Chapter 2 #3
She drew a slow breath. “When?” she asked quietly.
Her father hesitated. His fingers wrapped around the glass of whisky as though he were bracing himself.
“He is on his way,” he said. “A message arrived this morning. He could reach us tomorrow. Or even tonight. A man like him does not announce his arrival. He will come when he chooses.”
Isobel swallowed. “Tonight?”
“I do not know,” he admitted. “It may be tonight. It may be tomorrow. It may be later. It does not matter. He will show up at his own time either way.”
The uncertainty made her chest tighten even more. Not knowing when this marriage would be thrust upon her was worse than almost all that had come before. Every sound would be a harbinger of what was to darken their door. Every shadow would carry the possibility of his arrival.
She lowered herself into the chair opposite the desk. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers laced tightly together.
“I need time,” she said. “To think. To understand what I am being ordered to do.”
Her father nodded slowly, but he did not look relieved. “I know.”
Before any of them could say more, the study door flew open with such force that it struck the wall.
Isobel and her parents turned.
Margaret Robertson, Isobel’s dearest friend and the person she had been visiting before getting sidetrack by the sounds near the stream, stood in the doorway, breathless, her cheeks flushed from making haste. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, and she looked between them.
“Please tell me it’s nae true,” she said, her voice trembling. “I just received word from me faither. He said that nae long after you left, he was told… he was told that they were goin’ to offer ye up to that man.”
Isobel blinked in surprise. “Margaret…?”
Margaret stepped fully into the room, shutting the door behind herself with shaking hands. “Tell me it is nae true,” she repeated. “Tell me this is some ridiculous rumor that has grown legs.”
Thomas Graham straightened. “Miss Robertson, this is a private…”
“Is it true?” she pressed, her eyes fixed on Isobel now.
Isobel hesitated. Then she gave a small nod.
Margaret’s face crumpled. She covered her mouth as a soft sound escaped her. “Oh, Isobel…”
She crossed the room quickly and took Isobel’s hands, squeezing them tightly.
“I heard things, but I did nae want to believe them. Me faither said the Elders were negotiatin’ with a northern Laird.
He did nae say the name at first, but I pressed him.
When he told me…” Her voice faltered. “I rode here as fast as I could.”
Isobel glanced briefly at her father before answering. “You needn’t have come. The decree has already been signed and…”
Margaret shook her head, tears spilling now. “Ye cannae marry him. Ye cannae. I have heard horrors, Isobel. Everyone has.”
Thomas Graham stiffened. “Miss Robertson, that is enough.”
“Nay, it is nae enough,” she said, turning toward him. “Ye are sendin’ her to a man people whisper about in his own halls. A man who has buried men for less than a perceived insult. A man who…” She stopped, swallowing hard. “Ye cannae pretend you daenae ken what is said about him.”
Her father’s expression tightened, but he did not argue.
Margaret turned back to Isobel, her grip tightening. “They say he doesnae forgive. That he keeps grudges like other men keep ledgers. They say he rules by fear, nae loyalty. That he came back from the war changed, and that nay one who has crossed him has lived long enough to regret it.”
Isobel drew a breath that did not quite fill her lungs.
The air in the room felt a few degrees cooler as a shiver darted up Isobel’s spine.
She wrapped her arms around her midsection and sought to hide her discomfort.
“My mother just told me the stories, too. I…I will consider your words and add them to what came before.”
Margaret leaned closer. “Then ye ken what this means.”
“Yes,” Isobel said quietly.
Silence stretched between them. Margaret wiped at her cheeks, trying to compose herself, but her distress was obvious.
“I need to speak with her,” Margaret said suddenly, turning to Thomas. “Alone.”
Thomas hesitated. He looked from Margaret to Isobel, then back again. The fight seemed to leave him.
“Do not go far,” he said finally.
Margaret nodded quickly. She pulled gently at Isobel’s hand. “Come with me.”
Isobel rose slowly. She glanced once more at her father, who had sunk back into his chair, looking older than she had ever seen him. She sent her mother a long glance. Her mother only tipped her head to the side and nodded sympathetically. Then Isobel allowed Margaret to lead her out of the study.
The corridor outside felt quieter, though servants moved at a distance. Margaret did not stop until they reached the small sitting room near the back of the house. She closed the door behind them and turned to Isobel immediately.
“Ye cannae do this,” she said urgently.
Isobel leaned against the table, her strength fading now that she was away from her father’s gaze. “I do not see that I have a choice.”
“There must be a way around the decree.”
Isobel gave a faint, humorless smile. “There is nothing to be done.”
Margaret took her hands again. “When is he comin’?”
“My father says tonight. Or tomorrow. He does not know. Only that the Laird will arrive when he chooses.”
Margaret shook her head. “Then we daenae have much time.”
The words settled heavily.
Isobel studied her face. Her own heart raced. She had known Margaret her entire life and even before she said the words, she thought she knew what her friend was contemplating. “What are you thinking?”
Margaret hesitated, then drew a breath as though committing herself.
“I am thinkin’,” she said quietly, “that ye should nae be here when he arrives.”
Isobel stared at her. She was awestruck. The notion of defying the Elders and their decree was…unreasonable…irresponsible…and tempting.
A dash of something like rebellion flitted through Isobel.
“What are you saying? She pressed her friend for further details because her own mind was so flooded with possibilities that her imagination failed to sort them out and deliver the most viable. A sense of giddiness spiraled through her abdomen.
I do not have to sit here and wait for the Laird. I do not have to sacrifice myself to absolve my father’s mistakes.
The thought felt unreal, like something from a secret story. For a moment, she imagined it. Riding through the night, leaving everything behind. There would be no more decrees, no stranger claiming her, no future decided for her by men she had never met.
“What can we do?” Isobel demanded.
Margaret tightened her grip on her hands. “I will help ye run away.”