Loving A Highlander (11 page)

              A few hours later, feeling tired but happy, Isabella walked hand and hand with Gerard as they crossed the courtyard to the small cemetery that had been the final resting place for the Mackenzie’s for generations.  The cemetery had originally been out in the open, a short distance from the castle walls, but had recently, at Rowan’s orders, been enclosed.

              Gerard led her to the corner of the graveyard and stopped.  “This is her final resting place,” he whispered, staring down at the bare ground.

              Isabella needed no explanation to tell her who lay beneath the frozen earth.  She squeezed his hand, knowing that there were no words she could say to ease his pain.  The love of his life was gone and he had made it clear he considered her a poor substitute.

              Gerard turned to her.  “I want you to understand, lass, why I can’t give you my love.”  He sighed.  “It is because I have none left to give.”  He pointed to the grave.  “I buried my ability to love with Lorna.  I’m sorry, Isabella,” he said quietly.

              Isabella choked back sobs as she ran from him for the second time that day, but this time he didn’t follow. 
He doesn’t love me! 
The words repeated in her head, a steady chant that wouldn’t go away.  She reached her bedchamber and opened the door.  Locking it behind her, she crossed the room to look out the window.  Below her, the lake was calm and still.  A lone figure walked to the lake’s edge and stared out across the water.

              Isabella’s breath caught in her throat as she recognized the set of the man’s shoulders.  His proud stance.

              “He doesn’t love me,” she whispered, as pain welled up inside of her, threatening to drown her in a cold dark wave.

              Gerard chose that moment to turn, tilting his head to stare up at her window.

              Isabella stepped away from the window and walked to the bed.  She sat down with a weary sigh.

              “Gerard doesn’t love me,” she repeated to the empty room.  But, goddess help her, how she loved him.

              It was the next day.  After an afternoon apart, Gerard was attempting to draw her into a conversation.  They were standing in her bedchamber as a cold wind swirled in off of the lake.

              He reached out to stroke a finger lazily down her cheek.  “Why don’t you think I care, Bella?”

              Isabella turned away to look out the window.  She closed her eyes, relishing the feel of the cold wind on her face.  “Why should you care?” she tossed back over her shoulder.  “I am little more than a play thing to you.  You have made that perfectly clear.”

              Gerard gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him.  “Is that what you think?  That I consider you a play thing?”  A muscle clenched in his jaw and it was a moment before he continued.  “That I view you as some kind of toy I can use and then throw away when I become bored?”

              She nodded.  “That is exactly what I think.”

              Gerard hauled her to him then, wrapping her in his strong arms and rocking her gently.  “Ah, Bella,” he rasped.  “You mean the world to me.  You must realize how much I care for you.”

              Care.

              There was that word again, causing Isabella to grind her teeth with frustration.  Placing both hands on his chest, she pushed him away.

              She didn’t want him to merely care for her.  She wanted his love.  She wanted to be his reason for living.  His reason for breathing.  She hadn’t been Owen’s, a fact he had made painfully clear.  She had thought it might be different with Gerard.

              “Please leave.”  Her voice was firm, hinting at none of the emotion that welled up inside of her.

              Gerard’s expression was bleak, but he didn’t argue.  Giving her a curt nod, he turned and headed for the door, slamming it shut behind him.

              Alone in her room, Isabella placed a hand on her stomach and over the child she knew was growing inside of her.  How much longer could she keep her pregnancy a secret?  And how would Gerard react once he found out he was to be a father?

Chapter

Eleven

Christmas Eve

The temperature had dropped throughout the day, turning the steady rain into snow.  It swirled thickly in the air, the icy particles dancing on the wind before falling to the ground.

Gerard stared at the short man in front of him.  “What do you want?” he asked in a voice as cold as the driven snow.

The man returned his stare and sneered, the action twisting his features into a mask of hatred.  “I believe you have something of mine.”

The door to the Great Hall opened, spilling the cheerful sound of carolers out into the night.  Just as quickly, the door closed, cutting off the sounds of the Christmas Eve celebration.

Gerard’s eyes glittered as he returned the man’s hatred.  “I have nothing of yours,” he said shortly.

“Ah, I believe you do.”  The man grinned slyly.  “You have my wife.”

The Great Hall door opened again and footsteps crunched in the fallen snow.

Gerard turned as Rowan joined them.  “No need to stop your celebration, cousin.  I can well handle this.”

Rowan’s brows lowered as he assessed the situation.  “Gerard?  Don’t you wish to invite your visitor in out of the cold?”

“No,” Gerard snapped, as he sent Rowan a glare.  “I don’t wish to invite him inside.  My
guest
won’t be staying.”

“But it is almost Christmas,” the man protested as he switched tactics.  He plastered on a fake smile.  “I’ve traveled a great distance to see my wife.  Surely you won’t send me away without speaking to her.”

Rowan turned to Gerard, his expression puzzled.  “What on earth is the man going on about?”

Gerard cast a scornful glance in the visitor’s direction.  “If I have to guess, this is Owen.  Isabella’s husband.  The man who abandoned her,” he stressed.

Rowan pulled him aside to speak privately.  He frowned.  “This man is her husband?”

Gerard shook his head in denial.  “Not legally.  Isabella said that theirs was a small ceremony.  Jumping the Broom, she called it.  No clergy was involved.”

Rowan sighed and scrubbed a hand across his jaw.  “What do you want me to do?”

“Get rid of him,” Gerard snapped.  “As long as I have breath in my body, I will not allow Isabella to depart with that man.”

Rowan looked over at the man who was shivering in the snow.  Dressed in rags, he wasn’t equipped to brave the elements.  “Perhaps he can stay the night.  Tomorrow is Christmas, after all.  We will send him on his way in a couple of days with enough coin in his pocket to ensure he won’t bother Isabella or you ever again.”

“Make him understand,” Gerard said, keeping a tight leash on his anger, “that once he leaves, he is never to return.  If he steps so much as one foot on Mackenzie land again, I will tear him limb from limb.”

Rowan inclined his head.  “I will do my best.”

Gerard’s anger burned as he watched Rowan talking with the man.  The last thing he wanted to do was spend Christmas with the horrible man, but it appeared as if it couldn’t be helped.  Isabella’s husband would be joining them whether they liked it or not.

He scrubbed a hand across his face and sighed as he followed Rowan and Owen into the castle.  He had wanted to make this Christmas special for Isabella.  Their first holiday together, he had wanted to create a memory that would last a lifetime.

He glowered. 

Oh, they would create a memory, alright, but this memory would involve her husband and wouldn’t be a good one.  Blast, that man.

A smile curved Isabella’s lips as she watched Gerard enter the Great Hall, but the smile died when she saw the identity of the man who accompanied him.

Owen.

Just the sight of him was enough to make her blood run cold.  “What is he doing here?” she whispered.

Eva turned to her.  “Do you know that man?”

“Aye,” Isabella said.  She took a drink of ale, but it was bitter going down and almost choked her.  “I know him well.”  She closed her eyes and was instantly transported back to the cottage.  She could hear Owen’s words as he ridiculed her and feel the sharp blows of his fists.

“Hello, Isabella.”  Owen’s oily voice washed over her.

Isabella’s eyes snapped open to find her husband standing next to her.  She recoiled as Owen reached out a hand to twine dirty fingers in her hair.

“I’ve missed you, my sweet,” he murmured, before covering her mouth with his.

Isabella struggled, but he held her tight.  She could hear Gerard’s roar of anger and an instant later, Owen was gone.  Wrenched away from her by Gerard’s strong hands.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as all of the joy drained out of the Christmas Eve celebration.  By the doorway to the Great Hall, she could see Eva speaking to the governess and placing Anne and Nicholas in her care.

“Get away from me,” Isabella hissed, as Owen regained his composure and took another step toward her.  “You don’t belong here.”

“Don’t speak that way, love,” he crooned, as he reclaimed the position by her side.  “I have traveled far to see you.  Imagine my surprise, when I returned to our cottage and found you missing.  I was worried about you.”

Isabella gave a snort of disbelief.  It was more likely the woman he had been living with had grown tired of him and turned him out into the cold.  That was the only reason he had returned home to darken her door.

Isabella rose from her seat and rushed over to Gerard who promptly wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to his side.  “Make him leave,” she hissed with a note of desperation.

A muscle worked in Gerard’s jaw.  “I can’t,” he said through clenched teeth.  “The laird has invited him to stay for Christmas.”

Isabella gasped as her hopes of spending an enjoyable holiday came crashing to the ground.  “He didn’t,” she said, casting a dark look at the laird.

“He did,” Gerard said firmly.

Owen walked over to Isabella and attempted to pull her away.  “If you don’t mind, I wish to speak to
my
wife.”

“Oh, but I do mind.”  Gerard’s voice hinted at his tightly controlled anger.  He glowered at Owen.  “You heard the lady.  She doesn’t wish to speak to you.”

Owen snatched a mug of ale off of the table and took a drink.  He pointed at Gerard.  “This man,” he said, addressing the large crowd.  “This man is a thief.”

Low murmuring began throughout the Great Hall.  Rowan held up a hand for silence.  He stepped forward.  “That is a strong accusation.”

“Aye, but it is the truth,” Owen insisted, gathering his courage.  “This man,” he said, pointing once more at Gerard, who only glared in return,” stole something very dear to me.”

“What did he steal?” a man called from the back of the room.

Owen waited a moment for dramatic effect and then said, “My wife.”

The murmurs turned into a roar and Isabella’s heart sank as Eva pulled her aside.  “I can’t believe you were married to that man,” she said, grimacing in Owen’s direction.

“Aye,” Isabella said softly, “neither can I.”

“Come.”  Eva took her hand.  “Let us leave and let the men sort this out.”  She pulled Isabella from the room and then smiled.  “I wouldn’t want to be in Owen’s shoes.  Rowan looks as if he is about to explode and Gerard is close to throwing a punch.”

Isabella retired to her bedchamber and looked out the window at the falling snow.  It was pretty, but she knew it wouldn’t stay.  Tomorrow, more than likely, it would change back to rain, but she could enjoy it while it lasted.

The door to her room creaked open and she turned with a smile expecting to see Gerard.  Her smile faded on her lips when she saw the identity of her visitor.  Owen stood smirking at her just inside the door.

“You can’t be in here,” she hissed, as she rushed to push him out of her room.

“Oh, but I can,” he said, casting her an evil smile.  “The castle is full and there is no other place for me.  The laird decided that, as your husband, I should share your bedchamber.”

Isabella felt the sharp stab of betrayal.  She had expected the laird to defend her, to take her side, but it appeared as if she had been sadly mistaken.

Owen sat down on the bed.  “This is a large room.  Much nicer than our tiny cottage.”  He tested the mattress on the bed.  “We should have a lot of fun tonight, aye, Isabella?”

“No,” she snapped, as she headed for the door. 
“We
will not.”  Once she reached the door, she turned back.  “Keep the room.  I will find other accommodations.”

“If you are speaking about your lover,” Owen drawled from his place on the bed, “don’t bother.  The last I saw, he was speaking to one of the chamber maids and the two of them looked rather cozy.”

He patted the spot beside him.  “It looks as if I will be the one to satisfy you tonight.”

“Never again, Owen,” Isabella said, as she stepped out the door, slamming it behind her.  “Never again.”

              The room was bathed in shadows.  Firelight flickered on the ceiling and walls of the bedchamber.  In the large bed, Isabella wrapped her arms around the warm man sleeping beside her and gave him a hug.  It was only the second time she had awoken in Gerard’s bedchamber and she had to admit she was beginning to like it.

              She began to trace patterns on his sculpted abs and then dipped lower to wrap her hand around his impressive member.

              Gerard opened one sleepy eye and smiled.  “Please, don’t stop on my account.”

              Isabella moved her hand up and down his shaft until he moaned.

              “Is this my Christmas gift,” his hissed, as she replaced her hand with her mouth. “Because if it is, it is a rather nice one.”

              A knock on the door interrupted them.  Gerard groaned and mumbled something about “perfect timing” but quickly got up from the bed and donned his clothes.  He opened the door and spoke a few words to the person standing in the corridor, then turned back to Isabella.

              “One of the scullery maids is in labor,” he said, lighting a candle on the bedside table.”  He looked to where Isabella was sitting in bed, the long tresses of her hair hiding her nakedness.  He sighed.  “As much as it pains me to have to say this, your help has been requested.”

              Isabella quickly dressed and stepped out into the corridor where a woman she recognized as the cook was waiting.  “You need my help?”

              “Aye,” the middle-aged woman said as they hurried along the corridor to the staircase and the floor below.  “Tisn’t me, but poor Elspeth who needs your help.  She went into labor before we were to begin meal preparations.”

              Isabella followed the cook down a passageway and into the kitchen.  Even though the hour was early, it was already bustling with activity.  Today was Christmas and a feast was being prepared.

              The woman ushered her into a windowless room off of the kitchen used for storage and closed the door.  A young woman who was no more than a girl was lying on a cot in the corner.  From the woman’s moan’s, Isabella could tell that she was already in labor.

              Isabella walked to the cot and assessed her patient.  The woman’s face was pale and a sheen of perspiration had broken out on her forehead.

              “How long has she been in labor?” Isabella asked, turning to the cook who was hovering by the door.

              “A little over an hour,” the middle-aged woman said, wringing her hands.  “Elspeth lives in the village with her mother and shouldn’t have come to work today, but with it being Christmas, every hand was needed.”

              Isabella nodded as she pulled back the blanket and examined the woman.  If her guess was correct, the bairn would be here before long.  She turned to the cook.  “I will need water and Rosemary and a clean cloth to swaddle the babe in once it is delivered.”

              The woman rushed to do her bidding, leaving Isabella alone with the expectant mother.  “How old are you?” she asked the laboring woman.

“Fifteen.”

Is this your first child?” she asked once the girl’s contraction had subsided.

              “Aye.”  The young woman attempted to smile, but grimaced when another contraction quickly overtook her.

              “What about the babe’s father?” Isabella asked as the young woman began to push.  She could see the crown of the infant’s head and knew it wouldn’t be long before it was over.

              “The bairn’s father is a soldier,” the girl panted as she pushed.  “He is a married man and won’t acknowledge the child.”

              Isabella’s mouth was set in a firm line as the infant’s head and shoulders emerged.  She knew it was common for married men to father children outside of marriage, and the mother and child were often left to fend for themselves.  It was a cold cruel world they lived in; that was for certain.

              A few minutes later, the child slipped into the world.  Isabella stared down in wonder at the infant in her arm.  Covered in afterbirth and with its umbilical cord still attached, it was still the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.