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Authors: Sue-Ellen Welfonder
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his eyes.
Blessedly, a familiar whimper spared her having to respond to his double-edged rudeness. Bodo stood on his hind legs, his forepaws resting on the edge of her chair. He peered up at her, an expectant look in his bright eyes.
"One so eager should not be made to wait " With deft fingers, Donall selected a choice morsel of roasted seabird and offered the scrap to the little dog.
"Do you not agree?" He cast her a wholly innocent-looking glance as Bodo scampered to his side and took the proffered tidbit from his fingers.
Isolde compressed her lips and drew herself up straighter in the hard-backed chair. She would not be maneuvered into a corner by his knack for turning a clever phrase. The unchivalrous knave would need more than a tasty tidbit to win her favor.
She would not follow Bodo's example and lavish adulation on him simply because he waved some flavorsome delicacy in front of her nose. Be it a tantalizing piece of perfectly roasted meat, a selection of sumptuous raiment, or a chest brimming with sparkling jewels.
Yet she would have to lavish some kind of attention on him if her plan was to succeed.
"Have you lost your tongue, milady?"
"What I have lost, sirrah, is my sister," she snapped, driven to shrewishness by the sight of Bodo leaning contentedly into the blackguard's bare leg.
His dark gaze never straying from her face, Donall the Bold reached down and rubbed the dog's shoulders. "I share your loss." For once, his voice held not a trace of sarcasm, but considering who and what he was, Isolde found the sincere-sounding words a greater affront than his usual mockery.
"All in my household mourn the lady Lileas," he went on, smoothing the backs of his fingers down the length of Bodo's spine. "Most especially my brother."
"I find that difficult to believe." She hadn't missed the odd glimmer that flickered in his eyes when he'd mentioned his brother.
Iain MacLean.
Her sister's murderer.
"Had your brother not stranded Lileas upon the Lady Rock, binding her there by her own tresses, dooming her to drown with the incoming tide, there would be no need for you or those beneath your roof to share my grief." The sharp-toned litany rolled off her tongue with surprising rapidity, spurred on by her anger over Lileas's death, and her resentment over what she'd taken upon herself to do to ensure a permanent end to such senseless tragedy.
But do it she would.
And with aplomb.
As if he'd read her thoughts and meant to enlighten her as to the sheer folly of her intentions, an icy mask seemed to drop over his face. "My brother did not kill his wife," he said, his expression inscrutable, his words hollow-sounding.
Forced.
Not quite convincing.
"How do you know?" Isolde prodded, ire whirling inside her.
"I simply do," he said, his dark countenance still unfathomable, his tone as cold as a black north wind. "My word have to suffice."
Isolde curled her fingers around the pewter tankard and brought it to her lips. "I am afraid it doesn't," she said over its rim before she took a fortifying sip.
"Then release me so I can search for the true murderer and quell your doubts." With lightning speed, he reached across the table, seized the tankard from her hand, and slammed it onto the table. "Keeping me here is madness!"
Isolde shrank back against her chair, her daring flown. Even Bodo took flight, dashing for the refuge of his padded bed by the fireside as swiftly as his short legs would carry him. Isolde stared after him, wishing she could flee the MacLean's wrath as easily.
Instead, she clung to the comfort Bodo's wee presence afforded her, even from across the room. Doubts, the man had said. Isolde fought back the bitterness rising in her throat. She had more doubts plaguing her than he could banish in a lifetime.
And the matter of his brother's guilt wasn't one of them. Nay, it was her own ability to seduce him that she held in question.
That, and the wisdom of attempting such a feat.
"Why am I here, Isolde
Blessedly, a familiar whimper spared her having to respond to his double-edged rudeness. Bodo stood on his hind legs, his forepaws resting on the edge of her chair. He peered up at her, an expectant look in his bright eyes.
"One so eager should not be made to wait " With deft fingers, Donall selected a choice morsel of roasted seabird and offered the scrap to the little dog.
"Do you not agree?" He cast her a wholly innocent-looking glance as Bodo scampered to his side and took the proffered tidbit from his fingers.
Isolde compressed her lips and drew herself up straighter in the hard-backed chair. She would not be maneuvered into a corner by his knack for turning a clever phrase. The unchivalrous knave would need more than a tasty tidbit to win her favor.
She would not follow Bodo's example and lavish adulation on him simply because he waved some flavorsome delicacy in front of her nose. Be it a tantalizing piece of perfectly roasted meat, a selection of sumptuous raiment, or a chest brimming with sparkling jewels.
Yet she would have to lavish some kind of attention on him if her plan was to succeed.
"Have you lost your tongue, milady?"
"What I have lost, sirrah, is my sister," she snapped, driven to shrewishness by the sight of Bodo leaning contentedly into the blackguard's bare leg.
His dark gaze never straying from her face, Donall the Bold reached down and rubbed the dog's shoulders. "I share your loss." For once, his voice held not a trace of sarcasm, but considering who and what he was, Isolde found the sincere-sounding words a greater affront than his usual mockery.
"All in my household mourn the lady Lileas," he went on, smoothing the backs of his fingers down the length of Bodo's spine. "Most especially my brother."
"I find that difficult to believe." She hadn't missed the odd glimmer that flickered in his eyes when he'd mentioned his brother.
Iain MacLean.
Her sister's murderer.
"Had your brother not stranded Lileas upon the Lady Rock, binding her there by her own tresses, dooming her to drown with the incoming tide, there would be no need for you or those beneath your roof to share my grief." The sharp-toned litany rolled off her tongue with surprising rapidity, spurred on by her anger over Lileas's death, and her resentment over what she'd taken upon herself to do to ensure a permanent end to such senseless tragedy.
But do it she would.
And with aplomb.
As if he'd read her thoughts and meant to enlighten her as to the sheer folly of her intentions, an icy mask seemed to drop over his face. "My brother did not kill his wife," he said, his expression inscrutable, his words hollow-sounding.
Forced.
Not quite convincing.
"How do you know?" Isolde prodded, ire whirling inside her.
"I simply do," he said, his dark countenance still unfathomable, his tone as cold as a black north wind. "My word have to suffice."
Isolde curled her fingers around the pewter tankard and brought it to her lips. "I am afraid it doesn't," she said over its rim before she took a fortifying sip.
"Then release me so I can search for the true murderer and quell your doubts." With lightning speed, he reached across the table, seized the tankard from her hand, and slammed it onto the table. "Keeping me here is madness!"
Isolde shrank back against her chair, her daring flown. Even Bodo took flight, dashing for the refuge of his padded bed by the fireside as swiftly as his short legs would carry him. Isolde stared after him, wishing she could flee the MacLean's wrath as easily.
Instead, she clung to the comfort Bodo's wee presence afforded her, even from across the room. Doubts, the man had said. Isolde fought back the bitterness rising in her throat. She had more doubts plaguing her than he could banish in a lifetime.
And the matter of his brother's guilt wasn't one of them. Nay, it was her own ability to seduce him that she held in question.
That, and the wisdom of attempting such a feat.
"Why am I here, Isolde
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