A Highlander’s Homecoming (8 page)

The warrior remained several paces away, his fists braced on his hips. When she turned her gaze to him, he flexed the fingers of one hand and openly caressed the dagger at his belt.

The fool thought to intimidate her? Obviously he knew nothing of her beyond her blood relationship to the laird of the MacGahan.

She lifted her chin and placed her hands behind her back. Tilting her head, she studied this MacDowylt long enough to see the corner of his eye twitch.

Not so confident as he tried to portray. Perhaps he had heard stories after all.

Isa stepped down from the dais and circled the man, making a show of examining him. He was tall and big, obviously a man used to hard work, though she doubted he was more than a score and two, if that. She was sure that with his dark hair and startling blue eyes, he would find many a woman who would be pleased with his offer. But she wasn’t many a woman.

At the conclusion of her circuit Isa stopped and shook her head slowly before looking back toward her grandfather.

“No. I’ll no be changing my mind. He willna do at all. I’ve no desire to take such a pitiful example of manhood to husband.”

The air around her thickened, the taste of violence so intense it almost masked the warnings of movement.

Isa pushed Jamie behind her as she whirled to face whatever came her way. She found the MacDowylt had closed the distance between them. He moved quickly, his fingers banding around her upper arm.

“Dinna mistake my offer for flattery. I’ve no interest in you as a woman. I’d only take such as you to wife to seal the MacGahan lands.” He jerked her arm as he spoke, pulling her face close to his. “And I will have them for the debt I’m owed. Since yer laird refuses to sign them over, if you dinna agree to marry, our clans will go to war. Are you ready to sacrifice yer people? Because make no mistake, woman, if you dinna wed me, that’s exactly what will happen.”

It had all occurred very quickly. Her senses, normally so sharp, were dulled by the smell and feel of so many people crowded around her.

Her eyes fixed on those of the man who held her, his face so close to hers she could feel his breath hit her cheeks in short, sharp slaps. Her own breath came quickly now as she felt her control slipping.

A crash of thunder so close it shook the building drowned out any words the MacDowylt was saying to her.

Concentrate.
She had to maintain her tenuous grasp on her emotions.

She retreated into her own mind, shutting out the noises coming from the table behind her. She focused on the pressure of his fingers digging into her flesh, on the red flush rising on his skin under the dark stubble of beard, on anything but how she felt about what he was saying. Anything that could keep the anger, the fear at bay.

Anger, fear—both were strong emotions, but combined they would be too powerful for her to control effectively.

She couldn’t break down here. Not in front of her grandfather. Not again. She wouldn’t allow that to happen.

Withdrawn into herself as she was, she missed the warnings of another’s approach.

The shimmer of steel jolted her back to her surroundings as it flashed into the narrow space between her and the man who held her.

A sword tip poised over MacDowylt’s hand where it clutched her arm.

“You asked the lady a question about her willingness to sacrifice.” The voice was low, deep, almost mesmerizing in its tenor.

Isa’s gaze slid along the wickedly sharp weapon hovering so close to her body to the man who wielded it. He was magnificent, a perfect example of a warrior, his deep brown eyes hard and withdrawn. As he stared at the MacDowylt she had no doubt this man could dispatch them both in one swift move of his muscled arm without giving the action a second thought. How could she have missed one such as this when she’d entered the hall? Could he possibly be her grandfather’s man?

The emotionless smile he aimed at the MacDowylt sent a shiver down her spine.

“Now I have a similar question for you, MacDowylt. Are you ready to sacrifice yer hand? Because make no mistake, sir, if you dinna release the lady’s arm, that’s exactly what will happen.”

The threat, a replay of the MacDowylt’s own words, seemed to take the man by surprise. His fingers flexed and loosened on her arm, but he didn’t let go.

“I dinna ken who you are, stranger, but you’d be best served to leave this place. This is a matter between the MacGahan and meself, and no business of yers.” The reply sounded almost animal, more growl than words.

“That’s where yer wrong, MacDowylt. Anything that concerns Isabella MacGahan is very much my business.”

Around Isa, the air stilled as if the collective room held its breath, waiting to see which of the big men would blink first.

“Who are you to make such a claim? By what right?”

MacDowylt had asked the exact questions ringing in Isa’s mind.

“I am Sir Robert MacQuarrie, oath-bound to see to the lady’s welfare and protection.” The stranger flicked his gaze to her for a moment and then back to MacDowylt.

In that moment, Isa was struck again by this MacQuarrie’s eyes. Shielded. Eyes so hard they masked even the possibility of any emotion hiding behind them. What she wouldn’t give for that ability.

“Oath-bound,” MacDowylt repeated skeptically. “And just who would have had the audacity to accept such an oath from you?”

“Her father.”

His words tingled down Isa’s spine like tiny fingers brushing against her skin. What he claimed was impossible.

“What could you possibly know of my son?” the MacGahan laird demanded, once again on his feet, Roland rising to stand at his side.

“I know that his last words to me were of his concern for his daughter’s safety. I swore to him I’d see to her protection.”

Though MacQuarrie responded to her grandfather’s question, he did so without taking his eyes from MacDowylt’s face.

Roland snorted his disbelief, his normal sneer altered to one of contempt. “You’d have us believe you were there at his death? A score ago? You could have been no older than that filthy cur.” He gestured toward the spot where Jamie crouched.

“Nevertheless.” MacQuarrie shrugged as if their belief of his story was of no consequence to him. “I gave my oath to Thomas and I’m here to keep that promise.”

His body shifted toward MacDowylt, an almost imperceptible action, but the threat it held was unmistakable. As if charged with his intent, the air around Isa began to shift and flow with his movement.

“I’ll tell you one last time to release the lady’s arm.”

In the long moment that passed, Isa focused on the MacDowylt’s face, watching for any sign of understanding. How could he not feel the tension building as the air stilled to stifling around them? Much more of this and she’d be forced to gasp simply for her next breath.

When the corner of the warrior’s eye twitched again, she felt the tension blanketing her drain away.

He released his grip and lifted his hands in front of him as he slowly backed away.

Though MacQuarrie lowered his sword, he held it loosely in front of him, at the ready. Only then did he fully shift his gaze to her.

When she met his stare, she found herself captured. The eyes she’d found so hard and devoid of emotion only moments before were anything but empty now.

There, swimming in the brown pools, she could almost swear she saw something else. Something reaching out to her as if she were being invited into the very depths of the man’s soul.

Ridiculous. Every bit as impossible as his having been old enough to have been at her father’s deathbed to give the oath he claimed.

And yet . . .

In those depths she saw no deception. No dishonesty in the dark waters of his gaze. Nothing there but determination, solid and forceful.

“I can trust you?” To her own surprise, the involuntary words issued from her on a breath.

“You may believe me, my lady. Trust this to my care.”

Believe him? No, she couldn’t do that. His story was simply too unreasonable for the facts.

Trust him? Hardly. She trusted no one.

But allow him to deal with this situation? Leave her future in his hands as he’d asked? That, amazingly, she realized she could do. Especially since she was at a loss as to her next step in this delicate political dance.

She nodded her agreement and he smiled before turning his gaze back to MacDowylt.

That smile, a barely noticeable quirking of the corner of his mouth, obviously meant only for her, slammed into her, weakening her knees and her resolve.

This man, this Robert MacQuarrie, was something she’d never experienced before. Something that both frightened and fascinated her.

It was as if he were the human embodiment of a force of nature.

“Under the authority vested in me by the late Thomas MacGahan, I, Robert MacQuarrie, hereby proclaim my rights as Guardian to Isabella MacGahan. From this moment forward, she is officially under my protection and no other’s. If you want something of her, you must go through me.”

Robert noted with satisfaction that his speech was met by total silence. He’d take that as a good sign. He’d spent the better part of his ride to the MacGahan castle working
out just the proper words to use if he found he needed to remove the young woman from her home. Granted, the words themselves were drawn from his memories of the hundreds of movies he’d watched over the last decade, but they seemed to have worked well enough.

One look at the mess that was Isabella and he had no doubts as to whether or not she needed to leave here. This was certainly no place for her to continue to live. No, she’d be much better off at MacQuarrie Keep.

What his mother would say when he brought
this
one home was more than he could imagine. For a fact, Margery would have her hands full turning this female into a lady, but if it could be done, his mother was indeed the one to do it.

“You?” the MacDowylt sputtered. “Dinna you think her grandsire will have something to say about that? She is the laird’s only living heir.”

Robert didn’t wait to see if the man in question spoke up. What the old laird might have to say on the subject was of no interest to him.

“The MacGahan has had the past twenty years to prove his ability to watch over Isabella’s welfare. As you can plainly see”—Robert cast an impersonal look her direction before facing MacDowylt again—“he’s failed in that task as Thomas feared he would. It’s in my hands now, and I reject yer offer of marriage on my ward’s behalf.”

“Thomas said that, did he?” The laird spoke up at last. “When he charged you with her care? What else did he say?”

Robert held his words for a moment, considering what would be in the old man’s mind. Perhaps the
truth would convince him and prevent any outbursts of
violence.

“Yer son feared what you might do when you learned of his death. He told me you were not an evil man but that his daughter was ‘different,’ as her mother had been.”

The MacGahan flinched as if he’d been struck. “Thomas told you of Elesyria?” He shook his head as if he could hardly believe what he heard. “That being the case, I canna doubt yer word, MacQuarrie. I relinquish authority over Isabella to you as my son requested.”

“You’ve no a right to do this! You canna break yer word again.” MacDowylt yelled toward the dais, his eyes flashing with his anger as he turned back to Robert. “You want the lands for yerself, I’d say, but it’ll do you no good. They’re owed my people in good faith. I’ll have them if I have to lay waste to every living soul for miles.”

Robert shrugged, keeping a tight hold on his response. What he’d like to do was show this blethering young idiot what happens to bullies who go through life spewing threats, but this was neither the time nor the place for such actions. Swords were being drawn around the hall even now and he had Isabella’s safety to consider.

“And a fine lot of good that will do you, aye? With no one left to work the lands or tend the animals, you’ll be no better off than you are now.”

MacDowylt’s face and neck had discolored to a dark splotchy red by the time he spoke again. “You’ll no get away with this, MacQuarrie. Nor you, MacGahan. I’ll be back, and then we’ll see who has the upper hand.”
With one last angry look around the hall, the young man turned and stormed from the room, his warriors following closely behind.

“If you’d but name me tanist, this would no be a problem any longer.”

Robert looked back at the man who spoke. Seated at the right hand of the MacGahan, he leaned toward his laird, urging the old man to retake his seat. His hair hung in lank strings around his face, framing dark eyes filled with traits Robert recognized all too well. Cunning, greed, hatred—each emotion transcended his travels through time. There were men such as he in both the centuries Robert had inhabited.

“Isabella is the issue of my son and my heir in his place.” The old laird’s hand shook as he reached for his tankard. “I owe Thomas this much.”

“A woman canna be laird of the MacGahan,” said MacGahan’s right hand. “You ken the truth in this. Look at her! You’ve need to see to the future of yer clan, no the memory of yer lost son. You should have given her over to MacDowylt. There’s no a need for the fate of Clan MacGahan to be tied to her any longer.”

Beside him, Isabella snorted her derision at the man’s words.

“You speak as if you think I’d want anything to do with this castle or the clan. I want nothing more than to be left alone by all of you.”

“And left alone is what you’ll get.” Once again the laird rose to his feet. “Begone with you and take yer new . . .
guardian
along as well.”

“None too soon for my liking,” she muttered, turning and starting toward the door.

“Hold on there!” Robert reached out and grabbed Isabella’s arm as she attempted to push past him.

This was not at all what he’d had in mind. It was too late in the day for them to chance being caught on the road overnight, especially if MacDowylt and his men had camped somewhere nearby.

“We’ll stay here this night and leave for yer new home at first light.”

“New home?” Isabella drew back from him, appearing to study him through the matted red curtain of her hair. “Dinna be witless, man. I’ve no intention of going anywhere but my own home, and I’ll be about doing that right now. I’ve animals waiting on my return.”