Rory couldn’t hear their discussion, but he was amazed after only a few minutes to see a carefree smile transform Margaret’s face. He was flabbergasted. Margaret hadn’t smiled like that in two years. By all appearances, they seemed to be fast friends. It warmed him to see his sister relaxed and enjoying herself; it had been far too long.
“Did you speak with Margaret about your ideas for our chamber, Isabel?” he asked, more curious than he wanted to admit about what they were discussing.
“Not yet. Margaret and I were discussing court.”
“The latest fashion?” he asked, a sardonic reference to her dress.
Isabel blushed, realized he was teasing her, then shook her head and laughed. “No, only that I think Margaret would enjoy it.”
Rory stiffened. The thought of his shattered sister set free among the vicious ladies of court made his protective instincts flare. What could Isabel be thinking to encourage Margaret’s hopes like that? His sister was incredibly fragile as it was; court would destroy her. Not wanting to hurt his sister’s feelings, however, he quickly turned the subject. “Aye, but my sister is needed at Dunvegan. I could not spare her.” He smiled encouragingly to Margaret. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to ask Margaret about my solar?”
Isabel gave him a small questioning frown, then turned to Margaret. “I just wanted to make a few wee changes toourroom,” she corrected, “but I wanted to ask your permission before I do so. We can discuss it another time if you wish.”
Margaret looked to Rory for approval, and he nodded. “What did you have in mind?” she asked.
“Just a few things to make the room more comfortable, perhaps a few soft pillows, some bed hangings”—Isabel shrugged—“Things like that.”
Margaret was immediately ensnared. Rory was amazed how the topic of decoration could inspire such fervor in the female mind. “Rory’s room is entirely too austere,” she agreed. “I’ve been trying to change things for years. But he’ll hear nothing of it.”
Rory crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s the way I like it. Plain and simple.”
Both women made faces. Margaret met his gaze. “Yes, well, you are handfasted now. You will have to adjust.”
Rory couldn’t believe it. His timid little sister had just stood up to him. It was…wonderful.
Margaret continued, “What colors were you thinking?”
“Hmm. Maybe soft roses and lavenders with floral fabric, laces, and needlepoint, what do you think?”
God’s wounds,it sounded like Margaret’s frilly boudoir.
Both women took one look at his expression and burst into laughter.
Rory started to frown until he caught the mischievous twinkle in Isabel’s eye. Surprisingly, he didn’t mind their teasing at all. Some of Margaret’s spirit that had been eviscerated from two years ago was returning after only minutes in Isabel’s company.
Her spirited playfulness was infectious, and he found himself smiling.
Rory thought of the sweet but timid Campbell lass who would be his bride and couldn’t help comparing her with another. Would she embrace his sister and bring a smile to her face?
Watching Rory with Margaret offered Isabel a side of him that she had never seen. That Rory cared deeply for his sister was obvious. It impressed her that this hard, formidable warrior could also be gentle and considerate.
A sharp pang of longing hit her square in the chest. Isabel yearned for her own brothers to look at her the same way. Given the lengths she had gone to to evoke such feelings from them, that Rory showed his love for Margaret so readily was yet another attribute in his favor. This man had so many layers, and the more she peeled away, the more there was to admire.
A buzz of anticipation rippled through the hall, abruptly ending their conversation. The night’s entertainment was set to begin. A bearish white-haired man rose from the trestle table below the dais and moved purposefully across the room to stand before the fire. He was dressed in a simple long plaid, but it was his knee-length beard that drew Isabel’s attention. It was thick and fluffy, as pure white as freshly fallen snow. He raised his grizzled, pawlike hands and loudly cleared his throat to quiet the room. Eoin Og O’Muireaghsain,seannachieof the MacLeods, began to speak in a strong, melodious voice that reverberated throughout the crowded hall, in sharp contrast with his aged appearance.
“This night, our chief has requested the story of how the greatBratach Shi,the Fairy Flag of the MacLeod, was brought to the clan.”
Isabel blanched. Her heart quickened as she realized the subject matter of this night’s entertainment. Rory couldn’t know.It’s only a coincidence,she told herself, trying to calm the rising panic. But her palms grew damp from being clenched so tight. She forced herself not to look around and see if anyone was watching her reaction, but she could feel the weight of Rory’s eyes on her.
“A long, long time ago, not long after the time of Leod, a handsome young chief fell in love with a beautiful fairy princess—one of thebean sidhe.The couple wished to marry and sought permission from the princess’s father, the king of the fairies. Much to their surprise, the king was against the match. For he knew that in the end, to marry a mortal man would cause his beloved daughter infinite unhappiness, for unlike the princess, the young chief would eventually grow old and die.
“Darkness and unhappiness shadowed Skye, for theirs was the truest unrequited love. The weeping of the princess filled the loch, threatening to flood the land, until the king at last capitulated. The princess could handfast with the MacLeod. But there was one condition. She had to promise to return to her people in one year and a day. The couple was so happy to be together, they readily agreed to the king’s condition.”
Isabel had not heard the enchanting tale before, but she was finding it extremely difficult to relax. She glanced furtively around the room, grateful that no one seemed to notice her turmoil. The clan appeared enthralled by the story even though they had surely heard the tale countless times. Afraid that he would somehow notice her anxiety, Isabel dared not look at Rory.
“The people rejoiced with the happiness of the couple, and before the year was out a cherished son was born. But the joy of the birth of the child was tempered with the knowledge that soon the princess must return to her people and leave her beloved husband and precious son forever.
“As they knew it would, the day for her departure to the land of the fairies arrived. The fairy princess and the chief were brokenhearted but knew that they must honor their promise. For once given, the word of the MacLeod was absolute and could not be broken. At her leavetaking, the princess sought a promise from her husband. He must vow to never let their son be alone, for the fairy princess could not bear to hear the crying of her precious child. At last, with a desperate, bittersweet kiss intended to last a lifetime, the princess left her beloved husband and son behind, fading into the mist over the bridge that we now call the Fairy Bridge in memory of their parting, returning sorrowfully to the fairy folk.”
