Theseannachiepaused dramatically. Silence filled the hall. He motioned for a goblet and ever so slowly took a seemingly endless gulp of ale. The hall was heavy with the dull drumming sound of silence. He looked like a druid from another time, with swirls of smoke from the peat fires spinning mystically over his head. He wiped his mouth with the back of his furry hand and looked carefully about the room to ensure that his audience was listening.
They were.
“The pain of the chief was immeasurable. His beloved wife was lost to him forever. But he consoled himself with the fact that at least he had his son. He kept his promise to his wife, and the child was never left alone. Never, that is, until the night of the celebration of the chief’s day of birth. That night, a great feast was held to cheer the despondent chief. The pipers filled the air with the magic of their music, and the chief at last allowed himself to dance and sing. But, alas, the joyful sounds drew the attention of the nursemaid whose duty it was to watch over the child. She left the wee bairn unattended, and he began to cry. Far, far away in the land of the fairy folk, the princess heard the pitiful wailings of her child and her heart was struck with an intolerable pain. She rushed to her child and comforted him with whispered words of magic. The princess wrapped him securely in her shawl and gently kissed his tears, singing him sweet fairy songs to calm his crying. The words she sang, her fairy charm, are still sung to the MacLeod’s heirs to this day.
“Later, when the nursemaid finally returned, she found the child sleeping peacefully wrapped in a fine ethereal crimson-and-yellow swath of fabric.
“Many years later, the boy told his father what had happened that night—the night his mother returned to Dunvegan and left her shawl, theBratach Shi,for her son. The princess bestowed the Fairy Flag upon her child to protect the clan. If the MacLeods were ever in great jeopardy, the flag must be unfurled and waved three times, and the knights of the fairies would appear to their defense. But as we know is always true with the fairies, there were conditions. If anyone other than a MacLeod should touch the flag, that person would immediately perish. And most important of all, the magic of the flag would work only three times. So it should be used only in the direst of circumstances.”
His voice had dropped to barely a whisper, but his words were heard by all. Theseannachiehad spun a web of magic of his own throughout the hall. Isabel scooted forward in her seat, anxiously awaiting the rest.
“The flag is kept in a secret place known only to the chief, safely tucked away in a locked box but ready to be unfurled if the clan should ever again need its fairy magic. There is but one unfurling left in the flag, for its powers were needed twice in the time of Alasdair Crotach—once to save the clan from sure defeat at the hands of Clan Donald and again to save the clan from starvation. But I will save those tales for another night.”
Disappointed groans echoed throughout the great hall, and not just from the wee lads and lassies. But in the tradition of all great bards, Eoin Og O’Muireaghsain left his audience wanting. Regal as a king, he slowly returned to his seat, basking proudly in the thunderous applause.
Isabel was moved, held spellbound by the charming tale of lost love and maternal protection by the fairy princess for her child. The story touched a chord in the heart of the girl who had lost her own mother at birth and the woman who yearned for the romantic love of troubadours. Looking around the room at the happy, cheering faces of the MacLeod clansmen, Isabel could see that she was not the only one affected by the tale. The MacLeods treasured the famous Fairy Flag, and she could see from their proud faces that they believed in its magic.
She knew that in the end it did not matter whether the flag really possessed fairy magic. The MacLeodsbelievedin its magic, and faith could be every bit as powerful as truth. Her uncle wanted that power—whether to wield for the MacDonalds or simply to destroy the MacLeods. It did not matter. The MacLeods would not have a talisman to rally around, and that would be enough for their ultimate ruin and destruction. Of course, it wouldn’t hurt if she also managed to locate a secret entrance to their stronghold.
Guiltily, she lowered her gaze from the cheering clansmen. She felt almost as if she were violating a private moment—intruding on a sacred ritual. Now that she better understood the origins of the flag, Isabel was filled with a sense of dread. She would be the instrument of their destruction. And she realized there was yet another complication, as if locating the flag and fleeing the castle without being caught weren’t enough. She also had to avoid death.
Chancing a sideways glance at the powerful man seated next to her, Isabel knew that if the flag didn’t kill her, Rory well could.
Chapter 9
Perhaps the dress had served its purpose after all, Isabel thought as she caught sight of the discarded gown still lying in a heap on the floor of their bedchamber. Though it had not exactly elicited the reaction she’d hoped for, it had elicited a reaction. And as the night had drawn on, she had detected a subtle thawing in Rory. For the first time, their conversation had been relaxed and at times even playful. He was no less imposing than before, but not quite so remote. She’d been enjoying herself with both Rory and his sister.
The story of the Fairy Flag, however, had jarred her back to reality. If the tale spun by theseannachiewas to be believed, she knew where the flag was kept: a locked box in a secret location safeguarded by Rory. Now all she had to do was get Rory to tell her where he kept the box, retrieve it, find the secret entrance, and leave. Simple.
She scoffed. The man intended to send her home in eleven months, but would he confide the clan’s most precious secrets? Not likely. But she had to try. The only other choice was to return home to face defeat and the destruction of her clan at the hands of the Mackenzies. In other words, she had no choice.
She dared not think of what Rory would do if he discovered her subterfuge. How would he deal with a traitor? Would she be killed? Maimed? Imprisoned? She didn’t think so. Even in the beginning, when he had been so remote and cold, she had not sensed ruthlessness in his character, and less so now. He did not seem the type to enjoy violence toward women. In fact, he showed his love for his sister quite openly, something most men in his position would be reluctant to do for fear of being thought weak. Perhaps he would be able to forgive her? She laughed scornfully. Highlanders did not forgive—it was not in their vocabulary. No, he was a proud man, and what she intended would be a blow to his pride. He would never forgive her.
The forlorn hollowness in her heart at the thought of betraying Rory tore bitterly at her sense of duty, her sense of responsibility. Like a coward, she wanted to run from here, return to court as if nothing had happened. Unfortunately, either way the result would be the same. She would never see him again.
Isabel doubted she would be able to look at herself in the mirror when this was all over, but the thought of the destruction her failure would bring to her own clan was equally unpleasant. She had to proceed with her plan.
She had to get closer to him, to change his mind. To make him forget she was a MacDonald. Tonight she intended to wait up for him, even if it took all night. He might be bedding another woman, but she wouldn’t let that stop her. He was not completely indifferent to her.
Nor was she to him. Tonight had established that well enough. Her response to his touch earlier had given her more than a twinge of apprehension. Even simply sitting beside him, she flushed with awareness. When he smiled, she remembered the feel of his mouth on hers, and when his eyes lingered on her breasts, she remembered the brush of his finger and the intimate longing from within. No, she was hardly indifferent. She just couldn’t let her attraction get in the way of what she had to do.
She must analyze her plan of action methodically. If she was going to truly search for the Fairy Flag, it seemed logical to begin with Rory. A talisman must be accessible to be of use in an emergency. She would have to search the areas that Rory frequented but that were private enough not to be subject to accidental discovery. Somewhere in his rooms seemed the most likely hiding place. It was named the Fairy Tower after all.
Isabel lay in bed gazing at the ceiling, watching the flickering shadows of candlelight, waiting. She rolled from side to side, trying to get comfortable. When that proved futile, she tossed off the coverlet, alighted from bed, and moved to stand before the window. But not even the soft glow of moonlight or the tranquillity of a bright starry night could calm her strange restlessness.
What was keeping him? As if she couldn’t guess. Catriona. A sick, queasy feeling knit low in her belly. Admittedly, she intended much worse, but why did it feel like a betrayal?
Frustrated and angry, Isabel hurriedly donned her slippers and robe. If she sat here all night with nothing to do, she’d go mad just thinking about it. She had to relax. What she needed was a good book. Something to free her mind from Dunvegan, from Rory, and from her wretched plight while she waited. He’d offered her the use of his library; she wished she’d thought to ask him where it was, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to find.
Isabel frowned as she looked down at her wrap. It was another of her uncle’s purchases. The sheer ivory silk did little to hide her near undressed state. Despite the modestnight railthat she wore to sleep, the robe clung to her at all her most intimate parts as if she wore nothing underneath. She pulled the sides of the gown tighter across her chest, attempting to further cover herself, but she only exacerbated the problem.
Isabel tiptoed softly across the room and hesitated for a moment, Rory’s warning not to flaunt herself echoing in her ears. If she were caught in her present ensemble, it would be embarrassing. But she couldn’t wait up with nothing to do, and she dearly missed her nightly read that had become an enjoyable ritual in Edinburgh. Besides, she reasoned, the noise had quieted considerably in the last hour. Certainly everyone except for Rory would be in bed by now.
But what if he caught her?
He wouldn’t be happy to see her traipsing around in her nightclothes. A spark of recklessness kindled inside her. She’d pushed him tonight with the dress, but perhaps not hard enough. What would happen if she pushed harder? It was what she wanted, wasn’t it? For her plan. Memories of hot kisses along her neck and his finger sweeping her nipple assailed her, calling that theory into question. A shiver of fear and anticipation shot through her. It appeared Isabel had a heretofore unknown penchant for courting danger.
She moved purposefully toward the door, then paused to rest her hands on the wooden slats, listening with her ear to the door to make sure no one was about. Hearing nothing, she cautiously opened the door.
