Stolen Vows Page 11

“Gone to see the Laird, I reckon, although he was a late riser too. Ye can bet they noticed at breakfast! I put it in my mind to come straight up and see what the fuss was about. Ye got that brother of mine -”

  “Oh! So you must be Bridghe MacRae?” Isla exclaimed, relieved to be able to put a name to the face of the woman good-naturedly tidying up the dishes from the night before.

  “Aye, that’s me,” Roan’s sister nodded. “And yer Isla -” there was a tiny pause before Bridghe added the surname, “- MacRae.”

  Isla nodded her head unnecessarily, but for the moment was saved from any further probing. There was a soft knock at the door and Liane arrived. She beamed with delight to see that her mistress was awake, and then eagerly bounded away to fetch the porridge as Bridghe instructed.

  “Thank ye for coming to visit like this, I know it canna have been easy for ye,” Isla said quietly, once she was again alone with her sister-in-law.

  “Why now lass, twas nae trouble,” Bridghe said softly, being very particular as she folding a pillowslip. “Tis nae as if I ignore family, and I was curious to see what sort of lass my wee brother would -”

  “Nae, tis nae what I -” Isla began, but a pointed look from Bridghe silenced her on the implied “Cameron” matter. She couldn’t help wondering what trouble this effort at friendliness would really cost the other woman though - insults from some of the castle residences, a fight with her mother?

  “I canna imagine what’s taking that girl so long,” Bridghe said, frowning at the door, and evidently considering their previous topic of conversation well and truly closed. Liane reappeared just at that moment and provided a distraction.

  “I’m sorry I was so long,” she said, with a flustered little curtsy that nearly sent the porridge sailing onto the floor. Luckily Bridghe had the presence of mind to hurry forward and save the tray. “Miss Morag wanted to come and see the mistress. I said ye were nae dressed yet, mistress,” Liane said, her face looking truly unhappy for the first time since Isla had met her, “but -”

  “But I would nae take nae for an answer.”

  Isla watched half curious, half anxious, as a woman flounced into the chamber after Liane. The woman in question wasn’t so much beautiful, as stunningly attractive. There was nothing delicate, nothing subtle about her. Her dress was laced extremely tight, her face was rouged and her blonde hair was piled high upon her head. All in all, she fairly screamed what she was: a whore.

  Isla gulped uncomfortably. If this Morag really was what she seemed, then why was she here? Was Roan one of the men whose beds she usually warmed? Isla didn’t want to believe that was the answer to her question.

  “What can we do for ye, Morag?” Bridghe asked sharply, with a rather obvious curl of her top lip.

  “Why I just came to meet Roan’s wee wife,” Morag replied, flashing a dazzling smile.

  Roan’s wife… the implied familiarity made Isla’s skin crawl.

  “Well, here she is,” Bridghe said bluntly, waving her arm in Isla’s direction.

  “Pleased to meet ye,” she simpered sweetly, but there was insincerity in her face. Isla found her brow furrowing in a frown that matched Bridghe’s as she listened. “I wonder, is Roan around?”

  “It seems rather obvious that he is nae,” Bridghe snapped. Isla wondered if Morag was going to speak to her at all. She’d barely even cast a glance in the direction of the bed.

  “Nae matter,” Bridghe said airily. “I’ll speak to him when I see him later. I just wanted to come and thank him for his present.”

  “His present?” Isla whispered, speaking for the first time since Morag had arrived.

  The woman turned with a smile still plastered on her lips, it seemed to widen when she observed Isla’s slightly less than glamorous appearance. Isla was so cut by the look that it took her several seconds to realize that Morag was waving her hand beneath her neck where a pretty pearl pendant was strung on a length of ribbon.

  “He left it on the dresser for me to find when I woke up,” Morag giggled girlishly.

  Isla frankly couldn’t believe what she was hearing! She didn’t want to believe it, but it was hard to ignore the condemning evidence that was nestled against Morag’s throat. What struck Isla completely speechless was Morag’s shameless boasting and bragging to her, Roan’s wife.

  “Out,” Bridghe growled, sounding so much like her brother that Isla started in surprise. Morag looked - or feigned a look - of surprise too. “I’ll be sure to let Roan ken that ye were here,” Brighe smirked, making it quite obvious that whatever she had to say about the visit would not be favorable.

  “Oh Bridghe! Always so serious,” Morag laughed, and then flounced out of the room in just the same way as she had come in. Liane received a sharp glare from Bridghe the second that they were alone, which sent the young woman into wails of apology.

  “I told him that woman was trouble. I warned him,” Bridghe muttered crossly, picking up the sheets so angrily that all of her good work was undone.

  “Yer porridge, mistress?” Liane whispered quietly, picking up the tray from where Bridghe had placed it and nudging the food towards her mistress. Isla didn’t answer however, she felt numb.

  Roan had never given her so much as a glass bead. Even her wedding ring had been her late mother’s. Why had she never wondered if he had someone at home waiting for him? Why had she never considered the fact that he might already want someone else? The pain in her heart was surprising. If someone had plunged a rusty dagger into her heart Isla didn’t imagine it could have been more painful.

  “Dinna pay Morag any mind, lass,” Bridghe said softly.

  “Ye think she was lying?” Isla asked breathlessly, ready to cling to any scrap of hope that she could find. Bridghe looked uneasy, and for the first time refused to meet Isla’s eyes.

  “I think if Roan gave her the pearl then it was before he ever met ye,” she said, slowly and carefully.

  But he had still given it to Morag… and he had never wanted to marry her anyway! Isla held the words inside. The gift had to mean something to him; it had to mean that Morag meant something to him.

  “But -” Isla couldn’t understand why what Bridghe was saying didn’t make her feel any better. Perhaps it was because Roan’s sister was only guessing, only giving her opinion, whereas Morag’s necklace had been so very real. “But that does nae mean -” but the sentence trailed off unfinished.

  “Does nae mean what?” Bridghe asked gently.

  “That he’ll give her up,” Isla whispered brokenly, tears finally spilling down her cheeks.

  Bridghe sat down on the side of the bed next to Isla and gave her a motherly hug. “Do ye really think Roan would do that to ye?” She asked, but she answered her own question. “Because I dinna. I really dinna.”

  “But maybe he’d want to!” Isla sobbed. “Maybe he’d rather have Morag instead of me?”

  “Isla dinna be so silly!” Bridghe exclaimed.

  “But I’m a Cameron and -”

  “And he married ye anyway,” Bridghe nodded firmly. “Does that nae tell ye anything?”

  ..ooOOoo..

  Isla’s supposition couldn’t have been further from the truth. In fact, as Roan finished tending to his duties as tanist, his mind was dwelling very firmly on his wife and the words that she had spoken to his mother the night before. She said that she loved him.

  Roan gave his head a fierce shake. She hadn’t meant it. It had been a lie told to save him. Did he want her to mean it though? That was the question plaguing Roan’s thoughts. Did he want Isla to love him? And, did he love her? He wasn’t sure if he did, but he was quite sure that he could.

  It would be so easy to love Isla. She was beautiful, spirited, intelligent and passionate. Her smile made him feel so very alive. It warmed his heart and made him believe that everything would be all right if they were just together.

  Roan shook his head again. He was in danger of doing what he’d always sworn that he wouldn’t - making a fool of himse
lf for a woman. That was why he’d never planned to marry for love. That was why attraction and compatibility were the only qualities he’d ever wanted in a wife. Roan hated to be made vulnerable, and Isla had made him vulnerable.

  That was quite obvious - given that he was standing outside their bedroom door, with his hand on the door handle, without remembering walking through the castle to get there.

  Here now though, Roan reasoned, there’s really no sense turning around without seeing Isla first.

  So, he pushed open the door and walked into the chamber. A grin broke across his tired face when he saw Isla and his sister were both sitting by the fire, sewing in companionable silence. Bridghe’s thick fingers were struggling with a piece of darning while Isla attempted to repair some of the damage to the gown that she’d worn for the journey from Castle Cameron.

  “And how is my favorite wife feeling this afternoon?” he asked cheerfully, unprepared for the deeply hurt look that Isla shot in his direction. Roan frowned; unaware of anything he’d done to upset her. “Isla -”

  “Bridghe has been doing a grand job looking after me,” Isla said quickly, glancing towards the fireplace. Roan followed her gaze uncertainly to his sister. She looked up and shook her head at him.

  “Is something wrong?” Roan demanded slowly, completely bewildered. “Isla? Are ye feeling well?”

  “I’m fine, aye,” she murmured, turning her head away from him and concentrating on her stitches.

  Roan’s frown deepened, he marched forward, intent on forcing Isla to explain herself.

  His bewilderment grew when Bridghe got hurriedly up from her seat by the fireplace and murmured something about needing to find their sister, Eithne, about a dress pattern. She nodded very pointedly at Liane, forcing the maid to follow her out of the room so that the newly wedded couple was left alone.

  “Isla, what is going on?” Roan snapped, exhaustion and confusion shortening his temper. His wife was still turned away from him however, so he wasn’t sure that he understood her mumbled reply. “Pardon?” he barked.

  “I said -” Isla began, turning so that she could glare up at him. “-why dinna ye go ask Morag?”

  “Morag?” Roan repeated hesitantly. The irritated anger drained away from his voice immediately, replaced by an obvious uncertainty. “What do ye mean?” he asked slowly, deciding the best course of action was to see what Isla actually knew before condemning himself.

  “I mean she was here showing off her necklace,” Isla hissed, her voice shaky.

  Roan wasn’t sure that he’d ever felt like such a heel. The guilt that surged through his conscience was immense, even though the last time he had been with Morag was before he’d even known Isla. He didn’t owe her an apology, but he felt like asking for forgiveness anyway.

  “Isla, ye have to understand, Morag was just a woman I kenned before I met ye,” he said gently, not trying to excuse what he’d done - not yet at any rate. He’d been such an idiot for leaving the present! He had meant it, not as a token of affection, as Isla clearly believed, but as a token of thanks and farewell.

  “Just a woman?” Isla snorted derisively.

  Roan frowned. “What do ye mean by -”

  “And I’m just yer wife I suppose?” she snapped.

  “I dinna ken what ye want me to do, Isla,” Roan sighed. “Tis only a pearl. I can hardly demand it back.”

  “Tis nae the pearl!” Isla exclaimed. Roan only half believed her, but he did hold his breath to hear what she’d add. “Tis -” she stopped to take a breath. “I dinna ken how to explain.”

  Roan sat down in the chair that Bridghe had recently vacated and reached for his wife. She tensed when his fingers brushed against her body, but didn’t pull away. He rubbed her arm soothingly, willing her to relax.

  “I want to ask ye a question,” she said slowly after a few minutes of silence. Roan nodded his head, although Isla couldn’t see the gesture. “But I’m afraid of yer answer.”

  “Afraid?” Roan frowned deeply.

  “Because I ken ye’d never lie to me, and I might not like truth.”

  “What is it?” Roan pressed.

  He watched her take a deep, unsteady breath. “Do ye think that ye can love me?” she asked, speaking so quickly that he could barely make out the words. “Someday, I mean,” she added quickly. “Do ye think that ye can forgive me for -”

  A knock on the door interrupted the question. Isla scowled at Liane when she popped inside to inform Roan that he was needed on clan business, but Roan felt only relief. He didn’t know how to answer Isla’s question. Less than a week earlier, he had hated all Camerons, Isla most of all, but she had softened his heart with surprising ease. He didn’t wonder if he could love her, merely if he should, and he was terrified that he was already approaching the point of no return.

  Roan lingered with his clansmen longer than usual that day, delaying his return to Isla for as long as possible. It was late evening by the time the door swung open and Roan finally returned to their chambers, exhausted.

  Roan was grateful that Isla didn’t try to pick up where they left off. She kissed his cheek, and guided him to a chair by the fire. “Come and sit down.”

  Roan was only too happy to obey. Apart from his brief visit to see his wife earlier that evening, he felt like he hadn’t stopped working all day. He was amazed at how many tasks had been neglected in his absence. With Graem so ill, many of the Laird’s duties had been neglected along with all of Roan’s own duties. Roan was also finding that people were less willing to help him than they had been before his marriage.

  It angered him, that men he had considered comrades were willing to overlook years of friendship and trust because they didn’t approve of the woman he’d married. But old prejudices were the hardest to let go of, Roan understood that. He never would have believed himself capable of taking a Cameron wife.

  “Have ye eaten?” Isla asked, wriggling a little closer to where he was sitting. Roan encouraged the action by draping an arm around his wife’s shoulder and drawing her closer.

  “I had something while looking over a few maps Graem wanted me to see,” he nodded, letting his eyes drift shut as he reveled in the feel of simply holding Isla close.

  “Maps?” she questioned curiously. “Maps of what?”

  “The MacRae borders,” Roan yawned, forgetting that he had meant to avoid the subject.

  “Borders? MacRae-Cameron borders?” she gasped, fighting to wriggle out of his hold, but Roan was too strong. When Roan deigned to open his eyes again he found that Isla was glaring at him.

  “Tis nae what ye think,” he chuckled.

  “How do ye ken what I think?”

  Roan caught her by the chin and tilted her head until her eyes met his - the urge to pop a kiss against her lips was damnably strong. He didn’t try to resist it. Isla was his wife after all. He leaned forward and crushed his lips against hers.

  She blinked at him in surprise, fluttering her long eyelashes in enticing bewilderment. “What was that -” she began, breathlessly - and the hitch in her voice reverberated all the way through Roan’s body until it seemed to echo in his groin. “Oh nae ye don’t, Roan MacRae!” Isla huffed, recovering quickly. “I will nae be distracted by yer – yer -”

  “My?” Roan purred, infinitely preferring the new vein that the conversation had taken to the old one.

  “Ye ken what!” she gasped, her cheeks flushing. “Yer trying to - to change the subject.”

  “I was nae,” he chuckled. “But it seems to have changed itself.”

  “Ye kissed me!”

  “I wanted to,” Roan grinned calmly. “Are ye saying I canna kiss ye whenever I want to?” he asked, his eyes glinting wickedly. Isla opened her mouth, but not a sound came out. “Say I want to kiss ye now?” He leant a little closer. “Would ye try and stop me?” He murmured, his breath whispering hotly against her skin.

  “N - nae,” Isla whimpered, as if against her will, her tongue darted out to moisten her
lips. It was the last little temptation that Roan could endure. He closed the tiny distance that remained between them and captured her mouth, ending the argument completely.

  ..ooOOoo..

  Dawn came spilling through the castle windows, waking Isla from her happy slumber. The dream she had been having quickly started to fade from her mind, but she was sure that she could recall Roan doting proudly over a little blue eyed baby who was lying snugly against her breast. She smiled sleepily.

  They hadn’t discussed it, but Isla had taken it for granted that, as Lady MacRae, providing Roan with an heir would be one of her most important duties – assuming that Roan ever took advantage of his husband’s rights. He seemed to enjoy kissing her, at least. Isla was confident that they were moving closer. She felt a flare of hope, perhaps that would make her more acceptable to his mother and the clan? But when she considered how many grandchildren her mother-in-law already had that flare spluttered and died. As for the clan, would they take to a child of Cameron descent any better than they had taken to her?