Isla's Heart

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Catriona pouted for a sennight, demanding Isla seclude herself in her chambers as well.

"We must stand united against such a bully, Isla." She'd vehemently stated.

"This is not the war for Scotland's independence, Cat! The Laird is hardly a bully." At times it was as though they'd been raised in two completely different keeps. If Cat thought the mostly mild tempered Conall a bully, than their father was a complete tyrant. But, then he was, to Isla. Never to his favored Catriona.

Isla spent most of her internment listening to Cat's many complaints against her betrothed and designing a new gown for her sister that Cat no doubt planned to wear the second she'd decided she'd kept the Laird waiting long enough. Then she'd set out to have her way once more. Isla had a sneaky feeling Cat would be wasting quite a bit of energy on the matter.  The Laird did not appear to be a man prone to bending his ways.

This day, Isla sat in a large opening in the solar gazing out on the green covered mountain that hid the Loch from view. Managing to ignore her sister's constant fussing for at least a bit of peace. This gave her time to reflect on her own behavior with the Laird. She'd been wrong to become angry with him so quickly. She chose to blame the momentary rage on her red hair. Her father was always saying how it would give her the devil's own temper. Women with red hair were not to be trusted. She'd always figured he'd made this possibility up, as she'd never once become angry with him even when he'd done and said the most hurtful things to her.

Now she found it to be true.

She'd been most unjust!

It had taken her an entire day of seclusion and indignation before she'd realized sometime in the night that he'd only meant to pay her a compliment with his words. How was he to know of her insecurities?  That she longed to be as desirable and beguiling as her sister?

His words had been kind and she'd stormed away without even giving him a thank you for his more than generous offer of a dowry. Now she would pay the price for her rash behavior, for she had the mortifying task of seeking the Laird out with an apology and an explanation that she desired to belong to no man.

The Laird had not once come to their solar, seemingly content to let Catriona have her tantrum of solitude. She would even venture to guess he was thankful for the respite. Be that as it may, she would escape Cat's clutches as soon as she could and beg a meeting with the Laird. He deserved to have at least one of his new female charges be reasonable and it was obvious she held that distinction well over Cat's dramatic demeaner. Cat would never come to the conclusion that Conall only wished to know her better before they wed. He dared not to clamber at her feet like most men and for this she'd make him pay.

Not wishing to put the dreaded task off any longer, Isla crept to her chamber's large wooden door and peeked through a slight crack. Cat was not in sight, most likely already down for her daily rest. Deciding to throw caution to the wind she dashed from her room, down the uneven stone steps.

Don't fall Isla! Do not fall!

She'd made it to the bottom in once piece and undetected. She grinned as though she'd just pulled off the biggest coup of her life, and she supposed she had. With a giggle and a suddenly light heart she went in search of the wronged Laird.

In her mad dash from the solar she'd forgotten her mantle and the day proved to hold a chill. She had encountered her lady's maid upon discovering the Laird's whereabouts, but hating having the little blond underfoot she quickly dispatched her to do her sister's bidding. She'd managed just well on her own for eighteen years and she did not need someone holding her hand around every corner.

Let Cat revel in the extra attentions. Her dear sister was accustomed to such care and Isla found it pleasant to not be the sole provider of such comforts for once. But as the cold quickly seeped into her bones and set her teeth to chattering she wished she'd had the little one fetch her a warmer covering.

The sound of metal on metal and male grunts danced towards her as she approached the training grounds. The usual quickening of her heart and feeling of unwieldy limbs assaulted her as she drew near the throng of blood hungry men that surrounded the area. Being around large groups, especially men, had always made her feel ill to her stomach. It was one of the many reasons she'd never envied Cat's duties at their father's keep. Cat had a way around people that she did not. Isla was happy to sit alone and hold her own counsel. 

To ward off the growing chill that wrapped around her flesh and even more so to contain her nerves, she wrapped her slender arms around her chest. Keeping her head down, as not to gain undue attention, she stole glances of her surroundings in her search for Conall.

Finding him in the furthest field, she stopped in her tracks to stare in awe. His surcoat and maille had been cast aside, lying on the ground in a disheveled heap. How she'd managed to take notice of such a small thing was as confusing to her as the molten heat that gathered and pooled in her core. The Laird wore nothing but his braise, as did his training partner, but Isla's full attention had been whole heartedly captured by Conall's supple form.

He finally managed to unarm the foe sending both swords spinning through the air to land at the feet of the huddled spectators, but was swiftly gathered by two young paiges.

Having nothing left but their bare hands they went at each other with snarling teeth and grunts of satisfaction. Conall easily wrestled his opponent to the ground, taking the man's thick neck between the crooks of his elbow and squeezing until the man turned red in the face.

A memory of her own airways being mangled passed through her mind but was chased away by the shock of both men laughing in their exercises. Had they lost their minds? She had to stop this madness!

Before she could bank the insane thought a frustrated scream escaped her, "Stop! You must stop this now!" She slapped her hand over her mouth in surprise at her own outburst.

Every man within sight turned to see where such a squeal of an order had come from. Taking an unsteady step back, Isla took in their narrowed gazes. Her head began to spin and her heart raced causing her chest to ache from the intensity of its heavy thumping.

Look away! Her foggy mind screamed. Then suddenly the Laird was upon her, filling her blurred vision with his broad frame, arms held tautly at his sides. Even with the haze of mortification clouding her thoughts she took notice of the smoothly muscled expanse of impressive chest before her and slightly grimaced at the large scar that slashed purple from one well defined shoulder and down the opposite pectoral. A sudden burning impulse to reach out and trace the imperfection danced across her finger tips but fear had already rendered her limbs useless, saving her from the impropriety.

Then, slowly she took in Conall's strained face and the violent storm clouds rolling across his intense stare. Knowing a punishing blow always followed such a look of fury on a man's face she instinctively covered her head with her arms and tried to make herself into the smallest target she possibly could.

The moments of knowing and waiting for a fist to come were always the worst for her. That horrid anticipation of pain and agony smarted much worse than the actual blow. The mental ach causing more damage than whatever bump or bruise she was left with.

When no blow came she hesitantly uncoiled her protective arms and looked up to find Conall towering over her with no fists, the red hot glower that marred his angry face replaced by a look of confused annoyance.

"Go back to the keep, Isla." The icy calm of his deep voice kicked her system back to life and she turned quickly to flee for the keep. She'd made It only three strides when her skirt tangled around her franticly kicking legs causing her to stumble and fall face first to the ground in a frenzy of flailing limbs.

Lord, please let me die here!