“But you will not sit silently either,” Lady Branwen pressed.
“I…” She recalled the words she’d said to Margaret just a few days before. She had worried that others saw her as a tractable pawn who could be moved about and forced into uncomfortable places. Just thinking of the despair that had filled her heart when those thoughts clouded her mind, Isobel lifted her chin and said determinedly, “I will use my voice to empower others.” She met Lady Branwen’s sagacious stare. “I will not sit silently and allow others to dictate what happens to me…or the people ofthis land.” “I see,” Lady Branwen whispered. Then, she nodded, indicating they should continue their tour.
They climbed another flight of stairs, passing servants who pressed themselves against the walls and murmured greetings. Everyone they encountered seemed to watch Isobel with the same measuring curiosity she’d seen in the village.
Finally, Lady Branwen stopped before a heavy oak door. “Yer chambers, me Lady. Yer maid will be along shortly to help ye settle in and see to yer needs.”
She pushed the door open, and Isobel stepped inside. The room was larger than she’d expected, with a massive four-poster bed dominating one wall. A fire crackled in the hearth, and thick furs covered the floor. Tapestries softened the stone walls, and a window gave a view over the mountains to the north. It felt cozy, even luxurious in its way.
Isobel moved to the window, pressing her hand against the cold glass. The sun was setting, painting the mountains in shades of purple and gold. It was stunning. Much like the landscape she remembered seeing throughout the summer months during her childhood.
Behind her, she heard Lady Branwen and Lady Sarah exchange quiet words. Then Lady Branwen moved closer and said, “I ken this is nae easy for ye, lass. Bein’ brought to a strange place, wed to a man ye daenae ken. But ye’ll find yer way. And ye’re nae as alone as ye might feel.”
Isobel turned to find the old woman watching her with something that might have been sympathy. “Thank you, my Lady.”
Then she was gone, Sarah following with a small nod of farewell, leaving Isobel alone in her new chamber.
The silence pressed in. Isobel sank onto the edge of the bed; her hands folded in her lap and she stared at the fire without seeing it.
This was her life now. This castle, these people, and a Laird who had just a few days before compared her to a crow.
She continued glaring at the fire, watching the logs snap, and hearing the flames crackle. Isobel thought of the Laird of Dunalasdair and wondered what he might be doing.
Is he still speaking with the stable boy? Has he gone to consult with his advisors in an effort to make sense of the Elders decree? Is he trying to find a way out of this arrangement?
Hurriedly, Isobel stood and crossed the room so that she might peer out the window. She hoped to catch another glimpse of her fiance, but this side of the castle did not face the courtyard.
Her shoulders sagged as she leaned heavily against the window frame.
This is where you are. Begin from here.
She stood there until the cold seeped through the glass and into her skin. Then she crossed to the bed, got in, pulled the covers up, and lay looking at the ceiling while the castle settled into its nighttime rhythms around her.
Eventually, Isobel she allowed herself to relax. She stopped ruminating on the pointed questions Lady Branwen had asked and gave up on trying to read Laird MacRaeh’s mind. She resigned herself to resting and rejuvenating her spirits, because if she could count on any one point with certainty, it was that she would need her strength to endure what lay ahead.
Chapter Six
Isobel woke up to rain pounding on the windows as a maid cheerfully entered the chambers and drew back the heavy curtains.
“Good mornin’, me Lady.” The woman, who had curly red hair and light blue eyes, bobbed a quick curtsey. “I’m Jane. Lady Branwen ordered me to help ye with her clothes and finery. And The Laird himself sent word that ye’re to join the council.” Jane moved to the wardrobe, then frowned. “Ye haven’t unpacked yet, me Lady?”
Wiping the sleep from her eyes, Isobel yawned broadly. “I was so tired last night that I did not manage to do much other than fall into bed.”
“Where are ye gowns?” Jane asked.
Isobel pointed to a trunk that was nestled near the doorway. “I hope it is not a bother that I…”
“No bother, me Lady,” Jane said as she bustled across the room, popped the top on the trunk and began rummaging through the contents. She pulled out a ruby red silk garment, then tossed it on top of a sturdy oak dresser. Jane tutted as she tugged three more gowns out of the trunk and set them all aside. “These willnae do for today. The council will expect to see their lady dressed as…”
“The council?” Isobel sat up, all traces of sleep gone. “But Lady Branwen said I would not be called…”
“Aye, well. It seems the Laird has decided otherwise.” Jane pulled out a deep green wool gown and held it up, considering. “I imagine he’ll be formally announcin’ the betrothal to his men. Ye’ll want to look the part.”
A lance of unease zipped through Isobel’s abdomen, sending butterflies vaulting through her stomach. “What does that mean, exactly? What part am I meant to play?”
Jane held up two gowns, considering them with focused attention. “Dinnae fash, me Lady. The men just want to see ye…size ye up with their own two eyes. Decide what to make of ye.”
Isobel crawled out from under the covers and crossed the room so she could stand beside her new maid. “That one.” She tapped her finger on the green gown; the one Jane had first admired. “If the council members wish to take my measure, let them see me dressed in one of my favorite gowns.”