Highlander Medieval 06 - Her Highland Hero (18 page)

She felt his staff coming to life and she raised her brows as she looked up at him.

He grinned. “You must rest.”

She sighed, certain he knew what he was talking about and he pulled away. Grabbing a dry cloth, he wiped her between the legs, then set the cloth tinged with blood aside. He seized the wet one, and washed her gently. Then he took it and rinsed it in the bathwater and washed himself.

Once he’d carefully dried her, he dried himself, then took her back to bed. “Rest and I will return with something to eat.”

“Aye.” She settled into bed, glad he was the one to bring them food and not her. She felt perfectly boneless and didn’t want to move an inch from bed anytime soon. “Do not be long.”

“Aye.” He smiled and tucked her in. “You are beautiful.”

She looked over his nakedness, the way his staff was already half aroused, and the rest of him hard and toned and braw. “You, as well.”

He chuckled, leaned down and kissed her enticing lips, and then shut the bed curtains.

“If you are sleeping when I return, do you want me to wake you so you can eat?” he asked as he began to dress.

“Hmm, it depends on what you bring to eat.” She nestled against the pillow, and already felt sleep overwhelming her. Between the long day of traveling and the one before that and everything else going on in her life, she was tired. But after making love to Marcus, it was a different kind of tired. A satisfying, happy kind of tired. She listened to him dressing and waited for him to unbolt the door and step out, then close the door.

***

Before Marcus left the chamber, he pulled the bed curtain open to see if there was anything else Isobel would really love to have to eat if Cook had it and give her a kiss. Isobel was already sound asleep, her eyes shut, the blankets covering the lower half of her breasts, and she looked angelic and happy. He could only smile at the lovely sight of her and wish that he didn’t have too long to wait before he could make love to her again. But he wanted their lovemaking to be good for her and he didn’t want her to suffer if she wasn’t ready for it for a time.

He kissed her cheek, closed the curtains, and left the chamber. Under normal circumstances when he visited the Clan Chattan, he wouldn’t have given it any thought about joining the family in the great hall and greeting them, then hieing himself off to the kitchen to see if the servants could spare them some food. But this time, he was reluctant to deal with her cousin John, as Marcus wished only to ensure Isobel had something to eat if she could wake long enough to do so.

Still, he wished John to know that Isobel was his wife and if the man had issue with it, Marcus wanted to deal with it now. So he headed straight for the great hall.

When he stepped inside, the conversation slowly died down until not a man or woman in the hall was speaking, all eyes turning to see him.

He bowed his head to Tibold, chief of the Chattan clan a little in greeting and then his gaze shifted to the man seated to the right of him, John, Isobel’s cousin, dark brown hair tinged with red, a scruffy beard, and glacial blue eyes. The man was observing him, not that everyone else in the hall wasn’t, waiting to see what he would do next.

Marcus caught a servant and asked him to take a meal up to Isobel in their guest chamber. The servant bowed his head and hurried off to do as he asked and Marcus suspected Edana had already made her staff aware that they needed to prepare a meal for Marcus and Isobel when they were ready for it.

Then Marcus strode to the dais and Tibold rose from the table. Nearly everyone else rose as well as a courtesy to the chief.

Marcus gave him a warrior’s embrace. “Good to see you again, Uncle.”

“It has been too long.” Tibold motioned to John, who belatedly rose from his seat.

Marcus wondered if the newly turned earl felt the Highlanders were beneath him, and he didn’t need to stand in the clan chief’s presence. Since he was partaking of the chief’s food and good hospitality and he didn’t owe this man anything, Marcus thought even less of Isobel’s cousin.

Tibold made introductions and John said, “Then ‘tis you that I owe thanks for saving Isobel from the men who murdered her escort. They said you were with your wife.”

Marcus glanced at Tibold and the older man smiled at him, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

Marcus suspected that the way John spoke of the circumstances, he didn’t believe Isobel was that wife. “Aye, she is sleeping now, but I would be remiss if I didna ensure she had something to eat.”

“Tibold said Isobel had a fondness for you. Is she too upset about you marrying another? Though as soon as I see her, I will assure her she will soon find a suitor whom she is completely satisfied with.”

“She need not look any further. My wife and Isobel are one and the same,” Marcus said, wanting to make the matter clear.

“You lying whoreson!” John reached for his sword, then recalling he was unarmed, he threw a punch at Marcus.

Marcus quickly defended himself, deflecting the blow that had it succeeded in finding his face would no doubt have given him a bloody nose. John grabbed up his dirk that he’d been using on his meal, and Angus intervened, seizing his arm and yanking the dirk free.

“If you wish to remain here as my guest,” Tibold said, “you must behave civilly.”

“Have you sullied her?” John roared, jerking his arm away from Angus and directing the comment to Marcus.

“We are husband and wife,” Marcus said, then showed the bloodied cloth from their guest chamber, “duly consummated.”

In the English way in royal households, they would oft have witnesses to the deed, stripping the newly married husband and wife before they watched them consummate the marriage. This was a way to ensure the marriage was truly consummated, but instead, this would have to suffice.

“You cannot have her,” John said.

Marcus smiled. “She and I pledged ourselves to one another years ago. Then her da died, and we knew you would take the title. Once her escort was killed, there was naught else I could do, but rescue the lass and wed her.”

“And if you had her father killed for just this reason?” John accused.

“Speak your words carefully,” Tibold said. “Marcus is the most honorable of men and has always had good relations with Isobel’s father.”

Rob spoke up, “Marcus wouldna have ever killed the man as much as he respected him and cherishes his daughter. He knew her da and Isobel loved one another deeply. How would that have set with the lass if Marcus had killed him? Save your tale for the Norman who did the deed. Even Wynfield has said the man was a Norman who killed Lord Pembroke.”

John ground his teeth and glowered at Marcus. “This does not end here.”

“You have the title and her da’s estate, aye?” Marcus folded his arms, irritated with the man. “What difference does it make if the lass weds someone she loves?”

“She has no head for such a matter. She sees you as something different, but you will not provide her with the kind of place and comforts that an English nobleman could offer her.”

“And you know this how?” Marcus asked.

“She is my cousin, and you are a…” John paused. He was surrounded by Highlanders and he must have realized his folly before he spoke any further words.

“She may be your cousin, but she has known me longer. When she has rested, she will tell you how she feels. I am sure you will understand and agree this is the best for all concerned,” Marcus said, his voice congenial, but his look was not. Then to Tibold, he said, “I bid you good eve. My lady wife awaits me and a meal.”

John’s face was red with anger, but he kept his mouth shut and didn’t agree or disagree. He wouldn’t win this battle no matter how much he might wish to.

Isobel woke to the sound of someone coming into the chamber. She expected to smell baked bread or something else to eat, but she smelled nothing.

“Marcus?” she called out.

A woman said, “Selice, my lady. He wishes you to come down to eat.”

“He was having someone bring food here.” Isobel frowned at the closed curtain.

“Aye, my lady. But the chief wishes to greet you.”

Isobel was torn between not wanting to appear ungrateful to the chief of the Clan Chattan, and doing what she wanted to do—which was stay right here in bed until morn. “Tell him I hope he can forgive me for remaining here, but I could not possibly come down. I am too weary from my travels.” Which she was, but also, she didn’t want to have to see John just yet. In the morn when she went down to break her fast, she would be rested enough to handle it.

“He willna like it, my lady. He…wishes you to tell your cousin that you are happy to be married to Laird Marcus McEwan. That he hasna kept you from your cousin in an attempt to prevent you from telling him the truth.”

“Very well. When Marcus returns, I will go with him.”

“I will help you to dress.”

“Thank you. I will wait for my husband.” Isobel felt something was wrong with the way the servant was acting. She was certain Marcus would have come to her with word, and not sent some servant. Not only that, but that she was so insistent that Isobel do her bidding.

The woman gasped in surprise or fear. Isobel scrambled to the other side of the bed in a hurry, realizing if something was really untoward, her
sgian dubh
was on the floor with her soiled garments near the bathing tub. And she could not reach it quickly.

The curtain on that side of the bed was jerked aside and a dark-haired man, with eyes just as dark, whom she didn’t know, grabbed for her. She screamed, but as thick as the walls were and as far away as the great hall was from the bedchamber, she was certain no one would hear her.

He attempted to tie a piece of cloth around her mouth as another man suddenly appeared next to the bed and tried to pin her flailing body down. Her heart thundering, she was frantic, fighting the one who tried to silence her tongue, kicking at the other, knowing if they carried her away, she could be in the worst danger. She wasn’t even dressed, for heaven sakes!

She must have connected with a part of the man’s body that caused him great pain, as he was trying to grab her arms and keep them from swinging at the other man because wherever she slammed her foot made him curse out loud and fall backward.

She screamed, yelling for help, still fighting the other and managed to swing her fist hard and hit him in the eye. He dropped the cloth and fisted his hand, but before he could do anything to her in retaliation, the door banged against the stone wall, startling her and him. Running footfalls headed in her direction, and maneuvered around the bed. She prayed it was Marcus coming to aid her.

As soon as she saw Marcus, she witnessed his mask of red-faced fury. He seized the man who had twisted around to tackle the real threat, grabbing for a dirk sheathed at his waist. He didn’t have a chance to remove it. Not when Marcus was pummeling him half to death with his mighty fists.

The man fell and before the other could run away, Marcus grabbed him up and with one swing, knocked him out cold. The villain crumpled to the floor while the other lay there bloodied, clutching his stomach, groaning in pain.

Marcus quickly joined her at the bed. “Are you hurt, Isobel?” He was altogether a changed man. Protective, endearing, concerned, loving, not anything like the warrior she had just observed.

Still shaking, she nodded, pulling a coverlet around her nakedness.

“God’s wounds, if your cousin sent these men to the chamber while I was speaking with him…”

“Did you see a maid?” She couldn’t see around the curtained bed, the curtains still closed on the opposite side where she’d been sleeping.

“Nay. When the men attacked you, I am sure she ran away.”

“She did not go for help?”

“Nay. I saw no one leaving the room. Only heard you scream as I was returning to the chamber. Unless she scurried down the servants’ stairs. Lass, I am so sorry. Had I no’ left the chamber when you were sleeping, or insisted you bolt it after I left, none of this would have happened.”

“‘Tis not your fault. ‘Tis the fault of the man who sent them.”

“John, your cousin,” Marcus said, sounding angry.

“Aye. No one on the Chattan’s staff would have done so.”

“Nay. These men have to work for your cousin.” Marcus used the rope to tie up one of the men, who had intended to use it on Isobel. He tore the other man’s tunic into shreds and tied him up with the remnants.

“What are you going to do with them?” She hated how shaken she still felt, her heart racing and her skin chilled.

“I canna leave you alone again, but I need to tell Tibold of this deception.”

“I will dress and go with you.” She wasn’t about to be left alone again.

“Let me get the clothes Edana left for you.”

Isobel moved to the other side of the bed where the curtains hid her from the bound men. Then when Marcus handed her the chemise, Isobel dressed as quickly as she could. Once she had finished dressing, she found a comb that Edana had left for her, and combed out her tangled hair. “I am ready.” She noticed then that Marcus was watching her, his look concerned.

“They did naught.” She took hold of his hand. “You stopped them before anything could happen.”

“What I dinna understand is what they hoped to accomplish. They would never have gotten you out of here before I discovered you were gone. Nor could they have moved you off the grounds that easily.” He ran his hands down her arms, then he pulled her against his warm body and held her tight.

She cherished the way he cared for her, wrapped her arms around his waist, and hugged him back just as tightly. “I love you, Marcus McEwan. No one will separate us now.”

“Aye. If I didna need these men for questioning, I would have dispensed with them forthwith.”

He glanced back at the men. “I will wake the unconscious man and make them walk with us to the great hall and turn them over to Tibold.”

Before he could make a move in that direction, they heard heavy footfalls running their way.

Marcus moved Isobel behind him and stalked toward the door, grabbed his sword, then poked his head out. “Angus and Chattan’s sons,” he said, sounding relieved.