Chapter 13
“The laird’s solar is just down this way.” With an emphatic nod, Jamie loped off ahead of them down the gloomy hallway at Castle MacGahan.
“As if I dinna remember where my own grandfather’s solar is located,” Isa muttered irritably, pushing in front of Robert to follow the boy.
The whole of their trip from the cottage she’d been quietly irritable. On the rare occasion where she seemed to feel the necessity to add her comments, they’d been snippy, as now. That her temper was on display was a given.
Robert had quickly decided that if this was her convoluted female logic trying to teach him a lesson by not talking to him, she had sorely misjudged his need for conversation.
So she was angry with him, that much he understood and accepted. Fine. She could be as angry as she liked. It didn’t change for one moment what was right and proper. He might have missed his opportunity to guide Thomas’s child, but he wouldn’t allow the adult she had become to dishonor her father.
He also wouldn’t allow her to continue to dishonor herself. She was a beautiful, intelligent woman who deserved the respect of her clan, not their pity and derision.
She’d have it, too. He’d do whatever was necessary to see to that. And if her being angry and refusing to talk to him was the price he’d have to pay, so be it.
Besides, he and Jamie had passed the time pleasantly enough discussing their fence and making vague plans for future projects, so her lack of participation was of no concern to him.
Jamie’s claim that Isa’s mother had been Faerie was another matter altogether. It had to be a flight of imagination, a story told by an old woman to a small boy to bring on sleep.
Though he knew better than most the reality of the Fae, stories of the Faerie were rife in the legends of the Scots.
And while he suspected that some of those legends might be based in fact, this particular story was difficult to accept without some proof.
That his whole life could be so intertwined with the Fae seemed simply too much of a coincidence.
And yet, this could certainly explain Thomas’s contention that Isa, like her mother, was “different.”
Whatever the truth, he planned to learn more about this story, though the opportunity to follow up hadn’t appeared yet. He was especially interested in learning whether or not Isa knew anything of it.
“Here we are,” the boy whispered loudly before pushing open the heavy door to announce their arrival.
“They’ve come, yer lairdship. I’ve brought them directly to you, just as you commanded of me.”
Jamie bowed his head and moved to the side of the old laird’s chair while Robert followed Isa into the room, stopping two steps behind her.
Randulf MacGahan stared at his granddaughter, the thoughts behind his piercing blue gaze impenetrable. At length, he rose from his chair.
“Apologies for my delay in welcoming you, Isabella. When you first entered, it was as if Elesyria herself were standing in the room.”
“I canna help the way I look,” Isa muttered, her hands tightening into fists at her sides.
She stepped back a pace, casting a dark scowl over her shoulder in Robert’s direction before returning her attention to her grandfather.
“I’ve come as you ordered, for yer wedding to .
. . to that Agneys. Though I canna for the life of me ken yer decision to tie yerself to that woman. ”
The anger in her words surprised Robert, giving him pause to consider that Isa’s behavior this day might actually have less to do with him than he’d originally suspected.
“It was no an order, Isabella. Only the request of an old man to have his granddaughter at his side on this day.”
Though Robert could not see her expression, the rigid line of her back gave clue aplenty as to her mood.
“I should no be surprised. You made yer choices known long ago. And either way, you have what you wanted, do you no? You’ll guarantee the perfect little Agneys will be at yer side now for all time.”
“Isa.” The laird extended his hand and started toward her, but she held up her hand as if to stop him.
“I canna do this now. I’ve a need to speak with Auld Annie. Is she still in the room off the kitchens?”
Randulf’s hand dropped to his side and he nodded his answer.
Isa turned, bumping into Robert in her haste to leave the room, her eyes filled with unshed tears as she pushed past him.
“My son Thomas chose his daughter’s guardian well.”
“Thank you.” Robert backed to the door, wanting only to follow the footsteps he could hear even now fading down the hallway.
“No. Thank you, MacQuarrie. For bringing my granddaughter back to me.”
“I can take no credit for that.” Robert dipped his head in Jamie’s direction. “It was the lad there who brought us both to you.”
“No.” The old man shook his head sadly. “I’m no speaking of yer physical presence here, lad. It’s yer bringing home the lass who left here eight years ago. The lass I thought was lost to the madness I’d driven her to.”
Before Robert could respond, the laird seemed to recover himself, his emotions once again masked.
“Know this, guardian, yer work is far from done here. I’ve a concern for Isabella’s safety. You’ve a need to stay close to her side while she’s here.”
“And I will, Laird MacGahan. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to do just that.”
At the doorway, Robert paused one last time, thinking to leave with some appropriate pleasantry, but any words he might have spoken fled from his mind. The vague familiarity he’d sensed earlier suddenly crystallized for him.
Jamie had risen to his feet to stand at the old laird’s side. Both the boy and Randulf had fixed their attention squarely on Robert.
Two identical piercing blue stares of expectation followed him as he took off after Isa.
Outside the room, Isa picked up her pace. Though she stopped herself just short of running, she couldn’t get far enough away fast enough to suit her.
This entire day had been sheer hell, from her inglorious dousing in the stream this morning to her meeting with the MacGahan laird just now.
As if having to watch her grandfather wed a woman who had been the bane of her life growing up wasn’t going to be bad enough, having to face him stripped of the protection of her disguise certainly had been.
Perhaps she should have been thankful he hadn’t cringed in fear at seeing her. Though accusing her of looking exactly like her mother was hardly any better. It had taken every bit of her control to hang on to her emotions and avoid disaster.
She knew she should have kept to her disguise.
The tatters and the filth had encouraged people to keep their distance. They’d turned away, ignoring her as if she didn’t exist, secretly hoping that when they looked back she’d be gone. Without the disguise, she felt as if she were the center of curiosity, every head turning as she passed.
Slipping around the corner into the hallway behind the kitchens, she pulled up short to avoid running down a maid headed in her direction.
“Stop right there,” the young woman demanded, stepping in front of Isa. “Are you one of them tinklers? Master Roland warned us to be on our guard for the likes of you lest you steal everything not nailed down. Who let you into the castle anyway?”
Isa briefly considered claiming to be exactly that, but quickly decided such an assertion would likely get her tossed out on her ear faster than admitting to her own identity.
“I am no one of the tinklers.” Isa lifted her chin and glared at the maid. “I’m on my way to see Auld Annie.”
“Oh no.” Shaking her head, the maid again stepped in front of Isa as she attempted to go forward. “That’s no allowed for any but those who see to her care. Master Roland’s orders.”
“Master Roland’s orders, is it?” Isa asked, allowing the contempt she felt to color her words.
“No that it’s any of yer business, but I’ve just left the company of the MacGahan himself, and I’m visiting Annie with his full knowledge and permission.
Now, as I recall, the laird’s word overrides that of Master Roland, does it no? ”
The young woman’s face wrinkled in her confusion. “I . . . I suppose. I can show you where—”
“I’ve no a need for yer help,” Isa interrupted, pushing past the maid. “I ken the way on my own.”
When Isa had lived at the castle, the room had been for little more than storage.
But after the horrendous fire that had taken the life of Annie’s only daughter and nearly killed both her and Jamie as well, the laird had granted the old woman lodging in the castle itself.
She’d chosen this room over any other because it kept her close to her beloved kitchens even though the burns to her hands and arms kept her from returning to her position as head cook.
Isa pushed open the door, stepping down into the dimly lit room. At the far end, Annie sat in front of a low-burning fireplace, looking small and lonely, swathed in a mound of woolens.
“Annie? How are you feeling?”
The old woman turned her head slowly, her eyes lighting in recognition. “Isabella? Is that you, lass? Come closer and let Auld Annie have a look at you.”
Isa hurried over, dropping to her knees at Annie’s feet to clasp the old woman’s hand.
This was the one person she’d been able to turn to when she was growing up.
The one person who’d been here from the time she was born and yet passed no judgment on her.
The only person who’d ever seemed to care what happened to her.
“What ails you, Annie? Jamie said you were so ill they wouldn’t allow him in to bother you.”
Annie made an irritated clucking sound with her tongue that Isa remembered from her own childhood.
“I suppose that explains why I’ve no had a visit from him in so long. Him or anyone else, save the lasses who bring my meals.”
“It’s by Roland’s orders no one’s allowed in to see you.” Orders that Isa was at a complete loss to understand. “Why would he want to keep you isolated?”
Annie ducked her head, refusing to meet Isa’s eyes. “I canna imagine why.”
“I can.”