“Nay,mo chridhe, let me speak.”
She stilled at his words and could not help but nod.
“A Dia, Isobel. I am dying inside at the pain I caused ye. At almost losing ye. At making ye believe ye might have to flee me if I could nae ever offer ye love.”
Isobel gasped. “How did ye ken that?”
“Marion,” he replied, “but it dunnae matter how I ken it, just that I do. I wish to pull ye into my arms and hold ye tenderly, but I’m afraid it’s too late. That I have pushed ye too far away.”
Isobel’s throat tightened with intense emotions. She remained silent so her husband could finish, though she had much to say herself.
“I love ye,mo maise,” Graham professed. “Ye aremo chridhe. I ken I dunnae deserve yer love. I am nae worthy of it. But I am desperate for it. I want to be worthy. Teach me to be worthy. Make me good.”
She pressed a trembling finger to his lips. If she heard one more word of his plea, her heart would break with pain for him. “Ye are more than worthy,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “It was yer mother who was nae worthy of yer love. Ye have always been worthy. It takes strength to wish for love, Graham. Ye are nae weak but strong. Ye dunnae need me to make ye good, as ye already are so. If ye truly wish to give me yer love, I will take it gladly and give ye all that is in my heart.”
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Reverence filled the kiss, along with love and the promise of passion unbridled.
Chapter Twenty-Three
A fortnight later, after seeing Lena off with Alex MacLean, and after saying a tearful farewell to Marsaili, Bridgette, and Marion, Isobel rode by her husband’s side for Brigid, where they would make their home together. It had been decided that this secret passage they were now on was safer to travel to Brigid than by the sea where they would be easily spotted by their enemies. She glanced at him on the horse beside her, wearing his kilt and the breastplate she’d had made for him, and love flowed through her.
Unlike before when they had journeyed together, Graham stopped so frequently out of concern for her health that she was about to go mad. She wanted nothing more than to reach Brigid, because he had vowed to her that once they were there and in their bed, he would finally take her into his arms and join with her once more.
She would have felt utterly unwanted by him, but she knew it was fear of setting her recovery back that had stopped him from joining with her and not fear of losing control as before. She suppressed a chuckle at that thought.
He had vowed profusely that it was precisely because he intended to forfeit all control that he not yet joined with her again. Marion, her well-meaning but much too meddlesome friend, had warned Graham that she needed time to recover before he took his wife to his bed once more. It was hard to be angry with Marion, though, as Isobel knew she was well intentioned.
But when Graham held up his hand to call for them to stop yet again, she decided she would simply ignore him. As the men around her halted, she did not slow her horse, but before her destrier managed to move completely past her husband’s, she found herself unseated and in Graham’s arms.
“Isobel,” he hissed, “we are being followed.”
Fear cloaked her immediately, and she looked behind her at the long stretch of valley they had just ridden through. On either side of them steep mountains rose, and in front of them there were thick woods. It afforded many places for someone to be waiting to ambush them.
“How long have ye kenned this?” she hissed back, recognizing that his voice lacked the panic of one who had only just realized they were being hunted.
“Long ago,” he assured her. “My captains all ken, but I wanted to get us somewhere I could send ye to safety.”
“Nay!” she protested. “I will stay and fight with ye.”
He shook his head. “I love ye, Wife, and I welcome the strength ye give me, but ye’re in need of many more lessons with a sword, before ye can battle another warrior.”
She knew the truth of his words, so she sighed but nodded her agreement.
Graham gave a low bird call and suddenly Cameron was beside them, grasping her around the waist as Graham shoved her at his brother. Cameron locked one strong arm around her while setting his destrier at a dizzying pace toward the thick woods ahead.
As they galloped away, the sound of horses’ hooves thundered in the quiet, followed by a war cry that she recognized as Graham’s. She craned her neck to look behind her and her heart seemed to stop.
“Cameron!” she cried, grasping his arm at the sight of arrows flying from the mountains toward Graham and his men. Fear punched her in the gut as Graham was struck with one arrow, then another, and yet a third. He fell from his horse and lay unmoving on the ground.
“Ye must turn around!” she demanded. “We must help them.”
“Nay!” Cameron shouted. “I will get ye somewhere safe and—”
The first arrow struck Cameron in the shoulder, the next in the leg. As he started to slide off the horse, Isobel screamed and grabbed at him, but he was too heavy and she could not hold his weight on the destrier. He fell to the side, barely missing being trampled by the horse. Isobel leaned over the galloping horse that carried her away from Cameron and into the woods, and she struggled to grab onto the reins. When she secured them in her hands, she sat up while pulling on the reins, and then she let out a scream of surprise. In front of her was Findlay seated on a destrier and flanked by more Campbells with their swords drawn.
She looked behind her, and her heart fell. Ten more Campbell soldiers had come out of the forest to surround her.
“We’ve come to rescue you, Isobel,” Findlay said, his tone mocking her. He held up a hand and motioned as if calling someone forward. Suddenly, the men to Findlay’s left parted, and a destrier carrying James of Dunbar moved toward her. James offered a chilling smile that made the hair on the back of Isobel’s neck prickle.
