A Grave Misunderstanding
Bruised and shivering as a chilly wind swept over the moor, Isabel watched Darroch hurry away to the croft.
His daughter?
He had a child?
So much for worrying that Kyla was his wife!
Wait!
What pernicious lie had he uttered just before he left?
Perhaps she was the one who’d lost her memory. He’d accused her of…
No no no no no!
As the first drops of rain fell, she scrambled to her feet. “Ye put on a good show of suddenly regaining yer memory,” she shouted into the wind, “but I’m wise to yer ploy.”
The drizzle became a downpour. She slipped and slid on the wet grass, grazing her hands on rocky outcroppings as she made her way down the incline. Fury stiffened her backbone, helping her stay upright.
Breathless, she burst through the door of the croft and flew down the steps, rain dripping from her nose and hair.
Blue barked and ran to greet her.
Darroch was washing his face at the pump, his back to the door, but he turned and scowled. How dare he look at her as if she was the guilty one? Blinking away raindrops from her eyelashes, she thrust out her chin, yanked the hatpin from his plaid and poked him in the chest. “Ye think to lay the blame at my door, when ’twas ye jilted me?” she yelled.
Evidently sensing Isabel’s agitation, Blue bared his teeth at Darroch.
The arrogant man smirked, rolled his infuriating eyes and shoved aside her hand. “That would be why I waited for hours at the church door in Sleat then had to walk the gauntlet of snickering clansmen and ride home to break the news to my daughter that the mother I’d promised wasna coming.”
Blue looked up at her.
“Hah,” she retorted, hands on hips. “Ye think that compares to the humiliation of my stepmother’s gloating glee when ye didna turn up in Dungavin as agreed?”
Blue looked back at Darroch as he gestured wildly with his free hand, his face reddening. “And do ye suppose my cursed father cared a whit about my predicament?”
She dug a finger into her own chest. “Weel, my father thought he was the one who’d been insulted.”
They stopped to glare at each other, jaws clenched.
Isabel was determined not to cry, but frustration mounted when Fanny chuckled. “’Tis akin to watching a game o’ tennis. Did either o’ ye hear a word the other said?”
Isabel gritted her teeth, sorely tempted to retort that a crofter who lived on Harris could never have witnessed a game only kings and nobles played, but…
She frowned. Had she heard correctly? “Ye were waiting in Sleat?”
He raked his hand through his hair and let out a slow breath. “Aye. But apparently ye were waiting in Dungavin.”
They stared at each other for what seemed like long minutes, the silence broken only by the sound of rain pelting the thatch. Then a wail Isabel couldn’t control welled up from her throat and the pent-up tears finally flowed.
Darroch shook his head and gathered her to his body. Blue whined and tried to insinuate himself between their legs, evidently happy to be part of the reconciliation.
“I dinna understand how such a grave misunderstanding could come about,” Darroch whispered.
Fanny snorted. “I’ll give ye one guess.”
*
Drowning in a maelstrom of conflicting emotions, Darroch absently sifted his fingers through Isabel’s hair, finding unexpected consolation in her wrenching sobs.
“Ye’re wet,” was all he could manage, though a thousand thoughts struggled to be free.
Had his father been so determined to destroy Kyla’s future that he’d betrayed his only son?
Or, perhaps, he was the one at fault. He hadn’t bothered to read the betrothal documents, relying on the lengthy explanations put forth by the emissaries. He’d only half-listened. It wouldn’t do to show too much enthusiasm for marrying a MacRain. But he was certain it had been agreed the festivities would take place in Dun Scaith.
Isabel hiccupped, choking back her tears. “I didna pay attention to the betrothal papers,” she admitted. “Ghalla said the wedding was to take place at Dungavin and I ne’er thought otherwise. I was too busy complaining I didna want to marry a mon not of my choosing.”
He lifted the wet plaid from her shoulders and drew her to the hearth. “I did hear something o’ the sort,” he teased.
Fanny placed a wooden chair near the stones. He nodded his thanks and drew Isabel onto his lap, grateful when the auld woman produced a pair of shears, cupped his elbow and snipped the linen sling.
Apparently satisfied all was well, Blue crawled beneath the loom.
Darroch flexed his fingers and carefully put the injured arm around Isabel’s waist, relieved it seemed to be functioning properly. “I feel I’ve got my life back, and my arm,” he quipped, feigning hurt where she’d prodded him with the hatpin. “I’ve ached to hold ye like this since the first time I saw ye brandishing the wee sword.”
“I wanted to hate ye,” she sniffled, “but I couldna.”
“Can a mon have hope then?” he asked. “I meant what I said about taking ye to wife.”
He was pleased to see color return to her pale face when she blushed. “But ye have a daughter. What happened to yer first wife?”
His spirits fell. “Kyla is a natural-born bairn. I confess I was a selfish rutting fool in my youth. Her mother died in childbirth.”
His hopes rose again when she took his hand. “But ye didna abandon the lass?”
He shook his head. “My father tried to force me to, but she’s my flesh and blood.”
She meshed her fingers with his. “Ye made the nobler decision. I’m sure yer sire acknowledges that now.”
It was a painful subject, and one he wasn’t ready to broach. “We’ll talk o’ this later, when ye’re out o’ these wet clothes. Perhaps, we’ll see Lady Isabel MacRain’s enticing riding outfit again?”
She smiled and raised his hand to her lips. Rivers of heat spiraled through his body when she kissed his palm and touched her tongue to his skin. She frowned at the curious stain.
“I remember now,” he admitted reluctantly. “I crushed the sprig of juniper I was wearing in yer honor. It marked me. Perhaps it was a sign!”
Her brown eyes twinkled. “I did the same with the heather pinned to my plaid,” she confessed. “Tore it apart.”
They shared a smile, but then he sobered. “Somebody will pay for the pain they’ve caused.”
Fanny threw her hands in the air. “And I hope by now ye twitterin’ lovebirds have deduced who it is.”
*
“Ghalla,” Isabel murmured as she got to her feet, scarcely believing her stepmother could have plotted and carried out such a scheme.
“Believe it,” Fanny said, once again reading her thoughts. “She’ll stop at naught to make sure Tremaine becomes chief o’ the clan. Saints protect us if that ever comes about. I warned Boyd from the start when she threw herself at yer father. Too much of a coincidence. Yer poor mam dead only a fortnight and suddenly there’s Ghalla, all solicitous and making a fuss of a bereaved mon, soothing him with her potions.”
Isabel shivered and clutched the back of the chair. “’Twas my fault. I was so stricken with grief I paid no mind to my father’s sorrow, and couldn’t bring myself to look to the babe who’d stolen my mother. I ne’er even questioned where Ghalla appeared from. I thought for a while she was a distant relative. And my father did seem to recover under her care.”
A dark thought wound its errant way into the back of her mind. Ghalla and her potions…
“She’s a witch if ye ask me,” Fanny declared.
Blue growled in his sleep.
“Ye canna blame yerself,” Darroch said, taking Isabel in his arms once more. “Now change into dry clothes or ye’ll fall sick, and we’ve a revenge to plot.”
Wreaking vengeance on the woman who had taken complete control of Rory MacRain and Dungavin seemed an impossible task, but Darroch’s words gave her strength. “’Twill be hard to convince my father of her guilt.”
“But we will,” he assured her. “I’ll make myself scarce while ye undress.”
Fanny chuckled. “Wait two minutes for the rain to stop.”
“How do ye ken that?” Isabel asked.
Darroch kissed her nose. “She’s an islander. She feels it in her bones.”
Fanny slapped him on the back. “Aye, ye’ll do, laddie, ye’ll do just fine.”
He smiled, started up the steps, and opened the door. “Fair weather isna the only thing on the horizon,” he said with a frown. “There’s a stranger approaching with Hammond and Innes.”