Page 43 of Devil Black

“And failed,” Dougal said, like a man stabbed to the heart. “My own conviction in the power of love availed me nothing then, Lachy. If you want to buy into the delusion for the sake of your loins or your conscience, though by the devil’s horns, I do not know why, then find yourself some meek miss who can decide herself equally besotted with you and give you a crop of sons. Do not entangle yourself with my sister.”

“So you have advised me, over and over again. And I say to you, Dougal, love is more than the side effect of a stiff crotch. ’Tis a kind of magic, that strikes where it may. You canno’ choose it, or refuse it.”

“You truly are a fool.”

“So you have also advised me, repeatedly.”

“Tell me then, Lachlan. If you languish in the pleasurable pool of love, why do you also mope here, showing the aspect of a man who has been kicked in the teeth?”

“You know why. Meg leads me a merry chase. She spends most her time warning me off and then, just occasionally, tosses me a scrap of hope, barely enough to keep me panting after her.”

“So, be a man. Command her, or leave her.”

“As you do your wife?” Lachlan slanted a curious look at Dougal. “I suppose you command all of your emotions, where she is concerned?”

“Of course,” Dougal lied.

“I have to admit,” said Lachlan, who seemed to have a penchant for putting his foot in his mouth this day, “I never expected to see you wed—after Aisla, I mean. And Isobel is naught like Aisla, is she? ’Tis like comparing chalk and cheese.”

“And why should she be like—” Dougal found that even after all this time he could not speak her name.

“Full of spirit,” Lachy went on, oblivious to Dougal’s state of mind. “And I cannot imagine her weeping in that soft way, as Aisla used to.”

“Shut up, Lachlan.”

“Eh?”

“Stop talking now, or I swear I will silence you!”

Lachlan shot him an injured look.

Silence fell on the high walk, save the soughing of the endless wind that seemed to bring the chill of the distant hills.

“All I am saying,” began Lachlan, who never knew when to keep still, then, “is I hope your new wife proves worth it. You do know you have war on your hands? Her father may or may not bring you trouble. With MacNab, ’tis assured.”

“I welcome war with MacNab, Lachy. I have long desired it.”

“You want revenge, and to pay him back.”

“We have established that.”

“And if it costs your lands? Your bonny new wife?”

Dougal shrugged. “The cost be damned. Just so I bring him down—with me or without.”

“Aye, so!” Lachlan tossed his head. “I suppose that proves you have no real love for Isobel.”

“I have told you over and over again, Lachlan, I am incapable of love.”

****

Lachlan’s words returned to Dougal later that evening when he and Isobel sat by the fire in her chamber, prior to retiring. He felt restless and irritable, and Isobel’s presence acted on him like strong drink, turning his mind. He wanted her, aye, but he would be damned if he would jump through hoops for the privilege of enjoying her body. Why did he put himself through this particular hell? He would be better off taking a turn among the guard he had posted on the battlements, or sitting up alone in the great hall.

Or, if he chose, he could just take her—as her husband, it was his right. But self-prohibition that went beyond conscience kept him from that. And, curse her, she had not reached for him.

She spoke suddenly into the stillness of the room. “Do you think MacNab truly will bring trouble over our union? I have been thinking about it for days, ever since his visit, and contemplating my rash action in taking my sister’s place. Perhaps I should write to my father and explain, take all the blame onto myself. He cares little enough about me anyway. Perhaps he could diffuse the situation with MacNab, since they are such close friends.”

Dougal turned his head and looked at her in surprise. She stared into the fire, so he saw her in profile. She looked like a girl turned into a woman by sorrow, and he experienced a twinge of nameless emotion. It had been days since he had considered her state of mind or, in truth, anything save his hatred for MacNab and the ache in his crotch. Now the parallels between her situation and what Aisla had endured long ago leaped at him. Isobel had fire and courage, and little of Aisla’s gentle spirit, yet she must feel afraid and very much alone, her only companions himself—Satan help her—and his witch of a sister.