him.

The sound of a clearing throat and then a chuckle
was a splash of cold water to Archibald. What was he doing rolling on the cold,
wet ground with his reluctant betrothed?

He jumped up quickly and helped Isobell to stand.

She averted her gaze, but not before he saw
moisture glistening on her lashes. He banged a closed fist against his thigh
then glanced at his grinning uncle.

Archibald had the urge to shed some of the tension
coiling his muscles by punching Donald in the face. He swallowed the impulse.
“What news, uncle?”

“I see you and Isobell have come to an accord. And
not too soon. Her father awaits with the priest in the council chamber.”

* * *

Isobell held trembling fingers to tingling lips.
She was a fool. She’d thought to use Archibald’s physical desire against him.
Instead, he’d used his lips to easily bring her into submission. ’Twould be in
her best interest not to allow him to kiss her in the future.

His kisses were too sweet by far. And why was he
so free with them if he believed her a criminal? Her father claimed Archibald
bedded many women. Sometimes taking multiple partners. A rogue. He’d even take
a woman he deplored.

He wouldn’t dare touch her in that manner again.
Certainly not. She refused to be added to the number of conquests.

Isobell held her head high and allowed the men to
escort her into the castle. Shocked gasps sounded through the great hall as she
entered. She half-smiled. No doubt she looked much different than from her last
visit. And not only due to the tatters she now wore, but because she’d changed
much while trying to survive during the past year on the fringe of
civilization.

She scanned the chamber, looking for Da. The great
hall was much the same as she remembered. Dim light ventured in through the
leaded glass of the high windows. A man lingering near one of the many tall,
iron stands, face illuminated by candlelight, resembled her father. But no,
’twas one of her clansmen, proof the Lamont abided nearby.

Her roaming gaze landed on the large hearth and
the roaring fire. She shivered, wishing Archibald would seat her in one of the
several cushioned chairs near its warmth. He wouldn’t. Not with the way she was
dressed in filthy rags. She might ruin the green velvet.

Nor would he trust her away from his side. Not
that she blamed him. With the first opportunity given, she would escape the
castle and hide from not only Archibald but also Maclay and the Lamont
renegades.

“This way.” Archibald directed her in the opposite
direction toward the stairwell.

Before she took a step, a plump older woman
hurried across the stone floor toward them. Aine? Isobell remembered the
gray-haired woman being kind during the last visit to Castle Lachlan.

“Tsk, tsk. You must be chilled to the bone, lass.
Come with me. I have a comfortable chamber waiting with a warm fire and hot
food.” A gentle arm wrapped around Isobell, and Aine whisked her away from the
men. “Your father has brought several fine gowns.”

“Wait!” The demand stopped them mid-step.

Archibald strode to their side, and clutched
Isobell’s arm. She feared pulling away, his anger palpable. Aine peered at him
through narrowed eyes.

“My lady needs meet with her father and the priest
first then she may prepare for…” He let the words trail off.

Isobell gulped, more than able to fill in the
rest. To prepare for her trial and judgment. And a priest? To give last rites?
Could Archibald plan to condemn her to death?

He’d implied he would protect her. To what length?
At what price?

When she joined the reivers, she’d been aware
death might be her fate. Yet she’d never believed she would be captured,
concentrating only on the act of revenge.

The silver of Archibald’s eyes had turned to ice.
He grasped her elbow, and she let him guide her up the circular stairs to the
next floor.

A substantial space, the council chamber revealed
the prestige of Clan MacLachlan, from the well-polished oak flooring, to the
elaborate wooden screen with slats weaved in complicated Celtic knots, to the
gem-laden goblets in the aumbry. Had she wedded with Archibald last year, she
would have added to the wealth.

Her father and a man dressed in the frock of the
Blackfriars of Glasgow strode toward them with purpose.

“My dearest, Isobell, you will not mind if I
dinnae embrace you in your current…” With a frown, Da swept a hand indicating
the garments she wore. “MacLachlan, why wasn’t she given a bath and fresh
garments before presentation?”

“I want the contract signed now. Afterward, she
can bathe and return for the festivities.”

“What contract?” Isobell glanced from man to man.
“What are you talking about?”

The priest leaned in close. “You must consider
your limited options. Under the circumstances, ’twill be in your best interest
to sign, my dear.”

Archibald frowned, brow furrowed. “I gather Duncan
shared how we found Isobell?”

Her father nodded solemnly then pulled her aside.
“You were always a difficult child. I spoiled you, but nae more. Marriage will
be better than the, um, alternative.”

Marriage?
She turned on Archibald. His
impassive gaze bore into her. “I will not wed with you. No one can force me to
say vows.”

Archibald glared at his betrothed unable to
understand why Isobell would rather go through with a grueling trial and risk a
dreadful punishment than wed. “You must.”

“Says you?”

“You wanted this marriage at one time.” He towered
over her, hoping to intimidate.

“Aye. As a young foolish lass hurting from
Patrick’s callous rejection.”

“Would you rather have wed my twin?” Archibald
hated how much that thought hurt.

“Nae!” Isobell looked horrified. At least there
was that.

“Donald? Had my eldest brother not died?”

Isobell shot a nasty look at her father. “Da has
been determined to wed me to a MacLachlan chief since my birth. How tragic. I
have had three betrothals, to three brothers, and none suit.”

“We suit just fine. You were once more than happy
to agree to wed with me. Had you not, I would have returned you to your father
after Patrick’s wedding to Lady Laurie, and found another woman to bear my
sons.”

“Well, I dinnae want to wed you now. If you try to
force me, I will see to it you have nae sons.”

The priest gasped. The Lamont’s face reddened.
Archibald felt the effect from her statement as intended, a sharp pain in the
center of his chest, but he couldn’t allow the hurtful words to sway him. “You
will change your mind.”

“Nae!”

“Then shall we have a trial and sentencing instead
of a marriage? I will spare nae leniency.”

“As you see fit.” Her challenging gaze never left
his.

“Fine. Secure the prisoner.” He signaled the men
standing guard at the doorway to take her away. They’d been instructed earlier
if need be to lock her up in a storage cell in the basement. He refused to
order her thrown in the pit. He just couldn’t inflict that indignity upon her.
He hoped a few hours imprisoned would bring her to her senses.

“MacLachlan, you cannot.” Her father stepped
forward.

“I can and will.” He nodded to his lads.

She allowed the men to usher her from the chamber,
head held high. Her sense of pride matched his. At any other time he would
appreciate it. Not now.

Archibald prayed she quickly reconsidered her
choice. Before others learned of her crimes. Only as his wife could he keep her
safe.