“It’s lovely.” She realized she’d spoken her thoughts aloud.
“It is.” But Isabel realized he was not looking at the view. A shiver of awareness slid down her spine, as it always did when he stood so near. He cleared his throat. “On a clear day, you can see north to the Isles of Harris and North Uist. To the west is a beautiful view of the Tables.”
“The Tables?”
“MacLeod’s Tables. Two flat-topped hills so named after a trick played by my grandfather, who promised an arrogant English nobleman that there was not a more beautiful table or spectacular candelabrum than the one on Skye. When the nobleman arrived to prove him wrong, my grandfather held a lavish feast on those hills, and the sky was illuminated with hundreds of sparkling stars, forcing the Englishman to agree with him.”
Isabel clapped her hands and laughed. “Your grandfather sounds like a wily old fox.”
Rory chuckled. “He was at that.” He motioned toward the window and redirected her attention to the blackness below them. “But the view of the sea is my favorite.”
Isabel gazed straight down the side of the bluff below them to the swirling blackness of the sea, the sliver of the moon providing little light to pierce the darkness of the misty night. She nodded in agreement. “I think that I must always live by the water. Although the gardens at court were beautiful, I missed Loch Carron. It was strange not looking out my window and finding water.” She sighed dreamily. “There is nothing as magically soothing as the rhythmic crashing of waves against the rocks.”
Rory looked surprised by her heartfelt words. “I feel much the same. Living on an isle, I feel a part of the sea—it flows through my blood. Whenever I am away from Skye, it calls to me.”
Isabel realized that Rory had just shown her a little corner of his heart. He felt things more deeply than he wanted others to see. It warmed her, even as she wanted to laugh at the uncomfortable surprised expression on his face.
Clearly disconcerted, he pulled out a chair from under the table and changed the subject. “Please sit. I’d like to ask you a few questions about what went on in the forest the day Alex was injured and you were nearly—”
The blood slid from her face.
“When you were set upon by the Mackenzies,” he amended quickly.
She accepted the proffered chair and folded her hands demurely in her lap to stop their shaking. He sounded calm, but she was nervous all the same. She took a deep breath. “What is it that you would like to know? I’m sure Colin and Margaret have told you that I asked Alex to take us hunting.”
“Yes, Colin explained what you were doing in the forest, but not why you put yourself and the others in such danger by leaving the castle in the first place.”
She briefly recounted the events of that day. When she had finished and he did not say anything but simply stared at her, she continued nervously, “Alex took proper precautions. I only thought to provide a brief respite from the monotony of weeks spent inside the castle walls. You see, we’d been working so hard getting the accounts in order for Michaelmas.” She knew her explanation sounded ridiculous—which it was. She was ashamed of her part in instigating their adventure.
“Were you unaware, then, of my orders that you and Margaret remain at Dunvegan while I was gone? Did Alex not explain this to you? Did he not warn you about the danger presented by the Mackenzies?”
“Of course Alex explained your wishes. It’s just that, well, I assumed you did not realize you would be gone so long…and, uh, that you would not mind under the circumstances. It was such a beautiful day, we were having such fun—and we did not stray too far from the castle. I never dreamed the Mackenzies would be so bold and venture so close. It seemed harmless enough.” She was a bairn again, standing before her father, twisting her hands in frustration while trying to explain yet another questionable decision that she could not rationalize even to herself.
“What I don’t understand is why Alex agreed to this. Why would he disobey my express orders?”
She bit her lip. Rory was watching her changing expressions closely and mistook the guilt on her face for an answer.
His eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”
“No, you misunderstand. It’s difficult to explain. It’s just that, well, I feel guilty. You see…” The twisting of her hands intensified. “Alex may have some tender feelings toward me, and, well, I did beg him, and I know it wasn’t right.” Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment and shame.
Rory threaded his fingers through his hair and glared at her. “No, it reeks of manipulation. If what you say about Alex’s sentiments are correct, you should not have encouraged him.”
“I didn’t encourage him. I did not set out to purposefully use his feelings in that way. You make it sound so calculated. It’s just that when you mentioned it now, I felt guilty—that in retrospect I probably should not have gone to Alex, knowing how he feels.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. You will discover that not all men will do your bidding, Isabel. Not all men will be led about by a pretty smile or a well-placed touch. Indeed, I am surprised my brother fell for such an obvious ploy. But I will not.” His voice was as rigid as steel. “You will find that I am not as easy to persuade.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do not try to deceive me. Ever.”
A chill slid down her spine. “Are you finished?”
“No.” The anger Isabel dreaded came full force. His eyes blazed. “Don’t you realize what would have happened had I not arrived when I did? They would have killed Alex, and you would have wished for it. To go hunting? You could have waited for my return.”
“Your return?” Her hurt at his abandonment finally burst forth. “You stayed so long, I questioned whether you intended to return at all.” Her throat tightened. “You never thought to write me. Not one word.”
Her eyes were glued to her feet. She dared not meet his gaze for fear that he would see how perilously close to tears she was.
