Stephen looked away with poorly feigned confusion. “Stories? Did I say that? I misspoke. And if there are any, I canna recall them.”
Isobel gave him a severe look. His gaze met hers, then bounced away, scanned the sky. “The clouds seem heavy. A storm is brewing. What think you? The air feels thick—and look at the trees—”
“The only storm brewing is the one I’ll let loose on you if you don’t tell me the truth about Lord Kincreag.”
Stephen looked around uncertainly, as if he wished to escape.
“Iknowyou know something. I thought we were friends. You must tell me what you know. How else will I find out? My father won’t tell me, and if it’s really so bad, I doubt Lord Kincreag will. Youmust,Stephen—it’s only fair. Must I go into this marriage blind? Knowing nothing about my husband?”
Stephen’s expression was pained. He looked surreptitiously over his shoulder at Philip and Fergus, then reined his horse in closer. “I’ll tell you what I know. But you must remember it’s only gossip, so take it as such—and you canna tell Philip I told you.”
Isobel nodded.
Stephen took a deep breath. “A few years past…his wife…well, something happened to her.”
“She’s dead.”
Stephen nodded. “Aye, she’s dead. Castle Kincreag sits on a cliff overlooking a vast river. Some of the paths are dangerous. She…fell.” His blond brows arched meaningfully.
“She fell? Or someone pushed her?”
Stephen said nothing, his mouth grim.
Isobel’s heart thumped uncomfortably in her throat. She told herself it was naught more than a rumor. It wasn’t fair to condemn the man before meeting him.
“But no one knows, you said. He probably didn’t do it. It’s just an unhappy incident, and cruel people love pointing fingers—especially at one so high up as Lord Kincreag. They can’t hurt him any other way, but with vicious talk.”
Stephen nodded. “Perhaps. But…they were at court, not a week before her death. Now, Lady Kincreag was no saint, so dinna misunderstand. My uncle used to get sore angry at how poorly sheused Lord Kincreag—he said when she died, that was the best thing that ever happened to Nicholas Lyon—but you wouldn’t know it today. The man hardly ever leaves his castle. And when you do meet up with him, his eyes are so dark and evil, most men canna meet them for more than a second afore they look away in fear.”
“What did Lady Kincreag do that was so horrible?”
“She cuckolded the poor earl with half a dozen men—some nobles, some commoners. He called a few out, but after a time it became absurd. She was a whore, plain and simple, and he was tired of killing men because of her base nature. As I was saying, less than a week afore she died, they were at court. The night afore they returned to Kincreag, they were seen arguing something terrible. He called her some vile names that I cannot repeat—oh, she was plently foul, too—make no mistake. And it’s said that he threatened, ‘I ought to kill you.’”
At her horrified expression, Stephen nodded sagely, brows raised. “Not even a sennight later, she’s dead. Fell to her death from the cliff. And it’s said she never was one to walk along the cliff path. So why was she there at all? Hmm?”
Isobel slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God! He’s a murderer! I’m going to marry a murderer!”
Stephen tried to shush her, panicked. “I told you, it’s but gossip. And my uncle thinks it’s rubbish—and he knows what’s what. No one knows if he really did it.”
Isobel looked at him incredulously. “Nicholas Lyon is an earl! He can do whatever he wants so long as the king favors him.”
Stephen nodded thoughtfully. “My uncle has mentioned that King James is rather fond of Lord Kincreag. The king always appreciates a pretty face. And all knew the king didn’t like Lady Kincreag at all.”
“Jesus Lord,” Isobel moaned, rubbing at her temples. She felt faint.
“Now, dinna go fainting on me, Mistress MacDonell,” Stephen said, looking over his shoulder again. The sound of hoofbeats grew louder behind them.
Isobel fought to compose herself, but it was impossible. Had her betrothed really murdered his wife? She didn’t want to believe it, but insidious doubt twisted in her gut.
“It’s nearly dark,” Philip said from the other side of Stephen. “There’s a forest ahead. We’ll camp there.”
Isobel stared straight ahead, her body cold, trying to hide her unease.
“What’s the matter?” Philip asked. When Isobel didn’t reply, he said, louder, “Mistress MacDonell—is aught amiss?”
Isobel nailed a smile to her face and shook her head. “Not a thing.”
“She’s just tired,” Stephen said anxiously. “That’s all.”
