Page 4 of Much Ado About a Scot

She straightened, then instead of looking at Xander, turned to the blacksmith and gave a tight nod. “Handfasting will do.”

The crowd groaned and booed. The blacksmith’s shoulders slumped. He drew back the red-hot iron and returned to his forge.

“Instead of brandin’ yer flesh, lad, ye’ve branded yer soul by tyin’ yerself tae one such as her.” An older man stepped forward from the crowd and came to stand before both Isobel and Xander. “Ye’ll regret this. Mark my words.”

An older woman, a deep frown upon her face, came forward to stare accusingly at the man. “Ye ken nae what yer talkin’ about, Otis Jenkins. Leave the girl in peace, will ye nae?” The woman turned to Isobel as she pulled the dark green ribbon from the crown of her hat. “Here, dearie, use this tae make sure ye have a father fer that lad of yers.”

Isobel accepted the ribbon and in a loud voice said, “I shall pay his fines and make certain this man follows through on his promise.” She signaled to the sheriff to release Xander from the pillory.

Once released, he stood and stretched his quivering muscles. He’d only been in the humiliating device for less than a quarter of an hour, but imprisonment and trying to avoid the obstacles thrown at him had taken a toll even on him—a man in his prime. His gaze shifted back to the woman before him. Her features were finely drawn: a pair of ruby lips that were full and tempting, bright, intelligent eyes that seemed to be an interplay of gold and brown, high cheekbones, dark lashes, and a straight patrician nose all set in an oval of perfect ivory skin. But the catalogue of her features didn’t do her face justice; it was her hair that framed it all, making her look innocent and worldly at the same time.

“What is your name?” Tension marked the corners of her mouth as she attempted a smile. “If we are to marry, I should know such a thing, should I not?” She removed the scarf she had tied about her shoulders and handed it to him.

He accepted the scarf, grateful to be able to wipe the rotten food from his face and hands. “Xander Godric, my lady,” he said with a bow. “And you are?”

“Isobel Seaton.” Her voice was low toned with just the hint of a rasp that sent tingles of sensation over his skin. The afternoon sunshine bathed her cheeks in a warm glow. He flexed his fingers, wondering if her cheeks were as soft as they appeared to be. He curled his hands, steeling himself against his need to touch her.

She stepped closer and he could smell the faint elusive scent of heather that lingered on her skin. She lifted the ribbon in her hands, holding it out toward him. “I wish to bind myself to you.” Her voice trembled. “Place your right hand in mine.” Isobel offered him her hand. She did not touch him, merely waited for him to come to her.

A breathless moment passed and then another as he remained still. They had come to an agreement. All he needed to do was reach for the fingers she extended. Marriage to her would be worthwhile if it gave him the access he needed to her neighbor. And still he hesitated.

The silence became heavy, almost stifling, drowning out the voices of the villagers, of all things except the beating of his own heart. He wasn’t heartless to use her in such a way, was he? Or did it really matter in the scheme of things? They would both get what they wanted—but nothing more. Finally, he reached for her, folding his fingers around hers. Such an outcome would have to be enough, for it was all he could ever give to the woman who would soon become his wife.

Chapter Two

What in creation was she doing? Isobel’s stomach pitched when Xander Godric placed his hand in hers as part of the handfasting ceremony. She’d summed him up as a drunk and a thief, and now she was connecting her life to his, no matter how temporary. She’d married her first husband for love; her second for protection, which ironically turned against her in the end. Now she would marry a third time out of desperation.

Xander’s dark eyes probed hers. In their depths she saw both arrogance and a brief flicker of fear. “What comes next?”

The air in her lungs halted and her own fear surged. Was there any other way out of her predicament besides marrying a stranger? The villagers already whispered about her being a witch. She couldn’t simply hire the man and have him living on her property without starting more gossip—gossip that could land her in even worse trouble the next time the witch hunter came to Haddington. But far more urgently, if she didn’t bring in the rye harvest in the next week, she would be ruined. She would lose everything, and then her child would have no legacy and the two of them would be destitute. If she weren’t so terribly in need of this man’s help, she would have kept walking past the pillory, leaving him to his punishment. But fate had other plans for her and, it seemed, for him.

“Get on with it, then,” Otis Jenkins grumbled, breaking Isobel out of her thoughts as he and the other villagers gathered around. “If ye want to marry the witch, who are we tae stop ye.”

Isobel swallowed roughly as she pushed her reservations aside. She was not marrying for herself. She was marrying for little James. As his mother, she would do anything she had to do to make certain he not only thrived at such a difficult time, but also retained all that was rightfully his. Never would she allow David Graham to reclaim the land her family had rightfully gained through years of back-breaking work.

“Let me help you, dearie.” Alma Jenkins came forward and took the green ribbon she’d supplied from Isobel’s hand. The older woman twisted the ribbon around their wrists three times before tying a knot. As far as the villagers were concerned, she was handfasting with this man for the traditional year and a day. Only she and Xander knew it would be for less than that.

Isobel stared down at her and Xander’s bound hands. Green. In the Celtic tradition, the color symbolized good renewal, fortune, and fertility. The last thought sent a surge of heat through her body that culminated in her belly.

“With this cord, I bind two lives into one.” Alma Jenkins’s gaze passed between her and Xander before shifting to the villagers. “Isobel and Xander, with the Lord and these good people as yer witnesses, yer lives are joined. May the next year find ye bound in spirit as ye are now bound in life.”

A long moment of uncomfortable silence ensued before a cheer rose up from the crowd. Then the skirl of bagpipes started and the villagers drifted away, as though they knew the traditional bedding ceremony that followed a handfasting would not be part of their afternoon entertainment.

Alma Jenkins smiled at the two of them. “Make the most of this time together. A seed sown in adversity can often reap a harvest of great joy in the future if tended well.” Patting their joined hands, she turned and walked away, joining the other villagers in their usual afternoon activities.

Isobel released a tight breath she’d been holding. No matter what else this moment brought, at least she would have both help and protection for her child for the next few months. She had secured the help she needed to avoid impending doom. She would worry about the future later. As she brought her fingers up to untie the knot that bound her and Xander together, he stopped her by pulling their joined hands against his chest and her body closer to his.

His expression was shuttered, doing nothing to soften the hard angles of his face, his edged cheekbones, his dark features—brown eyes set under a broad brow, dark brown eyebrows, surprisingly thick lashes, thin chiseled lips, the strong jut of his nose, and dark smattering of hair along his jawline that continued up to his sideburns. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment she was incapable of admonishing him for his actions. She was no maiden, but the feel of his heart pulsing beneath her hand made her stomach take flight and her entire body tense.

He arched a brow, as though reading the sudden flash of fear that curled inside her. “Where do we go from here, Isobel? What price are you truly willing to pay for my protection and my help?”

Isobel searched his face, his eyes. There was no hint of the drunkenness he had demonstrated earlier. His words, as she thought back, had not been slurred since he’d agreed to her marital terms and had been released from the pillory. Had he had time to sober up, or had it all been a ruse? Was he testing her for some unknown reason or did he want to see just how far she would go to secure his help? After a pregnant pause, she replied, “I will do anything to protect my child and my land.”

“Anything?”

Gritting her teeth, she raised her chin. “Aye.”

“Very well.” He relaxed his grip on their bound hands, allowing hers to rest freely once more.