“It is of no consequence now,” her father said blandly as he continued to stare at his splayed fingers. “What I did…the severity of my crimes…All has been forgotten…must beforgotten…now that further matters are here to preoccupy our thoughts.”
Isobel stared at her father uncomprehendingly. Never in her life had she been so bewildered by him or his actions. Typically, she felt like the man was an open book. She could read him well enough and understand what he wanted or needed from her. But now, she felt as if he were speaking in riddles.
Thomas pushed away from the desk slightly and pulled a leather folder out of the drawer. He thrust it over to her without saying a word. She opened it. The numbers appeared slowly at first, then all at once, and she stood looking at them for a moment before setting the folder back down.
“We owe more than the house is worth,” she said, summarizing what she thought she’d read.
“More than the house and the land and everything on it.” He still did not look at her. “There are men waiting for payment who are not accustomed to waiting. Without the protection my position once afforded, without allies…” He trailed off. The implication required no elaboration.
Isobel remained quiet. She glanced at the folder, then at her father, and finally at the window, with the silence lingering heavy enough to carry weight. Her eyes focused on the last golden rays of daylight that danced about the window frame.
“What has been done to satisfy your creditors?” she said at last.
There was a long pause. In the silence, Isobel dragged her eyes away from the spectacle of the setting sun and stared at her father, willing him to answer.
Thomas Graham’s only reply was to heave a beleaguered sigh.
An ember of irritation flickered in the back of Isobel’s mind as she recalled the shouting she’d overheard upon entering the house.
“We’ve come this far, Papa.” She continued to pierce him with a keen stare. “You cannot pretend that some solution has not been presented to you.”
Her father lifted trembling hands and made as if to tidy the documents on his desk. Isobel did not fail to notice the way he avoided meeting her gaze.
“Even if the repercussions are not palatable, let us face them the best we can.” Isobel lifted her chest high and tipped her chin upward, putting on a brave show for her father’s sake. “Tell me what has been done so that we might manage the situation together.”
Her father nodded feebly then reached into the desk again and pulled out a second document, the seal already broken. His hands shook unsteadily as he unfolded the parchment and smoothed the creases.
He swallowed loudly, then whispered, “I wrote to the elders. They have…they have made a decision. They have found a way to remedy our predicament.”
“Thank heavens.” Isobel allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief.
Our situation cannot be so very terrible if the elders have come to our aid.
Her father’s trembling fingers continued to run across the folds of the parchment and for a moment, nothing but the sound of crinkling paper filled the study. Then, her father continued in a low tone, as if speaking the words caused him agonizing pain. “The elders will clear our debts. All of them. Restore part of our standing. Provide protection from the men we owe.” He turned the parchment around on the desk between them so that she could lean forward and read their words for herself. “In exchange for your agreement to a marriage.”
Isobel blinked twice owlishly. “My…what?” She could hardly make sense of his words.
“You must agree to marry…” Her father began to explain, but his words faded before he could finish his sentence.
Annoyance mixed with incredulity as Isobel snatched up the document. “Surely, there has been some kind of misunderstanding.” She did not wait for her father to splutter any words, but read the truth of the matter immediately. The language was formal and left nothing open to interpretation. Theelders had decreed that they would satisfy her father’s debts, if she wed a man of their choosing.
“Alasdair MacRaeh,” she whispered as her eyes coasted over the words that had been written in a fluidly bold script. “Laird of Dunalasdair.”
Her father said nothing.
She set the parchment down and looked at him. “I have never heard of this man.” She watched the way her father’s hands continued to quaver. “Father, what aren’t you telling me? What should I know?”
“I can’t… I’m not… How can I…?” Her father crossed the room, poured himself a full glass of whisky, then drank it off entirely. He used the back of his hand to wipe his chin, then, with trembling hands, started to pour another glass.
“Papa!” Isobel exclaimed. She lifted the parchment and shook the page at him.
This is not how it was supposed to go.
“Father, you always told me to marry for love… I…” Isobel could not get the right words out. “How can you tell me in one breath that I must marry this man…this Laird…but in the next refuse to even speak his name?”
Thomas knocked back his second drink then stared aimlessly at the carpet beneath their feet. “You’re right, dear Isobel. You must know. I must help you to understand but…but…”
The door burst open then and Isobel’s mother rushed into the room. Her countenance remained ghostly white, except now, there were two pops of pink color highlighting her smooth, round cheekbones.