Isabel felt her insides quiver, not missing the sexual innuendo in his words. Her cheeks flamed. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean, Isabel?” The huskiness in his voice sent a shiver of awareness down her spine.
Dear God, he was standing close to her. So close that she could feel the heat from his body and smell the alluring scent of sea and spice that was strangely his. She wanted to sink against him, dissolve into that heat, and feel the strength of his arms around her. She wanted it with an intensity that was nearly overwhelming.
His wet hair fell in thick chunks across his ruggedly handsome face. She had a brazen urge to reach out and tuck it behind his ear. Anything to touch him.
Isabel couldn’t answer. The air between them crackled. Unconsciously, she leaned closer, caught in a warm magnetic pull that seemed to draw her in.
He continued to stare at her, looking deep into her eyes. His mouth was achingly close. She could see the stubble along his jaw and remembered how it felt scraping over her skin when he’d kissed her. She remembered the softness of his lips. The spicy taste of him. Her lips parted, waiting.
Did he see how much she wanted him to kiss her? How all she could think about was the taste of his mouth on hers? For a long moment, they stood like that, staring at each other in the rain. Isabel searched for something, anything, to suggest that he felt it, too. She was to be disappointed. He deliberately broke the connection, turning his gaze from hers.
“Now we are both soaked,” he said sternly. “Return to the keep. I have work to do. And in the future, stay inside during dangerous storms. I don’t want to have to fetch you again.”
He turned on his heel and left her feeling even more alone than before.
The MacDonald of Sleat watched Dunvegan sink into the gray mists of the storm clouds, but not before he caught sight of the two people standing on the battlements. A sight that brought a satisfied smirk to his mouth. There was no mistaking the identity of the woman or the man. His plan was progressing smoothly. The MacLeod would fight his attraction, but in the end, Sleat had no doubt that Rory MacLeod would succumb.
Sleat still could not believe the good fortune that had brought his niece to his attention. Isabel MacDonald was a rare beauty indeed. A redheaded Helen of Troy. Men would see her and want her. Wars could be fought over her. She embodied the perfect combination of innocence and sexuality. Aye, his niece would serve their needs well. Very well, he congratulated himself.
Rory MacLeod had been a thorn in his side for too long. It would amuse him to see his enemy, the great “Rory Mor,” brought down by a mere lass. The MacLeod had put up quite a show pretending not to notice her, but Sleat knew better. His indifference had been his unmasking. The MacLeod wanted her. Badly. Who wouldn’t? What man could refuse such riches? Sleat chuckled, well pleased with himself.
Aye, using a woman to get inside the MacLeod’s stronghold had been a stroke of genius.
The MacDonald scratched his scraggly beard, absently flicking the crumbs from this morning’s bread into the churning sea. He frowned. There was one weakness in his plan. His little niece. The ultimate success of his plan depended on her. He abhorred relying on a woman for anything, useless creatures that they were, but in this it was necessary. There was no other way.
Was the chit strong enough to do her part? She was very young and inexperienced. It was part of her charm. But it also made her a liability. He hadn’t missed her fascination with the MacLeod chief. Sleat would keep a close eye on her progress and make sure she understood the consequences for her clan if she failed.
For this Helen would not start a war, but end one.
And in the process deliver him a kingdom.
Chapter 5
Since the afternoon of the MacDonalds’ departure three weeks ago, Rory had done his best to keep his distance from his new bride. The more time he spent with her, the more he learned about her. And the more he learned about her, the more he wanted to know. It was a vicious circle that would lead him nowhere but to perdition.
Even on that day of her family’s leaving, he hadn’t intended to go to her. But did the woman have no sense, standing on the slippery battlements in a torrential storm? He would have left her to the mercy of the elements, but that damn vulnerability had eaten away at his reserve. He’d spied her sad leavetaking from her family and tried not to be moved. Yet there was a poignancy to the moment that could not be ignored. Her father gave her an awkward pat on the head, and Isabel looked as though she wanted to throw her arms around him. Each of her brothers did give her a quick hug, but Isabel held on just a tad too long. She wanted to stretch out every minute, while the MacDonalds looked as if they couldn’t leave fast enough. She fought tears watching them make their way down the sea-gate stairs, as they left with nary a backward glance.
Damn fools.Couldn’t they see how difficult this was for her? She’d seemed so alone and desolate as the boats departed that he couldn’t stand back and watch her catch ill. He knew she must be feeling abandoned and a bit scared at being left on her own with a group of strangers. Strangers who only days ago were her enemies. When she’d turned to face him, her luminous violet eyes blurry and red rimmed from crying, Rory could not remain unaffected. He’d felt sorry for the lass.
But sorrow quickly turned to something else when she’d talked of pleasuring him. His mind had momentarily gone blank with erotic images. Of her beneath him, on top of him, wrapped around him. Images that were only too easy to imagine with her lush mouth a tantalizing few inches below his. The force of his lust for this woman annoyed the hell out of him.
Only later did he wonder if her suggestive comment was meant to distract him from further inquiry into the strange conversation he’d witnessed with her uncle. Something about this handfast and Isabel didn’t sit right.
He didn’t trust her. And with her living in the old keep, and him in the newer Fairy Tower, it wasn’t as easy to keep an eye on her. From Deidre, he learned that she’d been spending an inordinate amount of time in the kitchens. The information had piqued his curiosity, as did her current crouched position peering under the shelves in the storeroom.
Rory waited until he was standing right behind her. “What are you looking for?”
Startled, Isabel jumped. Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened into a wide O.
He crossed his arms and stared at her. Hard. “Well?”
“I…I…d-d-dropped something.”
She was lying. “What?”
Collecting herself, she pursed her lips, put her hands on her hips, and lifted a decidedly obstinate chin to his. “Why are you questioning me?”
