He intended to send her back in a year, untouched. She’d laugh if it wasn’t so painful. Her own handfast husband didn’t want her. What bitter irony: They’d both entered the handfast with every intention of repudiating it in the end. Rory simply thought to do his duty to his king, while she intended treachery and betrayal. His honesty shamed her, though with what she’d learned of his character this past month, it could not surprise her.
There was only one thing she could do: She had to convince him to change his mind. At least now she knew what she was up against. He’d admitted he thought her beautiful, so she would start with that. She would find a way to make him fall in love with her despite his avowed sentiments on the subject.
Isabel had gathered the tatters of her resolve all afternoon, after he left her standing there by herself, holding her cheek and trying not to burst into tears. Her skin felt scorched where the same strong, callused fingers that wielded a claymore with such deadly skill had gently swept the side of her cheek. She’d just barely glimpsed the tinge of regret that crossed his features even as that austere, emotionless façade dropped back into place.
But she’d seen it, and it gave her reason to hope.
As Bessie finished lacing her gown, Isabel reached for her silver hand mirror. She held her arm out straight and took a step backward to get a broader view.
“’Tis not at all proper, poppet.”
Isabel gazed into the mirror. “Nonsense, Bessie. There’s nothing wrong with this dress, it’s beautiful.” But the flush heating her cheeks belied her words.
Bessie tsked and shook her head. “It’s indecent, is what it is. I can’t imagine what compelled your uncle to provide such a gown for an innocent young lass.”
Isabel could. And if her reflection was any indication, he’d succeeded. The woman who looked back at her definitely did not look innocent. Her auburn hair was coiled high on her head, framed by the pearl-encrusted headpiece that she’d worn to the handfast. The soft gold silk gown emphasized the creamy ivory of her skin and the redness of her full lips. The subtle tilt of her violet eyes gave her the look of a seductress.
But it was the style of the dress that made the greatest impact. She looked like a debauched wanton. The gown provided by her uncle was not the least bit fashionable. In many respects, it was like the gown she’d worn when she arrived at Dunvegan. She wore no bolster, no stomacher, and no ruff. Only a thin sark separated her skin from the smooth silk of the dress. The soft gold fabric clung to her body, emphasizing every curve, leaving very little to the imagination.
But that was not what caused her to blush. Rather, it was the way that the tight bodice emphasized and exposed her breasts. There was so little fabric covering her bodice that if she took a deep breath, she would likely fall out of the dress completely.
Isabel rarely wore jewelry, but tonight she made an exception. She donned an exquisite set of emeralds in a delicate gold setting left to her by her mother: teardrop earrings, a bracelet, and a pendant. The jewels were all she had of her mother, and she treasured them not for their value, but for their connection with a past she would never know.
A bit shocked by her reflection, Isabel tried to control the tremor in her voice. She knew that she needed to jolt Rory from his indifference and attract his attention, but she realized just what sort of attention this dress might bring. That thought made her tingle with apprehension and something else. Anticipation.
“Well, I think this dress is beautiful, Bessie.”
“I did not say that the dress was not beautiful, poppet. I said ’twas indecent. The two are not the same.” Bessie gave her a long look. “I do not think your handfast husband will approve of that dress.”
“I doubt he will even notice.”
“Oh, he’ll notice. Have no fear ofthat,” Bessie warned.
Isabel took one last long look and replaced the mirror in her trunk. She supposed this was the best she could do, but displaying her body in a manner calculated to seduce made her uncomfortable. She knew that she had to use what she had at her disposal, but that didn’t make it any easier.
Isabel was in an untenable position. To achieve her purpose, she must get closer to him, but the more she learned of Rory, the more difficult it was becoming to think of betraying him in the end. She couldn’t ignore what she’d observed of him. Rory MacLeod was the type of leader who inspired devotion, a steadying force in times of trouble. A rock. And the sort of man she had only dreamed of. But if she was going to have any hope of success, it would serve her well to take a lesson from him in indifference. She must harden her heart and not allow herself to be distracted from her goal.
Isabel had a mission, and it definitely didn’t includeherfalling in love. This was a one-sided proposition. She must ignore her silly girlish qualms about drawing this sort of attention to herself and use what God had given her for the greater good of her family. The MacLeod wanted to send her back, and she must change his mind. Being charming hadn’t gotten her anywhere—it was time for something more drastic…like this dress.
She knew something of lust, of seduction. A touch here, a suggestive word there, a sly, knowing smile. Isabel had been at court long enough to learn a few tricks, to learn how some women used their bodies to get what they wanted, to learn to play the game of seduction. It was not in her nature to be so aggressive, but the battleground was clear. He didn’t want her, but he lusted for her. So be it.
At least now she knew where she stood. Wasn’t that what her uncle had warned she might have to do all along?
Bessie was still speaking. “Your new husband will not be able to tear his eyes away from you.” She lifted her fingers to her chin, considering. “Perhaps this dress is not such a bad idea after all.”
Isabel stiffened. She knew what was coming next.
Bessie continued fussing with her hair and turned to repeat yet again the same statement Isabel had heard at least a dozen times over the past month. “It is not right that he has not made you his bride in truth. You must realize how the servants are whispering.”
Isabel’s flush deepened. “Bessie dearest, I have explained this to you before. Rory told me he wishes to give me time to adjust to my new home. That is all. I’m sure he is just being considerate of my innocence. He moved me into his room, didn’t he?”
Bessie raised her thin eyebrows with skepticism. A look that said she could not believe Isabel would be so naïve as to believe Rory’s explanation. “It’s not natural, the man not wanting you in his bed. You are his wife. Well, his handfast wife, at least. Something is not right.” When Bessie got hold of something, she was like a dog with a meaty bone. “I’m worried. What if he does not intend to keep up his end of the bargain?”
“What do you mean?” Isabel pretended ignorance. She should have known that Bessie would figure it out.
“I’ve heard rumors.”
“What rumors?” Isabel asked, intrigued.
