Her fists clenched at her sides as fury rose in her chest.
How dare me faither do this to me? After years of his coldness, of the way he has made me feel unwanted, now he seeks to use me as a tool to fix Rosaline’s mistakes.
The very thought made her stomach twist with rage and helplessness.
Her thoughts spiraled. What kind of man was this Laird McCallum? She’d heard the tales whispered among the servants, the rumors of cruelty and cold-hearted vengeance. Yet she had also seen something different: pride and honor to save her reputation. That confused her most of all.
Suddenly, she was jolted from her thoughts as someone grabbed her arm roughly.
Isabelle gasped, spinning around to find Rosaline glaring up at her, eyes blazing with fury. Rosaline’s grip tightened, her nails biting into Isabelle’s sleeve.
“Ye’ll pay for this, Isabelle,” she hissed, her voice trembling with rage. “Ye stole me husband from under me nose!”
Isabelle tore her arm free, her own anger flaring bright. “Daenae twist the truth, Rosaline,” she snapped, her voice sharp as glass. “Ye’ve nay one but yerself to blame for this! Ye ken well it wasyewho had me locked in that cursed room to ruin me name!”
Rosaline’s mouth fell open in shock, her face paling. “It was in jest,” she stammered though her voice wavered with guilt.
“Ye were the only one who stood to gain from it, from ruinin’ me reputation when ye dinnae ken the identity of the man. And now, look what yer scheming’s brought. Ye’ve lost everythin’.”
Before Rosaline could answer, the heavy door creaked open and the maid, Effie, entered, followed by the two handmaids,Hannah and Paula. The three women curtsied deeply, their gazes flickering between the angry cousins and the silent laird standing by the hearth.
“Ye sent for us, me Laird ?” Effie asked cautiously.
Laird Ross’ face was grim, his tone cold and decisive. “Aye,” he said, not looking at his daughter. “Take Miss Isabelle to her chambers and prepare her for her weddin’ tomorrow to Laird McCallum.”
The maids froze, their eyes widening as if they had misheard. Paula exchanged a quick glance with Hannah, both of them whispering faintly before Effie shot them a look that silenced them.
“Aye, me Laird ,” Effie said softly, curtsying again.
Rosaline made a strangled sound of disbelief. “Uncle, ye cannae mean torewardher,” she cried, stepping forward. “She’s humiliated the Ross name... ” Isabelle resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her cousin couldn’t understand that no matter how many times she repeated herself, the situation wouldn’t change.
“Enough!” Laird Ross thundered, his face darkening. “Ye’ve done enough damage yerself, Rosaline. Nae another word.” His voice carried the weight of finality, and even Rosaline’s fury faltered beneath it.
"We’re lucky the Laird dinnae simply walk out of this castle the moment he was freed from that storage room. I am lucky to have a daughter to give him, or the two clans would become strained," he glared.
Rosaline muffled a sob.
Isabelle stood motionless, her pulse racing as Effie and the others approached her. The handmaids curtsied again, their faces filled with pity.
Effie extended a hand toward her. “Come, Miss,” she said gently. “We’ll see to yer preparations.”
Isabelle swallowed hard and nodded, her throat tight. She followed them out of the drawing room without a word, the sound of Rosaline’s sobs fading behind her.
The corridors of the keep seemed longer than ever, the torches casting deep shadows that flickered over the stone walls. Her steps felt heavy, as though she were walking toward her own execution.
“Are ye alright, Miss?” Effie asked.
“Aye, a little shaken. It is all happening so fast, Effie,” Isabelle replied.
As they reached her chamber, Effie opened the door and ushered her inside. The familiar scent of lavender and smoke greeted her, but for once, it brought no comfort.
“Perhaps a bit of port to settle yer nerves, Miss?” Hannah asked.
“Aye, thank ye,” Isabelle said.
The maids began bustling about immediately. Hannah poured the glass of port and handed it to Isabelle. The others pulled out gowns to be packed and drew a bath, whispering softly to one another.
Isabelle stood in the center of the room, her hands clasped in front of her, her mind a storm of emotion.
