Chapter 24
“Where have you taken Rob—” Isa stopped herself, glaring at the man who so arrogantly occupied her grandfather’s chair. “What have you done with MacQuarrie?”
“Dinna fash yerself over yer guardian’s well-being, lass. Lardiner is seeing to his accommodations. Ah!” Malcolm MacDowylt looked past her as the door opened. “And here’s our ever-helpful friend Lardiner even now.”
Isa sat on the edge of a small chair the man called Patrick had pulled up in front of the MacDowylt before returning to his brother’s side. Though they’d not bound her hands or feet, she felt every inch the prisoner as she surveyed the faces of the people in the room.
Several warriors—all MacDowylt’s men, no doubt— crowded into the chamber. One fellow she’d seen before. Roland’s man, Shaw, leaned against the back wall. And Agneys, perched daintily on a chair on the far side of the room, watching everything with her usual air of disdain.
Isa worked at gathering her scattered thoughts. Robbie lived. They’d brought him here as captive, but he lived. All was not lost.
Roland strode into the room, sparing her one of his greasy sneers as he neared. Before he reached the MacDowylt’s side, Patrick stepped forward, his hand on an empty chair across from Isa, clearly indicating to Roland he should be seated.
“Good.” Malcolm steepled his fingers on the table in front of him. “Now that we’re all here, perhaps we can settle this matter.”
“We’ve no a need for the half-wit to be present,” Roland snarled. “I can have my man, Shaw, see to her.”
Shaw seemed to shrink in his spot near the wall, glancing to the men on either side of him, their hands lying loosely on their weapons.
Malcolm shook his head. “I dinna think that would be our wisest course of action, eh, Isabella?” He turned to her, a grin splitting his face. A grin that didn’t touch his eyes. “In fact, Isabella’s our guest of honor. Which is only fitting for the woman I’m to wed, is it no?”
“You canna do that! There’s no a reason for it. You ken my own Agneys carries the old laird’s heir. If yer to wed any it should be her,” Roland blustered.
Isa could imagine nothing more repugnant than to be on the same side of an argument as that slimy bastard, but in this case she agreed.
“I’ve no intention of being yer wife, MacDowylt.” Hands clasped in her lap, Isa waited for the silence to draw out as inspiration struck. “I . . . I’ve already given my vows of marriage. To MacQuarrie.”
“Vows dinna mean so much if yer a widow,” Roland snapped.
“They also dinna mean much coming from a fickle, murdering whoreson like yerself,” Isa retorted, forcing herself not to think on that widow remark.
Roland lunged from his seat, his arms outstretched, but two of the MacDowylt’s men stepped in front of him before he’d taken a single step, encouraging him back into his chair.
She wouldn’t be stopped by his anger. “Yer a child-beating bastard and you murdered my grandfather,” she accused, pointing a shaking finger his direction. Whatever was to come, she meant to make sure everyone heard what horrible deeds lay on Roland’s hands, whether they believed her or not.
Malcolm sat back, turning his steely gaze on Roland. “These are serious accusations. Is this true, Lardiner?”
“She lies,” Roland answered through gritted teeth. “I told you she was mad.”
“So you did.” Malcolm nodded, turning back to her. “I dinna suppose you’ve proof of yer charges? A witness, mayhaps?”
Isa shook her head, struggling to speak around the lump that formed in her throat.
“There was one. But Jamie, the child who saw what Roland did to my grandfather, slumbered in my cottage when those men put it to the torch.” More words refused to come and hot tears streaked unbidden down her cheeks while silence filled the room.
“My, but isna that convenient?” Roland’s sarcastic tone grated on Isa’s ear. “You claim there’s only one witness to yer sack of lies but you canna even produce him. You see? You canna believe the blether of a madwoman, MacDowylt.”
“Perhaps it is as you say, my friend.” Malcolm stroked his chin as if deep in thought. “But I’m of a mind to hunt for the truth in this matter before I make my decision. Until that time, I think it best we confine you all to yer chambers.”
With a flick of his wrist, his men closed in, waiting.
“Me?” Agneys sounded indignant in her surprise. “Yer thinking to hold me in my chambers as well?”
“Everyone for now.”
Isa rose to her feet, jerking her arm from the grasp of the man who’d offered assistance as she stood.
“Except Isabella. I’d ask you to stay for a moment, my lady. We have a private matter to discuss.”
The guards on either side of Isa took their leave and she dropped back into her seat, waiting while Patrick crossed the room and closed the door behind the others.
“In this chamber, Isabella MacGahan, between the two of us, with my brother Patrick as witness, I’d ask that we set aside our personal strategies in favor of honesty. Can you agree to that?”
Isa paused, choosing her words carefully. “I see no point to be made in being dishonest with you.”
Again the man steepled his fingers in front of him. “You expect me to believe that? Yer obviously not what you represented yerself to be the last time I saw you. And if you’d lie about that . . .” He left his words hanging in the air like he’d thrown down a gauntlet.
“My disguise was my protection. When I presented myself as that creature, no one bothered me.”
“Except me.” Malcolm stood and began to pace, at last stopping directly in front of her chair.
“We have a problem to solve, you and I. I mean to have these lands for my clan in payment of a MacGahan debt. I’d prefer to accomplish this goal without the need to raise a sword, but as there’s no a male descendant and you are the named heir, it seems we must come to some agreement. ”
Isa sat back in her chair, wishing she had Robbie at her side to advise her now. She knew nothing of clan politics, only that the responsibility of the decision Malcolm required weighed heavily on her shoulders.
“Why me? Agneys is the laird’s widow. Why do you no just wed Agneys? Wait for the birth of her bairn and name yerself his guardian.”
The smile that broke over Malcolm’s face this time was genuine, lighting his eyes and carving years from his face. “Ah, Isabella, yer too trusting by far, lass. No, I’m afraid that taking you to wife is the only way to rightfully lay my claim.”
It was up to her. This man held Robbie’s future in his hands and her response to him now would determine what he chose to do with that future. What would her father have done in her place?
Probably not what she was about to do. Then again, her father wouldn’t have been in her position—needing to save the man she loved.
“As you say, in the past I may no have been completely honest with you. But you can believe this: I’ve no desire to control anything. I want only to be left alone. If you’ll but free Robbie, I’ll happily declare these lands yers and leave this place to yer care.”
“So you say. But what’s to stop this Robbie, yer . . . uh, yer husband—from coming back later with men of his own to challenge me for what he sees as rightfully his?”
Isa wet her lips, feeling her face heat as she stalled, trying to determine just how much truth she wanted to share with this man. A few long moments of silence and she made her decision. MacDowylt held the power and she had nothing to gain in deceit.
“He willna do that because he has no right to anything here. As you seem to suspect, I lied to you. We’ve taken no vows.
Robert MacQuarrie has sought nothing but that I should leave this place so that he could see to my safety as he promised my father he would.
If you’ll allow us to go in peace, I’ll give my wedding vow to you in front of the entire clan. ”
“I’m no as blindly trusting as you are, Isabella.” He made no attempt to disguise his skepticism.
“Oh?” It wasn’t bad enough he didn’t believe her, but now, for a second time, he’d all but called her stupidly na?ve.
“Is that so? Well, from what I’ve seen, yer no great judge of character yerself, naming one such as Roland Lardiner yer friend.
It’s Roland who murdered my grandfather.
He who beat the poor child who’d witnessed the act and he who ordered my home put to the torch with wee Jamie inside.
There’s some friend for you. I’d no be turning my back on him if I were you. ”
In the silence that followed Isa’s tirade, her own ragged breathing sounded loud.
“This child you speak of.” Patrick’s voice filled the stillness. “He was a small lad with a disfigured face?”
Isa nodded, biting the inside of her trembling lip while she strove for her self-control. Though she hated the thought of crying in front of these men again, the hot tears filled her eyes as she thought of poor, sweet Jamie.
A look passed between the MacDowylt brothers—a look Isa couldn’t interpret other than to know it appeared as though the two men shared a single thought. With a respectful nod of his head, Patrick turned and hurried from the room.
Malcolm strode back behind the table, retaking his seat as one of his men entered and stood beside Isa.
“I’ll give yer words consideration, my lady. For now, I’ll have to ask you to keep to yer bedchamber.”
Isa rose unsteadily to her feet, allowing MacDowylt’s man to support her arm this time.
He’d consider her words, but would he believe them, or would he decide Robbie posed too great a danger to be set free?