“You have never failed me, and you have done well in this. I thank you. How can I repay you? If there is anything I have that you desire, you know you have only to ask.”
Isobel stared at Philip’s profile, her heart pounding painfully against her ribs. What would he ask for? She had a vision of him looking her father in the eye and saying,Your daughter is all I want.
He was silent for a long moment, staring down at the bed, his long dark lashes hiding his eyes. His jaw clenched, then he met Alan’s gaze. “You owe me naught, you should know that, but I would ask that you consider very carefully your daughter’s marriage to the earl.”
Isobel gasped. Though she’d longed to hear him say such a thing, she’d not really expected it.
Alan frowned thoughtfully. “Why do you say this?”
Philip inhaled deeply. “You say the earl is jaded, that he doesn’t believe in witches and magic. I’ve seen your daughter’s magic, and when he does, he’ll no longer doubt. Can you be certain of how he’ll react when he discovers the truth?”
Alan smiled slightly. “Your concern touches me, Philip, but as I know your heart, so I know Lord Kincreag’s. A man couldn’t ask for better friends than I have, and I’m proud to count Kincreag among them. He’ll protect my daughters with his life.”
Philip nodded, his jaw locked. Isobel’s heart sank. She’d hoped for something else, something more, but she should have known. If he hadn’t the courage to take the home he so obviously loved and wanted, why would he ask for her?
“I can see your concern is true,” Alan went on, “And so here is what we’ll do.” His gaze moved to Isobel. “Have you your mother’s charm?”
Isobel nodded and turned to Stephen, who quietly passed her the satchel. Isobel dug through it until she found the bone casket and removed her mother’s peridot.
“Now put it on,” Alan said.
Isobel looked from the charm to her father uncertainly. She didn’t know if she wanted it on at all times. Sensing her hesitance, Alan said, “That’s why you must wear it. It will be a constant reminder of your mother’s fate. Be sure you dinna repeat it.”
Isobel fumbled with the ribbon until Philip moved behind her and tied it at her nape. His fingers were warm and sure, and her loins clenched, deep and painful. She closed her eyes briefly. She must get through this somehow. Her father was dying, and it was clear he wanted nothing more than Isobel married to the earl of Kincreag. Shemustdo this.
When she opened her eyes Alan was smiling at her. He sighed deeply and sank back into the pile of pillows behind his head and shoulders. He looked drained and so frail he might blow away, but content.
His gaze cut across the room and he held out a hand that shook slightly. “Come Rose, Gillian. Help me welcome your sister.”
Chapter 16
After giving their father a quick examination, Rose MacDonell shooed everyone except Hagan and the dog from the room, including Isobel. She stood in the cavernous great hall, looking longingly from her father’s closed chamber door to Philip’s retreating back. Where was he going? Surely, if he were leaving, he’d say good-bye? But she wasn’t at all certain he would, and her belly twisted with anxiety.
She became aware of the questioning eyes on her and turned to her sisters. “Look at you two.”
The last time she’d seen Gillian and Rose they’d been children, ten and eight, respectively. They had both blossomed into beautiful women. Though they’d changed dramatically, Isobel could still see the sisters she remembered. That dreamy look still lingered in Gillian’s smoky gray eyes. Her hair was a mass of mahogany curls, braided at the crown to keep it from her face. She had been a plump child, dimpled and precious. The plumpness had moved to all the right places, so that she was voluptuous, while her limbs and neck, as well as her face, were delicate as a dove.
Rose was tall and slender, like Isobel, but sturdier. Her features held none of the delicacy of Gillian’s, but were sharp and fierce, her blue eyes brimming with passion, and surrounded by a sleekfall of deep auburn hair.
They both examined Isobel with the same intense scrutiny. “You have changed,” Rose said. “You look just like Mother.” Then her strong face crumpled, and she threw herself into Isobel’s arms. Gillian came close and rubbed at Rose’s back, making soothing and sympathetic noises.
“It’s true,” Gillian said in her soft sweet voice. “You look just like Mother…at least as I remember her, so beautiful—her hair such an unusual color.”
Rose sniffed and drew back, wiping her eyes, blue as midnight. “I’m sorry…it’s just that I’ve waited so long, then Davie showed up with a letter…and now I’m here and Father is dying and we’re all together—but getting married…. And then I see you and feel like I truly am home—looking at you is like seeing mother here again.” Rose covered her face suddenly. “I canna even think straight.”
“Father is dying?” Isobel whispered. “Are you certain?”
Rose dropped her hands. “Aye—but from what, I haven’t an inkling. Something saps away his strength and causes painful marks on his body—like bruises and welts, sometimes even in odd patterns. Hagan is beside himself. He rarely leaves Father’s side—so the marks trouble him greatly. They look as though he’s been beaten, but Hagan can attest that no one enters or leaves the room without his knowledge.” Rose stared down at her hands, the fingers spread wide, then curled them into angry fists. “Even if I lose someone, I always kent what was wrong with them and why I couldna save them. But this…this disease eludes me!”
“Is there no hope?” Gillian asked.
Rose’s fine pale brow creased with worry. “I know not—though I am still trying—I vow it. I’ll not leave him until he is healed…or gone.”
The dread in Isobel’s belly intensified, and she finally understood what it was—a premonition of her father’s death. It had to be. That he should die now, when they were all together again, was so wrong, so unfair. She looked down at her own hands, useless to her father.
Gillian covered Rose’s hands with her own. “You cannot heal everything, Rose.”
Rose spoke with a Highland Scots accent—which told Isobel she’d been in the Highlands for the past twelve years and found Gaelic more comfortable. Gillian, however, spoke with a lowland lilt.
