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Every night, as agreed, she and Alisdair met for dinner. They didn’t talk much, and never once strayed into personal territory. He walked her through clan politics instead, and she could tell, beneath the gruffness, that he genuinely cared for his people. That he was just and fair in every decision.
When it came her turn to speak, it was mostly about the running of the castle and suggestions on the budgets. She had done the same work at Sinclair Castle—though she had also served as a maid there at the same time—so balancing ledgers and tallying expenses came to her easily enough.
“There ye are, child.”
Lady Moira stepped into the pantry, where Isla had been counting sacks of grain and making notes with the cook.
“Good morning, Auntie.” Isla smiled. “I am taking notes. It willnae be long before the summer is over, and we need to be prepared.”
“Ye work too hard.”
“It needs to be done.”
“Ye also need to show yer face,” Lady Moira insisted. “Come, let’s get ye changed. I had the carriage readied.”
“Carriage?”
“Ye need to visit the villages, Isla,” Lady Moira said seriously. “Let’s start with the closest one.”
Isla felt more comfortable in her room or managing the staff that had slowly warmed up to her. Going to the villages meant meeting people who might mistrust or even hate her.
“I have the offerings ready,” Lady Moira added, her eyes lighting up.
Isla didn’t have the heart to refuse, so she gave some last instructions to the cook and made her way to her rooms to change. Before long, she found herself in the carriage with Lady Moira, Lorna, and two warriors riding alongside them.
They reached the village, and she was glad to find it bustling. It had wide, clean streets, with nice cottages in neat rows. The carriage carried them on to the central square, a stone-paved opening crowded with stalls full of goods.
Isla stepped down from the carriage, and instantly all eyes turned to her. Everyone stopped what they were doing and simply stared at her. She smoothed down her skirt and held her head high.
Back at Sinclair Castle, she had been mostly overlooked. She was not used to being under scrutiny. Years of conditioning herself to stay invisible, to avoid her uncle’s cruelty, had left her unprepared for this. And yet here she was, the center of attention, and it was her duty now to stand in that center rather than retreat to her room or hide behind Lady Moira’s skirts.
“Is that her?” someone asked.
“A Sinclair,” another murmured.
“Did our Laird really marry her?”
Lady Moira fell into step beside her as they made their way to the square. Isla could feel the villagers’ eyes on the back of her head.
“Lady Moira!” a voice called.
A man approached them, gray and weathered, but well-built and full of life.
“Ah,” Lady Moira chuckled. “If it isnae Rory! I thought ye’d be dead by now.”
The man let out a deep laugh. “Nae yet.”
“Rory is the smith around here,” Lady Moira explained to Isla. “We grew up together in the castle, and he has taken some… liberties.”
“What she means,” Rory interjected, “is that me maither was her wet nurse and we were born on the same day.”
“A day that brought both a blessing and a curse,” Lady Moira teased.
“I wouldnae call ye a curse.” Rory smiled.
“More of a nuisance, then?” Isla quipped.
The two old friends looked at her with wide eyes and then burst out laughing.
