“Compassion is for those not charged with responsibility,” he said flatly. He didn’t expect her to understand a chief’s obligation to act decisively and forcefully. Women were softhearted creatures. He would have been within his rights to have Fergus flogged or put in irons. He looked her straight in the eyes. “The obligation of Highland hospitality is absolute. If you break the law, you suffer the consequences.” The warning was unmistakable. “There is no mercy for wrongdoers.”
Rory didn’t fail to notice when she paled.
Chapter 4
Late the next morning, Isabel stood alone on the battlements overlooking the sea loch, watching her family’s departure with a heavy heart. Sheets of gray clouds blanketed the sky, dumping buckets of rain from the heavens, stirring the sea into a torrential frenzy. As thebirlinntossed atop the waves, it was difficult to tell where the rain ended and the loch began.
A long summer day on the Isle of Skye.
Wonderful.
Her hand darted from beneath the warm folds of her cloak, attempting to gather the errant strands of auburn that whipped across her face and tangled in her mouth. Her efforts were in vain. The wind blew mercilessly, tearing her hair from its bindings as soon as she’d finished.
Icy droplets pelted her raw cheeks, mingling with the tears that slid from the corners of her eyes. She sank deeper into her cloak, shielding herself as best she could from both the weather and the watchful eyes of the MacLeods. Isabel refused to let them witness her despair.
Her kinsmen’s departure had come without warning. She had thought to have more time to get used to Dunvegan. And to Rory. But they were gone. And she was alone in a den of wolves.
On the dock below her, silent cheers of celebration trailed thebirlinnof MacDonalds as it disappeared from view. The MacLeods were pleased to be rid of their enemies—storm or no storm. Their sentiments were hardly a surprise. Among the Scots, feuds were not easily forgotten or forgiven.
She wondered how many wished she were on that boat. Did Rory? Probably. Clearly, he was not eager for this handfast, and meeting her had not changed his opinion. For as impressed as she was by him, he seemed equally unimpressed by her. Precisely the opposite of what she’d hoped.
She knew her job wasn’t going to be easy, and it wasn’t. He suspected something, of that she was sure. His words of warning last night had been unequivocal. She didn’t think she’d ever forget his face when he told her there was “no mercy for wrongdoers.” She’d had the eerie sensation that he was peering right inside her.
She shivered, but not from the icy rain and wind. She would just have to find a way to slip under his considerable guard. The incident with her brother Ian and Fergus MacLeod had shaken her. If the MacLeod discovered her ruse, he would deal with her coolly and decisively. And fairly, she admitted. He was a man used to making hard decisions; he would not waver in his duty. Yesterday had shown her that. She would just have to make sure she wasn’t discovered.
Not a simple proposition with a man who seemed to notice everything—like her earlier conversation with her uncle. Although he could not hear them from across the courtyard, Isabel had felt the heavy weight of the MacLeod’s gaze as her uncle cornered her, bidding her farewell with his usual aplomb. With one arm draped protectively about her shoulders, Sleat drew her aside in the courtyard for last minute instructions before his departure down the steep sea-gate stairs.
There was nothing subtle about Sleat’s warning. Her uncle’s words still rang in her ears: “Do what you must, but find the entrance and bring me the Fairy Flag within the year. The MacDonalds have been defeated by the flag once before; I want it in my hands. If you are successful, I will support your father against the Mackenzies.” She tried not to stiffen under his heavy arm. In a thick voice dripping with menace, he leaned close to her, his putrid breath singeing her ear. “Do you get my meaning, Isabel? Do what you must. For when the time comes, I want no opposition to my claim for the Lordship. It is the hereditary right of the MacDonalds to rule these lands. With the MacLeods destroyed, there will be no one to interfere. Don’t forget that you willingly agreed to help. It’s too late for second-guessing. The lives of your clansmen are at stake, and it’s up to you to do what it takes to save them. Fail me, and you fail your clan.”
His words chilled her. “Don’t worry, Uncle, I wasn’t thinking of changing my mind. I know well what I must do. No one will suspect what I am about.”
Realizing that Rory was still watching them, she patted the MacDonald’s hand as a beloved niece might do to reassure a doting uncle. Her expression gave no hint of the consequence of her words.
Sleat appeared mollified. He relaxed his hold around her shoulders. “Be extremely cautious. And whatever you do, don’t allow yourself to become seduced by the MacLeod. You must be wary of him at all times—he knows well how to make a lass fall for his dubious charms.” The MacDonald drew his fingers to his chin thoughtfully.
He continued as if thinking aloud to himself, “You are very beautiful, but young and innocent. Perhaps it would have been better…Well, no matter. It is too late now. I will send word to you soon, Isabel. As a precaution, I will use a waxed impression of this ring on my missives. Look on it well, memorize the design so that you will recognize it.”
Isabel took his hand and scrutinized the large ring etched with the badge of Sleat. For Rory’s benefit, she even leaned down to kiss his hand as if in homage to the chief of the family. If Rory were still watching, her study of the ring would not look too peculiar. The ring contained an armored fist holding a cross with the motto of Sleat scrolled across the top:Per Mare per Terras,“By Land or by Sea.”
“I’ll know it, Uncle. You’d best be on your way before I have to explain what we were talking about. I wouldn’t want to arouse Rory’s suspicions.”
“Very well, then, good hunting to you, lass.” The MacDonald snickered with a lewd yellow smirk.
With a heavy sigh of relief, Isabel watched him go. Something about the man made her skin crawl. Her uncle was undoubtedly a powerful chief. But he inspired fear, not devotion.
There was no denying Sleat’s cruel edge. His brutal repudiation of Rory’s sister proved that. It had been done for political purposes. The MacDonald had been carefully building support for his bid to reclaim the ancient fiefdom of the Lordship of the Isles lost by Clan Donald over one hundred years ago. It was simple: The MacLeods were out of the king’s favor, and the Mackenzies were not. Her uncle needed royal support if he was to reclaim the political power that went with the title Lord of the Isles. Thus, Margaret MacLeod became expendable. Isabel may have understood the motivation, but to reject the woman by ridiculing her misfortune seemed unduly harsh. Of course, that too must have been the point. The MacLeod would be forced to retaliate, and her uncle had hoped to destroy them with feuding. But the MacLeod continued to be a thorn in the side of the MacDonalds. A thorn that she was to remove.
Sleat did not want simply to increase the power of the clan, he wanted to rule western Scotland and the Isles without interference from the king—or MacLeod. Knowing the king, Isabel thought the idea far-fetched. Nevertheless, it wasn’t her job to wonder about the legitimacy of her uncle’s plan; her job was to succeed. And to succeed, she needed Rory. Or more precisely, she needed Rory’s love and trust.
Perhaps the MacDonald’s quick departure was not such a bad thing. Clearly, Rory loathed her uncle. Sleat’s presence undoubtedly reminded Rory of his sister’s tragedy. And that certainly wouldn’t help her cause.
She drew up her shoulders and shook off her despondency. It would do no good to brood. She had a job to do. She would make her family proud of her, and then she could leave this dismal place. A year would not come soon enough. At least she hadn’t been completely abandoned. Bessie had agreed to stay for a few months to help her get settled.
“You shouldn’t be standing out here in the rain.”
Startled, Isabel jumped, her feet skidding on the stone walk of the battlements. She felt the heat of his body and the hard shield of his chest behind her as he steadied and then promptly released her.
She knew who it was before she turned.
