His Lady of Castlemora(37)

'Unbind your hair.'

She drew the braid over her shoulder and untied the ribbon, aware of his  gaze following her every move. Slowly she undid the heavy plait and  shook her hair free. It flowed over her back and shoulders like auburn  fire. Ban unlatched his belt and laid it aside, then pulled off his  tunic and shirt. She could see the new scars on his shoulder and ribs,  livid in the sunlight. Unhurriedly he unfastened his breeks...

* * *

Later they lay together in sated stillness, drowsy and utterly content.  Through half-closed eyes he studied her carefully, drinking in every  detail of her face, the soft hollow of her neck and shoulder, the  swelling breasts and delicate pink nipples. Her skin was smooth and pale  as alabaster. His gaze travelled lower to her waist and the curve of  her hip and triangle of hair that covered her sex, the same shade as the  fiery auburn tresses now carelessly spread across his cloak, and then  lingered a moment on her belly. Perhaps his seed had already taken root  in her. Perhaps even now she was carrying his child.

Isabelle's eyes fluttered open and she smiled. 'A penny for them.'

'I was just thinking that it would be good to create life instead of taking it. That I've seen enough of bloodshed and war.'

'You've seen your share. Heslingfield...'

He sighed. 'Heslingfield was just the start. Since then I've fought my  way across fields of slaughter where the corpses were piled high and the  blood ankle deep. And for what? Scotland has become a vassal state in  spite of it.'

'You did what you had to, Ban, according to the dictates of conscience.'

'No, I fought because I wished to slay Normans, and because I enjoyed  it.' His smile grew bitter. 'God knows how many men have died at the  point of my sword.'

'You took as much risk as they.'

'Hatred helps a man to stay alive. Rage lends strength to his arm.  Eventually it becomes cold and more terrible until the only thing that  brings joy is killing.'

'But it's not the only thing that brought you joy. You must have felt that when you discovered Ashlynn was still alive.'

'It was the one bright spot in all the darkness.'

'You love your nephews too. I've seen you with them.'

'It's easy to love innocence, to want to protect it.'

'You will be a good father, I know it.'

His smile lost the bitter edge. 'I hope so.'

'I think Hugh would have been too. Now I am the last hope of our house.'

'Castlemora will be regained, Isabelle, I swear it, and our children  will grow up there. But before any of that can happen I must first deal  with Murdo.'

'I wish there was some other way but I know very well that there isn't.'  She took a deep breath. 'If anything were to happen to you...'

'It won't. I have more to lose than he.'

'Castlemora means a great deal to you, doesn't it?'

'I wasn't talking about Castlemora.' His gaze held hers. 'I was talking  about the future I want with you. And such a future is worth fighting  for.'

Her heart gave a peculiar little leap. That he was speaking of the long  term indicated a shift in his thinking that gladdened her immensely.  More important still was the suggestion of an emotional bond. If so, it  might strengthen. One day it might even become love.                       
       
           



       

She smiled. 'Yes, that's worth fighting for.'





Chapter Sixteen


It seemed that he was not alone in considering the problem of  Castlemora, and on his return Iain sought him out. For a moment or two  he surveyed his brother-in-law appraisingly. Ban exuded energy and rude  health once more and there was a glow in his eyes that hadn't been there  until recently. Iain grinned.

'Marriage suits you.'

'I think it does. Besides, I've wanted Isabelle since the day I set eyes on her.'

'And she is not indifferent to you, I think.'

Recalling their recent tryst by the lochan, Ban grinned. 'No, fortunately.'

Iain regarded him shrewdly. 'Even married to you Isabelle is still vulnerable. She always will be while Murdo lives.'

'This was in my mind also.'

'He must be dealt with, Brother. He has been robbed of a prize and his is not a forgiving nature.'

'Nor is mine, or not where he's concerned anyway.'

'We should seek him out while his power is weakened. He lost many men in  that last fight, but he will recruit more and that soon enough.'

'He attracts human scum like dung attracts flies.'

'We should act within the month. He must be crushed before he can turn  his force against Glengarron because, make no mistake, he will.'

'Then let's do it.'

'We're agreed then.'

'Aye, we're agreed.'

* * *

With preparation in train Ban was kept busy and thus spent less time  with Isabelle. She understood it, even though she missed his company.  Sometimes, from a discreet distance, she watched the men training. They  practised for several hours each day, honing the skills that would keep  them alive in the coming battle. Yet she knew that, inevitably, some of  them would not return. It was an occupational hazard and one that every  fighting man accepted, but now she was emotionally involved with  Glengarron and its people. Jock's death had sealed that.

She wondered how her own people were faring under Murdo's governance,  and she feared the worst. Now that her father's restraining hand was  gone there would be nothing to stop him. Archibald Graham had always  held that power and privilege went hand in hand with responsibility and  obligation. Murdo had no such moral compass: to him power was an end in  itself to be wielded as he saw fit and without any consideration for  those weaker than himself. At Castlemora he was the law. All she could  do was to pity those under his sway and look forward to the day when his  rule was over.

* * *

Isabelle's nineteenth birthday was fast approaching and Ban had  commanded a feast in celebration. However, he also had a surprise up his  sleeve. Leading her down to the courtyard he gave commands to the  grooms to bring forth their mounts.

'Will you ride with me, my lady?'

'Gladly.'

Isabelle watched as the grooms led Firecrest out. He was followed by  another man leading a pretty bay mare with a flowing mane and tail.  Immediately Isabelle moved forwards to stroke the horse's nose.

'I haven't seen this one before. How beautiful she is!'

'You like her?'

'Of course.'

'She's yours.'

Isabelle turned towards him, her eyes shining. 'Ban, she's wonderful.  Thank you so much.' She raised herself on tiptoe to kiss him. Never in a  hundred years had she expected so generous a gift.

'Since you cannot ride your own mount I must supply another.' He smiled. 'Do you want to try her?'

Isabelle laughed. 'You know I do.'

They rode out together and Isabelle put the horse through her paces. The  mare was fleet of foot and soft of mouth, responding to the lightest  touch of the rein. Such a fine animal must have cost a fortune. That Ban  should have thought to surprise her thus filled her heart with joy.  There could be no doubting his regard for her. It was evident in his  every look and touch. She responded to it like a flower to sun. Having  been so long starved of affection she hungered for it now, exerting  herself to please him in every way, longing for the time when affection  might deepen into love, praying for the event which would bring that  about.                       
       
           



       

* * *

When they stopped to let the animals rest a little he took her in his  arms, looking down into her face. 'Are you happy, Isabelle?'

The question caught her unawares. 'Of course. Why should you doubt it?'

He smiled gently though his expression was no less earnest. 'I want you  to be happy. I want you to forget what went before as though it were no  more than an evil dream.'

'That is exactly what it seems now.'

'I'm glad.'

'I wish that you had been my husband from the beginning, that I'd never set eyes on Alistair Neil or his cold-hearted clan.'

'So do I.' He did not add that her father would never have considered  him a suitable match for her then. Archibald Graham had only ever seen  him as a last resort. The knowledge saddened him but he no longer felt  bitter or angry. In the end he was the winner.

Isabelle sighed. 'My only regret is that Hugh will never know about this.'

Ban dropped a kiss on her hair. 'Perhaps he does know.'

'Do you believe the priests are right; that the dead really watch over the living?'

'I like to think so.'

'It is a comforting thought.'

'We all need those,' he replied.

* * *

A few weeks after Isabelle's birthday celebrations, Ashlynn was  delivered of her baby, a healthy girl who had her mother's blue eyes.  Iain was clearly delighted and Ban too since his sister had come through  the birth safe and well. Isabelle looked at the tiny baby and a lump  formed in her throat. Envy was unworthy but she couldn't entirely banish  it. How wonderful it must be to bring new life into the world. How  wonderful to watch it thrive and grow and to have the uncritical love of  a completely dependent being. Her breast ached with longing. From the  corner of her eye she glanced at her husband. Perhaps one day they too  might have a child of their own, as healthy and as beautiful as this.  Then truly they could lay the past to rest.