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His nostrils flared, and he took one menacing step closer.

“There,” she scoffed. “Ye frighten people just because ye can. Mary came alone, and ye glared at her. Imagine how she felt, kennin’ she was at yer mercy. Ye are cold and see enemies everywhere.”

“I have enemies everywhere.”

“I am nae yer enemy! Mary came to help me. Help us! And yet ye threw one glance at her garments and decided who she was. Ye ken who does that? Me uncle.”

“Ye ken nothing about what I have had to do to keep this clan alive.”

“I ken what me uncle did to me.” Her voice tore through his anger like a blade. “And today I saw the same look in yer eyes.”

Something twisted in his chest—anger, shame, pain—before he schooled it all back into his usual mask.

“Perhaps,” Isla sighed, “all ye have is hatred.”

“That isnae true.”

She chuckled coldly. “Ye married me, and yet ye daenae trust me.”

“I married ye to—” Alisdair broke off.

The truth was that if he were asked to put his hand on the Bible and say why he had married her, he wouldn’t have an honest answer to give.

Isla flinched at his hesitation. He watched as she struggled to put on the mask of cold indifference.

“Ye married me to use me against me uncle,” she said coldly.

Something inside him twisted. Not at her coldness, but at the sorrow underneath. Behind all that defiance, he could see the tears she was refusing to let fall.

“I was a tool for me uncle, too. Something to be used,” she uttered, disappointment flickering in her eyes.

“Ye came to me and proposed marriage,” he reminded her.

“And I hoped that we would at least be partners. But I guess I expected too much.”

“Isla—”

She raised a hand to stop him, and he felt it land like a physical blow. Worse than that, even. Her small hands could never hurt him the way that look on her face did. As though she had hoped for better from him, and he had failed her anyway.

“Mary will leave soon. She will try to find out what me uncle is plotting. I came to ask ye to treat her with dignity.”

She then turned to leave. He should have let her go, but instead his hand shot out and caught her wrist.

“Let me go!” She pulled against this grip, but he didn’t release her.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

“I have nothin’ to say to ye!”

He pulled her closer, and she collided with him, hands on his chest. A loud gasp escaped her mouth, her eyes wide, the blue in them a sea luring him to dive.

He forgot everything. Who they were, what they were talking about, their pain, their names and colors. All he could see were those eyes and those rosy lips.

He tried. He tried to control himself. But as her eyes flicked to his lips, his control snapped. He let go of her wrist, only to grab her by the waist.

Isla gulped, but she didn’t push him away. Her fingers curled against his shirt.

“Isla,” he rasped.