Terri Brisbin - The Highlander's Dangerous Temptation

As he swallowed another mouthful of ale and contemplated his reaction to Jocelyn’s, and Isobel’s, visit and his plans for this incursion into his life, he accepted another inevitability—Jocelyn had not given up on pursuing another marriage for him.

She said something then, about the cook’s recipe for the fowl before them, and he nodded and muttered something acceptable. But his mind turned the situation over and over. He knew she did most things to protect or help him. It had ever been that way between them—as children and even into adulthood, she had been the buffer between him and whatever came his way.

Her marriage to Connor, though now a happy one, had been her attempt to get him out of a bad situation he’d caused—one of many in his childhood and as a boy and even young man. Now, he wondered if the sins of his past were catching up to him, taunting him even, with the nearness of Isobel.

Isobel smiled just then and said something softly to her mother and Athdar watched her mouth curve and her eyes brighten. So young, so beautiful.

And so tempting.

He leaned back and listened to the discussion about some household matter and then realised he was not the only one watching and listening to her. She held the attention of Broc, Padruig and many other men at the table and nearby, whether they be married or bachelor. When Broc caught his eye and winked, Athdar knew she had another conquest if she wanted one or not. The way that she engaged in conversation, offering her opinion when asked and questioning to clarify, demonstrated her innate intelligence.

When had she grown from child into...this?

While he was living in hell.

The hell that began with his first marriage to the woman he’d loved for years. The hell that included watching her die, after she struggled to give birth to their child, and then losing the child, his son, within days. The hell that continued through another wife and another death and a betrothed and her death.

While Rurik had kept his daughter safe and sheltered, he’d failed three women.

No wonder he’d missed the changes in her as she reached womanhood.

He drank again trying to wash the bitter taste of those memories away and continued to watch the women discussing Jocelyn’s latest plan to improve the hall. He did not mind her ministrations, no matter that they reminded him that he had no wife to be in charge of his home, as his mother had done for his father. She saw that things were cleaned and repaired and freshened and they were usually tasks that he would never think of himself. Broc oversaw the important tasks a steward did—supplies, foodstuffs, livestock and such—but that left many less critical things undone. The empty platters were being removed when he drank the last of his ale.

‘Isobel, do you play chess?’ He knew her parents did as did his own sister and husband. Chances were Isobel did. Something within him pushed him to offer a challenge when she nodded. He wanted to speak to her, with her. ‘Play with me?’

‘Athdar, it has been a long day,’ Jocelyn answered before Isobel could. ‘On the morrow?’

Isobel responded as the well-behaved guest and lady would. ‘I must agree with Lady Jocelyn, Ath—my lord,’ she said quietly, as she slipped up and used his name in front of others. His body reacted to the hint of his name on her lips. Bloody hell to that!

‘We are kin here, Isobel,’ Jocelyn replied. ‘I am certain my brother has no objections to you calling him by his given name. We are families connected now.’ Jocelyn arched an eyebrow at him. As though he would refuse when he’d already given her leave to do so.

‘None, Jocelyn,’ he said. ‘You all must pardon my boorish ways. I should have remembered about your travels these last few days and not imposed.’ He stood and held out his hand to his sister. ‘I will see you in the morn.’

Athdar hugged Jocelyn and bowed to Margriet and Isobel and he waited for them to leave the table before sitting back down. As they walked towards the back of the hall and the chamber they would use, Isobel paused and looked around as though searching for something. He glanced to where she’d been sitting and saw her handkerchief on the table. Athdar grabbed it and walked towards her, holding it out.

‘You left this,’ he said.

‘If you will wait, I would like to play chess,’ she whispered.

He tried to hide his surprise, both at her acceptance of his invitation and her boldness in planning to return, clearly without her mother or his sister. If he did the right thing, it would be to order her to remain in her chambers until morn. If he did the right thing, it would mean lying awake another night. If he did the right thing... Damn! He always did the right thing.

‘I will be here.’

She turned and made her way back to where her mother waited and Athdar watched them leave, all the while smiling over this small transgression. Oh, Isobel was completely safe with him—he would never overstep with Rurik’s daughter and would never dawdle with an unmarried woman in a way that would call her honour, or his, into account. They were family, Jocelyn had said. So he would treat her as such.

And he would wait.

For her.

Chapter Five

Isobel lay on her cot in the darkness, listening to the sounds of her mother and the lady as they fell into sleep’s grasp and wondering at the boldness of her actions. Once their breathing grew deep and even, she waited a few more minutes and then climbed slowly and silently from under her bedcovers, pausing after each movement, committed to returning to the hall. It took her several more minutes to get off the cot, get dressed in her simplest gown and make it across the chamber to the door.

She did not know what madness claimed her in the moment when she told Athdar she would return, but it seemed simpler than contradicting Jocelyn and making it seem more important than it was. At the same time, she did want to see him and play against him...now, and not wait for another day. Their walk to Laria’s cottage had been pleasant and she’d managed to lose the nervousness that always plagued her when he was near.

Isobel lifted the latch with care and eased the door open. The hall lay quiet and in darkness. The hearth at the other end was the only thing giving off light to guide her path. She gathered her hair and tied it with a strip of leather and then inhaled a deep breath. Letting it out slowly, she took the first steps across the stone floor. As she grew closer, she saw a small table and two chairs arranged in front of the fire. Athdar stood, leaning his arm against the mantel of the hearth, staring up at the tapestry above it.

‘Did you help to repair that?’ he asked quietly. He had not acknowledged her arrival, so his words surprised her. Pleased that he had waited, she moved closer.

‘Aye. I worked with my mother, your sister and the others to fix it. It was unravelling there near this edge,’ she said, walking up next to him and pointing to the lower, closest corner of the large woven and embroidered piece. ‘Lady Jocelyn fixed the fraying bear and deer there.’

‘They were her favourites.’ He reached up and touched the edge of the tapestry before turning to face her. ‘She would tell tales about each of the animals after our mother finished them.’ He held out his hand and guided her to sit, still smiling at what must be pleasant memories.

Once they were seated, he held out a cup to her, one he had on a tray next to the board. She accepted it and sipped the watered ale.

The light of the low flames flashed to life for a moment and illuminated his face to her. For once, he lost the pain that she could see in his gaze and took on the look of the younger man she remembered from her childhood. She could imagine for a moment the adolescent who vexed his sister and his parents. The man before he...