Highlander Untamed Read online

  But it was not the Mackenzies who concerned Rory right now. It was the reaction of his men, as he’d just laid out his plan.

  “It is a good plan,” Alex said. “But do you think the king will agree?”

  “James has been reluctant to interfere in land disputes between the clans,” Rory said. “But my proposal ceding Trotternish to the MacLeods as part of Isabel’s tocher gives James the opportunity to resolve the matter without actually having to decide the merits of the dispute.”

  Alex nodded. “Something the king would rather not do, reluctant as he is to choose between you and Sleat. James will jump at the easy way out. A dowry is perfect.”

  “But Sleat will never agree,” Colin pointed out.

  Rory shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. By then the idea will already be in James’s head. Also, it was Sleat who proposed Isabel as my bride in the first place. Her tocher was not discussed when we agreed upon a handfast. But a dowry would be expected with marriage.”

  “Argyll will be furious if you break the alliance. Can you afford to anger him? You might not find him as ready to intercede on our behalf in the future,” Colin said.

  “I will find a way to mollify him. And any loss of Argyll’s support at court will be made up with the support we are gaining,” Rory replied. “Isabel’s friendship with the king and queen is surely as beneficial as Argyll’s influence.” Watching her act as hostess at the Highland gathering had made him realize that having Isabel as a wife would be an asset at court. Rory was only sorry he hadn’t realized it earlier.

  Douglas nodded his agreement. “You forget, Colin, I’ve seen her at court. I can assure you that Isabel is well connected in the royal household. She was the favorite of the queen amongst her ladies and a favorite of the king as well.”

  “It’s done,” Rory said. “I’ve already written the king.” He paused. “And Argyll.”

  He looked around the table, but if his men questioned his actions, they did not say so. His gaze fell on his brother. “If you have something to say, Alex, do so.”

  Alex shook his head, but Rory knew what he was thinking. An alliance with Argyll would have all but guaranteed a return of their land. If Rory’s plan didn’t work, the MacLeods would lose Trotternish. In deciding to break the agreement with Argyll before he was sure of the outcome with the king, Rory had put his love for Isabel above the good of the clan.

  He would just have to make sure his plan didn’t fail. But right now, if he did not want to collapse before his men, he would return to bed. This short sojourn had sapped his strength. Isabel had been right, though he would never admit it. She already hovered over him as if he could disappear at any time. But Rory understood her fear. And that was what had prompted this council.

  He knew Isabel was deeply troubled by his failure to assure her of their future, but as soon as he resolved the situation with Argyll and heard from the king, he would be able to ease the lines of worry marring the smooth skin on her forehead. Soon.

  It was a beautiful June morning, the clear, cloudless type of day you dream about in the dark, depressing days of winter. Rory stood near the window in his solar, finishing his morning preparations. Though he’d been out of bed for a few weeks, today he would return to sword training for the first time since his injury, and Isabel was nervous. A roar from the courtyard below drew her attention. Isabel smiled, welcoming the clamorous sounds of life that had been conspicuously absent while Rory recovered.

  “Are you sure you are ready to resume training, Rory? It has not even been two months since you were injured,” Isabel asked, unable to conceal the worry in her voice.

  Rory laughed and replied teasingly, “You know, I have a healthy new respect for Alex, enduring as he did the constant attentions of three of you. I consider myself extremely fortunate that Bessie has been kept busy with Robert’s bairns or I am sure she would have joined you and Margaret in your endless cosseting. If I stay chained to this keep much longer, I may find myself unable to belt my own plaid.”

  “Ungrateful wretch!” Her hands landed at her waist. “Margaret and I have allowed you far more latitude than we thought appropriate because we knew you would resist what was good for you at every step. You are a decidedly horrible patient, Rory MacLeod. Need I remind you of the second fever you suffered after getting out of bed too soon last month? And Margaret and I should be the ones complaining for having to look at that black scowl all day long.”

  Rory grinned broadly at the mock affront in her posture.

  Her heart caught as it always did at the sight of the dimpled grin that now lifted so easily. It was hard to believe that not too long ago he used to be as dour as Margaret’s Viking. Isabel frowned. Something had been bothering Margaret of late. She’d assumed it was the near death of her brother, but now she wasn’t so sure.

  Rory almost looked himself, but was he really ready to resume his duties? She admitted that he did look better than he had in weeks, but the signs of his lengthy illness still lingered. He’d lost a considerable amount of weight. Height alone would always make him an imposing man, but the loss of weight created a feral, hungry leanness in him that she could not say was unpleasant or unimpressive. Still powerfully muscled, he seemed more tightly wound. He’d allowed them to trim his hair and shave his beard, and though he’d lost most of the perpetual tan he seemed to have, he would get that back soon enough with the resumption of his normal activities.

  The wound in his stomach had healed nicely, thanks to the salves applied by Deidre, but he would bear a large scar where the arrow had torn a gaping hole through his skin. What worried her was that with the resumption of fighting, the wound might reopen.

  Cognizant of her concern, Rory turned serious. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry, I know just how close to death I came. I’ll not chance another fever. But if you’ll recall, you did not question my full recovery last night.”

  She blushed at the memory of their passionate lovemaking the night before—the first time they had shared a bed since the night before the accident. “Wretch. How like a man to measure the state of his health by his prowess between the bedsheets. Very well, then, return to your sword practice, but if you do not return in a few hours, I will send Bessie after you.”

  “With a threat like that, how can I refuse?” Still smiling, he pulled her into his arms and crushed his mouth to hers in a demanding kiss. Instantly intoxicated by the heady taste of him, she felt her body flood with desire. How she loved to feel his lips move over hers. One night of lovemaking could not douse the powerful fire that flared between them, forged by weeks of abstinence. She felt her blood rush; the warmth spread across her body as his tongue swept her mouth.

  There was nothing seductive about this kiss, nothing teasing. His mouth moved urgently over hers, searing her with its heat. He knew what he wanted, and so did she. Their shared intent was obvious as their bodies moved together with wonderful familiarity. Her body pressed taut against his hardness, her soft curves molding to him instantly. She felt the press of his hip to hers. His tongue delved deeper, and his hand moved purposefully toward her bodice.

  “Rory, are you coming or not?” Alex shouted from below.

  Rory lifted his mouth from hers, sanity slowly returning from beneath the haze of passion. Their breathing slowed. When they had time to consider Alex’s choice of words, they burst out laughing in tandem. Rory lifted his brow in question.

  Isabel shook her head no.

  She had something very important to do—the quicker it was behind her, the better.

  “Later. Tonight we will finish what we started, Rory. The lions below are hungry. Off with you before they come hunting,” she chided.

  Reluctantly, he released her from his hold. “I think I’ll have a word with Alex about interruptions.” He gently kissed her brow in farewell, now anxious to join the other warriors.

  Isabel watched him leave, admiring the strength and pride in his carriage. He looked every inch the impressive Highland warrior, astounding fo