understood the implications of Hodges vow.
“Shall
we?” she asked hollowly as she straightened her spine and looked towards the
massive oak doors that led to the courtyard before McLaughlin keep.
“Aye
lass. We shall go, they will be waiting for us now. Never forget that I am by
your side. Show no weakness and give no indication about your father’s death.
Our secret is vital.”
Isobel
nodded and stepped forward to meet her fate.
Hodges
opened the giant doors, ushering Isobel into the bright sunlit courtyard. She
was blinded for an instant as her eyes adjusted to the afternoon sunlight. Her
blue eyes squinted as the men standing before her came into focus.
There
were nine of them. Her eyes scanned the warriors as her heart raced wildly in
her chest. She recognized the first man at once. When her eyes focused on
Rogan Cameron she felt dread settle in her stomach. Tearing her eyes away from
the massive warrior, she glanced at the other men. Their faces were unknown to
her, save for the man standing next to Rogan Cameron.
Isobel’s
heart flip-flopped in her chest.
His
hazel eyes were warm and comforting as they locked with hers.
Tristan
Finnegan, the blacksmith, stood before her. He wore a crimson kilt and a fine
hammered breastplate, which glimmered radiantly in the afternoon sunlight.
Isobel
inhaled sharply when Tristan had the audacity to wink at her. She struggled to
hide the relief that flooded through her body at seeing Tristan amongst her
suitors. Her hand trembled and she fisted her fingers into her gown. Isobel
tore her eyes away from the blacksmith, hoping that her true emotions had not
played openly across her face.
Her
father’s men could never know that she held Tristan in such high regard. She
knew that she loved him already. Isobel worried that her heart would betray
her. She hoped that her face would mask her true emotions, the emotions that
were becoming stronger with each glance that passed between them.
Isobel
dared to hope that they might have a chance, albeit a slim one, of living their
lives together and relishing that love. She knew not what stroke of luck had
allowed Tristan to stand before her in the line of suitors, but her heart was
bursting with gratefulness.
When
she caught Tristan watching her it made her heart go wild in her chest. She
knew that he could do no more than offer her a knowing smile, but there was an
intimacy in his hazel eyes that drew her in and made her forget that she needed
to pretend as if they were mere strangers. Tristan’s eyes enchanted her, made
her feel vibrantly alive. They reflected his hidden desires as well as a deep
sense of longing. She wanted to do naught but stare into his familiar eyes,
but she knew that her own longing would betray her if she indulged this
fantasy.
Pray
that he will win!
Tristan’s muscles
tensed when Isobel’s eyes flitted back to meet his for a mere second. He saw
the unmistakable burning of desire in her blue eyes and he forced himself to
look away from her. How Isobel could affect him with but a simple, heated
glance! He made an intentional effort to calm his breathing and slow his
racing heartbeat.
Assume
command. Remain calm. Ye must appear wholly detached. They cannot see what
she means to ye. Tristan chanted the words over and over in his mind. He
could never let them know what she meant to him, never let his emotions show.
For if his competitors discovered what was between them, the budding love that
he and Isobel shared, it would be his undoing.
They would use her
against him.
Tristan squared
his shoulders and prepared for the battle of his life. The battle which would
also be for Isobel’s life and very well-being.
He would not fail
her.
Maintaining his
rigid posture, Tristan’s eyes slanted to the left. Their slight movement was
the only indication of acknowledgement that he gave to the men that would be
his competitors. His
“Shall
we?” she asked hollowly as she straightened her spine and looked towards the
massive oak doors that led to the courtyard before McLaughlin keep.
“Aye
lass. We shall go, they will be waiting for us now. Never forget that I am by
your side. Show no weakness and give no indication about your father’s death.
Our secret is vital.”
Isobel
nodded and stepped forward to meet her fate.
Hodges
opened the giant doors, ushering Isobel into the bright sunlit courtyard. She
was blinded for an instant as her eyes adjusted to the afternoon sunlight. Her
blue eyes squinted as the men standing before her came into focus.
There
were nine of them. Her eyes scanned the warriors as her heart raced wildly in
her chest. She recognized the first man at once. When her eyes focused on
Rogan Cameron she felt dread settle in her stomach. Tearing her eyes away from
the massive warrior, she glanced at the other men. Their faces were unknown to
her, save for the man standing next to Rogan Cameron.
Isobel’s
heart flip-flopped in her chest.
His
hazel eyes were warm and comforting as they locked with hers.
Tristan
Finnegan, the blacksmith, stood before her. He wore a crimson kilt and a fine
hammered breastplate, which glimmered radiantly in the afternoon sunlight.
Isobel
inhaled sharply when Tristan had the audacity to wink at her. She struggled to
hide the relief that flooded through her body at seeing Tristan amongst her
suitors. Her hand trembled and she fisted her fingers into her gown. Isobel
tore her eyes away from the blacksmith, hoping that her true emotions had not
played openly across her face.
Her
father’s men could never know that she held Tristan in such high regard. She
knew that she loved him already. Isobel worried that her heart would betray
her. She hoped that her face would mask her true emotions, the emotions that
were becoming stronger with each glance that passed between them.
Isobel
dared to hope that they might have a chance, albeit a slim one, of living their
lives together and relishing that love. She knew not what stroke of luck had
allowed Tristan to stand before her in the line of suitors, but her heart was
bursting with gratefulness.
When
she caught Tristan watching her it made her heart go wild in her chest. She
knew that he could do no more than offer her a knowing smile, but there was an
intimacy in his hazel eyes that drew her in and made her forget that she needed
to pretend as if they were mere strangers. Tristan’s eyes enchanted her, made
her feel vibrantly alive. They reflected his hidden desires as well as a deep
sense of longing. She wanted to do naught but stare into his familiar eyes,
but she knew that her own longing would betray her if she indulged this
fantasy.
Pray
that he will win!
Tristan’s muscles
tensed when Isobel’s eyes flitted back to meet his for a mere second. He saw
the unmistakable burning of desire in her blue eyes and he forced himself to
look away from her. How Isobel could affect him with but a simple, heated
glance! He made an intentional effort to calm his breathing and slow his
racing heartbeat.
Assume
command. Remain calm. Ye must appear wholly detached. They cannot see what
she means to ye. Tristan chanted the words over and over in his mind. He
could never let them know what she meant to him, never let his emotions show.
For if his competitors discovered what was between them, the budding love that
he and Isobel shared, it would be his undoing.
They would use her
against him.
Tristan squared
his shoulders and prepared for the battle of his life. The battle which would
also be for Isobel’s life and very well-being.
He would not fail
her.
Maintaining his
rigid posture, Tristan’s eyes slanted to the left. Their slight movement was
the only indication of acknowledgement that he gave to the men that would be
his competitors. His
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