“No!” the Mackenzie yelled.
He lunged for the piece of cloth, using his claymore to lift it from the flames, and Rory rolled off the bed naked and pulled a dirk from beneath the pile of his discarded clothing.
“Get back, Isabel,” he ordered softly.
She ran to the far corner of the room, as far from the Mackenzie’s reach as possible.
But there was no need; the distraction had worked.
With the Mackenzie’s gaze focused on the “flag,” Rory was afforded the precious seconds he needed to attack. The familiar hot rush of blood and clarity of mind descended on him, as it always did in battle. Dirk raised, Rory lunged toward the Mackenzie. He moved with lethal precision, his eyes narrowed in on the kill.
Too late, the Mackenzie realized his error. He turned at the last minute to ward off the blow, but his efforts were futile. Rory would not be denied—he easily blocked the swing of the Mackenzie’s sword. With the steely determination of a man intent on protecting the woman he loved, Rory plunged his dirk deep into the heart of his prey.
The Mackenzie’s eyes rounded, and his mouth opened in surprise. The horrible sounds of a gurgling death echoed in the room as he remained pinned by the dirk against the fireplace. Rory released his hold on the dirk, and the Mackenzie chief slipped to the floor, his face a death mask of shock, his cold, flat eyes fixed on eternal nothingness. Like those of his son months before.
It was over.
Isabel ran into his arms. “I thought he was going to kill us.”
Rory smoothed her hair. “I would never let anyone harm you.” But the fierce pounding of his heart told him danger was much closer than he would have liked. There were still no sounds of an attack, but he would have to be ready. The Mackenzie had not come alone.
She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “Oh, Rory, I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t know he was watching me.”
His fingers pressed against her lips. “Shush, love. I trust you.” He held her out to look at her, a black scowl suddenly descending across his handsome face. “But I thought we agreed that you would not do anything reckless ever again. Allowing that sheet to slip was no accident.”
He could see the color spread across her cheeks, knowing very well to what he referred. She tried to look contrite. “I had to get that blade away from your neck. I could think of no other way to distract him.”
“I know what you were trying to do, but next time save your seductions for me. And only me.”
She frowned. “If you’ll recall, I tried, but you were immune. Frustratingly so.”
Rory shook his head. “Nay, lass, never immune.” He pulled her close again and kissed her, telling her with his mouth and the hardness of his body how much she affected him. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss. “Later. I have to raise the men and see to the safety of the keep.” His mind was racing. He realized that the Mackenzie must have traveled fast to arrive before Isabel, but he could not be sure how far the rest would be behind.
“The entrance?”
Rory nodded. “Aye, it’s where they will try to enter.” He turned away to gather his clothes when he heard Isabel gasp.
The sheet she held was covered with blood. “Your shoulder, it’s bleeding.”
“’Tis nothing, just a scratch.” One that hurt like hell.
Their eyes met. He knew she wanted to argue, but there was no time. “Just see that you don’t get any more.”
He dropped a quick kiss on her mouth. “I’ll do my best.”
It was easier than Rory expected. The thirst for revenge had driven the Mackenzie to act precipitously in anticipation of Sleat’s arrival. The guardsmen who had accompanied the Mackenzie were waiting for the return of their chief by the secret entrance, only to be surprised by Rory and his men. When Sleat did arrive, there would be no one left to meet him. No one left to pass on the location of the secret entrance. Within a few hours, Rory had secured the keep and returned to his room. Isabel was waiting with a needle to stitch up his wound.
Later that morning, they sat across a small table that had been set up for Isabel to eat in his chamber. Rory stretched out his long, muscular legs, sat back in his chair with a goblet ofcuirm,and watched her, reluctant to take his eyes off her lest she disappear. He still couldn’t believe she was here.
“I don’t think I have ever seen you enjoy a meal more,” he said, amused.
Isabel looked somewhat shamefaced, aware that she had attacked her platter with a rather unladylike gusto. “I’m afraid I’m quite ravenous. I’ve been fighting bouts of nausea for the past couple of weeks.” She wrinkled her nose. “I can’t abide the smells of certain foods, especially herring,” she said with a shudder.
Just like my mother when she was…
Rory froze, forcing himself to stay calm, but his pulse quickened with possibility.
She couldn’t be.But he, more than anyone, knew that she could. The memory of their night of celebration almost two months ago when he’d lost control and spilled his seed deep inside her. His heart dropped.Their child.Could Isabel be carrying their child? Emotion gripped his chest with an intensity that stunned him. He wanted it with every fiber of his being.
