She scowled. “It’s nae for me. It’s for Graham.”
Cameron gave her a stupefied look. “Isobel, we dunnae wear breastplates. We are excellent warriors.”
She took a long breath for patience. “This is a special breastplate. I will bless it,” as theCeàrdannanhad taught her to do, but she did not want to mention the Summer Walkers when the day might come that she had to run to them for shelter. “It wards off darkness and makes the one wearing it righteous.”
“Graham is already honorable. Surely, ye ken that,” Cameron growled.
“Of course I do,” she snapped. “It’s Graham that dunnae ken it. I’m hoping he will take my gift and wear it when he hunts and goes into battle, or even simply when he travels.”
Cameron shook his head. “He’ll nae wear a breastplate.”
“We shall see,” she grumbled, doubt creeping in. Perchance the breastplate was a silly idea, but she was going to give it to Graham nonetheless because her plan of seduction involved it.
Once they had settled the details, she left to freshen up for supper, and after that, she made her way to the great hall. She entered the crowded room with slow steps and looked around for Graham. When she saw him already seated at the dais with Lena on his right and Cameron on his left, her steps faltered. Iain and Lachlan both sat by their wives, but Graham had not left a space for her. Or perchance it was Lena’s doing?
Glancing at Graham’s sister, who stared at Isobel with a look of triumphant malice, Isobel felt certain that Lena had simply taken her seat. Irritation and pity roiled inside Isobel, but as she looked at Lena with her matted hair, soiled gown, and dirty face, irritation won. She did not know what Graham and his brothers wished for her to do to help Lena, but the first thing the woman needed was a lesson in manners and a bath. Under all that grime and grimacing was surely a lovely woman. With that in mind, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and marched toward the dais.
Chapter Eighteen
As Graham watched Isobel approach, he leaned toward Iain and whispered, “Ye’re certain about this?”
Iain nodded. Moments ago, when Lena had taken Isobel’s seat and then Isobel had appeared at the great hall door with a fierce scowl on her face, he had murmured to Graham that now would be a good time to let Isobel deal with Lena. Graham’s chest tightened as only Isobel could make it. Worry stirred inside him as he watched her approach with her back straight, eyes blazing, and face set with determination. His instinct to protect her sparked to life, but he held still, reminding himself that if Isobel could not manage Lena, then he would interfere.
Iain leaned close. “Isobel looks like she’s breathing fire.”
“Aye,” Graham replied, not taking his gaze from her. How was it possible that every time he saw her, she appeared more beautiful than the time before? Her hips were swaying gently, despite her marching toward them, and that gentle swaying reminded him of grasping her lush hips and delving deep inside her to claim her. The memory sent a rush of heat to his groin.
He had the urge to leave the dais, throw Isobel over his shoulder, carry her up to his bedchamber and worship her body until they were both so spent that speech was not possible. The thought hardened him almost unbearably and sent desire surging through his veins with an intensity that clouded his thoughts.
He clenched his teeth as she neared. He would not bed his enchantress wife tonight for two reasons: he feared he had overused her body that was so new to being joined with his, and he wanted to gain mastery over the desire she elicited before he took her again. When she stopped directly in front of him, her pink tongue darted out to wet her full, rosy lips, and all he could think of was those lips around his staff giving him pleasure. He shook the thought from his mind as best he could. He knew he was right to deny himself her body. He was so close to losing control completely and releasing the longings he had long ago buried. He had to condition himself to stay in control in every interaction with her, no matter what.
She offered him a small smile and then glanced to Lena. “Would ye mind moving over a seat so I can sit next to Graham?” Her voice was pleasant, but her eyes burned with ire.
Tension rippled down the dais.
“I do mind,” Lena snapped. “Ye can sit at the end by Cameron, or ye can sit at another table.”
Isobel’s eyes narrowed. “Lena, I am Graham’s wife. Therefore, I should be seated next to him.”
Lena shoved a knot of matted hair out of her eyes. “If Graham wanted ye sitting next to him,” she hissed, “then he would have said so, or he can certainly do so now.”
“Lena!” Bridgette and Marion reprimanded at the same time.
Graham clenched his teeth. He wanted Isobel near him too damn much—and he did not want to destroy what they were trying to do by interfering—yet he did not want to embarrass or hurt Isobel. Before he could decide how to answer, Isobel made a derisive noise as a wounded look crossed her face. It was swiftly replaced by anger.
“He dunnae wish to hurtye,” Isobel stated firmly, yet Graham thought her voice held a trace of uncertainty.
Lena’s scoff told Graham she thought so, as well. “Ye’re lying to yerself, Isobel Campbell.”
Isobel drew in a long breath. “IsobelMacLeod.”
“Ye’re nae a MacLeod,” Lena growled, and Graham had to take a swig of his mead not to correct his sister. He could feel Bridgette’s and Marion’s glares on him. He knew they wished him to say something, yet he remained silent and prayed that this worked and that Isobel would glean that this was all part of the plan.
“I am,” Isobel said with quiet intensity.
It was as if Isobel’s calm determination snapped the bind that was holding Lena together. She screeched, shoved back from her seat, and fairly fell down the steps of the dais in her effort to get to Isobel. Graham shoved out of his own seat, only to have Iain’s hand clamp on his arm. He glanced down at his brother.
“Nae yet,” Iain said. “Give Isobel a chance.”
