Page 53 of Devil Black

“As if I would appeal to that trumped-up bastard!” Dougal fairly shouted the words, his rage overflowing. “I take care of my own troubles and fight my own battles.”

“And how are you doing at that, Brother?” Meg asked nastily. “MacNab has you in a slip knot. If you ride out with a band of men to meet him fairly, at arms, he will melt away and you will find no enemy.”

“At least that may keep the villain clear of my borders.” Dougal looked at Lachlan. “We will ride out at dawn—until then, let him freeze his balls off in the cold. I have fallen men to honor, and clansfolk to comfort.”

Isobel whispered, “What comfort can you give them?”

Dougal’s profile grew hard as iron. “All a laird has to offer—his vow to provide for them so long as I am able.”

A chill of apprehension snaked its way up Isobel’s spine. “Might you lose your lands over this? Could you lose everything?”

All three of them stared at her. Dougal pivoted on his heel to face her. “No one takes my lands!” he declared. “I may lose my honor, my standing, my head, but MacRae lands, where MacRae blood has been spilled, will remain. ’Tis a sacred trust.”

Isobel nodded. She had thought her father obsessed with the lands he oversaw in Yorkshire, lands that had come to him as her Scottish mother’s dowry, no doubt a throw-away entitlement on her maternal grandfather’s part. For, as she had come to see upon acquaintance with her husband, Scotsmen did not part with Scottish lands. The Yorkshire holding, profitable as it might be, had never belonged to her grandfather’s ancestors and was not tied to him by blood.

Looking at her husband now, Isobel saw MacNab might as well steal his limbs as deprive him of his lands—or emasculate him. Isobel needed to understand his feelings, and how deep they ran.

She lifted her chin and looked him in the eyes. “There is another solution.”

Impatient and enraged, Dougal barely acknowledged her. “Aye? How is that?”

“I could give MacNab what he wants, what he says he wants, that is, and stop this horror where it stands, before any more blood is shed.”

“You?” Dougal’s smoke-grey eyes narrowed in an unfriendly way. “Again, how?”

“By handing myself over to him.” The words sounded bolder and far braver than Isobel felt. In truth, the very idea sickened her and made her heart beat high up in her throat. Yet she found she would be willing to do even this, for his sake.

Meg gasped, and Lachlan’s head swiveled toward Isobel violently. But Isobel barely spared a glance for them. She continued to gaze into her husband’s eyes, looking for something she failed to see. Acknowledgement? Gratitude? Affection? Isobel’s heart clenched in disappointment.

What she did see was a flare of rage so bright it seared her. “You wish to leave me?” he roared. “Despite all you said? Now that he looks to prove victorious, would you rather throw in your lot with my fiercest enemy?”

“No!”

He reached out with one arm and cleared the table beside which they stood, sweeping it of cups, bottles, papers, and a candle that flared before going out.

“You decide your chances look better with MacNab, is that it? You look to abandon the ship I sail? You believe I shall be bested—again?”

“No, I—” Isobel’s heart fluttered, and she struggled for words in the face of what she now saw flare in his eyes.

He lowered his voice to an edge of danger, cutting as a blade. “Or is it you would simply prefer his bed to mine?”

Isobel reacted without thought and lashed out, intending to strike him. He caught her wrist before she could land the blow, and held her tight.

“So it is to be that way, is it? By how many means will you punish me?”

“You misunderstand me,” Isobel cried, not even attempting to struggle against his bruising grasp. “But you will not listen, stubborn savage that you are.”

He sneered into her face, “I am not in the mood to listen.”

“I can see that.” From the corner of her eye, Isobel saw Meg grab Lachlan’s sleeve, pull him to his feet and tow him from the room. Save for the guard who doubtless waited outside the door, she and her husband were alone.

“Can we not speak reasonably?” she appealed. “Can we not try?”

He swore and released her, turning away to the fire, giving her his back. “If you wish to leave me, do it,” he growled.

“I do not wish to leave you.” How could she tell him she wanted anything before that, and given the choice would sooner die than go to MacNab?

“If you wish to leave me go,” he repeated, “but I will never see you released to MacNab. Go to your father if you must—or to hell—but I will fight to the death before I see you in that animal’s hands.”