Isolde’s face went hot at the mention of her honor and its need to be protected. When she’d been playing the part of Gilbert, she hadn’t once considered how she would react to knowledge of his challenge from her own perspective.
Now, however, it mortified her to have something so private be aired so publicly.
Sutherland shifted in his seat. “I’ve made ye uncomfortable.”
Nay, I have.
“It isn’t you.” Isolde shook her head. “I…forgive me, I fear I cannot watch another joust. If you’ll excuse me…”
“Aye, of course.” He got to his feet to help her to hers, which she acknowledged with a polite nod of thanks.
“Sit down,” someone hissed from behind Isolde.
Sutherland shot a glare over his shoulder, and whoever had been complaining went quiet. Isolde moved quickly to avoid blocking anyone else’s view.
In truth, she enjoyed tourneys. The jousts were always her favorite, filled with excitement, uncertainty and fascinating rivalries. It was curious how such rivalries began. Some started with the simplest misunderstandings that turned friends to enemies, some were borne of violence, and others still dated so far back in time no one could remember the origin.
Isolde went down the stairs with Matilda behind her and paused behind a column near the stands to watch as the two knights collided into one another. The lance of the knight closest to her shattered against the chest of his opponent, shoving him back with such force, he was thrown from his horse. Isolde clapped at his victory. Not only had he won the round, but he had also won the other knight’s horse.
Before Isolde could be drawn into another round of jousting, she and Matilda quit the tournament fields and swiftly strode toward the Rose Citadel. It was not yet noon, and already her day had been trying.
She quickened her pace as they neared the tents. Even with Matilda at her side, Isolde knew well to avoid the tented area where the knights were roughened by competition and made bold by inflated bragging.
A hand shot out and clamped around her arm, pulling her into the shadows.
Another man, a blond-haired Ross brother, locked Matilda in his arms and put a dirk to her throat.
“If ye scream, Garret will slit her throat.” Brodie’s voice rasped in Isolde’s ear, his breath sour with ale.
Isolde forced herself to remain still.
Brodie spun her around, his eyes narrow slits of hatred. “I saw ye making a fool of me with the chieftain of the Sutherland clan. Did ye pressure yer brother to challenge me?” He scoffed. “Honor, indeed. I’ll make sure there’s no honor left to salvage.”
His free hand roughly grabbed her hips, and she knew well what he meant. She could fight him off, she knew. Matilda, however, was not so well-trained.
Isolde took some comfort in the dagger strapped to her belt. If she could discreetly grasp the hilt, she could throw it at Garret and injure him, then attack Brodie. It was the best option to keep Matilda safe while protecting herself as well.
Her fingertips hadn’t even had time to crawl toward the dagger when Brodie heaved a grunt and jerked to the side with her still clutched in his arms. She crashed to the ground in a bone-jolting slam. It wasn’t the first time in her life she’d been thrown hard enough to knock the wind from her lungs. Hugh had taught her well, and that included landing hard blows when necessary to teach her basic skills for survival. As a result, she was comfortable with keeping her wits about her in combat.
She yanked the dagger from her belt and scrambled upright, away from Brodie, with the blade pointed in his direction. The effort was not needed.
Sutherland sat atop Brodie and pulled his arm back to slam into Brodie’s face. He had no need of her aid. But Matilda…
Isolde spun on her heel to find Garret frozen with indecision. Before she could step toward her maid to help, a snarling beast raced toward Isolde and planted himself in front of her as a wiry man tackled Garret to the ground.
Though half the Highlander’s size, Alan nimbly forced the larger man into the dirt and put a dagger to his throat, his usual congenial expression coldly devoid of any emotion. “If it weren’t for Sutherland’s order not to kill you, you’d be dead.” Alan jerked his hands at Garrett’s shoulders. “Especially since you are a man who would try to take advantage of unprotected ladies.”
Pip growled again and took a menacing step toward Garret as if backing the mercenary’s claims.
The fleshy smack of a fist striking skin came from behind Isolde, where Sutherland and Brodie fought.
Brodie grunted. “Leave us be, Sutherland. I’ve no qualms with ye.”
She glanced over her shoulder to where they wrestled on the ground.
“I have qualms with ye assaulting a lady.” Sutherland drew his arm back to strike again.
“She’s my betrothed.” Brodie writhed under Sutherland, trying to free himself from being pinned to the ground. “What I do with the lass is no’ any of yer concern.”
Sutherland’s fist smashed into Brodie’s nose, which gave a sickening crunch. Brodie howled in agony, and Sutherland finally pushed himself off the other man. He didn’t wait to ensure Brodie was still down.
Instead, he immediately went to Isolde. Sutherland hovered near her, as though uncertain if he ought to reach for her. In the end, he folded his arms awkwardly over his chest and leaned in close, protective proximity of her.
Isolde couldn’t help the flash of disappointment. Part of her craved those strong arms wrapping around her, keeping her safe. Giving her comfort. Another part of her, admittedly a much smaller part, knew it was inappropriate to wish for such intimate nearness with him.
“Were ye injured?” Sutherland asked.
“Nay.” She looked to her maid, but Matilda shook her head, her hands clutched together over her chest.
Sutherland’s squared shoulders didn’t lower. “Alan, release the bastard. Let him help his brother to a healer.”
Brodie cursed from where he lay on the ground, hand cupped over his bleeding nose. Alan pulled back from Garret, who scrambled to his feet and raced over to Brodie.
“Ye’ll pay for this, Sutherland.” Brodie’s words were muffled by his bloody hand at his face.
Sutherland didn’t deign to acknowledge the threat. He kept his gaze fixed on Isolde, concern evident in his dark green eyes. She was struck once more with how handsome a man he truly was, with his square jaw now scraped clean of whiskers and a straight nose.
“May I walk ye to the castle?” he offered.
This time, Isolde didn’t hesitate. Her fingers slid into the strong warmth in the crook of his arm. A tremor rattled through her body, one swept by a wave of emotions: the fear for what could have happened, the relief for emerging unscathed, the appreciation for Sutherland’s assistance and the apprehension for what would come in the future. Her knees were soft beneath her weight, and it was all she could do to keep from allowing herself to melt against the support of his solid body.
“Mayhap it isna my place to say this…” He spoke in a slow, careful tone. “But I dinna think yer betrothed is worthy of ye.”
Heat singed Isolde’s cheeks. “I never agreed to marry him.”
She stopped when they reached the entrance of the castle. “I’m fine from here. Thank you for your aid.”