Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Isobel was tense, and as Michael reached for her bodice laces, his fingers brushed the side of her left breast, making her gasp. She could not believe how quickly her body had come alive at so light a touch. Every nerve tingled and grew hot, lighting rivers of unfamiliar heat all through her.

She looked up into his eyes, trying to see if he felt what she felt, but before she could discern anything other than his smile and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, he caught her hard against him and his lips crushed down on hers.

She responded at once, pressing close to him, savoring the warmth of his lips on hers, welcoming his tongue when he thrust it into her mouth, teasing him with her own as he explored inside.

One hand held her close, but the other worked swiftly to untie her laces and free her breasts from their confinement. He made small work of her shift, untying the bow at the front and spreading the gathered cambric off her shoulders, out of his way.

"Ah, sweetheart," he murmured as he bent to kiss her breasts, "you cannot know what being so near you does to me."

"Sakes, sir, you make it sound as if I'm torturing you."

"That's it exactly." He looked up with a grin. "Can we push all this material off you and just let it fall to the ground?"

"Aye, sure," she said, "but if you get these clothes dirty, you'll have to order new ones made for me."

"I'll order you anything you like if you let me choose the patterns," he said.

Chuckling at the thought of any man choosing a woman's dress pattern, or knowing the least thing about such matters, she opened her mouth to make a flippant retort, but his lips claimed hers again before she could. The next thing she knew, her skirts and shift lay in a tangle on the ground, and the breeze was caressing her bare body.

She reached for the top fastening of his doublet. "If I must stand bare in this dusky moonlight, sir, you must do likewise."

He laughed then and patted her bare backside. "Go inside the tent, sweetheart. Suddenly, I don't want to take the smallest risk of sharing this time with anyone else, unlikely as the possibility is that anyone would dare watch us."

She went willingly, glad to be out of sight, and when she lay down on the furs, she discovered they were even softer than she had expected, and stirred her already heightened senses more. Then he stood at the opening, watching her, his broad-shouldered, slim-hipped body outlined against the darkening sky, making her wish for the first time for more light so that she could see him more clearly.

Then he was inside, stretched beside her, his skin cool against hers until he gathered her close to him and pulled one of the plaids up to cover them. As his lips sought hers, his free hand cupped one breast, and his thumb brushed its nipple.

She kissed him hungrily, stirred to greater passion as he stroked her breasts and body, stiffening only when his hand crept lower to the joining of her legs, and cupped her gently there.

"Easy, lass," he murmured. "I've no wish to hurt you, but as I told you, the first time may be painful. I would do what I can to make it less so."

"You seem to know much more about this than I do," she said.

He chuckled. "I promise, I'll teach you all I know."

The hand cupping her moved, and she lost interest in sparring with him, devoting all her energy to savoring the wonderful feelings his touch stirred in her.

His body felt hard against hers, even more muscular than she had known it to be, but his fingers and lips were gentle and tender, his sensual voice even more entrancing to her ears than the songs of the sea that she had always loved so.

The plaid had slipped away, leaving them both exposed to the night air, but Isobel barely noticed. Every sense and sensitivity concentrated on what he was doing to her, and when one warm finger slipped inside her, teasing and exploring parts of her that she had never touched herself, she moaned softly and wondered if she were somehow being wicked to care only for the wonders he stirred. Surely some people would believe behavior that gave her such pleasure must be wicked.

She gasped again when he slid lower and took one taut nipple into his mouth, sucking and licking it as if it wore a coating of nectar.

Her hand found his hair surprisingly springy to the touch, its soft curls twining round her fingers as if even the hair on his head would possess her. Her body began to writhe beneath his, feeling an urgency that she did not understand until he moved again, this time shifting himself so that she could feel his tumescence beside his busy hand and know what he meant to do next.

Her heart seemed to stop beating, and although he still murmured softly to her, she could not take in the words, having no thought or understanding of anything save the movement of his body against hers, particularly that portion of it that now was seeking entrance to hers.

His lips claimed hers again, and his tongue thrust deep inside her mouth as, below, he eased himself inside her. The ache that his entrance caused radiated through her from top to toe, a feeling unlike any she had felt before, overpowering, all-consuming, speeding passion to the wayside as her body struggled to adjust to his.

Her gasping moans sounded different now to her, but at least she could hear him again and could make out his words.

"This is the only time it will feel painful, sweetheart, and the pain will pass quickly," he said softly. "Or so I'm told."

The obvious afterthought made her smile, but then he moved again, easing himself almost out of her before thrusting into her again, making her cry out. The pain was greater, but he did not stop. She could see that his eyes had shut, and he seemed somehow more distant from her, because he said nothing more but moved faster and faster until he seemed frenzied, pounding into her, until at last, with a soft moan of release, he relaxed heavily atop her.

Although his weight seemed as if it would crush her, he remained so for only a moment or two before he eased himself aside, holding her as he did, so that she turned with him onto her side.

"Don't pull away, love," he said as she moved to do so. "I want to stay inside you, to enjoy your velvet softness a wee bit longer."

The aching had eased as soon as he stopped moving, and the feeling that came now was pleasant and more comfortable. She felt safe with him, and protected in a way she did not remember feeling before, except perhaps when she was small, before her mother died and she learned that her world could change drastically overnight. A niggling thought stirred that perhaps such contentment was dangerous, that perhaps it was how husbands controlled wives, but she pushed the thought away, curious to learn what he would do next.

In that instant she learned something new about her body, that it could go from painful aching to an aching for pleasure in a very short span of time. She stirred beside him and put a hand on his bare chest, enjoying the feeling of the soft, curly hairs there against her palm.

He hugged her and kissed the lobe of her right ear. "Say something, love," he murmured. "I would know what you are thinking."

She smiled. "I'm thinking there are many things about myself that I did not know and wondering how many more I will discover with you."

The sound he made was half chuckle, half sleepy murmur, but he said only, "I look forward to that journey."

A moment later, she realized he was asleep.

She lay still for what seemed a very long time, not wanting to waken him but uncertain what to do. The stickiness between her legs was beginning to itch and feel most uncomfortable, and she vaguely remembered a conversation she had overheard once between Cristina and a new bride. The bride had talked of blood from her first coupling, and how it had frightened her nearly witless, thinking she was dying. Cristina had laughed but admitted that she had been glad her husband had explained matters to her, else she might well have feared the same.

Doubtless mothers explained such things, Isobel thought, glad that she had overheard the two women, although she had risked punishment to do so. Hector Reaganach took as dim a view as Michael did of people who listened at doors.

Surely Michael, who seemed to know all there was to know about coupling, had known about this, since he had known to leave blood on their sheets at Ardtornish. Did he expect her to lie there all night suffering sticky discomfort?

He snored softly, and she felt a sudden, almost maternal sense of amusement that made her next decision easy. She had no reason to stay there, after all. She was a married woman who had never had trouble making decisions for herself before. Admittedly others had often disapproved of them, and doubtless Michael would dislike many of them, too, but in fairness to him, he had already shown a respect for her ability to think for herself that was greater than even Hector's.

On that thought, she eased herself gently away from him and out of the tent, gathering up her shift and underskirt from the ground outside. Donning both, she found her shoes and pulled them on as well, wincing at their roughness without her hose but determined to attend to the more urgent problem without further ado.

The night had darkened, and stars dotted the sky. The moon peeked over the horizon, so she could see easily enough to make her way to the stream that trickled down the hillside, pausing only to collect several of the cloths that had covered their mugs and trenchers for supper. Bracing herself against the icy chill of the stream's swift-flowing water, she dampened a cloth and began carefully to clean herself.

A night bird's call sounded in the distance, and below her the tide was running again, its waves against the shore making more noise than the bubbling water beside her. Had she not chosen to turn her head just then and look up at the sky, and had the watchers below her not chosen that moment to shift their positions to the other side of the stream, she would have missed seeing them.

"Michael, wake up!"

He heard Isobel's voice as if from a great distance, and his struggle to waken felt much as if he had to dig his way from deep inside the earth to its surface, but then her voice came again, more urgently.

That urgency hastened his wakening as every instinct for danger stirred.

"What is it, lass?" he demanded, sitting bolt upright.

"Men below on the hill, in the streambed. They were looking down at the others, so I doubt they saw me, but they are creeping downhill, and I saw none of our guards. I didn't know whether to shout an alarm, or what to do, so I came to get you."

"Good lass," he said, getting up and grabbing his breeks. "Find my jerkin, will you?" As she turned to obey, he reached for the sword and dirk that had lain near him, beneath the furs. Shrugging on his leather jerkin as soon as she handed it to him, and without bothering to find shirt or doublet, he shoved his feet into his boots, slung the sword strap over his head, and shifted the weapon into place at his hip.

"Don't follow me, lass, and don't wait here for me. Climb higher, and take care that no one sees you before you find a place of safety. Under no circumstance are you to show yourself until I call for you to come to me."

He made sure his tone left no room for argument, and she was wise enough to say only, "I will, sir, but what do you mean to do?"

"To determine exactly what the threat is, and then I will decide," he said. "But I'll be safer if I need not worry about you."

"I know," she said. "Go now, and hurry!"

But he was already gone, like a wraith, moving as he always did, so quietly that he seemed to vanish into the darkness. It was odd that she could see one of the watchers darting from shrub to shrub but could no longer see Michael.

As the thought crossed her mind, Isobel realized that if the watcher had taken that moment to look up at her, he would doubtless have seen her as plainly as she saw him. Having no wish to draw such attention, she snatched up a plaid to cover herself, then followed the stream up the hill, taking care to walk only on grass or mud, and keeping far enough from the water to avoid slipping on loose stones or a damp rock.

Even as she congratulated herself for being an obedient wife, her curiosity threatened to undo that obedience, because she had heard no sound from below, and she could not bear the suspense.

By following the stream, she had perforce been in a declivity of the sort coastal Scots called a combe. In order to see more, she would have to climb to the flanking ridge on one side of the stream or the other. Noting thick shrubbery on the far bank, she chose to stay on her own side and scrambled up the little hill, keeping low as she did and taking cover behind a huge boulder at the top.

To her relief, she had a clear view of the landscape below, could see even the reflection of the moon on waves in the Sound, but she could see nothing else moving and could hear nothing. The fear that whoever was creeping up on the sleeping men must have seen Michael, and somehow had overpowered him before he could give the alarm, sent a chill through her that stirred an impulse to dash down the hill herself, or at least scream a warning to the men sleeping below.

All that held her silent was the fact that she had no idea how many invaders there were, or how well armed they were, or even where they were—that and a strong if inexplicable instinct that she could trust Michael. And if she screamed, she might precipitate matters before time, and make everything worse for everyone.

She would count slowly to one hundred, she decided. If naught had occurred before then, she would ease her way down the hill and find Hector or Lachlan.

She had reached eighty-seven when the hillside erupted with noise and activity. Seeking frantically for Michael, she saw Hector first, recognizing him because of the great battle-axe that he held aloft, its blade gleaming silver in the moonlight. Lady Axe was famous, for she had been with Clan Gillean for over a hundred years, an ancestor having first wielded her to legendary effect at the Battle of Largs when, with the help of God and four stormy days, the Islesmen had kicked the invading Norsemen out of the Isles forever.

Carefully, Isobel crept closer, wondering where the other women were. Mairi was bound to be where she could see what was happening even if all the others had managed to take shelter in one of the boats with men to guard them.

There! She had already spied more than one man wearing no more than a sleeveless leather jerkin and breeks, but only one looked like Michael. At first, she was certain it was he, but as she watched, she grew less certain that it was not Sir Hugo. The man she watched seemed to be here, there, and everywhere, slashing, constantly moving, cutting down anyone who attempted to fight him. Surely, Hugo.

Then it was over, and she heard Hector's voice echo across the landscape with MacDonald's war cry. Others followed, including those of clans Gillean and Macleod. They had routed the enemy. Delighted at the victory, she hurried down as fast as she could, and saw boats crossing from Kyle Rhea as she did. By the time she joined the others, Donald Mòr Gowrie was there, too, with a score of men.

She searched the crowd for Michael, then heard Hector shout his name and saw Michael striding to meet him. Picking up her skirt with one hand and holding the plaid with the other, she ran as fast as she could in shoes too loose and uncomfortable without proper hose inside them.

As she approached, Hector clapped Michael on the shoulder and said, "Good lad! Had you not seen them after they disabled our guards, and managed to alert the rest of us, we might have been slaughtered in our beds."

Isobel stopped where she was, wanting to shout that it had been she who had seen them but knowing that she'd do better to hold her tongue.

Then she heard Michael say in his usual calm way, "You do me more honor than I deserve, sir. 'Twas not I but my lady wife who gave the alarm. She was"—Isobel felt fire surge to her cheeks in embarrassment that he would tell Hector what she'd been doing when she saw them—"wakened by them, and awakened me."

Hector saw her then and smiled at her approach. "We owe great thanks to you, lass, although I cannot imagine how you were able to hear that lot when our own guardsmen did not. You must have ears of a sharpness I'd not imagined."

She could think of nothing to say, for she could not lie to him, but Michael said with a touch of amusement, "I had not thought how unlikely it was that she could hear them from our tent. Doubtless she got up to answer a call of nature and is shy about saying so, or perhaps fears to tell us she did so without waking me. You must not go out alone at night like that, lass," he added gently. "The danger whilst Waldron seeks us is too great to take such a risk."

She glanced at Hector, expecting him to say more, but he did not. Evidently, Michael had been right and even people accustomed to taking one to task forbore to do so if one had a husband, so perhaps they could be useful creatures, after all.

Michael said, "I doubt you need us any longer, my lord, so we'll leave you and the others to attend to our captives and seek out their boats."

"Aye, you've done enough, the pair of you," Hector said. "Get some sleep now, because tomorrow will likely be another long day."

Michael draped an arm around Isobel's shoulders and gently urged her back up the hillside toward their tent.

When they were beyond earshot, he murmured, "I thought I told you not to stir from your place of concealment until you heard me call for you."

His tone was the one that always stirred tension in her body, but it also stirred memory of the demon swordsman she had watched, the man she had first believed was Michael, then Hugo, cutting down every foe that stood in his path.

Certain now who it was, she said, "I thought you were a man of peace."

"Would you have had me let them attack the camp?"

"Nay, of course not, but neither did I know you could fight like that."

"When one must do a thing, one should do it well, but you are trying to change the subject, lass. I must be able to trust you."

The sudden prickling of tears caught her by surprise, and when she choked back a sob, he caught hold of her and turned her abruptly to face him.

"I hope you don't think to unman me with tears. They will avail you naught."

"Nor would I attempt such a thing," she said indignantly as several tears spilled down her cheek. "I don't know why I'm crying, but it has naught to do with what you said to me. At least," she added honestly, "I don't think that it does."

"Then what?"

"I'm not sure, but I was so worried about you, thinking first that you might have been caught out there and killed or hurt, and then thinking I saw you in the midst of it all and … and not being sure. I had to know, Michael. I couldn't wait."

His hands gripped her shoulders tighter. "That isn't good enough, Isobel. I ken fine that you don't know me well yet, but I tell you now that you can trust me with a weapon in my hand. I don't flaunt my skill, lass, but I am an able fighter with almost any weapon."

"You are certainly able enough with a sword," she agreed.

"Aye, well, it was the wish of my grandfather and my father that their male children learn the skills they themselves knew. Henry also has the ability, but he, too, conceals it. 'Tis an odd thing about men, that many of them, when they know another man possesses skill with weapons, yearn to test theirs against his, and will challenge him for no cause other than to test him. Therefore, I was taught, and Henry likewise, to keep our abilities to ourselves whilst constantly striving to improve them."

"Was Waldron, too, taught in such a way?"

"He was, albeit not by the same people, and with at least one other important difference. You heard Hector Reaganach speak of the Knights Templar."

"Aye," she said.

"They were known throughout Christendom as the world's greatest military force. 'Twas proficiency similar to theirs that I learned from my foster father."

"Where did you foster?"

"One day I may take you there," he said. "As to Waldron, although his training in weapons was much the same as mine and Henry's, I think he selected only what suited him from the many philosophies we studied, and ignored the rest. He was always greedy, and although my father insisted on seeing him well educated and trained, Waldron's greed has colored everything he's done."

"How so?"

"The combination of his skills and his belief that everything is permitted to him inclines him to believe that he can do as he pleases and take what he wants."

"But how can any man believe such a thing?" Isobel asked. "No one can simply do whatever he wants."

"Aye, well, now that Waldron has allied himself with the Kirk of Rome, he believes that any battle he fights allies him with God. And he is not alone in that belief. Many believe, as he does, that God protects all soldiers of Christ, including the Templars, and will absolve them of any sin they commit. That is why Waldron believes that he can do as he pleases."

"But if you trained as he did, do you not believe the same thing?"

"I do not," he said. "Such training produces excellent soldiers, and soldiers are often needed quickly, without sufficient time to train them. That is why my father arranged for us to train as we did. He believed that since Scotland will not be safe until the English agree that we are an independent nation, we are likely to need good soldiers again. But you keep changing the subject, lass. I want your word that, henceforward, if I give you an order in the midst of a crisis, you will obey it."

She hesitated, uncertain what to say and aware that in his own way, he was also seeking to change the subject, but he waited patiently. At last, she said, "I understood that you wanted me out of harm's way, and I did obey you without question. But I do not think it is right or fair to insist that I should have waited for you to collect me after the battle. What if you had been killed?"

"Eventually Hector or someone would have called you," he said.

"Aye, when it finally occurred to someone that I was missing," she said.

He did not answer at once, but then he said evenly, "Had we lost the battle, you would have been safer up here on the hillside."

"Had we lost the battle, I would not have dashed down to find you," she said, uncertain even as she said the words that they were true. She knew that even then she would have wanted to know if he were injured or dead and, if he were injured, would have wanted to be with him. Lest he see the contradiction in her expression, she added quickly, "You said before that you trusted my judgment at the cavern, Michael. Surely, you could at least try to trust me not to do anything so dreadfully foolish as to rush into the heat of a battle to find you."

"Aye, lass, you're right," he said. "I'll try to remember your words. But you must understand, too, that I have been taught that protecting women is my solemn duty because they are weaker than men and not skilled in weaponry."

"But I am neither weak nor helpless," she pointed out.

He smiled. "Your wee dirk gives you confidence beyond what I believe to be wise, and although I do trust you not to run foolishly into danger that you can see and understand, I also know that you can be impulsive and may rush into danger you don't recognize when it stands before you."

She opened her mouth to insist that she was not such a fool, then remembered how they had met, and shut it again.

He grinned. "Aye," he said. "I've seen your impulsiveness for myself, and whilst I cannot say now that I am entirely sorry for it, knowing that it exists does give me pause. I'll try not to leap to judgment of your behavior without more cause than you gave me tonight, and to treat you instead more as I would a lad with similar knowledge and training."

"Thank you," she said with sincerity.

"Aye, well, but woe betide you if you show poor judgment and run yourself into danger because of it. If a man under my command foolishly risked his own life or the lives of others, I'd punish him severely, and you are under my command. Do not doubt that, for when you agreed to marry me, you gave me that authority, and I do not want to hear you say that you did not mean to do so, because that is irrelevant now. In the eyes of the world—aye, and by my own instinct and training—I do bear responsibility for you, and the authority that goes with it. So do not ask that I shirk that responsibility or surrender it to you or to anyone else, for I will not."

For once, she could think of nothing to say, and his tone, not to mention his surprisingly reasonable reaction to her previous protest, made it impossible to argue with him. Even so, his warning gave her pause, because she hated restrictions and knew that she tended to resist them with all her might. She considered explaining that to him but decided she would be wiser not to try to do so just now.

They had reached their tent, and Michael moved ahead to straighten out the furs and plaid again. When she joined him there, he drew her close enough to make her wonder if he meant to make love to her again, but he only kissed her, gave her a hug, and the next thing she knew it was morning.

The boats got underway as soon as the tide flowed in far enough to make it safe for them to pass through the narrow kyles, and after that the flotilla followed the Inland Passage north, keeping careful watch for enemy ships. They saw none, and although their journey took several more days, the time passed more swiftly than Isobel had expected. When Kirkwall's U-shaped harbor appeared at last, the number of ships she saw there astonished her. She had thought the Lord of the Isles' fleet was large, but clearly, that of the St. Clairs was larger yet.

They could see the great yellow cathedral and sprawling bishop's palace as they debarked into smaller boats that carried them ashore, and from the landing, Michael escorted her up a path and into the palace, to its cavernous great hall. The hall was well appointed, comfortable looking, and boasted roaring fires in two huge fireplaces to offset the chill that enveloped the Orkney Islands even in midsummer.

Their host, awaiting them on the dais with two women, looked like an older version of Michael, although Sir Henry's hair was much lighter. Watching him as he greeted Princess Margaret, Isobel thought his manners pleasant, his welcome sincere.

He presented the ladies with him as his mother and his wife, and then motioned Michael forward. Since Michael's hand grasped Isobel's firmly, she went with him, and as he shook hands with Sir Henry and presented her to him, and to their mother, Isobel made her curtsies, noting that although Sir Henry and his lady smiled warmly at the news of Michael's marriage, his mother did not.

Isabella of Strathearn, a willow-slim, elegantly attired woman of apparently much greater haughtiness than Princess Margaret, seemed to glower at Isobel, making her feel a distinct chill.

Sir Henry, clearly unaware of his mother's demeanor, said cheerfully, "Your taste has always been excellent, Michael, and I believe our father would approve. I certainly do. I trust your journey was not too taxing, my lady."

"Not at all, sir," Isobel said, returning his smile. "I love being on the sea, however long the journey might be."

"I, too," he said. "One day I mean to sail to the edge of the earth if not beyond."

"Beyond the edge?" She was shocked. "How could anyone do that?"

"I once saw a map, my lady, that suggested the earth is as round as a ball."

His mother made a slight, impatient sound, and after a guilty glance at her, he added with a twinkle, "But we can talk more about that later. I am wont to get carried away on the subject, and I do not want to spoil Michael's surprise."

"Surprise?" Michael said, frowning.

"Indeed, my son, and a great honor, too, as I am sure you will agree," Isabella, Countess of Strathearn and Caithness, said, smiling at last.

"Prithee, madam, not another word," Henry said with an indulgent chuckle. "You promised that this surprise would be mine to unveil. Michael, I know you will share our delight when I tell you that someone we have not seen for too long a time has come to help us celebrate my installation. Moreover, he has brought another with him who will doubtless confer great consequence upon your marriage by giving it his blessing. Come out now, cousin, and show yourself."

Feeling Michael stiffen beside her, Isobel had sufficient warning so that she did not cry out or otherwise reveal her dismay when Waldron of Edgelaw stepped from the shadows of the fireplace inglenook onto the dais. However, when Fingon Mackinnon, the Green Abbot of Iona, followed him, her mouth dropped open and she turned to Michael to warn him.

But his hand squeezed hers hard, and understanding him, she kept silent.