The false sense of tranquillity she had been experiencing for the last few weeks was instantly shattered by one innocuous folded piece of parchment. Isabel knew what she held in her hands.
Her reminder had come.
Chapter 15
Isabel knew it was bound to happen sometime. But why did it have to be just when she and Rory had found a new intimacy and she was starting to feel that she had established a place for herself at Dunvegan? A place that mattered.
The forced reminder of her true purpose in handfasting with Rory MacLeod was a bitter draught to swallow. She had almost succeeded in convincing herself that it might never come. That perhaps they would forget about her.Fool.This was not some silly game; her clan’s fortunes would rise or fall based on her success. Her uncle had not forgotten her or devised another way to claim the Lordship of the Isles for himself.
Thankfully, Rory had left her alone in the library to read the letter. She could tell by the speculative turn of his brow that he was curious—but he did not inquire into the contents of the missive. And she did not volunteer the information.
She settled back in her chair before the fire, cracked the seal carefully, and began to read.
Her uncle sent a thinly veiled reprimand for her failure to report her progress at Dunvegan. Claiming that he was “dismayed” not to have heard from his “dear niece” since the handfast, he hoped that she might find the time to assure her “concerned family” that she was adjusting to her new married life at Dunvegan and that she had “found all that she was looking for” with her new husband. He also mentioned that he had heard “rumors” that the Mackenzies were readying to mobilize an attack on the MacDonald clan and Strome Castle.
So much for subtlety.
The letter fell to her lap as she stared in a daze at the glowing embers of the once blazing fire. Suddenly shivering, she tightened the plaid about her shoulders.
The moment had come. She had to make an impossible choice—one surely fit for the wisdom of King Solomon. Either way, it meant betrayal. Betrayal for the MacLeods or betrayal for the MacDonalds. She must choose between the family she’d grown up with or the family she’d always wanted.
At Dunvegan, she’d found friendship, happiness, and something else that she dared not contemplate. Of Margaret’s friendship, she was sure. And so too of Alex’s. Rory’s feelings were more complicated. But somehow, in her heart, she knew that he too had softened toward her. Otherwise, he would not have asked her to help organize the games. A task that would bring them into close contact during the day—something he had previously sought to avoid.
But perhaps it was what he had not done that was the most persuasive evidence of his changing affections. He had not moved her from his room, forbade her from taking over the accounts, discouraged her from instructing Margaret with a bow, or prohibited her from nursing Alex. Indeed, in the days following the attack in the forest, he’d treated her gently and with the utmost consideration. She could only conclude that he was beginning to accept her place in his family.
But he still intended to send her away.
And though he wanted her, and the passion between them could not be denied, he’d yet to make her his bride in truth.
Her brow furled with frustration. Each time she felt their connection growing strong, something always seemed to interfere. Like this letter, reminding him of her connection to his enemy. She grabbed a lock of hair, twisting it around her finger as she grappled with her uncomfortable thoughts.
How could she align herself with a man like her uncle against a man like Rory? If it were only a matter of her uncle’s quest for the Lordship of the Isles, her choice would be clear in favor of Rory. But there was her clan to consider. The MacDonalds of Glengarry desperately needed Sleat’s men to withstand a prolonged attack by the Mackenzies. Without her uncle’s help, her clan was doomed to lose its lands. And a clan without land was a broken clan. Their people would be forced to scavenge for food, land, and protection from another clan. The thought was too horrible to contemplate.
Isabel had a duty to her family, but deep down she wanted to be selfish. She wanted to be happy. She wanted Rory for herself. But though she no longer felt an overwhelming drive to be the savior of her clan, she didn’t want to let down her family. She could not live happily knowing that her failure had led to the destruction of her people. She desperately needed to find an alternative solution to help her family defend against the Mackenzies. As at Dunvegan, the Mackenzie attack on Strome Castle could come at any time.
Something clicked, and a kernel of an idea began to take hold. The Mackenzies. They were the key. Her father and the MacLeod shared the same enemy.The enemy of my enemy is my friend.The ancient Arab proverb brought back from the Crusades could be her salvation. She tried to contain the burgeoning hope brimming inside her.
Maybe she didn’t have to choose.
Rory’s fighting force was nearly as large as her uncle’s. If her father had the MacLeod’s support, he would not need Sleat. And Isabel would not need to betray the MacLeods by stealing the Fairy Flag or disclosing the location of a secret entrance—if one existed.
Her mind raced as she began to consider the possibilities. Could this work? It might be the perfect solution. But how could she get Rory to agree? She couldn’t just go to him with her request. Not while he still intended to send her back. Not while his alliance with her family was temporary.
So how, then, to prevent him from sending her back?
He had to fall in love with her. If he fell in love with her, he would notwantto send her back. She frowned, realizing it was not simply a matter of earning his love. She knew Rory was counting on the alliance with Argyll to help sway the king to decide in his favor on the disposition of the disputed Trotternish peninsula. She would have to find a way to make the union with her equally as profitable.
However, there was also the fact that she was a MacDonald. Rory hated Sleat. But perhaps if Rory fell in love with her, he would be willing to forgive the connection.
One thing was certain: She knew Rory would never forgive betrayal. She shuddered, remembering his face when he’d discovered her searching the Fairy Tower. She dared not contemplate his fury if he ever found out she’d handfasted with him intending to deceive him. But if she was successful, maybe he need never find out about her treacherous purpose. She considered confessing, but she dared not. Not while she was uncertain of his feelings. And she couldn’t take the chance that her plan wouldn’t work.
It wasn’t perfect, but she had to try.
And if she succeeded, she would have her heart’s desire: a place at Dunvegan and the respect of her family. And most important, Rory’s love. For deep down, Isabel realized that earning his love had become vital. As necessary as the food she ate or the air she breathed. He’d become a part of her.
Letting her hair fall from her fingers, she stood up, suddenly anxious to begin. She looked down and watched as the wretched letter floated to the ground. Uttering a small oath, she picked it up, crumpled it in her fist, and tossed it into the fire. She smiled grimly as the flame caught the parchment, curling the edges with blackness until it vanished into a small billow of gray smoke—the hateful words of betrayal obliterated into nothingness.
Her decision freed her from the inertia of the past few months. It gave her the excuse she needed to go after what she really wanted. Simply waking up in Rory’s arms wasn’t enough. She wanted the intimacy and closeness that could come only from making love.
