Page 22 of The Highlander’s Illicit Bride (Wicked Highland Lairds #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY

T he water in the tub had been so hot, it bordered on scalding, and Isolde had soaked in it.

She luxuriated in the heat that seeped into her bones and the fragrance of rose and lavender that had filled the air.

She’d washed away the days’ worth of grime that had accumulated on her skin and let the heat in the water unknot her muscles.

There were moments when she’d been out on the road with Struan that Isolde feared she’d never know such luxury again.

Eventually, the heat faded, and she was forced to get out of the tub, albeit reluctantly. Thela and Isa, the two chambermaids Struan had assigned to her, had quickly helped her dry off and then helped her dress in a simple but lovely dress she had brought in her satchel.

“Thank ye so much,” Isolde said.

“’Tis nay trouble at all, miss,” Thela replied with a smile.

Despite the initial misgiving she’d seen in their eyes out in the yard, Thela and Isa had been nothing but polite.

They smiled and laughed often and had been nothing but warm and welcoming.

The same could be said for Struan’s sister, Mairi, who had treated her like they were friends rather than like she was a complete stranger.

The generosity and warmth was completely unexpected and had left her reeling.

As if thinking about Mairi had summoned her, the door to Isolde’s bedchamber opened and the dainty, red-haired sprite swept in. She was bearing a tray loaded with wine and, judging by the sudden aroma of sugary sweetness that filled the air, sweet treats.

“How was yer bath?” Mairi asked as she set the tray down on the table in the corner.

“’Twas lovely. Exactly what I needed,” Isolde replied. “Thank ye so much.”

Mairi waved her away. “’Twas naethin’. Just a bit of hospitality as ye deserve.”

Mairi poured them both a cup of the sweet wine she’d brought as Isolde eyed the array of sweet treats on the tray before her.

Lemon cakes, apple and cinnamon sweetcakes, and several others she did not recognize but that smelled amazing all the same.

Seeing her practically salivating over the treats, Mairi laughed and handed her a plate and a napkin.

“Please, help yerself,” Mairi said. “These arenae goin’ tae eat themselves.”

They shared a laugh, and both began piling their plates with treats.

Isolde bit into one of the lemon cakes first and her eyes rolled back in her head as a groan that bordered on indecent drifted from her mouth as her mouth exploded with flavor.

She’d always fancied sweets, filching them from the kitchens whenever she could.

Her father would have given her a verbal lashing just before tanning her hide for such impertinence.

He would have told her a Lady didn’t indulge like a commoner and then make some cutting remark about Isolde letting herself get fat or some cruel observation about the growing size of her already ample backside.

He would have made her feel small for having such basic desires and finding enjoyment in food.

But here, in Achnacarry, she did not feel the weight of judgment.

Mairi indulged in the sweet treats, seeming to enjoy them every bit as much as she was.

More than that, the pixie-like girl was encouraging her to eat more.

So, Isolde did. She felt, by letting herself indulge a little more, she was further staking a claim to her own life.

“If I’m bein’ honest, I wasnae certain what sort of reception I’d receive. I was… scared,” she confided to Mairi. “But ye, as well as Thela and Isa, have made me feel more than welcome. Probably more welcome than I deserve, tae tell it true.”

Mairi arched one of her thin eyebrows. “Because ye’re Murdoch Mackintosh’s daughter?”

“Aye,” she replied softly. “I can see some of yer clansman dinnae appreciate havin’ me here because of that. I dinnae blame them. I ken me faither done some terrible things tae yer clan. And I’m sorry fer that.”

“’Tis nae fer ye tae apologize. Ye did naethin’ wrong.”

“Still… it feels as if I am tae blame as well.”

“Ye’re yer own person. Ye’re nae yer faither,” she said with a dismissive wave. “The people will see that eventually. Me braither certainly daes.”

The diminutive woman sat back in her seat and took a sip of her wine, her bright hazel eyes shining above the rim of her cup.

Isolde shifted in her seat uncomfortably.

There was something knowing in the woman’s gaze that set her heart thundering.

It was as if she somehow knew what had taken place between Isolde and her brother.

Isolde’s lips warmed with the memory of the kisses they’d shared and that now familiar heat blossomed in her belly, rapidly spreading through the rest of her body, but seeming to center somewhere lower inside of her.

Mairi’s smile widened, and her eyes glittered mischievously.

If Isolde hadn’t given herself away before, her flushed cheeks certainly had.

“So, I take it ye and me braither had an eventful journey back tae Achnacarry?”

The tone in Mairi’s voice matched the mischievous glint in her eye, making Isolde’s cheeks burn all the hotter. She quickly picked up her cup and took a long swallow, trying to hide her face until she could get her blushing under control.

“Aye,” she finally said. “’Twas… eventful. Struan saved me life a couple of times.”

“He said ‘twas ye who saved his life.”

Isolde shrugged. “I dinnae see it that way. I didnae dae anythin’.”

“He’s nae a man who says somethin’ unless it’s true. So, if he says ye saved his life, I believe him,” Mairi said.

Mairi licked the sugary icing off her fingertips, her golden eyes sparkling dazzlingly in the light that slanted in through the windows. Isolde could see the question in her face though.

“Ye’re curious about yer other braither,” Isolde noted.

She nodded. “Aye. I am.”

“I cannae tell ye much. What I dae ken is that he’s bein’ held by Laird MacPherson at Cluny House,” Isolde said. “He was alive, last I kent. I think they’re plannin’ on tryin’ tae ransom him back tae yer clan fer somethin’ they want.”

“By they, ye mean yer faither and Laird MacPherson?”

Isolde nodded and spoke quietly. “Aye.”

“What dae they want?”

“I dinnae ken. Land, more than likely,” Isolde said with a sad shake of her head. “They believe they alone should rule these parts of Scotland and have been tryin’ tae divide up the whole of the country between them fer a long time now.”

Isolde saw a frown flicker across her full, heart-shaped lips and grief in her eyes. Isolde leaned across the table and took Mairi’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“All will be well,” she said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Struan, it’s that he is determined tae get Finlay back—and when he’s set on somethin’ he’ll move heaven and earth tae make it happen.”

Mairi let out a rueful laugh. “Aye. That is true. Struan can be a bit bull-headed.”

Isolde nodded. “Aye. So, I’ve learned.”

They shared a laugh together, beating back the darkness that had been descending over the chamber. The air was lighter, but Isolde could still see the fear for her brother behind Mairi’s eyes. She wished she could take it all away.

“Struan will get Finlay back,” she said firmly.

Mairi nodded. “Aye. I’m sure he will.”

There was a slight quiver in her voice, as if she did not believe what she was saying, but before Isolde could speak further, there was a knock on her chamber door. A moment later, it swung open, and Struan strode in.

“I see Mairi’s plyin’ ye with sweets,” he said, his deep, resonant voice filling the air.

“Aye. She’s been very kind,” Isolde said.

“Dinnae let her make ye think ‘tis altruistic. She’s got a wicked sweet tooth and uses any excuse tae indulge it,” he said, favoring his sister with a warm, fond smile.

“Well, altruistic or nae, I’ve enjoyed every moment I’ve spent with yer sister,” Isolde said. “As well as this bounty of treats.”

Mairi got to her feet, a laugh upon her lips. “I’ll let the two of ye talk.”

“Thank ye, Mairi,” Struan said.

She started to leave but paused and put a hand on her brother’s arm. She cast a glance back at Isolde, that mischievous glint returning to her eyes. Isolde’s stomach clenched.

“She’s a good one,” Mairi said. “We should keep her.”

“She’s nae a puppy, little sister.”

They all shared a laugh, but Isolde’s cheeks burned.

After Mairi exited the chamber, closing the door behind her, Struan took the seat she’d just vacated.

He sat across the table from her, their gazes locked in silence for a long moment.

His eyes lingered on her form appreciatively and Isolde could practically feel his gaze sliding up and down her body, admiring the way the dress clung to her curves almost like a second skin.

Isolde gnawed on her lower lip and shifted in her seat, trying to control the thundering of her heart and wild churning in her belly.

The way he made her feel with nothing more than a glance was confounding.

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled and sat forward, plucking one of the apple cinnamon cakes from the tray and popping it into his mouth.

“These are good,” he said, sounding surprised.

“They’re amazing,” she replied. “Everybody’s treated me so kindly. Thank ye fer that.”

“Welcome tae Achnacarry lass,” he said. “Ye’re welcome tae stay as long as ye’d like.”

“Thank ye. But… I dinnae want tae be an imposition.”

Struan winced as if her words had hurt him. “Ye’re nae an imposition. Ye’re me guest and ye’re welcome tae be here as long as ye wish. Ye’re free tae take yer ease here and nae have tae worry about anythin’.”

“Thank ye, Struan.”

“Ye’re welcome,” he said.

He spoke confidently and seemed to genuinely want her to stick around, but there was something behind his eyes that set a worried flutter in her heart. There was some worry she could see that he was not giving voice to. It sent a wave of goosebumps washing across her skin.

“What is it then?” she asked. “What has ye so concerned?”

“Naethin’,” he replied. “I’m nae concerned. I just wanted tae see how ye were settlin’ in,” he said and got to his feet. “Is there anythin’ else I can get fer ye?”

She shook her head and stood up. “Nay. I’m fine. Thank ye.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

Isolde’s heart hammered inside her chest so hard, she feared it would leave bruises.

There was so much uncertainty in the air, she was being buffeted by waves of fear that threatened to pull her under.

Isolde had questions, but there were so many rifling through her head at the same time, she wasn’t sure where to start.

“Well, I still have much tae dae. I’ve got tae talk tae me Council, so I’ll check back on ye later. Get some rest,” he said.

With a final smile, Struan turned and headed for the door.

Snapping herself out of her stupor, Isolde gave herself a shake and darted over to him, putting her hand on his shoulder.

Struan stopped and turned around, cocking his head curiously.

Their eyes met and for a moment, the air between them crackled with tension and a sense of anticipation.

Isolde, for a moment, thought Struan was going to lean forward and kiss her.

Part of her wanted him to. But when he didn’t and the silence lingered, that feeling faded.

“And what will ye tell them? Yer Council?” she asked.

“I’m nae sure yet.”

He reached out and tucked a lock of her still damp hair behind her ear, favoring her with a smile that radiated warmth.

His gesture was tender. Loving even. It was what she saw in his eyes though, that stole her breath away.

There was a depth of care she saw in them she hadn’t expected.

It was as if he was communicating with her without using words and what she took it to mean was that he cared for her.

It made Isolde’s heart quiver because in that moment, she knew she returned those feelings a hundredfold.

“Can I ask ye somethin’?” he asked, his voice soft as a whisper.

“Of course.”

“If ye could stay here, would ye?”

“Stay here? Fer how long?”

“Fer good?”

She considered the implications of his question. Not because she didn’t want that. She did. It was what her continued presence in Achnacarry meant for the people around her that worried her.

“I… I fear what it might mean fer yer clan,” she said. “Me faither and Laird MacPherson… they would be furious. I’d nae want yer people tae be hurt on me account.”

Struan withdrew his hand, and it was like a curtain descended over his face.

Gone was the emotion she’d just seen and in its place was a carefully crafted mask of neutrality.

There was nothing in his eyes and nothing in his expression.

It was like he’d gone completely blank. She’d hurt him.

She could see it. Isolde wanted to take her words back, but Struan gave her a curt nod, closing the door on it.

“I should go,” he said. “Me Council is gatherin’.”

Before she could say anything further, Struan turned and strode from the chamber, closing the door behind him softly.

Isolde pressed her back to the door and slid down to her backside, burying her face in her hands as waves of regret washed over her.

She grimaced as if in pain and silently scolded herself, sure that she had just ruined the best thing that had ever happened to her in a life, a life that had been devoid of anything good.