Chapter 16

Alex was still sleeping when Isobel opened her eyes. He had turned away from her in the middle of the night, his back exposed above the sheets, and she was tracing the lines of the designs on his skin with a finger.

She studied them for some time before he finally stirred, but he did not move away from her.

"Like what ye see?" he asked, his voice heavy with sleep. "I'd wager few lairds have markings like these in the Highlands."

She traced the long line of a snake that coiled down his spine. "Aye, ye would be right there," she replied, without really thinking about her answer.

He turned, amusement in his eyes as he watched her. "And how would ye ken that, me lass?"

Isobel felt her cheeks flush crimson as he chuckled, pulling her into his arms for a chaste kiss.

"I am teasin' ye, although if I find out ye have seen any other laird like this, I shall be waging war just like me faither."

He released her then, tossing the covers off his body as he rose, the dawn light filtering through the window heralding a new day of duties for them both.

Isobel sat up, hugging her knees to her chest in the small room, unaccustomed to waking up in such quiet surroundings.

"Did yer faither have many enemies?" she asked as gently as she could. Alex seemed to be in a playful mood today, and she did not wish to ruin their newfound entente.

He nodded, not looking her way. He picked up a cloth from the bowl in the corner, hissing through his teeth as the ice-cold water slid over his skin.

"Aye, lass." He turned around to face her, his eyes solemn as he pulled on his clothes. "Me included."

Isobel hesitated, not wishing to pry, but she was desperate to know more about him.

"Will ye tell me why ye hated him so much?" she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral.

She was relieved to see that his eyes remained soft, but he shook his head. "As I said, the less is said about me past, the better. He's gone, that's what matters. He cannae hurt anyone anymore."

Isobel noticed that when he spoke of his father or his time at sea, his accent changed and became more like that of Rory Darrow. She nodded, deciding to let the matter be.

"We have much to do today," he said, tightening his belt and looking her over appreciatively. "As much as I would like to stay in bed with me wife all mornin', we should head out. Unless ye're too tired?"

He cocked a knowing eyebrow, and Isobel scoffed as she rose from the bed.

"I'm as ready as any man," she replied, before picking up her clothes and getting dressed.

* * *

After he had finished his breakfast, Alex emerged to find Isobel standing on the shoreline, watching the horses. Rory had seen to them overnight, and they were happily tethered by the lagoon's edge.

"Jock seems to have taken a liking to Heather," she noted as Alex glanced across at his horse, who appeared to be sharing his hay with her mount.

Alex sighed in mock irritation. "He'd do anythin' for a filly, that one," he said irritably.

As Isobel turned back with a soft smile, a stray strand of hair blew into the wind, and he tucked it behind her ear—an automatic movement.

He cleared his throat, nodding to the path ahead of them. "We should move."

He could feel her eyes on him as he walked away, but he refused to look back.

They walked through the village together, coming from the rear path that led from Rory's home.

Alex had not seen Rory that morning, but as they emerged, hidden as they were from the other villagers, they heard an argument breaking out ahead of them.

"Ye dinnae deserve a boat!" a voice shouted. "Ye arenae fishermen, ye're pirates. Who's to say ye willnae catch everythin' in the water and sell it for profit, leavin' all of us to starve?"

Isobel looked at Alex in shock, and he felt the same fury rise in his gut as he listened to the vitriol being spewed at his men.

The ruckus was coming from ahead of them. Two fishermen were standing beside their boats, harpoons in hand, facing off against Rory and his old quartermaster.

"We have as much right to the fish here as ye do," his quartermaster insisted, sweeping an arm across the lagoon.

Although the pirates were holding themselves back, Alex knew their nature. All four men were bracing for a fight—he could see Rory's hand on the handle of the knife at his belt.

"They all lied," Isobel whispered. "They told us there was harmony between them to placate us before we returned to the castle. They have nay intention of living peacefully together."

Alex nodded. "We must clear this up."

He walked out into the clearing, watching as all four faces turned to him. Isobel followed behind.

Alex swiftly called the men to him, staring down at them and trying to stifle his anger at the lies they had told him the day before.

"What's all this?" he asked, deliberately addressing the question to the fishermen and not to his crew.

"Nothin', M'Laird," the lead fisherman replied, his eyes trained on the floor now, as though he could hoodwink him so easily into believing they were all living in harmony.

"Ye had plenty to say just now. Out with it, man."

The leader looked up at Alex, his eyes dark and defiant as he stepped forward, pointing an accusatory finger at Rory. "Ye expect me to share the water with these heathens? I've been a fisherman in these lands all me life. There's an order to who gets to fish and when. And they arenae at the top."

Alex looked out at the lagoon, to the small number of boats already bobbing over the water in the distance.

"Tell me, do the other boats on the water abide by this ‘order' ye're tellin' me about?" he asked casually. "Perhaps we should call them all back here to explain who has priority." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Do ye perhaps have a list I could look at?"

The fisherman glanced at his companion, who was looking distinctly guilty, his gaze trained on the stones at their feet.

"If ye are so concerned with the order of things," Alex continued, "let me explain a little somethin' about me quartermaster here. He has harpooned more fish in his lifetime than all of ye put together, and whilst on a pirate ship nay less. Ye could learn from him, just as he could learn from ye. I willnae have me people fighting on the shoreline when there's plenty for everyone."

The quartermaster, whose name was Bennie, had always been a keeper of the peace on board the ship. He glanced at Alex with a weary expression and cleared his throat loudly. After heaving a long sigh, he pointed at the fisherman's harpoon.

"It's a fine weapon. Did ye make it yerself?"

The fisherman glanced down at the metal-tipped wood in his hand and shrugged. "We all make our own here."

"Aye." Bennie nodded. "I have two uses for mine."

And with that, he propped the harpoon beneath his arm, unscrewing the tip with his right hand and removing the sharp spear at its head.

As it disconnected, he raised his left arm, displaying the stump where his left hand had once been—an old injury from his youth. Alex had heard Bennie tell the story of how he lost it a dozen times. On every occasion, the tale changed, becoming all the more fantastical.

Without hesitation, Bennie lifted the head of the harpoon and screwed it into the stump at his wrist. After he had tightened it, he leaned forward with a dramatic snarl and waved his makeshift hand around with a toothy grin.

For a moment, the fishermen stared at him in abject horror, and then the leader burst into reluctant laughter, shaking his head at Bennie as they all began to chuckle together.

When their mirth subsided, Bennie sobered quickly, glancing at Alex before he spoke.

"We dinnae want any trouble. Same as ye. Our catch is yer catch. We'll share and share alike if ye will."

Alex nodded at him but was watching Rory, who had remained silent, still gripping the handle of his knife and watching the fishermen warily.

As he noticed Alex watching him, he grunted, "Aye, ‘tis true."

The fishermen nodded and moved back. No more words were spoken between them.

Rory and the quartermaster gave Alex respectful nods and took their leave as they made their way peaceably to their boat.

Isobel walked up beside him, watching as the two men moved to their tiny vessel, pushing it out onto the water and beginning their gentle journey to the opposite shore.

"Me people will never be accepted," Alex said bitterly, realizing the truth in those words more clearly than before.

What if Clan Clyde refused to welcome his crew? What if they were just as worse off here as they had been in Clan Rothach? What then?

"Give it time," Isobel murmured, her voice soft and understanding. "It hasnae been so long. I ken that ye want yer people to be safe as soon as possible, but it will take time for ours to embrace them."

"Ye think it can happen?"

She looked up at him, her expression one of contemplation. "Anythin' is possible, Alex Bain."

He smiled. It was the first time she had called him by his name.

The rest of the villagers seemed less jovial that morning and less inclined to speak with them. Many were busy caring for their children, and the men had already headed to their work. Alex and Isobel decided to head back to the castle.

As they trotted away from the villages, Alex frowned, his jaw set, tension riding high on his shoulders. He did not like being patient. He was better when he could solve a problem immediately—he did not like the idea that his people were not settled.

Pirates arenae me people anymore. They never were.

"I have an idea," Isobel piped up, drawing him out of his thoughts.

He turned to her, the sun catching her hair and making it shine like spun gold.

The corners of his lips quirked up as he spotted the bow and arrow in her saddle bag.

"Och, aye? And what is that?" he asked.

"Come with me," she said playfully, steering her horse toward the fields behind her.

Alex had no choice but to obey. He fancied that he was becoming a man who would follow his wife anywhere.

A short time later, however, he regretted his decision to follow her so willingly. She took him down a narrow path and onward over sandy belts of grassland until they emerged onto an empty beach.

He could hear the tide and the waves pounding on the shore, the tension in his shoulders increasing even as he watched. Jock began to paw at the ground, feeling his discomfort, but Isobel had already dismounted.

She turned, frowning at him. "I thought it might calm ye," she said hurriedly, looking confused.

Alex felt the urge to brush off his feelings and pretend that he was quite content rise within him. But as he looked into her eyes, he could not do it.

"I hate the sea," he confessed, watching her face fall and her eyes turn sorrowful.

"But ye were a pirate," she said, bewildered.

"Aye. I hated it then, too." He could feel his teeth grind together even as he confessed the truth.

"Oh," she murmured. "I am sorry, I didnae ken."

"How could ye?" he asked, "I didnae tell ye."

Isobel made as though to get back on her horse, but Alex raised a hand, staying her. He dismounted and walked back a few paces to the top of the sand dunes, and Isobel followed him.

"We can go," she offered, making as though to take the reins from his hand.

He shook his head. She sensed that he wanted to say more, and she relaxed her stance, not speaking, her eyes gentle and calm.

"I dinnae care for the ocean." His voice was raspy as he told her some of the truths he had kept buried for so long. "When I was a boy, I was put on the ship, kennin' nothin' and nay one. Little rich boy with nay understandin' of the ways of the sea. The crew hated me, as well they might."

Isobel's small hand touched his, and she intertwined their fingers as she turned to face the ocean. It was easier not to look at her, and he was grateful she was giving him the space to speak.

"I suffered on that ship. I wasnae a strong lad. Only the captain said a kind word to me the first two years we were at sea. The sickness was rabid and constant. I was unwell for days on end, laughed at, ridiculed, and made to do the dirtiest jobs that nay other wished to do."

He could feel the tremors in his hands as he recounted those terrible days. He had missed his mother desperately and made the mistake of telling a younger member of the crew in a moment of weakness, when he had believed him to be a friend. They had never let him forget it.

Night after night, they would sing songs about his mother as he wept in his cabin. It was that same member of the crew who eventually decided to rid their ship of the seasick brat once and for all.

"One day, a member of the crew came at me with a knife," he continued quietly. "I was only ten years old. There were grown men jeering all around us, telling him to kill me."

Isobel turned back to him at that, her expression appalled.

"The captain watched. I learned that day that I would get nay help from anyone unless I learned to fight for meself. I knew nothin' of fightin'. He came at me with the blade." He ran a finger absently over the scar across his left eyebrow. "Before he lunged at me again, I grabbed a knife from the belt of another sailor. I meant to protect meself, but as I turned, it ran him through."

Isobel was quiet and still, her fingers remaining tight around his.

"The crew respected me a little more after that day. Respect was won through death. That was another thing I learned."

They were quiet for a long while, the snorts of their horses and the whooshing of the waves the only sounds around them, until Alex gathered himself enough to continue.

"I had to make me way in a vicious world and make a name for meself doin' things I'd rather forget." He stared off into the horizon, the waves whispering over the shore, as though they were calling him back to his old, dreadful life. "The sea holds nothin' but pain and sufferin'."

Isobel looked up at him. Her hair was fluttering in the wind, and it played about her face as her bright eyes watched him. There was no pity in her gaze and no fear. She looked as though she was contemplating something before she spoke.

"Perhaps we can make some new memories," she said simply. "Memories ye can revisit that might one day bring ye joy."

With that, she began to untie the back of her dress, before shedding it completely, leaving her standing in her underclothes.

The wind picked up and, as a sail might, blew the fabric back, giving Alex a beautiful view of her curvaceous figure. He crossed his arms over his chest, shaking off his melancholy in an instant, raising an eyebrow at his wife in wonder.

"Well, I dinnae mind the view so much now," he drawled.

Isobel let out a high, happy giggle and threw her arms into the air, before running full pelt toward the ocean.

Alex watched her in disbelief as she ran straight into the waves, unflinching in the cold water, stopping as it reached her knees. She turned around with a laugh and fell backward, going under the waves, then emerging soaked to the bone, a grin on her face as she beckoned him over.

Alex walked slowly to the water's edge, throwing her discarded clothes over her horse's back as Heather and Jock ambled behind him, sniffing the sand for the odd tuft of grass to graze on.

He reached the edge of the water, his feet staying just shy of each wave lapping against the shore.

Isobel had waded deeper into the water, where she could float on her back. Alex still did not like the idea of all that water waiting to drag him down to its unpredictable dark depths. But for the first time in his life, he was jealous of saltwater as he watched it lap and caress her bonnie figure. He thought of the night before as he had felt her warmth for the first time and felt a shiver run up his spine.

"Are ye comin' in, or will ye leave me here, alone with the fish?" she called, and he knew which side of him had won.

Stripping off until he was just in his underclothes, he waded into the water, enjoying the hunger in her eyes as she watched him come closer.

"I believe ye are right, lass. Ye might have been a fish once."

She laughed. "I never feel free unless I'm in the water," she replied, swimming a few strokes toward him, and standing up until the water reached her waist.

"It's freezin'," Alex grumbled reproachfully as she held out a hand to him.

"We can keep each other warm, then," she said coyly.

He walked boldly into the waves, hissing as they hit his bare thighs and glaring at her as she giggled at his expression.

He hissed again as a particularly large wave hit his torso, and she giggled all the louder. He advanced on her, and she let out a shriek as she tried to run away from him, but he scooped her up into his arms, holding her aloft for a moment, looking down into her eyes, and then dropped her unceremoniously back into the sea.

She came up spluttering, splashing him with water irritably, and he burst out laughing. He fell on top of her, and she cried out in horror, his full weight descending on her, before he took her into his arms again, chuckling wildly as she gasped for air.

"Ye are tryin' to drown me," she protested, without much heat.

The sea air agreed with her. She looked flushed and happy, with a glow to her skin that had not been there before.

As she composed herself once more, their gazes locked. Alex found it impossible to look away from her. She chose that moment to flick her hair back from her face, and it slapped his cheek.

Alex promptly dropped her back in the water, but this time she was prepared, locking her arms around his neck and gripping his waist with her legs like a limpet.

He had no choice but to take her thighs in his hands to support her, and he chuckled as she grinned triumphantly.

"Ye are as bad as the waves," he taunted.

"The tide is doin' what comes naturally, M'Laird," she replied.

Isobel gasped as he pulled her abruptly against him, feeling the heat of his body, her sweet face hovering over his.

"Ye are a siren of the water," he muttered, looking up into her eyes, which seemed to blend perfectly with the blue sky above.

He pulled her down to him, his lips meeting hers as his fingers pushed into her hair. She unhooked her legs from his waist and slid down his body, never breaking the kiss as they gripped one another fervently for a moment before slowly pulling apart.

"Did ye see many sirens in yer time at sea?" Her eyes were playful now, looking for a contradiction.

"Och, aye, plenty. All of them far taller than ye," he said with a bark of laughter as she splashed him in mock outrage.

After a little while floundering about in the waves and splashing each other some more for good measure, they finally made their way back onto the sandy dunes.

The wind had turned colder and more forceful, and Alex stood behind Isobel to block as much of it as he could, watching goosebumps spread across her skin as she shivered violently, tugging on her dress as quickly as possible.

She was clearly accustomed to dressing with wet underclothes, and he smiled fondly at her as she tied her hair back in a loose knot. He had never been happier that he had not married a proper lady. He liked his warrior woman just the way she was.

"Ye're beautiful," he said, surprised at the words as they left his mouth, but realizing how true they were.

Isobel was beautiful inside and out. He had seen it when she cradled that deer in the forest and when she spoke to her people. Fiercely loyal and strong to boot, as good as any laird. He could see why her people loved her as much as they did.

She turned to him with a soft smile as he took the opportunity to run his eyes over her figure once more.

"Why does the sea give ye freedom?" he asked, the question having occurred to him while they frolicked in the water.

He had never felt free in the ocean, quite the opposite. The idea that water could hold that sentiment for another fascinated him.

Isobel straightened, giving him a sideways glance as she righted her clothes, standing on the sand like a mermaid that had just discovered her legs.

"I wasnae free," she stated simply, her mouth turned downward into a scowl for a moment. "For a long time, I wasnae allowed to do anythin' without me Laird's permission."

Alex's blood ran cold. "Ye speak of the previous Laird Clyde?" he asked.

"Aye." She nodded. "Geoffrey took the lairdship because there was nay one to challenge him. He kept us under lock and key as soon as he came to live at the castle. He made me cut me hair short because I displeased him and treated me and me sisters like prisoners in our own home."

Her eyes had become distant as she stared off into a place in her past he could not see.

"Geoffrey was trying to force Emma to marry him. I couldnae let it happen, and I didnae. I will never let a man dictate me life again."

Alex swallowed, feeling the chill down to his bones as the wind blew around them. He felt hollowed out and ashamed.

"I'm sorry, Isobel," he said sincerely.

She looked back at him questioningly.

"Ye said I trapped ye, the day of our weddin', and perhaps I did. I gave ye nay choice. Ye had to marry me. I never wanted to be seen in the same light as that blaggard. Yet, here we are."

Isobel was quiet for a long time, thinking carefully before she spoke, her skirts billowing behind her.

"It doesnae bother me as much as it once did. After all, I asked for the tournament to be held, and…" She looked at him with a small smile. "I aimed at a target I couldnae see."

Alex opened his mouth to protest as she threw his own words back at him, but she raised a hand.

"I never would've thought it, but I have begun to feel safe with ye, Alex Bain."

The tension he had felt building in his chest dissipated a little, and he walked over to her, the sand shifting beneath his bare toes as he came up beside her.

"I am glad of that, lass," he said softly, reaching a hand up to cup her jaw as he ran his thumb over her soft cheek.

As he did so, something in the wind made him turn around. His whole body tensed up as he heard a whistling sound that had not come from any gale.

As he turned his face, he felt something fly past his cheek—it was an arrow that whizzed between them, inches away from Isobel's eyes, as she turned in the direction from which it had come.

They were under attack!