Cognizant of her concern, Rory turned serious. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry, I know just how close to death I came. I’ll not chance another fever. But if you’ll recall, you did not question my full recovery last night.”
She blushed at the memory of their passionate lovemaking the night before—the first time they had shared a bed since the night before the accident. “Wretch. How like a man to measure the state of his health by his prowess between the bedsheets. Very well, then, return to your sword practice, but if you do not return in a few hours, I will send Bessie after you.”
“With a threat like that, how can I refuse?” Still smiling, he pulled her into his arms and crushed his mouth to hers in a demanding kiss. Instantly intoxicated by the heady taste of him, she felt her body flood with desire. How she loved to feel his lips move over hers. One night of lovemaking could not douse the powerful fire that flared between them, forged by weeks of abstinence. She felt her blood rush; the warmth spread across her body as his tongue swept her mouth.
There was nothing seductive about this kiss, nothing teasing. His mouth moved urgently over hers, searing her with its heat. He knew what he wanted, and so did she. Their shared intent was obvious as their bodies moved together with wonderful familiarity. Her body pressed taut against his hardness, her soft curves molding to him instantly. She felt the press of his hip to hers. His tongue delved deeper, and his hand moved purposefully toward her bodice.
“Rory, are you coming or not?” Alex shouted from below.
Rory lifted his mouth from hers, sanity slowly returning from beneath the haze of passion. Their breathing slowed. When they had time to consider Alex’s choice of words, they burst out laughing in tandem. Rory lifted his brow in question.
Isabel shook her head no.
She had something very important to do—the quicker it was behind her, the better.
“Later. Tonight we will finish what we started, Rory. The lions below are hungry. Off with you before they come hunting,” she chided.
Reluctantly, he released her from his hold. “I think I’ll have a word with Alex about interruptions.” He gently kissed her brow in farewell, now anxious to join the other warriors.
Isabel watched him leave, admiring the strength and pride in his carriage. He looked every inch the impressive Highland warrior, astounding for a man so perilously close to death not even two months ago. A sense of inexplicable bliss settled over her. Holding the love of a man like Rory was awe-inspiring. She must do what was necessary to keep it.
She sat on the edge of the bed, putting her hand over her stomach, fighting a sudden wave of nausea. For the past week or two, she’d experienced strange bouts of queasiness, brought on, no doubt, by stress.
This was the opportunity she’d been waiting for to take a closer look at the flag. Sleat had warned her not to try to trick him, and she knew he would be sending instructions soon. She needed to be ready. She had to be sure that Bessie’s shawl could pass muster with someone familiar with the flag.
An excited roar boomed from the courtyard below, the sound of Rory as he joined his men. She took a deep breath. It was time. Isabel shook with nervousness.Just get it over with.Cautiously she walked to the door, paused, and listened to make sure no one was coming. Hearing no sound, she opened the door and peeked down the corridor. All clear.
Slowly, she moved to the bed, reaching around to feel for the wooden knob in the carving that Rory had described to Alex. She found it easily, turned it, and slid her hand under the bed to locate the opened drawer. The etched metal box was heavier than she’d anticipated, and it took some time to remove it from the drawer. Using both hands, she raised it to the bed and pushed on the MacLeod badge. The lock released with a small pop, and she opened the lid.
Dust and a musty smell gathered at her nose. She rubbed her nose, trying to prevent a sneeze. The famous Fairy Flag of the MacLeods lay folded neatly in the box. Reverently, she lifted it out, letting the soft folds unfurl on the bed. Well, at least lightning didn’t strike. That was something. She had touched the flag and was still alive.
Now for the shawl. Fortunately, Bessie had given over her old shawl with no more than a raised eyebrow or two. Lifting the shawl from her trunk, she held it up in front of the window close to the flag for comparison. A sudden breeze through the open window caught the thin silk fabric and puffed it out like a sail. Amazing. It was just as she remembered. Bessie’s shawl could have been cut from the same cloth as the flag, except that it looked a wee bit less worn. Slightly darker in hue, the crimson-and-yellow pattern of the shawl was otherwise identical to that of the flag. The shawl would fool even someone who had seen the flag up close. Only a side-by-side inspection would differentiate the two.
This might just work!
Carefully she replaced the flag, returning it to its hiding place. Lifting Bessie’s shawl from the bed she turned and placed it in her trunk. She’d just closed the lid when she heard a voice behind her.
“What are you doing?”
Her heart dropped like a stone at the achingly familiar voice. How long had he been standing there? She glanced over her shoulder.
Long enough.
Chapter 22
Rory stood stone still in the doorway, watching Isabel place the MacLeod’s precious talisman in her trunk. For a moment, he felt oddly disembodied as he tried to make sense of the sight before him.
“R-rory,” she faltered. “You’re back so soon. I thought you were training.” She ran to him, pressing her soft body against his chest and circling her arms around his neck. But he barely noticed. “Did something happen? Are you feeling well?” she asked, the concern in her voice a bitter mockery.
Shock propelled his inane response. “I thought I saw something in the window.” He spoke tonelessly.I didn’t want to believe it.
The flag. Isabel had the Fairy Flag. But how…?
The truth hit him hard, striking him cold. He looked down at her, not wanting to believe it. Eyes wide, her perfect oval face lifted to his in silent entreaty. That soft mouth he’d kissed so tenderly only moments ago was now trembling. The longing was almost unbearable. He hated his weakness. How could something so innocent and beautiful mask such treachery?
Betrayal.
Rory forced himself not to turn away, though it hurt just to look at her. The pain in his chest was like nothing that had come before. It ripped through him, tearing a fiery path along its trail. He’d take a thousand arrows in the gut before he faced the raw, excruciating agony that was Isabel’s treachery.
