Page 21 of To Win a Highlander’s Heart

“I doubt it very much. He intends for the four MacLeod brothers to keep our clan safe without using the magic of the Fairy Flag.” Orrick sobered at the thought that only two of the four MacLeods were capable of defending their clan should the need arise.

Callum still needed to practise his skills, and Orrick could no longer fight. Perhaps Alastair would be better served to use the flag’s magic if the need arose, so at least there would be a clan to carry on those future generations.

Chapter Eight

Orrick waited at the entrance of the great hall for Isolde to appear. Gwendolyn had told him that Isolde would meet him there. The others were already inside, waiting for the two of them to join them before Mrs Morgan, their cook, and her staff brought the meal up from the kitchen. Orrick paced back and forth before the doorway, then forced himself to stop. What was wrong with him?

Was he nervous about seeing Isolde or about how his family might react to her presence at supper? Rowena and Alastair had made it quite clear that they did not want Isolde at Dunvegan. Gwendolyn’s brother and sister, Samuel and Arabella, and Callum, Orrick’s younger brother, had yet to meet Isolde. Would they support him in his effort to keep her safe or take Alastair’s opinion as their own as they always did?

“Orrick?”

He turned at the sound of Isolde’s voice, and froze. His heart stuttered in his chest and his throat constricted. She stood a few feet from him—but it was an Isolde he’d never seen before. She was dressed in a blue gown that looked like it had been made for her even though it was one of his sister’s cast-offs. The dress clung to Isolde’s delicate curves provocatively. Her bare shoulders and undamaged arm revealed her slim, but muscular physique. Strength and softness.

A muslin bandage covered her upper arm, but it did little to detract from the overall effect. Her hair had been washed and the chaos tamed until it shone like wheat-coloured gold that framed her delicate face. “You—you are lovely,” Orrick stammered.

Isolde blushed, the heightened colour only enhancing her beauty. She nervously dropped her gaze to the floor and took a deep breath. “Gwendolyn and Fiona worked tirelessly on my hair to remove the tangles. They lathered it in sea kelp, salt, rose, and blackcurrant oil then painstakingly combed it out.” She offered a demure smile. “I can still smell the blackcurrants.”

Orrick stepped forward, offering her his arm and caught the faint scent, drawing it into himself. Blackcurrants and roses. He swallowed. His whole body felt hot. “When I see you like this, I wonder how you ever survived the wilderness alone for so long.”

“I had no choice. It was survive or die.”

“You speak of things so calmly. Was that how you kept your sanity?”

She shrugged. “Collapsing into a weeping heap would do me no good. I’d already been isolated by my clan for my wants and dreams. It wasn’t too difficult a transition from being ignored to total isolation.”

Orrick studied her delicate face, appreciating what had been revealed by a thorough cleansing. Her cheekbones seemed higher; her blue eyes appeared more warm than cool. But through it all, he saw strength and determination. “You would have been a magnificent warrior.”

“I still am a warrior. Only in different clothing at present.” She offered him a smile as she accepted his arm and allowed him to lead her into the great hall.

Orrick returned her smile. He liked seeing her like this—at ease and playful. His thoughts turned to tomorrow, wondering what she would be like as they trained to return her to full strength. As heat flooded his body once more, he forced his thoughts in a different direction. It would be best if he tucked his attraction to her away. Even if he might want it, nothing could come of an alliance between the two of them. Alastair would see to that.

*

Isolde straightened and forced herself to remain calm as they approached the head table where the others were seated. Never in her life had she felt as elegant as she did in this moment. While at Scorrybreac, she’d never allowed her maid to do anything but plait her hair, and the clothes she’d chosen to wear had been more serviceable than stylish. As her full skirt swirled about her legs, Isolde imagined for just a moment that she was someone else—someone whose future could possibly contain wearing beautiful gowns, dining with beloved family members, and finding comfort in the arms of the well-bred man beside her, who was dark and handsome and fashionably attired in the MacLeod tartan. “What can I expect from tonight?”

“With my family, one never knows.” He paused and turned to look at her. “You are safe with me.”

At a nod from her, they entered the chamber. As the others turned towards them, at first there was shock on many of their faces as they appraised her from head to toe. Then they smiled. Gwendolyn and Fiona had transformed her into what others expected her to be. Their smiles, however, faded as she and Orrick drew nearer, and a heavy tension filled the air. Alastair’s features darkened as Orrick held out the seat opposite Gwendolyn, before Orrick sat beside her.

As soon as they were seated, the cook and her staff began serving supper. There was little conversation directed at Isolde during the meal, for which she was thankful. Not being the focus of everyone’s attention allowed her to eat in peace the best meal she’d had in a long while. The venison was marvellously flavourful and so tender, the slices of meat almost dissolved in her mouth. The meat was complemented with a celeriac, turnip, and beetroot gratin, a rosehip and crab-apple jelly, and claret. It was a simple meal, but sublime.

After everyone had finished eating, an apple tart was served and the wine glasses were topped off before the servers departed, leaving the family to talk amongst themselves. Relaxed and more sated than she’d been in a year, Isolde sat back and sipped her claret.

“How pleased we are that your fever is gone and that you could join us for supper,” Gwendolyn said with a smile.

Isolde set her glass down, nervously studying the deep crimson of the wine as the light reflected through it. “Dinner was delicious. My compliments to Mrs Honey.”

Gwendolyn smiled. “I will let her know that you liked the meal.”

“Does your arm pain you much?” Alastair asked as he studied Isolde as though unable to reconcile the change in her appearance.

“I have no idea what is in the poultice Lottie puts on my wound every morning, but it leaves me with only minimal pain. I am looking forward to using my arm and my bow again tomorrow.”

Farther down the table, Graeme set down his glass and frowned. “Are you ready for such activity yet? I advise the castle guards to wait at least a week after an injury before returning to practise.”

“I do not have the luxury of time,” Isolde replied, trying to keep her words light.

“Is there somewhere else you’d rather be?” Tormod asked with an arch of his brow.