Page 42 of When a Highlander Loses His Heart
Before she could say more, a knock came at the door. “Wife, the king calls for Isobel now. Is she ready?”
“Oh, aye,” Bridgette said in a sarcastic tone. “I’m fast as the wind, I am. I trussed her up in a gown and fixed her hair in the blink of the eye that I’ve been in here.”
Isobel’s mouth dropped at how daring it was for Bridgette to speak to her husband that way. She knew that the man loved his wife, but it surprised her that he permitted such boldness.
“Dunnae ye fear his anger?” Isobel whispered.
Bridgette smiled as a loud male chuckle burst from the other side of the door. “Nay,” Bridgette said. “Lachlan would nae ever raise a hand to hurt me. The MacLeod men are nae like the Campbell men.”
Isobel stiffened at the sharp reminder. “Ye’re verra lucky, then,” she finally said, and noticed Bridgette’s lips part. Good. Perchance the woman could eventually be made to realize that just because Isobel was a Campbell did not mean she was like her family. “I was nae raised in the outside world, but the nuns told me the ways of it, and from the short time I’ve been home and commanded by my father and then the two men that would be my husband”—a shiver coursed through her at the horrid thought—“I ken yer husband’s ways are nae most men’s.”
“Nay,” Bridgette offered. “They are nae. Iain, the laird, loves his wife and permits her to speak her mind as well, and I feel certain Graham will marry for love.” Bridgette eyed her. Her forehead creased as if something weighed upon her, but then she continued to speak. “And Cameron’s future has been foretold by the seer, and she speaks of him having a love so great it will stop a war.”
“Ye believe in seers?” Isobel asked.
Bridgette shrugged. “I believe that they can foresee our future but that we have the power to change what they see with our choices. Especially if we dunnae like what they tell us,” she said with a small laugh.
“Does Cameron like what they told him?” Isobel asked as she stood and started to don her gown.
“I kinnae say. He does nae speak of it. I only ken what the seer foretold for Graham because Graham told me himself.”
Swift jealousy moved through Isobel, making her flinch. She had no reason to be jealous that Bridgette was Graham’s confidant, yet she was. “Ye are close to Graham?” she asked, slipping one arm into her gown and then the other.
Bridgette moved behind her to pull the laces tight. “There was a time I was going to marry him,” Bridgette replied.
Isobel swung around toward the woman, jealousy once again surging through her. “What happened?” she demanded, wincing when she realized how angry she sounded. She sucked in her lower lip as she watched a slow smile pull on Bridgette’s lips. Isobel found it odd that Bridgette was amused by her behavior. She should think it strange as Isobel did.
“Well, ’tis a long story, but I was going to marry him out of guilt. He saved my life, ye see, and almost died for the effort.”
“I see,” Isobel replied, her stomach twisting at her foolishness. Graham had savedherlife, and she realized now that a small part of her had thought it might mean something special, yet all it meant was that the man was honorable and brave. “Did he love ye greatly?”
Bridgette turned Isobel back around, gave her laces a tug, and then patted her back. “Och, nay. He wished to have me because he suspected Lachlan wanted me, and he was sore jealous of Lachlan. Graham has changed much in the many months since I married Lachlan. He has seen his jealousy was ill placed, and he has become his own man.”
“That dunnae mean he will marry for love,” Isobel replied, following Bridgette to the door.
Bridgette paused at the closed door and looked at Isobel. “Nay, it dunnae, but I hope he will. He has been very surprising since his return with ye,” Bridgette’s comment was casual but her probing stare was anything but. Isobel had no notion what the woman was seeking from her. Bridgette pursed her lips. “He set out full of hate and a lust for revenge, and now I think his lust is for something else.”
Heat scalded Isobel’s cheeks as Bridgette opened the door and motioned Isobel to follow. With little choice but to do so, Isobel fell into step behind them with Bridgette’s words turning in her head. Isobel was certain Bridgette had been referring to her when she had said Graham had a lust for something else now. What made the woman think that? Had he said as much? Surely he had not.
She could not help but recall what it felt like to be in his arms or have his lips on hers. Desire tightened her belly and pooled low between her thighs. She yearned for Graham, that much was certain. Yet she feared it was more than that. Despite the fact that he had taken her against her will, she had come to care for him. Did he care for her in return?
She almost scoffed aloud at herself. How foolish she was, always longing for love that was constantly out of her reach.
Ahead of her, Lachlan opened the doors to the great hall, and Isobel took a deep, steadying breath and said a prayer for calmness, but as she entered the room and Graham—who stood with his back to her and before the king—turned her way, her heart lurched. He had a haggardness about him that showed how gravely ill he had been. She wanted to run to him and ask if he was fully well now, but she felt the king’s eyes upon her.
Graham’s gaze met hers, penetrating her to her core, and her breath hitched as she stared into his eyes. She could have sworn what she read in his expression was possessiveness.
Chapter Eleven
Isobel had haunted Graham’s dreams all during his fever, and seeing her now, looking like a wee forest fairy in a simple blue gown that hugged her generous curves and her chestnut hair tumbling over her shoulders to dangle at her waist, he knew why. He desired this woman like he had never yearned for another.
When he had been riding with her on the way here and had her cradled in his arms, fighting the fever that was setting in from his wound, all he could think of was what he needed to do to ensure she was protected—from his sister and those in his clan who might wish her harm, from his own king who would not hesitate to use her to get what he desired, and from her own family who had proven time and again they held no love for her.
Graham had pleaded with the king to wait to choose Isobel’s husband until his fever had broken so he could aid the king in the choice, and to his relief, the king had agreed. His fever had only broken that morning, but when he had awoken to Iain, Lachlan, and Cameron standing near his bed whispering, he had known something was afoot. Iain had informed him that the king had just received a letter from Isobel’s father, and Graham had rushed from his bed and come straight here.
He glanced between Isobel, the king, and the Campbell’s messenger, wishing he’d had time to speak with the king alone but he had only arrived moments before Isobel. She stood with her back straight and her chin tilted up defiantly, yet her eyes—so blue and wide—showed her fear. The overwhelming protective feeling that only this woman caused in him surged hot through his veins.
He had convinced himself that his need to protect her was because he had vowed it and he simply intended to keep his vow, but looking at her now, he knew he had lied to himself. He wanted her, and the moment he had kissed her and felt in her the same passion that was barely contained in him, he did not want anyone else to have her. That fierce possessiveness worried him. Isobel, he knew instinctually, was the sort of woman who could make a man vulnerable, and that weak state was not one he wished to court.
