“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “God forgive me. Isobel, I’m so sorry.”
She wanted to rage at him, to blame him for all of this. But looking at him now, broken and defeated, she found she couldn’t. He’d made mistakes, yes. But he’d also tried to do what he thought was right, to show mercy in a world that punished kindness.
“I know you are.” She reached up and kissed his cheek. “Take care of Mother. Please.”
He nodded, unable to speak.
She turned toward Margaret then. Her friend had stayed, just as she’d vowed she would. Margaret had been her constant companion through their youth and even now, even after helping Isobel pack her belongings, Margaret clung to her side faithfully.
“Take care of Star,” Isobel whispered as she wrapped her arms around her friend tightly. “Tell her that she has always been a good girl…my best girl…and I will…I will see her again…”
Isobel let the words evaporate. She understood what her mother said, just over an hour ago, when they all stood in her father’s study. Dunalasdair was not a world away. It was not so very far from her home that they would never see each other again. Yet, when Isobel thought of all she was leaving behind: her parents, her friends, her beloved horse, she could not bring herself to bid them all a proper goodbye.
A shadow fell across them. Laird Dunalasdair stood at the carriage door, his expression impassive. “It’s time.”
She turned back for one last glance at her parents, trying to etch their faces into her memory. Her mother was crying openly now, and her father had his arm around her shoulders, holding her upright.
“I love you both,” Isobel managed, then allowed the Laird to help her into the carriage before she could lose what little composure she had left.
Isobel was immediately grateful that the coach was one from her father’s stables. The interior featured finely upholstered seats and there were thick woolen blankets draped across the cushions. She pressed herself against the far window and waited for her betrothed to join her.
But he did not. He stood at the open door for a moment, his eyes meeting hers. “Are ye…ready?”
There was a look of concern in his eyes she had not seen there until this very moment.
“You’re not riding with me?” She looked around the nearly empty carriage before nodding to the seat opposite herself.
His expression faltered, but the look of consternation remained. “I’ll be on horseback, leadin’ the company. That’s where I’m needed.”
“Of course,” Isobel murmured.
With a swift bob of his head, Laird Dunalasdair closed the door to the carriage. Isobel suddenly was overwhelmed by a sick sense of isolation. Even though she had seen him arrive on horseback not so very long ago, she had not dreamed of making this journey on her own. She longed for Margaret, for her mama, or anyone else who would listen to her qualms and infuse in her a sense of stalwart courage.
But, as the driver shouted to his team of horses and the carriage wheels rolled, Isobel realized that none of her wishes would come true. There was no friend, no confidante by her side. No one would be there to offer her words of comfort or to hold her hand and whisper assurances. She was alone, wretchedly deserted, and in three days’ time would find herself living an entirely new existence.
* * *
On the afternoon of the third day, the carriage reached the top of a hill, and Isobel pressed her face to the window, her breath catching.
The castle emerged from the landscape as if carved from the mountains themselves. Massive stone walls, dark and imposing, enclosed a central keep that soared above everything else. Banners in crimson and black fluttered from the ramparts, snapping in the Highland wind. Below the castle, a village stretched across the hillside, smoke rising from numerous chimneys.
It was larger than she’d expected. More imposing. More… threatening.
The carriage rolled down the hill, passing through the village where people paused to watch the procession. Children ran alongside the horses, laughing and calling out in Gaelic. Women stood in doorways, their expressions curious and measuring. Men tipped their caps but their weathered faces revealed nothing.
They were judging her, Isobel realized, wondering what kind of lady this Lowlander would turn out to be and whether she’d be strong enough to survive here.
She wanted to shrink back from the window, to hide from all those watching eyes. But something stubborn inside her refused to cower. She was here. This was her new home, whether she had chosen it or not. And she would not start by showing fear. So she kept her chin high and met their gazes as steadily as she could, even as her heart hammered and her hands trembled in her lap. She smiled at the children who scrambled a bit too near to the carriage wheels and waved to shopkeepers who sold flowers, vegetables, and potatoes out of their carts.
The castle gates swung open as they approached, and the carriage entered a large courtyard. Servants hurried forward right away, and Isobel could hear the Laird of Dunalasdair shouting orders.
The carriage door opened, but it wasn’t the Laird who stood before her. One of his men, a rugged soldier with gentle eyes, extended his hand to help her down. Isobel gratefully took it, stepping onto the cobblestones on unsteady legs.
She looked around the bustling courtyard, searching instinctively for her fiance. She found him across the yard, already dismounted from his black stallion, deep in conversation with another man. Once again, as he had done throughout the entire journey, Laird MacRaeh seemed to sense her eyes on him and twisted slowly to return her gaze.
She stood transfixed, watching him pat his horse’s neck while speaking with a stable hand. The Laird’s white shirt clung to his chest, likely because he was sweaty and exhausted from riding through the crowded streets. The fabric clung to his muscles and Isobel remembered the way his arms had stretched and bulged while fighting those men in the creek. Even though they had spent time together these last three days, she had not dared to ask him about that battle, and he had not mentioned the skirmish either. Her eyes traced his forearms and stopped when they reached his hand, which was still bandaged.
Perhaps I should offer…