“I trust MacLeod hasn’t decided to permit lasses to participate in the trials this year, Bel. Or maybe he’s discovered that the MacLeods would be unbeatable in the archery competition with you on their side?”
Isabel basked in Ian’s playful compliment. “Ah, but you should see Rory’s sister Margaret—of late, her skill surpasses mine.”
“You jest. I did not think you could be beaten.” Glancing at Rory, he quipped, “You never know when having a sister skilled with a bow may come in handy.”
Startled, Isabel fixed her eyes firmly on his face, but he would not meet her curious gaze. Was that just an innocuous comment, or was he outright acknowledging the arrow that saved his life? Isabel felt a warm burst of surprise and pride.
Ian paused and considered something for a moment, then asked Isabel hesitantly, “But what of Margaret’s injury? Does that not interfere with her ability to use the bow?”
Isabel shook her head. “Margaret has an extraordinary natural ability for archery. It is sometimes a challenge for her to gauge the depth, but for the most part she is able to compensate for the loss of vision in that eye.” Unable to resist looking at Sleat with a triumphant smile, she added, “I think you will all find Margaret very changed.”
Rory seemed tempted to say something, but they had reached the hall and the opportunity for conversation was lost by the overwhelming din of the celebratory feast inside.
By late afternoon of the next day, Isabel was wishing she had followed her own sage advice. In a mistaken attempt to assuage the tension she was feeling from the disrupting presence of her family in the midst of her fool’s paradise, she’d imbibed too freely of thecuirmand was now suffering the consequences of a blaring headache. But the games were far too entertaining to retreat to the quiet sanctuary of her chambers to rest off the lingering effects of the drink. Besides, watching Rory compete in the various trials of strength and skill made her heart race like an excited girl.
Not surprisingly, the MacLeods, in large part because of Rory, were leading early in the competition. This morning, Rory had easily defeated the field in the swimming competition held in the loch, not an unexpected result given that he’d grown up swimming in those crystalline waters. He’d come in second, barely, in the steep hill foot race behind Alex, who’d then good-naturedly spent the better part of the day teasing him unmercifully for being an “old man.”
Isabel eagerly looked forward to the stone toss and the dance competition that were to be held later that afternoon. Tomorrow, the wrestling, leaping, and throwing of the blacksmith’s forge were scheduled. But the final day of competition would see her favorite events: the tossing of the great tree trunk and the archery contest. Of all the events, Isabel thought the “caber toss” the most remarkable. A great tree trunk was tapered and cut to a height of about eighteen feet. The warrior ran with the caber balanced against his body, then tossed the trunk, hoping that it would flip end over end to land in a straight line. This was a trial of great strength, but it also required tremendous precision and accuracy. Likely the caber toss trial developed as a result of the Highlander’s penchant for novel methods of breaching enemy defenses.
A quick perusal of the happy faces of the clansmen around her produced a satisfied smile. All in all, the gathering was proceeding quite well, even with the arrival this morning of Clan Mackenzie. Her duty of hospitality aside, she was grateful they had missed the feast last night. She had been able to avoid confronting the Mackenzie chief, the father of Murdock, who was killed by Rory not too far from the clearing where the clansmen were now gathered for the stone toss.
“Enjoying the competition, niece? Your handfast husband is putting on quite a display.”
Ouch,the pain in her head just got much worse. Isabel looked around for a graceful means of escape. No luck. Sleat had cornered her in a perfect spot for private conversation. Undoubtedly, he’d patiently bided his time for just such an opportune moment. Thanks to her pounding headache, Isabel had lingered in the shade on the edge of the forest a short distance away from the contestants and other spectators.
Taking a deep breath to bolster her confidence for the harrowing conversation that was sure to come, she ignored his scornful tone and replied, “’Tis hardly unexpected. The renowned strength and skill of Rory Mor are legendary throughout the Highlands. And of course, the MacLeods are heavily favored this year, as they’ve won the last two gatherings in a row. But I think you do not wish to discuss games, Uncle.”
He raised a brow, surprised by her directness. Lowering his voice, he issued a reprimand in the clipped timbre of a verbal slap. “No, I do not want to discuss the games. I want to know why you have not seen fit to communicate your progress in locating a secret entrance or the flag.” He grabbed her arm, as he was wont to do, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh. “I want to know why you have forsaken your duty to your clan.”
Her uncle’s words were a bitter reminder of her precariously wrought happiness. Guilt swept over her, descending on her conscience like a dark cloud snuffing out the flaming sun. But she reminded herself that if her plan was successful, she would not fail in her duty to her clan. She refused to contemplate what she would do if it didn’t work. She tried to shrug off his hold, but he held firm. She lifted her chin defiantly. “I’ve not forsaken my clan.”
“Have you found the entrance or the Fairy Flag?” he asked skeptically.
“No,” she admitted.
He lowered his head, locking his cold, unblinking eyes on hers. “Or perhaps you have found it and have decided not to tell me where it is. Do not take me for a fool, Isabel MacDonald. Anyone can see the way you are traipsing about after the MacLeod like an adoring pup. Stupid chit! You have fallen in love with your husband. He was supposed to fall in love withyou.” His blotched face turned crimson with rage.
She stepped back, instinctively retreating from the danger posed by her belligerent uncle. His contorted features, unappealing at best, were positively ugly. “No, you are wrong. I have not found the flag or an entrance, Uncle.” Though he was right about the rest. Forcing herself not to flinch, she drew on all the reserves of her pride to hold her back straight and not cower before him.
“You had better hope you find them soon. The only thing keeping the Mackenzies from Strome Castle is my forbearance. Do not deceive yourself. Without my help, your clan will suffer. Badly. And people will die. Ask the Mackenzie how easy it is to lose a son.”
Isabel blanched, and her blood ran cold. She forced back the guilt. Her brothers would not lose their lives and her clan would not need to suffer, not if she could convince Rory. Sleat was only trying to scare her with his threats. Never mind that it was effective. “I know well the dire situation of our clan, you need not remind me.”
Sleat studied her with a calculating glare. “Yet I do not sense the urgency in your actions. Is he in love with you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Has the MacLeod spoken of marriage?”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed. “Does he suspect you?”
“Of course not. I’ve been very careful.” She tried to move farther away from him. But his hand was still gripping her arm, and he used his hold to propel her forcefully back toward him.
“I am not finished with you, Isabel. I won’t be finished with you until you have found what you came here for. Do you comprehend the importance of this mission—the importance of what you were sent here to do? I refuse to allow the future prominence of the MacDonalds in the Isles to be compromised by the whimsical heartstrings of a mere lass. There is far too much at stake. Look over there—” He motioned to the clearing. “See how your husband converses so intimately with Argyll, our clan’s most vile enemy. Since the dissolution of the Lordship, Argyll has usurpedourpower in western Scotland. Soon, Argyll and his Campbell clan will be nearly as powerful as the king. We must act now, reclaim our Gaelic heritage for the MacDonalds, before it is too late. You will do what you were sent to do, or you will live to regret your foolish decision.” The corners of his mouth lifted in a sinister, yellow sneer. “Perhaps MacLeod would be interested to learn of your traitorous purpose here?” He laughed cruelly at her expression of horror. “I wonder what your adoring husband will make of your explanation—do you think he will forgive you for deceiving him? For spying on him?”
No! You can’t tell Rory.Panic gripped her, choking her ability to think rationally. Would Rory understand that she’d had no choice? Would it be enough that she had changed her mind? Could she take the chance? She intended to confess when the time was right—when she could be sure of his affections and had all the parts of her plan in place—but the truth coming from her uncle would be disastrous. She should have anticipated that her uncle would not let her get away without a fight.
