Bound by Wish and Mistletoe (Highland Legends #1.5)(14)
Iain’s face turned crimson with anger until he looked ready to explode in volcanic eruption. Instead, he took a deep breath, the harsh color fading from his face. His voice dropped to a dead calm laced with venom. “Do I make myself clear, Isobel?”
He never used her formal name. She’d infuriated him before, but not to this level. Needing to soothe the riot she’d incited in her man, she restrained her inner feistiness. “Yes, Iain. I understand.”
Brigid shot a surprised look her way, but wisely mimicked Isobel’s statement. “Yes, Iain. I understand.”
“Good. I’m done with both of your flagrant acts of disobedience and your hidin’ them from me. When you deign to obey the rules I set for you and the clan for your own safety, you’ll get more lenience from me. Doona disappoint me again. Either of you.”
The two women watched in silence as Iain stormed from the great hall, the heavy oak front door slamming shut on its iron hinges. They both loved Iain dearly, and his overbearing protection did help balance their unchecked mischief.
Isobel put her hands on her hips and stared in sheer disbelief at her new everywhere companion. “That damned angel? You can’t mean...Cupcake.”
Brigid half-rolled her eyes, stopping and staring at the ceiling. On a long sigh, her friend’s gaze dropped down to meet hers. “’Tis a verra verra long story.”
CHAPTER SIX
Robert looked forward to a confrontation with Susanna’s father, but as the small party came into sight across the vast meadow of snow, he realized the chance of her father being among them was slight. And that thought disappointed him.
He’d heard MacEalan was ruthless. Broc had formed alliances with clans that had risen against the Brodie, which made him an enemy. The fact that the vibrant creature beside him had fled from him—had been willing to kill for her freedom—made him eager to do battle with the tyrant. The very notion that something horrible might’ve happened to her at his hands made him want to kill the man.
“I still doona understand why we had to wait,” Susanna grumbled.
She’d grown more and more agitated all afternoon, pacing almost nonstop. The woman had homed in on her instincts; her body and soul sensing the impending danger as it approached long before her mind did. Unfortunately, nothing in Robert’s power enabled him to lessen the impact of her fears.
“We wait because we must. ’Tis our only way home,” he replied.
She scowled at him, catapulted her icy glare at the approaching party, and then turned, heading toward the tree where they’d been sheltered most of the day.
Robert let her have a moment to herself as he walked over to Seamus and Duncan. The men were on edge. Years of training and hundreds of fights had prepared them for any encounter, and they tasted the same aggression in the air he did.
“You two remain here. Whatever comes, it pursues Susanna. We protect her first.” Robert gathered the reins of their horses.
“We are yours, Commander,” Seamus said, staring in the direction of their approaching enemy for another heartbeat before striding over to his horse. With calm efficiency, he pulled the axes from their packs and tossed Duncan one.
Once the men had what they needed, Robert led the horses toward Susanna, sheltering the animals from harm, planning to use them in defense if necessary. The fierce wind had calmed, but the snow continued, fat flakes drifting down one after another. Susanna shivered as the sun crept lower, robbing the waning afternoon of its scant warmth.
Robert stepped in front of her and wrapped his hands around her upper arms, rubbing them. He glanced down at her. “Those men will not harm you.”
Her gaze locked onto the horizon beyond Duncan and Seamus. “I’ll gain my freedom, or die tryin’.”
“You’ll not die this night, lass,” he said.
She exhaled a slow breath, but her demeanor told him the action came from determination, not frustration. Her entire stance had changed, becoming more rigid as she prepared herself like they all did. A twinge of pride jolted through his chest at her display of courage.
The approaching party grew closer, dark shapes bobbing amid a field of pristine white. Robert counted just over half a dozen men and snorted. Two to one was nowhere near fair, but not every fight promised great challenge.
None wore a clan plaid, but that didn’t surprise him. Plaids were only recently adopted as functional clothing by Iain’s introduction of the pattern to Clan Brodie’s wool. As was more customary, leather clad the riders’ legs down to their boots, and fur covered their upper torsos. The leader of their party rode a horse whose bridle was decorated with elaborate precious-metal designs.
The group stopped just short of Duncan and Seamus, chunks of snow flying into the air as their horses’ hooves dug into the ground. Predictably, not one of the men was Susanna’s father, as none bore the purported jagged scar down his face.
“Do you recognize him?” Robert asked her.
The man bellowed. “I know you have her. Surrender the wee whore to us, and we won’t cause bloodshed.”
“Dougal. He’s the man my father”—she shuddered—“sold me to. He gave my father fertile land and gold and silver in exchange for my father forcin’ me to be his...wife...but I dinna marry him.”
“Susanna!” the man shouted, his frizzy matted locks shaking from his scalp. “You’ve caused me great embarrassment. For that you shall pay. Your father wanted to come after you. In fact, he took great pleasure in the thought. I insisted he remain behind, however, imaginin’ you’d rather submit to my will than his.”