The Witch and The Warrior (26 page)

“Why not?”

Because I cannot bear to face him,
she thought helplessly.

She had not seen MacDunn since the night she had followed him to his chamber. He had wanted to punish her, and he had, although not in a way that she ever could have imagined. Instead of striking her, he had cast a spell of dark desire over her that made her long for him. With every gentle caress of her skin, with each aching suckle upon her breast, and with the warm, powerful feel of him as he stretched over her, holding her safe within his hard embrace, he had bound her to him more strongly than if he had used chains. A brilliant fire had raged inside her that night, and every time she thought of MacDunn the heat of it blazed through her once again. He had tried to take her by force, but ultimately no force was necessary. She had lain with him and offered herself, had grown hot and slick and ravenous for him, and when it was over and she was curled alone on her own bed, shame had consumed her like a burning fever.

Her clan was right, she realized miserably. She was a whore.

While she had purposely avoided MacDunn, she had felt certain that the moment he heard of the unusual course she was taking with his son, he would confront her about it—especially since everyone in the clan believed she was starving David to death. But MacDunn had not sought her out. It was clear he had told the others not to interfere, for no one had challenged her right to care for David since that first morning when Elspeth and Alice vowed they would have MacDunn stop her. Although he had no desire to see either her or his son, he was willing to grant her one more opportunity to heal David.

“If I can't go outside, can I at least sit by the window and see what's happening in the courtyard?” asked David, pulling her from her thoughts. “They're making a lot of noise out there.”

Gwendolyn rose from her chair and went to the window. A crowd of MacDunns were watching in astonishment as Garrick and Quentin rode through the gates, leading a young woman on a magnificent white horse. The woman's brown hair fell over her shoulders in thick, matted clumps, and her elegant scarlet riding cloak was torn and splattered with mud. Despite her unkempt appearance, the woman's bearing was frostily regal as she glared at the MacDunns gathering around her.

“Good Lord,” Gwendolyn exclaimed, “it's Isabella!”

David instantly tossed down his covers and padded over to the window. “Is she a friend of yours?” he asked, peering down into the courtyard.

“She is Laird MacSween's daughter.” What on earth was Isabella doing here?

“Does she always look so mean?”

“I'm afraid she does.”

“Look, Lachlan is bringing her something to drink,” said David, pointing. “That should make her feel welcome.”

Gwendolyn gasped and raced out of the chamber.

         

“Take your hands off me, you filthy, hairy brute!” commanded Isabella, swatting at Garrick's hand.

“I was only trying to assist you off your mount,” he grumbled.

“ 'Tis another witch,” Munro said, eyeing her fearfully. “Come to spread more evil among us!”

“I am most certainly not a witch!” declared Isabella, indignant. “I am the daughter of Laird MacSween.”

“Now, that's a foolish tale, lass,” said Ewan, shaking his head. “No laird would permit his daughter to go riding about the countryside by herself.”

“Where is your fine escort?” Lettie asked.

“And why are you so dirty?” Farquhar added.

“Here, now, lassie,” said Lachlan, emerging through the crowd carrying a goblet. “You must be sorely parched. Have a wee drink, and you'll feel much better.”

“Finally, someone who knows how to properly greet an honored guest,” sniffed Isabella. She haughtily reached for the cup.

“Isabella
—no!
”

Everyone looked at Gwendolyn in surprise.

“Gwendolyn!” gasped Isabella. “You're alive!” Her eyes were round with shock, making it impossible to tell whether this revelation pleased or disturbed her.

“Lachlan,” began Gwendolyn, her tone disapproving, “you should not be offering our guest such strong drink.”

“ 'Tis only wine,” he replied innocently, squinting at her through the bright sunlight.

Gwendolyn regarded him sternly.

“It won't hurt her,” he assured her. “After all, she is a witch.”

“No, she isn't. She is the daughter of Laird MacSween.”

Lachlan stared at Isabella in disbelief.

In truth, Gwendolyn could not blame the MacDunns for their incredulity. Isabella's hair lay in stringy clumps over her heavily stained cloak, and her cheeks and forehead were streaked with dirt. The sun had burned her nose a bright red, which contrasted sharply against the dark purple shadows ringing her eyes. She maintained an admirable air of practiced disdain, but Gwendolyn detected a hint of desperation in her gaze.

“Are you sure she's not a witch?” demanded Lachlan.

“Quite sure.”

He sighed and lowered the goblet, disappointed.

“Gwendolyn, you must take me to see Mad MacDunn immediately,” commanded Isabella.

Gwendolyn fought to control her anxiety. Why had Isabella come here?

“MacDunn isn't here,” said Ned, moving beside Gwendolyn. “He has gone hunting with some of the men.”

“When will they return?” asked Gwendolyn.

Ned shrugged. “Probably late tonight.”

“Unless, of course, it's earlier,” Garrick said.

“It might even be tomorrow,” pointed out Lachlan. “You never quite know with MacDunn.”

“Why don't you come inside and rest awhile, Isabella?” Gwendolyn suggested. “You must be exhausted after such a long journey.”

“I shall require a hot bath immediately,” Isabella informed Lachlan, dismounting from her horse. “With precisely four spoonfuls of your finest rose oil mixed into the water—no more—and two extra kettles of heated water to keep the bath warm. I shall also need a new gown—preferably red—with pleasing stitching at the neck, cuffs, and hem. Make certain the fabric is soft,” she warned firmly, “or I won't wear it.”

Lachlan stared at her, dumbfounded. “Are you suggesting I fetch these things for you?”

“Of course not. I can see you are far too decrepit to manage a heavy tub on your own. Have these two young brutes help you.” She gestured at Garrick and Quentin. “Gwendolyn will tell you which chamber I am to have. I will also have a tray of roasted chicken, fresh, lightly warmed bread, a peeled, sliced apple, and a dish of ripe berries in cream. And I want ale to drink.” She cast a critical eye at the liquid frothing in the goblet Lachlan was holding. “That wine is far too young to be served.”

She adjusted her mud-streaked cape around her shoulders and swept regally through the crowd of MacDunns, leaving Lachlan to stare in bewilderment after her.

         

“You ran away?” said Gwendolyn, stunned. “But why?”

“Because my life is over!” Isabella wept dramatically as she lay sprawled on Gwendolyn's bed. “I can never return to my clan!”

“What happened?”

“Some time after MacDunn so cruelly abandoned me in the woods, Robert finally found me.”

“MacDunn wasn't abandoning you, Isabella,” Gwendolyn pointed out. “He was setting you free, as he had promised your father he would. And he knew Robert had come to fetch you and would find you shortly.”

“That madman deserted me!” Isabella railed. “Leaving me alone to fend for myself in the woods! I might have starved to death or frozen in the night!”

Gwendolyn refrained from mentioning that MacDunn had left her ample food, water, and a well-fed fire.

“Robert was in the foulest of tempers because MacDunn had slain all of his men,” Isabella went on. “He had no interest in hearing about what I had been through! All during the journey back he kept telling me it was all my fault that you had escaped—as if I had any choice about that scoundrel Brodick holding a dirk to my throat! He didn't seem to be the least bit concerned that I might have been killed—or worse!” She sniffed into a scrap of linen.

No, thought Gwendolyn, Robert would not have been sympathetic to the travails of his niece. He was too concerned with finding Gwendolyn and stealing the stone.

“When we arrived home,” Isabella continued, “my father was relieved that I had been returned safely and was prepared to leave well enough alone. But Robert told him that I was ruined because I had been abducted and forced to spend the night with Mad MacDunn and his men. I assured them that I hadn't been ravished, but Robert said I was lying. He convinced my father that no man would ever want me for a wife, and that I would have to be sent away immediately, in case I harbored MacDunn's seed within me. That way, once the child was born it could be secretly killed. My father refused to send me anywhere, saying that he would offer a fortune in gold to the man who would marry me and restore my honor. And so Robert got his foulest, most brutal warrior, Derek, to offer for me, so that Robert could share his reward!”

“Surely your father rejected him?”

Isabella burst into tears. “I begged him to. I told him I would rather die than marry Derek. My father said it pained him greatly to see me so distraught, but that when I was older I would see this was the only way to salvage my life. And Robert vowed that as soon as Derek and I were married, he would lead an army here to destroy the MacDunns and avenge my honor.”

So that was it, Gwendolyn mused. Robert was using Isabella's supposed defilement as an excuse to attack the MacDunns and capture Gwendolyn once again.

And when he had Gwendolyn as his prisoner, he would use any means necessary to force her to give him the stone.

“Since I would rather die than marry Derek, I decided to run away,” finished Isabella miserably.

“But why did you come here? Surely you must hate MacDunn and his warriors after they dishonored you and your clan.”

“I would like to see them all carved into tiny pieces with their bloody, steaming entrails rotting in the sun!” Isabella raged. She delicately dabbed her nose with her crumpled piece of linen and sighed. “But they are the only ones who know that my honor remains intact. And besides, where else could I go?”

“But how did you know the way here?”

“I remembered the direction we took when MacDunn abducted me. After I got past the woods, I just kept riding in the same direction. Of course I was absolutely terrified of being eaten by wolves, but I kept reminding myself of how I would rather die than be forced to marry Derek. Finally this morning these two horrid brutes found me. I told them I was looking for Mad MacDunn, and they said they were from his clan and agreed to bring me here.”

“And after you have rested, those same horrid brutes will escort you home,” drawled a harsh voice.

Gwendolyn's breath caught in her chest as MacDunn entered the chamber with Cameron and Brodick.

“Bella,” said Brodick, concern in his voice, “you look absolutely frightful. What has happened to you?”

“Don't you come near me, you horrible beast! I hate you!” She flung herself against Gwendolyn's pillow and burst into a fresh torrent of tears.

“Looks like the lass didn't get over it, Brodick,” Cameron commented wryly.

“What the hell is she doing here?” Alex asked, his gaze fixed hard on Gwendolyn.

“Isabella has run away from home,” she explained. “And she now seeks sanctuary with you.”

Alex looked incredulous. “Has she lost her mind?”

“Don't cry, sweet Bella,” crooned Brodick, seating himself on the bed beside Isabella. “Whatever is wrong, we shall fix it.”

“It cannot be fixed,” wailed Isabella pitifully. “My life has been destroyed because of you, you cowardly defiler of beautiful, innocent women!” She sat up and whacked him with the pillow, then fell back and dissolved into tears once more.

“I think she still likes you, Brodick,” observed Ned.