Chapter 10

Isobel lay in her bed, unable to sleep. It seemed all that she had listened to since she had chosen this course in her life was driving wind and rain. It was as though the weather was trying to break down the world she had built for herself.

She wondered how Emma had felt on her wedding night the first day she had known Hunter. It was a strange feeling to put herself in the same place as her sisters. Other than Lydia, they were all married now, but Isobel had never felt so different from them.

She looked at the chair in the corner of the room. When she had arrived back, soaked to the bone, and furious at her lot in life, she had felt a reluctant smile spread across her face at the sight of her arrows and her dirk returned to her, just as Emma had promised.

None of me sisters need such weapons. What kind of man wants a warrior for a wife?

Abandoning her attempts to sleep, she flung back the covers and got out of bed, shivering in the cold, damp room. She pulled her robe around her shoulders, tying a knot at her waist as she tiptoed across to the window.

Rothach had similarities to Clan Clyde, but the horizon of dark trees was all wrong. Isobel missed the view of the sun shining on the distant lakes and the gentle swaying silver birch trees beneath her window.

She looked down at the grounds, wondering if she might be able to find wild lavender the next morning. She missed the scent.

She glanced across the room to the door she knew led to the Laird's bedchamber. She had heard no movement from him all night and decided that she would try to discover where he had hidden himself.

I refuse to cower in me room to placate him.

She made her way to the door of her bedchamber, wrenching it open, smelling the familiar scent of mold as the damp corridors made their presence known. She picked up a candle from beside the door and made her way down the corridor.

The castle was quiet and dark. She imagined many women would be too afraid to venture into it alone, but she was quite confident she was more frightening than any ghost she might encounter.

As she reached the halls on the ground floor, she noticed a flickering light coming from one of the rooms near the kitchen. She approached it warily, hoping that a fork of lightning had not struck the building and set it aflame.

As she reached the entrance, she glanced inside to see Alex slumped before the fire, whisky in hand, his eyes trained on the flames.

Is he regretting his choice of bride? Why has he nae come to his bedchamber?

As she hovered in the doorway Alex looked to his right, as though sensing her presence, and his eyes widened as he noticed her standing in the shadows. He abruptly rose from his chair.

She frowned as she took him in. There was a fresh cut above his right eye that had not been there when she left him earlier in the day, and he looked more disheveled than she had yet seen him.

"One day in yer castle and ye've already started a fight, have ye?" she asked, hearing the irritation in her voice despite her attempts to prevent it.

"Me man-at-arms and I had a wee disagreement," Alex replied, downing the dregs of his whisky.

He brushed himself down and placed the glass on the floor before he advanced on her. His huge bulk blocked out most of the light from the fire, cloaking his face in shadow as he loomed above her. He wore only a thin léine, despite the cold room, and his chest was bare and visible beneath it.

Isobel felt her breath hitch as she looked at him, and when she met his gaze, he gave her a knowing expression.

"Couldnae bear to wait for me then, lass?"

She scoffed. "I was wonderin' where ye had hidden yerself."

"Hidin', am I?" He cocked his head at her, his eyes roaming over her body. "And what am I hidin' from?"

"Perhaps the rain that is comin' through the roof of this castle ye have gifted me, M'Laird. I am enjoyin' the smell of damp in every room."

He snorted, taking the candle from her and pushing past her into the open corridor. Before she could say another word, he took her hand in his, dragging her back toward their rooms.

Isobel felt her heart stutter in her chest at the thought that he might bring her to his bed and have his way with her. Although she was nervous about such an outcome, she could not deny the thrill she felt at being able to feast her eyes on his muscular frame.

They climbed up the stairs, Alex ahead of her, blocking much of the light from the candle but sure in his footing.

Isobel followed behind him as the shadows sprang up around her and danced against the walls. She felt irritated that the weight of his hand in hers was oddly comforting.

As they continued on, she thought about his life before, about the man he had once been. They knew so little about one another, yet they were expected to spend the rest of their lives together. She pondered over the best way to begin a conversation, but it was some minutes before she decided on her course of questioning.

"Do ye ever miss yer ship?"

She could not imagine living life on the ocean for so many years and then being on dry land the next.

Alex glanced back at her, his long hair gleaming in the faint light, his eyes dark and calculating. "Nay, lass."

It was a short, sharp response that brooked no further queries, but Isobel had as much stubbornness and tenacity as he did.

"How long were ye at sea?" she asked curiously.

He had mentioned twenty years. How could a man not miss a life that was so ingrained in his upbringing?

"Too long," he muttered, his shoulders tense now, his hand gripping hers with more force than before. "The less we speak of me life before I met ye, the better, lass. Nay good can ever come from dwellin' on the past."

She frowned, looking up at him.

Am I ever to ken ye? Perhaps we will exist just as we are, never learning anything about the other until we are old and gray.

They reached the landing to their rooms, and the distant sound of water dripping through the ceiling seemed loud in the quiet space.

Isobel watched as Alex stopped to study the series of doors that led to their bedchambers. She hid a smile—he clearly had not thought to come and inspect the rooms she had chosen for them until this moment and had no idea which one was his.

She moved past him, holding out her hand for the candle, and he handed it to her without a word.

She pushed open the door to his room, gratified to see that the fire she had ordered to be lit was still burning merrily in the hearth. His room was larger than her own, his single trunk sitting forlornly at the foot of the bed.

She walked to the fireplace, poking at the logs, feeling the chill seeping up her sodden feet. Walking around the castle barefoot had not been her wisest decision.

"These are the best rooms in the castle, are they?" Alex asked, looking about him disdainfully as he made his way over to the window.

"The master suite is overrun with rats," Isobel explained, turning to face him as he looked at her in surprise. "Unless ye'd like us to have dozens of pets to sleep with, I thought these rooms would be preferable."

Alex's mouth quirked up a little at the corners, but that was his only response. He nodded, before turning his head and looking out at the gathering storm, his face suddenly illuminated by a bolt of lightning.

He turned away from the window, his huge shoulders tight and firm as he glanced around the room, taking it in. Isobel wondered what kind of quarters he had been used to on the ship. She could only imagine they would have been small and cramped.

Alex's eyes finally fell on the large bed at the far end of the room, his gaze lingering on it for some time, making a blush rise to her cheeks.

"There is a passageway between our rooms," she said, feeling her stomach flutter. "That door leads through to mine."

Alex's eyes twinkled in the firelight as he turned toward her. "Och, aye? And why are ye tellin' me that?"

Isobel stuttered slightly, not knowing what to say.

"Ye are welcome to use it whenever yer needs become too much, Isobel," he murmured softly, his voice curling around her like hot smoke. "I'll nae need to find me way to ye. Ye'll crawl through it yerself, and ye'll beg me to touch ye."

He walked toward her, his large body reflecting the firelight. Rippling amber shadows danced across his wide chest, the muscles bunching together as he advanced.

She felt a shudder run through her, and he did not miss it. His eyes glimmered with heat.

He came to a stop before her, towering over her, unmoving and expectant. Slowly, he lifted a hand, as though to run it through the hair that cascaded over her shoulders, but right at the last moment, he paused.

He pulled back, even as she craved his touch. She looked up at him, meeting his hard gaze, and her knees wobbled.

"Ye'll beg me, just as I said. I'll only come to yer chambers when ye are desperate for me." His voice was as soft as a whisper.

His hand came up again, as though to touch her once more, and she let out a sigh as he kept a hair's breadth between his skin and her own.

"Has that kiss made ye less inclined to live by yer own rules?" he asked softly.

She shook her head. "A little slip doesnae mean ye won the war," she replied resolutely.

"I didnae ken we were at war, lass," he said, dropping his hand to his side, brushing the edge of her robe as he did. "Do ye truly have to fight it so hard?"

His eyes had the same twinkling amusement within them that they had on the hillside, and the sight reminded her of his carefree approach to their marriage.

She clenched her jaw, irritated by her body's reaction to his proximity and how easily she had succumbed to his charms. She was determined never to let her guard down so quickly again.

She stepped away from him, moving across the room toward the adjoining door. "Goodnight," she called firmly, feeling an infuriating blush suffuse her cheeks.

She put a hand on the door handle but was stopped in her tracks as he grabbed her gently by the arm, his eyes questioning for a moment before they hardened again.

"Ye will beg me," he said confidently. "And ye'll give me the heir ye promised me."

She pulled her arm from his grasp, tipping her chin upwards and meeting his gaze defiantly. "Nae until I want to."