“Did my ch-ch-chattering teeth give me away?”
“Amongst other things,” he replied slowly, his gaze sweeping over. That gaze was so smoldering that she vowed she felt warmth from it.
She quirked her mouth this way and that, trying to shove her pride aside so she could ask him to put his arms around her. Blowing out a frustrated breath, she started to look forward once more when he said, “The wind is chilling me, as well.”
She eyed him. He looked perfectly warm to her with a flush to his skin and his brow damp. She suspected he was lying to save her pride, and she had never been more grateful in her life. “If ye wish, I could move back so we could share heat,” she offered.
His gaze burned suddenly bright. “Be careful who ye offer that to, Isobel,” he said gruffly, captured her by the waist, and pulled her between his powerful thighs. He locked his heavy arm close under her breasts. Desire sprang forth, making her want to groan with frustration. There was something very wrong with her to yearn for a man who had seized her, but more than that, a man who had made it clear that he did not share that same wanting. Yet, the looks he gave her seemed to contradict his words.
She sighed. As cocooned as she now was by his body, she felt truly protected and almost cherished, which she knew very well was false. It was her own longing to be loved causing the feelings. Graham was taking her to his king to be married to another man. He would do his best to ensure the man was honorable, she was sure of that, but that did not mean the king would take Graham’s counsel. And whether the king did or not, she knew Graham would accept the king’s decision.
She expected anger to roll over her, but when it did not come, she clenched her teeth. She could not even hate him! She admired his devotion to his family and the king. Slowly, the warmth from his body seeped into hers to rid her of the cold. As they rode, her body grew heavy, and as the galloping lulled her tired body into a drowsy state, she wondered groggily what he would say if he knew of the confused feelings she held for him. Likely not much, since he did not care for her beyond the responsibility he felt given he had seized her, only to discover she was not evil.
A battle between desire and honor raged inside Graham as he held Isobel securely in his arms on the horse. She slept like a bairn, deep and with a trust that no harm would come to her. He was glad for it, because he feared that if she were still awake, she would read the fierce yearning for her in his expression—or more likely, feel how simply holding her made his body react. He was painfully hard and burning hot, though he knew the fire that seemed to be flowing through his body was not simply his reaction to her.
Fever was setting in. He’d been struck with a rapid fever before, when he’d been severely wounded protecting Bridgette and Iain’s wife, Marion, from the English swine who had stolen Marion. He’d likely never forget the feel of that heat. It had felt much like his body was burning slowly from the inside out, especially at the site of his wound, just as it now did.
His shoulder throbbed something fierce from the wolf bite and from the stab wound, and from the sealing of the stab wound. He glanced down at Isobel. She looked so fragile in sleep, yet he knew now she had a fierce inner strength. Not many lasses would have been able to stomach the cleansing and sealing of his injury, ye she had insisted upon performing the task and had done it well. Admiration tugged at him once more, but this time he did not fight it. Daughter of his enemy or not, Isobel had many qualities that he found commendable.
Several shots of pain suddenly lanced through his shoulder, and he shifted her in his arms to reduce the pressure on his wounded arm. She sighed with the movement but did not waken. Her lips pursed as if she was thinking of something irritating in her sleep. Mayhap it was the pounding of the horse, or more likely, it was him she was thinking of that was making her frown.
The idea made him chuckle, but thenhefrowned. This woman had a strange power over him that he didn’t like. But what he liked less was his part in taking away her say in who she would marry. When he was younger, he’d had too many of his own choices stripped from him, and he couldn’t believe he was doing the same thing to another.
He tried to focus his thoughts. They felt as if they were wildly swinging. Taking Isobel should not have been complicated with guilt, but she was surprisingly so very innocent. Yes, she had deceived him when she had tried to escape, and yes, she’d intended to stab him, but now that his anger had abated, he found he did not blame her. He would have done the same if he had been in her position, and though the very fact that she had proven she would try to escape should make him no longer trust her, he still did.
Mayhap it was the look of horror on her face when the tip of her blade had actually made contact with his skin. She clearly had no taste for killing, as her brothers and father did. Mayhap it was the tears that she had shed for the pain she had caused him. Or mayhap it was her eager, passionate response to his kiss.
An ache gripped his jaw, and he worked it back and forth, only then realizing he had been clenching it. He should not have kissed her. He had no right, no claim on her. Loyalty to his family, who had been so harmed by hers, should have kept him from touching her, but it had not. His promise to deliver her to the king to be married to another man should have stayed his fingers from grazing her skin, his mouth from claiming hers. Yet that promise had been nowhere in his mind when he had looked into her eyes. Honor demanded he not touch what would never be his. She was a woman who, by no fault of her own, represented the memories of atrocities perpetrated by her family on his. Likely her mere presence at Dunvegan would make Lena withdraw further than she already had or even cause her to become dangerously angry.
None of these things had stopped him as they ought to have done. With a look, Isobel had stolen the control he swore long ago never to lose again and fought so long and hard to cultivate, and that worried him. By all rights, he knew he should not let the worry fester. He was not bound to this woman, so whatever odd effects she had on him would soon not matter, yet that truth bothered him even more. That fact sat like a stone in his belly. Soon, they would reach Dunvegan and he would bring her in front of King David and offer her up like the prize she was. The reality left a sour taste in his mouth.
Worry gnawed him at. Would the king take his counsel or not? With the thought, the fierce protectiveness simmering within him started to turn to possessiveness.
It must be the fever,he decided, rolling his tight shoulder, stunned at how weak he suddenly felt. He glanced ahead into the descending mist and then around him at the trees and streams, and tried to judge how long until they reached his home.At least a half day more.
He let out a whistle, and Rory Mac and Cameron rode up beside him within a breath. He looked to his brother, who had Marsaili asleep in his arms.
“I’m weakening,” Graham begrudgingly muttered. He had never been good at admitting his strength was failing.
“Ye wish me to take the lass?” Rory Mac asked.
Possessiveness pushed to the surface again, causing him to clench his teeth on the hot reply upon his tongue. She was not his to possess. And even if there was a possibility that she could be, it would be foolhardy to take it. He had no plans to marry ever, especially to a woman he could grow attached to, who stirred longings he could not permit and caused strife among his family. Knowing all this, he should let his friend take her.
“Nay,” Graham bit out on a fresh wave of pain. He didn’t want to give her up to Rory Mac—hell, not to anyone. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to rid himself of the thought. When he opened them, he struggled to focus. It was the fever. That was what it was. Once the fever broke, he would return to his former self and these doubts would be gone.
For the rest of the journey it was all he could do to concentrate on holding himself and Isobel on his horse. When he glimpsed Dunvegan rising above the cliff like the imposing fortress it was, relief made him sag. In the distance, horns sounded to announce that the castle guards had spotted their approach. By the time they gained the keep, his thoughts swayed along with his body.
A crowd of men had already gathered, faces strained, appearing impatient to receive word of what had transpired with the enemy. King David, Iain, and Lachlan stood on the castle steps. Graham was not surprised to see that Lachlan had returned to the keep after his journey to retrieve Bridgette from when she had fled him out of shame for what Colin Campbell had done to her. Graham sought Bridgette out and found her standing to the right of the castle door with Marion and Lena. He took in Bridgette’s belly, clearly rounded with bairn, and a smile tugged at his lips, despite the pain pulsing through every part of his body. He felt nothing for her beyond happiness. No wanting. No desire.
His gaze swung back to Lachlan, for whom Graham had spent years nurturing jealousy and almost hatred. A familiar shame roiled through him that he had been so foolish, but then he felt grateful that he’d relinquished his jealousy and gained his brother for it.
He turned his gaze once more, this time to Lena, and winced at the picture she presented. Even from here, he could see she had still not bothered to brush her hair or freshen her gown, and the anger tightening her lovely face had grown. Lena was not getting better since they had recovered her from her captivity with Jamie and Findlay. She was worsening, and Graham feared what Marsaili’s presence would do to Lena, let alone Isobel’s. And in truth, he feared Lena might attempt to hurt Isobel or even encourage others in the castle to do so.
The burning in his body increased, and his head felt as if it would split in two as he glanced around the rapidly filling courtyard. The noise was a roar in his ears, and when he tried to dismount his horse with Isobel in his arms, his injured shoulder would not cooperate. He glanced down at Cameron, who’d already dismounted.
“Brother,” Graham croaked.
Cameron swiftly looked to him, and his eyebrows shot upward. “Ye look like death.”
