Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The return to Lochbuie seemed to take considerably less time than it had taken them to reach the point where Michael had found Isobel, and the journey seemed very fast to her despite her discomfort both physically and emotionally.

For one thing, although the rain had eased to no more than heavy mist, and although the men had broken out oiled canvas cloaks for those who wanted them, everyone was wet and uncomfortable. For another, Michael's last words to her still rang in her ears, because he had not said another word to her since, even during their return to the boat when he had picked her up again rather than making her walk through the low-rolling surf and up the narrow gangplank.

She doubted that Hector would give her much time to explain anything, nor would it matter even if he demanded an explanation, because she had none that would satisfy him. For the short time that she had been able to persuade herself that a simple impulse had led her to do something foolish but of little consequence, she had retained a certain confidence, but Michael's reaction had destroyed that.

Even now she did not know what demon had stirred her to suggest that he take her with him to Orkney. The moment the words jumped from her lips, she had known the idea was thoughtless, but Michael's reply had shaken her nonetheless. It still rankled that he had fixed on the one major flaw in her argument about having acted out of momentary panic, and had reprimanded her for not having had the courage or integrity to reveal herself to him before they left the harbor.

His nearness and his fury had enveloped her so completely while he hurried her back to the galley that she could not think of a single counterargument. But once they were aboard, with the boat headed back toward Lochbuie, thoughts of what might have been had consumed her. If only she had said this or done that, she told herself, the outcome would have been different.

But as emotions eased their influence on her thoughts, common sense stepped in, until each argument that had presented itself sounded weak, even stupid. None would do for Hector, certainly, and she had a feeling that making her peace with him would be far easier than doing the same with Michael.

Suddenly, she wanted with all her heart to make peace with Michael.

He stood there, apparently unaffected by the rolling motion of the boat, leaning a shoulder against the bow's high-curved stem-post, his arms crossed over his chest, staring grimly, blindly sternward. His anger at the change in his plans that her actions had forced was nearly tactile.

At least, she mused, the oarsmen could rest now, because with the wind in the larboard quarter, they could ship their oars. Even the lads manning the huge sail's shrouds and braces had less to do. But she knew that the journey west, sailing against the wind, had taxed them all, and they had enjoyed little rest at Lochbuie. The men would be looking forward to starting the trip over again even less than Michael was.

As the mouth of Lochbuie Bay hove into view ahead, she did not know which worried her most, that he would simply put her ashore on the pier and leave her to make her explanations alone, or that he would not, that he would go with her to meet Hector and tell him exactly what she had done.

As it happened, Hector's appearance on the pier before the galley landed rendered that choice unnecessary. Isobel saw him striding toward them, oblivious of the drizzling rain, and she nearly flinched, because every movement of his tall, broad warrior's body revealed his anger with her.

She wished then that she could dive back into the storage locker, and when he loomed over her as Michael helped her onto a bench so that she could step onto the pier, she felt both men's anger envelop her, and fought back tears at the thought of having managed with one small, stupid incident to infuriate the two men she cared most about in the whole world.

The thought caught her unawares. That she could link them in her mind like that seemed extraordinary. She had known Michael less than three days. Why should she care so much what he thought of her?

Michael saw Isobel's tears, recognized her struggle to control them, and an unexpected wave of compassion washed away much of his anger.

Hector looked as one might expect Hector the Ferocious to look under such circumstances, and although Michael believed Isobel should face a reckoning, he feared from Hector's expression that he might punish her too harshly. None of the gentleness the man had displayed the previous evening was in evidence now.

He looked straight at Michael and said, "I have no need to ask whose fault this is, lad, so don't look so worried. I know you did not try to abduct her."

"No, my lord," Michael said, noting that Hector kept a firm grip on Isobel's upper arm and showed no intention of releasing her. "I'm thinking, though, sir," he added, "that since my oarsmen have had little rest today, mayhap we should stay the night now at Lochbuie, with your permission."

"Granted, and not just out of hospitality, for I saw that you headed west when you left," Hector said, adding in a sterner tone, with a gimlet look at Isobel, "Our lass may have done you a kindness by stowing away, as I suspect she did."

"I'd be interested to know how that can have been a kindness," Michael said, ignoring a temptation to shoot just such a look at her himself.

"You told me that your enemy has connections to the Roman Kirk," Hector said. "You should know that the Green Abbot of Iona is of that ilk and a sworn enemy to Clan Gillean. Any allies the men following you may have hereabouts will be Mackinnon men. And if they know you came here, the Mackinnons of Mull will be watching your every move now, so 'tis just as well that you did not go ashore or sail near the Holy Isle, where men might recognize your banner."

"Her ladyship and I did go ashore briefly an hour or so west of here, but we did not linger," Michael said evenly.

"I see," Hector said, looking from one to the other. "I think we had better get out of this rain. After Isobel and I have had our talk, I want to discuss these troubles of yours further, lad. Your men will take supper in the hall with us."

"Thank you, my lord. You are generous."

"Sakes, lad, the lady Isobel is my responsibility, and the necessity for you to stay is her doing," Hector said. "For me to offer you and your men a hot supper and dry beds seems small payment for the trouble she has caused you. Her ladyship's own payment," he added grimly with another look at Isobel, "will be more taxing."

Isobel stood stiffly, determined to retain the shreds of her dignity if it killed her but certain that Hector was angrier with her than she had ever seen him. His grip on her arm was viselike and would leave bruises similar to the ones Michael's fingers had doubtless left on her shoulders, and Hector's tone of voice whenever he mentioned her name left her in no doubt of what he intended to do.

He had put her over his knee more than once since she had come to live with him and Cristina, but such episodes had been quickly over. She had a feeling that this one would be worse than the others. That Michael was in agreement with him made her punishment inevitable, though, so it would be best just to get it over with.

Accordingly, she made no protest as she hurried along beside Hector, although he made no attempt to shorten his long strides to accommodate hers. Her cloak billowed in the chilly wind, but halfway to the castle entrance the rain stopped, so she could at least be grateful for that.

She had heard Michael tell his cousin to supervise the men as they put up their oars and prepared the Raven for the night, so although she did not look back, she knew that he followed them now. The knowledge that he was aware of exactly what Hector meant to do was humiliating, and Hector's intended punishment even more so, but when they reached the hall, she realized that yet more discomfort lay ahead.

As they entered, Cristina rushed to meet her, exclaiming, "Oh, my dearling, I feared that something dreadful had happened to you. Where have you been? You're all wet! Did you fall? Did you run into Mackinnons? I cannot tell you how worried I've been since the men on the wall told us they had lost sight of you!"

Before Isobel could reply, Hector said, "I promised you I would find her, sweetheart, so you need not have worried. She merely took the bit between her teeth again, but this time she has inconvenienced Sir Michael and his men, and I mean to make my disappointment in her behavior very clear to her."

Lady Euphemia, close on Cristina's heels, exclaimed, "Mercy, Isobel, what can you have done to inconvenience Sir Michael? His ship left hours ago!"

With both women staring at her, clearly expecting an explanation, and with Hector and Michael silently flanking her, the former still gripping her arm, clearly meaning for her to answer the questions herself, Isobel pushed back her hood with her free hand and said, "I … I was on his boat, Aunt Euphemia. It happened quite by accident, I assure you, but—"

"But how could you have done it by accident?" Lady Euphemia demanded. "That is not a thing anyone does inadvertently, Isobel. One either boards a boat or one does not. I declare, my dear, you grow more and more like our poor Mariota every day. I thought we were finished with such inexplicable matters when she—"

"We have finished with them, madam," Hector interjected. "I am about to make certain of that, so if you will excuse us, I will settle this matter with Isobel at once. You are welcome to come with us, St. Clair," he added abruptly.

To Isobel's shock, Michael said calmly, "Then I will, sir, thank you."

Michael knew that Hector had issued the invitation out of courtesy, because the behavior for which he was going to punish Isobel had greatly inconvenienced a guest. He knew, too, however, that Hector had not expected him to accept, because the same courtesy that led to such an invitation nearly always led to its rejection.

Discipline, although a solemn duty of a lass's father, foster father, or husband, was not a scene for an audience, and Michael could not have said exactly why he had accepted the invitation, only that instinct had stirred him to do so. But he rarely ignored that instinct, and he did not ignore it now.

Isobel was pale as Hector urged her toward the small chamber where he and Michael had conversed the previous night, but Michael did not think her pallor stemmed from fear of punishment. Until only moments before, she had seemed resigned to her fate if not altogether accepting of it.

Her cheeks had reddened when the two women scolded her, and only toward the end of that scolding had she paled. She had looked wan then but had turned nearly white when Michael said he would join them, making him suspect that she had known Hector might include him and now feared much greater humiliation.

He was sorry for that, but instinct was instinct, and things happened because they were supposed to happen. He would see the business through, wherever it led.

Hearing the door shut, and feeling Michael's presence loom behind her, Isobel faced Hector numbly and hoped he would say what he wanted to say and do what he was going to do quickly so that she could escape to the blessed solitude of her bedchamber and shut out the rest of the world.

Instead of going around the heavy table as he did when he meant only to scold her, he sat on the front edge of it, folded his arms across his chest, and looked long and hard at her.

She stood still, making no effort to avoid his gaze.

"I'm disappointed in you, Isobel," he said softly.

He had said as much to Cristina, but hearing it again brought an ache to her throat as she strove to think of an acceptable reply. She could not protest, because she knew she deserved to hear the words. She nearly looked away but thought better of that, too. She would not cry either, not with Michael there to see it.

"By heaven," Hector said with a sigh after a moment or two, "I seldom find myself at such a loss, but I do not know what to say to you. 'Twas bad enough when you interfered in a dispute between men without thought for your own safety, and I have already expressed my disapproval of your lack of judgment in spending the night alone with Sir Michael, but apparently to no avail. I've no idea now of how to make sure you understand that this latest start of yours deserves stern punishment."

When he paused for breath, she said quietly, "I know I was wrong, sir. I have already said as much, and truly, I can explain how—"

"I don't want to hear explanations or excuses," he said curtly. "Before I proceed, however, I do want to hear you accept responsibility for your rash behavior and make a sincere apology for the trouble you have caused Sir Michael."

She swallowed, but the ache in her throat remained. She could not look at Michael, but to Hector she said, "I do apologize. I know you will say I should not have set foot on Sir Michael's boat, and although I did believe he would not object, I was wrong to let panic drive me to hide when I heard the others coming, and wrong to keep silent after he came aboard. I never meant to make anyone angry. I just …" Her throat closed, words failed her, and she fell silent.

"You must realize that one at least amongst his men or ours will talk of this," Hector said. "You could not have done anything more certain to nourish the scandal you have already stirred. Take off your cloak, lass. You have left me no choice …"

Paying no heed to his hesitation, she untied the cloak strings, shrugged it off, and braced herself, certain that she knew what was coming.

"… unless, of course …" He paused again, waiting, one eyebrow raised.

No more than she could have flown could Isobel have stopped the words that flew off her tongue: "Unless what?"

"I was just thinking that, although this incident may stir greater scandal, it becomes naught but a romance if the ending includes marriage," he said dulcetly.

Isobel stared at him, the ache in her throat stronger than ever.

"Well, lass? Are you still determined to refuse him, or … ?"

She shut her eyes, and Michael's presence behind her loomed even larger until she opened them again and murmured, "I doubt that he still wants me, sir."

"St. Clair?"

The name floated past her, stopping the breath in her throat until Michael said calmly, "I am still of the same mind, my lord."

"You'll need to take a firm hand with her," Hector said. "But if you're still willing, I'll leave the rest of this to you. I'd recommend a strap or a stout switch."

"Thank you, my lord. I can deal with her."

"Then I'll leave her to you and see what I can do to arrange a speedy wedding for you," Hector said, straightening. "Come to me when you've finished, and we'll talk further." He left the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Look at me, lass."

Isobel could not move. Indeed, she could scarcely breathe.

"Look at me, Isobel," Michael repeated.

After a long moment, she turned slowly, her face ashen.

He opened his arms to her. When she hesitated, he thought for a moment that she would ignore their invitation. But then she glanced down at her wet cloak, stepped over it, and walked silently into his embrace.

The top of her head barely reached his chin, and she buried her face against his chest. He had given his own sodden cloak to a gillie upon entering the hall, but although he suspected that his doublet was damp, too, she did not seem to mind.

Holding her close, he could smell rain in her hair, could feel the supple warmth of her body; and a knot of uncertainty that he had not even known lay deep inside him relaxed into a sense of unfamiliar but nonetheless welcome contentment.

Moments later, she stirred, and her hands gingerly touched his waist.

"Put your arms around me, sweetheart," he murmured into her hair.

"Sweetheart?" She spoke against his chest.

"Aye," he said.

"He expects you to punish me," she said. "Are you going to?"

Instead of answering, he said, "Do you understand why he is angry?"

She nodded.

"Do you think he is wrong to be?"

She shook her head.

"Look up at me, Isobel."

She obeyed, her expression wary.

"Did you agree to this marriage between us because you thought such an agreement would spare you from deserved punishment now?"

She hesitated again, sighed, and said, "You do mean to beat me."

"Answer my question."

"Why should I? You will say either that I am lying or that I'm just saying what I think you want to hear. After all, you offered to marry me only because you think you must assume responsibility for what happened between us."

He felt a strong desire to tell her that she had attracted him from the moment she intervened with Waldron, to try to explain that her determination to kill the man in the cave if necessary had sealed that attraction, and that everything she had done since had simply reinforced it. But common sense stopped him before he uttered the words, because it occurred to him that to give so headstrong a lass such a weapon to use against him might not be wise.

The truth was that he did not care why she had agreed. He was just glad that she had. If part of him was also relieved to know he would not be leaving her behind to face alone the consequences of a scandal they had brewed together, he thought that was only natural. To have earned Hector Reaganach's good opinion was also important, but he would not beat her simply to retain it.

He said gently, "Do you think I ought to punish you?"

"He expects you to, so I suppose you will say you have no choice."

"I have managed to stay alive on several occasions that might well have proved fatal by not doing what others expect of me."

"Faith, sir, Hector will not kill you if you do not meet this expectation."

"So I'm hoping," Michael said with a smile.

She wrinkled her brow and gazed searchingly at him. "I do not always know what to make of you," she said at last. "Will you ever share your secrets with me?"

"Perhaps," he said. "You do need to know more about them, to be sure."

"Will you tell me about your quest?"

He stiffened, recognizing Hugo's word on her lips.

Isobel felt his reaction, cursed her folly, and dampened suddenly dry lips.

In a voice that raised the hair on the back of her neck, Michael said, "You were listening on that stairway."

She lifted her chin, saying with careful dignity, "I was taking that stairway to go back outside, and I chanced to overhear your cousin's question. Surely, you do not count that as ‘listening on that stairway.'"

"Aye, sure, I do," he said uncompromisingly. "An innocent person continues downstairs. She does not stop to listen or turn and creep silently back upstairs when she fears discovery. That you did both makes me wonder now if you hid in that storage locker in hopes of overhearing another such conversation. Indeed, I'd not be amazed to learn that you agreed to marry me now not only to avoid punishment but also because I said that had you agreed to it before, I'd have told you what I know."

She opened her mouth to deny it, but he put a finger on her lips and said, "Take care, lass, for you have made no secret of your curiosity. Indeed, I think it is what most frequently lands you in trouble. So I'll tell you this, and you'd better heed my words. I'll not tolerate a wife who lies to me or who listens at doors and on stairways."

Hastily, barely giving him time to move his finger, she said, "I won't then."

"I want your solemn promise."

"I promise," she said. "And I did not board your galley hoping to hear more. Truly," she added, suppressing memory of her disappointment when he and Hugo did not reveal more information about what Hugo had called Michael's quest.

He was silent for a long moment, looking at her, increasing her tension.

Her skin had begun prickling the moment Hector had left her alone with him, Michael's open arms had done little to ease that, and now it felt as if her skin were afire. Not only had she wondered more than once why his voice alone could stir such disturbing feelings in her body, but he could make her more uneasy with a look than Hector at his most ominous could.

Michael seemed to look straight into her soul. Tracing a line along her jaw with one finger, he said gently, "I am not entirely persuaded by your assurances, sweetheart. I sincerely hope, however, that you are persuaded by mine."

Trying to ignore the shiver that shot up her spine, she nodded and leaned into him, sighing when his arms went around her again and he drew her close.

Marriage would soon link her forever to this man who stirred her fears and other less familiar sensations so easily and so inexplicably. But she had known the moment Hector asked if she would change her mind that she could not let Michael St. Clair sail out of her life again if anything she could do would stop him.

Michael had no idea if her sigh denoted relief that he would not punish her or something deeper, but he was content for those few moments to hold her and let her feel safe, if that was what she felt.

A drop of water trickled down his neck, reminding him that his hair was still wet. The lass's, protected as it had been by her hood, was merely damp and curling as it dried. They both needed to change into dry clothing before supper, and he doubted that she would go willingly upstairs before she knew what he would say to Hector Reaganach, and Hector to him. He had never known a woman so filled with curiosity, but since it had brought her into his life, he would not condemn it. He would, however, do his best to control it, lest it lead her into more danger.

At the moment, curious about something himself, he asked the question he had wanted to ask since they had left the hall: "Just who is Mariota, lass?"

She tensed, then drew an audible breath and pulled a little away, looking up as she said, "She was my second eldest sister, sir. She died in a fall some years ago."

Her eyes sparkled with tears, and he was unsure if they were new ones or remnants of her earlier distress. When she continued to watch him, he realized that she did not want to talk about Mariota. But he wanted to know more about her.

"What does Lady Euphemia mean when she says you are growing more and more like her? She has said that twice now," he added when she hesitated.

She licked her lips, sending an unexpected jolt of desire through him. Then, with a tremulous smile, she said, "Mariota was extraordinarily beautiful, sir, but impulsive. No one has ever suggested that my looks are a match for hers, so I'd wager Aunt Euphemia means that I tend to be as impulsive as Mariota was."

He waited, hoping she would say more, but she met his gaze solemnly and remained silent. The thought crossed his mind that she might be waiting for him to reassure her that no one could be as beautiful as she was, but he sensed wariness rather than yearning for compliments. Moreover, he was nearly certain that her earlier pallor had begun with the mention of Mariota. But he could not press her more now. Hector was waiting.

Michael pulled her close again, tipped her chin up with a finger, and kissed her gently.

When she moaned and pressed her lips hard against his, he tightened his embrace and kissed her more thoroughly, smiling when she allowed his tongue into her mouth to explore its soft interior. His body responded instantly, and he knew that if he did not control himself, he would take her right there in Hector's chamber. As he eased himself away from her, he smiled again.

"You stir my passions too easily, lass. I think we'd best wait until we are safely married before continuing along this course."

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, then gently disengaged herself and bent to pick up her cloak. The look in her eyes when she straightened again told him that a thought had occurred to her that she was reluctant to share.

"What is it?" he asked.

"My demon curiosity," she said ruefully. "It stirs again."

Michael chuckled. "This time, sweetheart, I believe it augurs well for us both. But come now. Hector awaits us."

"What will you say when he asks if you punished me?"

"He won't ask," Michael said. "You are as good as mine now, lass, and no gentleman probes into private matters between another man and his woman."

She looked doubtful, but she need not have worried. When they returned to the hall, they found a veritable hive of activity there.

Hector strode to meet them. "You took long enough, lad, but you should both change into dry clothes, and quickly. I've had word that ships are blocking the mouth of the Sound near Mingary. We depart for Duart directly after we sup."

"Do we, my lord?" Michael said without bothering to conceal his amusement. "My men are going to be sleeping at their oars, I fear."

"Nay, for I've told my captains to select a contingent of good, strong oarsmen for the Raven, so that your lads can rest. We'll scatter them amongst mine in the other boats, and they need not lift a hand. I've already given the orders, and I've informed your cousin, as well, so you may refresh yourself without concern."

"What about our discussion?" Michael asked.

"You'd only have to repeat the details to Lachlan at Duart," Hector said. "We'll put it off until we get there."

Feeling Isobel stiffen beside him, Michael said, "Lady Isobel should hear the whole, my lord. If you will object to her presence when we talk at Duart, I'll need enough time here before we leave to discuss it with her privately."

Hector frowned, and to Michael's surprise, Isobel made no attempt to persuade him. Indeed, he thought, she was unusually quiet.

Isobel was speechless.

Both Cristina and Lady Mairi were strong women with minds of their own. But although she knew Hector and Lachlan nearly always gave their wives general information about their comings and goings, if the women wanted to know more, they generally met first with strong resistance if not outright refusal. If they pressed harder, sometimes they succeeded in learning more, but they also risked censure, and often received stern rebuke instead of the information they sought.

That Michael would inform Hector that he meant to tell her as much as he would tell Hector and Lachlan was the last thing she had expected. But that was exactly what he had done, and she was not about to say anything that might change his mind or stir Hector to forbid it.

Although Michael had said that Hector would not demand to know if he had punished her, she knew that Hector made his own rules. If he wanted to know, he would ask, and if he did not ask Michael, he would ask her. And if he learned that Michael had not, he might still do so himself. She was not afraid of punishment. Indeed, she almost wished that Michael had obeyed Hector. The things he had said to her instead had made her feel dreadful, and they kept echoing through her head. Punishment, although physically more painful, was nearly always quickly over.

Hector was looking at her, but when she met his gaze, his eyes began to twinkle, and she relaxed. "Aye, lad," he said, turning to Michael. "'Tis a good notion, that. She's a sensible lass most of the time, and she should know the truth."

Michael nodded but said, "Aye, however—and I do not mean any disrespect by this, my lord. But I do still think it would be wiser if the other women—"

"I agree," Hector interjected. "Isobel is to be your wife, so she must know enough to keep her safe. The others have no reason to know your secrets, and may even be put at more risk if your enemies have reason to think they do."

Michael relaxed visibly, giving Isobel to wonder how much more he knew, and if he truly intended to tell even Hector everything. But he said only, "Then we'll go now and change, my lord."

"Wait," Isobel said as he turned to offer his arm. To Hector, she said, "What about the wedding, sir? You said it should be speedy. Are we to marry at Duart?"

"We have no chaplain here, lass, as you know, and since you will want a proper wedding, I mean to arrange it with his grace's chaplain at Ardtornish."

"Will not such haste create more comment?"

"Nay, for no one will wonder that you want to marry quickly, not with his grace in poor health and Sir Michael's brother expecting him straightaway at Kirkwall. Even if he were willing to wait a few days and go with us when we had planned to go, local parsons would not have sufficient time to proclaim your banns. But that will not trouble his grace's chaplain, and in any event, unless our arriving a few days early will trouble Sir Henry, I think we had all better go north together."

Michael said, "Guests never trouble my brother, sir, be they ever so many. He revels in company, and will welcome all who come, whenever they come."

"Then that's settled," Hector said. "Go now, and do not tarry."

Michael accompanied Isobel to the door of her bedchamber, kissed her lightly, and said, "If he or Lachlan Lubanach should object to your presence at our discussions once they begin, lass, do not fret, for although I may decide that I cannot tell them all I know of this matter, I will tell you. You have my word."

"I won't fret, sir. Hector has given his word, too, and he does not break it."

"Nor do I, lass; don't forget that," he murmured, cupping his hand behind her neck and pulling her face close to his. His hand felt warm and strong.

"Dress warmly," he added before he kissed her again.

When he released her, she hurried into her chamber, feeling breathless and filled with wonder at the abrupt turn the course of her life had taken. Then it dawned on her that she had too little time to pack properly, not only for a long journey and the installation of a prince but also for her wedding.