“Yes,” he said softly as he continued to massage her hands. “That she is.”
There was a long pause. Isobel tried to decide what to say next, but her thoughts escaped her. She felt as if there was something Alasdair wished to say, some notion he felt it necessary to impart, so she held her tongue and waited.
“Ye are a great many things,” he said eventually. “Ye are stubborn. Ye are reckless. Ye walk into glens alone at dawn and come back with yer hands half frozen and act as though it’s unremarkable.”
“Itisunremarkable.”
“Isobel.” Her name in his mouth had a quality she had no defense for. “It is nae unremarkable.”
She looked up at him. He was very close, and his eyes were fixed on her face with the same intense focus he brought to everything. She realized then that the cold had been gone for some time. She was not sure when it had left, but she had an inkling that his body heat had warmed her thoroughly.
“Then say that,” she said quietly. “Say what you mean. Once. Just once.”
His jaw tightened. The thumb at her pulse stopped moving.
“I cannae,” he said.
“Why?”
He looked at her for a long moment. “Because I daenae ken what happens after,” he said.
She held his gaze and felt the truth of that land between them, the honesty of it unexpected and disarming, and she softened slightly.
“Neither do I,” she said.
He leaned in then, and she held her ground, feeling his warmth and the breathless tension of the moment. Then he stopped, close enough, and stayed there, his breath at her mouth.
Neither of them moved.
“Ye’ll nae let me,” he said. Not quite a question.
“You will not take more than I allow.”
He barked a gruff laugh. “Go inside, me Lady. Take Sarah those herbs. I’ll test yer limits soon enough.”
Chapter Sixteen
The council had been sitting for two hours, and Malcolm had been talking for most of it.
Alasdair had counted, at some point in the first hour, the number of times Malcolm used the wordloyalty. He had stopped counting at eleven. This was meant to be the last council meeting before his wedding to Isobel took place and Alasdair could not force his mind to focus on the matters at hand. His thoughts were consumed by his bride-to-be.
What is she doin’ right now?
He put the thought away.
“The Elders are watchin’ this household closely,” Malcolm said. He had his hands flat on the table, open and reasonable. “I say this nae as criticism but as counsel. The marriage was their decree. Its success, or its failure, reflects on all of us. On the clan. On what we have built here since Culloden.” He paused, lettingthat word do its work. “A Lowland bride whose father harbored fugitives is already a complication. If the Laird is seen to be, shall we say, distracted, by sentiment rather than strategy, the Elders will notice.”
The men around the table were very quiet. Alasdair could feel them not looking at him in a pointed fashion, as if it was an effort to avert their gazes.
“The lass’s faither made choices that cost good men their lives. I daenae say this to condemn her. She is nae her father. But the association exists, and association is what the Elders trade in.” He tilted his head slightly, his voice warming with concern. “I only raise it because the clan comes first. It has always come first. Any man in this room would say the same,” said Malcolm.
Several men in the room nodded. Alasdair noted which ones.
“Malcolm.” His own voice came out flat. The table went still.
Malcolm looked at him with his patient, open expression. “Aye.”
“Ye’ve been speakin’ for forty minutes.”