Kincreag stared at him a moment longer, his eyes narrowing slightly, then gave him a crisp nod and left. Philip wanted to follow and threaten him to be kind to Isobel or he’d have Philip to answer to. But he restrained himself. She didn’t need him to protect her—she’d told him so herself. She’d needed something else entirely from him. He gritted his teeth against the furious pain and humiliation that assailed him when he thought of this morning. What a bloody fool he’d been to think for a moment thatshehad considered him good enough.
“Philip?” Alan called.
Philip went forward, taking the chair Kincreag had vacated. “I’m leaving. I’ve come to say farewell.”
Alan frowned. “So soon? You just arrived.”
Philip looked down at his hands, fisted against his thighs. “I must.”
Alan sighed. “You’ll be back?”
Philip shook his head slightly, his jaw clenched. “I know not.”
“Always running, you are. When will it end?”
Philip ground his teeth at the reminder of his instability.
Alan was silent for a long while. “What is wrong? You are vexed.”
Philip stared hard at his hands. He would not have Alan know it was over one of his daughters. He’d never before believed Alan was a witch, but now, after seeing what Isobel could do, he wondered. Women from miles around came to the chieftain to find out if the child they carried was a son or daughter. Such things had amused Philip before, but now they worried him. He hoped that was the extent of Alan’s magic.
“It’s my sister,” Philip said. “Isobel used her magic to find Effie.”
“I see.” Alan’s voice was distant.
Philip looked up.
Alan’s mouth was flattened in his beard, his eyes staring at the far wall in annoyance. “She will not refrain from using magic will she?”
Philip shook his head. “No…I’m sorry. I know you have warned her—I have also. She knows her own mind and will not be swayed from it.”
“Aye. Like her mother she is. We can do naught but pray for her.” Alan looked back to Philip. “So your sister is found. It has been a very long time—I assumed she was dead. This must mean great things for you at last. Will you finally go home and accept that you are heir apparent? Your father will think the angels have smiled upon him.”
Philip laughed softly. “Aye.”
“Damn, damn, and damn again,” Alan muttered. “Ah, well. It’s too late now.”
“What is?”
Alan opened his palm on the thick pile of furs. “I wanted you for Gillian. I even thought to talk you into accepting your inheritance, but when I summoned you, I could see in your face you’d chew off your arm afore you’d marry. But now that you’ve found your sister…?”
Alan’s gray deerhound sniffed around Philip’s feet. Philip scratched the dog’s ears, staring down at it, a dangerous flush suffusing his neck. He knew what Alan asked—now that he’d foundEffie, would he settle down? Oh, he’d wanted nothing more just a few short hours ago. But he would not give Isobel’s secret away. “Effiehasbeen unfinished business for a long time. Now that the end is in sight, I likely will take my place, and that means taking a wife…eventually.”
Alan fell silent and when Philip finally had the courage to look up he saw his friend was deep in thought.
“Jacques is a good friend of mine, but if I tell him I want to keep Gillian close, perhaps he will agree to break the betrothal off amicably. He has daughters, he must know what it is to lose them. And with Gillian at Sgor Dubh, she would be close to her sisters—and me, too. I would hate for her to be so far from her sisters when this illness finally takes me.”
Philip fought to keep his face expressionless. Part of him was sick with horror. Alandidthink him good enough—but dammit—he was choosing the wrong daughter! He didn’t want Gillian. It clawed at him, the desire to suggest Isobel. But part of him wanted to take Gillian anyway—just to hurt Isobel as she’d hurt him that morn. It wasshewho didn’t think him good enough to protect her family. Alan clearly thought him capable.
He smiled at Philip, looking less ill, happy even. He pushed himself up and Philip leaned forward, adjusting the pile of pillows around him so he could sit.
“Ye’ll have Gilly, aye? She’s a beauty, that one.” He gripped Philip’s arm. “It’s what I’d always hoped for, lad, to bind you to me with blood and make us family. For your sons to be my grandsons. I’ll have the papers drawn up and sent to Sgor Dubh for you to sign when you get back with your sister.”
Philip did not know how to refuse Alan. He felt a trap closing on him. He stared down at his hands, searching his mind for a graceful way out of this. He didn’t wish to alienate Alan—especially when his friend was so near the end. But when Alan died, Philip wantednothing more to do with the MacDonells. He would never be able to bear seeing or even hearing about Isobel—and to marry to her sister? Jesus God. He would not consider it.
Finally, he said, “Let me think on it.”
When he looked up, Alan stared at him, disappointed. “You do not want Gillian? She doesn’t please you?”
