Page 40 of Hunted By the Cruel Highlander (Lasses of the Highland Hunt #1)

"Father!" Isabella's voice rang through the manor as she stormed through the foyer like a gale force wind coming off the open ocean. The servants scattered at the sight of her, each trying to duck and cover before being plowed over by her temper. "Where is my father?"

"In the study," a brave soul responded from the broom closet. The hearty chuckle of the Scotsmen trailing her did nothing but stir her ire further. With pursed lips, she made a beeline down the hall, and the heavy steps of the brute bounced off the walls like thunder.

"You are to wait in there," Isabella ordered, pointing to the sitting room. Aaron rolled his eyes as he pushed past her, and he hunted for the study. "You have no right to be in here."

"Aye, ye see, that's where I think ye might be mistaken," Aaron said over his shoulder without so much as a glance in her direction.

"That parchment ye shredded under the carriage comin' here wasnae the only copy.

And accordin' to the decree, I have every right to be here.

So, ye can wait in the other room while the grown-ups negotiate a fair price for yer wee ego. "

Isabella gasped and froze in place. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers as Aaron's words lashed her like a whip. The indignation burned like the fires of Hades.

"How dare you," she snapped as she scattered down the hall like a bat out of hell. There was no way she was going to marry this man; she didn't care if he was the next in line for the royal throne.

"I daenae see where ye think ye're goin'," Aaron huffed as he kept paced with her step by step. She could see the spark in his eye. This was nothing more than a game to him. Perhaps he enjoyed how flustered he made her, or maybe he was nothing more than a masochistic fiend.

"I'm going to see my father," she snapped as she turned into the study.

"What's all this commotion? Are you determined to wake everyone in the house storming in at this late hour?" Isabella's father, Byron grumbled as he pulled the paper off him.

"Lord Thompson, I presume?" the brute behind Isabella asked.

"Yes, and who might you be?" Byron asked as he shifted in his seat. Isabella watched as her father struggled to sit straighter after being slouched for so long. She cringed at the flatulence sounds coming from the leather cushion as he shifted.

Pity pricked her heart as she helped her father and placed his glasses in his hands.

She leaned back and studied him for a moment.

His wrinkled features and filmy eyes made her heart ache.

She couldn't let loose her ire on him. Not when it was clear the old man could barely take care of himself let alone be in cahoots with a Scot.

"Aaron Grant," the Scot answered as he arched an eyebrow and flashed Isabella a smug grin. "Laird McNeil."

"Oh dear."

Isabella glanced to the door. Terror gripped her as she watched her mother drop like a rock, her body sprawled over the threshold of the study.

"Cynthia?" Byron gasped as he jumped from his chair and rushed as quickly as he could to his wife's side.

Isabella was at her side in a flash. Panic shot through her as she wondered what sort of fate befell her mother.

Surely it couldn't have been the Scot taking up nearly half their sitting room. "My love. Are you all right?"

Isabella rose and moved to the small table in the corner of the room to fetch the pitcher of water. She glared at Aaron as she walked by him. He stood like a sentinel with his arms folded over his chest and rooted to the very spot, refusing to aid.

"This is your fault," Isabella hissed as she passed by.

"Aye, of course it is," Aaron chuckled darkly and rolled his eyes.

"If she dies, I'll never forgive you," Isabella growled as she poured her mother a glass of water.

"Yer maither's nae dead," he said. "She would have given off a foul smell if she had died."

"And why should it not surprise me that a man of your caliber would know all about death?

How many of my countrymen have you slaughtered this week?

" Isabella grumbled through clenched teeth as she walked back to her mother with the glass of water.

She kept her eyes locked on the Scot as if he were a thief come to steal nothing short of everything from her.

"Now that depends," the brute said as he rubbed his chin. How Isabella wished she could do something to wipe the smug grin off his face. By the spark in his eye, she could tell he was enjoying every humiliating moment. "Would ye have me count the bairns too?"

"You're insufferable." The words were like acid on Isabella's lips. She was preparing to unleash more of her venom when she noticed her mother moving in the corner of her eye.

"Oh, there you are my dear," Byron said, drawing Isabella's attention to her mother. "Come, let us get you to the couch."

"What? Oh, I thought… the most dreadful sight… there was a Scot in our sitting room," she mumbled as she rubbed her temples.

"I wonder what will happen when ye realize it wasnae a dream?

" Aaron said and tilted his head to catch Cynthia's eye.

Isabella pursed her lips and shook her head at the audacity and sheer attitude of the Scot.

The tales her mother had whispered in her ear as a child all came rushing to the forefront of her mind.

And as she sorted through the tales and myths, one thing seemed evidently clear — her mother wasn't lying.

The Scot was rude, insufferable, nasty, condescending, and downright disagreeable in every manner.

Isabella sneered as his gaze fell on her.

For but a flash of a moment, Isabella thought she saw something, a spark of pity flickering in his eyes.

She pulled in a long deep breath as she watched him pull something from his vest pocket.

Her heart sank into an abyss as she recognized the King's seal.

"Byron, please tell me you know what that man is doing in here," Cynthia gasped as she took the water from Isabella.

"Baroness, I've come to collect what is mine," he said, extending the parchment to her father. "I'm sure ye've received a similar copy of the decree and are under nay pretense of why I'm here. Now, if ye daenae mind, we've got a long journey back to Scotland. I'll give ye time to say yer goodbyes."

"What is he talking about?" Cynthia asked as she grabbed Byron by his collar. The pain in her voice was like a shard of glass cutting across Isabella's heart. "Why does he think he has a right to claim our daughter?"

"Cynthia, I had no choice. The King had decreed a union between our lines," Byron explained. "I tried all I could to see her married to an Englishman."

"All the parties you've dragged me to for the past month? I knew you were trying to marry me off. I just didn't understand why," Isabella gasped as she glanced at Aaron.

"So, ye admit ye were tryin' to sidestep the King's decree? Is that what I just heard? The notice was sent three months ago."

"Yes, and the King's letter assured me that if I could wed my daughter before said time, you would have no right to her," Byron confessed as his anger festered within him. Isabella stepped back, stunned by her parent's' meddling and their deceit.

"You knew about this?" Isabella gasped as she fumbled into the small table. The world was spinning far too quickly for her to keep up with as the air was being pulled from her lungs. Every fiber in her body tingled as the warmth drained out of her pores.

"You knew… you knew and didn't tell me? Why didn't you tell me? Did you think that maybe had I known, I would have –"

"What? What would ye have done?" Aaron asked as he arched an amused eyebrow.

"Would ye have thrown yer self at the first thing to cross yer path?

" he paused and shook his head as his eyes narrowed.

"Nay, ye wouldnae dare stoop to that. But it matters nae.

Here we are. Ye're nae married, and so, by decree, ye belong to me. "

"Mother, please tell me you didn't have anything to do with this."

"I would never in a million years have you married to a Scott. Byron, please tell me you can explain all this,"

"Izzy, please," Byron sniffled as he tried to reach out for his daughter and pull her into a loving embrace.

She shook her head, trying to push aside the pain of their betrayal, but the damaged had been done.

Her lip trembled as she refused to let a single tear fall from her eyes.

There was no way she was going to give the Scot the satisfaction of seeing her crumble.

"You do not get to call me that anymore," Isabella said as she wagged a finger at her father.

"Byron, you have some serious explaining to do. What did you do to cause this? The king doesn't just go about forcing families to marry. Out with it. Why our house, our daughter?"

"Cynthia, now is not the time for that particular conversation," Byron mumbled as he glared at Izzy. Her chest tightened as fury ripped through her.

"Why? Am I making this uncomfortable for you? How insensitive of me," Izzy lashed out. "Maybe I should go petition the king for my answers."

"I had debts," Byron shouted as beads of sweat dripped from his forehead. Izzy watched his hands tremble as he reached for his handkerchief. "It was the only way to save what we had."

"How could you sign over our only daughter like this? You know what she means to me, and you're just going to let her go so freely? Do something — kick the brute from our home," Cynthia demanded, trying to sit properly in her seat.

"My heart, you need to calm down," Byron insisted as Isabella glanced to Aaron. She was surprised that when she expected to find arrogance and pride, she found him looking more stoic than ever. If it weren't for his shoulders rising with each breath, she would have thought him to be a statue.

"I will not! How could you?" Cynthia wailed. Isabella rolled her shoulders back and made a beeline for the door.

"And just where do ye think ye're goin'?"