Tournament of Hearts (11 page)

Isobel’s face
flushed crimson, the color of her terror flooding her pale face.

“If you are
insinuating…”

“I insinuate
nothing, milady,” Brandon said with a lighthearted smile.  “I insinuate
nothing, but I thank ye from the bottom of my heart.  Tristan had been my best
friend since we were both lads.  It has been far too long since I’ve seen him
so happy, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Isobel
said.  She was at a loss for words.  Relief flooded through her body at the
realization that Tristan had not spoken of their relationship to anyone,
including his raucous cousin.

“I suspect that
you are the reason for his happiness and for that I thank ye,” he said
sincerely as he bowed once more and then pushed away from the table.  “He
wouldna be here fighting for yer hand were ye not special to him.  Ye must be
worth fighting for,” Brandon said with a soft smile.

“I like your
cousin very much,” Isobel said sweetly, resigning to keep the conversation
vague.

Brandon looked at
Isobel directly, his expression turning serious.

“Something inside
of Tristan was broken long ago.  I think that you’re the answer to our prayers,
milady,” Brandon said with a soft smile.  “When I watched him with you tonight,
I saw the man that he used to be, the man that he deserves to be.  He was
himself with you, happy and carefree.  Perhaps you are the one that will piece
him back together,” Brennan said.

Isobel smiled,
unsure of how to respond.

What happened
to you, Tristan Finnegan?

What secrets
are buried in your past that are too terrible to speak of?

..oo      Chapter Twelve     oo..

The sun loomed in
the sky, burning hot for late October.

Sweat poured from
Tristan’s brow.  His shirt was damp and clung to his chest.

The weight of the
stag made his progress slow, but Tristan’s heart was happy. 

Or relieved.

 The rules of the
challenge had been simple.  The men were given two days to hunt.  They were
instructed to bring their kills back to McLaughlin keep by midday on the second day or forfeit their place in the tournament.

Tristan had slung
the dead beast across the expanse of his shoulders.  His right hand gripped the
stag’s fore legs and his left hand gripped its hind legs.  The stag’s head
lolled against his back with each step that he took.  The beast was damned
heavy and for that fact, Tristan was thankful.  His muscles ached and his chest
heaved with exertion as he carried the dead stag up the last hill before
McLaughlin keep.

His eyes looked up
to the sky.  The sun would not be directly above him for a few more hours.  He
had plenty of time to get the beast back to the keep.

Tristan slowed his
pace, giving his aching muscles a much needed respite.

“Lord let this be
enough,” he muttered as he crested the hill and looked down upon the castle. 
“Thank ye, Da,” he said softly as he glanced heavenward.  It was his father who
had taught him how to track animals and hunt them.  Never had Tristan imagined
that this skill would be of such importance.

The stag was a
fine prize, a weighty animal with a fine set of antlers.  He had spent the
better part of the two days tracking the animal.  A clean shot through the
heart with his arrow had brought the animal a quick and respectful death.

Tristan hoped that
the stag would be enough to win him more time with Isobel.  He had not been able
to get her out of his mind after dancing with her last night.  She had felt so
right in his arms.

..ooOOoo..

Tristan proudly
brought his kill towards the podium, his hopes swelling as his stag dwarfed the
only other animal that lie on the wooden platform.

Perhaps he had a
greater chance of winning than he had originally thought!

Fergus MacLaughlin
stood next to the small stag that he had killed.  His eyes flitted over
Tristan’s kill and he shook his head in admittance of defeat.

“Tis a fine stag,
Tristan,” he said with admiration.

“Thank ye,”
Tristan nodded.

“Has anyone else
returned?” Tristan asked as his eyes again drifted up to check the position of
the sun.

“Nay.  Not yet,”
Fergus responded.

The two sat quietly
in the nearly vacant courtyard.  A few people had begun to gather, knowing that
the hunters were due back by midday.

After some time
had passed, the crowd gasped and began to hum with collective excitement.

Tristan looked
towards the gate and his heart sank.

Rogan Cameron
approached the podium. 

His legs shook
with the exertion of carrying the most enormous stag that Tristan had ever
seen.

..ooOOoo..

“I will treat you
well, Isobel,” Rogan said as he reached over and grasped Isobel’s hand.

His unexpected
touch startled her. 

Isobel looked
straight ahead.

She did not move.

Rogan squeezed her
hand gently and then released it.

Isobel could not
force herself to look at him.  Rogan sat to her left, so close beside her on
the wooden bench that his side almost brushed against hers.  They had spent the
evening meal quietly, neither one able to find words appropriate to break the
uncomfortable silence.

A maid reached
over Isobel’s shoulder and removed her plate.

Isobel continued
looking straight ahead.  She feigned interest in the music and the dancers that
had gathered at the far end of the great hall.

Her hand was still
warm from Rogan’s touch.

“I respected your
father greatly,” Rogan whispered, leaning close to Isobel’s ear so that no one
would discern his carefully guarded words.  “I see his attributes in you,
Isobel.  You are a strong, intelligent woman.  You will make an able wife.”

Isobel’s breath
hitched in her throat.

Rogan knows. 
He knows of my father’s death!

Isobel’s mind spun
wildly.  Surely Hector had told his son of her father’s death.  Could Rogan be
trusted with such a dangerous secret?

Isobel suddenly
remembered one of her father’s favorite sayings.

Keep your
friends close, but keep your enemies closer.

Rogan Cameron
might prove to be a most dangerous enemy.

Isobel pondered
how to play her game wisely.

“Do you care to
dance, Rogan?” Isobel asked sweetly, smiling shyly as she looked at the man
sitting next to her for the first time all evening.

“Aye, lass,” he
said, his surprise evident in his voice.  “I’d like that verra much.”

Rogan stood and
extended his hand to Isobel. 

She placed her
hand in his, stealing her reserve and forcing herself to smile as Rogan led her
towards the music.

Rogan lifted her
fingers towards his lips.  He kissed her knuckles.  His lips were wet against
her skin, causing shivers of distaste to reverberate through Isobel’s body.

Isobel forced
herself to smile at Rogan.

Rogan led her
right in front of Tristan, who sat with Brandon on a bench near the musicians. 
Isobel dared not look at Tristan. 

She felt his eyes
upon her, watching, scrutinizing how Rogan held her as they danced.

Isobel’s heart
sped up, thundering from the force of her betrayal.

Rogan’s hands felt
wrong against her skin.

He spun her to the
time of the music.

Isobel made a
dramatic mistake.

She glanced at
Tristan.

Although her eyes
met with his for only an instant, she saw the controlled rage in his hazel
eyes.  She saw the heat of his jealousy burning, igniting a fire in his soul.

Tristan looked as
though he might kill Rogan, right then and there.

Isobel vowed not
to look at Tristan again for the remainder of the evening.

Looking at him
caused her heart to hurt.

Indulging Rogan
was a very dangerous game.  She laughed softly and smiled up at Rogan sweetly.

Isobel knew that
she was playing with fire, but it was a fire that she hoped to control.

For Rogan Cameron
was most certainly a dangerous enemy.

And for that very
reason, Isobel would keep him close by her side.

..oo      Chapter Thirteen     oo..

Isobel made the
long climb up the stairs towards her chamber.  She was bone tired and wanted
nothing more than to be away from the prying eyes of the great hall.  Spending
the evening with Rogan Cameron had been torture.  Pretending to enjoy his
attentions had been a most distinct form of torture.

Isobel had failed
miserably at avoiding Tristan’s intense gaze.

 Her eyes had
strayed numerous times throughout the evening.  They had betrayed her and been
drawn to Tristan as often as she could reconcile sneaking a glance in his
direction.  She had felt the burn of Tristan’s eyes upon her while she had
danced with Rogan and while she had conversed with him afterwards.

Tristan had been
jealous beyond belief.

His muscles had
been tense, his jaw clenched in anger.

Isobel reached for
the handle to her chamber.  It squeaked loudly as she turned it.  Just as she
stepped over the threshold, a large hand clasped down over her mouth. 

Pure terror shot
down Isobel’s spine.

Isobel screamed
against the hand, kicking her legs in protest against the shins of her
attacker. She tried to reach for her concealed dagger, but the assailant had
her arms pinned uselessly against her sides.  In a final act of desperation,
she bit down against the man’s solid finger as hard as she could.

The man lifted her
off her feet and whisked her stealthily into her chamber. 

“Shh! ‘Tis me!”
Tristan said brusquely as he removed his hand from Isobel’s mouth and turned to
bolt the door behind them.  “Christ that hurt!” he exclaimed as he shook his
hand.

“What are you
doing here Tristan?” Isobel asked in an urgent whisper.  “You cannot be in
here!  My maid…what if she finds you here and screams?  You will be thrown out
of the tournament for sure!”

“Shh…calm yourself,
lass,” Tristan said with a slow smile.  “I’ve had Brandon take care of your
maid.  She will be awhile yet,” he said with a sly wink.

He closed the
distance between them in one stride and gathered Isobel into his arms, cradling
her head against his chest.

“Shh…” he
whispered as he smoothed her hair and kissed the top of her head.  “I had to
see you, love.”

Isobel felt the
tears burning her eyes and before she could resign to hold them back, they
spilled forth.  Being enclosed in the warm safety of Tristan’s arms had caused
the last of her defenses to crumble.

“Tonight was
horrid,” she said softly against Tristan’s chest.

“Aye,” he agreed. 
“I wanted to kill that bastard.”

Isobel wiped her
tears on Tristan’s linen shirt.  She pulled her face away from the solace of
his chest and looked up at him.

“Twas all an act! 
I promise that it was all an act,” she sniffled, hoping that Tristan would
understand her intentions.

Tristan took her
face between his hands and brushed his thumbs gently beneath her eyes, wiping
away the last remnants of her tears.

“I ken that it
was, sweetheart.  I could see how hard you were trying to placate Rogan.  I
could see that it was difficult for you,” he said understandingly. “Twas verra
brave, Bella.”

“I didn’t like it
when he touched me, it felt wrong,” Isobel confided.

“I didna particularly
care for that either,” Tristan chuckled.  “Quiet now, Bella.  I canna bear to
see you cry.”  He kissed her forehead, his lips were soft and reassuring
against her skin.  “I’m here now,” he whispered.

Tristan leaned
forward and placed a sweet kiss upon Isobel’s lips. 

His lips had
merely brushed against hers, but that had been enough to make Isobel hungry for
more.  Unable to quell her overwhelming desire, she lifted up onto her tip toes
and tiled her chin up towards Tristan.

Tristan looked
down into her eyes intently.  He ran his finger over her lips with aching
tenderness.  His fingers trailed down the soft curve of Isobel’s neck.

“Ye are meant for
me,” Tristan said possessively.

“Aye,” Isobel
agreed.  “And you are meant for me,” she said as she bit her lower lip
desirously.

“
A run mo chroi
,”
Tristan said reverently as he looked into Isobel’s eyes.  His finger grazed
lovingly over her collarbone.  “I want to scream from the rooftops and tell the
world how I love ye, and that ye love me back.  I want the clan and all of Scotland to know that your heart belongs to me already, but I cannot,” Tristan whispered
regretfully.

Isobel’s heart
went wild at Tristan’s honeyed words.

She reached up and
traced her finger over the curve of Tristan’s angular jaw.

“You
will
win
the tournament.  It has to be.  God does not put two people together such as
he’s done with us only to tear them apart.  You will win!”

“Aye,” Tristan
agreed.  “
We
will win.  And then the whole clan will know the secret of
my heart,” he said softly as he nuzzled Isobel’s neck.  He nipped playfully at
her earlobe, eliciting a surprised giggle from Isobel.

Tristan growled
softly and captured her lips in a heated kiss.  His tongue flicked at her lips
and she opened for him.  His tongue delved into her hot mouth and dueled with
hers.  He kissed her passionately, claiming her mouth possessively as his lips
slanted over hers.

Isobel moaned
against his lips, spurring his lust onward.  She sagged against his chest when
her knees became weak.  The world and all of its problems fell away
completely. 

Tristan was all
that mattered.

He consumed her.

Isobel ran her
fingers through his hair.  Her nails raked at his back, marking him with the
fury of her need for him.

Tristan thought
that he had never experienced a more divine sensation.  Kissing Isobel’s sweet
lips whilst her body was pressed against the length of his own was exquisite
torture.  He felt himself growing aroused and wondered if the lass had any
notion of how greatly she affected him.

He ended the kiss
and pulled away from her, lest he lose all control.  Placing soft kisses first
on her cheek, he tilted her head slightly to the side and nuzzled her hair
before placing a kiss in the hollow at the base of Isobel’s ear.

“Ye smell sae
lovely,” he whispered as he drew in a deep, raspy breath.  “I think this is my
favorite place to kiss ye,” he divulged as he kissed her lightly again in the
hidden hollow behind her ear.

Isobel laughed
softly and leaned her head further to the side to provide Tristan with greater
access.  She felt his arousal pressed against her belly.  Instead of being
frightened, her curiosity about Tristan’s body intensified.  His body was such
a contrast to her own, so muscular and sinewy while her body was soft and
supple.  She pressed herself experimentally against him.

Tristan growled in
response and nipped at her earlobe.  He took in a deep breath and gathered
Isobel firmly against his chest before settling his chin atop her head.  The
lass drove him mad with desire.  He needed to slow down or he feared that he
might lose all control.

“I wish that I
could whisk ye away from all of this, sweetheart.  Would that we could leave
this place and forget about your father’s tournament.”

“But you know that
we cannot,” Isobel said softly as she buried her face in Tristan’s shirt and
inhaled deeply.  She loved his masculine scent.

“All I want is
you,” he said as he leaned down and kissed her forehead.

His words made
butterflies take flight in Isobel’s stomach.  For an instant, she imagined what
it would be like to forget everything and run away with Tristan.

“I have
responsibilities here,” she countered.  “And I want you to be by my side as my
husband, as the Laird of our people.  Can you not see that this is the only
way?” Isobel asked as she pushed away from Tristan’s chest and looked up into
his hazel eyes.

“’Tis not the only
way, Bella.  But if it is the way that you wish it to be, then so it shall be,”
Tristan said resolutely.  “I will fight until my dying breath to make it so.”