When their fingertips touched, the icy tendrils of fear that had been spiking through her veins since their first encounter by the creek were melted. His hand was warm, his fingertips covered in callouses, and his palms slightly rough. But with just that one touch, Isobel felt comfortable in a way she had never known before. It was instantaneous and wholesome, and she had been given this gift without needing to ask for it.
She stood there for a long moment, basking in Laird MacRaeh’s touch. He held her gaze. She watched as the flecks of mossy green and sky blue danced in his grey eyes and Isobel peered into the depths of those orbs, wishing she could read his thoughts one more time.
Then, an older man, with a long scar running from his ear to his jaw, coughed loudly, making it apparent that he was not pleased with this lingering pause and wished for the moment to conclude. Laird MacRaeh said something short and clipped in Gaelic without looking away from Isobel. The scarred man clucked his tongue in reply, then harrumphed in a disgruntled fashion.
She filed that away along with everything else she was quietly gathering about this place. The skepticism she had expected. The fact that he dealt with it without pausing or making it an event was indeed quite interesting.
After waiting a full beat, Laird MacRaeh pulled Isobel to his side and moved forward so that they both stood facing the council.
“There’s a matter requirin’ acknowledgment before we continue.” His voice carried without effort. “The Elders have decreed that I wed Miss Isobel Graham of the Lowlands. The alliance serves to bind our clan more firmly to the Crown’s favor and secure our position against future complications.”
A gray-bearded man at the far end of the table leaned forward. He propped both elbows on the table and squinted at her through rheumy eyes. “A Lowland bride, then. And the Elders arranged it?”
“Aye.” Laird MacRaeh’s tone closed the question like a door shutting. “The marriage will proceed as decreed. Miss Graham will serve as me wife and Lady of Dunalasdair.”
The silence that fell upon the room made Isobel’s stomach twist. She remembered then that she still held the Laird’s hand, so she gave his fingertips a quick squeeze.
His eyebrow, the one that was slightly split by a small white scar arched, but he said nothing.
Then the fair-haired man near Alasdair’s right shifted on his seat. His clothes were finer than the others’, his tartan fastened with a silver brooch that caught the candlelight, and his voice, when he spoke, was smoother than the Highland burs around him, as though it had been carefully sanded down.
“If I may, Laird MacRaeh.” The clansmen nodded deferentially at the Laird of Dunalasdair. “Perhaps Miss Graham shouldunderstand the unique challenges of Highland life before marrying into our clan. For her own safety, of course.”
“Me grandmother and sister will see to her household education, Malcolm.” Laird MacRaeh waved his hand dismissively.
“Naturally.” The man called Malcolm sat up straighter in his seat and brushed a speck of invisible dust from his tartan. “I meant nay slight against Lady Branwen’s knowledge.” He turned toward Isobel fully, and the blue eyes that settled on her were sharp beneath their pleasant expression. “There are things worth kennin’, me Lady. Trust is scarce here, and suspicion runs deep. To some in these hills, a Lowland presence will always be…”
“That’s enough.” Laird MacRaeh’s voice boomed. “Ye’ll frighten her needlessly.”
“Forgive me, me Laird. I only meant to…”
“I ken what ye meant.” The gray eyes moved to Malcolm and held them there for a moment, then moved on, as though the matter were already closed. “Until we wed, Miss Graham is under me protection. That is sufficient.”
Malcolm inclined his head with exactly the right degree of chastened courtesy. “Of course. Forgive me for oversteppin’.”
Laird MacRaeh nodded, but something inside of Isobel rankled. She remembered what she had told Lady Branwen just the daybefore and remembered how she’d vowed to use her voice—when it was time.
“I have no fear of living in the Highlands,” she said loudly, raising her voice so that it would reach the far edges of the table. “My mother is Highland-born and when I was a bairn, we spent our summers in Lochton.” She sent Malcolm a long, challenging stare. “I will serve this clan well and bear in mind that I honor my mother, father, my heritage, and the decree of the elders by becoming the Lady of Dunalasdair.”
Malcolm stared at her for a moment, evidently stupefied by her speech, before nodding and returning to his seat.
Laird MacRaeh squeezed Isobel’s fingers then and she sent a quick glance in his direction. Mirth danced in his eyes, and she knew that he was pleased to hear her speak so passionately about her past as well as her intentions.
She smiled broadly at her betrothed and then, as he nodded to her still vacant seat, she settled upon the cushion. An immense sense of satisfaction filled Isobel’s chest, and she continued feeling just as triumphant, even when the Laird let go of her hand and ordered the council to begin conducting the rest of their meeting.
* * *
That went surprisingly well.
Alasdair could not help but admire the stunning woman sitting on his right side. She had handled the scrutiny of the council with aplomb and even managed to shut Malcolm’s trap with her explanation about her heritage. In the process, Miss Graham had also revealed something about her past that she had only eluded to previously.
Her maither is a Highlander. She spent her summers in Lochton.
The village of Lochton was mere miles from Dunalasdair Castle. They hadn’t passed through it on their way, but the carriage had trundled nearby enough that if Miss Graham had looked hard enough, she might have been able to spot the towering Scots Pines which ran along the stream.
I’ll have to ask her about those summers later.
Alasdair pulled his mind out of this state of reverie when the gray-bearded man, Fergus, said something softly in Gaelic that elicited a brief response from Ross, a wizened elder who sat halfway down the table.