Chapter 5 #2
“She didnae look at ye with disdain, which is sayin’ quite a great deal.
” Sarah’s mouth twitched, showcasing her amusement.
“And believe me, she looks at a lot of people with disdain.
It's not easy to gain her favor. Even I, as her granddaughter, am subjected to her haughty looks of displeasure from time to time.
When I do something stupid, I can count on Granny to remark upon the matter!
" Sarah laughed, seemingly unbothered by her strict grandmother's mannerisms.
Isobel stared at Lady Sarah, supremely puzzled by her abrupt change in countenance.
A moment before, Isobel could’ve sworn that she would need to pry a smile or a burble of laughter from this woman with a pitchfork, but now, Laird MacRaeh’s sister was beaming at her openly, clearly welcoming her into the fold without any provocation for being so genial other than a benevolent spirit.
“And your brother…” Isobel could not help but sneak a glance over her shoulder at the Laird as she asked, “Is he subject to Lady Branwen’s scrutiny?”
Lady Sarah giggled delightedly. “She is most critical of me brother’s life choices.”
“Ah…” Isobel mused for a long moment before questioning, “And what does your grandmother make of our current affair?” She gestured to her dirt-streaked traveling gown. “Does she frown upon this marriage arrangement?”
Instantly, Lady Sarah sobered. Her eyes darted back and forth between where Laird MacRaeh stood and the spot that Lady Branwen occupied near the entryway to the castle.
“Granny doesnae blame Alasdair…or you…for this…situation.” Her lower lip pooched out slightly as Lady Sarah worried it with her top teeth.
“She wishes to learn more about the Council of Elders decree, so expect her to press ye with many more questions before the day is through.”
“Thank you,” Isobel whispered. “For the warning. I shall ready myself to be quizzed.”
Lady Branwen’s voice carried back toward them. “Sarah. Stop frightenin’ the girl and come inside.”
“I’m nae frightenin’ her,” Sarah retorted. She waved her hand, gesturing toward the entryway, then held the door open for Isobel. “Granny says I have nay instinct for reassurance. I maintain that I have nay instinct for dishonesty. We have agreed to disagree.”
Despite everything—the ache in her chest, three days of jolting roads, and the uncertainty that lay ahead—Isobel smiled.
She followed the two women into the castle, leaving the bustling courtyard behind.
The interior was as imposing as the exterior.
The great hall soared above them, its ceiling lost in shadows despite the huge fireplace that roared at one end.
Tapestries hung on the walls, depicting battles, hunts, and scenes from Highland legends.
The floor was stone, worn smooth by generations of boots, and rushes had been laid to make it a bit softer.
It was beautiful in its own austere way. But it was nothing like home.
Lady Branwen led her through corridors and up winding staircases, pointing out various rooms and wings as they went.
“The kitchens are below, through that archway. The solar is there, where we have our mornin’ meal when the weather’s fine.
The council chamber is through the far corridor; ye will nae be summoned there often. ”
“That is a relief,” Isobel confessed.
Lady Branwen gave her a long, accessing look. “Ye daenae want to hear what the council members discuss?”
Isobel shrugged in a noncommittal gesture. “For today, I do not think I should intrude upon affairs of the clan. But…in the future…”
“You reserve the right to change yer mind,” Lady Sarah finished for her and Isobel rewarded the efforts with a nod of approval.
“Precisely.” They continued walking as Isobel added, “Should the Laird ever welcome me into the council chambers, I will do my best to access each situation with care and promote the welfare of the clan.”
“Hmm…” Lady Branwen eyed her critically. “Ye do not wish to overstep then?”
“Never,” Isobel replied resolutely.
“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 of this 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.