Highlander Untamed Read online

  He was every inch the warrior. Every inch the chief. It was impossible to imagine him dressed in anything else, certainly not the elaborate costume of court that she was used to with its lace ruff, puffed slops, loose canions, and fancy embroidered doublet with peascod. The traditional dress of the Highlands suited him to perfection. Realizing that her mouth was open, Isabel slammed her lips closed.

  Attraction was something she hadn’t considered.

  The MacLeod seemed oblivious to her interest, as his narrow gaze was still fixated on her uncle. He took an intimidating step closer.

  “James did not mention that your presence would be required,” he said in hard, clipped, emotionless tones. “But it makes no difference. You will enjoy our hospitality until the handfast ceremony is complete.”

  Her uncle well understood the custom and obligation of hospitality among the Highland and Island clans—or he wouldn’t be here. By tradition, he would be safe while under the roof of the MacLeod. MacLeod’s honor demanded it, and a clan chief lived by his honor.

  Isabel could see her uncle’s anger build at the MacLeod’s quick dismissal. “Of course, we will leave at the conclusion of the celebration.” Sleat gave the MacLeod a knowing, lecherous look. “You will no doubt want to have some time alone with your new handfast bride. Speaking of which, where is your sister Margaret? I’m surprised not to see her here to welcome us.”

  Isabel sucked in her breath as a deadly silence settled over the room. She stared at her uncle in disbelief. How could he be so cruel as to mention the MacLeod’s sister? But if her uncle thought to provoke the MacLeod, he was to be disappointed. The MacLeod chief didn’t move a muscle. The man at his side, however, was not so restrained.

  “You bastard.” He lunged forward but was prevented from moving farther by the steel restraint of the MacLeod’s arm.

  She hadn’t noticed the man before, but he could have been the MacLeod’s twin. She squinted into the soft light. Perhaps he was a wee bit fairer of coloring. He was also not quite as large of build, albeit still impressive. Though handsome, his face lacked the imposing authority of the MacLeod’s. Must be a brother, Isabel thought.

  Confirmation came quickly.

  “I’ll see to our guest, brother.” Rory MacLeod smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. The cold intensity of his gaze was enough to freeze Loch Carron in midsummer.

  By now, the undercurrent of hate flowing between the two men was palpable, the MacLeod’s cold and controlled, Sleat’s smug and cruel. Thankfully, Isabel’s father intervened, preventing further offense from her uncle. Her brothers moved forward to be introduced. Isabel waited, both impatient and anxious. Her first impressions of the MacLeod had done little to ease her dread. Though his handsome face might make her task decidedly more palatable, her attraction to him was an unexpected complication. She could not delude herself: This was not a man to be ruled by lust. Still, she was anxious to gauge his reaction to her. Could she find a chink in his steely armor?

  She took a deep breath. It was time to find out.

  Rory clenched his fists at his side in a fury born of pure hatred. Sleat’s predictability didn’t make it any easier to welcome his enemy into his keep. If it weren’t for the sacred obligation of Highland hospitality, Sleat would be a dead man. He would deal with the blackhearted whoreson later, when he could calm the fire raging in his blood.

  “These are my sons, Angus, Alisdair, and Ian,” Glengarry said.

  The lads came forward in birth order, shaking Rory’s hand one by one. Rory appraised Glengarry’s sons with calculated interest. In a few years, these young men would be powerful Highland warriors—a force to be reckoned with. To a man they were tall, well built, and, he supposed, uncommonly fair of face.

  In other circumstances, he might well be proud to have these men as brothers. But with what he planned to do to their sister, Rory knew he would be creating powerful enemies. Unfortunately, their anger could not be avoided. He had a responsibility as chief. His path was chosen, and it didn’t involve marriage to a MacDonald.

  The time had come. He could ignore her no longer. Glengarry grasped her hand and pulled her out from behind her brothers. “And my daughter, Isabel MacDonald. Your betrothed.”

  For one shocking moment, the steady hand of time stilled. He felt as if he’d been slammed across the chest with the heavy steel of a claymore. All he could do was stare at the most beautiful woman he’d ever beheld. The Greeks had gifted him not with a horse, but with Helen.

  Tiny perfect features were arranged flawlessly on a canvas of soft white skin. Her nose was small and dainty, her eyes large and tilted seductively. He’d never seen eyes that color before; they were the most unusual blue. Wait—he squinted harder in the dim light. They weren’t blue; they were violet. Like Skye heather. Dense black velvet lashes swept upward and grazed fine arched brows. Sensing his stare, she nervously flicked her tongue out to moisten full, sensuous red lips surrounding tiny perfect white teeth. Those lush lips could drive a man wild with prurient imaginings.

  Her face was framed by shimmering dark copper gold tresses that looked unbelievably soft and lush. A vivid image of those locks fanned out across a pillow behind her head sprang to mind before he could prevent it.

  An unexpected surge of lust hit him straight in the groin.

  The swift strength of the reaction knocked him from his stupor. Rory tore his eyes from her face.

  He reached out to take her hand and felt a shock run through his body as their skin touched. Her fingers were like ice, and he was more than tempted to warm them with his own.

  “My lord, I am most pleased to meet you,” she said with a sultry voice, drawing his eyes to her once again. It was a mistake. Isabel pushed back her cloak and curtsied, bowing slightly forward.

  Rory thought he might choke. Alex coughed uncontrollably at his side. As she leaned forward, Rory was served the most delicious view of bosom that he had ever been fortunate enough to behold. Her firm, round breasts were near bursting from the tight, low-cut bodice of her gown. The creamy white skin, softly pink from the cold weather, begged to be touched…or kissed. The surge of lust he’d experienced before was nothing compared with the bolt that struck him now.

  Her dress was on the edge of indecent, by no means as modest as the traditional loose-fitting Scottish arisaidh, yet he was glad she did not seem to favor the ridiculously elaborate stiff gowns with their wide skirts and large ruffs about the neck so favored by the court of Elizabeth and its northern neighbor in Edinburgh. This dress exhibited her gorgeous body to perfection, the thin satin fabric clinging to her curves, dangerously hinting at the glory to be discovered beneath.

  God had certainly outdone Himself when He created Isabel. Although He’s had a laugh at our expense, Rory thought. It was such delicious irony. The face of an angel barely saved from holiness by a sensuous mouth paired with a figure that did not evoke any thoughts of religion. Rather, she was the embodiment of temptation.

  His body responded to her beauty the way his mind would not. The traitorous heat of desire burned in his loins, but Rory realized he would get no relief in that area. Yet although the attraction angered him, it did not worry him. Lust was an annoyance he could control. His duty lay elsewhere.

  Bedding Isabel MacDonald, tempting as it may be, was not an option. Though it was expected under the terms of the handfast, Rory would not take her to bed knowing that he intended to forsake her in the end. He would not risk getting her with his child. A child who would soon be left without a father was a complication he simply could not allow.

  Noticing the wide-eyed stares of the men next to him, Rory felt a fierce urge to pull her into his arms and cover her up. To a one, he trusted his men with his life and knew none would dare offense. But he could hardly blame them for appreciating what was so freely offered.

  The awkward silence continued. He realized that she was waiting for him to speak. Rory looked down and noticed that he was still holding her hand. It was as soft as r