“What’s occurred?” Cameron asked, glancing first at Isobel, then the trencher, and then Father Murdock.
“Who can say with Rhona?” Father Murdock lied while giving Isobel a pleading look that she could not ignore. She was unsure why the priest had lied, but she was wary to make yet another enemy by not going along with him.
“Nae anything,” she said, noting when Father Murdock slumped with relief. “I simply dropped the trencher as Rhona handed it to me. If ye’ll give me one more moment, I’ll be ready to see Graham.”
Cameron gave her a skeptical look, but finally, he nodded and departed the room once more. Isobel eyed Father Murdock. “Why did ye lie?”
Father Murdock scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, lass. If Cameron or Graham thought my words caused Rhona to call yeban-druidh, I may well lose my place at Dunvegan. As it is, none of them here need me. Nae a one of them ever confesses to me besides Marion, or even asks me for any advice, and yesterday when I tried to get Graham to confess before marrying ye, he said he took his confession straight to God and had no need of me. I vow to ye I will handle things with Rhona.”
Isobel’s heart squeezed. She could see how a man as guarded as Graham would not wish to reveal his heart to anyone but God, but Graham needed to be made to understand that Father Murdock needed to feel useful. She patted the priest on the arm. “Dunnae fash yerself. I’ll keep yer secret, but be sure to tell Rhona she misunderstood ye, aye?” Isobel gave a little shiver recalling what Sister Beatrice had told her happened to women who were thought to be white witches. Angry, scared mobs had been known to burn them at stakes or drown them.
“I vow I will speak to her,” Father Murdock assured Isobel.
The door opened and a group of women strolled into the great hall, eyeing her suspiciously. Isobel sighed. Her moment of discretion was gone, and she suspected greatly that Rhona was already spreading talk that Graham had married her because she had bewitched him. She rose, knowing she would have to save her questions for later. “Dunnae forget to speak with Rhona,” Isobel whispered.
“I’ll nae,” Father Murdock replied.
With a nod to the priest, Isobel started toward the door, wincing when the women all scrambled away from her. Once she was outside the great hall, she huffed out a breath.
“Are ye sure there is nae a thing amiss?” Cameron asked with a frown.
“I’m certain,” she replied. “I’m simply anxious to speak with Graham. Will ye take me to him now?”
Cameron descended the steps ahead of her, and when they reached the sand, he motioned across the loch to a large area of rock that stood stark and bare high above the lapping water. “We’ll walk around to the training site,” he bellowed above the wind.
She nodded and followed him, having to double her pace to keep up with him. As they neared the group of men, she saw Graham in the center of a large circle, shirt off and sword swinging in an arc above his head. Fierce concentration etched his face in lines, and sweat glistened on his sun-kissed skin. He attacked his opponent with a ferocity that made her heart speed up in fright.
The other man in the circle was smaller, which could have been an advantage in regards to speed, but Graham was clearly superior in agility, as well as strength. He made quick work of knocking the man’s sword from his hands, and then he had his sword to the man’s throat. “Cormac,” Graham growled. “Ye will train every day until I deem ye a good enough warrior to guard my wife.”
“Aye, Graham,” the man responded. “I am sorry—”
Graham held up a staying hand. “I ken it, just remember to bide yer tongue and show respect.”
“I will,” the man pledged.
Graham brushed his arm over his eyes and then pointed his sword at a different man. “Ye’re next. Come.” The last word was harsh and unbending.
Isobel squinted into the sun to see who Graham was commanding to fight. She started, realizing it was the man Broch whom she had danced with last night. Uneasiness filled her. Broch was a large man. Larger than Graham. And Broch looked too eager for her liking as he stripped off his plaid. Graham had just finished a fight, and she could see sweat on his brow and glistening on his chest. Cameron had moved into the circle of men watching the fight so that his back was directly to her, and she could not see. She shoved her way to his side, aware of the shocked looks she received.
“Does anyone ever get injured during training?” she whispered to Cameron.
“Aye,” he replied, not taking his gaze off Graham and Broch who had begun to circle each other.
She tugged on Cameron’s arm until he glanced at her. “They are careful, though, aye? Death is nae a fear in training.”
Cameron shrugged. “It usually is nae.”
“Usually?” she hissed, worry knotting her stomach.
“Aye. Usually,” he growled. “Sometimes an error occurs and someone does nae pull back his sword quickly enough, but then that is fate, aye?”
“Nay!” She clutched his arm as Graham’s and Broch’s swords clanked so loudly she felt her teeth rattle. “Graham has just finished a battle. He should have rested before the next one.”
Cameron arched his eyebrows. “Graham has been training since dawn. He dunnae tire.”
“All men tire!” she growled, irritated at Cameron’s continued attitude that his brother was not human but immortal. “What if Broch slips and wounds Graham?”
“Broch will nae slip.” She started to sag in relief when Cameron added, “If he wounds Graham, he will have intended it.”
