was then,’ replied Nell. ‘Things are different now.’
‘If the Neils had returned my dowry this wouldn’t have happened.’
‘It was wrong of them to act so.’
‘Hugh wanted to go and get it back. I almost wish he had.’
‘It would have meant bloodshed and death. Is that what you really want?’
Isabelle sighed and shook her head. ‘I loathe the Neils for a pack of cold-hearted, rapacious thieves, but Castlemora doesn’t need a blood feud. Nor would I have my dowry returned with blood on it.’
‘Neither should you. No good could come of it.’ Nell tied off the heavy braid. ‘And if you’re wise you’ll not reject Lord Ban out of hand. He’s all that stands between you and Murdo.’
Isabelle repressed a shudder, yet the unspoken fear persisted that she might be jumping from the cooking pot into the fire. Would history repeat itself and Glengarron prove to be the mirror of Dunkeld; her prospective husband a brute like Alistair Neil? Even if he was not, there was still the matter of producing heirs. What if the fault had not been wholly with her late husband? What if she really was barren? A man could put his wife aside for such a reason. Perhaps the cloister might be her lot after all.
These gloomy thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the chamber door. Then a servant entered.
‘My lady, your father bade me tell you that the riders from Glengarron have arrived, and that your presence is required below.’
She took a deep breath and composed herself. ‘I will come directly.’
The servant bowed and withdrew. Isabelle rose from her seat, wondering if Lord Iain would be among the visitors. It had been many years since she had set eyes on him, not since she was a little girl, but she remembered the powerful charismatic figure very well. Now there was a man. Would Lord Ban be such another? Would he find her attractive? What if he did not? She had been so preoccupied with her own misgivings that she hadn’t given any thought to possible doubts on the part of her intended groom. What if he rejected the match? Murdo’s image returned with force. Her stomach knotted.
‘Do I look all right?’
Nell smiled. ‘You look beautiful.’
Isabelle smoothed the front of her gown and then quit the chamber, heading for the hall where her father would be entertaining their visitors. Already she could hear the sound of men’s voices. No doubt they would be refreshing themselves with a mug of ale and delivering messages from their lord. On reaching the doorway she paused a moment to take in the scene. With her father was Hugh and beside him another man, several inches taller than both, who had his back to her.
Isabelle took a deep breath and then, summoning her courage, moved towards them. Her father saw her approach and, after a swift appraising look, he nodded.
‘Ah, there you are, lass. Come and greet our guest.’
As he spoke the stranger turned and Isabelle’s heart lurched. In a flash all the adventure of the afternoon returned with awful clarity as she found herself staring into a pair of very blue eyes—eyes that conveyed both recognition and amused surprise. And then her father was introducing them.
‘Lord Ban, may I present my daughter, Isabelle?’
Chapter Three
For a moment she could neither move nor speak and her heart thumped so hard it seemed they must all hear it. Worse, she could feel a crimson tide rising from her neck to her cheeks as the blue gaze swept over her. Then she saw him smile, a mischievous smile that lit his face and spoke more clearly than words of huge enjoyment. For a moment she wished the ground would open up and swallow her; then indignation came to her rescue. Gathering her wits she dropped a proper curtsy and gave him her hand which he took with every sign of pleasure. He brushed it with his lips. The touch seemed to scorch her flesh.
‘Lady Isabelle.’
The tone was courteous but she could not miss the amusement beneath. Isabelle felt perspiration start on her forehead. Would her father notice aught amiss? Would her brother? Thank heaven Murdo wasn’t present for very little escaped him. Striving for self-control she summoned a smile.
‘Welcome to Castlemora, my lord.’
‘I thank you.’
‘Your men too are most welcome.’ Isabelle looked towards the door where stood a small group of retainers who immediately made their duty to her. Nothing in their expressions revealed that they knew anything about the incident at the pool. Why should they? Even if he had told them they could not know her identity.
If her father noticed aught amiss it was not apparent. ‘Lord Ban has brought some fine horses, Isabelle.’
‘I look forward to seeing them, Father.’
‘Presently.’ He turned back to their guest. ‘My daughter is a keen rider. She has a way with horses.’
Ban smiled. ‘I hope the animals will meet with the lady’s approval.’
‘I’m sure they will,’ she replied. ‘My father has often said that the Laird of Glengarron has a good eye for a mount.’
‘Quite right. Not just for a mount either; breeding stock too.’
Isabelle’s stomach churned. The subject was uncomfortably close to home and she hastened to redirect it. ‘His reputation goes before him.’
‘So it does, my lady.’ Ban hadn’t missed that fleeting expression of unease and was surprised. Experience suggested that she was no prude.
Her father nodded. ‘He has made Glengarron strong.’
‘As Castlemora is strong,’ replied Ban.
‘There’s even greater strength in unity, eh?’
The allusion was impossible to miss and Isabelle’s discomfort increased. Lord Ban didn’t bat an eyelid.
‘As you say, my lord.’
‘We’ll speak further on that in due course.’ Her father beamed. ‘In the meantime I’d like to see the new horses. Would not you, Isabelle?’
‘Yes, very much.’
He held out his arm for her and she took it gratefully, allowing him to lead her outdoors. Lord Ban stood aside to let them pass and as they did so she saw the mischievous smile on his lips once more, could feel his gaze burning into her back as he fell into step with Hugh and followed them out. The knave was enjoying himself. Isabelle’s chin tilted in militant fashion. The past could not be undone, but if he thought to discompose her again he was very much mistaken.
As they reached the courtyard they could see the horses standing by the trough; three lovely mares, strong and clean of limb. Hugh surveyed them approvingly.
‘You have brought fine horses, my lord,’ he observed.
Ban inclined his head. ‘My brother’s choices in this case.’
‘Fine choices they are too.’ Archibald Graham had paused some feet away, surveying them through narrowed eyes that missed nothing. ‘What say you, Isabelle?’
‘They’re beautiful,’ she replied and, relinquishing her father’s arm, moved forwards to the nearest, a glossy bay mare with a white star on her forehead. The horse turned towards her, testing her scent through flared nostrils. Detecting no threat she relaxed again and lowered a velvety muzzle into Isabelle’s hands.
‘Your father spoke true. You have a way with horses, my lady,’ said Ban, who had come to stand beside her. All too keenly aware of him she kept her attention focused on the mare.
‘My daughter could ride almost as soon as she could walk,’ said Graham, glancing her way. ‘There are few to rival her in the chase.’
‘I