Highland Hero (23 page)

“And what do I get when I beat you?” she asked.

“What would ye like?”

“One day where ye stay quietly in your bed and allow your poor battered body to heal.”

“That is a high price indeed, but fair enough.”

The whole time they played, Isbel forced herself to be calm. She ached for the game to be quick, for her defeat to come swiftly, but knew she would be deeply embarrassed if Kenneth guessed that. When, for one brief moment, it looked as if she would get checkmate, she nearly made a foolish move. It took all of her willpower to continue to play as if she wanted to win. She breathed an inner sigh of relief when Kenneth made his move and effectively cut off any chance she had of victory.

Even as he said the word “checkmate,” he pushed aside the board and tugged her into his arms. Isbel could feel herself trembling faintly with anticipation and prayed that he would misread it as shyness or even a touch of fear. She tensed slightly as he framed her face with his hands. Suddenly she was afraid that his kiss could never match her expectations and the very last thing she wanted him to do was disappoint her.

“ ’Tis but a wee kiss I mean to take, Isbel,” he said in a soft, husky voice. “Ye need not look so frightened.”

“I am but a wee bit nervous.”

“Ye are a widow. Ye cannae be a stranger to a kiss.” He began to brush soft, teasing kisses over her face.

“I am a stranger to yours,” she whispered.

“That is something quickly and willingly changed,” he murmured against her lips.

The moment his mouth touched hers, Isbel knew the kiss would be all she had imagined and much, much more. She slipped her arms around his neck and allowed him to pull her fully into his arms. Warmth flared through her body as his mouth moved over hers. He prodded at her lips with his tongue and she quickly parted them, welcoming the slow, intimate strokes inside her mouth. Her breath grew swift and uneven as he smoothed his hands over her body. His kiss began to grow fiercer, more demanding, and she shuddered with the strength of her need for him.

Suddenly the force of her own feelings for him terrified her. She broke free of his hold and stumbled off the bed. “I think ye have fully collected your wager,” she said, her voice thick and hoarse.

“Isbel,” he said, reaching out to her.

She stepped away, out of his reach, and then began to back toward the door. Every part of her cried out for her to return to his arms, and she decided that was a very good reason to get far away from him for a while. Isbel had known from the start that she desired Kenneth Davidson, but the feeling she had now could only be called a deep, almost overwhelming craving. She knew she had to remove herself from further temptation until she could gain some understanding of what she was feeling. She opened her mouth to say something, then gave in to cowardice and fled the room. As she ran to the safety of her own bedchamber, she prayed that Kenneth had no idea what had sent her running.

Chapter 5

It was a simple chore but Kenneth did not think he had enjoyed it more. He took a deep breath of the warm stable air as he rubbed down his mount. Wallace had not been ridden for days, did not really need a rubbing down, but it was one of the few things Kenneth could do. A lingering weakness, despite three long weeks of rest, made it almost impossible for him to do anything but the least strenuous of chores. It was highly irritating, for he felt well enough to do anything until he tried to really exert himself. Then his weakness revealed itself.

Knowing that it was only a matter of time until his strength returned, he decided to turn his mind to other things and was not surprised when his thoughts settled on Isbel. She had been in his thoughts almost constantly since they had shared a kiss. He had never experienced such a fierce and immediate passion. Since his youth, those days when he had just begun to learn the delights a man and a woman could share, he had never really ached for a woman, but he ached for Isbel. He could do nothing about it, however, for she had stayed well out of his reach all week.

That puzzled him, for he would never have guessed that Isbel was a coward yet she was acting very much like one. At first he had thought that her rapid retreat and obvious agitation was because he had moved too quickly or made his desire for her too obvious. That made no sense, however. She was a widow, no innocent maiden, and although he had not hidden the strength of his desire, he had not attempted to ravish her. Although he feared he could be thinking somewhat vainly, he could not stop wondering if her flight had been caused because she had experienced her first taste of passion. Her husband could well have been a poor lover, indifferent, unskilled, and hasty. If Isbel’s passions had never been stirred by her husband yet had come to life in his arms, she could well have been startled, afraid, or even ashamed.

Kenneth cursed himself as a fool, even as he absently walked around the specter of a small ragged boy that had suddenly appeared by his horse’s right flank. It did him no good to puzzle over Isbel’s actions, for he had no facts or real knowledge to enable him to answer any of the many questions he had. The only things he knew about Isbel were that he desired her more than he had ever desired anyone, she was beautiful in an ethereal way, and she was odd. He simply did not know enough about her to understand why she did what she did.

There was something else to consider as well. All he could offer Isbel was a love affair. It would undoubtedly be fierce and sweet, but Isbel was not a woman a man married, certainly not a man in his position. His family was wealthy and powerful but he was a third son. His father had been more than generous, giving a small largesse to all of his children, but Kenneth knew he was expected to add to that wealth through an appropriate and advantageous marriage. Isbel not only had little money, but her land holdings were very modest and packed with all the things most people ran in terror from. He also knew that making Isbel a leman would hurt her, even insult her, and he realized he could not do that to her.

Enough musing and wondering, he said to himself as he started to walk out of the stable. Kenneth decided that the only way he could stop his mind from spinning in all directions yet solving nothing was to talk to Isbel. It could not hurt to ask why she had run from him and why she was staying away. The worst she could do was refuse to answer.

He found her near the chicken coop, blindly scattering seed to the birds. For a moment Kenneth stood a few feet away and just watched her. She looked as confused and as caught up in her own thoughts as he had been. He cautiously approached, not wanting to startle her too much, but needing to get close enough to grab her by the arm or the hand to stop her when she tried to elude him.

“Isbel,” he called softly and prepared to catch her when she whirled around looking very much like a terrified rabbit. “We need to talk.”

“I fear I am much too busy,” she said, and gave a soft squeak of alarm when he gently but firmly grabbed her by the arm as she tried to walk away from him.

“Ye have been very busy for a full week. I ken that there are many things one must do before winter settles in, but I believe ye can spare me a moment or two without courting starvation.”

Isbel inwardly grimaced and tried to still the tight nervousness that had gripped her. She knew they had to talk, had even planned out several conversations in her mind, but each time she caught sight of him, she gave in to her own cowardice. Even reminding herself that they were destined, that she had work to do if that destiny was to be fulfilled, did not help. It was not so much what he might say to her that she feared, but what she might say to him. She knew the feelings his kiss had stirred in her were born of far more than passion. Love had already found a place in her heart. That was not a secret she wished to reveal, however, not when he had showed no sign of even beginning to feel the same.

“What do ye wish to talk about?” she asked timidly as he tugged her over to a rough wooden bench set beneath a tree that was struggling to reach its full height.

“That kiss.”

“It was very nice,” she muttered as he sat down and tugged her down at his side.

“Such flattery.”

“I suspect ye dinnae need pretty words and assurances from me, that ye hear plenty.”

“I doubt I hear as many as ye obviously think I do. And I have not come to seek flattery or even sweet words. I seek some answers.”

“About what?” She inwardly cursed, for her voice was tiny, little more than a timid whisper.

He sighed and ran the fingers of his free hand through his hair. “Ye fled from me that night as if I had just grown horns and a tail.”

“Ye exaggerate.”

“Nay. One moment we are sharing a verra fine kiss, a sweet and passionate embrace, and the next ye are leaping from my arms and scurrying out the door. What did I do wrong?”

She sighed and stared down at her feet. He had a right to a few answers. She had been enjoying the kiss, and revealed nothing but willingness, then had abruptly changed toward him and run away. The hint of confusion she could hear in his voice was probably heartfelt. Isbel was not sure what to say, however. She was not even sure why the passion he had roused in her had scared her so.

“Ye did nothing wrong,” she finally said. “’Tis me. When ye wagered a kiss, I thought that would be nice. I confess that I had already thought of kissing you a time or two and was more than willing to satisfy my curiosity. What I had not expected was that it would be as, weel, as stirring as it was.” She was not sure how she should read the brief, compulsive squeeze of her hand.

“I was stirred as weel,” he said quietly. “Could ye not feel that I was?”

“Aye, and yet, to be honest, what ye were and were not feeling was not of any great concern to me at that moment.” She finally gained the courage to look him in the eye. “My husband was not a particularly good man. He certainly never made me feel as ye did with but a kiss.”

“Your husband has been dead for a year. Ye should feel no guilt that your passion didnae die with him.”

“Oh, I dinnae. In truth, my passion wasnae stirred by him at all. For a while I suffered a deep guilt about that, but as I came to ken the mon he was, I realized that he did not notice that he was the only one gaining any pleasure from our coupling and that he probably wouldnae have cared had he kenned that I was cold to his touch. I thought I loved the mon, but soon realized that I had fooled myself as completely as he had fooled me, and he didnae marry me for love anyway.” She shook her head. “Nay, I will say no more against him. ’Tis bad luck to speak ill of the dead.”

He gently took both of her hands in his. “Did ye feel shamed that I made ye feel what he could not?”

“Nay. But can ye nay see? Aye, I am a widow, but in some things I am still a great innocent. The only mon I have e’er been touched by in my life left me cold. It sometimes puzzled me how the poets and minstrels could speak so eloquently of something so, weel, so cold. I decided that either something was wrong with me or they prettied up with soft words a necessary part of marriage.” She caught a fleeting look in his fine dark eyes and smiled crookedly. “Nay, dinnae pity me.”

“ ’Twas not truly pity, more regret. Ye deserved better.”

“Mayhap. And it was probably not all Patrick’s fault. He found me too thin and I think, despite all his claims to the contrary, he feared my gifts.”

“Ah, your gifts.” She had been so truthful thus far, painfully so, and Kenneth briefly wondered if that would continue as he asked, “Ye and Pullhair oft mention your
gifts
but neither of you explains what ye mean.”

Isbel stared at him. She knew that telling him the full truth about herself was not the way to make him love her. It could also end all hope of becoming his lover, even if for one brief night. Instinct told her, however, that she had to be truthful, that complete honesty was the only way she could deal with Kenneth Davidson and have any hope at all of a future with him. She knew now that her plan to hold fast to her secrets until she could find a place in his heart would never have worked. Kenneth would have seen that as a betrayal.

“Ye willnae like this,” she warned him, wondering if she was also trying to remind herself of the consequences of telling him the whole truth.

“I believe I may have already guessed a great deal of it. I am not sure why but—shall we say?—my vision has become far more acute since meeting you and Pullhair.”

“As I have told you, I was born into the clan MacLachlan of Loch Fyne.” She took a deep breath and told him about Lily and Duncan. She was not encouraged by his widening eyes or his increasing frown.

“And so the MacLachlans of Loch Fyne believe they have faerie blood in their veins?” he asked gently.

“They do and the special gifts so many are born with seem to prove their claim. Every generation one is born who is said to look like Lily. This time it was me. And with those looks comes an added serving of skills. I can see all that lurks in the shadows, am privy to many of the secrets of the netherworld. I ken that ye have seen some of the ghosts who haunt Bandal’s halls.”

“I have seen something now and then,” he reluctantly admitted, not wishing to elaborate, for that seemed like an admission of belief and he still clung to his need to deny it all.

Isbel smiled faintly. She knew that Mary had been his first sighting and that, after her, Kenneth had seen more and more. The ghosts had begun to appear to him with the same frequency and freedom that they appeared to her. He wished to deny that particular truth, however, and she decided she would not argue with him. What she was telling him was clearly upsetting him enough. She saw no gain in adding to that by insisting that he was just like her.

“Weel, ghosties like me, and when I came to Bandal, I discovered that ’tis a gathering place for them. I can help them step onto that final path, ye see, and one of those paths appears to be right here. At times I also have a wee touch of the sight, such as when I came to help you.”

“I did wonder how ye had found me.”

“A dream warned me of the danger ye were facing from your untended wounds and from, weel, other threats. I simply followed where I was led.”