“Let me see your hands,” he ordered, his gaze fixed on her, demanding.
Isobel fisted them behind her back.
He held his hands out, and she stared down at them, anything to avoid the intensity of his eyes. She couldn’t think when she met his gaze. Strong, tanned hands reached toward her, dark hairdusting the back of them. He wore a ring on one finger; a tawny stone mounted in gold.
“Topaz,” she said. “Protects the wearer and improves vision.” She met his slitted gaze. “You do seem to squint. Does it help?”
His frown grew more pronounced. “I can see like an eagle.”
“And you’re modest, too.”
“It is a family ring. I wear it because my father wishes me to. No other reason.”
When he stepped away from her she let out the breath she’d been holding. She’d managed to distract him. His back was to her—broad and heavy with muscle. Her knees grew weaker. The vision of her mother’s death had drained her. She needed rest. She wished he would just leave. His presence in her bedchamber was most disconcerting. It suddenly seemed small and close.
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, then glanced at her over his shoulder. “You’re certain you’re fine?”
“Perfectly.”
He nodded, scanning the room one last time. He started for the door.
“Sir Philip,” Isobel called impulsively.
He stopped at the door and turned back to her.
“How is my father? Is he well?”
The dark eyes slanted away from her. “Aye—did he say otherwise in his letter?”
“No.”
“There you are.” He started out the door again, pulling it closed it behind him.
Before it latched she called, “Sir Philip?”
The door froze, then opened slowly inward again. His expression was bland and polite—expectant. He was impatient with her. He wanted to escape. That much was clear. Isobel was surprised that she felt slight amusement. She had little experience with men other than her foster family—and, in her opinion, they didn’t count. The three men who’d come to fetch her interested her greatly—most especially this one.
“Perhaps he is withholding information from me,” she suggested. “To protect me. Fathers do such things, you know.”
He pinned her with a hard stare. “And if he were, it would not be my place to go against his wishes.”
Isobel went to the door. “So theremightbe something amiss?”
“I didna say that.”
“But you wouldn’t, would you? Even if somethingwerewrong.”
His jaw hardened, and his dark eyes narrowed. “Everything is fine, Mistress MacDonell.”
“Do you promise?”
He exhaled loudly through his nose. “I canna do that. What if something has happened since I left Lochlaire?”
“But you can vow to me that everything was well when you left it, can you not?”
His hand dropped from the door latch, and he rubbed at his right eyebrow. “I don’t know all that goes on at Lochlaire—”
“But my father said in the letter he trusts you implicitly. Surely you are in his confidence.”
