Philip felt strangely annoyed at Attmore’s good humor over the situation. She’d lived with the man for twelve years—he was a foster father to her. He shouldn’t be so happy to see her go. Isobel didn’t seem upset by his behavior. Perhaps she was accustomed to it. That disturbed him even more.
He watched her with narrowed eyes. She held the letter in her gloved hands, reading it over and over again. Gloves. Why would she put on glovesinside,when she’d not bothered with them outside?
Stephen roused Philip from his reverie with a hard slap on the shoulder. “Didn’t Alan sendhera letter?”
“Oh, aye.” Philip retrieved it from his jack and crossed the room to her. She raised her head, and his heart seized. She was not at all what he’d imagined. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d expected, but not this fair, slender thing. She looked nothing at all like her father. Her face was narrow and fine-boned, her wide eyes were a pale, silvery green, and her hair…he’d never seen such a shade of red.
Her eyes seemed to shimmer as she stared at him, a question in them. “My father is bringing me home for my upcoming nuptials?”
Philip still held the packet Alan MacDonell had given him. He nodded, offering it to her.
“He has chosen a husband for me?”
“Aye.”
Her gaze dropped to the packet, but she didn’t reach for it. She licked her lips and swallowed. “Is it you?” she asked quietly.
Philip blinked, uncertain he’d heard her correctly. “What? Me? No. Good Lord, no.” He spoke with more force than he’d intended—only because he’d feared the same thing when Alan had sent for him. He’d been greatly relieved that Alan had only this task in mind and not yoking Philip to one of his daughters.
Her gaze jerked back to his. “I see.” She snatched the packet from his hand.
He’d insulted her. He’d not meant to. “I—no, I mean, that’s—”
“I’ll see you on the morrow.” She spun around and left the room, with Philip still struggling to form a coherent apology.
He dropped his hands to his sides and exhaled. “That went well.” He did not spend a great deal of time in the company of gentlewomen; nevertheless, he had never been so ill-mannered. The woman had set him off-balance from the moment she’d appeared in the doorway. He scowled, not liking any of this and wishing he could do it over.
Stephen slapped him on the back. “It doesna matter—remember? We’ve got our orders.”
Stephen laughed at Philip’s sour look.
“Where are you going?” he called after the hulking lad as he exited the room.
“I’m hungry. There’s a kitchen about here somewhere.”
When Fergus followed, Philip put out a hand to stop him. “I didn’t mean to insult her. Surely you can see that.”
Fergus smiled and gripped Philip’s shoulder. “‘Course I see that. Dinna fash—she’ll get over it.”
Stephen and Fergus were right. What did it matter? Why was he letting it trouble him at all? He shrugged it off and followed his men in search of dinner.
Isobel shut the door to her room firmly, then bolted it for good measure. She went to her bed and drew the bed curtains. With a candle and the pouch Sir Philip had given her, she crawled into the privacy she’d created. She unfastened the ties on the leather pouch, withdrew a letter and a small bone casket, decorated with knotwork and silver. Isobel recognized it. It had been her mother’s.
She set both the letter and the casket on the bed with shaking hands and stared at them. Part of her was relieved her father had not forgotten her, excited to soon be reunited with him in her old home. But the sense of foreboding had not gone away—it had only intensified since Sir Philip’s arrival. It must have something to do with her father. Something was wrong. She must discover what.
Slowly, she removed her gloves and set them aside. As soon as she took her father’s letter in her hands the stone in her belly grew heavier. She held the missive between her palms, probing at the darkness that shrouded it. There was a sense of great weariness. An aching in her joints. Resignation.
Alarmed, she hurriedly broke the wax seal and spread it on the bed near the candle.
To My Loving Daughter Isobel,
How I’ve longed for this day to arrive, but now that it has there is so little time. Remember you AlasdairLyon, Earl Kincreag? He was a good friend and lord to me. It has been many years since he passed on and his son, Nicholas, the current earl, is widowed. He agreed that a union between our families would be advantageous. He is a good man and will bring you much happiness.
I regret that I am unable to bring you home myself, but I am indisposed. I trust no man more than Sir Philip Kilpatrick. He will guard you with his life. But you must have a care. He heeds not the stories of your mother. I know you are ever like your mother in all you do, and so you must exercise caution. Give no one reason to suspect you are aught but what you appear. I’m sending your mother’s charm to you. I’ve kept it close to me these many years since Lillian’s death, but it is yours now. Use it to remember why you must guard your secret with vigilance.
I count the days until your homecoming,
A. MacDonell
