“Also mine.”
She turned slightly toward him then, her expression thoughtful in a way that made him pause. “Ye’re responsible for all of them.”
“Aye,” he said again, though the word felt different this time, heavier in his chest. “Did your da no’ have the same?”
“We had a castle, aye. Many servants. But my time was mostly spent at court. Ye seem much more… involved.”
Lachlan grunted. Not sure what to say in answer.
“’Tis admirable.”
“’Tis my duty.”
“Some men may no’ think so.”
She began walking, and he hurried to catch up, following the narrow path that wound down toward the village. Dunvegan had fully awakened now, the quiet of dawn giving way to the steady rhythm of work. Smoke drifted from chimneys, carrying the scent of baking bread in the air, while voices rose and fell in conversation across the open space between crofts.
Children spotted Lachlan almost immediately.
“My laird!”
Ethan and Ewan, two wee lads, came running toward him, their bare feet striking the earth with unrestrained enthusiasm.
“Did ye fight the English again?” one asked, his eyes bright with curiosity.
“Aye,” Lachlan replied, unable to suppress the faint smile that followed.
“Did ye win?”
“We are still here, are we no’?”
The lads grinned, clearly satisfied with the answer, looking every bit like their father Mungo. Then one of them pointed at Isabel. “Who is she?”
Before Lachlan could respond, Ethan and Ewan’s younger sister Eva appeared behind them, studying Isabel with a seriousness that seemed far older than her years.
“Are ye staying?” she asked.
Isabel let out a soft laugh, though there was something uncertain beneath it. “For the time being.”
The girl considered that, then reached into her pocket and held out a small pink and purple swirling seashell. “For ye.”
Isabel accepted it with a warmth that felt entirely genuine. “Thank ye—and what is your name?”
“Eva,” the lass said before the children scattered again, their attention already pulled elsewhere.
Nearby, a group of women had been watching, and waved Isabel forward. She glanced up at him as if she were unsure how to respond.
“They might bite, but only strangers, and ye are with me. I’ll no’ let any MacLeod hurt ye.”
Isabel’s cheeks colored slightly, and she nodded, before approaching the women with grace. He found himself watching her as she greeted the clanswomen. Watching the way she spoke to them with ease, asking questions about their work as though she had always been part of such conversations, and the women appeared to accept her in kind.
Lachlan wasn’t sure why he was surprised that Isabel treated the women as equals rather than servants beneath her notice, from the very first day she’d arrived and insisted on helping prepare the meal. Most noblewomen he had encountered wore their rank like armor, stiff with expectation and eager to remind others of their place. But Isabel moved among the women with an ease that drew people toward her. She listened when they spoke. She worked beside them without hesitation. And though there was no mistaking the authority in her voice, it was not the sort born from arrogance. It came from confidence, from competence. People obeyed her not because they were forced to, but because before long they found themselves respecting her. And he was not the only MacLeod to do so, it would seem.
They walked beyond the village soon after, the land opening again as the path circled back toward the sea loch.
She reached into the small pouch at her belt and withdrew the gold and ruby ring. “I have been studying this,” she said, holding it up so the light could catch the worn engraving.
Lachlan glanced at it, his attention narrowing on the small piece of jewelry. He was still unsure how Comyn figured into the plot, but when they’d been at his feast, instinct bid him keep the ring a secret, and Lachlan never ignored his instincts.
