Bound by Wish and Mistletoe (Highland Legends #1.5)(20)
Isobel’s eyes popped open, but no other muscle in her body moved; she remained slouched in the chair. Brigid wrapped a warm linen towel around her from behind. Neither woman uttered a word in reply to her outburst.
Susanna took a second deep breath as her nerves calmed by a minute degree. “They dinna treat women right there, especially Mama. Laird Broc ripped her from the arms of her father in England, when she was just sixteen summers...against her will. By the time he removed her bindings and set her free to walk around, she’d become a prisoner in his castle.”
Brigid gasped.
Isobel’s hand flew over her mouth. She lowered her fingers to her chin, whispering, “Did she try to escape, to return back to England?”
“Nay,” Susanna replied. “Broc learned how much her family meant to her and used it against her. He promised that if she ever tried to run away, it would matter not whether she succeeded. He would send his men to kill her papa, her mama, and all of her five younger brothers and sisters. Because she loved her family, she gave him her word that she would never attempt escape. She never did.”
Susanna stepped out from the tub with the towel wrapped around her and turned to face them. Her friends’ faces were furrowed with pain and concern.
“After he repeatedly...raped...her, I soon took shape in her belly. I’ve grown up in that castle as a prisoner in my own home. Mama and I have been subjected to his cruel barbs, and she’s suffered his physical mistreatment. ’Tis all I’ve known.”
“Oh, you poor thing.” Isobel stood from the chair with a grunt and some effort. She walked over and enfolded Susanna in the best hug her swollen belly would allow. Brigid wrapped them both in her arms.
Susanna closed her eyes and just...breathed. Something as simple as comfort from two strangers, who’d become trusted friends in the span of a soul-baring bath, washed over her like a healing balm.
Isobel broke their tight embrace and grasped Susanna’s shoulders, staring at her with a hardened expression. “Enough talk of the past. We need to get you fed, and I’ve a decorating party to orchestrate.” She winked at Brigid. “Ready to eat well and have some fun, Susanna?”
Susanna’s mouth fell open, her brain struggling to process all of Isobel’s words. Fun hung in the air like a glittering dust mote caught in a moon beam. Delicate and elusive, she’d always hoped to capture such a treasure for more than a fleeting moment. Yet in a stranger’s home, something that seemed but a fairy tale was being offered as if an everyday occurrence.
She inhaled, shifting her gaze between the two companions who still loosely held her. On a slow exhale, the memory of a random snowball fight filled her head, and she smiled.
“Aye. I’m verra ready to have some fun.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Were it not for the supportive arm of Brigid on her right and Isobel on her left, Susanna would’ve tumbled down the unforgiving stone steps straight to the bottom. Stuck in a fog of wonderment, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the bustling activity and festive adornment in their great hall.
Small candles in suspended glass jars flickered every few feet, appearing to float in the air. Greenery had been draped across the wide mantle high above the hearth, small red bows and white berries pinned within its lush branches. Two dozen people filled the room in comfortable groups of three or four, their animated conversations, and their laughter, drifting up to her ears.
Isobel briefly squeezed her forearm then tore away in haste, clutching the skirt of her emerald gown as she rushed down the steps. “Iain Brodie! Get that wolfhound away from the tree’s water. It’ll dry out!”
Iain turned from the men he’d been with, his dark hair glinting flashes of copper from all the firelight in the room. Isobel’s husband was as formidable a man as Susanna had ever seen. A good bit taller and broader than her father, the fierceness in his eyes and the unmistakable power emanating from him broadcasted that he’d well earned his title as laird of their clan.
In spite of his daunting fearsomeness, a broad grin broke out on the man’s face the moment his eyes met Isobel’s. Susanna’s heart warmed at seeing something so rare between the young couple.
In garbled Gaelic, Iain issued a harsh command to the three beasts hovering near the iron base at the bottom of the tree. They flattened their ears and cowered away, curling up behind chairs on the far side of the hearth.
Iain directed an arched-brow look at one of their maids, and she disappeared. She returned moments later with a pitcher and poured its contents into the iron tree-holder. “Doona worry, my love. Your tree shall be cared for as if it was a treasured member of this family.”
Isobel smiled and kissed Iain while he moved his flattened palms to either side of her belly. She raised her hands to his face, and any further words they spoke were lost to the rising buzz of resuming conversations.
Brigid tugged at Susanna’s arm, leading her down the remaining steps. Susanna’s gaze drifted across two long tables being set with a sumptuous feast. Her mouth watered as the tempting scents of cooked meat and freshly baked bread wafted beneath her nose.
She scanned left toward a sudden, compelling presence. A commanding man stared up at her, standing directly in their path with one boot propped upon the bottom step.
Robert.
At once, her breath caught and her heart fluttered. He looked spectacular...and intimidating. He’d donned a fresh plaid in his clan’s dark green and black pattern and wore it perfectly pleated over a crisp linen shirt that set off his sun-bronzed skin. Long, black hair fell beyond his shoulders, a fresh braid at each temple shining in the light of the room. His dark brows drew together over those expressive dark-brown eyes.