Isabail fell into a step alongside Elisaid MacCurran.
“Were you wed to young Andrew Macintosh?” the older woman asked.
“Aye.”
“An unfortunate death that was, to be felled by a wound gained at a faire. How long had you been married?”
A twinge of sadness pinched her just beneath her breast. She hadn’t thought of Andrew for several months. “A year and a month.”
“And there were no children?”
“Nay,” said Isabail softly. “We had not been blessed.”
The older woman shot her a curious look. “It upsets you to speak of him. My apologies. I assumed it was an arrangement, not a love match. Your father gained a powerful ally in the Macintoshes.”
“It was an arrangement,” Isabail confirmed, “but we were well suited.”
Although Andrew had been dead for four years, every moment of their time together was a treasured memory. The handsome, capable man had swept her off her feet, professing his love from the moment they met and treating her with an honor and respect she’d been unaccustomed to. The year she had spent with Andrew had changed her irrevocably—for the better. She’d gone into the marriage a shy, tentative girl and left it a confident, sure woman.
“You’re young to be a widow. Have you considered another marriage?”
Isabail shrugged. “I’m in no hurry to wed again. My dower estates were given to me to hold, and they more than pay for my keep. Playing chatelaine to my brother kept me busy.”
Lady Elisaid’s expression was shrewd. “Your cousin has a wife and you no longer have a household to run. Surely that suggests you are open to new arrangement.”
Isabail frowned. “Such thoughts are premature. Although I have recently put aside the colors of loss, I still mourn my brother’s passing.”
“My son needs a good wife.”
Isabail stopped short and stared at the older woman. Was she truly suggesting...?Surely not. “Your son stands accused of murdering my brother, Lady MacCurran.”
“A false charge.”
“Any mother would say the same,” said Isabail coolly. “But the law disagrees. You insult me to even hint of an arrangement between our families.”
“Nonsense,” the other woman dismissed. “I am merely seeking a peaceful resolution to our troubles. How can that be insulting?”
“My brother was a good man. He deserves justice, not to be forgotten the instant his memory becomes inconvenient.” Isabail felt her grief rise in her throat, nearly choking her. “Good day, madam.”
Turning on her heel, Isabail lifted her skirts and prepared to stomp off.
“Did you approach me for a particular reason, Lady Macintosh?”
She froze, her heart pounding a mournful dirge in her chest. She’d completely forgotten her mission. Pivoting slowly, she did her best to wrestle her emotions under control. “Aye. A ransom prisoner is due every courtesy while held by her captors. I wish to examine the stores for items that might ease my ordeal. I understand you hold all the keys.”
Lady Elisaid frowned. “Do I?”
The man standing just behind Lady MacCurran bent toward her and whispered in her ear. The frown eased. “Apparently, I do. Master Tam will give them to you. Take whatever you like, but I assure you, comfort is a scarce commodity in this ancient pile of rocks.”
Master Tam, slowly and with obvious reluctance, handed Isabail a small iron ring hung with four rust-spattered keys.
Isabail nodded sharply to Lady MacCurran. “I will return them presently.”
Then she departed, her stomach knotted so tight she could barely breathe. The gall of the woman, suggesting an alliance between their families. Her fiendish son had stolen away the one true friend she had in this world, felling him in his bed. John was dead.
Tears blurred Isabail’s vision. And Lady Elisaid thought she could simply brush those horrid memories aside. Impossible.
She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and marched up to Beathag. “I have Lady Elisaid’s permission to examine the stores. Show me where they are.” Determination added weight to her demand. “Now.”
