bedchamber.
He could not allow himself to fall prey to her comeliness.
Nor dare he let himself be influenced by the disturbing aura of susceptibility that enveloped her at times, despite her obvious grace and courage.
She peered intently at him and he couldn't help but notice the faint purple smudges beneath her eyes. To his great annoyance, the barely there shadows only underscored the air of vulnerability he was fighting so hard not to be affected by.
"You spoke of needs," he said, holding her gaze but willing himself not to truly see her. "I, too, have needs most urgent. Detaining me ill suits my purposes and your own as well."
Donall struggled to contain his wrath over the chaos that could soon erupt at Baldoon. Iain would keep a cool head only so long. "Having me put to death before a jeering circle of feeble-witted graybeards will spell endless grief for your clan. 'Tis a consequence you should well consider.”
Her far too appealing look of injured innocence evaporated at once and a flare of pure indignation blazed in her gold-flecked eyes. "Think you I am unaware of the folly of executing a MacLean?" She appeared to thrum with agitation. "Most especially the laird."
Donall shrugged. "So you mean to intercede on my behalf at the execution?'
“There will be no execution," she said, her obvious discomfiture announcing how much she resented making such a revelation. "I have other plans for you."
The giant's cryptic words rang again in Donall's ears but he strove to ignore them. The notion was too preposterous to bear even a seed of possibility.
More absurd than the wildest tales the most highly skilled fili could spin in a hundred endless winter nights.
Stifling an inexplicable urge to laugh at the outrageous images parading through his mind, Donall forced himself to look disinterested.
Mayhap even a bit bored.
"Other plans?" he spoke at last, casually lifting a brow to emphasize his indifference.
She nodded. "A covenant."
"A covenant ?" An odd sinking feeling coupled with a distinctly perverse sense of hilarity soundly conquered his pretense of nonchalance.
He could almost see her redheaded dolt of a henchman looming up behind her, admonishing him to "be gentle with her" lest he wished his bones ground to powder.
"What manner of covenant?" Not that he cared to know.
Isolde MacInnes drew a deep breath. "A pact of peace. A plan to ensure the long-lasting harmony my father sought and my sister died trying to achieve."
Somewhere in the distance, thunder boomed. The low rumbles jarred the shutters and echoed off the walls, allowing Donall the brief respite he needed to gather his wits.
She could not possibly mean what he suspected.
No maid as exquisite as Isolde of Dunmuir would barter herself.
Not even for peace.
"... the sooner certain conditions have been met," she was saying, seemingly unaware of the odious tang still tainting her breath, "the sooner you and Gavin MacFie may leave."
"I shall leave, your ladyship, the instant the first opportunity affords itself," he vowed. "And I vouchsafe Sir Gavin would tell you the same. Regardless of whatever conditions you think to suffer upon us."
Two spots of bright red appeared on her cheeks. "Only you must fulfill my conditions. I want naught from Gavin MacFie," she said in a huff, and Donall inhaled another whiff of whate'er wretched brew she'd swallowed.
The pestiferous scent, her own words, and those of her oversized oaf of a guardsman combined to paint lewd and outlandish images in Donall's mind.
The laughter he'd been repressing all evening escaped him at last.
Isolde MacInnes's lovely eyes widened at his mirth, and the two spots of color on her cheeks suffused into a dull red flush that slowly spread clear across her pretty face.
"Lady, if you seek to bring about peace by the method I am sorely beginning to suspect you have in mind, namely by offering your bonnie self to me as my bride, then I must beg you not to imbibe any more of your
He could not allow himself to fall prey to her comeliness.
Nor dare he let himself be influenced by the disturbing aura of susceptibility that enveloped her at times, despite her obvious grace and courage.
She peered intently at him and he couldn't help but notice the faint purple smudges beneath her eyes. To his great annoyance, the barely there shadows only underscored the air of vulnerability he was fighting so hard not to be affected by.
"You spoke of needs," he said, holding her gaze but willing himself not to truly see her. "I, too, have needs most urgent. Detaining me ill suits my purposes and your own as well."
Donall struggled to contain his wrath over the chaos that could soon erupt at Baldoon. Iain would keep a cool head only so long. "Having me put to death before a jeering circle of feeble-witted graybeards will spell endless grief for your clan. 'Tis a consequence you should well consider.”
Her far too appealing look of injured innocence evaporated at once and a flare of pure indignation blazed in her gold-flecked eyes. "Think you I am unaware of the folly of executing a MacLean?" She appeared to thrum with agitation. "Most especially the laird."
Donall shrugged. "So you mean to intercede on my behalf at the execution?'
“There will be no execution," she said, her obvious discomfiture announcing how much she resented making such a revelation. "I have other plans for you."
The giant's cryptic words rang again in Donall's ears but he strove to ignore them. The notion was too preposterous to bear even a seed of possibility.
More absurd than the wildest tales the most highly skilled fili could spin in a hundred endless winter nights.
Stifling an inexplicable urge to laugh at the outrageous images parading through his mind, Donall forced himself to look disinterested.
Mayhap even a bit bored.
"Other plans?" he spoke at last, casually lifting a brow to emphasize his indifference.
She nodded. "A covenant."
"A covenant ?" An odd sinking feeling coupled with a distinctly perverse sense of hilarity soundly conquered his pretense of nonchalance.
He could almost see her redheaded dolt of a henchman looming up behind her, admonishing him to "be gentle with her" lest he wished his bones ground to powder.
"What manner of covenant?" Not that he cared to know.
Isolde MacInnes drew a deep breath. "A pact of peace. A plan to ensure the long-lasting harmony my father sought and my sister died trying to achieve."
Somewhere in the distance, thunder boomed. The low rumbles jarred the shutters and echoed off the walls, allowing Donall the brief respite he needed to gather his wits.
She could not possibly mean what he suspected.
No maid as exquisite as Isolde of Dunmuir would barter herself.
Not even for peace.
"... the sooner certain conditions have been met," she was saying, seemingly unaware of the odious tang still tainting her breath, "the sooner you and Gavin MacFie may leave."
"I shall leave, your ladyship, the instant the first opportunity affords itself," he vowed. "And I vouchsafe Sir Gavin would tell you the same. Regardless of whatever conditions you think to suffer upon us."
Two spots of bright red appeared on her cheeks. "Only you must fulfill my conditions. I want naught from Gavin MacFie," she said in a huff, and Donall inhaled another whiff of whate'er wretched brew she'd swallowed.
The pestiferous scent, her own words, and those of her oversized oaf of a guardsman combined to paint lewd and outlandish images in Donall's mind.
The laughter he'd been repressing all evening escaped him at last.
Isolde MacInnes's lovely eyes widened at his mirth, and the two spots of color on her cheeks suffused into a dull red flush that slowly spread clear across her pretty face.
"Lady, if you seek to bring about peace by the method I am sorely beginning to suspect you have in mind, namely by offering your bonnie self to me as my bride, then I must beg you not to imbibe any more of your
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