Though the elders called after them to stop, they didn’t try to follow. Ewan Kennedy was being led into a tall stately home near the center of town. His ruff had been yanked off and dangled from his neck. Philip hoped that meant they would not be pursued, but after Isobel’s performance nothing was certain.
They rode hard and didn’t stop until they were far from the town. Isobel had apparently fainted and did not wake. Philip carried her before him in the saddle, while Fergus led her horse. They detoured from the route they’d taken south and when night fell found shelter in an abandoned cottage.
Stephen made a bed of their blankets for Isobel, and Philip tucked her into them. Her hands were still deathly cold, though the color had returned to her lips. He chafed her hands between his, trying to warm them. Her chest rose and fell, as though she slept deeply. He hoped it was only sleep. Several times in the course of the day he’d shook her violently. Her eyelids had opened, and though she seemed to focus on him, they only drifted shut again without her responding verbally to his questions.
They built a huge fire in the fireplace, and Philip pulled her close to it. He didn’t relax until she began to snore softly. Surely if she was snoring, she was out of danger.
Fergus stood at the open door, scanning the horizon.
Philip came to stand beside him. “I think we’re safe. It looked as if they were restraining Ewan Kennedy.”
“Aye, but tidings such as these travel quickly. And they know who you are.”
Philip nodded. He’d thought of that, but hadn’t an answer for it yet.
Stephen joined them. “It wasna my fault this time.” It wasn’t the first time they’d been run out of a town, but Stephen wasusually at fault. Stephen grinned. “She’s more trouble than I am, aye?” He shook his head, scratching at the blond whiskers covering his jaw. “I’ve never seen the like. She knew everything just by touching a piece of linen.” Stephen’s eyes lit up. He went to the canvas sack he traveled with and came back with a small tattered book. “This belonged to my da. When she wakes, do you think she’d—”
“No,” Philip said. “I do not. Look at her. Using this…magic, obviously drains her. She’s ill.”
Stephen gripped the book in both his hands, crestfallen. “I didna think of that.”
“That’s why she wears the gloves,” Fergus said, staring at the lump before the fire. “To protect herself.”
Philip watched his friends. It was clear this new side of Isobel did not disturb Stephen. He sat near her, on the stones of the hearth, flipping through the little book of his father’s in the firelight. Fergus, however, appeared deeply troubled.
“What is it?” Philip asked.
Fergus shrugged, sighing. He turned back to the open doorway. “It’s just that my wife is worried about her sister. Her letters are strange. It would set Fia’s heart at rest if Mistress MacDonell could touch a letter and tell her if all was well.” He glanced at Philip and smiled ruefully. “But I dinna want to make the lassie ill. Ah, well.”
Philip stifled an inappropriate urge to laugh. And he’d worried his friends would react with fear. He crossed the room and sat near her. He couldn’t deny his own thoughts had been running in a similar vein. She’d offered to help him find his sister, but he’d not even considered she really could help him.
Her hair glinted in the firelight. It appeared darker in the warm glow of the fire. A coppery curl fell across her cheek. As if sensinghim there, her lashes fluttered, and her gaze fell on him. She stared at him for a long moment, then smiled and closed her eyes again.
Philip found his heart was pounding. A look and a smile from her made him giddy as a lad. And he liked it—a great deal.
Chapter 9
Isobel woke slowly from the fog of sleep and peered around the small room, lit only by fire. She was overwarm, bundled tightly in a mound of blankets. She fought her way out, gasping for air. Confusion gripped her until she saw Fergus sleeping a few feet away and Stephen beside him. She remembered now. The handkerchief. The girl, Laurie’s, death. A shiver ran through her as the cold memory of death shrouded her again, the stench of moss and decaying leaves, the moist dirt on her face. It was no small effort to put it from her mind, but she had a lifetime of practice. She’d go mad if she let herself dwell upon all the things she’d seen.
She scanned the room, but Philip was nowhere in sight. Something else occurred to her. Once Philip had realized what she was doing, he’d not stopped her. Had he done it out of fear? Or fascination? He was not so different from her. He’d had neither the time nor the desire to help the Kennedys, but once he heard a missing child was involved he’d been unable to refuse.
She got quietly to her feet and tiptoed to the empty doorway. There was no door. The leather hinges flapped lazily in the gentle breeze. The moon was high and bright, but she still saw no sign of Philip.
She took several steps outside when he spoke behind her.“Where are you going?”
She turned. He separated from the shadows beside the house, his arms crossed over his chest. Darkness shaded his face, obscuring his expression.
“I was looking for you. Are you angry with me?”
He considered her a long moment, and Isobel’s palms grew damp. She wiped them on her skirt.
“I should be, shouldn’t I?”
“I only wanted to help.”
“You’re going to help us all into an early grave.”
Isobel sighed. Though she had underestimated the gravity of her situation in Scotland, she was aware that there was danger in what she did. She accepted that danger—her mother always had, and so she would, too. Lillian MacDonell had felt it was her responsibility to help if she could. That God had given her magic for a reason, and fear was no excuse to refuse to do His will. Though Isobel tried very hard to live her life as she believed her mother would want her to, she had no wish that others come to harm because of her. However, it was inevitable that people would. She was an unmarried woman—it was unlikely she would ever be alone. Anyone associated with her was at risk. It was not a situation she was happy with; nevertheless, it could not be helped. The only alternative was to do nothing. And for Isobel that was not possible.
