bow and a broad grin.
“That sounds divine,” Isabel said warmly.
Rory’s eyes narrowed, watching the easy interchange between the two of them. He didn’t miss the grateful look she’d directed at Alex.
A look that should be directed toward him. Admittedly, it wasn’t like Rory to be so abrupt, but the lass unnerved him. He was sure it was only temporary. Most men would be knocked senseless when faced with such beauty, he rationalized.
But still he frowned. He was not most men. He was immune to such nonsense, unlike his brother. Alex might be blown over by a pretty face, but Rory wasn’t. Nonetheless, he felt what could only be described as a twinge of jealousy at the sight of her giving his affable brother a grateful smile. The ridiculous sentiment was both unwelcome and annoying.
With a look to show his displeasure, Rory took control of the situation. He would have to remind Alex that the lass was a MacDonald. And for better or worse, his handfast bride for a year. “Deidre will show you to your room now. Until the morning, Mistress MacDonald. ”
Turning to his men, he directed Colin and Douglas to show the rest of the party to their sleeping quarters—where they would be well watched. But then he found his attention returned to Isabel, his gaze following her as she was led away.
Isabel MacDonald had been a surprise. He refused to consider the unexpected surge of lust he’d felt at meeting his new “bride.” He’d never thought to find himself in the position of being attracted to the woman. Still, it did not bother him overmuch. Rory had survived the vicious attacks of Sleat for the last two years, as well as the scheming of a hostile king. He could easily manage the wiles of one small lass.
But something else gnawed at him. He was uncomfortably surprised by his initial impression of his bride; she seemed so young and innocent—almost vulnerable. Hardly the type of woman to be doing Sleat’s bidding. If she was innocent of Sleat’s intrigue, Rory would do his best to see that she was not harmed and was treated fairly. Beautiful or not, he would keep his distance. And in a year, when the handfast period was over, he would return her to her kin with no harm done.
When his “guests” had cleared the entry, Rory headed back outside on his way to the Fairy Tower, followed closely by his brother.
“Well, I’ll be damned, you’re a lucky bastard, Rory. I hope those noble intentions of yours not to bed the chit are ready to be put to the test,” Alex said, his voice rough with envy. “Those ‘exaggerated rumors’ did not do her justice.”
Rory tried to ignore him, but Alex’s obvious admiration pricked at him uncomfortably. Actually, it annoyed the hell out of him. He did not doubt his brother’s loyalty, but it surprised him to realize how much he did not want to discuss the attributes of this particular woman with anyone…including his brother.
“I suppose she’s attractive enough,” he replied, knowing he sounded ridiculous.
Alex snorted his disbelief. “Well, at least we know why the king agreed to the handfast,” he stated matter-of-factly.
Rory lifted a brow in question.
“No man in his right mind would repudiate such a beauty.”
“A man of sound mind must act where his duty lies,” Rory reminded him.
Alex shook his head with regret. A sentiment that Rory could well understand.
“How important is this alliance with the Campbell lass?” Alex asked.
Rory sighed. “Very.” Only an alliance with Argyll would provide the sway they needed with the king. But Alex had a point. Keeping his distance was going to be a wee bit more difficult than he’d anticipated. But he could handle it. There was nothing Rory MacLeod couldn’t handle.
Chapter 3
Here in Heaven’s eye, and all Love’s sacred powers…
I knit this holy hand fast, and with this hand
The Heart that owes this hand, ever binding…
Both heart and hand in love, faith and loyalty.
—F RANCIS B EAUMONT