Graham rubbed the apple on his tunic and bit into it. “I’ve been occupied.”
“Lady Clara?” Cormac asked in a low tone.
Hope rose in Cormac’s chest. Their people needed at least one fortune to save them. If Graham was having success with Lady Clara, Cormac could leave off Isolde.
Guilt tugged at him once more. She’d been preyed upon by many men who sought to use her dowry and noble position to their own advantage. Yet, even as he wrestled with the dilemma of hurting her, he was all too keenly aware of his people’s starvation. Was it worth another clansman’s life to keep from hurting her?
“How do ye fare with Lady Clara?” Cormac pressed.
Graham winced. “I canna say. The lass is too hard to read. Every time I get close, she pulls away.” He smirked indulgently. “I’m rather having fun with it all.”
Bitter disappointment turned in Cormac’s gut.
“Ye’re having fun while our people starve.” Cormac led Graham to the awning of a thatch-roofed home where he could speak to his brother in relative privacy and without exposure to the rain.
“Ye say that as though ye’re no’ doing the same.” Graham lifted his brows. “How do ye fare with Lady Isolde? It appears that ye’ve been getting on with her verra well. I believe I saw ye dancing with her the other night?”
“I wouldna call what I was doing dancing,” Cormac muttered. “More like I followed her instruction while she tried to guide me through a dance with steps I dinna know.”
Graham laughed. “I wasna going to mention it, but now that ye’ve brought it up…”
If Cormac wasn’t in such a foul mood, he might have laughed at his brother’s jest, but his irritation left him glowering instead.
“So, it isna going well then?” Graham asked in a discouraged tone.
“Nay.” Cormac sighed. “’Tis going verra well.”
Graham watched the people of the market duck to avoid the steady rainfall that came down with a vengeance. “Going verra well should be a good thing, aye?”
Cormac didn’t bother moving his feet back from the splashing runoff. There was no point when he was already so drenched.
“I’ve learned more about her,” Cormac answered. “Men have sought her out for their personal gain through her noble birth.” He paused. “And her wealth.” He clenched his fist to stave off the blow of guilt, though it did little good. “She’s been hurt and abandoned, even by her own brother.”
Graham lifted a brow. “Was that no’ her brother fighting for her honor?”
Cormac shook his head, not willing to share Isolde’s secrets. “’Tis a long story.”
“And ye dinna care for her?” Graham asked. “She’s bonny enough.”
“Aye, she is.” Cormac’s blood turned hot as he recalled how she’d looked in his tent, her brother’s armor and sodden gambeson, her lips and chin red from their kisses. “I care for her too much. I dinna want to hurt her.”
“And how would ye be hurting her?” Graham took another bite of the apple and studied Cormac while he chewed.
The band of tension around Cormac's chest squeezed even tighter. “If I marry her for her wealth, then I’m as bad as every other man who has sought her hand. If I use her for her power, I’m no better than her brother.”
Graham’s eyes were crinkled with amusement.
“Why are ye looking at me like that?” Cormac demanded.
Graham crossed his arms over his chest, with one still cradling the apple and leaned on the wall, so he faced Cormac. “Like what?”
“Like ye find me amusing.”
“I do find ye amusing.” Graham put a finger to his chin in exaggerated concentration. “What if ye dinna have to worry about the clan?”
“I always have to worry about the clan.”
Graham put up his hands to stop Cormac from speaking. “What if ye dinna have to worry about the clan and ye had met Lady Isolde here? Would ye consider marriage to her?”
Cormac regarded his brother for a long, stupefied moment. The idea of how he felt about marriage to Isolde had not entered his mind. Not when it had been so full of that kiss. And not when he’d been so plagued with guilt.
Generally, Cormac overthought everything, looking at it from all angles before finally settling on the safest option.
But everything had happened so quickly: learning about what occurred in Isolde’s past, feeling so protective of her, the passion they’d shared. He hadn’t had time to analyze it until that very moment when he’d been asked to do so.
Could he see himself wed to Isolde?
He could imagine her in his bed, that much he knew with certainty. Her body, lean from her efforts in training with a sword, naked and writhing under his touch.
He nudged his thoughts away, lest he end up with a cockstand. It was not difficult to picture Isolde by his side, a warrior queen. The perfect wife for a chieftain. A woman who would hold her own, earn the respect of the clan and be a mother who would defend their bairns with the ferocity of a lioness.
Graham pushed off the wall and clapped Cormac on the shoulder. “I dinna think ye’re going to be using her like ye think.” He poked a finger into Cormac’s chest. “Ye’ve got the look of a man in love.”
In love?
Cormac scoffed, unwilling to even consider this latest claim.
“’Tis a better start than most marriages get.” Graham bit into the apple again and strode off toward the center of the market while offering a farewell wave over his shoulder.
Cormac watched his departure. Graham wasn’t always right, but on the matter of a marriage to Isolde, he might well be. Cormac left the marketplace and headed in the direction of his tent to prepare for the feast later on that night.
Once more, his focus flitted to Isolde. Her smile, her strength, her beauty and her determination. God’s teeth, never had there existed such a woman as she.
Was he in love?
Nay. Certainly not.
But he did care for the lass.
Additionally, Graham was correct in noting it was more than most marriages began with. The idea of mutual compatibility with Isolde eased the pressure of Cormac’s guilt. After all, with a woman who appealed to him in so many ways, Cormac could be certain he was not wanting to be with her for her wealth, but for the life that they might share with mutual joy, passion and respect.
Such thoughts sealed his decision, and he knew with certainty what he needed to do.
That night, following the feast, he would ask Lady Isolde to be his wife.
11
Isolde settled herself on a cushion in the stands as the jousters were preparing themselves on their horses. The rain continued to come down in earnest, though the awning over the stands kept the observers dry. At least those fortunate enough to not be on the ground. Peasants were left to crowd behind the wooden barrier beneath the open sky, ignoring the rain in exchange for such fine entertainment.
Isolde was just as eager to be in attendance. Now that Cormac knew she did not shy from combat, she did not have to feign disgust in the joust.
She cast a glance at her maid. “Matilda, please fetch me a goblet of wine.”
Matilda offered a slight curtsy. “Of course, my lady.”