Philip smiled slightly. “What an amazing coincidence that I was shot twice with your quarrels. Such poor marksmanship, Colin.”
“I was hunting—I didn’t know you were there.”
“So why then did we have to beat you out of the forest, aye? If it were such an innocent mistake, why not come forward and see if I was wounded? And what were you doing in MacDonell’s deer park, anyway?”
Colin turned sullen. “I ran because I know you. You’d never believe me. Always thinking the worst.”
The conversation was becoming tedious. Philip had other things to worry about. They had to stay the night here, but they would leave at first light. There was nothing for him here. And there was nothing he could do to appease Mairi—he’d tried for years. Isobel had been his last hope. It was best just to leave. Mairi was happier without him there as a constant reminder.
He pushed away from the wall. He would see Dougal and getthatover with. Then he could leave Sgor Dubh behind him—forever this time. Colin would be so pleased.
As Philip passed his brother, Colin said, “What about the lass? What is she to you?”
Philip faced his brother. He could see the wheels turning in Colin’s head. If Philip married her, and they had a son, Colin could say good-bye to ever being chieftain. Dougal would name Philip’s son his heir. Dougal knew his boys. Colin, Aidan, and Niall were not moral men. They were drunk more often than sober—and everyone suspected Niall had the pox—though he denied it vehemently. They were weak-minded and easily swayed. Colin was the best of the three, with some will of his own. But still, when with Niall and Aidan, he showed little common sense. That was why Dougal had badgered Philip for years—even when Philip repeatedly refused, willingly stepping aside for Colin.
“She is nothing to me,” Philip said. “She is, however, soon to be the countess of Kincreag.”
“Then what is she doing here?”
“I’m giving the gray mare to her and Lord Kincreag as a wedding gift. We’re here to fetch it. We leave in the morn.”
Colin raised his brows. “That’s a fine gift.”
“He is an earl.”
“I’m surprised Lord Kincreag would have her. Wasn’t Lillian MacDonell burned for witchcraft?”
Philip’s gaze narrowed. “What has that to do with Isobel? Women are burned for naught more than the accusations of their enemies anymore. It means nothing.”
Colin laughed incredulously. “Nothing? Perhaps there are so many burnings because the evil in this country runs deep. Witches must be rooted out, exterminated—not married to earls! I’d not want to wed that crone’s daughter—”
Philip grabbed his brother by the front of his shirt and slammed him hard against the wall. “You speak ill of theMacDonells again, and you’ll wish your arrow’s aim had been true, for I’ll not show you mercy this time.”
Colin tried to push Philip off. “Bloody hell, Philip—surely you’ve heard the rumors. It’s said her daughters are fey—that’s why MacDonell hid them.”
Philip leaned close to Colin’s face. “I find out you’re spreading such tales, and I’ll track you down and kill you.”
“The tales hardly need me to spread.” His brother’s brow twitched in sudden understanding, and he smiled. “Oh, that’s the way of it. I’m certain MacDonell of Glen Laire will be pleased to hear how well you’ve taken care of his daughter. And the earl of Kincreag! What would he think? That, along with a few accusations of sorcery and…” Colin shook his head sadly. “I fear things would not go well for the lass.”
Philip had miscalculated. How had that happened? He rarely lost his temper with his half brothers—always careful to impress how little he cared about Sgor Dubh or them. Not that it mattered, they’d always held a powerful weapon—his guilt over Effie, his remorse toward Mairi, and though he’d striven to take even that power from them, he’d never been entirely successful. And now he’d played right into Colin’s hands and revealed yet another weakness. Isobel.
Colin thrust Philip away from him and made a show of straightening his shirt and plaid. “Just remember that when you talk to Father. So long as he names me tanist, you can do what you like with your little witch.”
Philip’s hand was on his sword hilt, his jaw rigid. Colin saw it and backed away, still smiling his oily smile, and disappeared down the ladder. Philip’s hand still clenched the hilt, itching to cut his bastard brother down. That Colin would be chieftain of Sgor Dubh chafed. He’d wanted Colin to have it—or so he’d endeavored to convince himself for years—but now, to give it to him underthreats of blackmail, when it had been his all along…Philip was tempted to go down to his father and announce he’d changed his mind and would take his place as heir apparent.
But no. That would mean living with Mairi and the ghost of his sister. And besides, he didn’t doubt Colin’s sincerity—he would find a way to inform Lord Kincreag of Isobel’s alleged crimes. And unfortunately, too much of it was the truth.
Philip’s hand relaxed on his sword. He could not wait to be quit of the place. He wished they’d never come. Tomorrow. All he must endure was an audience with his father and a meal with the rest. And on the morrow they would be gone.
Chapter 12
Philip did not come for her. Isobel spent several hours in his room, trying to wrap her arisaid about her shoulders in the manner of the women she’d seen in the courtyard earlier. She thought of Mairi’s. It had extended from shoulders to ankles. No wonder Isobel’s had looked ridiculous—it was far too short to be worn so, but she could still wear it as a wrap. She’d seen some women do that, though their arisaids had been wider and longer. But no matter how she fussed with it, she couldn’t seem to make it look as the Highland women’s.
When finally she’d shoved it back in her satchel in disgust, she’d decided to go through Philip’s room—gloves on. She was drained from touching Effie’s things and needed to rest. She knew she should lie down until dinner, but though her body was tired, her mind was not.
The scene in Effie’s room played over and over again in her head, and still she could find no way to make it right. She knew from touching Effie’s things that Mairi’s feelings toward Philip were poisoned. It was not mere dislike, or even hate, it was far more complex than that. She wanted him to suffer. And even more disturbing was that Isobel understood it. Who could blame her? It was clear Mairi had loved her daughter, that the loss of Effie had destroyed her life, and Philip claimed to be responsible for it all.
But Isobel’s feelings for Philip ran deep—deeper than she cared to examine—and she couldn’t bear that he continued to punish himself for something that could not be changed. She knew him well enough to understand that whatever happened, it had not been intentional and that he’d paid for it—was still paying.
