03 Prince of Danger by Amanda Scott

Author:Amanda Scott [Scott, Amanda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0446616680
Publisher: Forever
Published: 2005-11-04T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Michael paused in the act of removing his nether garments and straightened again to look down at Isobel, his most trusted instincts warring against each other. On the one hand, instinct told him she was telling the truth as she knew it. But a similar reliable instinct had told him he could trust Hector Reaganach, the admiral, and the Lord of the Isles. Logically, either the Maclean twins and MacDonald knew naught of this madness, or Isobel was mistaken.

Wondering how patient the others awaiting them would be, he glanced at the door, but he had securely barred it, and he did not think they would interrupt him without better cause than their own impatience. Deciding that that did not matter anyway when it was his life and hers that were at stake, he held his peace long enough to finish undressing and to climb into bed beside her.

When she shrank from him, he said, “I was mistaken, sweetheart. ’Tis clear that we need to discuss this matter further before we proceed, but I would like to hold you, if I may, whilst we do.”

“Then you believe me,” she said on a note of relief that reinforced his judgment that she believed what she said.

“I do. Now, come here to me.” He stretched out his arm invitingly, remaining silent until she had scooted closer and laid her head in the hollow of his shoulder. Drawing her nearer yet, he stroked her bare arm with his fingertips, delighting again in the silky smoothness of her skin and hoping she would soon lose her tension and be at ease with him. Quietly, he said, “Tell me again how Lady Mariota died.”

She hesitated as though choosing her words, then said, “There is a cliff above the castle.”

“Above Chalamine?”

“Nay, here at Ardtornish. They call it Creag nan Corp.”

“Aye, sure, I’ve heard of it,” he said. “’Tis MacDonald’s punishment rock, but surely, your sister was no felon cast to her death on the rocks beneath it.”

“No,” Isobel said. “We . . . we were on the cliffs one day—Cristina, Mariota, and I—and . . .” Her hesitation this time lasted longer, but he waited, then grimaced when she added in a rush, “Mariota and I fell off. We caught hold of shrubbery, but Cristina could only reach me. Mariota . . .” She fell silent again, her lips pressed tightly together as if she dared not trust her voice any further.

He shuddered at the thought that he might so easily never have met her. Turning to his side, still holding her close, he looked into her eyes and wished he had left the curtains open so that he could see her expression more clearly. He had a feeling that his change of position made her uncomfortable, but he did not think that discomfort stemmed from sexual fear of him.

Her gaze shifted from his, and knowing that the subject was uncomfortable for her, he said only, “That must have been terrifying for you.”

“Aye, for I was but twelve at the time.

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