Chapter 21
Many hours later, Isolde stood in the vaulted passage outside Dunmuir’s chapel and listened to the booms and clashes of thunder. The deep rumbles, mighty enough to shake the stone floor, also rattled her nerves.
Devorgilla had warned of a violent storm and Isolde hadn’t believed her.
Not until thick clouds rolled in, chilling the air and darkening the afternoon sky. And the storm truly was fierce. A great band of towering thunderheads, deep gray, menacing, and driven by cold, fast-moving gales that raced in from the sea.
Isolde shivered and drew her shawl closer about her shoulders. May the old ones help her if Devorgilla’s other predications came to pass. An outraged Balloch MacArthur was the last thing she needed. Dunmuir bore enough grief without her causing yet more turmoil and disaster.
Her stomach knotting, she reached for the chapel door’s iron latch. She’d placed offerings to the Celtic water spirits at the sacred well. Now she’d do her duty by saying her daily chants for her sister’s soul, plus a few for her own.
For everyone’s.
So she slipped into the dimness of the small oratory, and closed the door. Terror slammed into her at once. Every fine hair on her body lifted. The steel she’d been convincing herself she possessed fled faster than the MacLean could wing his brows upward.
She wasn’t alone.
Someone was inside the chapel with her. A soul she could feel but not see.
Lileas?
Her hand pressed to her heart, she took a few backward steps until she bumped into the closed door. There she remained, and would, until her knees quit knocking. She leaned against the door and peered into the chilly gloom, her eyes adjusting to the shadows.
One of the elders must’ve visited the chapel for a few candles lit the side altar. Their flickering light wasn’t enough to dispel the murkiness, but the soft glow did soothe her a bit.
Had she imagined a presence?
If Lileas was here, she wouldn’t hurt her.
Feeling better, she drew in a deep breath of the stale, incense-laden air. But another scent, faint and oddly familiar, came along with the chapel’s usual fustiness.
A feminine yet dark note that didn’t quite blend into the damp chill of old, wet stone and candlewax. And with the scent came the renewed sense that she wasn’t alone. Brave or not, shivers sped down her back and goosebumps rose on her skin.
Her heart thudding, she again searched the shadows. This time something stirred, accompanied by a swishing noise. Jerking her head toward the sound, she screamed.
Her dead sister, shroud-wrapped and cowled, was rising from the cold stone floor in front of the side altar.
“Do not be afraid, ’tis only me,” Lileas said, her beloved voice smoother, huskier than in life. Death had also made her more voluptuous than Isolde remembered.
The wraith glided toward her, her black shroud swirling around her, a dark, feminine scent wafting ahead of her to drift around Isolde like an exotic cloud.
A rich, musky fragrance the unassuming Lileas would never have favored.
“Do not look at me as if you’ve seen a ghost, my lady.” The specter shoved the cowl off her face. “It is me, Evelina.”
“Oh!” Isolde stared at the joy woman, relief sweeping her. “On my life, but you frightened me, lady.”
Evelina smoothed her raven tresses, then carefully adjusted the cowl’s folds around her shoulders. “I have told you, I am not a lady. But it warms my heart when you address me so.” She gave Isolde a gentle smile. “You are kind.”
“Whatever are you doing here?” Isolde stared at her, her blood still pumping. “You’re the last person I’d expected to see.”
“In your chapel or at Dunmuir?”
“Both.”
“Ah, well.” Evelina gave a little shrug. “Nothing is impossible when discreet.” She gestured to her black mantle and hood. “No one’s sensitivities were injured.”
“I didn’t mean any offense.” Isolde reached out to grip her friend’s hand. “You are welcome here. I have told you that.”
Evelina’s smile turned rueful. “I know you have, and I honor you for it.”
“I prefer your friendship.”
“You know it is yours, always.” Evelina squeezed her fingers. “I did not want to frighten you.”
Isolde smiled. “You just startled me.” She glanced at the candles on the side altar. “You lit them?”
“I did.” The older woman nodded. “Someone was good enough to tell me you come here to pray for your sister. So I said a few prayers for her while I waited.”
Isolde sighed. “Thank you.”
Evelina followed Isolde’s gaze to the altar. “Many were the good things I have heard of Lileas,” she said, a wistful note creeping into her voice. “I wish I could have known her.”
“But you did not come here to speak of my sister.”
“That is so. I wished to see you,” Evelina said, concern in her voice. “Forgive me if I overstep myself, but I would beg you not to send your message to Balloch MacArthur.”
Isolde’s eyes widened. “How did you find out? Do you know what the message is?”
“Why else would I be so worried?” Evelina did look fraught. “I came as soon as I could. MacArthur is a violent man.” She glanced aside, her face tightening on the mention of his name.
Isolde understood. “You know him?”
“I knew him, aye.” Evelina looked back at her, and her beautiful dark eyes appeared dulled. “But only once. That was more than enough.”
“I am sorry.” Isolde touched her hand to the other woman’s sleeve, much as Evelina had sought to comfort her a moment before.
“It happened long ago and is best forgotten.” Evelina’s eyes glistened in the dimness. “But I thank you for caring.”
“Of course, I do.” Isolde did. “I regret he ever troubled you. How did you learn of my message to him? Devorgilla must’ve told you. No one else knew. I wouldn’t have thought-”
“She knows I can be trusted.” Evelina’s gentle smile returned. “She had to tell me. How else could she speed your tidings to MacArthur’s distant isle?”
Isolde smiled. “I thought she might use her powers. She is known to wriggle her fingers, blink, and be anywhere she wishes. Indeed, I have seen her disappear before my own eyes.”
“So have I,” Evelina admitted. “But she didn’t want to leave Doon. She claimed there were matters here…” She let the words tail away, looking embarrassed.
“I mean…” she started again. “She worried-”
“She is watching over me.”
Evelina nodded. “She said nothing else. Only that she would not leave Doon.”
“I am not surprised.” Isolde tucked her hair behind an ear. “But why did she ask you?” She frowned, but then recalled Evelina telling her Gavin MacFie kept her supplied with provisions.
“Sir Gavin cannot-”
“He is hindered, aye.” Evelina glanced at the closed door and lowered her voice. “There are other, shall we say, former friends who look after my needs. Any one of them would be glad to help me deliver a missive.”
She fixed Isolde with a piercing look. “I am the one who would rather not help.” Moving away, she started pacing in front of the side altar, the hem of her cloak rustling about her ankles like a shifting black cloud.
A storm cloud.
“My lady…” Evelina lifted a hand, then let it fall. “Sending such tidings to a man like Balloch will have grave consequences.”
Isolde shook her head. “I must take that chance.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
“If I do not, he will send his man to arrange our betrothal within the month. I cannot allow that to happen.”
“And you think to avoid this man’s journey by sending word to Balloch that you carry another man’s child?”
“You know my plan.” Isolde met her friend’s troubled gaze. “It is the only way.”
“He shall be livid.” Evelina’s brow pleated. “Nothing would bring him here faster. Balloch MacArthur is a proud man.”
“That I know.”
Isolde glanced at the place where her sister’s body had lain, her heart aching at the memory of Lileas waxen and silent. The image forever etched in her mind. Poor, sweet-tempered Lileas had looked as if she slept and would awaken any moment.
But she hadn’t, and would no more.
Her death had set Isolde’s own life on a course she’d never imagined.
Sighing, she pressed her fingers to her temples and closed her eyes. Heavy silence filled the chapel, its cold, incense-drenched weight pushing hard on her shoulders.
At last, she opened her eyes and looked again to her friend. Somewhere close thunder rumbled as if the heavens disapproved of what she was about to say.
“Balloch’s pride is my only hope,” she said anyway. “The elders plan to execute the MacLean on or around Summer Solstice. They mean to kill Sir Gavin with him.”
Evelina blanched. “Oh, dear mercy.”
“I will stop them.” Isolde glanced at the tall and narrow chapel windows, the precious glass panes flashing silver with each burst of lightning. “They can’t be allowed such madness.”
Her blood ran cold at the thought.
Evelina stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Has the MacLean yet touched you?”
“We have not yet done anything.” Isolde’s face heated on the admission. “He did kiss me once. But even if my plan works, there is not enough time for me to truly become…”
She didn’t finish, knowing her friend understood.
“I am worried, lady.”
“I know you are, and I love you for your concern.” Isolde glanced at her. Then she, too, began pacing, her footsteps echoing off the stone-flagged floor.
“If Balloch is told I swell with another man’s seed, his pride will stay his tongue.” She paused before the altar, smoothing wrinkles in the black cloth still draped there in Lileas’ honor. “I am certain he will forfeit the betrothal once such tidings reach him.”
“I understand.” Evelina’s tone was anything but encouraging.
“But you do not believe his pride will keep him away?” Isolde kept her gaze on the altar cloth and the flickering candles.
“Nae, I do not.”
Isolde turned back to her. “Will you still see the message delivered?”
Evelina paused a long moment before she nodded. “If you are certain, aye.”
“I am,” Isolde said, wishing she hadn’t seen the shadow that crossed her friend’s face.
“Then consider it done.” Evelina came to stand before her. Though clearly troubled, she managed a smile.
“I thank you.” Heat stung the backs of Isolde’s eyes as she reached for Evelina’s hand. “Someday I shall repay your kindness.”
Evelina’s own eyes gleamed, and she blinked. “You already have, my lady. A thousandfold.”
Then she slipped her hand from Isolde’s grasp to retrieve a small leather pouch from the folds of her cloak.
She handed it to Isolde. “This is the blush of rose I mentioned. Use it as I advised and you should hasten your progress with the MacLean.”
Blush of rose.
Isolde’s fingers closed around the little pouch. She could feel the small jar it contained. Vermilion. Red-tinted goose fat scented with rose.
A courtesan’s paint to be dabbed on one’s nipples.
A sure way of striking powerful lust into any man’s loins, Evelina had promised when they’d discussed the various methods Isolde could employ to seduce the MacLean.
Could she do it?
She wasn’t an accomplished temptress like Evelina.
She wasn’t even beautiful, though the elders praised her hair and eyes now and then.
Herself? She knew fine she didn’t possess the joy woman’s grace, her elegant way of just crossing a room.
In truth, she would’ve preferred Evelina’s sleek raven tresses to her own unruly mass of flaming red hair, so difficult to tame.
Yet…
Now she had a seduction tool, a definite advantage. Just the feel of the tiny container in her hand gave her courage. Unfortunately, it also made her flush.
“You must use it,” Evelina encouraged. “Especially now.”
“I will.”
“Good.” Evelina placed the back of her hand against Isolde’s hot cheek. “The sooner he succumbs, the better your chances.”
And if I succumb?
The words echoed in Isolde’s heart, loud and frightful as the night’s cracking thunder.
“It isn’t easy, but I will go through with everything.” Isolde shivered, remembering his kiss.
Evelina nodded. “If you please him well, you might find he pleases you as much.”
“Our joinings will not be for pleasure.” The denial sounded hollow even to her ears.
Evelina just looked at her, then drew a deep breath.
“I must go,” she said, taking her hand from Isolde’s cheek. She made to move away, but Isolde caught her arm.
“You cannot leave in this storm. Stay the night here, I will order a meal and-”
“Thank you, but I have already been offered a fine pallet for the night, and even a hearty dinner,” Evelina said, an odd catch in her voice. “I wish you well with the MacLean,” she added, then went to the door.
She paused with her hand on the latch and looked back. “Never forget, the road to the greatest happiness is sometimes fraught with peril and often the longest we must travel.” Her words sailed straight at Isolde’s heart, as she’d surely intended.
As if she knew they’d found their target, she gave Isolde one last little smile. “Know, too, my lady, the rewards we reap at the journey’s end are worth more than the trouble.”
That said, she stepped out the door and closed it softly behind her.