Page 2 of Bride takes a Scot (Highland Vows & Vengeance #1)

Corstorphine Village

Midlothian, Scotland

March 1260

I sabella Forrester spent all morning toiling over various pots and tying herbs to hang about Madam Bedelia’s cottage. Most of her mornings were spent learning the healing methods Madam was renowned for. As a close friend to her grandmother, the aged, white-haired woman offered to teach her the correct methods of dispensing medicinals and stitching wounds to avoid infection. She’d learned how to ease the pain from broken bones to the minor discomfort of an ailing stomach. A stern teacher, over time Madam’s blue eyes now more often softened when Isabella answered her questions accurately.

She was proud to possess such skills, mainly because her mother objected to the pursuit of healing. Mother often remarked that healing was an improper skill for a wife and that it was best left to the servants or others. If only her mother knew the lengths she’d gone to gain such wisdom, she’d probably scold her for days. But Isabella disregarded Mother and she learned the healing practices mainly to aid her father or his men, who often returned home injured from a night of revelry.

Isabella first began her lessons at the age of five and for nearly fifteen years, she’d surpassed most of Madam’s tests. Unbeknownst to her mother, Isabella only stayed in the village until the sun rose high enough to indicate it neared midday. That’s when her mother typically rose and left her bedchamber.

Still, it was easy to lose track of time when she was intently listening to Madam’s instruction. Midday had passed, and in haste, Isabella bade Madam farewell and sprinted toward home. She had to get inside the manor before her mother noticed her absence.

Fortunately, her mother hadn’t risen yet and she rushed up the steps to her bedchamber. There, she changed her garments because she was certain she smelled like the herbs she’d tied in bundles most of the morning.

Men’s shouts came from the great hall on the lower level of her home. Isabella derided the cheers and scoffed at their blatant sinful behavior. The hunting party had returned early and with apparent success, evidenced by the men’s mirthful mood. Isabella hoped they hadn’t harmed anyone whilst raiding their neighbors. Though her father had told her he’d gone hunting, she was well aware that really, he’d been thieving. Stolen sheep, cattle, and other valuables were one thing, but harming or taking the life of a person was an entirely different matter. She had spent her first waking moments in the chapel, praying for God’s forgiveness for her father and his men’s wretched behavior. Had it all been for naught?

As quickly as she could, Isabella re-garbed herself and ran a comb through the soft waves of her blond hair. She slipped on her boots and tugged a shawl around her shoulders. In her haste to join her family in the hall, she had forgotten to grab her satchel of medicinals. Surely one of her father’s followers needed aid. It was unlikely they’d returned unscathed from their dubious mission.

Isabella snatched the pouch from the side table in her bedchamber and tucked it under her arm. With quick steps, she left her room to march through the keep until she reached the hall and found the trestle table filled with her father’s closest men, all of whom thieved. She set the pouch on a side table and moved farther into the great hall.

“Look at the lot of you,” she said accusingly with a waggle of her finger. “You’re all sotted already and have only returned. Supper hasn’t even been put on the table and you’re well into your cups. What did you take this time?”

Her father, Lord Adam Forrester, laughed garishly. “Be not hostile, my dearest daughter…”

“Your only daughter, I remind you. And do not ‘dearest daughter’ me. Just tell me this: did you hurt or kill anyone? Have I wasted time on my knees in the chapel for naught?” She set her hands on her hips and glared at her father in wait for his answer.

“Now, now, sweet lass, we only took a cart full of sheep. None were harmed, I vow.”

“But it was a merry time,” Joseph, her father’s steward, said with a grin.

Isabella scowled harshly at Joseph and then at her father. Her father’s short dark hair stuck out and it appeared he hadn’t bathed in days, given the smudges of dirt on his lightly whiskered cheek. Along with that, her father’s garments were filthy and smelled of sheep excrement and Lord knew what else. To her relief though, he appeared uninjured, as well as his followers. She wouldn’t have need of her medicines or skills today, praise God. As usual, however, she needed to remind her father of the perils of his entertainment.

“One day you’re going to get caught. I worry that you will be hurt or worse, imprisoned. You’ll all be swinging from the gallows one day for your thievery. I would beg ye to cease, but you are all too bull-headed to listen.”

Her father thought she was jesting and bellowed a laugh as did the rest of his men.

Isabella wished her brother wasn’t off fighting at the behest of the English king because he might help to sway their father from his sinful thievery. When Christopher had heard that King Henry of England would send more men on a crusade, her brother left home to join the cause. If only King Louis of France hadn’t lost the battle in Levant. Now her brother was off fighting a noble war on behalf of the Pope. Christopher was extremely devout and sided with her on the matter of their father’s thievery.

At the thought of Christopher her heart ached because she doubted that she’d ever see her brother again. Few returned from the crusades, and many had perished in the battles against the infidels. To her, though, warring against anyone was sinful regardless of their beliefs.

“Isabella, you know we like to raid, and no one ever holds us to account for it. It is just our way, daughter. Our neighbors expect a little thievery from time to time, just as we do. Cease nagging me about it. It’s all respectable.”

“Respectable? You should all be praying to God for His forgiveness. Thievery is sinful, Father, and I remind you to seek the confessional soon. I cannot believe Mother allows you to steal from our neighbors.” Isabella ambled across the hall and poured herself a small cup of wine. She was about to sit next to her father when her mother made her way into the hall.

Lady Joan Forrester’s beauty was renowned, and her father had said he’d fallen in love with her the moment he had set eyes on her. Isabella didn’t believe such a thing was possible. There was no such thing as love at first sight or even love, for that matter. That people professed such nonsense humored her. She was more pragmatic in her view of marriage and courtship.

“Darling, sit up straight. You shouldn’t hold your cup like that. It’s unladylike.” Her mother pressed a hand over the strands of her blond hair. “You must take better care of your hair. My maid should fix it for you. And why in heaven’s name would you wear that wretched old gown?”

Isabella didn’t answer because her mother didn’t expect her to do so. Instead, she set her cup down and sighed at her mother’s reprimand. The “old gown” was a favorite of hers and she wore it as soon as it was laundered. She didn’t care to put her hair in coifs, braids, or even pull it up. Instead, she preferred to let her hair flow down her back. So what if it got tangled and straggly by day’s end?

Her mother constantly berated her for her unladylike behavior and even the most minuscule matters. But Isabella knew it was better to stay silent because talking back meant even more criticism. She’d never hear the end of it and had learned that doing so certainly wasn’t worth the lecture she’d receive. But this day Isabella’s hackles were up, and she meant to reproach her father for his behavior and her mother for her harassment as well.

“Should you not speak to Father about his stealing? He and his men went on another raid and stole our neighbor’s sheep again.” She glared at her father, who seemed impervious to her scolding.

Her mother laughed lightly. “Oh, darling, they do like to raid. This matter doesn’t concern you, for it is a man’s nature to thieve and you shouldn’t involve yourself in matters of men. Now cease this unbecoming talk at once. Have a little decorum and set your mind to matters of the home.”

The discussion was closed. Isabella sighed and snatched her cup from the table. She held it in her fisted hand and drank down the contents until it was gone. As much as she cared for her parents, they could be a tad bit overbearing. Her mother had the most ridiculous rules concerning what a lady should and shouldn’t do, which mostly had to do with the keeping of one’s home. But Lady Joan wasn’t one to follow her own rules and only enforced them on Isabella. How tedious it became, day in and day out, trying to please her mother while keeping her father from the gallows.

The gate watchman marched into the hall and continued until he reached her father. His heavy steps thundered across the floorboards. He held a missive which he handed to her father. “My lord, this was just delivered from the king’s messenger. He said it is a matter of urgency.”

“Well now, is this not shockingly delightful? I wonder what the king wants. Probably my attendance at an important meeting of the lords.” Her father sounded gleeful.

She would have laughed at that because he wasn’t on the best of terms with the king at present. Only the month before, King Alexander had sent a writ declaring her father had to return the four horses he had stolen from Lord Heatherington’s fields. The only reason the king didn’t have him tried for the crime was that Alexander detested Heatherington more than he disliked her father. But she wouldn’t remind him of that minor detail.

Her father opened the missive and read silently. His expression gave no hint as to what the message contained. When he finished reading, he set the missive on the table in front of him and cleared his throat. Isabella was about to demand to know what the king wanted of him, but then her father finally spoke.

“’Tis the most grievous news. I vow my heart is heavy.” His eyes sought her mother’s and then hers.

When she noticed his gaze linger on her, a cold shiver wound its way up her back. Whatever was in that missive had to do with her. She held onto the table as her heart raced, and a light-headedness overtook her. Her father spoke to her mother, but she couldn’t hear him over the pounding of her pulse in her ears. Isabella prayed that it wasn’t news relating that Christopher had died. Her brother had only left a month before and hadn’t arrived yet in the Holy Land. Surely the news couldn’t be about her brother. She swallowed and bade herself to be calm so she could hear.

“But how can this be?” her mother asked in a clipped tone. “Is it a punishment after all, for the horses? Has Heatherington come forward to demand you be tried? The nerve of the man. He’s the vilest of men and deserved to have his horses taken.”

Her father shook his head. “Nay, ’tis not about Heatherington or his horses. I disbelieve what the king has demanded of us.”

Her mother set her hand on his arm and nodded. “Speak it, my dear. How dreadful can it be?”

“The king orders me to send Isabella to Edinburgh at once. Alexander has betrothed her. She is to wed a man of his choosing. Aye, he has indeed punished me and takes my baby from me.” Her father’s eyes shone with the beginning of tears.

Isabella hid her relief. The fact that her father hadn’t betrothed her before now somewhat displeased her. Her father cared for her, and he’d boasted many times that he didn’t want her to leave his home. He had turned down their neighbor Heatherington’s appeals for her hand countless times. Isabella was grateful for that because she detested Heatherington. She’d thought that her father would eventually use her to gain an alliance or improve his political position. But he had professed that no alliance was worth losing her.

It wasn’t that Isabella had hoped to find love because marriages were more contractual than that of matters of the heart. Nor did she wish to be under the rule of a husband. She had enough trouble adhering to her parents’ rules, as it was. Yet at age twenty, she was past the age when a lass was offered to a man in marriage, only slightly. Still, she was not too old to make a good wife. She had many child-bearing years ahead of her.

Isabella admitted she had always longed for children and a family. This was her opportunity to make her way, which she had thought of so many times. The only thing that concerned her was to whom the king would marry her. She hoped he was a worthy chivalrous man or a knight who beheld honor. The last thing she wanted was to be married to an overbearing man or one as sinful as her father, or God forbid, a man like Heatherington.

A swirl of nerves trembled through her and her breath caught in her throat like an invisible hand had wrapped around it—and squeezed. She was trapped. Helpless. There was nothing she—or anyone could do because to do so would be treason. “He cannot take my baby from us,” her father said and pounded his fist on the table. “I won’t allow it. She’s but a lass.”

Mother put a restraining hand on his arm, stopping him from slamming his fist against the table again. “’Tis time, my dear. Isabella is past the age when a girl takes a husband. It’s time to let her go.” She spoke in a soft, soothing tone. “I have taught her how to be a lady and now it is her time to shine. Besides, my dear, you have no say and cannot refuse King Alexander. Think about it…We will not have to incur the expense of a wedding since the king demands she wed. Surely, he wouldn’t ask for a dowry. We pay enough tax to appease him.”

Her father looked as though he would weep into his tankard. Isabella kept her expression devoid of humor, but the situation was somewhat comical. She raised her eyes heavenward and gave thanks to God that she would finally be free of her meddling parents.

Her mother didn’t share his emotions. Instead, she seemed elated. “Dearest daughter, go and ready yourself. We shall journey on the morrow. Worry not about your father, for I shall see to him and ease his discontent. Be sure to pack your finest garments, for we wish you to look your best when you are presented to the king.”

Without a retort to her mother, Isabella covertly grabbed her medicinal pouch from the side table on her way out of the hall and hurried to her chamber. There, a maidservant entered behind her, placed a valise on the bed, and began placing items inside. Without her seeing, Isabella placed the pouch under a pillow.

As the maid readied for her departure, Isabella sat woefully on the bed. She’d hoped to marry eventually, but the news received this day was definitely unexpected. She assumed a marriage contract would be made without her input, but to have such a choice made for her by the king unsettled her. Would he marry her well or would she be forever tied to an unworthy man? She’d always coveted an amiable marriage to a man who treated her with respect. Now who knew what kind of man she’d marry? Such thoughts tightened her chest.

The maid drew her from her musings when she spoke, “Mistress, I placed your favorite gowns and garments in the baggage but left the tattered gowns. Is there anything else you wish to take?”

Isabella had few possessions that she held dear. She opened a small chest where she kept a collection of pamphlets, parchments with written poetry, and a small booklet of stories her father had brought to her on his return from travels. Isabella cherished them and now she tucked them inside the valise before the maid closed it.

After the maid left, Isabella retrieved the hidden medicinal pouch and stowed it inside the valise between a few gowns where it would be hidden. Then she readied for bed. Sleepless, she tossed and turned and thought of her future husband and her hope that her life would be bettered by a marriage. Tears gathered in her eyes as she considered she’d leave her home for an unknown place with unknown people. What would her husband’s people be like? More importantly, what would her husband be like? Would he be kind or mean-spirited? The thought of being married to a contemptible man caused her tears to fall. At least she would no longer have to contend with her parents’ unrelenting squabbles, nitpicking, and thievery. Would she come to regret that notion?

*

In the morning, she hastened to get ready for her departure. Outside, her father’s men waited to ride sentry on their journey. A small carriage afforded enough room for her, her mother, and her father. During the ride, she barely spoke a word. To do so would have caused her father grief and gained another reminder from her mother of all the things she needed to remember when in the king’s presence. Her mother had already berated her to sit up straight, keep her hands folded on her lap, how to eat in the presence of others, and not to look overlong at any man in the king’s hall.

The journey took almost a full day and near the end of the trek, rain fell heavily. She hoped they weren’t delayed by it, but the rains lightened when the castle came into view. At Edinburgh Castle, the sentry admitted their party at the entrance. They rode up a small rise, which took them between the two tall stone turrets and through the gatehouse. When they reached the courtyard, six men approached to assist them and removed their baggage from the rear of the carriage. One man grabbed her valise and her parents’ satchels and retreated with their belongings into the castle.

“Welcome Lord and Lady Forrester, and Mistress Isabella. I am Edmund, our great king’s chamberlain. Come and I shall get you settled. Mistress Isabella, the king wants to speak to you privately before the festivities begin. I’m to take you to his private chamber.”

Her mother and father dared not protest. Isabella followed them inside. Her nerves made her jumpy and bangs from somewhere down the hallway caused her to flinch. She wasn’t sure why the king wanted to meet with her privately, but she wouldn’t cower before him.

After her parents were whisked away down one corridor by servants, the chamberlain led her down another, walking beside her. They went up and down a randomly placed set of stone steps, passing empty, narrow tables set here and there along the walls, and sconces set high above her. Their open flames did little to eliminate the darkness in the windowless corridor, though it pushed it back a bit. Indeed, Edinburgh Castle was the most luxurious keep she’d ever seen.

The chamberlain smiled at a passing servant woman and then motioned Isabella forward. Not knowing what to say, Isabella remained quiet.

“I suppose you might be a wee bit anxious, meeting the king?” The chamberlain read her mind. Or maybe he could feel the nervousness radiating from her in spite of the fact that she was trying so hard to emanate calm.

“Aye, perhaps,” she granted. Her throat was dry, and her voice came out in a raspy sound. She frowned and reminded herself not to show anything but bravery, in a ladylike way, of course.

They reached a door at the end of the long hallway, and he stopped and turned to her. “There is no need to fear our king, Mistress. Our king is noble, especially when it concerns bonny lassies like yourself. I have heard he has selected a few other maidens to give to several Highlanders in marriage. I deem you shall be pleased by his reward.”

Reward? Was the chamberlain maddened? He had to be if he considered marriage to a Highlander a reward.

Besides, the king’s missive had said nothing about Highlanders. Surely their sovereign understood how the people by the border felt about those who lived in the Highlands. Isabella had heard the most outlandish tales about the men who lived in the far north from their old stablemaster. He’d said that they were primitive, still lived in tribes, dug out trenches on the side of hills, and worshiped pagan gods. Lord help her, was she about to marry such a man, a confounded heathen?

If King Alexander forced her to marry a barbarian, Isabella would have to object. He couldn’t make her agree before a priest. Somehow, she thought that probably wouldn’t matter, her objection. No one dared to defy an order from the king, least of all an insignificant woman like herself.

Edmund opened the door and waved her forward. Isabella swallowed hard, then entered. She stood in wait and wonderment. Inside the cozy, warm, private chamber of King Alexander stood a group of people. Her heart began to pound. The Highlanders! She noted right off how tall they were, how muscular, and how intimidating they appeared. The men wore tartans over yellowish tunics that reached their knees, and their boots were well-made. Most wore their hair cut to the base of their necks but some had long tresses that fell upon their shoulders—sinfully barbaric. They might have been primitive-looking, but by her faith, they were exceedingly handsome…and looked strong. They seemed displeased to be standing together, given the hostility in their glares and the harsh grimaces on their bearded faces.

The king, with his wife Margaret, entered the chamber by way of a side door and murmured to the men before he and the queen proceeded to the dais. She smiled at them. Margaret was a young queen, perhaps only a year or two younger than Isabella. The king appeared younger than the men being offered as husbands. He stood as tall but was not as muscular or intimidating as the Highlanders.

The women, she suspected, who were also brides, stood cloistered together by the row of window casements. Isabella joined them because she didn’t want to stand out. She didn’t introduce herself to the ladies but smiled.

“This is a day of import, and I am pleased to see you here,” the king said. “This evening, we shall have a feast with dancing and merriment. I will give you this time to greet each other and become familiar. Before the night ends, the selections will be discussed, and finalized on the morrow. I bid you to eat and drink.”

Isabella was somewhat relieved to receive confirmation that the women there were also offered as brides. She wasn’t alone. Amongst the eight of them, there would be four weddings. Given that, she couldn’t bring herself to glance back at the men because each man was as intimidating as the next.

At once, servants bustled into the room and opened double-wide doors that led into the great hall. The hall’s splendor held Isabella breathless. There had to be hundreds of candles sending a glow throughout the chamber. Tables were ladened with all kinds of foodstuff and lined the wall from one end of the hall to the other. A group of musicians sat at the far end and began to play soft music appropriate for mealtime. Soon, parents and other relatives joined them, and the hall filled with people.

Isabella didn’t know what to do. She dared not eat because her stomach was filled with flutters. Her parents, she noticed, had entered the hall but mingled with the other elders. Isabella stood by the windows and waited to see what the night would bring. The men appeared rooted to the floorboards too and none moved about the chamber.

She turned and peered through the windows in hopes of avoiding the men as much as possible. Brazenness, her mother had once professed, ran in her blood. Isabella was often outspoken and usually being in the company of others didn’t bother her, but that was at home. She didn’t want to make a bloody fool of herself at the king’s castle in front of so many strangers, so she kept to herself.

The women coyly strode forward and drew the men from their perches. Soon after, conversation flowed within the chamber and some danced to the music which rose in tempo. The first man to approach her smiled and asked her who she was, where she was from, and other nonsensical questions. She answered as best she could. Isabella detested how he felt free to interview for the position of his wife. It felt cold, unfeeling, and utterly humiliating.

After that, each of the men sought her in turn, and she spent a short time with each of them. That was certainly not enough for any one of them to gauge an opinion of her, but it mattered not because she had no say in whom she would marry.

All she learned was that the Highlanders were something to behold. One of the men had a charming disposition and seemed honorable. The next man wore such a scowl and had a fearsome warrior mien about him, he certainly wouldn’t do as her husband. Another professed to care about his clan and that being a laird took up most of his time. She got the subtle idea that the last thing he wanted was a bride, which was fine with her as she wasn’t truly interested in a groom. Yet here they were, all forced to marry by their sovereign’s order.

The last man had yet to approach her. He stood by the large hearth with his arms folded at his chest, surveying the chamber with piercing golden eyes. He hadn’t spoken to anyone. When his eyes met hers, Isabella’s breath caught slightly. After that, he kept his gaze fastened on hers and did not glance elsewhere. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, thickly legged, and wore his hair far too long. It was his eyes, though, that she noticed the most. They were golden-brown and rich like honey, but his gaze gave little away. She couldn’t tell if he was pleased or displeased at being there, or what he thought of her.

His garments were tidy, his tannish-colored tunic stretched across his manly chest. Covering most of it was a woolen tartan of blue with a green plaid. Her eyes scrunched at the belt holding his lower garment in place; beneath the hem, his bronzed knees led to low, well-made boots that barely reached his calves. In her opinion, he showed a little too much skin. But all that wasn’t what held her attention. Instead, it was that he had the largest sword strapped to his side that she’d ever beheld. Isabella was surprised he hadn’t removed his weapon when he’d entered the king’s castle, but Highlanders were known to be stubborn, and he probably refused to leave his weapon at the door.

She stepped back when she noticed he’d begun stepping toward her. Isabella wanted to flee, but she smiled instead, gathered her courage, and waited for him to join her. His height wasn’t exaggerated because she barely reached his shoulders. As small framed as she was, he could crush her with little effort. Never, in all the years she thought of her future husband, had she ever envisioned marrying a man such as the man now towering above her. Lord help her if she had to marry the Highlander.

“Are ye as appalled as I am to be here?” His voice was gruff but entirely masculine, with a deep burr to his words.

Isabella let out a small nervous laugh, but then she realized he was quite serious. She moistened her lips and tried to shake away the overwhelming sense he brought forth. She hoped he’d reveal a little about himself because there was a kindness in his eyes but perhaps a little sadness too. His size intimidated her but she admired his relaxed manner as he stood next to her. The fact that he was appalled alluded to the fact that he was displeased by the marriage he would soon undertake.

“I cannot say I’m too outraged to be here. I am Isabella. My father is Lord Adam Forrester.” She curtseyed to him and when she raised her face, she couldn’t help but smile. Lord, he was handsome, even if he somewhat frightened her. The men at home would probably run for their lives if they ever encountered him, whether in the light of day or dark of night.

He bowed slightly. “I am Declan, Laird MacKendrick of Inveraray.”

“I suppose you will want to question me now about what kind of wife I shall be, how many children I’ll give you, and how pious I am. I fear that I shall probably disappoint you with my answers.” She raised her chin, even if she knew it made her appear defiant. With any luck, she realized, her attitude would frighten this lord—and any other—away.

“Ye do not wish to marry, lass?” He sounded stunned that she would speak so openly. Within an instant, he changed his expression. His scowl disappeared and he almost smiled. At least, the edges of his manly lips turned upward. Still, Isabella saw the brief sparkle of outrage, or perhaps it was mirth, in his eyes.

“It’s not that. I just don’t wish to be questioned about things that do not matter.”

“You think it matters not what kind of wife ye will be, or how many children ye will have, or how God-fearing ye are?”

Isabella sighed with consternation. “How can such decisions be made when I hardly know the man I am to marry? What if I wed someone who eventually displeased me? I wouldn’t want to have children with such a man. And I shan’t sing my praises of how good a wife I’ll be. I will let my husband judge for himself after he marries me.”

His laughter lightened her. “Well, lass, ye have God-given sense. ’Tis meaningless, is it not—this meeting. We will choose our brides and it will not matter what your answers were or why.”

“Exactly my thoughts. And what, pray tell, are your requirements for a wife? Do you care to share them with me?” She had meant to tease him, but he raised a dark brow at her bluntness.

He gazed at her solemnly, leaned toward her, and said in a low voice, “All I require in a wife is a lass who is kind and is not too much of a harridan.”

“You dislike harridans then?” What was wrong with her? She further teased the giant and then berated herself for being so forthright.

“I might be able to suffer a harridan if she is good in bed,” he teased back. His grin attested to the fact that he was being wicked, baiting her so.

Isabella gasped and her cheeks heated a little because it seemed he meant to encourage her. Perhaps he was jesting. It was true that his jest—if that’s what it was—made her chuckle, and she had to withhold the urge to playfully swat his arm. “You are a knave, Laird MacKendrick. At least you don’t expect much from your wife. But I wouldn’t be too brash because the weddings will be over by this time on the morrow, and you shall be married to one of us. Is Inveraray far north?”

“Far enough, lass.” He leaned against the wall, and it appeared as if their discussion disinterested him. “I detest being this far south, near the border, near England.”

“I understand. Being north, I expect you wouldn’t get on with people by the border.”

“Too many of them side with the Sassenach, and I detest England more than I detest the border barons. They are weak and easily manipulated by the Sassenach king.”

She lowered her face at his bluntness. If that was true, then he was indeed displeased at having to marry one of the women here. Isabella had heard their introductions and the instructions to the men. All the maidens were from the border and all the grooms from the Highlands. She had to wonder if the Highlanders were being punished for something which caused the king to force their hands in marriage to women from a place they disdained.

“Then I shall leave you, Laird MacKendrick, for I am from the border, and I don’t wish to waste your time.” Isabella did a half-curtsey and tried to make her escape.

Laird MacKendrick stopped her by catching her arm. His hold on her elbow forced her to turn back toward him. His touch heated her through the fabric of her overdress sleeve. Isabella withdrew her arm and raised her chin far enough back to look him in the eyes.

“Lass, I said I detested the border barons, but I did not say I detested their daughters.”

Isabella almost laughed at his banter. He had a mischievous shine to his eyes.

“Well, my lord, that’s a good thing since you are set to marry one of us on the morrow. You are fortunate because you get to choose your bride.” She had already shown him her rebellious, un-wifely attitude, so there was no point in playing submissive now. Since she had no choice of who to marry, she decided it was better to give him a show of her spirit beforehand. At least, he’d be aware of it—if he did, indeed, choose her to be his bride. “The king bids me to marry, and I have no say in the matter. But you men do, I suppose. What do you think? Do any of the ladies suit you?”

His eyes raked over her briefly and sent a rush of tingles through her body. It was as if he’d reached out and caressed her with his eyes. Did he notice the adoring look in her gaze because surely it was there? There was much more to this man than she’d initially thought. She was surprised to discover that she hoped he liked what he saw in her.

He didn’t smile. “Aye, there is one.”