Page 12 of Dark Side of the Laird
The woman had the nerve to raise her chin, her shoulders straightening. “Ye’re so confident. So sure of yourself,” she spat, fire blazing daggers from her eyes. “Ye may be the Guardian of Scotland, the bearer of some great secrets, but ye’re also a man. A man who has to obey his sovereign like the rest of us.”
“Aye,” I drawled out.
“Your sovereign says ye’ll be married to me.”
I narrowed my eyes studying her. She could have been beautiful if she weren’t such a cold-hearted bitch. There was something about this woman that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. She was cunning, but she was also a permanent resident of MacDonald’s pocket, and that man wanted me dead.
“I see no contract, my lady. The king has left Gealach. He’s left ye here. And he did not leave any betrothal documents behind.”
She blanched, her face going whiter than the snow that was likely to fall in the next couple of weeks. “He will return,” she said quickly.
“Aye.” I shrugged. “But when? Sometimes months, years go by between his visits.”
Her mouth fell open and she slammed it closed, bristling beneath the surface. It wouldn’t be too long before the real Lady Isabella revealed herself. Her body grew rigid, and she stared up at me with as much venom as I’d seen in her uncle when he’d glared at me from within my dungeon walls before he broke free. Her eyes, they were similar to his, and come to think of it, she looked more like MacDonald than I’d thought. I wouldn’t be surprised at all to find out that Lady Isabella wasn’t a niece of MacDonald’s at all, but a daughter. The bastard had been trying for years to get me to marry one of them, uniting us. But I knew the true reasons for his offer—he wanted my position so he could slay the king.
And he would go about any means doing it—even if it meant using his own flesh and blood.
A flood of pity filled my gut. The lass standing so stoic and vicious before me was nothing more than a pawn. Used by her family to gain what they needed, wanted.
“What do ye want, Isabella?” I asked her with all sincerity knowing full well, whatever answer I got was going to be far from the truth.
“To do my duty.”
I sighed. It was a lost cause, and I couldn’t waste my anger on her, there was much to do. “We all have duties, my lady, but we all also have choices.” Something I’d learned from Emma. She’d struggled with choice for the majority of her adult life. Emma had revealed to me that we were all products of our choices, for even when it seemed we weren’t in charge of our lives, we still had choices we could make within those bounds. Emma was intelligent, with a heart that was bigger than life itself, and when she’d arrived, she’d been so frail. Beaten down and told she was worthless. I knew better from the start, there was something inside that told me she was special. Beyond the intense urge I had to spread her thighs, I respected her so much, loved her beyond measure.
Isabella scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Choice is a word men use. Women have no use for it.”
“Sounds as though ye’ve been listening to too many ignorant men.”
“I should take offense to that.”
“If it pleases.”
She glared at me. “Why do ye speak to me this way?”
“What way?” I backed off, no longer needing to threaten her or invade her space, at least not at the moment.
“Ye were cold to me afore, and now ye’re being…” She chewed her lip. “’Tis a trick?”
Good God, had no one ever been nice to her before?
“’Haps ye will come to find out in life that not everything is always so black and white,” I said. “Sometimes, there can be a middle ground.”
“To what are ye referring? If ye’re speaking of our marriage, then there is no gray, nor is there black or white. There is only one color—the king’s will.”
“Ye are that loyal to King James?”
“Why shouldn’t I be?” That flicker of fear reared in her eyes once more.
“Need I spell it out?”
“Suppose ye do.”
“Ye’re a MacDonald, my lady.”
“And my uncle is very close to the king.”
“Aye, but is he loyal?”
