Stolen Vows (27 page)

“Thank ye,” she murmured, sitting down on the stool that sat in front of the dressing table.  “So, do ye ken why yer here?” she asked curiously, wondering if Ian would be prepared to tell her more than Roan had.  Her brother frowned.

“Ye dinna ken?  Yer married to the MacRae’s tanist and ye dinna ken why they’ve brought us here?” he gaped.  “Hell Isla,” he cursed, forgetting that he was in the presence of a lady (or perhaps simply not counting his sister as such).  “The only reason I felt so confident in coming was because I was sure ye would have warned us to stay away if it was a trap!”

“Tis nae a trap!” Isla blurted - even though she’d had that very same suspicion.  (
And look where that had gotten her
, she considered angrily!)  “I just dinna ken the particulars,” she said carefully.

Ian looked a little reassured, but not very much.  “All we were told was that the MacRae’s Laird wanted to make us some kind of offer of peace,” he snorted.

“Which yer going to accept?” Isla asked, a little tentatively and a little hopefully.  Ian cocked a doubtfully eyebrow.

“Ye’d have thought our uncle would have come himself if that was at all likely, would ye nae?” he grunted.  Isla was forced to nod her head in unhappy agreement. 

There was a knock on the door, and the young maid who had told Isla where she could find her brother entered with a tray of food.  Isla watched Ian cast the pretty woman a rakish smile and shot him a swift glare of her own.  She didn’t need her brother causing a scene or a scandal.

“Well, we’ll leave ye to eat then,” Isla said, standing up, and trying to shepherd the girl out of the room in front of her.  However, the maid scowled at Isla and seem intent on asking Ian if the room was too his liking, if there were enough logs on the fire, if he needed the window open and every other task that she could imagine.

Isla pinched her lips together and stared at the ceiling, finally admitting defeat with a sharp: ‘
good
bye
Ian
,’ she left her brother’s room all on her own.

Not knowing whether to be amused or annoyed, Isla walked along the corridor intending to make her way back to her own chambers.  She was somewhat distracted as she went, and didn’t notice the presence creeping up behind her until it was too late.

“Hello Isla.”

She froze.  Ice seemed to drip along her spine at the sound of the voice behind her – a voice she would never forget.  It was Tavish.   She held her breath and turned slowly.  It was several seconds before she lifted her eyes. 

“Tavish,” she hissed, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

He took a step closer, and Isla took a step back, cringing when her shoulder blades bumped against the wall.  She opened her mouth to scream, Ian and Doniad were both so close by - but then the whole disgusting story would come out.

“Did ye miss me?” Tavish rasped, stepping even closer, so that his body skimmed against her.  Isla shuddered in disgust when she felt his hardness pressing against her.  “Or have ye been too busy warming the bed of that bastard MacRae? Has he taught ye any new tricks?” he purred.  Tavish curled his bony fingers around her chin and jerked her forward, but recoiled when Isla spat in his face.

“Bitch!” he yelped and drew back his free hand to strike her.

“Let her go.  Or I’ll cut off
yer hand and make ye.”

Isla offered a silent prayer of thanks.  She couldn’t turn her head, Tavish still had her pinned to the wall, but she could move her eyes. 

Roan was standing just a few feet away. 

Neither she nor Tavish had heard his approach.  He looked like he wanted nothing more than to hack Tavish limb from limb.  Isla had seen Roan angry before, but she had never seen him look like he wanted to
kill
a man.  Tavish must have read the look in the other man’s eyes correctly too, because he backed away quickly.

“Well, if tis nae Sir Roan, rescuer of damsels in distress,” Tavish hissed, but only when he was a safe distance away. 

“Yer a dead man, MacEantach,” Roan growled.  “Every breath ye take offends me.”

“Ye canna lay a finger on me,” Tavish sneered confidently.  “Can ye imagine what would happen if ye did?  Everything yer dear old Laird has worked so hard for, ruined in a moment?”  He glanced at Isla.  “Ruined to protect some -”

“Be very careful that yer next words are nae yer last,” Roan warned, absolutely deadly serious.

Tavish snorted.  “Ye’d kill for
her
?” he jeered, jerking his head towards Isla. 

“I’d kill for her,” Roan answered calmly, still deadly.  He took another few paces forwards, finally placing himself between his wife and her would be attacker. 

“But will nae,” Tavish smirked.

“Are ye sure?”

“All of those lies ye told everyone back at Castle Cameron would come spilling out if ye did,” Tavish breathed.  “How do ye think yer papa would feel, Isla?  Kenning how his darling daughter lied to him?”

“Ye seem to forget, ye’d be dead,” Roan explained silkily.  “What’s to stop us telling another lie or two to explain that unpleasantness away?” he whispered darkly.

“Nae, Roan,” Isla croaked suddenly.  She didn’t want to run that risk, and she didn’t want to turn her husband into a murderer, even if there was something wickedly thrilling about the notion.

“Isla!  Are ye forgetting what this man has done to ye?” he demanded roughly.

“Nae,” Isla replied.  “But I want to,” she reached for Roan’s hand.  “Please?” she asked, “I want to forget.  I want it all to go away.”

Roan opened his mouth, and Isla felt that she knew what he wanted to say - that he could make it all go away.  If she gave him free reign to exact revenge, then he would make sure Tavish never again laid so much as a finger on her.  However, he didn’t speak, he just let the sentiments hang between them unsaid, before turning back to face Tavish.

“Dinna think for a second that this is over, MacEantach, dinna think for a second that
I’ll
forget any of this,” he snarled. 

Tavish grinned evilly.  “Ye seem to be under the mistaken impression that I’m afraid of ye, MacRae,” he smirked.  His confidence had increased exponentially since Isla had stayed Roan’s hand.  “Maybe tis
ye
who should be afraid of
me
?”

Roan snorted at the notion.  “Yer in a MacRae castle, MacEantach,” Roan spat viciously.  There was a muscle twitching in his jaw, a vein throbbing in his temple, and Isla didn’t know how long Roan would be able to restrain himself if Tavish continued to provoke him.

“A MacRae castle,
for the time being
,” Tavish whispered sinisterly, and then he turned away.

Isla watched Tavish slink away, slightly amazed that her husband was actually letting him go.  Was he doing that for her?  Because she’d asked him to?  She could scarcely believe that she had such power.

“Isla, what were ye doing wandering the castle?” Roan asked, his voice was tender, but he clearly expected an answer.  Isla drew a shaky breath and tried to give one.

“I wanted to see Ian,” she confessed guiltily.

“And ye dinna think I’d let ye?” Roan frowned.  “Tis why ye let me believe ye’d go back to our rooms?”

“Nae!” Isla gasped.  “I kenned ye would nae stop me.  I just - I just dinna -”

“Ye just dinna want me to ken that ye were going to see yer brother?” Roan sighed.  He ran a weary hand through his already mussed hair, and then rested his chin on his upturned palm. 

“Twas nae like that!” Isla insisted.  She didn’t want to make Roan angry or upset now, not after he’d saved her from Tavish…
again
.  “I just -” but she didn’t know how to explain, she wasn’t even sure herself why she’d done it.  She thought it might have been because she was afraid that Roan would react like this - assume that she’d gone to Ian to confess all their problems.

“What did he say?” Roan asked gravely.  “Did ye get to see him before MacEantach…” but he let the sentence trail off unfinished.

“Aye.”

“And?” Roan breathed.  “He’s going to take ye away?  Back to Castle Cameron?”

“He does nae ken.  I dinna tell him about…what happened.”

“Why nae?” Roan blurted, looking thunderstruck.

“I could nae,” Isla whispered, and then, unable to stop herself any longer, she buried herself against his chest.  “I hate it that Tavish is here,” she admitted in a shaky whisper.

“Oh lass,” Roan breathed gruffly, he took her hand and led her back in the direction of their chamber.

“Promise me that ye will nae go wandering off on yer own again?” he begged.  “Nae when that animal is still free to roam the castle.”

“I promise.”

“I wish ye would let me do more,” Roan growled softly.

“Ye’ve done so much.”

“Nae enough,” Roan argued.  Isla’s whole body tingled when her husband’s lips brushed the top of her head.  “Nae yet.”

Isla tilted her head back.  She only meant to be able to study Roan’s face, but the darkening gleam of her husband’s eyes informed her of what she had actually done - opened herself to be kissed
.  Was her heart skipping because she did or didn’t want to feel his mouth against her own? 
Isla licked her dry lips hesitantly, and heard the low groan that lodged itself in Roan’s throat. 
He wanted her still, after everything, but he was doing everything in his power to try and hold back
.  The realization was strangely empowering.

“Isla?” he rasped in question, as his wife timidly raked her fingernails across his shirt.

“Thank ye,” she whispered again.  She had accused him of being just like Tavish, but he wasn’t. He had never disgusted her, the thought of being fused as one with him had never revolted her.  It always left her hungry and needy, even when she didn’t want it
to.
She liked how strong he was, and yet how gentle.  She liked the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled.  She liked his thoughtfulness and his compassion – Isla dwelled on these thoughts silently as they returned to their room.

“Ye look lost in thought, lass,” Roan said when they were finally inside their chamber with the door closed behind them. “Is something bothering ye?”

Isla shook her head.  “Nae, naught,” she lied, “just daydreaming I suppose,” she murmured, looking away from her husband so she didn’t have to encounter his disbelieving stare. 

Roan brushed her hair away from her neck with the back of his hand and then followed the touch with a kiss.  When Isla didn’t protest, he slipped his hands around her waist and moved his lips to her own.  He kissed her deeply, running his hands over her body until she was pliant and yielding.  Then, when he sensed that she was ready, he led her toward the bed.

Isla’s body stiffened when the backs of her knees knocked against the mattress.

Roan released her for a moment.

“Ye do ken, Isla, that I dinna want to do anything that yer nae ready for?” he said slowly.

“I - I’m nae sure I ken what ye mean,” Isla admitted awkwardly.

Roan pulled her against his chest once more and twined his fingers in her hair.

“He hurt he, dinna he?” Roan growled angrily.  And once again Isla wasn’t entirely certain that she understood him.  She was saved from revealing her ignorance this time though, because her husband continued speaking.  “It does nae have to be like that ye ken, Isla,” he murmured.