Highlander Untamed Read online

  As was true of all Highland clans, the MacLeods were clearly divided into two groups: those who fought and those who tilled the land or tended the livestock. Feuding and foraying were a way of life for the warriors of the clan. When idle, they practiced their fighting skills or devised organized trials of strength and skill. As a girl, Isabel had loved to watch the MacDonald warriors go through their exercises. There was nothing quite like watching Highlanders demonstrate their impressive strength and prowess with a claymore.

  Isabel turned the corner and stuttered in midstep. The warm salty air heavy with the toil and pungent scent of well-worked bodies enveloped her senses, but it was her eyes that were fixed on the display before her. A group of half-naked men stood in a circle, cheering on a pair of fierce combatants. It wasn’t the lack of clothing that startled her. The MacDonalds also practiced without their saffron shirts on warm days. Rather, it was one broad, tanned, tightly muscled chest in particular.

  At the center—figuratively and literally—was Rory MacLeod.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off him, mesmerized by the raw masculinity of his bare chest. He could have been cut from stone; there wasn’t an ounce of extra flesh on him. The sun highlighted the hard, chiseled edges of his muscles. A thin sheen of perspiration made his body glisten like a bronze statue. His shoulders and arms were as thick and hard as granite, tapering to a flat stomach banded in tight layers. Very little hair marred the clean bronzed lines of his broad torso. The tops of his shoulders were burnished red from the sun, and the veins in his thick forearms bulged from the exertion of the sword practice.

  But it was not merely his powerful form that captured her admiration. His strength and prowess were utterly magnificent to behold as he took command of the warriors around him. One by one, his men entered the circle to take a turn at their champion. Rory thrust and parried, lifting the enormous sword as if it were no heavier than a feather. She recognized the claymore he wielded at once as the one she’d noticed hanging on the wall in the great hall, proving that it wasn’t merely decoration or fodder for boasting of the great strength of some illustrious ancestor. His arms flexed as he fought off the blows, though he made it seem effortless.

  He was a pillar of strength, immovable and unbending. Isabel didn’t think she’d ever get used to his size. Yet there was a sensuality to Rory’s movements, a grace that belied his muscular form.

  Whether inexperienced or experienced, the MacLeod treated each challenger with respect, relaying instructions as he deftly moved his opponent on the defensive. Not once did he grow impatient. Nor did he merely toy with his opponent as an opportunity to display his skills. He adjusted his approach with each man, finding a particular weakness and training the man first to identify it and second to conquer it. As the game continued, the relative skill of his opponent increased. But rather than tire, the MacLeod only seemed to grow stronger. Finally it was Alex’s turn.

  The two men circled each other, as if gladiators in an arena of ancient Rome. Engaged in their deadly dance, they moved with the pride of lions. Alex attacked first, the crash of steel on steel ringing in Isabel’s ears. At first she thought they were evenly matched, but as the game drew on, it looked as if Alex held the edge. Alex had Rory on the defensive, backing him to the wall of the battlements.

  She didn’t understand it when Rory smiled. “Very impressive, little brother,” he said, breathing hard. “You’ll force me to use my right.”

  Isabel gasped when he switched hands. She hadn’t noticed, but Rory had been using his left hand the whole time—and he was right-handed.

  Rory must have heard her because he turned to look at her, suffering a knock of Alex’s claymore on his shoulder for his distraction.

  “Damn,” he swore, rubbing his shoulder. He didn’t look pleased to see her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I—I wish to discuss something with you, my lord,” she stammered shyly. “In private, if you please.”

  As she spoke, Isabel took a tentative step closer. She broke her stare and looked over his shoulder at the men who had gathered around to follow the exchange. Though perhaps only forty men were present today, she knew that his warriors numbered about four hundred—a considerable force, larger than her father’s and not much smaller than Sleat’s. He hadn’t introduced her to any of his men, but she had discovered some of their names. Rory was most often with Alex and two of his luchd-taighe guardsmen, Colin and Douglas.

  They made an imposing foursome. With his white blond hair and the pointed marquisotte beard, Colin had the look of a Viking. And with the perpetual frown he wore, a very angry Viking. She remembered Douglas from his short visit to court. He’d caused quite a stir with his untamed dark good looks and brusque Highland manners. He was quiet, but not shy. A man of few words. The ladies at court were intrigued by both his savage good looks and the exciting air of wildness that seemed to surround him. She recalled hearing that he was a cousin to Rory and Alex.

  “As you can see, I’m busy right now,” he said abruptly.

  “Please, it’s important.”

  “It will have to wait—”

  He seemed poised to deny her request when Alex interrupted.

  “Surely you can attend your bride for a few minutes, Rory. We were just about finished here, weren’t we?”

  Rory glared at his grinning brother. With obvious unwillingness, he lifted a dark eyebrow to Isabel and reluctantly accepted her invitation. “It seems I may have a few minutes to spare,” he said sarcastically, tossing his claymore to Alex.

  Rory pointed in the direction of the battlements. “Would you care to stroll around the courtyard while you talk?”

  Before the words had even left his mouth, he started to move away. Taken aback by his lack of gallantry, she followed, practically running as she tried to keep up with his much longer strides. He led her toward the battlements along the coastline. Well, she thought, catching her breath, at least the view from behind was every bit as impressive as the naked chest she had admired earlier. His back was equally tanned and well muscled, narrowing at the waist above a tight backside. He strode forward with the assurance of one who was born to lead—the unqualified authority of his ancestors trailing behind him. Even if she did not know he was chief, the pride of his carriage left no doubt.

  Rory finally stopped at a point overlooking the sea loch and allowed her to catch up. He gazed pensively out past the curtain walls to the loch beyond. Small, feathery lines around his eyes shone stark white against his tanned skin as he squinted into the sun. He looked so content that Isabel almost hesitated to intrude. Her shoulder grazed his shirtless side as she moved next to him, wondering what had captured his interest.

  Ignoring the flutter in her stomach from the touch of his skin and the hypnotic scent of sun, sweat, and a hint of heather that filled her nose, she turned her eyes to follow his gaze, sucking in her breath in awe at the splendor unfolded beneath them. The jagged, rocky coast shimmered like polished stone against the teal blue waves capped with delicate white froth that marched in flawless symmetry toward the shore. The juxtaposition of the deep teal blue of the sea against the clear azure sky was breathtaking. It seemed unreal, as if she were looking at a painting where the colors were too vivid, too sharp, too perfect. It was simply beautiful.

  Notwithstanding the stunning display of natural beauty before them, the pronounced silence was awkward. He was obviously waiting for her to speak.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt your training. I hope I have not ruined your practice.” Isabel paused, waiting for a polite response.

  He looked at her blankly.

  When no assurance was forthcoming, she shuffled her slipper-clad feet nervously beneath his hard, penetrating gaze.

  Try compliments, she reminded herself. “Your sword skills are quite remarkable. I enjoyed watching you practice with your men.”

  He shrugged.

  “I couldn’t believe it when you switched hands. I’ve never seen anything like it. It must h