Highlander Enchanted(33)
Isabel roused her mind, aware she had too much to do before she was able to rest. “How can a clan who loves to sing and dance answer to a warrior?” she asked, unable to stop the question plaguing her all night as she worked alongside the undisciplined, free-spirited seillie.
“Cade is only half-seillie,” Fianna replied. “His ma was our queen, his da the man she loved.”
It explained little to Isabel and all to Fianna, who was swaying in place in rhythm with their morning song.
“Go, if it please you,” Isabel said with a shake of her head.
Fianna darted into the Great Hall to dance.
Isabel turned away, mentally reviewing the list of tasks ahead of her. She had smelled morning bread when she left the kitchens, and the people sleeping in the Hall alleviated her concern about not finding beds for all of the visitors yet. A trip to the kitchens was in order to assess the bread and wine before she determined if the seillie in charge of water would be using his magic to bring in more before the hold awakened or if she needed to create a team to carry in buckets.
“Isabel.”
She froze at Richard’s summons. Since arriving, she had avoided being alone with him. The rest of the keep slept, and she had no choice but to confront him now. Swearing never to let him see her afraid, she released a breath and faced him.
“Lord Richard,” she said with a curtsey.
His hair was mussed from sleeping on the table, his cold blue eyes settling on her features.
“I hope we will leave soon,” he said, pausing within arm’s reach.
“Very well, my lord,” she replied.
“These heathens have dressed you as one of them.” He frowned at the braids in her hair and her clothing. “It is not befitting a noble woman of your stature.”
Isabel kept her eyes on the ground, not about to speak unless bidden.
“You will continue to behave and dress in a manner befitting your rank,” he added. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I have sent word to your uncle of your journey and assured him I will return you to him.”
Isabel clenched her jaw to prevent her tired, angry response from leaving her mouth and earning her Richard’s hand.
“I have also assured him you are not as mad as you seem,” Richard continued, oblivious to her tensing. “It will not do for the court to believe you mad before we are wed. Upon our return, we will be wed at Saxony and will travel to court, but only briefly, for you will be heavy with my heir soon. I hope for a son, first, and if you cannot produce a boy, then …”
Something within her snapped as he continued dictating her life in his arrogant tone.
“And if I choose to remain here?” she interrupted.
Richard fell silent briefly before drawing near. “I do not understand you, Lady Isabel.”
“I am not your wife. We are not even betrothed,” she pointed out. “I believe I may like the Highlands better than Saxony.”
He laughed. “Perchance I was wrong to assert you have not gone mad!”
“I am not mad!” she said, heat creeping up her neck. Isabel met his gaze, too angry to back down when she knew she should. “If I return to Saxony, I will not wed you. My uncle will listen to my request over yours.”
Richard’s mirth vanished, replaced by a flush of anger. He snatched her arm hard enough for her to wince. “You mistake this for a choice, Isabel. Saxony has been mine since your mad father fell from the roof of his own hold!”
“No,” she replied.
He stared at her.
“I will not marry you. Ever,” she said fiercely.
“You are not mad. You are addled!” he said and raised his hand. “Do you need a reminder of why you will do as I saw today as you will every day hence after we are wed?”
Squeezing her eyes closed, she braced herself for the blow. It never came.
“Not in m’hold, my lord.” There was no mistaking the edge in Laird Cade’s voice despite the polite words.
“She is mine to do with as I please,” Richard snapped.
Isabel opened her eyes and met Cade’s gaze, at once ashamed he witnessed her cowardice and Richard’s cruelty. He held her gaze steadily, ignoring the angry lord. He had Richard’s wrist and was preventing the blow Richard intended to land on her face.
“When ye are wed, maybe,” Cade allowed. “But yer no’ wed and this is my keep.”
Richard glared at her before he let her go and wrenched away from Cade. “Do not lay a hand on me again, unless you want a war, Laird MacLachlainn!” he snarled and stormed off, back into the Great Hall.
Isabel turned away, embarrassed and wanting a quick escape from both men.
“Lady Cade.”
She sighed. “Yes, Laird Cade?”
“Are ye well?”
“’Tis not your concern, my lord.”
“’Tis my concern, so long as yer my guest.” His voice had softened.
Warm awareness trickled through her, and she turned to face the brooding laird of the hold who stood behind her. He studied her, his wide frame taking up much of the space between walls in the hallway and his steady gaze rendering her almost breathless. He appeared fresh and well.
How did she fear Richard but not the man so much stronger than him?
The awkward tension stretched between them, and she resisted the urge to fidget.