Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
“Jane,” Isobel said as she countered her lady’s maid in the corridor upon exiting the council chambers.
“Yes, me Lady?”
Isobel’s heart still beat rapidly in her chest after that encounter with the Laird. She had batted her eyelashes and flirted with him as if they were two courtiers enjoying a Season in London. A blush covered her face and neck as she thought of how foolish Laird MacRaeh must find such behavior.
“I should like a tour of the castle.”
Jane’s brow wrinkled. “Didnae Lady Branwen take ye around the castle yesternight?”
“She did,” Isobel conceded, “but I would like to see everything. Understand everything about the castle’s history.”
“Right.” Jane shuffled the bundle of clothing she carried from one hand to the other, then said, “I cannae guarantee that I’ll get all the names and dates correct, but I can surely escort you through the castle and grounds.”
Isobel was so elated, she had to resist the urge to clap her hands.
“Where shall we begin?”
“Anywhere ye like, me Lady.” Jane hefted her bundle onto a hall table and picked up a candle. “Ye cannae learn a castle by starin’ at it from one room. Best ken yer way around before ye need to find somethin’ in a hurry.”
Isobel pulled on the sleeves of her gown nervously. “Is that advice or a warning?”
“Both,” Jane said pleasantly, and led her down the corridor away from the council chambers.
They went farther into the castle than Isobel had explored alone, Jane leading the way with a candle. Isobel followed, gathering her skirts on narrow stairs, ducking under low archways, and losing her sense of direction within the first ten minutes.
“How many staircases does one castle need?” she asked after the third one.
“As many as it takes to confuse the English,” Jane replied without looking back. “That’s what old Colm in the kitchens says, anyway. He’s been here since before the old Laird’s time, and I wouldnae argue with him for all the world.”
Isobel laughed. “Why not? Is this Colm terrifically fearsome?”
She thought of the way Laird MacRaeh looked that day, when he battled two men at once. He had been a menacing sight to behold. But now… She shook off remembrances of the moment that had just passed between them and recollected her coquettish promise.
I want to learn about this castle…as well as the Laird who rules it. I cannot do that if I continue to fixate on what I saw before.
“I try not to get on Colm’s bad side,” Jane answered as she wound her way down yet another staircase. “He makes the best bannocks in the kitchens, and I should hate to be denied the pleasure of tastin’ them when they come straight out of the oven.”
“Very well.” Isobel nodded. “I shall take note. Agree with Colm on every matter so that I may also be reap the benefits of his friendship.”
Jane giggled. “Now yer learnin’, me Lady.”
Jane moved through the space like water, finding channels and instinctively knowing which staircases led where, which doors were worth opening, and which were better left closed.
She had the knowledge of someone who had grown up within these walls and understood them the way Isobel understood her father’s house.
“This whole east wing is the Laird’s,” Jane said, steering them firmly away from a set of dark oak doors. “Daenae come here unless ye’re summoned.”
“He summons people to his wing?”
“He summons people to wherever he happens to be standin’.” Jane’s voice was dry but fond. “Our Laird is a busy man.”
“Yes,” Isobel mused. “I imagine he has his hands full.”
They moved through a long gallery where the faces of MacRaehs from the past watched them from heavy frames.
Most of them wore similar expressions—severe, composed, and utterly confident in their authority.
Isobel slowed down in front of one portrait that seemed to call out to her.
The man in it was younger than the others, with dark eyes that held something the others lacked.
Warmth.
“His father,” Jane said quietly, coming to stand beside her. “The old Laird. He died at Culloden. The current Laird was seventeen.”
“Ah…” Isobel murmured. “My mother mentioned something of that nature a few days ago.”
Isobel examined the painted face. This Laird bore a strong resemblance to his son, with the same jaw and sharp cheekbones. But the expression of the mouth was different—more relaxed, as if this man hadn’t yet learned to school his expressions.
“What was he like?” Isobel asked.
“Fair. Firm. The clan would have walked into the sea for him.” Jane paused. “When he died, everythin’ got very quiet here. His son was a boy one day and a Laird the next, and there wasnae time for anythin’ in between.”
Isobel looked at the portrait for a moment longer.
“Come,” Jane said. “There’s more to see.”
They found the library at the end of a quieter corridor, behind a heavy door that swung silently on well-oiled hinges.
Isobel stepped inside and immediately felt something in her chest loosen.
Shelves reached up to the ceiling in every direction, packed with volumes in leather and cloth, titles in Latin, French, Gaelic, and English.
The room smelled of old paper, candle wax, and dry wood.
“One of the finest collections in the Highlands, or so Lady Branwen claims.” Jane moved to one of the narrow windows and looked out at the rain. “The MacRaehs have always valued learnin’. Nae fashionable in most clans, but they never much cared for fashion.”
Isobel ran her fingers along a row of book spines, stopping at a volume of poetry with a cracked spine and pages worn from many readings. She gently pulled it from the shelf and turned it over in her hands.
“Does anyone use the library now?”
“The Laird,” Jane said carefully. “Sometimes late at night, when he cannae sleep. He has his father’s habit of it, though he’d nae thank me for sayin’ so.”
Isobel opened the book. The handwriting inside the front cover was old, faded, and clearly a woman’s hand. A gift inscription, partly worn away over time.
“Which books does he read?”
Jane glanced at her sideways. “The same ones his father did, mostly. There are a few with the spines more worn than the others, if ye look.” A pause. “I thought ye might want to ken. Since it’s yer library too, now.”
“Thank you for saying as much.” Isobel gently reset the volume and took a moment longer than necessary before turning away. “The library is…a treasure.”
They returned to her chambers when the candle burned low, and Jane made as if to take her leave before Isobel stopped her.
“Are you going without helping me change?” She indicated the green gown she’d worn to the council chambers as well as on the tour of the castle. “I should like you to remain so that I might don proper attire for dinner this evening.”
Jane’s bright eyes dimmed slightly. “Ye’ll dine alone tonight. As I understand it, the Laird is occupied with estate matters. Lady Branwen has gone to visit a friend in the village and Lady Sarah is picnicking with a small group of lasses town by the loch.”
Isobel looked at the empty table by the window. As an only child, she had found ways to bear the solitude of Graham House cheerfully enough, but now that she was in this bustling castle, with many others surrounding her, she had not dreamed of being left alone. “Is that usual?”
“It is the way of life here.” Jane set the candleholder down on the dresser. “The Laird, when he is in the castle, works late most nights. The estate doesnae run itself and he doesnae like delegatin’ what he thinks he is capable of doing on his own.”
“And what exactly does he think he should do himself?”
“Most things,” Jane said without a hint of judgement or pride shading her tone. She was merely sharing a fact. She moved to the door. “I’ll have supper sent up. Is there anythin’ in particular ye’d like?”
“Whatever is simplest,” Isobel said. “I’m not hungry.”
She had lost her appetite somewhere between this very moment and the second she realized Laird MacRaeh would not be dining with her.
Jane left. Isobel sat at the window, watching the sun descend slowly on the horizon, and listened to the castle going about its evening without her.
The chamber felt smaller than it had this morning. The bedchamber was a perfectly comfortable size by any reasonable measure, yet walls pressed in around her, making Isobel feel suffocated.
She needed to move.
I could go to the library. I ought to have selected a book while we were there earlier.
Isobel grabbed a shawl off the nearest dresser, slung it around her shoulders, then scooted out of her room and down the hall.
I might not recall the way to the Laird’s study or how to find the kitchens in this labyrinth, but I can certainly locate the library.
She hurried in the direction where she was sure to find a book, opened the door to the suite, and scrambled inside the room.
No sooner had she turned about than she collided with a solid, unforgiving surface.
“Oof.” Isobel released a noise that was decidedly undignified, then she looked up to see what was impeding her progress.
Swirling grey eyes, speckled with flecks of green and blue, met hers and Isobel had to lift her hand to cover the thunderous sound her heart made when she recognized who stood in front of her.
“Laird MacRaeh.”
What is he doing here? He had caught her by the arm and steadied her so that she could not stumble or fall.
They were close enough that she could see the faint smattering of freckles on his cheekbones as well as the pronounced bump on his nose that was tinged slightly purple in the candlelight.
His expression was that of a man who had been somewhere else entirely in his mind and had just returned to his body to find something unexpected in his hands.
Neither of them moved.
What should I do?