“Before what?”
Philip shook his head impatiently; he hated how things kept coming back to his sister. “Nothing—what I’m trying to say is, your family was very close. I know you were young when you left, but you must remember how your mother adored you—and how your father still does.”
Isobel smiled at him, and it was like the sun on his face, warming him and stealing his breath.
“Tell me aboutyourfamily,” she said.
Philip shook his head slowly. “There isna much to tell. My mother died when I was five. I hardly remember her, except that she was soft.”
Isobel’s mouth quirked slightly. “Soft?”
Philip shrugged. “Aye—I loved to sit on her lap, and it was soft.”
“What about your stepmother?”
“My stepmother,” Philip repeated, thinking about Mairi Kilpatrick. She had been beautiful and kind and loved by everyone once. Philip had adored her. After years of trying to conceive, they’d all come to believe she was barren, and though she became morose, she’d still treated Philip and his brothers as her own. Then Effie had been born when Philip was eleven, and Mairi had thrown herself into raising the perfect daughter. This task had left her very little time for aught else, but she still had kind words and smiles for Philip—unless she thought he was interfering with Effie’s upbringing.
His mood darkened. Isobel still stared at him quizzically.
He cleared his throat. “Once, she was a…” He paused, then tried again. “Once she was different than she is now.”
Isobel frowned. “How?”
Philip didn’t know how to explain it. Or perhaps he didn’t want to. Either way he shrugged. “It’s difficult to explain—but it’s my fault.”
When he glanced at Isobel she regarded him steadily. “Your fault?”
“She’s barren. It was a miracle when my sister, Effie, was born.Effie was her whole life and I lost her.”
“I see,” Isobel said slowly. “What happened to your sister?”
“That’s what you’re supposed to tell me, aye?”
She gave him a narrow look, but did not pursue the subject. “What about your father?”
Philip relaxed—his father was a safe subject. “Ah, my father. What can I say about Dougal Kilpatrick? He’s managed to sire numerous quarrelsome bastards who think they’re as entitled to Sgor Dubh as I am. And my father encourages their plotting and intrigues to amuse himself. I think he believes it will make me take an interest in my legacy. I’m not certain, though, as I never give it much thought.” He rubbed the ring on his finger, frowning. “He can give it to them for all I care.”
“Your stepmother tolerates this?”
“Tolerates what?”
“His adultery? Shoving his bastards in her face?”
Her indignation amused him. She had been a bit sheltered. Alan and Lillian MacDonell had been deeply in love, and the Attmores had also seemed a comfortable couple who likely honored their vows—a rare occurrence, in Philip’s experience.
“He’s somewhat discreet. And besides, she has much freedom to do as she pleases. She’s not fool enough to complain. I doubt she’d care to have him warm her bed anymore, anyway.”
Isobel stared straight ahead, horrified. He knew what she was thinking—imagining Lord Kincreag treating her thus. Philip wanted to assure her she was nothing at all like Mairi and so had naught to fear. But then Lord Kincreag was nothing like Dougal Kilpatrick, so who could know what would happen? The thought ofany man dishonoring Isobel sent a surge of hot anger through him so quickly and violently he was startled by it.I’d kill him.The thought was strong and fierce—and completely heartfelt. He should not be riding with her. He should not be speaking to her thusly. But he’d already made the error, and so he rode beside her in silence, feeling awkward, wanting to say something comforting to ease the worried lines in her fair brow. But he had no words for her, as her future did not comfort him.
Chapter 10
The days passed, bringing with them the rougher terrain of the Highlands. A trembling excitement filled Isobel. It had been so long since she’d seen these mountains, seen the heather-covered crags, the glens and hidden lochs, the glistening falls that emptied into clear pools of water. Though it had been twelve years since she’d last set eyes on the Highlands, her heart knew this place.Home.
They passed the occasional croft. The men plowing the fields for oats and barley raised their hands in greeting as they passed. Isobel stood in her stirrups to wave back, barely able to contain her excitement.Home.Peat smoke spiced the air, rising from holes in the thatched roofs. Women sat on driftwood benches, spinning wool and watching the younger children.
The farther they traveled, the more withdrawn Philip became. Isobel had been surprised when days ago he’d asked her to ride with him, only to be bitterly disappointed he’d only wanted to issue more warnings about Lord Kincreag.
He’d not sought her out since. He took great pains to be certain he was never alone with her. He rarely addressed her directly and was careful not to meet her gaze. But none of that helped. He’d kindled a fire in her that would not be extinguished. She touchedhis belongings when he was not looking. As he was aware of her ability, he kept his things close to him, so her opportunities were rare, but she took them. They revealed little to her, but she loved the feel of him. Even the most mundane object of his retained something of his essence in it. Strong and male, constantly sorting problems in his mind. Some of the things he pondered surprised her. She caught a memory, once—of him and a young girl, standing calf deep in the shallow water of a cove or inlet. He showed the girl how to catch fish in the weir, a low semicircular stone wall. It was a fond memory, and he recalled it with a touch of sadness.
