Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Afull day elapsed in which Isobel did not see or speak to her betrothed. She worried slightly about the Laird and asked after him often. But with each fresh attempt to understand what preoccupied his time, she was told that the Laird was attending to business and should not be distracted.
Having enjoyed her walk through the gardens with Lady Branwen so tremendously the day before, Isobel decided to dress warmly, and once again head out of doors.
She followed the outer path as Lady Branwen had instructed, staying on the stones where they were lying and skirting the muddier patches between them. The air was cold, clean, and carried the scent of wet earth.
The outer ring of the gardens curved east along the wall of the castle, and she followed it until she spotted a tabby cat. It was perched on the roof of a low outbuilding, hunched against the cold with its tail wrapped tightly around its feet, its expression showing deep personal grievance.
“Oh,” Isobel said. “Good day to you, little one.”
The cat looked at her with narrowed yellow eyes.
“You’re very handsome,” she said. “What are you doing out here?”
The cat said nothing, which was answer enough.
“Sulking, then.” She tilted her head and gave the cat a dubious stare.
“Can you not rejoice in this glorious day and appreciate all this beauty?” She gestured broadly to the trees, shrubs, and flowers.
When her eyes caught on a patch of witch hazel, her smile broadened.
Even though she had not seen Laird MacRaeh himself, when her supper tray had arrived in her room late yesternight, there had been a bouquet, as well as a note from the Laird, explaining that he had noticed the flowers, thought of her, and wished for her to have some sprigs in her room.
The cat stood, stretched with elaborate indifference, and dropped off the back of the roof without a backward glance.
Isobel watched the space where it had been, then shrugged as well and loped away.
She continued walking, passing a half-open gate in the inner wall and nearly missing it.
She halted and looked through. The passage stretched long and straight before curving out of sight, with stones on both sides darkened by age and moss at the base where moisture gathered.
Above, the gap between the walls was narrow, revealing only a pale strip of sky.
Midway, a crack ran up one of the upper stones, and moss had firmly taken hold, filling the gap.
Where does this lead?
Isobel trailed her fingers along the wall idly as she traipsed through the gardens, then emerged into a field. Tall grasses suddenly surrounded her, and she peered back over her shoulder.
The gardens just…fell away. The finely sculpted beauty simply gave way to this…
While the Castle gardens were sculpted and manicured to accentuate the delicate blooms and topiaries, the lands in front of her made something in her memory flicker.
These are the Highlands. This place is wild…free…and full of adventure.
She flung her arms wide and spun in a circle. The movement felt so good she repeated it until a wave of dizziness forced her to stop. As her feet ground to a halt, she giggled, then glanced about to make sure that she was quite alone.
And that’s when her eyes locked on his.
“Laird MacRaeh!” Her voice was little more than a squeak.
“Daenae stop on my account.” His lips twitched upward into a sly grin. “Ye looked rather content, me Lady.”
“I am content,” she replied. Her heart skipped frantically in her chest. She did not know if that was a result of seeing him again or if it was due to the fact that he had caught her behaving like a silly girl.
He stepped closer to her. “Me granny said I might find ye in the garden today, since the weather is so nice this morning.”
“Lady Branwen knows me well already.” She bent to brush her fingertips over the long blades of grass. They were brittle and in some places the green gave way to dry yellow, but Isobel liked the texture, so she did not mind a little toughness. “I could not resist going for a walk this morning.”
“May I join you?” His eyes bored into hers and Isobel could see something like hope floating through those grey orbs.
“Certainly.” She waited for him to step nearer, then, once they were parallel with one another, she let go of her hold on the tall grass and began to sashay through the meadow.
“I meant to come see ye yesterday,” Laird MacRaeh said softly. “I hope ye werenae disappointed when I failed to come to yer chambers.”
Isobel smiled at him. “You sent flowers. And I appreciated that gesture.”
His forehead scrunched slightly. “Ye liked the witch hazel, then?”
“Very much,” she assured him.
He exhaled quickly, as if he were relieved then muttered something which sounded an awful lot like, “I must remember to tell Hamish that he was wrong.”
“What was that?” she questioned, not wanting to miss a single syllable he uttered, but the Laird merely shook his head, then motioned for them to turn left and head further away from the castle.
“Lady Branwen mentioned, when I saw her yesterday, that she thinks we might’ve known each other in our youth.”
“Ah…” Isobel hummed. “That explains the nature of her questions.”
“She did not press ye relentlessly?”
Isobel laughed at the look on Laird MacRaeh’s face.
His forehead was scrunched and the thin line of his upper lip was pulled taut.
It seemed that he was genuinely worried his grandmother might’ve over-stepped.
“I was glad to spend the morning in Lady Branwen’s company.
And I liked how she prompted me to recall the days I spent here as a child.
” She lifted one hand and used it to shield her eyes.
Even though Isobel wore a straw bonnet with a massive blue ribbon affixed to the brim, the sun was so blinding that she needed the extra shade.
“I only wish my memory was more cooperative.”
“I felt the same way when Granny asked me about me own recollections.” He shook his head, causing the sunlight to kiss the coppery tones in his black tresses.
“I wish I could remember ye.” He stopped walking, so Isobel halted her progress, too.
She felt that he was on the verge of asking an important question, so she waited.
“Yes?” she prompted.
“Those summers yer family spent in Lochton…when ye were here…did ye ever participate in a footrace?”
Isobel giggled. “Perhaps I should not own it, but when I was a child, I loved to run.”
His eyes brightened. “And ye ran through the forest when ye came here?”
She tore her gaze away from him so that she could survey the area. Nothing in particular looked familiar immediately, so she answered, “I suppose I could’ve done as much.”
Laird MacRaeh’s features glowed as he added, “And did you ever play a game of chase? Were you a rabbit who was hunted by…”
“A rabbit!” The words burbled from her lips as a flood of long-forgotten memories washed through her mind. “Indeed! I was the rabbit and I had to outrun these boys…these…” She paused and looked carefully at her companion. “You! You were the hunter.”
“Aye.” He nodded solemnly. “I think I was.”
“Ha!” Isobel was delighted to make the connection.
Her mind hummed with enthusiasm as one memory chased another and she suddenly recalled spending the day with a boy named Al who was just a few years older than her, but even then, had seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I remember you.”
“And I remember ye.”
His voice softened so much when he said those words that she stepped closer to him instinctively. As she drew nearer, she watched his chest rise and fall and she envied him the calm he possessed.
My own heart is beating like it might well fly out of my chest. Can he hear the thunder in my pulse? Can he feel the heat radiating from my skin?
A flicker of mortification flitted through Isobel’s brain as she started to analyze her feelings and gauge them against the Laird’s but before her thoughts could spiral, he whispered into the void, “When was the last time ye ran through a field, little rabbit?”
She wrinkled her nose, recognizing that the gesture was quite rabbit-like, but not caring in the slightest. “I have not done so since I was a child. That time in Lochton might’ve been my very last foot race.”
“A pity,” he breathed. “I seem to remember admiring yer speed and wishin’ I had been able to catch ye.”
“I imagine you’d have no trouble catching me now.
” She darted a glance downward at his muscled chest. His pectorals strained against the white fabric.
Her eyes roved to his kilt, and she even allowed herself to take a quick peek at his sculpted calves before schooling her thoughts and returning her gaze to his.
“Is that an invitation, me Lady?” the Laird said in a low, husky tone.
She arched a challenging eyebrow at him. “You want to race me, me Laird?”
He nodded. “If ye think ye can…”
Isobel did not wait for him to finish his sentence. Emboldened by the prospect of dashing through the tall grass, she spun on her heel, hitched up her skirts, and took off.
“Oy!” The Laird called after her, but Isobel did not slow her pace.
“You’ll never catch me!” she hollered over her shoulder.
“Come back here, ye wee rabbit!” he shouted. His words echoed through the field and she giggled, tickled pink.
Isobel was exhilarated by this mad dash, even though they had not chosen a finish line, determined the rules of their game, or decided what the victor would receive once the contest eventually ended.
She ran with all her might, hoisting her skirts high to avoid tripping over them, and shrieking with joy when she dared to look over her shoulder to see that Laird MacRaeh was gaining on her.