Tournament of Hearts (5 page)

Isobel smiled and
felt her face flush pink.

“Twas not a
liberty.  ‘Twas a prize that you won rightfully,” she said softly as she smiled
and tucked her face into the crook of Tristan’s neck.  He smelled delicious.

Tristan chuckled
and wrapped his arms more securely about her back.  His hand traveled leisurely
up and over her shoulders, then rubbed deliciously at the base of her skull. 
He closed his eyes as his fingers threaded through Isobel’s beautiful blonde
curls.  He had dreamed of touching her like this and he felt his cock buck in
blatant response to her.

 Tristan was
suddenly thankful for his heavy woolen kilt and the fact that his sporran was
placed precariously between them.  He hoped that Isobel had not felt his
overwhelming bodily response to her kiss, knowing that she was innocent about
men.  He was fully aroused beneath his kilt.  His bodily response to the lass
was fierce and maddening. 

Tristan knew that
he should never have allowed himself to kiss Isobel McLaughlin.  He had somehow
rationalized his action by telling himself that he would kiss her once and then
let her go, distance himself from her completely.

 But after kissing
her again he knew that this could never be.  Now that he had touched her so
intimately, now that he had claimed her lips with his own and felt Isobel’s response
to his touch, he thought of nothing other than how to find a way to keep her. 
He wanted to claim her as his forever. 

A blacksmith could
never dare to dream of marrying the Laird’s daughter.

..oo      Chapter Seven     oo..

 The mood inside
the keep was somber, as if a heavy cloud had descended upon the castle.  Isobel
walked cautiously into the great hall and the dreadful feeling settled within
her almost immediately. 

Something was
different.  Something was wrong.

The cadence of her
footsteps increased as she moved towards the great staircase.  She grasped the
banister and ran up the stairs as quickly as her feet would carry her, causing
the heels of her boots to clatter loudly against the flagstone steps.  Her
heart thundered in her chest as she raced down the corridor.

The door to her
father’s chamber was open, causing a rush of relief to overtake Isobel.  She
slowed her pace to a walk and struggled to control her breath.  As she burst
into the chamber she crashed right into Hodges.

His face told her
everything.

Dear Hodges, her
father’s oldest friend stood frozen before her.  His eyes were rimmed red with
the remnants of tears that he was working stoically not to shed.  His mouth
dropped open and then closed.  When he was unable to find words, he opened his
arms for Isobel and she ran to his embrace.  He cradled her tear stained face
against his chest and rubbed her back.

Her father was
dead.

..ooOoo..

“Your guard has
been doubled, milady,” Hodges said with authority.  “But I still think it unwise
for you to leave the safety of the keep.”

“I’ve been inside
for three whole days!  I’ll go mad if I do not get outside soon!”

“We cannot be too
careful,” Hodges reproached.  “Your father’s death has been hidden and as of
yet, only a handful of loyal servants ken of his passing.  If word gets out
before an heir is chosen, you will be in grave danger, milady,” Hodges warned
as he crossed his arms and blocked Isobel’s exit.  “Any man could take you by
force and stake claim to the vacant Lairdship.”

“I’ll be careful. 
Just a short ride, I promise,” Isobel said sweetly as she reached up and placed
a light kiss on Hodges’ cheek.  His bushy gray eyebrows furrowed.  Lady Isobel
had always known just how to play him.

“You will take
your full guard,” he ordered as he stepped aside.

“As you wish,
Hodges,” Isobel relented with a honeyed smile.

Hodges watched as
Isobel walked out the massive oak door and into the courtyard in front of the
keep.  It had been good to see the lass smile.  Losing her father had affected
her greatly and perhaps going for a ride and soaking in some sunshine was just
what Isobel needed.

He chased after
her to ensure that she made it safely to the stables.  Hodges had no children
of his own.  Lady Isobel McLaughlin was as close to a daughter as he would ever
have.  And he meant to hold true to the promise that he had made to the girl’s
dying father.  He would see to her safety and ensure that she was properly wed.

Hodges smiled to
himself as he thought of McLaughlin’s dying request.

“And if this
tournament does not yield a suitable husband, if she marries a man that is
unworthy or treats her poorly, kill the bastard yourself.  Kill him just as I
would do if I were alive.  Protect my daughter, Hodges.”

“Aye, milord,” he
had said as he watched the last breath of life leave McLaughlin’s frail body. 
“I’ll kill the bastard who mistreats Isobel.”

..ooOoo..

Isobel turned her
face up towards the sunshine and closed her eyes.  The way that it had heated
her skin was utterly blissful.  She breathed in the freshness of the spring air
and counted her blessings for being allowed outside the gates of the keep. 
Riding had always brought Isobel solace and for a brief moment, she almost
forgot that she was surrounded by ten guards.

Perhaps she
would see Tristan.

In her heart she
knew that it would not be safe to speak to him, for if their precious secret
was revealed to her guards, she would never be allowed to see Tristan again.
But after being locked inside the keep for three days, she had missed Tristan
greatly.

And she had
relished the kiss that that had shared, reliving it over and over again in her
mind.  In truth, when she had not been grieving the loss of her father, the
only thoughts that had entered her mind were of Tristan Finnegan.

Apple’s hooves thundered
against the damp earth, causing clods of soil to kick up behind her.  Isobel’s
mare had also missed going for her daily ride. 

Isobel gathered
the reins more firmly in her hands and lowered herself closer to Apple’s neck. 
She could tell that her mare longed to stretch her legs more fully by the way
that Apple strained against her bridle.  Glancing over her shoulder and winking
at the nearest guard, Isobel loosened the reins and kicked Apple into motion.

“No!” ordered the
guard as he opened up chase.

Isobel smiled to
herself as she urged Apple to go faster.

Her blonde curls
trailed out behind her in the wind, streaming like a banner against the blue
sky.  Isobel crouched low over Apple’s neck, so much so that she felt like she
was one with the animal.  The thundering rhythm of Apple’s hooves pounding
against the earth thrilled her, giving her a fragile sense of freedom.

She glanced over
her shoulder and noticed that much to her dismay, the guards were right behind
her.  Apple was no match for their giant stallions.  Breathing a sigh of
disappointment, Isobel began to rein Apple in.  As she pulled lightly on the
reins, Apple whickered loudly and stumbled, having suddenly lost her balance.

Having been
looking over her shoulder and not at the road ahead, the faltering of her horse
caught Isobel completely off balance. She was thrown flying over Apple’s head. 
Isobel screamed in terror as she made contact with the hard ground, landing
mostly on her shoulder and skidding forward until she came to a rest.

Her guards were
about her at once. 

“Be still Lady
Isobel!” Alex thundered as his large hand pushed her back against the ground. 

She struggled
against him for a moment and then relented, relaxing against the ground.  Her
shoulder hurt something fierce but it did not sting nearly as much as her
wounded pride.  The last time she had been thrown from a horse was when she was
but eleven years old.

Alex’s hands
traversed her body, checking for broken bones.

“I’m well!  Pray
leave me be!  ‘Tis only my shoulder that pains me,” she said with a hint of
annoyance.  Her father’s guards had a tendency to be overly cautious as well as
over protective.

“Nothing’s
broken,” Alex said with relief to the guards that huddled around them.  “You’ve
quite a deep scrape on your shoulder.  Ripped right through your gown, I’m
afraid,” he said softly as he reached up and gingerly brushed some dirt away
from the injury.  “We’ll need to get that cleaned up.”

“She’s thrown a
shoe!” Mason shouted as he examined Apple.  “It’s a wonder she remained
standing, having thrown it mid-stride.  She’s a good lass,” he said approvingly
as he patted Apple appreciatively on the whither. 

“Are you able to stand,
Lady Isobel?” Alex asked.  His big brown eyes were riddled with concern.  Lady
Isobel had always treated him so graciously; it pained him deeply to see her
injured.

“I told you that
I’m quite alright!” Isobel snapped.  She quickly smiled at Alex to soften the
sting of her retort.  She was angry with herself for not being more cautious with
Apple.  She was also disappointed by the harsh words that had escaped her
lips.  A Lady did not take out her frustration on her guards.

Alex hoisted
Isobel to her feet and helped her brush off her dirt stained gown.

“Thank you, Alex,”
she said sweetly.  She walked about experimentally, not wanting to admit that
her shoulder was throbbing rather fiercely.  She looked down at the flesh wound
and winced.  It stung badly and she gritted her teeth together as she appraised
the dirt caked abrasion.

“You shall ride
with me, milady,” Alex insisted.  His eyes warned her not to argue.  “We’ll go
to the village and get you cleaned up.  Wouldn’t want Hodges to see you like
this or he’ll have all of our heads,” Alex joked as he helped Isobel up onto
the plaid that was rolled up behind his saddle.  He swung into the saddle in
front of her and made sure that she was holding on tightly to his waist before
he clicked his tongue at his stallion, spurring the animal into a slow walk.

Isobel glanced
over her shoulder to see that Apple was indeed safe.  Mason had tied her reins
to the saddle of his stallion and the small white mare ambled slowly along
beside them.  Isobel said a prayer of gratitude.  Apple could have fallen and
broken her leg, an injury that would have required that she was put to death. 
Isobel cursed her stupidity at pushing the mare so hard.  Her heart ached as
she watched Apple amble awkwardly along the path, her stride off kilter due to
the missing shoe.

Isobel looked down
at the wound on her shoulder and released one arm from around Alex’s waist so
that she could examine it.  She winced as she peeled back the ruined fabric of
her gown to expose the wound.  It was crusted with dirt and blood and would
need a good washing before it was bandaged.  Isobel took in a swift, shaky
breath as she dislodged a small pebble that was crusted into the raw flesh of
her wound.  A fresh trickle of blood arose where the pebble had been and she
wiped it away with her finger.

She had been very
fortunate not to have broken her neck.  Very fortunate indeed.  There would be
a scar left as a reminder of this reckless act.  Isobel vowed to regard the
scar as a reminder of how precious and fragile life could be.

..ooOoo..

Isobel felt a
sudden surge of panic bloom within her as Alex brought his horse to a stop in
front of the blacksmith’s shop.

“Why are we
stopping here?” she asked as her heart raced wildly in her chest.

“Apple lost a
shoe.  We need to get it fixed,” Alex said as he slid down from his horse and
looked at her as if she had gone daft.  “Ye should get down and stretch your
legs for a moment,” he said as he offered her his hand and helped her down from
the back of his horse.

Tristan walked out
of his shop and stopped in his tracks when he saw Isobel.  His eyes locked with
hers momentarily and then looked away sharply in an effort to hide his
surprise.

 Isobel had been
hurt and he fought the urge to go to her at once.

“Afternoon,
Finnegan,” Alex said in greeting.  “Lady Isobel’s horse slipped a shoe.  D’ye
have time tae fit her for a new one?”

“Aye,” Tristan
nodded as he struggled to control his whirling thoughts.

Isobel felt the
intense burn of his hazel eyes on her skin and she looked away at once.  She
wanted to run into Tristan’s arms and allow him to comfort her.  She wanted to
tell him of her father’s passing and why she had not met him as planned for her
lessons with the dagger.  She could tell from the look in his eyes that he had
been hurt.

“It looks as
though Lady Isobel has suffered an injury,” Tristan said to Alex.  “The horse
can wait.  I’ve plenty of time to fit her for a new shoe, but I reckon we
should take care of the Lady’s needs first.”

“Have you anything
to clean it with?” Alex asked as he looked over at Isobel’s blood crusted
wound.

“Aye.  Let me wash
my hands and I’ll tend it for her.  I’ve a mind for cleaning up such things on
horses, ye ken?”

“Alright,” Alex
said as he motioned for Isobel to follow Tristan.  “Call if ye need us,” he
said dismissively as he walked over to join the rest of the guards who had
gathered in the shade of a small tree across the street from the shop.

Isobel’s heart
raced as she followed Tristan beneath the roof of the open-air shop. She had
not dared to dream that her guards would allow her to be alone with Tristan.

 Her blood rushed
at the prospect.

“Sit,” Tristan
said as he motioned to a tree stump that he often used for a stool.  He still
did not look at her and began to scrub his hands in a clean basin of water in
preparation of tending Isobel’s wound.

Isobel followed
his order and sat on the stool, smoothing her dirty skirts about her legs.  She
could tell by the cold manner in which Tristan regarded her that he was being
extra careful.  They could not allow the guards to know that they knew each
other.

Tristan dried his
hands and turned towards her now.  He glanced over his shoulder to ensure that
the McLaughlin men were still seated at a safe distance beneath the tree.  It
was not that he was weary of McLaughlin’s men, it was that he was weary of what
they might tell Isobel’s father should they suspect anything. 

He grabbed a small
basin filled with water and a clean cloth.  His fingers ached to touch
Isobel.   Tristan fought the urge to run his fingers over every inch of her
body to ensure that she was indeed unhurt.  And once he was sure that she was
well he would kiss her senseless for giving him undue worry.  He clenched his
jaw knowing that he would not be able to touch Isobel beyond the decent
boundary of tending her wounds, no matter how much he longed to kiss her again.

“What happened? 
Are you well, lass?” he asked tenderly as he crouched in front of her.  He cast
a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure that they were still alone.

“Apple threw me
when she slipped her shoe,” Isobel said with a quivering chin.  “I wish that you
could hold me,” she stammered, feeling her face color as the bold request
slipped from her lips.

“You know that I
cannot, milady,” Tristan whispered as he dipped the cloth in the cool water. 
His hazel eyes searched Isobel’s for understanding as he gently pressed the
cloth against her wound.  “But also know that I would like to,” Tristan admitted
as he graced her with his familiar lop-sided grin.