Tournament of Hearts Page 4

  Mo sonuachar. My soulmate.

  She was such a small thing, so startlingly different from himself. And contrary to how most women regarded Tristan, Isobel was not afraid of his commanding presence. She had actually challenged him! Her confidence and wit coupled with her catty sense of humor made Tristan feel recklessly alive.

  His sudden rush of feelings for Isobel overwhelmed him. He wanted her badly. He wanted all of her, damn the consequences.

  Tristan was consumed with thoughts of Isobel as Justice raced away from the village. The horse was lively and carefree, exuberant at the chance to run freely and stretch his neglected muscles. Tristan at once felt guilty not exercising the beast as was his daily custom. The welcome solace of the trees approached quickly and Tristan felt his anxiousness quiet. The seclusion of the forest had always provided him with peace.

  After galloping into the security of the trees, Tristan pulled back on the reins, slowing Justice to a walk. He stopped the beast completely, closing his eyes and listening to the soothing sounds of the forest. Tristan swung down from his horse. He flipped the reins over the beast’s head and led him forward, further into the cool shady trees. Arriving at a small stream, he tied the reins to a fallen log even though he knew that Justice would never leave his side.

  The rushing of the stream calmed him, soothing him with the babbling sound of the cool water running over the rocks. Perhaps he would go for a swim later. The weather had certainly been warm enough despite the fact that it was late October. Tristan slowed his breathing and leaned against the trunk of a tall tree. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his spinning mind.

  “Ye canna have her,” he whispered aloud as he shook his head slowly from side-to-side. “Ye are a fool for thinkin’ that ye could have her.”

  Isobel was the Laird’s daughter. Tristan was in no position to take a wife. He had spent years building a wall around his heart, protecting himself from the pain that he knew would come if he allowed himself to be vulnerable again.

  Never again. Never again.

  He repeated the words over and over in his mind.

  Tristan’s eyes flew open when he heard the first stick crack near the edge of the forest. He flew silently to his feet and unsheathed his dagger. Secreting himself behind the tree he stood poised for attack.

  His heart raced when he saw her approaching. Isobel walked down the forest path, leading her white horse and stepping on every stick and dry leaf in front of her. The lass could not have been louder had she tried.

  Tristan smiled ruefully at the irony of his situation and moved stealthily to sheath his dagger. He muttered underneath his breath and raked his hand through his hair.

  “Tis not safe for you to be out alone,” Tristan said without a cordial greeting as he revealed himself to his unexpected visitor. Seeing Isobel out riding un-chaperoned caused his protective nature to flare.

  Tristan intended to have a word with Isobel’s guards the next time he encountered them. He gritted his teeth together as he planned exactly what he would say to them.

  And then he promptly reconsidered.

  The fact that Isobel could so readily slip the watch of her guards allowed him precious time alone with her.

  “Tis nice to see you too,” Isobel huffed as she tethered the reins of her mare to a low hanging branch. “I needed some fresh air and went for a ride. I saw you lead your horse into the trees and thought to see that you were well.”

  “I am capable of protecting myself, milady,” Tristan said with a chuckle. “Your father has you well guarded for a reason,” Tristan said as he walked towards Isobel, intent on not allowing her to change the subject. “A Lady out by herself can meet many a danger.”

  “Which is exactly why you are instructing me in the use of a dagger.”

  “One lesson in how to wield a weapon is hardly enough to protect yerself, lass,” Tristan chided reproachfully, having closed the distance between them. He now stood directly before Isobel. She looked up at him sweetly but he would not be detoured. “You should not be riding alone. ‘Tis dangerous.”

  “I’ve heard that there are villains in this forest,” Isobel said suggestively as she looked up into Tristan’s hazel eyes. “Have I underestimated my safety in your company, blacksmith?”

  “For all you ken, I may be a villain,” Tristan retorted.

  Isobel bit her lower lip, making it difficult for Tristan to concentrate on lecturing her regarding the perils of traveling alone.

  “I may not always be about to protect you, milady. We shall arrange our meetings henceforth to assure your safety. No more slipping your guards unless you have arranged for me to accompany you.”

  Tristan’s words were authoritative.

  Isobel lifted up onto her tip toes and kissed Tristan’s cheek, startling him visibly.

  “Thank you for fussing over my safety,” she said sweetly, conceding the argument.

  Tristan was stunned for a moment. Isobel’s beauty took his breath away. Her cheeks were flushed from her ride and her hair was unbound, falling in loose flaxen tendrils about her thin waist. Tristan felt his heart beat speed up in response to the lass and he looked away from her sharply, willing his body to control itself.

  “I was not in as much danger as you imply,” Isobel said with a sly smile. “I have a very good teacher and I am intent upon learning how to protect myself. I need to learn more and learn it quickly. In fact I had hoped to find you when I had the chance to slip away.”

  Tristan said nothing. He silently acknowledged the irony of the situation. He had come to here to escape the lass, to sort out his confounded thoughts about her.

  And here she was.

  A sudden image of his dream invaded his mind. Isobel’s golden curls surrounding them like a curtain as they kissed. Tristan clenched his teeth and pushed the image from his mind.

  “Hungry?” he asked as he stalked towards Justice and began rummaging in his saddlebag. He drew out the bread, cheese and ale and arched an eyebrow in invitation. He knew that arguing with Isobel over his concerns for her safety would get him nowhere. She was a head-strong lass if he had ever seen one.

  “Aye,” Isobel said with a slight smile. “That would be lovely.”

  She lifted her skirts and settled herself daintily atop a fallen log. Isobel crossed her feet at the ankles and smoothed her skirts. She was a well born Lady and even in the midst of the forest, her manners did not escape her.

  Isobel shifted her gaze back to Tristan, who was still digging in his saddlebag while his horse picked over the grass at the edge of the glen. She knew that it had been dangerous to come here, but she did not care. Everything about Tristan intrigued her. From his broad shoulders to the muscles that rippled under his linen shirt. His unruly hair was bound hastily at the nape of his neck and she suddenly found herself wondering what it would be like to run her fingers through his hair. Isobel knew that she should repent her scandalous thoughts, but she could not force herself to do so.

  On the contrary, she was curious.

  Her mind wandered further still and Isobel wondered what it would be like if Tristan was the man chosen to be her husband. Would that he could be the one to do the unspeakable things that her maids had whispered about.

  Tristan’s back was turned to her now and she watched him openly. His plaid was belted about his narrow waist, which was decorated with an array of weapons. Isobel knew that Tristan would protect her, a fact which she found both exhilarating and comforting. She felt undeniably safe in his presence.

  Isobel had a pang of guilt as she thought of the small mistruth that she had told him. She had not wanted further instruction with the dagger. She had simply wanted an excuse to see him again. Tristan had overtaken her thoughts since their meeting in his blacksmith shop. His lop-sided smile and intriguing hazel eyes had plagued Isobel’s dreams each night since their first encounter.

  Although Tristan was a handsome man, it was not just his physical attributes that drew her towards him. He had a char
ming, playful nature that she found quite endearing. Isobel loved how Tristan joked with her. He was quick of wit and it was evident that he loved to badger her.

  “Perhaps I should empty these out sometime! I can never find exactly what it is I’m looking for,” he said with a chuckle as he found what he was rummaging for in the saddle bag and turned towards Isobel. Tristan walked towards her carrying an array of small packages. There was an earthenware jug suspended precariously from his pinky finger that Isobel reached out to grab. He settled himself carefully to the ground so as not to drop anything, and then went about the business of arranging the food.

  Tristan opened the linen wrapped parcels and tore off a hunk of bread, which he handed to Isobel. He took a bite himself and then uncorked the jug of ale, taking a deep dreg of the cool refreshing liquid. He handed the jug to Isobel and her eyes flew open widely.

  “What is it?” she asked as she sniffed the jug experimentally, scrunching up her nose in distaste.

  Tristan laughed heartily at her comical expression.

  “Ale. What else?”

  “My father has never let me try ale! He says it’s unladylike to partake in spirits,” she said with a rueful grin.

  “When opportunity knocks, milady, ‘tis best to let it in,” Tristan said in means of invitation.

  Isobel arched an eyebrow and lifted the jug to her lips. Closing her eyes, she took a hearty swallow of the amber liquid. Its bitterness made her pucker her lips and she shuddered involuntarily.

  Tristan laughed genuinely, his smile reaching the corners of his eyes.

  “I thought it would taste better!” Isobel exclaimed as a giggle fell from her lips.

  “It will if ye drink more,” Tristan said, still laughing as he motioned for Isobel to take another sip.

  Obliging him, she tipped the jug upwards and took a deep swallow of the ale, bracing herself for the bitterness. Her nose scrunched upwards and she squeezed her eyes shut, eliciting a muffled laugh from Tristan.

  “Tis hardly that bad, lass! Pass me some,” he said, still chuckling as he reclaimed the jug and took a robust swallow of ale. “Tastes fine tae me,” he said, jokingly.

  “Must be an acquired taste,” Isobel said as she made a face of mock disgust. She reached over to Tristan and took the jug of ale. Raising it to her lips she took another hearty sip.

  “Slow down, lass, or ye willna be able to ride back to the keep!” Tristan warned as he took the ale from her hands.

  Isobel passed the jug back to Tristan and giggled as she wiped the remnants of ale from her lips.

  “I reckon that yer father will be right cross when he discovers that ye have snuck away from your guards. And if he were to find out that I’ve corrupted you with ale…I shudder to think!” Tristan teased.

  “Pay no mind,” Isobel said freely. “I shall do as I please,” she said as she leaned back in the grass and closed her eyes, delighting in the feeling of the sun warming her face. Being with Tristan made her feel slightly reckless but completely carefree. Being with Tristan was an escape from her well-guided, proper life.

  The smile fell from Tristan’s face as he watched Isobel. Her hair spilled onto the grass behind her, stark in contrast with the green grass. The sun warmed her lightly freckled face and Tristan knew that he had never beheld a lovelier sight than Isobel McLaughlin.

  “Are you an archer, Tristan?” Isobel asked as her eyes flew open. She had seen the long bow and quiver tethered to his horse when she had arrived.

  “I’d not call myself an archer, but as a means of sport, aye. I can hold my own with a bow and on a good day, I can take some game.”

  “Best two out of three?” Isobel challenged as she arched her eyebrow suggestively in the direction of the bow.

  Tristan took another sip of ale and passed the jug to Isobel, smiling slightly at her competitive nature.

  “Or are you afraid to be bested by a woman?” she added with a provocative smile.

  Tristan narrowed his eyes as means of accepting her challenge. He nodded once at Isobel, who smiled sweetly as she lifted the earthenware jug of ale to her lips. Standing abruptly, Tristan strode over to Justice and untied the bow. He slung the quiver over his shoulder and walked back towards Isobel.

  Her face was flushed from the ale, casting a lovely pink glow about her cheeks. Tristan offered her his hand and she took it readily, giggling softly as he lifted her to her feet.

  Isobel felt the warmth of the ale spread through her body, casting a lightness of spirit that made her momentarily forget her troubles. As Tristan pulled her to her feet, she giggled for no reason in particular and lost her balance only slightly, using her palm against Tristan’s chest to steady herself.

  Still laughing softly from the unfamiliar sensation of the ale, Isobel looked up into Tristan’s hazel eyes as she braced herself against his expansive chest. His smile was genuine and she noticed that it was slightly lop-sided, lending him an endearing, boyish quality. Her eyes locked with his for a split second, increasing the cadence of her heart beat. Isobel righted herself quickly, regaining her balance and taking a step away from the blacksmith.

  “I think you’re drunk, milady,” Tristan said with a chuckle. His voice was soft and teasing.

  Isobel stifled a giggle and brought her hand to her lips in an effort to hide her broad smile. It felt delicious to cast her cares aside and indulge in these new feelings. It felt delicious to be alone with Tristan again.

  “Do ye think it wise to challenge me to a competition when ye can hardly stand straight upright?” Tristan chided playfully.

  Isobel shook her head, admitting the silliness of her challenge.

  “And when I win, what shall be my prize?” he asked with a mischievous grin.

  “I am a very good shot, blacksmith,” Isobel said with confidence as she straightened her spine and tried to repress the warm, heady affect of the ale. “I’ll know my prize first,” she said as she crossed her arms and glowered at Tristan.

  “So sure of yerself,” Tristan goaded as he clicked his tongue and shook his head from side-to-side. “We’ll see about that,” he said as he removed an arrow from the quiver and threaded it into the string of the bow. “As far as yer prize, understand lass that it is quite unlikely that you shall win, but should a miracle occur you may keep the dagger without paying me for it.”

  “Hmm,” Isobel said as she smiled ruefully. “That sounds reasonable enough, blacksmith.”

  “And what shall be my prize when I win?”

  “I’ve not decided yet,” Isobel said as she bit her lower lip. “I had not considered the fact that you might win.”

  Tristan laughed earnestly, a deep rumbling sound that resounded through the trees. Isobel McLaughlin was a woman unlike any he had met before.

  “I’ll consider it and advise you when I decide,” she said, scrunching her eyebrows together.

  “Alright then. Ladies first,” he said as he strode towards Isobel and handed her the bow. “Where is our target?”

  “Just over there. Do you see the slight hollow place in that tree?” she asked, holding the bow and arrow in one hand while pointing with the other.

  “Aye. I see it. Can ye shoot that far, lass?”

  “Watch me,” Isobel said with an air of challenge and she fitted the hilt of the arrow between her fingers and gripped the bow sternly with her opposite hand. Her eyebrows were furrowed together in concentration and her teeth clenched tightly as she drew back the string expertly and let the arrow fly.

  It whizzed through the air and struck just left of the target.

  Isobel nodded in approval and lowered the bow. She smiled arrogantly and handed the weapon to Tristan.

  Without speaking, he drew out another arrow and fitted it to the bow. He took aim and loosed the arrow, sending it whistling through the air. It struck the tree just left of the target, slightly farther away than Isobel’s first effort.

  His hazel eyes found hers. She said nothing and yet he could tell that she was g
loating on the inside. She was just too well-bred to let her happiness at his poor shot show noticeably on the outside.

  “Your shot, milady,” he said as he bowed slightly and offered her the bow and a fresh arrow.

  Isobel strung the arrow and took her mark, closing one eye to focus in on the distant target. She pulled the bow string taut and let the arrow fly. She held her breath as the arrow zipped through the air and found its mark, still slightly left of the target but closer than her first attempt. Isobel bit her lip in an effort not to smile. A Lady did not gloat.

  “Blacksmith,” she said, stone faced as she handed Tristan his bow.

  He took the weapon and deftly fit another arrow against the string. Exhaling slowly, he raised the bow and with painstaking precision he drew back the string. Aiming further to the right, he loosed the arrow. It struck the tree with a resounding thud as it embedded into the trunk, just to the right of the target.

  “Last shot, milady. It looks as though you may win,” Tristan said as he repressed the urge to smile. Isobel was struggling to contain her excitement at the prospect. Her blonde curls fell loosely about her shoulders, complimenting the lovely pink hue of her cheeks.

  She took the bow and extended her hand expectantly for an arrow. Tristan obliged and watched in awe of her feminine grace as she deftly fitted the hilt of the arrow into the bow string and drew it back. Isobel released the arrow and failed to hide her excitement when it struck even closer to the center of the target.

  She hopped up in the air with enthusiasm and then bit her lip in an effort to quell her exuberance.

  “One more chance at redemption, blacksmith,” she said sweetly after composing herself and handing him the bow.

  Tristan took the bow and reached behind his shoulder, drawing out the final arrow. He skillfully fitted the arrow to the bow and spun on his heel, loosing the arrow expertly as he turned. It shot through the air and struck the target dead center.

  Tristan turned non-chelauntly to Isobel and winked playfully. Her mouth hung open slightly and she made a conscious effort to close it.