Chapter 2
Chapter Two
“Marry… marry me?” Isla’s voice was a shocked gasp, the words tumbling out of her rosy lips as they trembled. “What in the name of the selkies are ye talkin’ about?”
“Aye! What are ye talkin’ about, Ealdwick?” Callum yelled, his pistol still pointed at the Duke’s chest. “Eilidh is the one who is ruined, nae Isla!”
“It is crystal clear that you are not willing to end this duel with anything other than murder or matrimony, Lord Dalrigh. Since I have no intention of dying for a paltry rumor, I offer the only other solution I see fit. Take it or leave it.”
“Ye think marryin’ me sister, Isla, will solve the problem?” Callum scoffed. “Me other sister, Eilidh is the subject of the rumors. This will solve nothin’!”
“Ah, but it will,” the Duke said, a flicker of something unreadable in his azure eyes.
“I shall claim that I was interested in your sister, Lady Isla, all along. But since I had not been formally introduced to her in public, and she was not present at the cursed social gathering, I needed to observe her and her family before I made a formal approach.”
“I still daenae understand!” Callum yelled.
“I’ll say that I used the gathering to observe Lady Eilidh.
To gauge the temperament of her family, Lord Dalrigh.
We can then claim that the rumor was nothing more than a simple misunderstanding; a clumsy bit of gossip from a nuisance who saw me speaking with your sister and assumed the worst. Someone who wanted something more interesting to talk about. ”
“This seems a bit farfetched,” Callum pressed.
“The ton loves scandal and mystery, but they also love a tale of romance. This will satisfy them, I assure you. This is not my first dalliance with the gossipmongers, and likely will not be the last. This is the solution I see fit.”
“But something has escaped ye, Yer Grace.” Isla looked down, her cheeks burning with a fresh wave of humiliation.
“No one will believe a Duke is interested in a scarred spinster.” The raw honesty of the words hurt as she said them, as if the scars were ripped anew.
“They would ask why ye would do this. What ye stand to gain from such a… an unlikely union.”
“A scarred spinster?” the Duke repeated, the words rolling over his tongue with disdain.
“I care little for the ton’s judgments, Lady Isla.
As for what I gain,” he paused, his gaze meeting hers with unnerving intensity.
“I have a son who needs a mother. A giddy, young debutante would do little to help him.”
“Ye will nae say such things about Eilidh!” Callum roared, and Isla shot him a warning look—his pistol still aimed at the Duke.
“Ye make me little fond of ye if ye speak about me sister thusly, Yer Grace,” she told him.
“I mean no disrespect to your sister, Lady Isla. I am only speaking in terms of life experience,” the Duke offered, “And a woman as fiercely protective as you? A woman who would put herself before the barrel of a pistol to save her brother, and her sister? It is a rare, but admirable quality. My son would benefit greatly from having you as his stepmother.”
Isla’s heart leapt up to her throat as she considered his words. She could barely think as her world began to spin out of control, leaving her dizzy and confused.
She glanced at Callum, who still hadn’t lowered his pistol.
Too much is happenin’ too fast… but I must put an end to this, no matter the sacrifice.
“What will it be, Lady Isla?” The Duke said once more.
He offered a sound solution. If he managed to convince the ton that he wanted to meet her all along…
If they truly believed that it was all a misunderstanding, and through this marriage, Eilidh’s reputation was cleared…
Her little sister would have her pick of suitors, then.
Especially if Isla herself married a Duke.
Still, it all seemed too easy. Too good to be true.
Aye, I wish me maither and faither were here… I will figure the rest out later. This is the best chance we have got to get past this.
“If I accept,” Isla said, her voice shaking slightly as her voice cut off her own thoughts. “Can ye ensure ye will restore our family’s name?”
“I vow it.”
“That this gossip will be put to rest, and there will be nay bloodshed?”
“I promise you, Lady Isla. I cannot be tied to a sullied name. As my wife, no one will dare question you or disgrace you and anyone in your family,” the Duke spoke slowly, steadily, his eyes fixed on her.
Isla found herself caught in the depths of his gaze—blue as a winter sky, unwavering, impossible to look away from. Her chest tightened, a flutter of something unbidden stirring as though his words had reached far beyond mere protection.
For a heartbeat, she wondered if he saw the truth of her fear.
And perhaps, a flicker of hope.
Isla blinked, straightening her back, reminding herself that the only hope she should feel was for her sister’s future. That was her only duty. No more.
“Then…Yes. I will marry ye, Yer Grace,” she finally said with a deep curtsy, her brother’s coat pooling at her feet.
As she rose back up, she bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. She never thought she’d receive such a proposal, let alone while she was dressed like a man!
She glanced at the Duke to see if he saw the same ridiculousness in this situation, but she found no humor in his eyes.
When she moved her gaze towards Callum, she saw that his pistol remained steady. He looked back at her.
“Callum…” she pleaded, seeing the furrowing of his brow, the pursing of his lips.
“Isla, ye daenae have to do this,” Callum protested. “There must be another way. I am the head of our family, and I shall find it. I’ll send Eilidh back to Scotland—”
“You will do nae such thing, brother. I will do this.” She cut him off, refusing to blink or give him a chance to shut her out. “For Eilidh. Now, please, put the pistol down.”
Callum’s shoulders sagged, but his grip on the pistol did not loosen. His jaw worked, the muscle ticking as he drew a ragged breath through his teeth.
For a moment, Isla feared he might yet pull the trigger. That his anger, his pride, would drown out all reason. The silence stretched, broken only by the uneven sound of his breathing and the faint click of his thumb brushing the hammer.
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath.
Whether to himself or to the Duke, Isla could not tell.
His arm trembled, then dropped a fraction, the weapon wavering in his hand. Finally, with a sharp exhale that sounded almost like defeat, he lowered it fully.
The Duke followed suit, though his movements were far more deliberate and measured. Still, Isla noticed how his eyes never left her. Not for a moment.
“We will be married within the week,” the Duke declared, his voice cool and all trace of emotion gone as he tucked the pistol away.
“The week,” Isla repeated, exhaling, trying her best to process how quickly everything had shifted.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “I will acquire the special license and take care of the preparations. My solicitor will be coming to your aunt’s townhouse with the marriage contract and the details of the wedding.”
He lingered, his gaze drifting down her body and back, the weight of it sending a shiver through her.
“I will also arrange for you to visit the modiste,” he added. “You may choose any gown of your liking.”
“My sister has gowns of her own, Yer Grace,” Callum said through gritted teeth.
Isla glared at him, then turned towards the Duke. “That is most generous, Yer Grace. Thank ye.”
“Ye had better make this work, Yer Grace,” Callum grumbled as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair.
“I always do,” the Duke replied, the calm in his tone was unyielding and absolute.
Isla’s pulse quickened; she could almost feel the authority radiating from him.
Across from him, Callum’s shoulders squared, bristling as if the very sound of that confidence struck at his pride.
“Well, that is that then,” her brother said as he tentatively offered an outstretched hand to the Duke, who returned his firm shake. “It is settled.”
After a nod, the Duke stepped back, turning his attention back to her. “And… Lady Isla?”
“Yes, Yer Grace?”
“The next time I see you, I expect you to be in a proper gown.”
Without another word, he turned and walked away, a hulking figure disappearing into the growing light of the morning.
The sun was just peaking over the rooftops, softening the orange and pink sky above the swirling chimney smoke.
Isla stood there in silence, still clutching her brother’s coat around her to ward off the cold, the Duke’s unexpected proposal echoing in her ears.
“Thig a Hiort!” Callum swore, a quiet, guttural sound, as he finally holstered his weapon. He stared at the spot where the Duke had been only moments before and shook his head. “The man is a bloody giant,” Callum muttered, turning to his sister.
“Callum…”
“This is yer life, Isla. Ye agreed to a hasty marriage to stop a duel. Are ye certain, sister?” Callum pressed, stepping closer and grasping her shoulders.
“A marriage to an English Duke is a better fate than becoming a pariah. Or worse…watchin’ me brother hang for murder. He said he has a son, Callum. A small boy who needs a maither. Perhaps I can be useful to someone at last, to be more than…”
A broken woman, she wished to say, but stopped herself.
Callum pulled her into a tight embrace. “Ye have always been useful, sister. And good. Ye wear yer scars proud, like a Valkyrie in battle.”
“I would do it again if it meant I would save ye and Eilidh…” Isla trailed off, her thoughts drifting to that fateful day when they were children.
“I dinnae trust him,” Callum bellowed. “Not for a moment. If he breaks his word, or hurts ye, I swear on our faither’s grave… I will put a bullet in him meself. Duke or nae Duke.”
“I ken ye will,” Isla whispered into his shoulder, clinging to him for a moment of quiet strength. “But I must believe he meant what he said. Now, let’s get back to the house before someone sees me standin’ here, lookin’ like a stable boy.”
“That is wise… Ye ken, it is a good thing ye are so tall for a lass. Ye almost pulled it off.”