Knight In My Bed (46 page)

No longer presented a sad and damning symbol of his guilt.

Indeed, the sight now brought a smile to her lips.

Had Iain MacLean's temper not sent him there, the truth might ne'er have been exposed. And now, she had not only her love, but the alliance she'd sought for Doon, and promising new allies in the MacKinnons.

Aye, looking at the isle made her smile.

But not as much as thinking about the things she and Donall had done after finally slipping away from the ruckus in the hall.

Thinking about the things he did to her
heart.

Thinking about the babe she hoped would soon grow and thrive inside her. Smoothing her hand down her fiat abdomen, she sighed.

And hoped.

Prayed that dream, too, would soon come true.

"Ne'er seen a pair love more," she said again, a mere whisper, caught and carried off by a gentle salt breeze as soon as the words had left her lips.

But no less true, no less powerful, no matter where the fickle wind carried them, for she held the knowledge in her heart, knew it to be true.

"And if you finally know the truth of my love for you, Isolde of Dunmuir," carne a rich, deep voice behind her, "I would know once more if you shall truly have me?"

Her heart filled to brimming, she turned, half expecting him to be lounging against the bedpost, his bedpost, his arms crossed o'er his bonnie chest, one of his slow, sensual smiles spreading across his handsome face.

But he surprised her.

Donall the Bold, proud laird of the great Clan MacLean, knelt half-bent on one knee in the center of her bedchamber. He held his hands extended, palms out, in humble supplication.

Supplication to her.

"Well? Will you be my lady wife? Make an honest man of me after I pressed irrevocable claim on you before all and
 
sundry?" His love for her shone true and bold in the depths of his deep brown eyes. "I warn you, I shall remain on bended knee until you answer me."

His lips curved into the wicked smile she so loved. "I swear to you I shall not move until you speak the answer I desire."

Her heart melting, the answer he wanted dancing on the tip of her tongue, she carne forward and took his hands. Tilting her head to the side, she pretended to consider. "And if I have a condition?"

His dark eyes began to smolder. "Name it."

"I want kisses," she said. Her pulse quickening, she looked deep into his liquid brown eyes, dared him to laugh.
"Knight's kisses. "

His brow lifted. "You wish to be kissed as a knight kisses?"

She nodded, unable to stop the heat stealing onto her cheeks.

His smile deepened. "That, sweeting, can be easily arranged," he vowed, and stood.

He took her by the shoulders, turning the tables on her by peering deep into her eyes. "You shall have as many knight's kisses as you desire," he promised, leaning forward to place a light one on her freckle.

"I shall rain knightly kisses on you every night for the rest of our lives, my lady," he said, and winked at her. "Every conceivable kind of them."

Then he took her hand and led her back to the great four-poster bed, eager to prove the truth of his words.

EPILOGUE

On a brilliant sun-washed afternoon a little over two months later, several gaily festooned galleys rode anchor before the glistening black islet known as the Lady Rock. 'Twas a fine summer's day, blessed with a calm and sparkling sea, a warm and gentle wind, and a brilliantly blue sky marred by naught but a few fleecy white clouds.

Two of the galleys flew double banners: the MacLean banner and the MacInnes one. The third ship, a borrowed MacLean galley, bore the MacKinnon insignia.

And each vessel held members of all three clans.

Something Isolde had insisted upon in honor of the day.

In honor of an alliance long sought, almost lost, and so wondrously sealed this day.

And a glorious one it was.

A perfect day to celebrate a wedding.

The joyous union of clans MacLean and MacInnes.

The marriage of Donall the Bold, proud laird of the great MacLean clan, to his love, Isolde MacInnes.

And to celebrate the wee new life she suspected she carried so sweetly beneath her heart.

All fine reasons to bless the Lady Rock as well, to cleanse the tidal rock of its dark and dismal past by tossing votive offerings onto the deceptively well-mannered waves lapping benignly at its black and jagged edges.

Something the celebrants aboard the three galleys did with great enthusiasm.

Each clansmen or friend standing at the rails had been given a goodly share of small oatcakes and flowers to toss upon the waves. Not a single participant hadn't been presented with a flask of fine heather ale to pour upon the rock itself.

Potent measures to banish the Lady Rock's evil for once and all time.

Her own offerings tossed, and the wee pewter flask she held empty, Isolde leaned against the rail of the MacLean galley and stared across the short distance to where her husband stood talking with Niels and Rory at the rail of the somewhat smaller MacInnes ship.

Lorne and his own new wife, Evelina, stood near them, but the couple appeared more caught up in themselves than in the blessing ceremony. As she watched them, Isolde smiled in pleased approval.

Donall caught her gaze and flashed her one of his devastating smiles, lifted his hand. His dark eyes gleamed with wicked promise and just looking at him set her heart aflutter, did unspeakably delicious things to the pit of her belly.

A sense of utter contentment washed through her, swelling her heart with enough love for him to last through this lifetime and well beyond. She could scarce wait until the galleys returned to shore, until the wedding feast planned for later had unfolded and spent its glory.

Until they could slip away, alone at last, and enjoy all the wicked things he'd vowed to do to her to make their wedding night unforgettable.

Holding fast to the rail, Isolde breathed in the brisk sea air, indulging her imagination ... until a familiar bark and an equally familiar cackle disturbed her silent reverie.

She whirled around to see the cailleach making her shuffling way across the galley's gently rocking deck. Bodo frolicked in circles around her, undaunted by the slight tossing of the sea, much more interested in the rolled and twisted length of brown cloth clasped tight between his crooked teeth.

Her husband's shirt.

The tunic he'd made into a toy for Bodo.

One of the many things he'd done that should have alerted her to his good character, would have alerted her had her doubting heart not stood in the way.

"He is a wise one," Devorgilla said, watching the little dog run off in search of a more agreeable playmate than herself. "He knew well afore you," she added, stepping up to Isolde at the rail.

"Knew what?" Isolde glanced down at the tiny, black-clad woman. "What did Bodo know?"

Devorgilla cackled, her wizened features wreathing in a smile. "What I knew all along as well ... that Donall MacLean was your true soul mate."

"The man you saw in the cauldron's steam?" Isolde asked, though she already knew the answer.

The crone nodded, her self-important glee barely contained. "Aye, that is the way of it."

Turning away from Isolde, she appeared to stare across the waves to where Donall watched them from the other galley. Or
would
have stared at him were her eyes not so clouded.

Swallowing her pique that Devorgilla had harbored that particular secret so long, Isolde asked the other question burning in her mind. "And if you knew he was the one, why did you give me an anti-attraction potion?" she prodded. "Or a
love
potion ... whatever the foul brew was?.

Devorgilla cackled again. "I gave you neither," she said simply, her ancient gaze still on the other galley.

"Neither?" Isolde peered hard at her.

Devorgilla sighed. A low, sweet sigh that -- for a moment -- could have been made by a much younger woman.

A
lass
, even.

"Would such a braw man watch me with that kind of fire in his eyes, and were I a few years younger, I vow I'd climb o'er this rail and swim to his bonnie side."

Isolde started, gave the old woman a sharp look, the crone's cryptic words about the potion momentarily forgotten. "How can you tell if he's a-watching me or nay? Surely you cannot see that far?"

"Ah, lass, but I can," Devorgilla said, tearing her gaze away from Isolde's husband at last. She peered up at Isolde, and the new light in her once-clouded eyes, their surprising clarity, could not be denied. "I've been experimenting with a potion to cure blindness."

"To cure blindness?"

"Aye. 'Tis a wonder potion and works against all manner of blindness." The crone smiled. "'Tis the same potion I gave you."

Gooseflesh rose on Isolde's arms and a rapid chill streaked down her spine. "
The same potion you gave me?
" She was gaping now, totally flummoxed. 'You admit you've been lying to me all this time?"

"Not lying, lass.
Helping
." Devorgilla cast another quick glance at the other galley. "I once told you, we are oft given not what we ask for, but what we need."

A smile began to curve Isolde’s lips as she understood.
  
"And what I did I need?"

“A cure." Devorgilla's newly clear eyes danced with mischief. "A cure against blindness of the heart."

FINE