“Nothing really…just some things about my father I did not know.” He scratched at his head. “Did you know my father and my uncle loved the same woman—my aunt! I guess Da was the loser.”
Philip had only met Stephen’s aunt once, but she was a striking woman. Philip could see it. Stephen had been a small child whenhis father died, so his aunt and uncle had raised him. Though the lad was devoted to them, he’d always been preoccupied with his mysterious father. Philip shared a similar childhood, his mother dying when he was very young. His stepmother had been kind to him until he’d ruined it by losing her daughter—after that, nothing had been the same.
“She got all that from your father’s book?”
“Aye! That and more,” Stephen said, impressed. “She’s a most…exceptional woman.”
Philip’s eyes narrowed at Stephen, but his friend didn’t notice. His gaze was fixed thoughtfully on Isobel.
“It’s a shame,” Stephen continued, “that she’s to marry Lord Kincreag, aye?”
When Philip didn’t reply Stephen glanced at him. “I know she’s your charge, but ye canna tell me you haven’t noticed.”
“She’s a wee bit old for you, don’t ye think?”
Stephen made a sound of dismissal. “Six years is nothing.” He grinned wickedly. “I’ve had older women than she.”
“Ye touch her, and I’ll thrash you, lad. This time it’s no jest.”
Stephen laughed. “Ye think me daft, man? I’ll not prick the earl of Kincreag’s temper. I value my life.”
Philip was sick of talking and thinking about the earl of Kincreag. He had no quarrel with the man and no reason to hate him, but the mere mention of his name had become poison to Philip.
“But I can still think about it,” Stephen mused. “No harm in that.”
Philip glared at Stephen until the lad raised his brows in amused surprise. Before he could blather any further, Philip spurred his horse forward, catching up with Fergus and Isobel.
“Mistress MacDonell,” he said when he was beside her, “ride ahead with me.”
She glanced quickly at Fergus, but nodded. The hard ride did nothing to work out the repressed lust plaguing him every time he looked at her or thought of her—and it uselessly tired the horses. Isobel raced along beside him, and when he finally slowed to a walk, she looked at him questioningly, her cheeks flushed from the exercise, her eyes shining.
She looked behind them at Fergus and Stephen, dots on the horizon. “Have I done something wrong?”
Philip had meant to say a great deal to her—all of which sounded foolish now—so instead he said, “Do you plan to tell Lord Kincreag that you’re a witch?”
She stared straight ahead, coppery lashes catching the sun. “Not right away…if ever. But how am I to know what will happen? He might turn out to be as wonderful as…to be wonderful.”
He wanted to probe further, to prepare her somehow, but before he could, she said, “Why are you so loyal to my father?”
Philip shrugged, not because he didn’t know the answer but because it was at once both simple and complex. “Because I fostered with him. Fostering almost always knits men together. Alan was like a father to me…in many ways I look to him more than I do my own father. And as Alan had no sons, I think he often looks on the lads he fostered ashislads.”
Isobel frowned. “So that’s it? Fostering?”
“Aye.”
Her brow was furrowed and she chewed the inside of her lip, staring into the distance.
“Why does that trouble you?”
“It’s not that it troubles me…but in a sense,Ifostered with the Attmores—and for twelve years. Yet, I feel little loyalty to them, nor they to me.”
“Ah.” This was what had bothered Philip when he was at Attmore Manor—the lack of feelings between the Attmores and their charge. Now that he realized she truly was a witch, he understood why the Attmores had been so happy to be rid of her. But it didn’t mean he liked it. Philip scraped at his whiskers—long and beginning to itch, he couldn’t wait to shave—searching for the right words to address what he thought she might be feeling. He was not good at this type of thing and didn’t know why he was even trying now.
“It’s not your fault, you know, that the Attmores were…well…”
“Afraid of me?” She laughed softly and without humor. “Of course it was my fault. Iama witch.”
“Isobel…families are strange. I was more comfortable with your mother and father than with my own—even before…”
