Stolen Vows (19 page)

“I think yer appetite’s just fine!” Isla squealed, just before her lips were captured again.

..ooOOoo..

Time wore on. A day turned into a week, a week into a fortnight, and before Isla even realized it, she had been married for nearly a month.  She was still finding it difficult to feel comfortable at Erchlochy Castle.  Isla had hoped that she would start to feel more settled, but the reverse was true.

The glares and whispers didn’t stop.  The resentment didn’t lessen.  When it became clear to the MacRae clan that Roan wasn’t going to sacrifice his wife to regain their good opinion, their dislike of Isla increased.  Isla thought she would have been able to cope with that, but then Roan became distant as well. He was working hard on something with Laird MacRae - something he refused to discuss with Isla.  He stayed holed up in his study for
hours
at a time, rarely even emerging to eat, and snarling at Isla if she dared interrupt his solitude by taking him a plate of food.  The only time that she did still see him seemed to be in bed. 

Isla was thoroughly miserable.  There was no one she could turn to - Liane was a dear, and Bridghe still visited her frequently - but Isla didn’t feel that she could confide in either of them.  She lived in hope of being told when the Camerons were going to visit.  She wanted desperately to see her brothers, but Roan hadn’t mentioned it again, and she didn’t dare bring it up.

Instead, she sat alone in her chambers, day after day, growing steadily more morose.

Eventually, her unhappiness was apparent even to Roan. He crawled into bed after a particularly long day, only to have his wife pull away from his touch.

“Lass, what’s wrong?” he asked. 

“Naught,” she answered, curling in on herself and resisting her husband’s attempts to pull her into his arms.  Her efforts were in vain however, and she soon found herself bundled against his chest.

“Tell me?” Roan begged, sweeping her hair out of her eyes.  “What’s happened?”

“It does nae matter,” Isla murmured. 
How could he not
know
?” 
She wondered miserably. 

“Isla!” Roan pressed, until she was forced to give some kind of an answer.

“Why dinna ye talk to me anymore?” she asked quietly while she held her husband in a hard and steady gaze.  Roan didn’t know what to make of the question.  He stared at her blankly for a full minute.

“I
do
talk to ye!” he argued, but Isla shook her head.

“Nay, ye dinna, and yer never here - and dinna try and tell me that you
are
here Roan MacRae!”  Isla scowled when her husband opened his mouth as if to disagree with this charge.  “Locking yerself in that study does not constitute ‘being here’!” she snapped, pointing an accusing finger towards the study door.

“Isla,” Roan growled, and this time when he spoke her name there was a definite note of warning in his voice.  “That’s enough,” he said sternly.  “Ye ken that my duties as the clan’s tanist -”

“And what about yer duties as my husband?” Isla snapped. 

Roan’s eyes almost bulged out of his head.  “Are you saying that you want me to -”

Isla missed the flicker of hope in his voice. Instead, she sighed in frustration. “I’m saying I need more than just ‘good morning’ and ‘goodnight’,” she tried to explain, “I’m all alone here and ye -“

Roan wasn’t listening any more.  He lifted her off his lap, placing her roughly back on the bed, before standing up and heading out of the room.  “Roan?” Isla called after him watching in disbelief as he strolled away from her towards the door.  “Where are ye going?” 

“For a breath of fresh air,” he snarled.  “I’m in nae mood to be nagged by ye.”

“I’m nae nagging!  I’m trying -”

“Isla, I’ve had a long day.  I dinna need this, I’ve been working hard on…” but Roan let the sentence trail off unfinished.

Isla’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “Aye?” she smirked nastily.  “Ye’ve been working on
what
?  Why canna ye tell me?  What is it that yer in there plotting and planning for days on end?” she demanded, her voice rising in pitch and volume with every question.

“I dinna have to answer that,” Roan spat, reaching for the door handle.

“Are ye going to attack the Camerons?” Isla blurted.  “Is that why ye will nae tell me?  Are ye -”

“For God’s sake, Isla!  I’m nae listening to anymore of this rubbish!” Roan bellowed.  “Ye dinna have a clue what yer talking about!” he said, throwing the door open and then slamming it shut behind him.

Isla stared at the dark wood for a moment, seething furiously at her husband’s dismissal, and physically shaking with anger.  “Fine!”  she hissed.  “Fine!”  If Roan wouldn’t tell her what he was up to then she’d just have to find out herself!

The study door was shut, but not locked.  Roan had never expressly forbidden her from entering, but it was a given understanding between them since he’d starting working on
whatever
it was.  Isla blatantly ignored that fact as she marched inside.

The desk was strewn with papers.  Isla assumed that her husband had left everything just as it was when he’d come to bed.  She felt a pang of conscious, but steeled herself, remembering Roan’s harsh words and the way he’d left her. She crept around to the other side of the desk and looked distrustfully over the papers.

“Maps?” she murmured, looking over them more closely.  They
were
maps of the borders between Cameron and MacRae territory, but they seemed to have been redrawn… and in favor of the Camerons?  Isla squinted and looked harder, surely that couldn’t be right?

“Find what ye were looking for?” hissed a familiar, yet deadly, voice.

Isla gasped and looked up fearfully into the face of her husband.  Roan was standing in the doorway of the study.  He looked so furious that Isla barely even recognized his face.

“I’m sorry!” she gasped.

“Ye will be,” Roan promised darkly, stepping into the room and closing the door ominously behind him.

“Roan?”  Isla whispered, feeling a real tinge of fear.  “I dinna mean -”

“To spy?” he snarled, advancing on her.  “Ye just accidentally wandered in here did ye?” He spat sarcastically.

“I was nae spying!” Isla cried.  “I ken - I ken that I should nae have come in here snooping, but I just wanted to understand what was going on. Please, please - I’m sorry!” She looked up into Roan’s stony face.  “Say
something
.”  She begged weakly when he remained silent.

“I canna believe I trusted ye,” Roan breathed callously.  “A
Cameron
,” he sneered with such loathing that Isla physically flinched.  If he had actually struck her, Roan could not have hurt her any worse.  “I should have kenned it was a trap from the beginning!”  He spat. If possible, his face grew even blacker with rage. “Yer brother probably had ye sitting out on the roadside waiting for me - a Cameron whore, sitting there like a spider waiting for me to wander into yer web!”

“Nae!” Isla shook her head, but it wasn’t any use. Roan was too caught up in his fury to listen.  “How long did ye wait in the hallway for me to come along? What a perfect little actress ye were with yer tears and yer bruises… standing so innocent there in the kirk. All the while, ye must have been laughing.”

Roan paced the room like a trapped beast. All of the doubts and misgivings that he had tried to put away since their marriage bubbled back to the surface, swirling together into a terrifying tapestry of lies. “It all makes sense now,” he seethed, “- why ye never told anyone the truth, why ye were so full of sad tales, but so willing to throw yerself into my arms.”

He took a step toward Isla. She backed away, but only managed a handful of steps before her bottom collided with the edge of the desk. She was trapped between the heavy wooden furniture and her furious husband.

Roan’s hands grabbed Isla’s hips and pulled her forward. “That was your ultimate plan, was it nae? To wheedle yer way into my bed until I trust ye with MacRae secrets, to seduce me with yer lies? Ye played at being such the innocent – and yer brother sent ye here as a whore!”

“Roan!” Isla’s throat was constricted with horror. She tried to slap away his hands as they pulled up her skirts.

“We canna let ye neglect yer duties,” he growled.

“Please, nae, Roan!” she begged as he swept his arm across the top of the desk, clearing it in one angry stroke.  Ink, paper and books rained down on the floor in a careless mess.

“Why should I stop, Isla?” Roan hissed back. “Yer my
wife
,“ he spat the words as though they left a nasty taste in his mouth.  “A position ye worked very hard to secure - and that means I dinna have to stop.”

“Roan -” she continued to plead with him, but his hands were already plucking at her body, forcing her legs apart so that he could stand within the cradle he created for himself.

Isla tensed and tried one last time to push away, but she was no match for his strength. She screwed her eyes shut, fighting back the memories the rough touch dragged to the forefront of her mind. Despite her efforts, she couldn’t hold back a whimper of fear as Roan’s hand wrapped around her thigh.

“Yer just like Tavish,” she hissed softly.  Her voice sounded numb and nothing like her own - it seemed so much older. “And I hate ye.”

Tavish.
The sound of his name shocked Roan back to the present. He went completely still, stared at his hand in horror and then dropped it as though Isla had burned him. When he finally released her, the silence that filled room was terrible.  Isla kept her eyes shut, and tried not to make a sound as she caught her breath.  It was ruined.  Everything was broken.

“Isla?” Roan whispered raggedly.  “God, Isla I -” he reached to touch her face, but she flinched and turned away.  He pulled back as though he’d been burned.  “I -” he choked again, and didn’t seem capable of adding any more.  Isla opened her eyes, and stared at him, her gaze was hollow and haunted.  “I’m sorry,” Roan breathed, but the look on his face told Isla he knew it was too late.

“Leave me alone,” she said quietly.  There was no real venom to the plea, but there was no real
anything
to it.  She felt completely drained and empty.

“Isla -”

“I want to sleep,” she hissed, shuffling stiltedly out of the study.

“We have to talk -”

“I
dinna
want to talk to ye!” Isla spat, turning slightly and shooting a vicious glare in the direction of her husband. 

He looks so lost
.  Isla almost felt herself weaken…
maybe he hadn’t really meant any of it
?  But then she remembered the things he’d said - and her resolved hardened against him.

He wandered after her, not daring to get too close in case she bolted or attempted to strike him.  Isla crawled into bed, hugging the blankets tight around her body.  She didn’t want to run the risk of touching him if he followed.  Isla was afraid that if she let him, he could make her forgive him.

Isla clenched her eyes shut. She tried to ignore her husband and to blank out everything that had happened, but she knew she would lie awake all night reliving the entire scene.

Roan tried to speak to her again, but Isla refused to answer or even open her eyes.  After several minutes, she heard the tread of his boots on the floorboards as he turned and walked away.  She bit her lip when she heard the door swing open, and then began to cry in earnest when she heard to it close again.

..ooOOoo..

Roan felt physically sick as he replayed the events of the evening over in his mind - from their first argument and him storming out on Isla, to feeling guilty and returning to apologize, only to find his wife rifling through his private papers. Ordinarily he could control his temper, but this had not been an ordinary day.  Graem was still ailing, Roan was overburdened with tasks to oversee,
no one
was cooperating, his mother was still angry, he hadn’t had time to eat, he was tired, he missed Isla – and then he caught her going through his things.  It was one blow too many. He’d seen red.  The anger that had surged through his veins had been frightening and uncontrollable and he had unleashed it upon his wife - the woman he thought he had come to love.