Page 19

“Isla?” A knock sounded at the door.

She gathered herself and sat straight. “Come in.”

The door opened, and Lady Moira entered.

Isla froze. These were probably her quarters, and her presence here must have displaced her from them.

“I am sorry,” she said hastily.

“What are ye apologizin’ for, child?”

“Ye had to move out because of me.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Moira chuckled. “I would never stay in these rooms. These were always meant for the lady of the castle, and after…” she trailed off, her smile faltering for a moment, before she shook her head and called in a servant carrying bolts of fabric.

“What is all this?” Isla asked.

“We need to prepare for the wedding!” Lady Moira gushed. “We have so much to do and very little time to do it.”

Isla looked at the fabrics that were spread on the table. Lace and wool and tartans of all colors. She didn’t dare to touch them.

“So, what do ye think?” Lady Moira asked.

“About what?”

“The weddin’ gown. What would ye like?”

“Me?”

“Of course ye,” Lady Moira chuckled. “It’s yer weddin’, is it nae?”

Isla felt her throat tighten. She had endured her uncle’s abuse for so long that she had forgotten she could have her own opinion.

She reached out and touched the fabrics, rich and clearly expensive beneath her fingers, until she found a tartan of deep crimson crossed with black.

“Ah, a fine choice,” Lady Moira praised.

“It is bonnie,” Isla admitted.

“The color goes well with yer eyes.”

“But it is too expensive,” she dared to object.

She had come to the MacLeods with nothing but a cursed name and information. Even that had its limits.

“Alisdair can afford it. And he would want ye to have the best.”

Isla tightened her jaw and looked away. She rather doubted Alisdair would care what she wore, beyond whatever image of power and wealth it might project alongside their marriage.

“Alisdair is… complicated,” Lady Moira said.

Isla let out a scoff before she could smother it. Complicated was both correct and wildly insufficient.

Lady Moira laughed at her reaction. “I see ye have had firsthand experience of his lovely disposition.”

Isla looked up, alarmed. She had all but insulted her future husband, the one man standing between her and ruin, directly to his aunt’s face.

“Ah, daenae worry, child,” Lady Moira said, shaking with laughter. “That lad can be very infuriating.”