Page 24 of To Win a Highlander’s Heart

“For tonight. For telling all of us what must have been painful memories to dredge up.”

To her horror, Isolde felt tears flood her eyes. Aye, the memories were hard to talk about, just as living on her own, with only herself and her bow for survival was difficult. Now being around people who seemed to not only understand but also accept her was difficult.

She looked about the table at the MacLeod clan. The laird and his brothers, their wives, brothers, sisters, and trusted guards. They now looked at her with some acceptance instead of complete defiance or suspicion. Perhaps they connected with her stories of betrayal, isolation, and resilience because they had suffered similar challenges in their lives as well. The thought brought a warmth to her chest that hadn’t been there in a very long time.

This clan—the MacLeods—were survivors just like her.

Chapter Nine

Isolde entered the rear courtyard the next morning, dressed in another one of Rowena’s gowns. This one was light and loose, allowing her to move her arms freely as she needed to when using her bow and arrow. The gown also did not cling to her legs, for which she was thankful. She’d broken her fast in her chamber with a Scotch egg and a brisk cup of tea. After revealing her darkest secrets last night, she wasn’t certain she could face the rest of Orrick’s family until she felt more like her old self: strong and in control.

Orrick entered the courtyard, carrying two swords. An eager smile crossed his handsome face. “Are you ready to begin?”

Disappointment curled Isolde’s shoulders at the sight of the swords. “Where’s my bow and quiver?”

He stopped before her and handed her a sheathed sword. “Your arm isn’t ready for that weapon yet. Strength must come before you can fire one of your arrows correctly.”

Was he being cautious because of the tale she’d told about hitting her brother and sister-in-law instead of a target? She supposed she couldn’t blame him, but that didn’t lessen the blow.

“First we must stretch.” He held his own sheathed blade before him with one hand on the hilt and the other at the end of the protected blade. “Twist your arms to the left then the right as much as is possible before you feel a pull in the muscles of your left arm. We don’t want to reopen your wound. And while you stretch, I want you to listen to the sounds around you as you become comfortable with your own body. Focus on the way it moves, the way your muscles glide, the way you connect with the ground below you.”

Isolde scowled at him, wondering if he was serious. “How can such a thing help me prepare for battle?” Was he trying to make a fool of her as so many others had all her life?

There was no amusement in his expression. “We cannot fight for real or in a mock battle until we heal ourselves in both body and spirit.”

She frowned. “You are training as well?”

He nodded as he stretched his arms back and forth. “I have every bit as much to gain from these lessons as you do if I ever intend to pick up a sword and battle again.”

“Why would you have a hard time wielding a sword? Are you not a MacLeod? Your clan is known for their prowess in battle,” she said while continuing to stretch, forcing her injured arm to move a little farther with each rotation.

Orrick straightened and his features pinched. “Not all MacLeods are warriors. And this one in particular has memories from battles in the West Indies that followed him home.”

“Those memories must be very powerful to haunt you still.” Isolde stopped stretching, wondering if she should reach out and comfort him. Something about the stiffness of his shoulders hinted at more than irritation. He was in pain from a source she could not see.

He closed his eyes briefly, heaving a deep sigh. “The memories haunt me both day and night.” When he opened his eyes, they were filled with shadows. “I still see the faces of those whom I killed.”

At his words, a strange ache came into her heart. “I’m sorry. That must be very hard.” She brought her gaze to his.

He returned her gaze with an intense and knowing one. “No harder than having everyone in your life abandon you.”

They were so alike, the two of them. Each carrying a burden that felt more like a snake in the back of their brains, waiting and watching. And when they least expected it, striking to remind them of the cruel trick life had played on them. “Will we ever break free from our pain?”

“Perhaps in time with new memories, happier memories, and much distance from the events in the past.” Orrick offered her a sad smile. “For now, let us focus on the present and stretch in silence while keeping our memories at bay. Agreed?”

She returned his smile. “Agreed.”

As the morning mist faded and the clouds overhead parted to reveal a glimmer of sunlight, silence surrounded the two of them. The only sounds Isolde could hear were the splash and retreat of the waves against the shore of Loch Dunvegan below the rear courtyard and the beat of her own heart. In the stillness something else came to her. The sensation yet again of someone watching her. Isolde studied her surroundings, but saw only Orrick. Should she mention something to him? Or was it only her imagination that had conjured such a feeling?

No sooner had that thought formed when a sudden chill came over her. A frothy grey mist swept across the courtyard then gathered into a more solid shape. The image of a woman appeared before Isolde. She unsheathed her weapon and held it before her. “What, by all that is holy, are you?”

Orrick didn’t look frightened by the unusual event. In fact, he smiled at the apparition. “Mother. As usual, you come sliding in when we least expect you.”

Isolde felt the blood drain from her face as she studied the swirling mist that had appeared from nowhere. “Your mother is a ghost?” Isolde couldn’t keep the fear from her voice. Though the woman was nearly translucent, Isolde could make out her dark hair and soulful grey eyes. The apparition crept closer and a chill slithered across Isolde’s skin.

“It’s a long story, and one I will explain at another time. Right now, please allow me to introduce you. Isolde, this is my mother, Janet MacLeod. Mother, this is Izzy. She is staying with us for a few days until she regains her strength.”

The girl is a danger.