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Isla scoffed. “If I didnae do that, our uncle would have married me off to that disgusting old man.”

Mary nodded angrily. “Word is that he had two wives who had ‘mysteriously fallen ill and died’. Ye did well to run away. But coming here? Isnae that worse?”

Isla drew in a breath. Faced with the reality she had escaped, it was easier to put things in perspective. Alisdair didn’t like or trust her, or want anything to do with her, but he had never once mistreated her, and he wouldn’t allow anyone to insult her.

“It isnae,” she reassured her cousin.

“Are ye sure?” Mary frowned. “That husband of yers is… a lot.”

Isla chuckled. It was a pretty accurate way to describe Alisdair.

“Daenae get me wrong, Isla,” Mary hastened to add. “He is impressive. I mean, he has beautiful gray eyes and a handsome face. And he is… massive.”

Isla laughed louder at that.

“Ye are laughing?” Mary scoffed. “The moment I saw him, I feared for ye. A man like him must be arduous in bed.”

“Mary!”

“What?” She smiled. “If he is as massive there as the rest of him⁠—”

“Mary!”

“All I am sayin’—”

“Ye shouldnae be sayin’ anythin’ at all!”

“Well, I hope ye are at least getting’ some rest.”

Isla shook her head. Not only did Alisdair not touch her, but he also barely talked to her.

“What of our uncle?”

Mary’s mirth vanished, replaced by fear. She was a distant cousin, and her father adored and protected her. But that didn’t mean their uncle didn’t see her as property too. She feared him just as much as Isla did.

“Ah.” She grabbed Isla’s hands. “Ye should have been there. I have never seen him so angry. And ye ken that is scary.”

Isla shivered. “And Jonet?” she asked anxiously.

“Clever girl.” Mary smiled. “She must have been the first one to realize that ye were gone, for she vanished the same day.”

Isla breathed a sigh of relief.

“And a good thing that was,” Mary continued solemnly. “When no one couldnae find ye, he had everyone turn the castle upside down. When they reported that Luath was gone, he flew into a rage.”

Isla frowned. She had witnessed their uncle’s anger before, back when she had been obedient. She could hardly imagine what her defiance must have done to him.

“He destroyed his study—broke the desk, the chairs, every single thing—screaming, cursing ye,” Mary whispered.

Isla squeezed her hands in reassurance, like they had done for each other throughout the years.

“The servants that broke the news to him…” Mary swallowed thickly. “He whipped them bloody with his own hands until his arms grew tired.”

Isla felt a pang of guilt in her chest, but she reminded herself that she didn’t do anything. It was their uncle’s fault. She only did what she had to survive.

“And… after the wedding?”

Mary’s face darkened, and Isla braced herself. Leaving their uncle’s influence was one thing. But to run to his worst enemy, the only man standing in the way of power, that must have bruised his pride.