She needed to buy time. Time to ask the queen for her help in the disposition of Trotternish and time to dissuade her uncle from blasting a hole right through the delicate bond of their love. But how could she satisfy Sleat without betraying Rory?
The answer had come to her unexpectedly, while praying for Rory’s recovery. Bessie walked into her room wearing an old silk shawl, and Isabel had her divine response.
That was where I’ve seen it.The flag that she’d glimpsed through the door looked just like Bessie’s shawl. A plan formed quickly in her mind. She would write to her uncle and tell him that she’d found the flag. But instead of the flag, she would give him Bessie’s shawl, or if her uncle insisted the spy retrieve the flag for himself, she would switch it temporarily. Once her uncle’s spy removed the “Fairy Flag,” Isabel would replace the true flag and tell Rory the truth as soon as possible.
There were many risks, but she could think of no other way to satisfy her uncle that would enable her to stay at Dunvegan. No doubt the ruse would eventually be discovered, but by then she would have garnered precious time. And hopefully by then the issue of the repudiation would be solved by marriage vows. Vows that, unlike a handfast, could not be easily set aside. She quashed the wave of guilt at her deception, telling herself it would all work out in the end.
So nearly a month after the attack, when Rory had recovered enough to attend meetings with his men, Isabel sat down at the desk to compose a carefully worded letter to her uncle and another to the queen. Moving some papers out of the way, she glanced down at a letter Rory had left unfinished only that morning. The name leapt off the page: The Earl of Argyll. She read the words that confirmed her worst fears: “I’m recovered…must see you to discuss the alliance.”
He still intended to go through with the marriage to Elizabeth Campbell. The knowledge stung. But it also made her sure that she was doing the right thing. Repressing the urge to crumple the offending letter into a ball, Isabel carefully put it to the side and began the letters that would garner her precious time.
Though frustratingly weak, after weeks confined to his bed, Rory was anxious to resume at least some of his duties. It was not simply the endless cosseting of women that made him restless, though there was that, but while his wound healed, Rory had begun to implement his plan. It could be a solution to all his problems, one that might enable him to marry Isabel and do his duty to his clan. But even if it failed, Rory knew that he would never be able to let her go. It was time to inform his men of his decision.
Careful not to reopen his wound, Rory slowly made his way down to the library, as Isabel had threatened to do him bodily injury if he attempted to take one step out of the Fairy Tower. But he would not have a council with his men in his bedchamber. Alex, Douglas, and Colin were already waiting for him. Rory was glad to see that Colin had recovered from the injuries he’d suffered at the hands of the Mackenzies. Two of Rory’s other men had not been so lucky, though Rory knew it could have been worse. It was Colin who’d noticed the band of Mackenzies following his chief through the forest. He’d pursued, slowing Rory’s attackers and enabling their escape. Once Rory, Alex, and Isabel had disappeared into the rocks, the Mackenzies had fled, preventing any further injuries.
But it was not the Mackenzies who concerned Rory right now. It was the reaction of his men, as he’d just laid out his plan.
“It is a good plan,” Alex said. “But do you think the king will agree?”
“James has been reluctant to interfere in land disputes between the clans,” Rory said. “But my proposal ceding Trotternish to the MacLeods as part of Isabel’s tocher gives James the opportunity to resolve the matter without actually having to decide the merits of the dispute.”
Alex nodded. “Something the king would rather not do, reluctant as he is to choose between you and Sleat. James will jump at the easy way out. A dowry is perfect.”
“But Sleat will never agree,” Colin pointed out.
Rory shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. By then the idea will already be in James’s head. Also, it was Sleat who proposed Isabel as my bride in the first place. Her tocher was not discussed when we agreed upon a handfast. But a dowry would be expected with marriage.”
“Argyll will be furious if you break the alliance. Can you afford to anger him? You might not find him as ready to intercede on our behalf in the future,” Colin said.
“I will find a way to mollify him. And any loss of Argyll’s support at court will be made up with the support we are gaining,” Rory replied. “Isabel’s friendship with the king and queen is surely as beneficial as Argyll’s influence.” Watching her act as hostess at the Highland gathering had made him realize that having Isabel as a wife would be an asset at court. Rory was only sorry he hadn’t realized it earlier.
Douglas nodded his agreement. “You forget, Colin, I’ve seen her at court. I can assure you that Isabel is well connected in the royal household. She was the favorite of the queen amongst her ladies and a favorite of the king as well.”
“It’s done,” Rory said. “I’ve already written the king.” He paused. “And Argyll.”
He looked around the table, but if his men questioned his actions, they did not say so. His gaze fell on his brother. “If you have something to say, Alex, do so.”
Alex shook his head, but Rory knew what he was thinking. An alliance with Argyll would have all but guaranteed a return of their land. If Rory’s plan didn’t work, the MacLeods would lose Trotternish. In deciding to break the agreement with Argyll before he was sure of the outcome with the king, Rory had put his love for Isabel above the good of the clan.
He would just have to make sure his plan didn’t fail. But right now, if he did not want to collapse before his men, he would return to bed. This short sojourn had sapped his strength. Isabel had been right, though he would never admit it. She already hovered over him as if he could disappear at any time. But Rory understood her fear. And that was what had prompted this council.
He knew Isabel was deeply troubled by his failure to assure her of their future, but as soon as he resolved the situation with Argyll and heard from the king, he would be able to ease the lines of worry marring the smooth skin on her forehead. Soon.
It was a beautiful June morning, the clear, cloudless type of day you dream about in the dark, depressing days of winter. Rory stood near the window in his solar, finishing his morning preparations. Though he’d been out of bed for a few weeks, today he would return to sword training for the first time since his injury, and Isabel was nervous. A roar from the courtyard below drew her attention. Isabel smiled, welcoming the clamorous sounds of life that had been conspicuously absent while Rory recovered.
“Are you sure you are ready to resume training, Rory? It has not even been two months since you were injured,” Isabel asked, unable to conceal the worry in her voice.
Rory laughed and replied teasingly, “You know, I have a healthy new respect for Alex, enduring as he did the constant attentions ofthreeof you. I consider myself extremely fortunate that Bessie has been kept busy with Robert’s bairns or I am sure she would have joined you and Margaret in your endless cosseting. If I stay chained to this keep much longer, I may find myself unable to belt my own plaid.”
“Ungrateful wretch!” Her hands landed at her waist. “Margaret and I have allowed you far more latitude than we thought appropriate because we knew you would resist what was good for you at every step. You are a decidedly horrible patient, Rory MacLeod. Need I remind you of the second fever you suffered after getting out of bed too soon last month? And Margaret and I should be the ones complaining for having to look at that black scowl all day long.”
Rory grinned broadly at the mock affront in her posture.
Her heart caught as it always did at the sight of the dimpled grin that now lifted so easily. It was hard to believe that not too long ago he used to be as dour as Margaret’s Viking. Isabel frowned. Something had been bothering Margaret of late. She’d assumed it was the near death of her brother, but now she wasn’t so sure.
Rory almost looked himself, but was he really ready to resume his duties? She admitted that he did look better than he had in weeks, but the signs of his lengthy illness still lingered. He’d lost a considerable amount of weight. Height alone would always make him an imposing man, but the loss of weight created a feral, hungry leanness in him that she could not say was unpleasant or unimpressive. Still powerfully muscled, he seemed more tightly wound. He’d allowed them to trim his hair and shave his beard, and though he’d lost most of the perpetual tan he seemed to have, he would get that back soon enough with the resumption of his normal activities.
The wound in his stomach had healed nicely, thanks to the salves applied by Deidre, but he would bear a large scar where the arrow had torn a gaping hole through his skin. What worried her was that with the resumption of fighting, the wound might reopen.
