He released Margaret from his embrace, and the smile that transcended his face matched hers in its infinite joy. “I would be honored to accept your challenge, Margaret. Alex is a very good bowman, little one, so I know you must have become quite accomplished in a very short time. But I have not been beaten in a contest with the bow since I was a lad, so you would be wise to increase your practice schedule.” He turned his smile to Isabel.
She felt as if she were melting under its warmth.
“I hope your instructor can find the time in her schedule?” he queried.
Isabel grinned and nodded.
He turned back to Margaret and said, sounding almost apologetic, “But it may not be at the gathering. You know very well that a lass may not participate in the Highland gathering—by long tradition, it is a contest reserved for warriors to test their skills, strength, and agility.” Isabel knew the gatherings were begun over five hundred years ago by Malcolm Canmore to identify the best warriors among his men. Rory’s eyes twinkled under the black wings of his raised brow. “Besides, what if you were to win? The fierce pride of the Scots would be irreparably damaged by a mere slip of a lass. It would be a blow that we men would likely never recover from.”
Isabel was mesmerized by the playful teasing of the siblings. It was a side of Rory that was so rarely exposed; she knew she would never tire of listening to their loving banter. He could be so devilishly charming—acting like this, he was irresistible. Her chest squeezed with longing.
Margaret nearly jumped up and down with exuberance. She began her preparations for extra practice immediately—talking to herself excitedly. They both listened, amused, as she ran from the room. “I will have to find someone to oversee the kitchens in the morning and take over the meal planning…”
Still grinning, Rory said, “Margaret seems to have found her calling.” The full force of his attractiveness hit her with his next words. “I thank you, Isabel. You have accomplished what I thought was impossible. You have given me back my sister.” The warmth and sincerity in his voice were like an enchanted spell binding her to him.
Isabel warmed under his praise. Rory constantly surprised her. She could not recall ever being honestly thanked for anything by a man in his position. Most men would never consider being beholden to a woman for anything. But such graciousness only increased his estimation in her eyes; the power to recognize another’s worth in no way diminished his own, it only made him appear stronger.
She stood up and stepped toward him, struggling to find her voice. “I’ve done nothing but be a friend, and that was simple enough with Margaret. I feel like I’ve known her my whole life. It’s difficult to believe it’s only been a few months.”
Isabel paused, debating whether to say something further. She might never have a better opportunity, and she wanted him to understand about Margaret. “I think the end to the feud has helped her enormously,” she added hesitantly.
Rory tensed as he did at any mention of the feud. “What do you mean?”
Isabel took a deep breath, deciding it was worth the risk to state her opinion, even if it ruined his good mood. She looked down at her feet, not wanting his reaction to stop what she had to say. “I think the feud and the quest for revenge has made it impossible for Margaret to put the past behind her. I know she feels responsible for the death and destruction done in her name.” Isabel’s clenched hands betrayed her anxiety at mentioning the forbidden subject of her uncle.
After a moment of unbearable silence, she dared to peek at his face. But instead of the anger she’d expected, Rory appeared thoughtful.
“And the feud was a constant reminder of Sleat’s cruelty,” he finished. “But it was not only Margaret who was shamed, the honor of the clan demanded retribution.”
Isabel nodded. “You were attending to your duty as chief, Margaret knows that”—her voice lowered—“and so does Alex.”
“What does Alex have to do with this?” When she appeared reluctant to say anything further, he added, “Speak freely, Isabel, I would like to hear what you have to say.”
There was no easy way to say this, so she just blurted it out. “Alex needs to feel that he is important to you and the clan.”
“Of course he’s important. He is mytanaiste.” She felt the full measure of his attention on her. “Go on,” he urged.
“I know you think that he is important, but I don’t think Alex does. What duties have you delegated to him?”
Rory was silent for a moment. “Not many,” he admitted. Isabel waited for him to finish the thought. “And by my not doing so, he believes that I do not think he is capable.”
Isabel nodded. “If you do not give him more responsibility, he will never be able to resolve his defeat at the hands of the MacDonalds.”
Rory leaned back, assessing her with an appreciative gaze. “If Alex has discussed his loss at Binquihillin and the death of our cousins, you truly must have earned his confidence. I know he blames himself, but I do not. I would have done the same in his stead.”
“But if you do not allow him the responsibilities worthy of yourtanaiste,are you not telling him by your actions that you do not trust him? That you do blame him?” she asked quietly.
Rory drew himself up to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. “I am chief, I do not delegate my duties and responsibilities.”
Isabel tried not to be distracted by the impressive display of muscle straining against saffron linen. “I know that you would not be so arrogant as to believe that you must personally attend to all the matters of the clan and that you are the only one qualified to make decisions.”
He quirked his mouth, seemingly amused by her sarcastic set-down. But he appeared to at least consider what she said. “I will think on it.” Apparently, turnabout was fair play. “And what of you, Isabel? What of your family?”
It was Isabel’s turn to bristle defensively. “What of it?”
“Tell me why the mere mention of your family causes pain to flicker in your eyes,” he urged, this time gently.
She looked away, embarrassed that her loneliness was so obvious. “There’s not much to tell,” she said carefully. “You know that my mother died when I was young, my father had his duty to the clan, and my brothers…well, they had their own pursuits. Pursuits that were not appropriate for a young girl.” She saw something resembling sympathy in his eyes, and she quickly tried to explain, lest he get the wrong impression. “My father was not cruel. Just busy. And I always had Bessie looking after me.”
