Tournament of Hearts (10 page)

Isobel took a bite
of bread and feigned interest in the musicians that struck up a lively tune in
the corner of the great hall.  She knew that it was not safe to look upon
Tristan, but she felt his attention on her.  She prayed that her longing for
him did not play openly across her face.  Someone would surely notice.

Beneath the table,
she felt Tristan’s knee move against her leg.  Her heart did a back flip in her
chest.  She had to remind herself to keep chewing her bread.  He moved his leg
against hers and left it there.  When she glanced in his direction, he smiled
devilishly and arched his eyebrow.

Isobel froze,
unable to believe what Tristan was doing.  His leg was warm against hers.  The
close bodily contact was maddening and sent her blood rushing through her
veins.  Her face suddenly felt flushed and she took a sip of the cool,
refreshing water in her mug.  Her eyes glanced around the great hall, making
sure that no one was watching them closely.  Her frantically beating heart
slowed when she realized that no one was watching her.  Instead, the men had
turned their attention to the roast pheasant.

Isobel relaxed
against her chair and pressed her leg gently back against Tristan’s.  She
quelled a secret smile and took another sip of water.   She was certain that
she heard Tristan chuckle.  He knew how greatly his touch affected her and
Isobel knew that her response to his touch pleased him greatly.

“Did you enjoy the
sport today, milady?” Tristan asked.

“I had to remind
myself to breathe,” she said with a careful glance in his direction.   Isobel
wished that they could speak freely as they had done before.  The shackles of
their careful ruse were much too restraining.

Isobel glanced
around the great hall to affirm that their conversation was not being monitored. 
All looked well and she leaned slightly towards Tristan.

“How is it that
you are eligible for the tournament?” she asked in a hushed voice.  The
question had been nagging her all day, never far from her thoughts.  She feared
that perhaps Tristan was not of suitable birth.  If he was found out to be an
imposter, they could never be married, even if he was victorious in the
tournament.

Tristan smiled
wryly.  He let out a slow breath and leaned back against the high wooden back
of his chair.

His hazel eyes
darted swiftly around the room.  He had expected her to ask this question
tonight.

“I havena been
completely honest with you, Isobel,” he whispered.  “And I’m regretful of it.”

Isobel felt her
pulse quicken.  Could Tristan reveal something that would make her change how
she felt about him?  No, she thought.  Nothing that he could say would change
her feelings.  She loved him.

“There are parts
of my past that I canna tell you.  Not yet at least,” he said softly as his
eyes searched hers for understanding.  The hurt that he saw in her blue eyes
was like a dagger through his heart.  He fought the urge to touch her, to kiss
her and console her and to beg her forgiveness for keeping secrets from her.

  “I’ve had
painful things happen to me, Isobel.  Things so painful that I never expected
to feel anything again.  You have made my life worth living again,” he
confessed as he held her gaze.

Isobel’s face
flushed crimson.  She took another sip of water, needing something to do with
her hands.  To hear Tristan speak so openly gave her hope and yet she knew that
he was holding back pieces of himself, shielding his deepest secrets from her
still.  She wanted to know everything about Tristan, the painful secrets of his
past and all, so that she could help him to become whole again. 

“My oldest brother
is Laird of our clan.  I am his Tanist.  If he produces no heirs, I will be
Laird,” Tristan said quietly.  He raked his hand through his hair, just as he
often did when unnerved.  “After what happened, I ran away from my duties to my
clan.  I needed to be as far from Dunhaven as possible.  That’s what brought me
here.  I needed to be away from everyone and everything that reminded me of my
past.”

Tristan took a sip
of ale and continued.

“It was cowardly
to run away from my responsibilities to my clan.  I was young and unable to
deal with what had happened.  Looking back, I now ken that I made a grievous
mistake by leaving my family.  I can only hope that they will forgive me.”

“And so you became
a blacksmith?” Isobel asked.  She silently wondered what could have been so
terrible to drive Tristan away from his family.

Tristan was
pleased to see that she was not angry.  He saw trust and understanding in her
eyes.  His heartbeat stilled slightly.

“I would have
become a stable lad,” Tristan said with a chuckle.  “My cousin Brandon had an
apprenticeship with the McLaughlin smithy and having no plan of where to go, I
came here.  The smithy took us both on and we learned his craft together.”

“Someday will you
tell me what happened?” Isobel asked cautiously.  She knew that something
within Tristan had been broken years ago and she longed to piece his broken
parts together.  She longed to help him heal from the trauma of his past.

“Aye,” Tristan
said with a tender smile.  “When we have time alone to speak properly, I will
tell ye everything,” he promised.  “Even the most painful bits.”

“I thank you,”
Isobel said.  Her eyes scanned the planes of his handsome face.  She wished to
take his sweet face between her hands and kiss away his pain.

“Cousin!” Brandon said loudly as he slammed two fresh mugs of ale on the table in front of Tristan. 
The foamy brew sloshed over the rims of the pewter mugs onto the wooden table.

Tristan growled
low in his throat.  He patted Isobel’s knee softly beneath the table, his
gesture letting her know that they would continue their conversation later.

“Cousin,” Tristan
returned the greeting, his voice perturbed. He had but precious little time
with Isobel and did not like the fact that it had just been interrupted.

Brandon tucked his
unruly mop of hair behind his ears.  Isobel smiled when she noticed how the
curls sprang from his scalp.  They were just long enough for him to tuck behind
his ears, but not yet long enough for a queue.  Brandon was handsome and reminded
her of Tristan.  The two shared a clear family resemblance. 

Brandon was well
into his cups as was indicated by his flushed face and boisterous nature.  He
leaned against the table and looked down at Isobel with a silly grin plastered
on his face.

“Has my cousin
been sae rude that he has not asked ye tae dance?” Brandon asked.  He slid one
mug of ale towards Tristan and handed the other graciously to Isobel, winking
at her candidly.

Isobel extended
her hand and wrapped her fingers around the cool pewter handle.  She brought
the mug to her lips and sipped the refreshing ale, smiling over the rim at Brandon as a means of gratitude.

“I thank you,”
Isobel said sweetly. 

“Pay nay mind,” Brandon said with another wink.  “I’ll no have ye thinking that all Finnegans are as ill
mannered as this oaf,” he prodded as he arched an eyebrow teasingly at Tristan
and then took a step back from the table just in case Tristan decided to toss a
casual punch.

“He has been on
his best behavior,” Isobel said as she smiled slightly and cast a look in
Tristan’s direction.  His eyes had narrowed and he was frowning at Brandon.

“But he still
hasna asked ye tae dance,” Brandon said suggestively.

Tristan muttered
something under his breath.

Isobel watched him
now as he glared at his cousin.  She had never seen Tristan blush before.  She
found the reaction endearing and secretly wondered if Tristan did not know how
to dance.

“Buggar off, Brandon,” Tristan said with a rueful smile.  “I can hardly ask Isobel to dance with you
lording over us and commanding the time that I’ve rightfully won with her.”

“Suit yourself,” Brandon laughed as he scooped up his mug.  “I’d only meant to help!  Seemed as though ye
were faltering…” he called over his shoulder as he ambled away.

Isobel laughed. 
“Your cousin is quite the character,” she said warmly as she took a sip of the
cool ale that Brandon had brought to her.  “I like him,” she said with honesty.

“As do I,” Tristan
admitted.  “I love him as a brother,” he said as he chuckled under his breath. 
Brandon was a man most unconventional, but jovial in his ways.  Tristan had
spent much of his life chasing after his older cousin, undoing the messes that Brandon had made for himself.  Despite Brandon’s rambunctious nature, Tristan knew that he
could trust his life to his cousin.

“Shall we?”
Tristan asked as he flicked his head towards the make shift dance floor.  He
pushed back from the table and stood, extending his hand formally to Isobel in
invitation.

“Do you dance?”
Isobel asked hopefully as she placed her hand in Tristan’s and allowed him to
lead her towards the front of the great hall.  A small troupe of musicians were
playing by the fire and many clansmen had already crowded around them, swirling
in time to the lively music.

“I’ll try not to
embarrass myself overmuch,” Tristan laughed.

Stopping at the
edge of the other dancing couples, Tristan interlaced his fingers with Isobel’s
and wrapped his other arm about her slender waist.  He began to guide her to
the rhythm of the music, moving in perfect time with the beat.

“You
can
dance!”
Isobel exclaimed excitedly.  The upbeat rhythm of the music and the feeling of
Tristan’s hand splayed over the small of her back filled her with joy.  Dancing
with Tristan made Isobel feel as though she might burst with happiness.

Tristan smiled
shyly and winked down at Isobel.  A full smile spread over his face as he
watched her dance.  The firelight made her skin glow and it highlighted the
lighter flecks of her lovely golden hair.  Tristan pulled Isobel a little
closer against his chest.  She looked up at him and smiled knowingly, returning
his sentiments exactly.  A beautiful flush from the dancing was cast over her
cheeks and her blue eyes were alight with joy.

It was as if for a
moment, Isobel truly belonged to Tristan.

A bell gonged
loudly near the entrance of the great hall.

The music stopped
abruptly, as did the dancing.

Everyone turned
towards the sound.

Hodges held the
bell.  He had a look of utter surprise on his face as the crowd fell silent.  It
was as if he had not expected his interruption to stop the merriment.

Hodges cleared his
throat.

“All competitors
partaking in tomorrow’s tournament must join me in the library at once,” he
proclaimed regally.

The crowd hummed
in response to Hodges’ order.  The noise level grew as the men who remained in
the tournament rose from their seats and threaded through the crowd.

Tristan looked
down at Isobel regretfully.

He had hoped to
have more time with her tonight.

Isobel’s cheeks
were still flushed pink.  Her breathing was rapid as she recovered from the
thrill of their dance.  Tristan noticed how this caused the tops of her breasts
to rise and fall alluringly at the neckline of her gown.

“I suppose that I
must take my leave,” Tristan whispered.  He had not yet dropped Isobel’s hand
and he stroked his thumb over the back of her fingers.

Isobel nodded,
disappointment evident on her face.

“Until tomorrow,
a
run mo chroi
,” Tristan said softly as he released Isobel’s hand and leaned
forward to place a chaste kiss on her flushed cheek.

“What does that
mean?” Isobel asked, her voice only loud enough for Tristan to hear.  “I do not
speak the old tongue.”

Tristan graced her
with the lop-sided smile that she had grown to cherish.

He moved towards
her again, his whiskers rasping against the sensitive skin of her cheek.  “In
Gaelic it means
secret of my heart.
”

Isobel shuddered
as Tristan’s honeyed words washed over her.  Her knees suddenly felt weak. 
Tristan’s breath was warm and inviting against her ear.

He forced himself
away from Isobel.  He dared not stay with her any longer.  Turning on his heel,
he left her standing alone on the dance floor with so much longing in her blue
eyes that any fool could see the energy that flowed between them.

..ooOoo..

“What have you done
to Tristan?” Brandon Finnegan said playfully as he whisked Isobel off the dance
floor and guided her over to a vacant wooden bench.  He held two mugs of summer
ale in his hands and offered one to Isobel.

Fear zipped down Isobel’s
spine.  Had Brandon seen something between her and Tristan?  A glance or a
heated look that had lasted a moment longer than was proper? 

She had tried to
be ever so careful. 

Isobel’s heart thundered
in her chest as she grasped the proffered mug of ale and took a deep, hearty
swig of ale to ease her nerves.

God forbid, had
Tristan confessed his feelings for her to his cousin?  Had he spoken of their
stolen kisses?  Brandon was loud and bawdy, not by Isobel’s estimation the best
person to guard a life and death secret.

“Brandon is it not?”
she asked as she set her mug down on the table and feigned interest in the
dancers that were moving in time with the thrum of the bodrhain. 

“Aye.  I beg your
forgiveness that we havena met properly.  My name is Brandon, Tristan is my
cousin. Pleased to meet you, milady,” he said formally as he nodded into a
slight bow.

“Pleased to meet
you,” Isobel said.

“You still have
not answered my question, lass.  I’m wonderin’ what ye did to Tristan.  I’ve
known him my whole life and I swear that I’ve never seen him like this!  Have
you noticed that he has a smile that he saves just for you?”