The Highlander's Lady Knight (Midsummer Knights Book 2) Read online

  Most of the men around him had belts that strained at the girth of their waists. An indication they feasted so luxuriously with regularity. That past winter, over a dozen of the Sutherland clan had perished from starvation. It was a terrible death, with one’s stomach so empty and their bodies wasted away to the skeleton.

  Cormac had been there to help bury them, those slender bodies that weighed too little. He knew all of their stories and had carved every one of their names into his heart, a burden he would never cease to carry.

  And here the nobility supped, belching through greasy mouths, reaching for more though their need for food had been sated.

  They did not know true hunger.

  “Are you well?” Lady Isolde asked.

  Cormac blinked. “Aye.”

  “Whatever were you thinking about?” She queried.

  He shook his head, not willing to speak of his people’s plight. And how terribly he’d failed them.

  For he had failed them. In the most awful of ways.

  “I tried to locate Lord Easton earlier.” He took a fat cut of pheasant with juicy white meat and golden-crisped skin, the best piece he could find, and set it on the plate in front of Lady Isolde.

  She allowed him to do so and thanked him. “Did you find my brother, then?”

  Cormac cut another piece from the pheasant, his knife piercing the browned, roasted skin, then slicing easily through the tender meat beneath. It was a far more generous portion than he allowed himself back home.

  “I couldna find yer brother,” Cormac confessed. “I searched through the waiting knights as well as the stands and tents. All to no avail.”

  She gave a little hum of acknowledgment and took a dainty bite of meat.

  “Why did he promise ye to Brodie Ross?” Cormac asked.

  Her brows flinched together, and he knew the question put her off.

  “I hear the melee on Friday will be one of the grandest in England,” she said in a casual tone.

  He didn’t question the change in topic any more than he did the light conversation she kept up through the meal. She commented on the food and several of the jousters she’d heard who had been successful that day. Everything she said steered away from any personal details of herself or her brother. Such omissions were indeed noticed.

  Still, he enjoyed the manner in which she spoke, how she noted things others might not and injected a bit of humor into details. And through it all, she’d slipped bites of meat down to Pip, who eagerly caught them in his sharp little teeth before they could land in the rushes.

  At last, the plates were cleared, and the tables at the other end of the Great Hall were set aside to make room for dancing.

  Lady Isolde’s gaze was fixed fully on him, wide blue eyes lashed with sable, her lips lifting slightly at the corners in a ghost of a smile that made him want to press his mouth to hers.

  “Will ye dance with me?” he asked.

  She looked to the cleared floor where several couples were already moving in tandem to the lilting music. A thoughtful expression crossed her face as if she were considering refusing his request.

  “Please?” he added, recalling Alan’s suggestion from the night before.

  Lady Isolde returned her attention to him and nodded. “Aye.”

  Cormac suppressed the jolt of elation at her acceptance and got to his feet, helping her stand as well. Pip leapt up to join them.

  “Go on and find Alan,” Cormac commanded.

  The dog’s ears lifted at Alan’s name and he immediately trotted off, licking his chops, his full belly round beneath golden fur.

  Cormac led Lady Isolde to the dance floor as the tune he knew drew to a close, and another song began. One whose steps he was unfamiliar with.

  Anxiety knotted in his stomach. He could not withdraw his request to dance with her, not after finally having her accept. There would be nothing for it but to manage through the steps and hope he didn’t make himself appear a total fool.

  6

  Isolde stood across from Cormac in preparation for the dance. She could have declined his offer, and he would no doubt have left her to pursue her own endeavors. She could have been free to return to her room where she didn’t have to fear being disturbed by Brodie or any other potential suitor.

  But there had been something in the softening of his green eyes when he asked her to dance, and how his dimple had appeared when he added “please.” The wine she’d consumed had left a delightful heat thrumming in her veins, and she’d been so drawn to him at that moment, she hadn't been able to decline.

  She curtseyed as the dance began, and he belatedly offered a bow a second behind the other men. She stepped toward him as the dance dictated, and he rushed to meet her in the middle, his hand thrusting in a rushed motion toward hers. His palm was nearly twice the size of hers and hot against the light touch of her fingertips.

  “You don’t know the steps, do you?” She asked in a teasing tone.

  He gave her a sheepish smile, an endearing expression on such an imposing and confident man. “No’ to this dance.”

  She spoke in a low whisper meant only for him. “We’re going to do a turn and then go back to the places where we started. Then we will do it all over again.”

  He shot her a grateful smile and followed her instructions.

  “Why is it you wished to speak to my brother?” She kept her fingers locked in his strong grasp while they moved around one another in a slow circle.

  “I want to know why he would let a man like Brodie be promised to ye in the first place.” Sutherland stepped back to the original position.

  Isolde mouthed the word “bow” as she curtsied to him. He complied. They straightened and came together once more. There was a pleasantly masculine scent about him, the light spice of sandalwood and the underlying smell of leather. “Do you have a sister, Sutherland?”

  “Nay. I have only a twin brother.”

  “Then I think you don’t understand how a sister can be such a powerful bargaining tool.” She tried to keep the bitterness from her tone.

  Sutherland was quiet for a moment as they circled one another again.

  “Pause a moment after this so the couple beside us may turn on the next round,” she whispered.

  He nodded, and they returned to their original places once more. After the couple beside them had completed their slow circle, Isolde and Sutherland came together once more.

  His gaze fell upon her with thoughtful consideration. “I think if I had a sister, I would consider her more than chattel to be traded to the highest bidder.”

  Isolde lifted her brows and did not bother to give voice to her skepticism. She appreciated his noble words, even as she took them with a note of disbelief.

  “It appears yer brother has had a change of heart in yer union and issued a challenge to Brodie.” The lingering of Sutherland’s eyes on her told her he wished to know more.

  She waited for him to ask, but he did not.

  As they separated in the dance, she realized she had forgotten to give him the instructions for the next dance steps. He bowed to her when he should have remained in place. His mistake was easily noted and caused the other dancers to look in his direction.

  He maintained a stoic air, but once everyone’s attention fell away, he grimaced with apparent discomfort.

  “You don’t like to dance, do you?” she asked.

  He smirked. “Is it so obvious?”

  She shrugged, not wishing to be cruel. “Why did you ask me if you don’t care for dancing?”

  “I was enjoying my time with ye,” he offered in the same shy manner as he’d spoken with earlier when he asked her to dance. “I wasna ready to walk away from ye.”

  Isolde’s cheeks went hot. “Even though my honor is in question?”

  The steps separated them at that moment, and she turned her attention away from him rather than witness what expression might be on his face. Mayhap it was scorn or pity or disgust or curiosity. Her stomach clen
ched with unease. She should not have spoken.

  When they came together again, he gently touched her underneath the chin and forced her to look up at him. Concern. It was concern shadowing his eyes. “Did Brodie harm ye?”

  “Not in the way you think.” Isolde lifted her face from Sutherland’s touch with defiance. “He made it look as though he had defiled me. And being a woman, all it takes is a rumor or a staged image to ruin her reputation. My account was not believed, and I was betrothed to a man who had set out to trick my brother into allowing him to have my hand in marriage.”

  That wasn’t the whole of it, of course. Anger burned through her anew. He’d said it had been Gilbert’s idea. But why? And Gilbert had gotten something from their deal as well. What had it been?

  “The path of a woman isna an easy one,” Sutherland said softly as they stepped apart. “I’d like to help.”

  The final notes of the melody drew to a close, and the couples around them dispersed. Sutherland approached her and offered her his arm, as noble as any English knight.

  Skepticism prodded Isolde’s mind as she accepted his gallant gesture. “How do you intend to help?” Was this where he would offer to marry her? A magnanimous proposal to save her? One that would make him a wealthy man?

  “I’d like to fight Brodie in Lord Easton’s stead,” he said.

  She frowned. “Do you think my brother incapable of defending my honor?”

  He shook his head as though in self-chastisement and cleared his throat. “It isna that I think yer brother incapable. ’Tis only that I feel I am a stronger fighter. I want to ensure ye remain safe.”

  This was most likely when he would suggest marriage to her in exchange for his aid.

  Only the request did not arise. He led her to the Great Hall’s exit, as though he knew she wished for nothing more than to return to her rooms.

  Matilda caught sight of them from across the room and began the long walk toward them.

  “’Tis kind of you to offer,” Isolde said.

  “Ye shouldna be forced into marriage to someone ye dinna want.” His square jaw flexed, and he studied her face for a long moment.

  Their proximity was so close that her skin tingled with the heat coming off his body. She couldn’t help but observe him as he did her, noting the seriousness of his handsome face and how powerfully strong his chest was. She recalled how she had longed to rest against him earlier that day when he’d saved her and was once more struck with a pang of longing.

  “Will ye ask yer brother if I may defend yer honor tomorrow?” There was an intimate silkiness to his brogue that sent a delightful ripple over her skin.

  “He’s stubborn,” she cautioned. “And will do well enough on his own.”

  Sutherland’s lips pressed against one another in a manner that suggested he did not wish to share what was in his thoughts.

  “What is it?” She pressed.

  “’Tis Lord Easton,” he answered with great hesitation. “I fear he may not be strong enough to defeat Brodie.”

  The pleasant prickle on her skin chilled with fear. She tried to shrug it off as she thanked him for his concern and departed the Great Hall with Matilda. But even as she tried to push away his warning, it seeped into her thoughts and turned them dark with apprehension.

  The following day might bring her freedom, aye. But for the first time, she was forced to acknowledge the realization that the battle might also bring her death.

  Cormac was rather proud of himself. He was no smooth-talking courtier like Graham, but he’d done quite well with Isolde that evening. Up to the point where he mentioned the possibility of her brother’s death, that is.

  He groaned aloud, a sound that was swallowed up by the music and raucous noise around him. He was a damn fool.

  He didn’t need to be a courtier to know his warning was the least romantic thing he could have possibly said. And yet it was true. Lord Easton was a trained fighter with considerable skill and an enviable dexterity. His strength, however, was lacking. Especially against such an opponent as Brodie.

  Prior to Cormac’s blunder, the dance had been more pleasant than he’d anticipated. Even with his missteps and ignorance of the moves. He had relished Isolde’s smiles and how she had kindly informed him of what moves to prepare for. Her eyes sparkled at him when she danced, reminding him of the sun when it glittered off the sea.

  More than anything, however, it was the nearness of her that had given him the most enjoyment.

  She wore a delicate rose scent that made him want to bring her closer and breathe her in while stroking a caress down the smoothness of her skin. Her hands had been soft against his. The rest of her would be too. If he ran a finger down her cheek, he knew she would feel like a sun-warmed rose petal. She’d worn her auburn hair back in a braid with a gold circlet fastened around her head.

  Movement out of the corner of Cormac’s eye caught his attention. Alan. He stood at the opposite end of the long aisle with Pip sitting obediently at his side. Alan waved again, and a flicker of irritation tightened over Cormac at being summoned.

  However, Alan’s insistence most likely meant he had discovered information about Brodie Ross. Information Cormac was eager to learn.

  He took one last glance down the hallway where Isolde and her maid were departing the feast before he quit the Great Hall, exiting into the cool night. He scanned the area for his self-appointed mercenary, finding Alan tucked in a quiet, dark corner.

  Cormac joined him in the shadows.

  “You were right about the Ross clan.” Alan glanced around to ensure no one was listening. “They’re up to something.”

  The news did not surprise Cormac. There had been a twinge of knowing in his gut the moment he’d discovered Brodie and his brothers were to attend an English tournament. “Does it have anything to do with Lady Isolde?”

  Alan shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

  Relief eased some of Cormac’s tension. He had hoped she wouldn’t be involved, especially considering her contract to wed Brodie Ross. But then, her brother would not call out Brodie over Lady Isolde’s honor if he were actively involved.

  While the nobles were inside with their cultured music and refined entertainment, the servants were enjoying their freedom outside. No tables needed to be moved in the open space for a dance floor, not when the grass around served the purpose well enough. A man on a mandolin, accompanied by two others on a pipe and a drum, rivaled the music within the castle with a jig that got everyone moving.

  There were no fine steps for this dance, but a wild stamping of feet and moving of bodies in time with the thrum of the beat. It was all a great distraction from where Cormac and Alan spoke in the clandestine corner.

  “Do ye know the details of their involvement?” Cormac asked.

  Alan’s mouth tightened at the corners. “It has to do with Prince John.”

  There had been talk of a plan to put the prince on the throne. It was a risky, foolish venture that would most likely cost many their lives for their parts in such treason.

  Cormac lowered his voice. “Do ye think they’re part of the coup to overthrow King Richard?”

  Alan nodded in response. “Aye, I overheard one of their servants speaking to another noble’s squire about the impossibility of one hundred and fifty thousand marks being raised to ensure his release.”

  King Richard, the true king of England, had been taken captive by the Holy Roman Emperor as he returned home from the last Crusade. Already John had tried to claim that his brother had died on the journey, a lie told in an attempt to claim the throne.

  The Scottish were notorious for having a tumultuous relationship with the English. While John had the backing of France, a country whose loyalty had recently extended to Scotland, it didn’t surprise Cormac one bit that the Rosses would stoop to such a level as to overthrow a king for their own benefit.

  “I’m sure comments on the attempt to raise funds for the ransom warranted a few grumbles.” Cor
mac snorted.

  Alan rolled his eyes in agreement. Nobles were feeling the emptiness in their own purses in light of Eleanor of Aquitaine’s attempt to scrape together the funds to recover her son, King Richard.

  “Was there anything else?” Cormac asked.

  Pip leaned heavily against Alan’s leg, resulting in the mercenary stretching a hand down to pat his dog. “Nothing for now.”

  There would be more, of course. They both knew it. Treachery often ran deep and had more tunnels than a termite’s nest.

  “Ye did a fine job, Alan.” Cormac nodded his appreciation toward his new mercenary.

  Alan’s face lit up, and his skinny chest puffed out. “I’m glad to have pleased you, sir. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Cormac folded his arms over his chest and watched the crowd dancing wildly to an English tune he was unfamiliar with. “Inform Duncan and Lachlan of what ye’ve told me and keep an eye on the Ross clan, especially Brodie. And if ye hear from my brother, ensure he knows as well, aye?”

  Alan’s jaw set with determination, and even Pip straightened to attention at his master’s side. “I won’t let you down, sir.”

  Something about Lady Isolde being promised to Brodie still churned in Cormac’s gut. Aye, her brother was defending her honor now, but why?

  Cormac recalled the scene where Lord Easton had challenged Brodie, the way the English lord had clenched his slender hand into a fist after having removed his gauntlet. The action stuck in Cormac’s mind for some reason, and a note of unease nipped at the back of his mind.

  There was something amiss.

  While he didn’t know what it was exactly, he vowed to arrive on the practice field the following morning in time to watch the battle for Lady Isolde’s honor. While there, he would try to convince the earl to allow him to fight instead.

  That failing, he wanted to be there to ensure the Englishman didn’t get killed. And if he did, at least someone could be there to protect Lady Isolde. Regardless of how the events transpired the following day, Cormac knew blood would be shed. He only hoped that not too much of it belonged to the Earl of Easton.