“Why?”
Was he serious?She bit back a sarcastic retort, tamping down the flicker of anger. Shewastrying to make him fall in love with her, after all. She must do her best to be charming and complacent, even if it killed her. “It just seemed natural that we would get to know each other since we are recently handfasted.”
“I’m very busy, Isabel. You must know that as chief I have responsibilities and duties that require my attention. We take meals together, what more can you require? I assumed, as the daughter of a chief, you would understand the limited time I have to engage in mere frivolity.”
Mere frivolity!The arrogance of this man was beyond compare. So much for compliments and platitudes. This conversation was not progressing at all as she had hoped. Her mind raced, searching for what had gone wrong. Perhaps he misunderstood her intent.
She reached out and touched his arm imploringly, her fingers momentarily shocked by the heat of his bare skin. He was just as hard and strong as she’d anticipated. She could feel the power radiating under her fingertips. She noticed that the hairs on his arms stood up at her touch, almost as if she chilled him.
“I’m sorry, I did not mean to imply that I am not familiar with the demands upon your time. Indeed, my father is a very busy man and did not spend much time with me—I mean us,” she corrected hastily, “as busy as he was with his duties at Strome Castle. It’s just that I have not had much company other than Bessie this last month, and I was hoping you might spare a few minutes to show me around.”
Rory lifted a dark arched brow. “I am not a nursemaid and did not realize that you would require one.”
Isabel felt her cheeks grow hot with indignation. “Well, perhaps if you could spare a moment to glance in my direction now and again, you would see that I am well past the age for a nursemaid.” She resisted the feminine urge to stick out her chest and force him to notice just how far from a child she truly was.
Ah,Rory thought,there was the spark.He was beginning to think that he had imagined the spirit he’d glimpsed before. She’d been acting remarkably sweet in the face of his increasing rudeness. She seemed to be trying awfully hard to please him. Her blandishments might have amused him if he weren’t so aggravated. He hadn’t set out to provoke her, but finding himself face-to-face with the recent source of his woes did nothing to improve his already bad temper.
The memory of her soft backside pressed snugly against his groin was not easily dismissed. Nor was the constant reminder throbbing beneath his plaid.
Being so close to her at night and not being able to do anything about it was wearing on him. Rory damned himself for his unusual impulsivity. Moving Isabel to his room had been a hasty decision brought about by her interest in his kitchens and his swift reaction to touching her in the storeroom. His error in judgment, his unreasonable fascination with her every movement, and his unsated lust had all combined to put him in a foul mood.
A foul mood that he’d sought to erase on the lists, only to find his beautiful bride invading his peace again.
When he’d first caught sight of her, he froze, captivated by her lustrous hair blazing in the sun with intertwined hues of copper, fiery red gold, and deep bronze—suffering the blow of a sword for his stupidity in allowing himself to be distracted. But she looked as fresh as the first dew of spring in her simple green woolen gown. Her eyes seemed lighter in the daylight, more lavender than violet.
An uncomfortable tightness pulled in his chest. He wished it were simply her beauty that called to him. But the more he watched her, the more she entranced him. Even the gentle lilt of her voice enticed him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her simmering next to him. He could tell by the way her hands clenched that she was furious. Furious and adorable with her pursed lips and stubborn chin. A sweet Isabel was intriguing, but with fire she was irresistible. Oh, he’d noticed that she was well past the age for a nursemaid all right, but he still had to keep his distance.
“Well?” she asked.
“I did not realize your statement required a reply. But if you must know, I have noticed that at leastphysicallyyou appear of age to not require a nursemaid.”
Her frustration at his inept responses had clearly turned to anger. “I was only asking that we spend some time together because I just thought—”
“What did you think, Isabel?” he snapped, refusing to look at her beautiful upturned face. Rory was not nearly as indifferent as he pretended. He forced a coolness to his words that belied the heated awareness her touch brought to his body. He knew she was lonely, but he could not allow himself to feel sympathy.
She needed to know how it would be.
He knew that if he looked, he would see the hurt in those haunting lavender eyes.Duty,he reminded himself silently. The sooner she realized this was not an ordinary union the better.
Still, he was finding it increasingly difficult to act the cold stranger in the face of her innocent friendliness. And why did he feel like he was pulling the tail of a defenseless puppy?
He felt a strange urge to protect her. To wrap her in his arms and discover what made the shadow cross her face when she thought no one else was looking. Even more, he wanted to make sure nothing ever troubled her again.
He sighed, the frustration of the situation getting to him. “This is a political arrangement. King James ordered our handfast to settle the feud between our clans. Do not try to make it into something more. If you are expecting love and romance, you will only be disappointed.”
Isabel stiffened from the blunt shock of his words. “What do you mean?”
He finally turned from the sea to look at her. “This is a political match. Love is not part of the bargain.” He deliberately pulled his arm away from her touch and tried to ignore her quick intake of breath at the insult of his words and brusque movements.
“But it need not be so,” she argued. “My father was deeply in love with my mother.”
Her words took him aback. It was difficult to imagine the sober, battle-hardened MacDonald of Glengarry as a besotted husband. “When did she die?” he found himself asking.
“My birth was a difficult one,” she answered softly. “She never recovered. I barely knew her, though my father says I am much like her.”
Rory steeled himself against the sadness he heard in her voice. He didn’t know that she’d lost her mother so young. And with what he’d witnessed of her relationship with her father and brothers, he could imagine how difficult—and lonely—that must have been for her. It was also obvious that she blamed herself for her mother’s death. Did Glengarry as well? Was that what explained his reserve around his daughter? Rory didn’t think so. There was something in the older man’s gaze when he looked at his daughter, as if it pained him. Perhaps Isabel was right and Glengarry had loved his wife. If Isabel resembled her, it explained much.Damn,he thought with frustration. This was precisely the sort of information he didn’t want to know. This was what happened from spending time with her.
