She seemed troubled, and he wanted to assure her she had nothing to fear, she was far lovelier than the countess of Kincreag had been, but he held his tongue.
“Were they married long?”
“I know not.”
“Any children?”
“No.”
“So he’s in need of an heir.”
“Aye, it seems so.” Philip was desperate to end this conversation. He stared fixedly at the manor looming closer, lengthening his stride.
“Did you ever see them together?”
“Look,” Philip said, “we’re back.” They were several yards away from the wooden drawbridge, but Philip jogged to it. Fergus and Stephen waited in the courtyard with the horses. Though she said not another word about Lord Kincreag, Philip knew the conversation was far from over. He stopped at the door and waited for her to catch up. She took her time, strolling toward him. She stopped to exchange a few words with Fergus, who held the reins of a cream-colored mare. She stroked the horse’s nose, and Fergus nodded emphatically. The other horses shied and snorted as she walked past, and Horse even managed to jerk free of Stephen’s hold and trot away. Stephen swore, chasing the beast across the courtyard.
Isobel didn’t seem to notice. When she finally joined Philip, he opened the door for her.
“I need to gather a few things. Am I allowed to go up to my room alone?”
“Aye—just hurry. We must leave.”
He watched her disappear around a corner, then joined his men.
“Where was she?” Stephen asked when he returned with anervous Horse.
Philip frowned at his mount, stroking his neck until he calmed. “Never mind—just listen carefully. No one is to speak to her about her betrothed, Lord Kincreag. Do you understand?”
Fergus nodded, but Stephen scowled.
“I canna talk about her father. I canna talk about her husband. WhatcanI talk to her about?”
“I don’t see any reason why you must speak to her at all.”
Fergus made a choking noise as Stephen just stared at Philip in disbelief. Philip sighed, realizing how absurd it was for him to forbid Stephen to speak to her.EspeciallyStephen, who spoke to anyone who stood still long enough to listen.
“Talk about yourself—you’re good at that. Talk about Fergus.”
“Me?” Fergus said gruffly, smoothing his hair down self-consciously. “What would ye say aboot me?”
Stephen grinned. “I’ll tell her how your wife is always winking at me when you’re not looking—Ah!”
Fergus grabbed Stephen’s sack of food and sent it sailing across the courtyard.
“Little bastard,” Fergus grumbled, when Stephen ran off to fetch his bag, still grinning. He turned back to Philip. “Don’t you think someone ought to tell hersomething?”
“No. Not our place.”
Stephen returned with his sack. “Our duty is to find the people and deliver them to the lion’s den—but never tell them what awaits them.”
Philip shrugged. “If the lion pays in gold, what do I care what he does with his prey?”
“Spoken like a true Highlander.”
Philip whirled at the voice behind him. Isobel was there, a small black-and-red checked arisaid draped around her shoulders and secured at the breast with the MacDonell of Glen Laire brooch—a griffin and a dragon, their tails entwined. Her gloves were on, and she carried a small leather satchel. She smiled at his dumfounded expression.
“What are you wearing?” he managed to choke out. It was unusually small, hanging barely to her waist and rather strained about her shoulders. It took him a moment to realize it was a child’s arisaid.
