'I would not have a long-standing friendship broken because of the actions of a coward like Taggart,' her brother went on.
'Rest assured that it won't be,' replied Ban. 'What happened was most unfortunate but it was none of your doing, my lord.'
'None the less I am truly sorry for it.' Hugh looked at Davy as he spoke. 'I hope it has not coloured your view of our hospitality.'
Davy met his eye and held it. 'I bear Castlemora no ill will, my lord.'
'I would not have you do so for the world.'
With that Hugh moved to speak with the younger man, drawing Jock and Ewan into the conversation as well. All three had relaxed now and participated with evident goodwill. Isabella regarded her brother with pride. Once again he looked and sounded every inch the laird. It gave her real hope for the future.
'Your brother is an accomplished host,' said Ban.
'I thank you, yes.' She gave him a wry smile. 'He is right though, and I too would repeat my regret over what happened today.'
'There is not the least occasion for you to do so,' he replied. 'The matter is over and best forgotten.'
It was magnanimous and she was both relieved and grateful. The incident could so easily have resulted in the destruction of all her hopes.
'You are generous,' she said. 'Such affairs as this can cause blood feuds that last for generations.'
'I want no blood feud between Glengarron and Castlemora. As your brother says, the relationship is too valuable to jeopardise.' He surveyed her steadily. 'Rather, I intend to make the bond very much stronger.'
The allusion was plain, and once again she was reminded that their forthcoming betrothal was about business and politics. It saddened her that it should be so but it was the way of the world. In such affairs as these, men followed their heads not their hearts.
Chapter Seven
As the morning of their betrothal dawned Isabelle found it harder to maintain her composure. It was bad enough that her entire future depended on this arrangement. The manner of it made everything infinitely worse. She wouldn't even have the benefit of darkness to hide her blushes. That wouldn't trouble Ban, of course. The memory of their first meeting demonstrated as much. No doubt he would enjoy this.
Indignation came to the rescue and rallied her a little. When first the plan had been mooted it had been in her mind to dress plainly for the occasion but gradually vanity won out. She had no idea if Ban would even notice, but a fine gown would boost her morale a little, and heaven knew it needed boosting. To that end she arranged her hair into a becoming style as well.
Eventually she was as ready as she would ever be. Gathering all her courage she took a deep breath and made her way to her father's quarters.
Both men were already there when she arrived. She noted that Ban had changed his clothes for the occasion and was now wearing a tunic of dark red wool over a fine linen shirt and dark hose. A tooled leather belt was fastened about his waist. The effect was to make him look more imposing than ever.
For a moment he surveyed her in silence and then made her a formal bow. 'You look beautiful, my lady.'
'I am glad my lord approves.'
'I think the man would have to be dead who could not approve.'
Archibald Graham's craggy features assumed a faint smile. Then he gestured to the prie-dieu across the room. 'Shall we proceed?'
Ban took Isabelle's hand and led her to the small wooden altar. Then he knelt, drawing her down beside him. Her father bound their wrists loosely with a strip of cloth. It took only a short time to give their mutual consent to the betrothal and make the required promises. Then Ban slid a ring on her finger, a fine gold band set with garnets.
Archibald Graham bade them rise. 'It is done. You may kiss your betrothed.'
Ban leaned closer, his gaze holding hers for a moment. Then his lips brushed hers. It was a light and gentle caress; she might almost have said reassuring. Had he intended it thus? In truth there was very little of reassurance in the situation now.
Her father poured wine from the jug on the table and handed them each a cup before taking his own.
'Let us drink to your union . May it be long, happy and fruitful.'
Isabelle drank obediently, hoping that the wine would take the edge off her nerves. She told herself it was ridiculous to feel nervous: she was no blushing virgin. She knew what to expect and it would soon be over. Next time would be easier. She darted a glance at the man who was now, effectively, her husband. He had given his promise not to hurt her. Things could be a lot worse. All she had to be was compliant. Eventually she might even be able please him.
Ban had not missed that swift anxious glance and guessed at some of the thoughts that lay behind it. I will do what I must. His fair betrothed appeared to have reservations about sharing his bed, reservations he intended to banish very soon. While the situation wasn't what he'd have chosen, there was no reason why it should prove to be anything other than enjoyable for both of them.
Archibald Graham tossed back his wine and set down the cup. 'I'll leave you in peace. Just lock the door after me.'
With that he departed. With thumping heart Isabelle looked on as Ban turned the key in the lock. They were alone. For a moment or two neither of them spoke. Then he rejoined her and the room shrank around them until there was only the man and the bed. She tensed. He removed the cup from her hand and took her in his arms, his lips brushing hers, light, tentative, searching. Her heartbeat accelerated uncomfortably. Suddenly what had seemed like a mere practical detail began to assume an altogether different character. She closed her eyes, telling herself it was his right. He wanted a son; in order to get one he needed to get her with child. All she had to do was comply. She swallowed hard and a light sheen of sweat broke on her forehead. In her mind's eye she could hear Alistair Neil's voice: Lie down on the bed as I have commanded you... Her entire body stiffened. Hard on the heels of that response was panic. If she didn't please this man, or at least give him what he wanted, she was finished.
Ban felt her tense and drew back, sensing her unease. 'What is it, Isabelle?'
'I... Nothing. Forgive me. It's just the suddenness of it all.'
'It takes a bit of getting used to, doesn't it?' He smiled faintly. 'And you have the advantage of me since I was never betrothed before.'
'My advantage is not so great, my lord.'
'Are you referring to previous or present experience?'
'I was thinking of what went before.'
He nodded. 'This must be a marked contrast: no celebration or public feasting, no wine or toasting.'
It wasn't what she meant but wasn't able to enlighten him just then. 'Such things make little difference in the end.'
'Perhaps not and yet I think this is not what you might have expected.'
'I had no expectations before this.'
'And now?'
'I hope for the best.'
'As do I.'
He drew her closer once more. Isabelle shivered, partly in fear and partly in anticipatory dread. This man was an unknown quantity and his touch aroused sensations that were entirely foreign to her; sensations that only heightened her uneasiness. He reached for the fastenings of her girdle and, unhurriedly, began to undress her. Her girdle fell to the floor, followed shortly afterwards by her gown. He drew off the linen kirtle beneath until only her shift remained, then picked her up and carried her across to the bed. Without taking his eyes off her he divested himself of tunic and shirt revealing the hard-muscled torso beneath. Her heart began to slam against her ribs like an unlatched door in a storm wind.
He came to join her, his hands on her waist drawing her closer. She could feel their warmth through the thin fabric. He bent his head so that his lips brushed hers, gently teasing at first and then gradually becoming more persuasive. She could feel the start of his arousal against her thigh. And his face faded and became Alistair Neil's: You'll take whatever I give you and like it... Isabelle froze, then tore her mouth away, panting.
Ban frowned. 'What's the matter, sweetheart?'
'I can't. I thought I could but I can't.' She struggled in his hold. 'Please...'
Almost immediately she found herself free. Only too aware of the piercing blue gaze she turned away in acute embarrassment.
He frowned. 'Look at me, Isabelle.'
Slowly, reluctantly she obeyed.
'What are you afraid of? You must know I'm not going to hurt you.'
'I...I can't explain.' She swallowed hard. 'I'm so sorry.'
Ban lay back on the bed and for a moment or two he was silent. She cringed inwardly. What must he be thinking? What would he do now? To deny a man his rights was madness. It could only invite his wrath and an angry man was dangerous. She'd had her chance. Instead of seizing it she had just laid herself wide open to a beating and then rape. Had experience taught her nothing? She took a deep breath, mentally calling herself all kinds of fool.