Highlander Untamed Read online

  A wave of emotion swept over Isabel. Hot tears gathered at the back of her throat. Bessie’s joy only made Isabel feel worse for deceiving her—and the mention of her mother nearly undid her completely. She took a deep breath.

  “Then we best not keep them waiting any longer.” Alighting into the corridor, Isabel took her first step down a path that could only lead to betrayal.

  Rory faced the day with a much clearer head, once again in control of his errant—and lustful—thoughts. Visions of his bride had haunted his dreams—erotic fantasies of a wedding night that was not to be. Vivid images of candlelight and silk. He pictured her standing before him, looking up at him with those seductive eyes full of invitation. He’d taken his time in undressing her, running his hands over the soft velvet of her skin, slipping the wispy night rail down her shoulders, revealing her tantalizing nakedness one lush inch at a time. The dream had been so vivid, so real, he’d awakened hard and throbbing, needing release. He attributed his unusual reaction to the MacDonald lass to the disquiet brought on by Sleat’s presence in his keep and the girl’s undeniably rare beauty.

  Today, Rory was prepared to be awed by her beauty. He would admire her as one would admire a beautiful piece of art—an object to put on display. But that was all. Admiration need not breed intimacy. It was enough that she was a MacDonald and not a suitable alliance for his clan. He need know nothing else.

  As was custom, the handfast ceremony would take place outside. Given the circumstances, Rory had decided on a small, private ceremony to be followed by a larger celebratory feast. Notwithstanding the enmity between the clans and the unwanted alliance, the clan would be disappointed with anything else. Feasting was an integral part of Highland life, and Highlanders welcomed any excuse to celebrate.

  Thus, as the morning sun gathered intensity on the eastern horizon, Rory, Alex, Sleat, Glengarry, and Isabel’s brothers gathered around the barmkin awaiting his bride.

  His very late bride, the ten o’clock hour having come and gone some time ago. Perhaps she was having second thoughts? Oddly, the notion didn’t relieve him as much as it should have.

  Glengarry had glanced up at her chamber enough times for Rory to know that he was growing impatient and annoyed. Finally, Glengarry smiled with relief. “Ah, here she is now.”

  Rory turned, and all of his newfound clarity vanished.

  He felt that same forceful blow to the chest, the same physical intensity of attraction. He was as overwhelmed as when he’d first beheld her last night, perhaps more so. In the clear light of day, Isabel MacDonald was breathtaking.

  Her thick copper gold tresses blazed a fiery red in the bright sunlight. The long wavy strands were swept from the sides of her face and held in place with a silver-wired wreath heavily decorated with diamonds and tiny pearls. Her features were at once both delicate and vivid. The snowy whiteness of her skin contrasted with the dark brows and lashes that framed her lovely violet eyes and the bloodred pout of her sensual lips.

  His gaze traveled down her face and halted at her breasts. He sucked in his breath and tried not to stare, feeling the hot blood flow to his loins as his cock thickened in appreciation.

  Once again her dress bordered on indecent, something more suitable for one of King James’s masques than a wedding. Most Scotswomen would choose to wear a brightly colored gown or arisaidh to their handfasting. But not Isabel. She had chosen an unadorned ivory damask gown that in its simplicity was anything but simple. The shimmering fabric draped provocatively across her shapely figure, tantalizing the senses with the glory of her lush body as the gown clung to her narrow hips and gently rounded bottom. The bodice was daringly low, cut in a deep square down the front of her chest. Her firm round breasts were barely covered, threatening to spill out at the slightest provocation. Rory thought, or just imagined, he could discern pale pink tips below the lacy edge of her bodice. Even as his body hardened with desire from all that bare skin, he had to acknowledge that there was something innocent and virginal about her dress. The unconventional bridal color suited her perfectly.

  The realization hit him: Without a doubt, the next year was going to be the longest of his seven and twenty years.

  Suddenly aware that her family was watching his reaction with unconcealed interest, he plastered a blank expression on his face. “Mistress MacDonald, I hope you have found your room to your liking.”

  “Yes, thank you. It was delightful. We were very comfortable.”

  Pleasantries dispensed with, he cast a glance around to make sure the others were ready. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Deidre standing next to Isabel’s tiring woman.

  Isabel caught his glance. “I hope you don’t mind…” She hesitated. “But I invited her.”

  “So I see.”

  His tone must have alarmed her, because she began to fidget. “Well, when I sent for her this morning to thank her for arranging the bath at such a late hour, she mentioned that she’d served your family since your older brother was a bairn. I just thought she might want to be here.”

  Disconcerted by her kindness, Rory didn’t speak. He looked into her eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity.

  “Are you angry?” she asked in a small voice.

  “No. Merely chastened not to have thought of it myself.”

  A wide smile lit her face, and Rory froze. Her eyes twinkled with a joyous effervescence that transformed her face from regally beautiful to playful and enchanting. A tiny dimple at the corner of her mouth lent a mischievous twist to her lips that made him think of naughtiness in other places. Like the bedchamber.

  He shifted his gaze to Glengarry and spoke. “Let us begin.”

  Glengarry looked to his daughter. “Isabel?”

  Rory’s eyes narrowed. It seemed as if Glengarry were giving her an option. Seeming surprised but enormously pleased by the deferral, Isabel simply nodded.

  With Glengarry officiating, Rory turned to face his bride, standing close enough to smell the sweet lavender of her hair and discern the previously unnoticed spattering of freckles across her nose. The freckles charmed him; the slight imperfection suggested a surprising lack of vanity in one so beautiful. This was a woman who enjoyed the outdoors, who valued the sun shining on her face more than the veneration of a flawless complexion. He scowled at the direction of his thoughts, realizing that he’d done just what he’d vowed not to do.

  A beautiful object, he reminded himself.

  Still, as they stood in the courtyard before the witnesses to their handfast, he was uncomfortably aware of how small and delicate she looked. And nervous. His hand moved about five inches before he pulled it back to his side.

  What the hell was he doing?

  He cleared his throat, telling himself to stop acting like a fool.

  Clasping right hand to right and left to left, Glengarry took a piece of plaid and tied it around their hands, binding them together. Rory stared at her tiny hand in his, so soft and tender in his rough battle-scarred hands. Her fingers were like ice and he realized she was nervous—maybe even scared. He felt a strong swell of protectiveness, and couldn’t remain unaffected by the symbolic allusion to the bond they were about to make. Though there would be no marriage, the handfast would be real enough.

  He spoke the vows that would bind them together for a year. “I, Roderick MacLeod, Chief of MacLeod, do pledge my troth to Isabel MacDonald and with this handfast do hereby covenant to take her to wife for the period of no less than one year.”

  Isabel repeated the vows, and it was done. Except for one part.

  “What are you waiting for, MacLeod?” Sleat taunted. “Aren’t you going to kiss the bride?”

  Rory tensed, knowing that it was necessary. He was reluctant. Not because he didn’t want to kiss her, but because of how much he ached to do so. To taste her. To sample the forbidden fruit of her delectable mouth.

  Cheeks flaming, Isabel stared at her toes, the tips of her silver slippers just peeking out from below the embroidered edge of her gow