“I don’t want it!” Gillian said, starting to sound hysterical, as if she feared Rose might somehow force her into it.
“Leave off,” Isobel said. “She doesn’t want to—and besides, Stephen is a good friend—leave him out of your schemes.”
Rose squared her shoulders and put on an obedient face. “Aye, mum!”
They all laughed and moved to the enormous fireplace. Isobel hadn’t felt so warm and wanted in years. She had missed her sisters and her home desperately. But although an easy rapport was quickly established between them, Isobel did not share her feelings about Philip. She was not yet ready—and besides, what Rose had said would not leave her.Better to lose your maidenhead to a man of your choosing, than to some old stranger. Ye should grab what ye can, while ye can—ye never know what the future holds.
Lord Kincreag was not an old carcass, but neither was he Sir Philip Kilpatrick, the man she loved beyond reason. Better to have one night with Philip, than to always wonder, to always wish and want.
Virginity, my wee innocents, is so very easy to fake.
Her heart beat faster at the very thought, and it lingered, took root and blossomed, filling her with excitement and delicious fear.
Tonight, she would pay Philip a visit.
She was distracted all through the dinner hour. It was an odd meal, besides. Uncle Roderick presided over it as if he were already chieftain, and though that was not wrong of him, considering her father’s condition, it still made Isobel feel slightly resentful. Rose was not present, and Roderick informed Isobel that she tended his wife—the pregnant Tira. He confided that he was stalling Rose’s wedding until after Tira gave birth. He feared that without Rose’s superior healing skills the baby, and perhaps his wife, would be lost. This was a very important baby, as Alan had already verified that it was a boy.
Isobel immediately felt chagrined for her cross feelings at her uncle. He had suffered much in the past twelve years—being twice widowed could not be easy on anyone, certainly not a kind man like Roderick MacDonell. It was amazing he’d managed to preserve his good humor.
There was still no sign of Philip, though Stephen came to the table late, looking as if he’d been up to no good. Davie entertained them with music from his harp and some rather tame ballads. Isobel wanted to ask Stephen about Philip, but he was seated farther down the table. She tried to get his attention, but he was bolting his food down as if he were starving, his concentration completely on his meal.
When Stephen finished, he stuffed more food in a sack and hurried away from the table without a word to anyone. Isobel stood to follow him, but Roderick caught her arm.
“It’s time, lass.”
“Time for what?” Isobel asked impatiently, straining to follow Stephen, who promptly disappeared through a doorway.
“Time to meet your betrothed.”
The air left Isobel in a rush, and she forgot Stephen. She turned to her uncle. “Now?”
He nodded sympathetically and propelled her across the hall, his hand on her back. “Best not to keep him waiting.”
Isobel’s mind was a whirlwind of fear and apprehension. Before she could make any sense of it, or even prepare herself for meeting Lord Kincreag, they stood before the door to his chambers—the finest in the castle, besides her father’s. But her uncle didn’t knock. He frowned at the door for a moment, then turned to her, and whispered, “Have ye tried to use yer magic to discover what ails yer father?”
Isobel shook her head. It hadn’t even occurred to her. He was ill, after all, and she was not a healer—Rose was.
Roderick nodded, the frown easing from his brow.
“Should I try?” she asked.
“No—ye best not chance it with the earl here.” He took her shoulders and looked deep into her face. His gaze dropped to her mother’s charm that lay against her breasts. “Your father has spoken to you of the importance of concealing your magic?”
Isobel nodded miserably.
“Well, I will be redundant then, but just the same I must. Do nothing to make him suspect. You have heard the rumors of what he did to his first wife?”
“They’re just rumors. Father would not wed me to a murderer.”
“Of course not. But what happened to the countess remains a mystery—one the king didn’t care enough to investigate.”
Isobel blinked. “Are you saying hedidmurder her?”
Roderick shook his head emphatically. “Iam notsaying that. Your father certainly believes him innocent, and Alan is a good judge of character. However, I have always found the man cold and—”
The door swung open. Isobel jerked guiltily toward the man who now filled the doorway. He stood with one hand on the doorframe and the other gripping the edge of the open door. He was as dark as Philip had said—black hair, black eyes, skin so dark he must have Spanish Moor in his blood. He was dressed almost entirely in black as well. And the room beyond was dimly lit, so the broad expanse of his shoulders seemed to melt into the darkness beyond.
His black devil eyes were currently fixed on Roderick. “And?” he drawled, his voice deep and chilling.
