Stolen Vows Read online

  ..ooOOoo..

  “Ye should go see the men and make yerself useful.”

  Roan rolled his eyes. Bridghe had been harping on at him to go work for hours. He didn’t want to leave his wife’s sickbed.

  “Yer still the tanist ye ken, Roan,” Bridghe sighed wearily. “Ye have responsibilities.”

  “Isla is my responsibility,” Roan growled, in a tone of voice that did not brook opposition. Bridghe, however, was his sister, his older sister at that, and not one to be intimidated into biting her tongue just because Roan had snarled a few words at her.

  “Roan, if she wakes and yer nae here I’ll send Liane to fetch ye immediately,” Bridghe pleaded.

  Roan looked up at his sister from where he was sitting. He didn’t know how to explain, without sounding like an idiot at any rate, how desperately he didn’t want to leave Isla’s side, not even for a second. What if she called for him? What if she woke up and he wasn’t there? She’d think that he’d abandoned her - that he hadn’t cared enough to stay! Something of his feelings must have shown themselves on his face however, because Bridghe nodded reluctantly.

  “Oh - all right,” she agreed. “But at least write Laird MacRae a note? I can take it to him myself and explain what’s happened,” Bridghe said, offering a compromise, which Roan quickly agreed to.

  He wrote Graem a quick apologetic note, begging his understanding, and promising to assume his full mantel of responsibilities just as soon as he was able.

  “Nae that it will matter,” he grumbled, sealing the letter with a blob of wax, “if I’m stripped of the position.”

  “Dinna say that, Roan,” Bridghe said, sharply and swiftly. “Yer the best tanist we could possibly have. Everyone with half a brain kens that!” she continued fervently.

  “Ah, but ye have to say that,” Roan chuckled slightly, smiling for the first time in what felt like days, as he handed the letter over to his sister and watched her out of the room.

  “Roan!”

  Roan started, and jumped off his chair. The smile slid from his face as he leaned over the mattress. Isla was thrashing around and gasping his name.

  “Isla? Isla!” he called. “Can ye hear me, lass?” He gently laid his hands on her shoulders, to keep her from jerking around and hurting herself.

  “Roan?” she breathed, but still in her feverish voice, still without actually realizing that he was there, holding her.

  “Tis all right, Isla,” Roan murmured softly, conflicting feelings chasing each other through his heart. He was devastated by the fact that she was still unaware of him, and yet he couldn’t contain a guilty thrill of pleasure that she’d finally started to call for him. “I’m here, lass,” he whispered, brushing Isla’s hair away from her burning skin.

  Perhaps it was only coincidence, or his own wishful thinking, but Roan was sure that Isla relaxed a little as he gently stroked the backs of his fingers over her cheek. He then moved his hand to once again catch hold of her own, when she had stilled and slipped back into peaceful unconsciousness.

  ..ooOOoo..

  Isla couldn’t remember the last time that she had felt so terribly ill! Every movement she made caused her whole body to ache. She took shallow little breaths to limit the moving of her chest, and it took an age for her to work up the stamina to just open her eyes.

  The first thing - person she saw was Roan. Isla’s heart skipped a beat. It gave a little joyous trip and then seemed to pulse with renewed vigor. Had he been sitting with her all along? Isla wasn’t certain how long she had been lying in bed, but Roan certainly looked like he’d been sat with her for a good long while.

  She licked her dry lips, though it did little good as her mouth was also parched. She waited a few moments before disturbing her husband however; he seemed to be dozing, and she wanted to study him undisturbed for a second. He looked exhausted and his clothes were rather rumpled, his skin looked pale and there were dark circles under his eyes.

  Isla had thought she’d heard - but no, it had to be a dream. She had dreamed that Roan was with her, saying the most wonderful things, promising never to leave her, promising her that everything would be all right… telling her that he needed her and that he couldn’t live without her.

  Well, Roan was here with her, but that didn’t mean he had said all or any of the things that Isla believed she’d heard.

  “Roan?” she croaked.

  It was the tiniest, rasping little noise, barely louder than a mouse’s squeak, but Roan’s eyes snapped open instantly, panicked at first, but then they fell on Isla’s face and his gaze locked with hers. Isla couldn’t quite decipher the expression in his grey-blue eyes. There was a great swell of relief, but something else, some emotion that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  “Oh, thank God,” Roan groaned, rising out of his chair so that he could shuffle closer to the bed. “Isla, can ye hear me now, lass? How are ye feeling?” he breathed.

  Isla tried to answer, but her throat was too dry. Roan quickly got her a glass of water from the jug Liane had left nearby, and helped her to drink a few sips. He sagged in relief when he felt his wife’s skin and found that her fever had broken.

  “Ye gave us quite a scare, missy,” he sighed setting the glass aside when Isla had drank enough.

  “Us?” she croaked, trying to sit up by ultimately failing.

  Isla slumped back against her pillows where she was resolved to stay. However, seeing that she’d been trying to prop herself up, Roan reached for her and gently helped her into a more comfortable position. She marveled once again that a man so large and powerful could be so exquisitely gentle.

  “Aye, us,” Roan nodded, when he’d finished. “Liane and Bridghe were here all day. Bridghe only went home because I threatened to call the guards and have her escorted out of the castle if she dinna go home to her own family,” he smiled a little. “And Liane should be back once she’s had some supper.”

  “Bridghe is back?” Isla murmured.

  “Aye, she and Liane were both extremely worried about ye,” Roan breathed softly, bending forward to lay his lips against her temple. “But I was the most worried,” he confessed roughly.

  “Were ye?” Isla whispered. She felt her lips curve into the most ridiculously wide smile given how ill she was still feeling.

  “Of course,” Roan sighed, kissing her again, before sitting back down. He dragged his chair a little closer however, so that he could hold her hand comfortably without stretching. “How are ye feeling now?” he asked anxiously. “Do ye want anything?”

  Isla shook her head. “I’m just so tired,” she yawned. “And I hurt all over,” she groaned unhappily, and then wished she’d sugar coated the truth slightly, because Roan looked horrified by her declaration. “How long have I been lying here?” she asked, sinking down into the pillows a little more.

  “Oh, a little under twenty-four hours,” Roan frowned. “Although they may have been the longest twenty-four hours of my life,” he muttered under his breath.

  “I’m sorry I ran off, Roan,” Isla whispered, squeezing his hand weakly.

  “I’m sorry I made ye ill,” Roan groaned, dragging his hand through his hair guilty, mussing the already disheveled locks into an even greater state of disarray.

  “Ye dinna make me ill,” she whispered.

  “I -”

  “I was the one who went marching off,” she sighed tiredly. “Ye found me again -”

  “Ye should nae have been out there in the first place!” Roan growled.

  “I‘m glad ye brought me back,” she murmured sleepily, letting her eyes drift shut and leaving Roan with that softly spoken affirmation to dwell on.

  ..ooOOoo..

  Isla was presented with a host of beautiful things over the coming days: a new dress, a silver necklace, a chestnut mare to ride. Roan himself was more frequently around than he had been before - before that night too, but he was also much more distant. He was unfailingly polite and attentive, but there were no more smold
ering glances and desperate kisses. There was rarely even a genuine smile.

  Isla felt as though she was living a pale imitation of what her life could have been if only she’d been able to believe her husband’s declarations of love. She took a bitter little crumb of solace from the fact that Roan’s failure to renew those declarations had to mean that they’d been a lie.

  His attempt to buy back her favor with an array of expensive gifts was nothing more than him trying to pacify her into being a docile wife - and perhaps also an attempt to ease his conscience? She’d never thought of Roan as a monster of any kind. She believed that he was sorry for what had happened, but how could she know if he was sorry enough?

  “Isla?”

  She was dragged out of her reverie by Roan’s voice. She had been sitting by the fire in their room reading, or rather, she had been sitting by the fire in their room with a book in her hands staring into space. She turned and looked up at her husband. Was it her imagination or had he aged in the last week? Isla was certain that there were flecks of gray in his dark hair that hadn’t been there before.

  “We’ve just received word from the Camerons,” he said quietly. Isla had noticed that he always spoke quietly now, he never raised his voice, never growled in the way he had been prone to doing before. It was as though he’d put himself on a leash that he was holding relentlessly tight.

  “Oh?” she murmured, as Roan was obviously waiting for some kind of a response from her. Isla hadn’t forgotten that some members of her own clan were due to be visiting Erchlochy Castle, but she had tried to. She was scared of what it would mean for her. She was scared that she was going to be sent back to Castle Cameron.

  And would that really be so bad? Hadn’t she just been thinking about the fact that her current life was only a half-life? But without Roan at all, would it be no life? If she could just wait things out he’d crack though, he’d have to! He’d let her see what he was really thinking, how he was really feeling, and then she’d understand where she stood. They couldn’t go on in this frozen state forever.

  “Yer brother and cousin are both coming and -” he hesitated, and Isla shot him a small questioning glance. “And MacEantach is coming with them,” he said tightly.

  Roan’s heart clenched painfully at the look of terror that passed across Isla’s face. If that bastard laid a finger on her - if he even looked at her the wrong way - he was as good as dead.

  If he had any say in the matter Tavish MacEantach wouldn’t even be admitted to Erchlochy Castle. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a say in the matter, or at least, not without providing a good reason against admitting the Cameron man.

  “Tavish is coming here?” Isla squeaked. She stood up and took a step towards her husband. Roan assumed that she didn’t realize what she was doing, but his heart clenched again when he noted that she was looking to him for protection… even after everything that had happened between them.

  “I will nae let him touch ye!” Roan blurted fiercely, without thinking. He flinched at the look of shock that crossed Isla face. No doubt she was remembering that he and Tavish were cut of the same cloth… he had to fight back a shudder. “I ken what I did to ye was just as bad - was worse than what he tried to do, but I -”

  “Oh Roan, nae!” Isla gasped, fervently shaking her head from side to side. She quickly crossed what little space remained between them and laid her hands flat against his chest.

  Roan could only stare down at her in disbelief. She was touching him. The heat of her small hands fairly scorched through the light fabric of his shirt. He wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms; he wanted it so much that he ached.

  “Ye said we were the same,” he ground out difficultly.

  “I was angry,” Isla whispered.

  “Ye were right,” Roan groaned. Isla’s fingers coiled in his shirt. She opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but couldn’t seem to force the words out. “I will nae stop ye - if ye want to return to Castle Cameron with yer brother,” Roan ground out through clenched teeth.

  He didn’t know why he kept telling her this, giving her an escape route. Perhaps it was because he wanted to be certain, if she stayed, that it was because she wanted to be with him?

  Isla gazed up at him. Her beautiful eyes clouded by sadness. “If I told Ian, ye would nae be able to stop him from taking me back,” she murmured, but she was still clutching at his shirt.

  Roan nodded gravely, but he could no longer stop himself from lifting a hand to Isla’s cheek. He was amazed when she leaned into the touch, and then he held his breath completely when she turned her lips towards his palm and dabbed a kiss against his skin. His entire body tensed.

  “Tis almost healed,” she whispered. Roan blinked, taking a few seconds to work out what she was talking about - the cut he’d got from the barn door.

  “Almost,” he murmured in reply. She turned her face towards him again, and Roan couldn’t stop himself from leaning towards her. “Isla…” he groaned in warning.

  “Please?” she whispered, standing on tiptoes to quicken the rate at which their lips collided.

  It was like rain in the desert. Roan couldn’t hold back the moan that trickled from his lips as he was finally allowed to taste her again. He was achingly gentle. Not daring to overplay his hand, but Isla continued to amaze him. Her hands lifted to his neck, fingers knotting themselves in his hair as she accepted the dabbing of his tongue, before parting her lips and granting him full access to the sweet hollow of her mouth.

  She whimpered. Roan was certain that she whimpered, as his tongue once again swept possessively into its territory. His hands moved to Isla waist as he continued to deepen the kiss, feasting upon her lush mouth hungrily and wanting so much more.

  “Isla,” he panted, and that was when she froze in his arms - that was when the shove against his chest came.

  Roan dropped her immediately from his arms, feeling just about as low as it was possible for a man to feel. He stared down at Isla, numb with shock and horror at what had just happened, but he was surprised to see that his wife’s face was awash with sadness, and not anger or disgust.

  “I’m sorry,” she rasped.

  “Ye dinna have anything to be sorry for,” Roan told her brokenly. If Isla couldn’t bear to have him touch her then what hope was there for them of being reconciled?

  ““Tis nae seemly to be so…so eager. Ye said that I - that I was -”

  “I said a lot of things that I should nae have,” Roan interrupted quickly. He couldn’t bear to hear Isla repeat the cruel, vicious things that he’d said to hurt her. “A lot of things that I dinna mean,” he added, pleadingly.

  Including that he loved her? Isla wondered, but didn’t ask. She simply fell silent, not knowing what to say in the face of this new declaration, not knowing how to feel.

  When she had found herself in her husband’s arms it had been as though she’d never left. It was as if their bodies already knew something that their minds hadn’t quite managed to comprehend yet. It felt so good, it felt so right - but Isla didn’t want it to feel good or right. Roan had spoiled everything that they shared, and Isla was determined to hang onto that pain, because she was afraid of what it would mean if she let it go.

  ..ooOOoo..

  Isla slept alone again that night. Roan hadn’t once made a move to try and share their bed, not since he had brought her back after she had tried to flee to Castle Cameron. Isla had slept in a bed on her own for eighteen long years before marrying Roan, and yet she missed her husband’s presence bitterly. He still hadn’t attempted more than a chaste touch, but she longed for the simple companionship, of knowing that Roan was there beside her, ready to take her into his arms and hold her tenderly against his chest.

  Roan had taken to walking the corridors of the castle at night, waiting until the clocks chimed twelve before slinking wearily back to his bedroom. By this time Isla was always asleep, and he was able to creep into his study and doze in the chair that stood by h
is desk. He took a masochistic kind of satisfaction from confronting the place where his crime had been committed.

  It was in this state, lying asleep over the desktop, that Isla found her husband the next morning. A message had just been delivered for him, sent via one of the young castle boys, and she had promised to pass it on immediately. However, she did hesitate in the doorway of the study, reluctant to re-enter the room where all her dreams had shattered.

  Isla’s hesitation did give her a chance to study her husband for a moment or two however. He looked terribly uncomfortable, his large body hunched awkwardly into the small chair, but his hair was enticingly mussed, and his handsome features relaxed in sleep.

  “Roan?” she had only to whisper his name and he was awake. He blinked several times and then looked towards her. She couldn’t quite read his expression. It seemed to be a mixture of surprise and anxiety, and maybe just a little flicker of hope?