Page 58 of Devil Black

Three days had passed since her father’s visit. During that time Dougal had kept away from her, had spent his daylight hours—and nights, for all Isobel knew—riding his boundaries and pacing his battlements. When Isobel saw him from her windows, he wore a grim face and an ugly air of gloom that befitted the name they called him in the district, Devil Black.

Isobel craved the reassurance of his presence. Even a single visit from him in the night would give her something to hold on to in the midst of all her uncertainty. She knew he did not love her, but an indication he wished to keep her for some reason beyond his desire to spite MacNab would go far to bolster her spirit.

“In fact,” she mused to Meg’s silent presence, “I can count but three times my father made any promise to me.” The first had been when they stood watching Isobel’s mother being put into the ground, Isobel holding Catherine’s hand, and he promised he would look after them. She supposed he thought he had done that, to the best of his ability, and he thought he was looking after her now. If he believed the lies MacNab poured into his ear, then he believed she needed rescue and of course he would listen not to what he considered Isobel’s misguided words.

He had made his second promise when he told both Isobel and Catherine he would see them well married and cared for. That was before Isobel’s seduction and downfall, when she had completely disgraced herself in her father’s eyes. Then, he had promised her she would live to regret her deflowering.

And she had—oh, she had!

“You need to eat.” Meg slid the tray onto the bedside table. “You have taken nothing in three days.”

“I do not care,” Isobel admitted, still surprised Meg apparently did.

“You should.” Meg seated herself on the foot of the bed so Isobel could not escape looking at her. “What if you carry my brother’s child? Have you not thought of that?”

Isobel sat up abruptly. “But I have no reason to assume I am with child. Have I?”

Meg shrugged diffidently. “You expect me to know?” She inspected Isobel slowly. “Surely it is possible, given the joining has been consummated as vigorously as you continue to claim.”

“I feel no different.”

“Still, would you gamble on it, if ’tis possible you carry the heir my brother so deeply desires?”

“Does he, truly?”

“Aye. These lands may not seem much to you, coming from the sweet south, but they are Dougal’s life’s blood.”

“Yorkshire is scarcely the sweet south.”

“Well, we live simply and starkly, here. You had better take something to eat, for the sake of us all.”

“All right.” The food on the tray looked unappealing, but Isobel took up a crust of bread. “Will you stay and talk with me while I eat?”

“I am no fit nurse or companion.”

“Tell me what’s been happening. What is going on downstairs?”

Meg scowled. “Naught to the good. My brother wears himself thin minding his borders, and that fool, Lachlan, minds me. I wish he would take himself off! I will never give him what he wants.”

Distracted momentarily from her own troubles, Isobel asked, “Why not? You admitted he is a fine-looking man.”

“A pretty boy!” Meg’s lip curled in derision. “Oh, I am not saying he lacks a fine body—long limbs and a good set of shoulders. But I am through with men.”

“Forever?” Isobel asked incredulously.

“Aye, well, I will allow I have been tempted to use him for the one purpose…but then how would I get him out of my bed again? I doubt a good kick to the rump would be enough to remove him.”

“Perhaps you could make a deal before hand,” Isobel suggested, barely noticing now the food she ate. “Take him to your bed once, on the condition he leaves you alone, after.”

Meg smiled slowly. “I like the way you think. The trouble is, as I say, I have known Lachlan most of my life, and I know he would agree to the bargain only to follow me like a hound pup, after.” She sighed. “I doubt ’tis worth it; I would be better going without.”

Isobel, tearing her crust into chunks, did not comment.

More briskly, Meg said, “Why do you not get out of this room and take the air? The kitchen garden is sheltered and pleasant enough. I would go mad, shut up in here so long.”

“What is the weather, outside?”

“Snowing, though the wind keeps it from lighting on the ground.”