Stolen Vows Page 15

  Roan urged Fiadhiach on just a little further and then jumped from the saddle, running the last few feet before he reached Isla’s side. Then, unable to stop himself, he turned her around and swept her into his arms.

  Roan heard Isla’s gasp of surprise and he watched as her eyes focused on his face. It took a moment for her to realize what she was seeing. When she did her reaction was not what Roan might have hoped for.

  Isla pushed away from him so hard that she almost fell backwards. Roan reached out to steady her, but one look from his wife was enough to keep him rooted in place.

  “What do ye want?” she spat, looking at him as though he was something nasty on the bottom of her shoe.

  Roan cringed, but held his ground. “I’ve come to take ye home,” he said softly.

  “Back to Castle Cameron?” Isla asked bitterly. “Tis awfully good of ye, MacRae.”

  “Isla, dinna start that,” Roan pleaded. He didn’t know what else he could do apart from plead. “I’m going to take ye back with me,” he said gently.

  “By force if need be?” Isla hissed, taking a step towards him and glaring up her husband furiously.

  Roan winced and had to look away. “Isla I’m sorry for what I said last night,” he said inadequately. “But ye have to come back with me. I canna let ye wander off on yer own. Anything could happen to ye!” he breathed, his voice saturated with fear and concern.

  “And why do ye care?” Isla snapped back. “I’m only yer hated Cameron wife! Why would it matter to ye what happens to me?” she yelled.

  “Because I love ye!” Roan barked in return. The words spilled out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop them.

  Isla stared at him, her eyes wide, looking just as shocked as he felt. For a moment, just a second, Roan thought he saw something flicker in her eyes, a tiny flame of reciprocation, but then it was gone. Flames of anger took its place, and then Roan was left reeling as her hand struck the side of his face.

  Roan had seen the blow coming, but he didn’t have the heart to try and stop it. He didn’t have the right to do so. Isla must have put her entire body weight behind her hand though, because it was no feeble slap that she delivered.

  “Dinna ye dare!” she cried, balling her fists and pummeling his chest. “Dinna ye dare!” she sobbed. “Yer just like him! Ye and Tavish both just want to use me and I - I -”

  “Hate us,” Roan said tightly. He didn’t think that anything else Isla could have said would have brought him so low. “But that does nae mean I’m going to let ye try and walk back to Castle Cameron,” he sighed wearily.

  His chest ached, and he doubted that the beating Isla had just attempted caused the pain. She sagged against him, exhausted, probably both from her long walk and her emotional outburst.

  “Come on, lass,” Roan breathed, nudging her towards Fiadhiach. He couldn’t decide if her obedience pleased him or not. He was relieved that she was cooperating, but she seemed broken, and he had done the breaking.

  One way or another I will fix it, Roan vowed. And if he couldn’t make her happy, then at least he would help her escape.

  A delegation of Cameron men were due to visit Erchlochy Castle in a week. If Isla was still miserable, and if she still hated him when the time came - then he would let her go.

  “I need to lift ye up onto Fiad,” Roan murmured. His wife gave a distant nod and he swept her into his arms, savoring the fleeting touch. He made sure that Isla was safely mounted, and then he retreated, taking hold of Fiadhiach’s bridal and urging the great horse to begin walking.

  It was going to take them hours to get back to the castle. Roan didn’t know how he would bear the uncomfortable silence between them. He sighed heavily and hunched his shoulders. A glance upward told him that it would probably start to rain again before they were halfway back. Isla was already shivering and he had on only the shirt and breeches from the day before.

  They travelled for half an hour before Isla broke the silence. Roan’s heart leapt hopefully in his chest when his wife called his name, but a look at her grim expression sent it sinking again.

  “What will happen when we arrive back at the castle?” Isla asked. Had her voice ever sounded so cold before? Roan didn’t imagine so.

  “Whatever ye want to happen, lass,” he said softly. He was willing to give her anything within his power.

  “I wanted to go home,” Isla hissed. The words struck Roan cruelly. He flinched under them.

  “Aye, I ken,” he breathed. “Your kin should be here in a week or two. I will nae stop ye leaving with them when they go, if ye still want to return to Castle Cameron,” he promised, although it pained him deeply.

  “Well, I’m sure it will help ye in yer efforts to become Laird if I go,” Isla said waspishly.

  Roan cast a tired look over his shoulder. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he would give up the lairdship just so long as he could keep her with him as his wife, but the words froze on his lips. She would never believe him. Did he even believe himself? Would he really give up everything for Isla?

  He didn’t know if he was strong enough to let her go.

  ..ooOOoo..

  Isla sighed and tried to concentrate on keeping her seat. She couldn’t help but think back to the last time that she had ridden Roan’s large bay gelding. She couldn’t forget how Roan had swung himself up behind her, and then wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her tight and helping her to keep her balance and how strangely safe that she had felt.

  That wouldn’t be happening today.

  Isla tried to convince herself that she’d rather walk than share the horse with her husband, but she didn’t trust herself to put that vow into action if the time came to prove it. She was still amazed that she had managed to push Roan away when he had first found her and was faintly horrified that she’d struck him.

  She was justified, of course. Roan’s treatment the night before, combined with the terrifying hours that she had spent wandering in unfamiliar woods until she found the road, more than justified the slap. She still couldn’t quite believe that she’d done it though. Nor could she believe what he’d said. I love you. He couldn’t mean it! Isla didn’t dare let herself hope, but why would Roan have said it then? He had nothing to gain by the declaration apart from her forgiveness. With Isla gone, Roan’s position in the clan was safe. Why did he want to bring her back?

  Why, why, why?

  There were so many questions racing through Isla’s tired brain, not least of which was why Roan had bothered to come and find her. He could have been rid of her so simply. Wasn’t that what he wanted after all, to escape from the clutches of his scheming Cameron wife? Isla was too exhausted, emotionally and physically, to give the matter very much more thought.

  “It looks like the rain is about to start again,” Roan muttered.

  Isla licked her lips. “We will nae need to stop though, will we?” she asked. “We’ll make it back to castle before it starts?” She didn’t imagine that sheltering in a barn with Roan would do either of them any good.

  Isla watched her husband look up at the sky. He ran a hand through his hair, obviously weighing their options before he shrugged his broad shoulders.

  “I doubt it lass,” he grumbled

  They kept going in silence for over an hour before the rain started. Isla glanced up and was splashed in the face by several large raindrops. She blinked, surprised by the coldness of the droplets. It wasn’t long before the rain started to come down in sheets.

  Isla’s cloak had partially dried in between storms and the heavy fabric was at least able to block the wind, but in only a few short minutes, Roan was soaked to the skin. The thin white fabric of his shirt was saturated. It turned transparent, molding itself to the rippling muscles that were flexed beneath the material as they walked. Isla caught herself staring, felt the blush that spread over her skin, and gave herself a mental slap.

  She didn’t want to lust after her husband, but she did. She had to overcome i
t. She was walking a path of self-destruction if she didn’t. Still, that didn’t mean she wanted to see him catch his death of cold. Isla’s heart softened a fraction.

  “Roan?” she shouted over the pounding rain. He turned and looked up at her. Rain was streaming off his face. Isla couldn’t keep her eyes from dropping to his chest, where the shirt was plastered like a second skin.

  “Aye, lass?” he called.

  “Do ye think we should stop?” she asked, jumping as lightning flashed across the sky.

  Roan hesitated. Isla was able to read some of the expressions that crossed his face. He looked torn between reluctance and agreement, but he eventually nodded.

  Roan led Fiadhiach on for another five minutes before turning off the main road toward one of his uncles’ barns. He had wanted to look for shelter before the rain began, but he was worried that Isla would resist any delays.

  Just another failing to add to the list of things that made him such an awful husband, Roan supposed. He wondered if it would be better to simply press on for home, now that were both soaking, but if Isla felt that she needed to stop he wouldn’t try to push her.

  Luckily, the barn wasn’t much further down the road. Roan fumbled awkwardly with the barn door in the rain. He caught his hand on a splinter and cursed under his breath as he tore open his palm. Ignoring the sharp, stabbing pain, Roan pressed his shoulder against the door and forced it open before leading Isla and Fiadhaich into the warm, dry barn.

  “Here ye are, lass,” he grunted, offering Isla his shoulder and good hand to help get down off the horse. She hesitated for a moment, but eventually accepted his offer of help.

  “Thank ye,” she muttered, moving away from him immediately.

  Roan felt his heart clench painfully as he watched her retreat. He wanted to follow, but didn’t dare. Frustrated, he balled his injured hand shut to try and stem the bleeding, and then tried to loosen Fiadhaich’s girth with the other as they prepared to wait out the storm.

  “What’s the matter with yer other hand?”

  Roan looked at his wife. It was on the tip of his tongue to say ‘nothing’, but something warned him against it. Instead, he shrugged his shoulders, and muttered: “Naught. Just a scratch.”

  He watched Isla out of the corner of his eye. She looked like she was battling between the desire to investigate and the desire to leave him to suffer alone. Eventually the former urge triumphed. Roan couldn’t quell a flicker of hope.

  “Do ye think I should take a look?”

  “Tis naught,” he said again, but when his wife seemed to accept this answer, Roan quickly added: “although a second opinion would nae be amiss.”

  Isla narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but nevertheless got up from her seat on the hay. She walked to where Roan was resting against a stall door, and caught his large hand between her much smaller ones. She gasped when she saw the bloody, raggedly torn skin of his palm.

  For his part, Roan simply reveled in the feel of her tender touch.

  “That looks awful,” Isla gasped.

  “Tis just a scratch,” he reiterated calmly, staring down into Isla’s worried face. Having her this close without being able to reach for her was agony. He had to find a way to earn her forgiveness. Roan didn’t think he could go back to living as he had done before he’d known his wife.

  His eyes swept her figure reverently, drinking in every lush, heavy curve. Roan was glad of the icy water that had soaked its way through to his skin. He never would have been able to stop his body reacting to the innocent provocation of his wife’s touch without it.

  What if she chose to go away? Roan honestly didn’t know how he would live. His need for her felt just as essential as his need to eat or to breathe.

  “Roan?” Isla brushed his arm lightly. “Are ye all right?” she asked, catching his glazed expression. Isla bit her lip, as though she’d spoken the words without meaning to. She stared at him, and then let her eyes flicker to the puddle he was leaving on the floor. “Yer going to catch yer death if ye stay in those wet clothes.”

  And would that be a good or bad development, as far as she was concerned? Roan wondered, but didn’t ask.

  He waved off her remark as though it didn’t matter, not trusting himself to remove the sodden garments in front of his wife. However, Roan did thank her for binding his hand, and asked her if she was feeling quite warm enough herself.

  “I’ll manage I’m sure,” Isla replied stiltedly.

  Roan wandered around the barn, looking for a discarded mantle or a cloak to offer his wife while they waited out the storm. He could feel her eyes watching him as he moved and found the scrutiny strangely unnerving.

  Fortunately, it wasn’t long before Roan found a dusty, but serviceable, blanket for Isla to wrap herself in, and was able to escape from such thoughts, albeit briefly.

  “What about ye?” she asked quietly, allowing him to drape the blanket around her shivering shoulders, and then picking at a hole in the faded wool. “Ye really are soaked, Roan,” she pressed.

  “I’m fine,” he grunted, sitting down on an opposite bale of hay, but his teeth had started to chatter.

  “Yer stubborn is what ye are!” Isla snapped crossly. She stood up and marched towards him, tossing the blanket over one arm, while resting the other angrily on her hip. “Now take that shirt off this instant!”

  Roan gaped up at his wife, unable to quite believe what he had just heard. His mouth opened and then shut again silently, as he searched in vain for something to say - the trouble being that he couldn’t think of anything to say. The only other option seemed to be to obey Isla’s command. He reached for the bottom of his shirt, moving slowly to give Isla time to stop him.

  Isla didn’t appear to have any intention of stopping him. She watched him closely, but it was in the same kind of strict manner as one might watch an errant child. Feeling duly cowed, Roan pulled his wet shirt off over his head, and tossed it over the stall door that he had been leaning against earlier. It had to be his imagination, but for just a second he thought that Isla had shivered slightly once he was stripped to the waist.

  ..ooOOoo..

  It wasn’t Roan’s imagination. Isla couldn’t help but swoon at the sight of her husband’s naked body, at the way the rain had made his skin slick and damp. She couldn’t believe that he could still do this to her. Not that he was doing anything, Isla had to admit to herself, ashamed of the direction that her thoughts were travelling. She had ordered him to remove the shirt, and now he was just sitting there watching her warily.

  Would it always be like this? She wondered fearfully. Had Roan triggered a hunger in her that was never going to be fulfilled until she knew what it meant to truly be his wife? Her eyes wandered disobediently over his chest. Her fingers itched to rake through the smattering of dark hair that was scattered there. Her traitorous body seemed ready to forgive, or at least forget, the humiliation and anger in return for the simple pleasure of burrowing into his arms again.

  Fortunately for Isla, her heart had a longer memory than her body. She wrapped the blanket around her husband’s broad shoulders gingerly, not wanting to run the risk of touching him, and then retreated to her corner of hay.

  “Isla,” Roan sighed. He followed her and sat down next to her. “Ye need this as much as me,” he said firmly, throwing his arm, and half the blanket, around his wife and then drawing her defiantly against his side.

  Isla stared up at him open mouthed. How dare he? Then she caught sight of the uncertainty in Roan’s eyes. He was probably worried that she’d try and strike him again, Isla thought. She shouldn’t have done that. She had half expected him to strike her back. Isla didn’t think that any other man would have let her get away with such rebellion.

  And why had she done it? Because he’d said that he loved her.

  Isla sagged against her husband’s side without really realizing what she was doing. She wished that Roan could have said those three little words before everything had started to spi
ral into such an awful mess.

  They sat in silence waiting for the rain to stop. It was over an hour if Isla judged the time correctly. She noticed (to her horror) that she nestled closer against Roan’s side as the time drifted by. She was scared that pulling away would draw more attention to this fact than if she just stayed still and so she remained where she was, clasped snugly against her husband’s body.

  It was Roan who moved away first. Isla didn’t understand why she felt so bereft; she should have been glad to escape the contact.

  “We’re going?” she asked. Roan hadn't said anything. He simply walked to Fiadhaich and began to tighten the girth of his saddle.

  “Aye, the rain’s letting up a bit. We’ll have to try and make it back to Erchlochy between the worst of the showers.”

  Isla nodded and asked if there was anything she could do to help. Roan shot her a curious glance, but shook his head. He reached for his crumpled shirt and tugged it back on over his head, before glancing back at his wife.