Stolen Vows (2 page)

“Ye ken, my ankle’s nea too -”

“I should probably take a look at that ankle of yers.” Roan said, wondering if it might be broken. He knew from experience that setting a bone was even more excruciating after it began to knit.

Isla shook her head and smoothed her muddied skirts over her legs.  “I dinna think tis necessary.” she said modestly, but Roan had already knelt down on the grass.

He gently, but firmly pried her fingers away from her leg and slipped off her boot.  Roan noticed that the leather was thick and barely worn, supporting his opinion that this girl was wellborn.  He wondered if rescuing the damsel would earn him any favors with the Cameron Laird and then reminded himself that he didn’t care.  It was Graem who was in such a rush to reach a peace between their two clans.

Roan’s thoughts returned to the present when Isla gasped.  “Does that hurt, lass?” Roan frowned.  He was barely grazing her skin.

“Nae,” she sputtered.  “I mean aye! I mean -” she clamped her mouth shut. Blushing furiously, she stared down at her lap.

Roan smiled to himself.  Despite her furious bluster, she was an innocent little thing indeed if such a simple touch had sent her into a tizzy.  Enjoying her discomfort, Roan finally admitted to himself how very fetching the girl was – for a Cameron, of course.  His gaze lingered on her lips.  Their plump, crimson swells looked far too luscious and inviting. He wondered how old she was. Eighteen? Nineteen?  He didn’t imagine that she could be much older than that, but it was impossible to be certain.

“Well, is it broken?” Isla’s voice snapped Roan to attention.  He shook his head.

“Nae.  Tis just badly twisted.  It only needs some rest.”  He patted her knee and then got back up onto his feet.

“Ye seem quite certain,” Isla said.  Her voice was skeptical.

“Well, I’ve had some practice,” he muttered.  Roan frowned as he remembered the battle wounds that he had dressed, the injuries he’d seen and the bodies he’d buried - all because of the Camerons. Graem was a fool to think those things could be forgiven.

Roan pushed his thoughts aside and forced a grin.  “All done, lass.  Ye’ll want to keep that boot off during the ride back though.”  Isla nodded.  “Let’s get ye up on Fiad then,” he continued, moving to lift Isla up into his arms.

“Oh!  I think I can manage!” she said quickly. 

Roan’s grin widened.  “Ye think so, do ye?” he chuckled, looking from the tiny woman to the great horse.

He knew perfectly well that she would never be able to hoist herself up onto the animal.  She wasn’t nearly tall enough.  What Roan was less certain of was if she would be able to put any weight on her foot.  He waited, close enough to catch her if she stumbled, as Isla gingerly stood up. 

She used her good leg to bear her weight, but stumbled when she took a step forward.  Roan’s arms were around Isla’s waist almost instantly.

“Oh!”

Isla let out a little puff of breath as her body collided with Roan’s.  The fall had pushed her against his chest. He could feel the exceedingly generous curve of her breasts crushed against him.  A spike of heat flared unexpectedly in his groin as she wriggled away.

“I kenned ye’d need help.” Roan’s tone was harsher than he’d intended, but his body’s enthusiastic reaction to Isla’s touch had taken him by surprise. 

He stowed Isla’s boot and dagger in Fiadhach’s saddlebags. Then he caught the beast by the reins and picked up the rope attached to Isla’s mare. A gentle tug got both animals moving back along the road to the castle.

“I dinna suppose ye want to tell me what ye were doing out here on yer own, lass?”

“I dinna suppose I do,” Isla answered. The tension in her voice caused Roan to glance back over his shoulder.  A smile tugged at his lips when he saw Isla struggling to keep her balance.  She was attempting to sit sideways and her long skirt kept slipping on the smooth leather of the seat, creating a constant struggle for her to remain on the horse.

“And I thought I would have to walk,” Roan said cheerfully. 

“What?  What are you -” Isla sputtered, gaping as her companion threw Fiadhach’s reigns back over his head.  Roan let the horse keep his steady, walking pace, but moved around to the animal’s side.  He planted one foot into the stirrup before easily swinging himself up behind Isla.

“Well, I canna have ye falling off,” Roan pointed out.  “I dinna think that would go down too well with the Camerons.” Without warning, he reached around Isla’s body to grasp the reigns.

“I was nae in any danger of falling off, MacRae!” Isla huffed.  In truth she was squirming so much now that Roan was behind her that she seemed in greater danger of coming unseated now then she had before.  “I really dinna think that ye should be -” She started to speak, but her voice trailed off in embarrassment.  “We should nae be riding like this. I dinna even ken ye!”

“Nae, tis true enough,” Roan conceded, but didn’t move.

“All I do ken about ye is that yer a MacRae”

“In fairness, lass, all I ken about ye is that yer a Cameron,” he replied.   Roan watched the back of Isla’s head as she gave a small nod.

“And yet, ye still helped me,” she whispered, confused. She twisted sideways so that she could look into his face.  Even this close, Roan still couldn’t decide if her eyes were blue or green or grey.  “Why did ye do that?” she asked. Roan forgot about deciphering the color of her eyes.  The sight of her mouth, slightly parted and so temptingly close to his own transfixed him.

He wrenched his gaze away before he made an epic mistake. He forced himself to look at the road ahead and nowhere else and shook his head, forcibly trying to clear it.  His life would not be worth living if he compromised a woman from the Cameron clan - not that he would have much of a life expectancy in that situation. 

“MacRae?” Isla pressed.

“Because I’m
nae
an animal,” he growled.  He wasn’t sure if his words had been meant to convince Isla or himself.

..ooOOoo..

Isla was getting used to the rocking of the horse.  The stallion’s gait wasn’t as smooth as her grey mare’s, but that was hardly surprising. What she was
not
getting used to was the awareness of MacRae’s arm about her waist, holding her steady and the feeling of his chest pressed tightly against her back.  It made her flushed and uncomfortable, but it was strangely pleasurable too

Isla didn’t understand it.  Her fiancé, Tavish MacEantach, had ensured that she could never encounter a man’s touch without a prickle of dread.  She could tell from the way that MacRae moved, from the breadth of his chest and the height of his body that he was just as strong as Tavish, if not more so, but where Tavish MacEantach wielded his strength like a weapon, the steely power of MacRae’s body was harnessed in a way that made Isla shiver with something decidedly different than fear. 

He excited her.  She bit the inside of her lip guiltily, reminding herself that Roan MacRae was the enemy and marveling that she felt so safe.  She should hate this man for more than simply being a MacRae.  He was taking her back to Castle Cameron.

The castle had been home for ten of her eighteen years. After her mother’s death, her father, the laird’s brother, moved back into his childhood residence with his daughter and two sons.  Isla quickly became an indispensable member of the household.  The laird had no daughters and Isla became her aunt’s favorite little helper. 

She learned a great deal from her aunt: to sew and embroider, to sing and to play the harp, and also how to manage the running of a large castle.  She watched her aunt receive distinguished guests and manage the servants. As she grew older Isla was entrusted with important tasks around the castle, assuming a position more befitting a laird’s daughter than his niece.

Isla’s father was saddened by this loss, but he could not deny its probable benefits.  The most important, of course, was that powerful men wanted to court her. Undoubtedly they hoped to gain influence with the laird, but they were also in a position to provide Isla with the life with which she had become accustomed.  

Isla accepted this fate happily enough.  She was not like her best friend, Gara. She did not believe in silly notions like “
forever”
and “
happy ever after”
.  When Tavish MacEantach declared an interest in her, Isla was over the moon.  Tavish was handsome, wealthy and well-connected.  It was only later, after she had accepted his proposal, that she learned he was also vicious, cruel and ambitious.

Isla shuddered as she thought about her fiancé.

“Are ye cold?”  

Isla started when she realized that she had dozed off.  She was cuddled up close against the MacRae’s chest.  Her head was resting on his shoulder and his arms were wound around her waist.  She gasped and tried to push away, but only succeeded in throwing herself off balance.

“Hey, lass, easy,” MacRae soothed, holding her tight so she didn’t tumble off the horse. “Yer safe.  Ye remember what happened?” 

Isla nodded dumbly.  It was dusk now, but she recognized the road. They weren’t more than a mile from Castle Cameron.  She marveled at the fact that members of her clan hadn’t seen them yet. 

She
had
thought that they might encounter someone looking for her.  She supposed that she hadn’t been gone that long.  It was only twelve hours at the most, but Isla couldn’t help but feel a
little
disappointed that no one had noticed her absence.  What was the point of running away if no one realized that you were gone?

“What is it that ye want at Cameron Castle, MacRae?” Isla asked.  She was suddenly curious.  A single warrior, no matter how formidable was not a threat.  He must have some other purpose than war.

“If I tell ye that, will ye tell me what ye were doing running about the Highlands on yer own?” MacRae replied.  Isla thought she could
hear
the grin that she sensed was plastered on his face.

She remained silent as she pondered how ridiculous she would sound if she confessed that she had been running away.  She had fled the castle with a handful of money and the clothes on her back.  In hindsight, her attempt had been foolish.  If MacRae hadn’t found her she would probably still be stranded miles back down the road.  

“Well, I guess that means ye dinna -” MacRae said after the silence dragged on for a full minute. He opened his mouth to add something else, but the words died on his lips. His body tensed.  Then he slowly reached for the sword that was tucked behind Fiadhiach’s saddle.

“What -” Isla gasped, but she was instantly shushed by a rough hand clamped against her lips.

“Put the lady down and we’ll make this nice and easy, MacRae!”

Isla’s gaze swept around the darkness, trying to locate the source of the harsh but familiar voice that filled the air.  It was coming from somewhere amid the trees to their right. 

“Lass, I’m going to put ye down,” Roan said, his voice quiet, but firm.  “They should realize who ye are before -”

“Nae!” Isla blurted, surprising herself, and shocking the MacRae, when she refused to let him go.  “If ye put me down they’ll - they’ll -”
kill you,
she finished silently, surprised by her own instinct to protect him. 
Just because he’d helped her and she felt obliged to return the favor
. Isla quickly convinced herself that was the only reason.

“Look lass -” MacRae frowned. He gently pried her hands off his shoulders.

“Hurry up, MacRae, you scum!  Or yer little lassie -”

“Ian?!” Isla choked, finally recognizing the voice as that of her eldest brother.

“Ah. Friends of yers?” Roan muttered. 

There were a few indistinguishable shouts and then a small party of men emerged from the bushes, all armed, all with their weapons trained on the MacRae.