Isabel bit her lip. She knew he’d be angry about that. “I was very careful. I feared you would refuse my entry if I came by the sea-gate.” She looked up. “I couldn’t take the chance.”
“I forgot how many of our secrets you share.” He reached down to stroke her cheek, wiping the dirt and grime from her face. The gentleness of the movement stunned her. Emotion gathered in her throat, hot and raw. The longing for the closeness they’d once shared was nearly unbearable, the times when she didn’t have to stop herself from touching him. “What am I to do with you, Isabel?” He took an ominous step closer. “First you will explain what has brought you here in such haste and with disregard for your own safety.”
Isabel felt light-headed with relief. She had a chance.
But sudden fear gripped her, so much was riding on this. She took a deep breath and began. “While at Dunscaith a few days ago, I was helping Willie recover some missives that he dropped on the floor when I noticed Sleat’s badge on a letter addressed to Robert Cecil, the first Earl of Salisbury.” She paused, waiting for Rory to glean the significance.
She caught the sudden spark in his eye and continued, this time excitedly. “I immediately questioned why Sleat would be writing the queen of England’s secretary of state. I suspected that my uncle was trying to find another way to obtain the Lordship for himself. He hinted as much to me in a conversation we had at the gathering. When I found the letter, I realized that Sleat and probably Mackenzie were in treasonous contact with Queen Elizabeth.”
“You deduced this from the name on a missive?” Rory asked, clearly impressed.
“I was desperate to findanythingthat would make you understand that I would never betray you. And the letter, well, it just seemed odd. Of course, when I read it I could not believe what I’d stumbled upon. Sleat proposed a new rebellion in the Isles. He offered his service to Elizabeth, actually precipitously referring to himself as the ‘Lord of the Isles.’ He proposed to unite the Highland chiefs to the queen and keep the Lordship for himself. And destroy the MacLeods in the process. With the MacLeods in shambles, there would be no one powerful enough in the Isles to contest his claim.”
Rory shook his head. “’Tis even worse than I expected. I knew he wanted to reestablish the Lordship, but I didn’t think he would commit treason to assure it. I may be at the horn, and do not agree with James’s plans for the ‘barbarians’ of the Isles, but to invite the bloody English into Scotland is an extremely dangerous—and foolish—proposition.” He looked back at her, his expression inscrutable. “Do you know what you risked in coming here? If your uncle realizes what you know, your life will be in danger.”
“He doesn’t know.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded, and her head spun with dizziness. Something was wrong, she didn’t feel very well.
“Do you know what this means, Isabel? If the king discovers what Sleat has done, he will be destroyed.”
“I know.”
“And you rode for days to tell me this?”
Isabel nodded again, too teeming with expectation to speak. Would it be enough to prove her devotion? Would he ever be able to forgive her? She forced herself to look at his face. What she saw there made the tears that she’d been holding start to fall. He gazed at her with such emotion, such longing, that her fear abated and the hope she’d been holding inside burst free, overwhelming her with the sheer intensity of emotion.
“I don’t know what to say,” he said roughly.
“Say that you believe me.”
He wiped the tears from her cheeks, his thumb running over her trembling lips. “Aye, lass, I believe you. But unfortunately, without the letter we have no proof.”
She reached into her waistband and pulled out the folded parchment. “You mean this letter?” She smiled through the haze of happy tears.
And promptly fainted.
Rory thought his heart had stopped when Isabel crumpled to the floor. He lurched forward, catching her just before she hit the ground. The same fear gripped him that he’d felt that day in the forest. Only when he’d assured himself that she’d fainted did it dissipate—a little. But what the hell had she done to herself?
Carefully, he lifted her in his arms and carried her up the stairs to his solar. Looking at the wan, dust-smeared cheek resting peacefully against his chest, he felt his heart flip. All that he could have lost hit him full force.
When he’d first caught sight of her, he’d been shocked, not only to have her seemingly materialize out of his dreams, but to see her so obviously exhausted. Her glorious hair flew in wild disarray around her pinched face, and dark shadows circled her luminous violet eyes. She must not have eaten in days; her wrinkled gown hung loose about her thin frame. His first impulse had been to take her in his arms and prove in the most basic way possible that she was real, but anger at seeing her like that had checked him.
When he thought of what she must have gone through to reach him, and the risk she’d taken in bringing him Sleat’s treasonous letter…He shuddered as the possibilities chilled him. If anything had happened to her, he would never have forgiven himself.
The timing of her arrival could not have been more ironic. After the arrival of the king’s missive, Rory had made the decision to retrieve his bride. Even if he had to take an army to Strome Castle, he would get her back. But he had another plan and hoped that laying siege would not prove necessary. Putting that plan into motion had delayed his pursuit of Isabel.
He’d still had many questions, but Isabel’s letter to the queen on his behalf was proof of her loyalty. Now, after what she’d brought him, there could be no doubt. Thanks to Isabel, he had the means to destroy Sleat and avenge the dishonor done his clan.
He laid her on the bed. Her eyes fluttered open almost immediately, and Rory felt relief pour out of him.
“What happened?” she asked, disoriented.
“You fainted.”
“I don’t faint.” She tried to sit up but quickly lay back down.
